Beeton S Great Book Of Poetry

127746

PREFACE.

intention of the Projector of the present Book of Poetry -was to collect
JL and publish as many poems, or parts of poems, as could be comprised within
one large and handsome, but not unwieldy "Volume. Beginning •with, the earliest
known efforts in verse of English writers, the line of oxur Poets was to be traced
from the very Fathers of English Poetry, through all the Periods of its greatness
or decadence, to the Modern Masters of the Divine Art

To compile a work of the scope and magnitude of this collection has not
been an easy task. More than thrice the number of years have been spent in
completing the volume than was reckoned would be necessary in the original
calculation of time. One of the chief assistants in the work, who looked upon
his labours for this compilation as a delight and joy, has passed away from this
world within the past twelve months, without seeing the consummation of an
undertaking which he ably helped and longed to see brought to a contusion*

In the selection and rejection of poems, difficulties have occurred inseparable
from the presence of a multitude of candidates. It was impossible to pass all as
being able to obtain a place, although it was felt that many were omitted which
were worthy of admittance, although not destined to the better fortune of those
ultimately selected.

The Earlier Poems have been carefully compared with the best originals to
which access was possible ; the reading of various versions has been collated, and,
where differences arose, the criticisms of our first literary guides have been
seaiched, and their judgments consulted before a decision was taken. Since the
first portion of the volume was printed, certain discoveries have been announced
concerning English Poetry of the Fourteenth Century, which we have, unfor-
tunately, been unable to take advantage o£

If it was difficult to deal with the enormous amount of TEnglM» verse written
up to the end of the last century, the task became infinitely harder as_ our own
times were approached. The rights of property in the works of the living and
dead had to be respected, and the law of copyright considered. In all cases
where we discovered the existence of these rights, application was made to the
poet or his representatives for permission to print the desired quotations. In
nearly every instance the permission was kindly granted ; and we specially have
to thank Mr. Strahan for his very generous reply to our requests ; also Messrs.
Macmillan and Messrs. Moxon, besides manv other publishers, for their courtesy,
as well as Messrs. Warne <fc Co.

It is, nevertheless, necessary, in our view of the duty we owe to the interests
of literature and to the sentiments of authors in connection with the laws of
copyright, to refer to communications which passed between us and two firms o*
publishers. In* the one instance, Messrs. Longman claimed to be in the possession
of the copyright of the poem of Ivry, or the War of the I^eague, written by Lord
Macaulay, and first published in Charles Knight's « Quarterly Magaaane/* We
believed, upon good grounds as we thought, Suit the copyright of this piece had

iv PREFACE.

expired for some years, and so stated our belief to Messrs. Longman. They,
however, insisted they were right, and demanded that the electrotype plates
containing that particular poem should be destroyed. Still believing that we
were correct, we made further search, and proved to Messrs. Longman that they
were claiming a right which had expired four or five years. If, however, they
had been never so right, we contend that to refuse permission for the insertion
in such a collection as our own, of a poem by an author of the rank of Lord
Maeaulay, is, at the least, a churlish piece of business, and unworthy of a house
whose name stands so high in the estimation of its contemporaries. Surely, the
possession of Lord Macaulay's copyrights for the legal term of forty-two yeans
should be sufficient to satisfy the most extortionate. But here we see Messrs.
Longman straining to assert their rights long after they had lapsed, and when
Lord Macaulay's copvright had ceased to be individual property — to become, as
the Legislature intended, the property of the nation.

In the other instance, Messrs. Bell and Daldy refused to permit the insertion
of any poems by Miss Procter. That charming poetess, to our great regret, is
absent from these pages j and wrongly, indeed, old they read her wishes who is
now no more, when, after several applications on our part (even when we asked
for one little poem, so that she should not be entirely unrepresented here), they
still adhered to their very ungenerous resolution.

It becomes, indeed, a matter for the public to find fault with, when extreme
rights, such as we have referred to, are extremely insisted on. There would be no
collection of modern prose, or poetry, possible, if firms who happen to be in the
possession of the valuable works of deceased authors, to whom there is no appeal
for assistance against the selfishness of the copyright-holders, should all declare
their unwillingness to abate a jot of their pretensions even in behalf of the public
welfare. This kind of procedure, also, becomes more reprehensible when such
houses as we have named, who ought to be foremost in liberality, are the trans-
gressors. The eminent men and women whose works they print, would consider
that their publishers were ill doing their duty to authors and to literature, if they
were systematically to refuse to compilers a reasonable use for popular advantage
of their writings.

A word remains to say about the arrangement of this volume. Biographical
notices of nearly all the Poets whose works are quoted precede the poems of each
Period. Prefixed to each Period is a brief sketch of its Poetry. Every Poem
has the name of the Author at its foot, with the date of his Birth and Death. As
nearly as' possible the Chronological sequence of the poems has been maintained.
Lastly, the American Poets are represented in the fi^Al sheets of the volume, with
as much of their biography as we have been able to discover.

Many errors of omission and commission will be found in our Book of Poetry.
We shall feel exceedingly obliged by critics and correspondents pointing out these
blunders, so that we may correct them in future editions. But we sincerely
believe that, with all its faults, this Volume stands, in regard to quantity and
quality, high above any existing Selections yet made from the inestimable stores
of OOP glorious English Poetic Literature.

S. O. BEETON.

Paternoster £ow, 1870.

INDEX.

NAMES OF THE POETS, WITH THE PERIODS is WHICH THEY

NAMES OB THE POETS, -WITH NUMBERS OP POEMS ....... ri

NAMES OF THE POETS, TOTE THE TITLES or POEMS . ... XT

ALPHABETIC AL LlST OF THE POEMS .. . rtXT

FIBST LIKES OF THE POEMS . . . y?ir

BlO&EAPHIES OF AUEBICAX POETS . . . krd

FAMES OF A^IESICAX POETS, TOTE NUXBFJS OF POEMS . trrii

NAMES OF AMERICAN POETS, •WITH THE TITLES or POEMS . , kni

TrmES OF .AygOTnATg POEMS ... . ..... 3xii

FUST LINES OF IMESICAK POEMS . . ... . kx

NAMES OF THE POETS,

WITH TH^

PERIODS IN WHICH THEY PLOUBISHED.

PKftlOD

Addiaon, Joseph .... v
Aird, Thomas . .. vii

»

P&K10D

Browning, Bobert ... vu
Bruce, Michael vi

zn
D.

Dale, Eev. Thomas
T*an*el, Samuel ..... ...

UOB

iii

Tii
m
ni
m
M
rr
vii
iv
Tii

Tl
Ti

m

IT

n
iii
iii
in
ir
ii

Ti

ii
Tii

Ti
Ti

iii

Ti
ui

Ti

•v

Ti

in
in
IT
iii
iii
in

Burns, Bobert .... ..... .. TO

Alexander, William iii
Alford, the Very Ber.
Henry . TU
Alfred the Great i
Alison, Bichard iii
Ancrom, Earl of rii
Anstey, Christopher Ti
Anostron?, John vi
Arnold, Matthew TU
Atherstone, Edwin vii
Aytouu, William Tii

Burton, Bobert M

Butler, Samuel , . ir

Byrom, John vi
Byron, Lord George

Darwin, Dr. Erasmus ... .
Davenant, Sir William ...
Davies, Sir John

Brunne, Bobert de i

Sheffield, Duke of iv

a

Csdmon ........ ......... • i

Dekker, Thomas
Denham, Sir John
Dibdm, Charles
Digby, George . ..
DobeU, Sydney (Yendys)
Doddndge, Philip . . .
Dodsley, Robert
Donne, John, D.D
Dorset, Earl of
Douglas. Gawain
Dowland, John

B.

Campbell, Thomas Tii

Carew, "Thomas ni
Carey, Henry ..... vi
Gamngton, N. T. . ... vii
Cartwright, William iii
Chalkhul, John ui
Chamberlayne, William... IT
Chapman, George iii
Chatterton, Thomas vi
Chaucer, Geoffrey i

Baillie, Joanna ... .....«« . vii
Bamprylde, John TI
Barbauld, A-rym Letitia vu
Barbour, John i
Barnard, Lady A Tine . vi
Barnnelo. Bichard .... iu

DraytoD,' Michael .

Dryden, John
Dunbar, William
Dyer, John

E.

Edwards, Bichard . ...
Elliott, Ebenezer
Elliot, Sir Gilbert
Elliot, Mass Jane . .
Etherege, Sir George

F.

Fairfax, Edward, B.D. . .
Falconer, WiDSam . . .
Fanshawe, Sir Richard . .
Farquhar, George . . ..
Fawkes, Francis

Barton, Bernard . . . TU
Baxter, Bichard . . iv
Bayly, Thomas Haynes . . TU
Beattie, James ... TI
Beaumont and Fletcher . iu
Bedrford, William , .. Tii
Behn, Mrs. Aphra xv
Belchier, Dabridgecourt iii
Bennett, William Cox .. Tii
Bishop, Samuel Ti
Blacldock, Thomas . TI
Blaokmore, Sir Bichard v
Blaokstone, Sir William . vi
Blair, Bobert . ... vi
Blake, William . . TU
Blamire, Miaa Susanna TU
Blind Harry .. . ii
Bloomfield, Bobert . Tii
Booth, Barton v
Boswell, Sir Alexander ... TU
Bowrd, Andrew ... ,r^ .» i*

Chettle, Henry iu
CharchiH, Charles vi
Gibber, Colley vi

dare, John Tii
Cleveland, John iu
Cockburn, Mrs vi
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor vii
Coleridg«» Hartley TU
Collins, William . . ...... vi
Constable, Henry .... in
Cook, Elisa Tii

Corbet, Bichard ui
Cotton, Charles iv
Cotton, Nathaniel . . vi
Cowley, Abraham . .. iv
Cowper, WiQiam TU

Crashaw, Ricnard iii
Crawford, Bobert TI
Crawford. William TI
Croker, Bight Hon. John

Fenton, Elijah
Fergusson, Robert . . ..
Field, Nathaniel

Tin w) aa Willfom Lisle . "^ii

Breton) Nicholas in
Brozne A^^ftn^^T . ....... iu
Brown, Thomas IT

Fitzgeffrey, Charles
Flatman, Thomas
Fletcher, Giles
Fletcher, Piuneas

Croly, George . "vn

Browne, William m
Browning, Elizabeth vu

Cunningham, Allan Tii

e

Tffi

NAMES OF TEE POETS,

^. Samuel
Jones, Ernest
Jones, &r Wittuin
{Jonson^Ren

G*3, RzeharJ
G i/thr Sir Samuel
Gaacoigne, Geoige
GJF , John
Grlufd, Wuram
GItuIaa, Robert
Gl'mcester, Robert of
Glow, Bichard
Go lolph ji, Sid
Goffe, Thomas
Go]0fflnith Oliver
Godi, Bobert
Cover, John
Graham*, James
Gran jar. Dr. Jaznes
Grunt, &*.
Graimlle, George
Gr*y, Thomas
Green, Matthew
Grwille, Pnjte .

vii

I

vii , Keats, John
vn Keule, John

1 1 Ken, B'shop
n f Kuy, Dr. fieniT
m Kingbler, Bar Choiles
m ' E'D|#Jey. Henry
vi En »wlas, Herbert
iv ,,

i ,
vu

VI

vu

n Lamb,Cfaaries.,
/ ! L B landon . . .
m Lamlor, Walter Savage

7U
TO

Ttt
VU

ll, Hector
Maoiphawon, James

vii

VI
VII

Moss, Thomas
MotherwelJ, William .

N.

Natoes, Thomas ni

Xash, Thomas, ft Greene,

Bobert iii

Nioools. Baoihard. ul

'

N

Sarah

.
Caroline

Nngeat, Bail

vu
vi

0.

Oldys, William .
Oldmizon, John
Opie^Mrs Amelia*
Otwvy, Thomas
Overotny . Sir Thomas

/^ J^^J THj»«.l **£ T7lSm*mftmmS

uziorOy jfian 01, Jxiwaro.
Yere m

P.

.. ti

."" vd

iv
in

Eunell. Thomas
Patmore. Covontzy
Peele, George .
Pemote, Thomas

Pmbps, Ambrose
Philips, John
Philips. Eatheime

.

Robert

Pomfret, John
Pope. Alexander . .
Pope,Dr Walter „
Praed Winthrop Hook-
worth '

Thomas

Prior, Matthew . ,
Procter, Bryan Waller

Qosriss, Francos
^uarlaSj John .

Raleigh, Sir Walter . .
Allan

v

vii
in
TI

"H

v
iv
id
vii
iv

v
IT

vii
r

vii

tt
IT

lobert de Brmme
Bobert of Gloucester
Boberts, William Hay-
ward

Boohester,Eadof
togexs, Samuel .
CoUa. Baohard

aiof

fv

£

Rowe, Nicholas
BusselL Thomas

THE

£EBIODS Df WHICH THEY PLOUEISHED.

iz

£B

S.

SackviUe, Thomas
Sandys, George
Savage, Richard
Scot, Alexander .
Scott, John
Scott, Sir Walter .
Sedley, Sir Charles . .
Seward, TVfiaa A Tina . .
Sewell, Dr. George
Shadwell, Thomas
Shakspere, William
Sheffield, John, Duke of

BIOD PBEIOB

PI

Waller, Edmund
Walsh, William
Ward, Edward
Warner, William
Warton, Joseph
Warton, Thomas
Wastallj Simon . .
Watson. Thomas
Watts, Alaric A.

:fiion

iv

v
Hi
vi
vi
iii
iii

TO

vi
iii
vi

vi
vii

vi
vii
iii
vii
vii

T
ffi
Tfi
VU

vfi
iii
ii
iv
ii

vii

vi

Storing, Earl of .. ,.,„., in

Storer, Thomas . . . iii
in Suckling, Sir John m
iii Swain, Charles . . vu
vi Swift, Jonathan v
in Sylvester, Joshua ...... iii

VI

vu
iv T.
vu

V

iv Tannahffl, fioberfc vii
in Tate, Xahum v
Taylor, Bishop Jeremy . iv
iv Tennant, William . . v3
vu Tennyson, Alfred . . vii
vi • Thompson, Edwaid vi
in Thomson, James . .. vi
in • Thrale, Mrs vi
n , Tickell, Thomas ... v
vi Tighe, Mrs. . . vh
vu Toplady, Augustus . . vi

vii Tusser, Thomas .... ii
vu

VI

v U.

vn
v
vii TJdaB, Nicholas . . id

^

*; T' '

iv , Vanbrugh, Sir John .... v
iv [ Yaughan, Henry iv

Watts^ Ifewv?
Webster, John
Wesley, Charles
Wesley, John
West, Gilbert

Shelley, Percy Bysshe
Shenstone, William . . .
Shirley, James
Sidney, Sir Philip .
Skelton, John
Smart, Christopher
Smith, Alexander . .
Smith, Mrs. Charlotte .
Smith, Horace
Smith, James . .
Smollett, Tobias
SomerviUe, William . .. .
Sotheby, William
Southerne, Thomas —
Southey, Bobert
Southey, Mrs
Southwell, Bobert
, Spencer, the Hon. Wil-
liam B. ....
Spenser, Edmund
Stanley, Thomas
Stepney, George

White, H. Kirke
Whitehead, Paul
WMtehead, WilCam
Wiffen, JH.

Wilson, Alexander

Wilsonj Professor John ...
Winchelsea, Anne, Coun-
tess of
Wither, George
Wolcot, John
Wolfe, Charles
Wordsworth, Wdham
Wotton, Sir Henry
Wyat, Sir Thomas
Wycherley, William . . .
Wyntotm, Andrew

T.

Yendys, Sydney (DoTwH)
Young, Edward ............

NAMES OF THE POETS.

NO. OP POBM.

A damson, John 743

Addison, Joseph . . 768-770

Akenside 901-903

Alford, Dean 1726-1736

Alfred, King 5-12

Alison. Richard . . 486

Allingham. William .. . 1838

Ancrum, Earl of * .. . 395

Anonymous, 94, 95, 510-539,

709-711, 712-733, 735-736,

738-789. 742, 744-746, 1814

Anstoy, Ghrotopher . .. 1025

Armstrong, John ... 924-927

Arnold, Edwin. 1757,1768

Arnold, Matthew ... 1759-1761

Ayroq, Philip 707,708

Ayton, BIT Kobert 889

Aytoun, W. JE 16C2-1663

B.

Bailey. Philip J
JJailho, Joanna . . .
BampfylAe, John
Barbaxdd, Ajana L.. .
Barbour, John
Barnard, Lady Anne
Barnfield. Biohard
Barton, Bernard . ...

1672

147&-1473

1007-1010

1104-1110

82^5

.... 1047

. . 121

1453-1459

vo o? p one.
Breton, Nicholas . . .. 11&-118

Bristol, Lord 571

Brome, Alexander . . 881-888

Brooke, Lord 164r-157

Brown, Prances . 1781-1784
Brown, Thomas . 679

Browne, William . 286-291
Browning, Mrs. . 1568-1S61
Browning, Eobert 1785-1788
Brace, Michael . . 959-861
Brunne, Eobert de . 14, 15
Brydgos,SirEgerton, 1520, 1521
Buchanan, It. . 1835

Buclonghamshire,Dukeof 681
Burns, Eobert 1575-1592

Burton, Kobert . . 487

Butler, Samuel . 607-645, 7S4,

Byrom, John . . 1056, 1057
Byron, Lord . . 1887-1358

C.

lie tumontand ELetoaerl212-220

Bookford,W 1519

Behn, Aphra 704,705

JBolchier. Pabridgecourt . 445
Bennett, W.C .1764-1778
Bishop, Samuel . 1002-1006
Blacldock, Thomas 975-478
Blackmoro... ... . 787

Blackstone, Sir William 936

Blair, Robert 842-849

Blamire. Susanna . 1102, 1103

BbadB!arry 46,47

Bloomfield, Robert... 1123-1128

Boethius 9-12

Bonar, Horatius .. .. 1779,1780

Booth, Barton 886

Boswell,SirA 1609-1611

Boturd, Andrew 80

Bowles, W.L. 1288-1271

Ccedmon ................... 1-4

Campbell, Thomas . 1297-1312
Canning, George
Carew, Thomas .
Carey, Henry .
Camngton, N T. --------

Cartwnffht, William .. 887-589,

482,483

ChalklnU, John , 883-886
Chamberlayne, William, 579-584
Chapman, George ...... 485

Chatterton, Thomas . 940-944

1144-1146

. . 268-270

1085

1518-1518

Chaucer
Chettle
Churchill
Cibber.Colley
Clare, John
Cleveland, John
Clough, AH. ..
Cockburn, Mrs.
Coleridge
Colendge, Hartley
Collins, Wilham
Constable, Henry.
Cook, Bhza
Corbet, Bishop
Cotton, Charles
Cotton, Nathaniel

19-28

&0. Off POZX.

Cowley, Abraham 540-554

Cowper 1077-1088

Crabbe, George . .. . 1173-1179

Ciashaw, Richard 297-301

Crawford, William . 1028-1030
Oroly, George . .. 1538-1551

Growne, John 695-699

Cunningham, Allan... 1617—1627
Cunningham, John .1022,1023
Cunningham, Thomas.*.... 1648

Daniel, Samuel 135-140

Darwin, Erasmus 1092-1098
Davenant, Sir William, 872-374

Davies, SurOohn 221-226

Davison, Francis 498^500

Dekker, T 482-488

Denham, Sir John .. 576-^578
Dibdin, Charles ... 1186-U40

Dickens, Charles 1818

Dobell, Sydney 1671

Doddndge .. .. 1058-1068
Dodsley, Robert ... . 1000,1001

Dommett, Alfred 1792

Donne, John 227-286

Dorset, Earl of. ., . '. 680
Dorset, Thomas Sackralle,

Earl of 96-98

)ouglas, Gawain ... . 56, 57
Dowland, John .. .. 497

5rayton, Michael 141-147

Drummond, William... 361-366
Dryden, John . . . 658-665
Dunbar. William .. . 51-55
Dyer, John 880

. . ^
. 1405-1413
377,378,740
. looo, Ioo7
. 1049
1503-1512
1569-1574
887-892
164

251-253

. 646^-649

1024

Edwards. Richard 91,92

Elliot, Sur Gilbert 1051

Elliot Miss Jane 1048

Elliott, Ebenezer . . 1652-1557
ErsMne, Ralph ... . 711
Etherege, Sir George. . 701-708

F.

Fairfax, Edward . .. 148-149
Falconi, William ....945-949

xii

NAMES OF THE POETS

NO OF POEM.

NO. OF POEM

NO OV POBX.

Fanshawe, Sir Richard 868-371
Fawkes, Francis . 1014
Fenton, Elijah . 834
Fergusson, Robert 1052-1055
Field, Natianiel 488
Frtegefirey, Charles 492, 493

Howitt, William 1661
Hume, Alexander 391-3$
Hume, Mary C 1817
Hunnis. William. 9«
Hunt, Leteh 1397-1404
Hunter, Mrs. .. 1112-1115

Maodonald. George 1831
Mackay. Onarles 1737-1742
Macneill, Hector 1595-1597
Maopherson, James .. . 939
Maitland, Sir Richanl 388
Mallet, David . 897-900

Flatman, Thomas . 672-675

Mailow, Christopher 113

Fletcher, Giles . 810-813

Maiston, John . 466

Fletcher, Pkmeas 31^-815

I.

Marvell, Andrew . 633-636

Ford, John 456-459

Mason 918-915

Frere> H. . . . 1294-1296
Fulke Grevfle, Lord
Brooke .. . .154-157

Ingeland, Thomas ... 397
Ingetow, Jean .. . . 1832

Massey, Gerald 1745-1756
Massinger, Philip 463-465
May, Thomas ... . 367

Ingram, J. K. . . 1793

Mayne, John . 1605-1608

Meredith, George , 1744

G.

J.

Memok. James 1016, 1017

MicHe . . .. 928,929

Middleton. Thomas 450-455

GaLLBichard . . 1608,1604
Garth, Samuel . . 786

Jago, Richard . 985
James I. of Scotland . 41-43

Mdman, H H. 1664-1670
Milton, John 608-632

Gascoigne, George . 101-106

James VL, King . . 894

Moir, DM. 1534-1587

Gawain Douglas . . 56,57
Gay. John .... 792-805
Gemmet,T. M. 1813
Gifford, William .. . 1141-1143

Johnson, Samuel .. 884-88(
Jones, Ernest .... 1794
Jones, SirW. . 1011-1018
Jonson, Ben 237-247

Montgomery, Alexander, 389,

Montgomery, James, 1884-1894
Montgomery,Robert, 1481-1483

Gunttan, Bobert 1646, 1647

Moore, Edward 1084

Gloucester, Robert f 13

Moore, Sir John H. 983, 984

Glover, Richard . 997-999

K

Moore, Thomas . 1278-1293

Godolphin, Sidney . 481

More, Henry 572-575

Goffe,^homaB . .. 467, 468
Goldsmith .. . . 916-920
Gould, Robert ^ 684, 685
Sower, John 29-81

f~ •, * T T T Ktt IT Ct I

Keats, John 1824. 1825
Keble, John . . 179W798
Ken, Bishop . . . 819-821
KingAJfrecL ' . 5-8

Moms, William. 1839, 1840
Moss, Thomas . 1027
Motherwell .. . 1631-1641
Moultne, John 1801

Qrahame, James 115&-1164

rtMWMm TW 1 ft! fi

King, Bishop .... 254-256

idrranger. JJT. - iuio
Grant, Mrs.. . 1119,1120

jZ QIYT O.1O

Kingsley, Charles .. 1799, 1800
Knowlea, Herbert 1383

N.

Gray . ... au/-yi-a
Green, Matthew . . 815,816

Knox, William 1474-1477

Greene, Robert . 419-427

Nabbes, Thomas • . 876

Greet. J 1815

L.

Nash, Thomas .. 439-444

Grevifie, Mis. . 987

Niocols,RaohardJ , ... 496

Nicholson, William .. . 1650

H.

Laidlaw. William . 1649
Lamb, Charles 1228-1234
Landon, L. E. 1460-1469

Nicoll, Robert 1642-1645
Norton, Hon Mrs . 1710-1716
Nugent, Earl 1044

Landor,W S. 1272-1277

Haben?ham, Mrs. Fleet-

Langford, J. A. . 1816

wood . . 671

Langhorne, Dr 930-935

O.

Habington, William . 316-828

Lansdowne, George Gran-

Hall, Bishop . . . 248-250

vilLe, Lord ,. 837

Hall, John . 875
. Hamilton, William 881-883
Harrington, John . 99, 100
Harrington, Sir John 150-153

Lee, Nathaniel . 692-694
Lewis, M G. 1313
Leyden, John 1129^1135
LLUO, G-eorge 831

Oldmixon, John . ... 838
Oldys, William 1021
Opie, Mrs. . 1136-1118
Otway, Thomas . 687-691

Hart ... . 1075,1076
Haoghton 438,434

Lloyd, Robert 950,951
LocMart, J. G. 1522-1624

Ouseley, Thomas J. 1811, 1812
Overbury, Sir Thomas .. 495

Hayley, William 1089^-1091
Headley, Henry 1041

Lodge,Thomas . .. . 428-431
Logan, John . . . 962-964

Oxford, Edward, Earl of .. 494

Heber, Bishop . 1377-1382

Loker, T. . 1810

Hemans, Mrs. . 1486-1452

Longlande, Robert . 17,18

P.

Henrysone, Robert .. . 48-50

Lovelace, Richaid 852-357

Herbert, George 302-809

Lydgate, John . 36-40

Herrick, Robert . ,,. 840-351
Hervey, T. K. . . 1525-1529
Heywood, John 400, 401
Heywood, Thomas . 469-476
Hin, Aaron 1031
Hifilop, James _. 1652

LylyJohn . . .. 404HW8
Lyndsay, Sir David . 58-62
Lytfcelton, Lord 904-906
Lytton, Lord 1828
Lytton, Robert . . . 1829, 1830

ParoelL Thomas. . . 808-814
Peele, George * 409-418
Penrose, Thomas .... 981,982
Percy, Dr Thomas 937, 988
Philips, Ambrose 788-791

Hoga James 1612-1616
Hood, Thomas 1484-1499
H.ook,N 706
Eougitton, Lord .. 1717-1719
Eowitt, Mary 1658-1660

M.
Macaulay 1565-1568

Philips, John 666
Philips, Katherine 384, 385
Pollok, Robert 1430-14U5
Pomfiret. John . . 677, 678
Pope, Alexander . 776^783
?ODO. Dr. Walter. . .. flflft

KAMES OP THE POETS.

WO OP POEK.

3TO. OF POBlt.

iro. OF pome

Praed,W M 1709
Pringle, Thomas 1478-1480

Sidney, Sir Philip , 107
Skelton, John 63

U.

Prior, Matthew . 747-762

Skinner, John 1050

Procter, B. W 1673-1696

Smart, Christopher 994—996

Smith, Alexander . 1743

Udall, Nicholas 398, 899

Smith, Charlotte 1099-1101

Uncertain 502-609

Q.

Smith, Hoi-ace . 1418-1420

Smith, James . . 1417

Smith, J. & H. 1414-1416

V.

Quarles, Francis, 292-296,737
Quarles, John . 676

Smollett, Tobias . . 921-923
Somerville, William 806,.807
Sotheby, Wilham 1235-1237

Vanbrugh, Sir John ... 88S

Southerne, Thomas 827

Vaughan, Henry . 556-564

Tt

Southey, Caroline 1530-1533

Vere, Aubrey de 1789-1791

xC«

Southey, Robert 121&-1227

Southwell, Robert 108-112

Raleigh, Sir Walter 114, 115
Ramsay, Allan 824-826
Randolph, Thomas 358-860
Bands, W. B. . 1826, 1827
Redford,John . . 403
Robert de Brunne 14,15
Robert of Gloucester . 13
Roberts, W. H ... 979, 980
Rochester, Earl of 654-657
Rogers, Samuel ... 1180-1188
RoUe, Richard , . 16
Roscommon, Earl of 650-653
Rosotti. Dante Gabriel
1841-1843
Ross, Alexander . 1045,1046
Rowe, Nicholas 828-830

Spencer, Peter 1807-1809
Spencer, Hon. W R 1395-1396
Spenser, Edmund 124-134
Stanley, Thomas . . 565-569
Stepney, George . 682
Sterlme, Earl of .. .489
Still, Bishop . . 402
Stirling, Earl of . . . 396
Storer, Thomas 490, 491
Suckling, Sir John . 329-832
Surrey, Howard, Earl of, 64-71
Swain, Charles . 1697-1702
Swift, Jonathan 771-775
Swinburne, Algernon
Charles .. 1883,1834
Sylvester, Joshua . .. 119, 120

W.

Waller, Edmund 585-602
Walsh, William 688
Ward, Edward . . .835
Warner, William .. 484
Warton, Joseph . 974
Warton, Thomas . ... 965-978
Wastell, Simon . . . 501
Watson, Thomas . 122-123
Watts, Dr . .. . 850-854
Webster, John , 446-449
Wesley, Charles .. 1064-1066
Wesley. John .. . 1067-1071
West, Gilbert . 1032
White, H. Kirke . 1165-1172

Russell, Thomas ...1042, 1043

Whitehead, Paul . . 1087

T.

Whitehead,W. .. . 986

Wilde, Dr. . . .257

«

Wilson, A . . 1593,1594

D*

TannafcOl, Robert . 1598-1602

Wilson, John 1421-1429

TIJ- n -o A51Q

Sandys, George . . 477- 480
Savage, Bichard . 840, 841
Soot. Alexander. . 386, 387

Tate, Nahum 822, 828
Taylor, Jeremy . . 555
Tennant, Wilham 1628-1630
Tennyson, Alfred 1708-1708

vv ilson, it. • *OA
Wrnohelsea, Anne, Coun-
tess of . . 817, 818
Wither, George . . 271-284

TIT i -.* TV— It AT 11 SK

Scott, John 1018-1020
Scott! Sir W . . 1314-1836
Sedley, Sir Charles „ 667-670
Soward, Anna 1111
Sewell, Dr George . . 832

Tennyson, Frederick, 2804-1806
Thackeray, W M. 1762, 1763
Thompson, Edward 1038-1040
Thomson, James . . 864-879
Thrale, Mrs. . 1026

Wolcot, I>r . . 1147-J.ioo
Wolfe, Charles . 1562.1564
Wordsworth, WiUiamJ1189-12l2
Wotton, Sir Henry .. 158-163
Wyatr SirThomas 72-79
Wyntoun, Andrew 44, 45

Shadwell, Thomas . . 700

TickelL Thomas . . 784,785

Shakspere, William .. 165-211

Tighe,Mary 1121,1122

Shaw, Cuthbert . . 1086
Shelley, Percy B. 1859-1376
Shonstone . . 893-896
Shirley, James,879, 380,460-462

Toplady, A 1072-1074
Tram, Joseph 1651
Trench, Richard C. 1802, 1803
Tusser, Thomas 81-90

T.
Young, Edward . .. 855-863

NAMES OF TIE POETS AND TITLES OF THE POEMS,

JTO OF POEM.

ADAMSON, JOHN.

The CavaHer^FaraweU to his Mistress 743

ADDISON, JOSEPH

A Song for St Cecilia's Day . 763

An Ode for St Cecilia's Day . 764

A Letter from Italy 765

1 An Ode . 766

A Hymn . . 767

An Ode 768

A Hymn . 769

Paraphrase on Psalm xxin. . 770

AEENSIDE, MAKE

Tendencies of the Soul towards the

Infinite . 901

Taste 902

An Epistle to Curio 903

ALPOED, BEAN.

A Remembrance . . 1726

The Past 1727

One Summer's Night 1728

Morning and Evening 1729

The Cross 1730

Gentlest Girl .. 1731

England .. 1732

There is an Ancient Man 1733

The Father and Child . 1784

Autumn - J.735

My own dear Country . 1736

ALP EtJD, KING

Tho Soul m Despair . 5

Nothing- on Earth Permanent 6

The Only Rest 7

The Happy Man 8

ALISON, IttCHAKD.

There is a Garden in her Face 486

ALLTNGHAM, WILLIAM.

The Emigrant's Adieu to Ballyshannon 1838

ANCRUM, EARL OF.

Solitary Life . 395

ANONYMOUS

The Sailing of Beowulf 9

An Old Man's Soirow 10

• Good Night . . 11

Summer is i-cumen in ... 12

The Nut-brown Maid 94

3TO. OF POXV.

King- Arthur's Death .. . 95

Robin GoodfeUow . . . 510

The Old and Young Courtier ... . 511
Tune's Alteiation . . 512

Loyalty confined 513

Adam Bell . . . 514

The Birth of Robin Hood . 615

A Tale of Robin Hood 516

Robin Hood and Allan-a-Dale 517

Robin Hood rescuing the Widow's

three Sons .... 518

Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne .. 519
Robin Hood and the Curtal Fnar 520

How Robin Hood lends a Pooi Knight

Four Hundred Pounds 521

The Knight releases his Lands and suc-
cours a Yeoman 522
Little John in the Service of the Sheriff

of Nottingham . 523

Robin Hood reimburses himeolf of his

Loan . . .524

Robin Hood's Death and Buiial. 525

Patient Gnssell 526

The Twa Sisters o* Bmnone . 627

The Hunting of the Cheviot 528

Banff John and the Abbot of Canter-
bury . . 529
Edom o» Gordon . 530
Thomas the Rhymer . 531
The Water o' Weane1 s Well . . 532
Lord Beichan 533
Love will find out the way . 584
The Childe of Elle 535
King Edward IV. and the Tanner ot

Tamworth 536

The Heir of Lmne 537

The Spanish Lady's Love . 638

The Lass ot Lochiovan 539

The Young Man's Wish . 709

The Midnight Messenger . 710

Smoking spiritualized . 711

TheCatkotok . . 712

The Thiee Knights 713

The Blind Beggar of Bednall Green 714
Lord Delaware . . • - 715

The Golden Glove .. . .. 7JJ

KincJames I. and the Tinkler .. 717

The^eaoh i' the Creel 718

Sir John Barleycorn . 719

The Nobleman's Generous Kindness 720
The Biave Earl Brand and the King

of England's Daughter 721

The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove... . 722
b

NAMES OP THE POETS AND

iro. op POSH
723
724
725

Lady Alice

The Useful Plow

The Farmers Boy

The Mow

The Hitohin May-day Song1

The Haymaker/ Song

The Garden Gate

The New-mown Hay

Begone Dull Care

When the King comes Home m pr<i3d

I love my King and Country well .
The New Litany
The Old Protestant's Litany
The Oameroman Cat
I thank yon twice

Prattle your Pleasure under the Eose
The Cobbler and the Vicar of Bray
A. Country Song intituled the Restora-
tion

The Loyal Soldier
Time's Song

ANSTEY, CHRISTOPHER.
A Pubho Breakfast

727

730
781

WL'
733
735
736
738
739
742
744

745

746

1814

1025

Washing-day .

The Death of the Virtuous

Come unto Me

Praise to God

ARMSTRONG, JOHN

Choice of a Rural Situation and De-
scription of the Ague . 924

Keoommendation of a High Situation
on the Sea-coast . 925

Angling . . ... . 926

Pestilence of the 15th Century . . 927

ARNOLD, EDWIN.
Almond Blossom
Woman's Voice .

ARNOLD, MATTHEW.
Urania
Philomela
Euphrosyne

1757
1758

1759
1760
1761

AYRES, PHILIP

To the Nightingale 707

BARBOUR, JOHN

Apostrophe to Freedom .
Character of Sir James of Douglas
Death of Sir Henry de Bohun
The Battle of J Jj I u el's 5ath ..

BABNABD, LADY ANNE.
Auld Robin Gray

BARNFTELD, RICHARD.

Address to the Nightingale

BARTON, BERNARD.
Power and Gentleness
To the Evening Prunroue
Thoro be thoae , .

Not ours the Vows
Stanzas on the Sea
The Solitary Tomb
Bishop Hubert

SAXTER, RICHARD.

The Valediction

1107
1108
1109
1110

34

121

,1468

, ^4

1455

1456

1458
1459

670

BAYLY, T. H.

To has Wife . ..1500

Think not of the Future .. 1501

0 where do Fames hide their Hoods

BJSATTTB

Opening of the Minstrel

Morning Landscape

Life and Immortality ,. ..

Retirement

The Hermit . .

Ode to Peace

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
Plighting Troth
Nature and Lovo

988
989
990
99]
992
993

212
213

AYTON, SIR ROBERT.
The Church. Builder ... .

AYTOUN, W. "0.
Massacre of the Maophersons
The Burial March of Dundee

B.

889

1662
1663

v*ntK»i a .LBUUOIIUJIULU.U uvar JTU

Head
Melancholy .
Song
The Power of Love
To Sleep .
From Rollo
Song to Pan

BEOKFORD, W.
Prayer

uupey 0

. . 214
215
216
217
. 218
210
. 220

1530

BAILEY, P J.

1672

BEHN, APHBA.

704. 7AK

BATLLTE, JOANNA.
Address to Miss Agnes BaiHie . .

1470

BELCHIER^ DABRIDGECOURT.
The Confession

445

The Black Cook
The New Year's Gift
The Kitten .... ...

1471
1472
1473

BENNETT, W. C.
Invocation to Rain {n Summer

BAMPF7LDE. JOHN.

ToaOnoket
Baby May

. .. 1765
. . . 1766

Sonnets 1007, 1008, 1009,
JBABBAT7LD, ANNA L.

1010

Baby's Shoes
The Worn Wedding-nag
Wedding Words

1767

. . 1768
... 1769

Ode to Spring
To a Lady, with some painted Flowers
Hymn to Content

1104
1105
1106

Mother and Son .
To a Lady I know, aged One ..
Cradle Son* ..v.YT,

1770

,.. "71
1/72

TITLES OF THE POEMS.

vo. or POEM

To W. G B. ,., .. 1773

TAe Queen , 1774

Sketches from a Painters Studio 1775

From India 1776

The Boat-race 1777

The "Wife's Appeal. . . 1778

BISHOP, SAMUEL.
To Mrs Bishop
Epigrams

1002, 1003
1004, 1005, 1006

BLAOKLOOK, THOMAS

Flowers . 975

Terrors of a Guilty Conscience 976

Ode to Aurora 977

The Author's Picture . 978

BLAOKMORE.

Creation .... 787

BLACKSTONE, SIR WILLIAM.

A Lawyer's Farewell to his Muse 936

BLAIR, ROBERT.

The Giave 842

Friondbhip .. 843

Tho Miser . 844

Unprepared for Death 845

Death 846

The Grave 847

The Death of a Good Man . 848

The Resurrection . .. 849

BLAMIRE, StTSANNA.

The Nabob 1102

What ails this Heart o' mine .. . 1103

BLIND HARRY

Adventure of Wallace while Fishing

in Irvine Wator , . 46

The Death of Wallace 47

BLOOMFIELD, ROBERT.

The Farmer's Life . . 1123

Banquet of an English Squire 1124

The Soldier's Home . 1125

To his Wife . 1126
Song for a Highland Drover returning

from England . 1127

Lines addressed to my Children 1128

BOETHIUS.

The Soul in Despair
Nothing on Earth, permanent
Tho only Rest
The Happy Man

BONAR, HORATIUS

A Little While
All Well

BOOTH, BARTON.

Song

BOSWBLL, SIR A.

Jenny dang the Weaver

Jenny's Bawbee

Good Night and Joy be wi' ye a'

BOUKD, ANDREW.

Characteristic of an Englishman

1779
1780

1609
1610
1611

80

BOWLES, W. L.

To Time

Hope . .

The Greenwich Pensioners .
The Greenwood
Come to these Scenes of Peace
On the Funeral of Charles I. ...

At Oxford, 1786

Written at Tynemouth

At Bam borough. Castle

To the River Wensbeck . .

To the River Tweed

Sonnet

On leaving a Village in Scotland

Sonnet ..

On a Distant View of England

To the River Cherwell

Sonnet

April, 1793

TO. 0V POBK.

1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
. 1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251

1253
1254
1255

May,"l793 "*.. ....' ." 1257

On Revisiting Oxford . . 1258

On the Death of the Rev. William
Benwell .... .. 1259

On Reviewing the foregoing , 1260
Path of Life 1261

Netiey Abbey ...
May, 1793

Sunrise
Summer's Evening

Primrose
Bird's Nest .
Winter - Redbreast
Butterfly and Bee
Glowworm
Starlight Frost .

BRETON, NICHOLAS.
Farewell to Town
A Pastoral of Philhs and Condon
A Sweet Pastoral .

BRISTOL, LORD.

1262
1263

1264
1265
, 1266
1267
1268

1270
1271

116
117
118

571

. . 381

BROME, ALEXANDER.
The Resolve . ...
The Mad Lover
To a Coy Lady

BROOKE, FULKE GKBTVTLE, LORD.

Constitutional Limitation of Despotism 154

Imagination • 155

Of Church 156

Reality of a True Religion 157

BROWN, FRANCES.
If that were true' .
Is it come ?

Oh i the pleasant Days of Old '
Losses

BROWN, THOMAS.

Song

BROWNE, WILLIAM.

Morning

Evening •»•

A Night Scene

Night

. 1781
. 1782
. 1788
. 1784

679

287

to his Native Soil

/is

291

1TAMES OF THE POETS AND

BROWNING, MBS.
Cowper*s Grave .
The Child and the Watcher
Bertha in the Lane
The Sleep

JTO. 07 POBX.

1558

1559

1560

. 1561

BROWNING, ROBERT.
One Way of Love
In a Year

Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister
The Lost Leader . .

BRUCE MICHAEL.
A Rural Scene
Happiness of a Country Life
Elegy ...

BRUNNE, ROBERT DE

The Interview of Vorugern withRowen
Praise of Good Women

BRYDGES, SIR EGBRTON.
Echo and Silence
To Autumn .

1785
1786
1787
1788

960

961

15

1520
1521

BUCHANAN, R.

Iris, the Rainbow ..... 1835

BUCKINGHAMSHIRE, DUKE OF.

Homer and Tirgil . ... 681

BURNS, ROBERT.

To a Mountain Palsy , 1575

Ae Pond Kiss . . 1576

My Bonnie Mary . 1577

MaryMonson ....... 1578

Bruoe's Address . 1579

My Heart's in the Highlands . 1580

Auld Lwig Syne . .. . 1581

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes 1582

Of af the Airts the Wind can blaw 1588

A Red, Red Rose 1584

Bonnie Leslie . 1585

Highland Mary . . 1586

ToMary in Heaven . 1587

My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing . 1588

John Anderson . . 1589

Here's a Health to them that's awa 1590

TamO'Shanter . . 1591

The Cotter's Saturday Night 1592

BURTON, ROBERT.

Abstract of Melancholy ..... 487

BUTLER^ SAMUEL

Accomplishments of Hndibras 637

Rebgion of Hudibras . 638

Personal Appearance of Hudibras 639
Hudibras commencing Battle with the

Rabble .. . 640

Vicarious Justice 641

Hudibras consulting: the Lawyer . 642

The Elephant in the Moon 643

Miscellaneous Thoughts . 644

To his Mistress . . 645

The Tub Preacher . 734

The Roundhead ..... 741

BYROM, JOHN.

Careless Content ...... . 1056

A Pastoral ................ 1057

WO, 07 POBU.

BYRON, LORD.

To Thomas Moore , 1337

Maid of Athens . 1838

The Girl of Cadi* 1839

Stanzas for Music . . , 1340

The Dream 1341

When we two parted . 1342

The Destruction of Sennacherib 1348

Song of the Greek Poet . . 1344

The Prisoner of Chillon 1345

The Gladiator 1340

Apostrophe to the Ocean 1347

Description of Haidee . 1348
Eaidee visits the shipwrecked Don

Juan 1349

Haidee and Juan at the Feast 1350

The Death of Haidee . . 1351

All for Love .. .. 1352

She walks in Beauty 1353

Elegy on Thyrza 1354

TwthandAge . . 1355

Vision of Belshazzar , 1856

To Belshazzar . 1357
TheNightbeforetheBattleof Waterloo 1358

OffilDMON

The First Day . .

The Fall of the Rebel Angels
Satan's Speech
The Temptation of Ere

CAMPBELL, THOMAS

Hope Triumphant in Death ,

Domestic Love

Maternal Care

Battle of Wyoming and Death

Gertrude
To the Evening Star

of

1297
1298
1299

1300
1801

LooEieTs Warning

Hohenhnden

Ye Manners of England

Battle of the Baltic ,

Lord Ulhn's Daughter

The Soldier's Dream

Hallowed Ground

The Parrot

Napoleon and the Sailor

Adelgitha

, 1308
1304
1305
1300
1807
3108
1809
1830

1812

CANNING, GEORGE.

The Fnend of Humanity and the

Knife-grinder . . 1144

Song by Eogero in " Tho Hovers " 1146
Lines on the Death of his Eldest Son . 1140

CABBW, THOMAS.

Songs , 258,269,260,202,268

The Compliment , 281

Disdain returned . 264
On Mr W. Montague's Return from

Travel . . 266

Persuasions to Love . , 20tf

Approach of Spring . 267

Epitaph on the Duke of Buckingham . 268

To Saxham 269
The Primrose

CAREY, HENRY.
Sally in our Alley

270

1086

TITLES OF THE POEMS.

B-O. OP POEM.
CAKRINGTON, N T.

The Commencement of " Dartmoor" 1518

Dartmoor 1514

The Pixies of Devon 1515

England's Landscape . 1516

Bird, Bee, and Butterfly 1517

Love and Nature . 1518

CARTWRIGHT, WILLIAM.

A Valediction . 337

ToOhloe . .. 338

Love's Darts . 339

On the Death oi Sir Bevil Grenville 4S2

Love's Darts 483

OHALKHILL, JOHN.

Description of the Priestess of Diana 333
The Image oi Jealousy m the Chapel

of Diana 334

The Witches' Cave 335

The Votaress of Diana 336

CHAMBERLAYNE, WILLIAM

A Summer Morning- . 579

Virgin Purity 580

Argaha condemned on False Evidence 581
The Father of Pharonmda discovers

her Attachment to Argana 582

Argalia taken Prisoner by the Turks 583

The Death of Janusa and Ammurat 584

CHAPMAN, GEORGE.
Sonnet

CHATTERTON, THOMAS
Morning

in Ella

485

940
941
942
943
944

CHAUCER* GEOFFREY.

Tho Canterbury Tales— The Prologue 19

The Squiere's Tale . 20

The Cuckow and the Nightingale . 21

To his Empty Purse . . 22

The House of Fame 23

Mercy 24

Introduction to the " Flower and the

Leaf" . 25

The Duplicity of Women . 26

Praise of Women . 27

The Last Verses of Chaucer 28

CHETTLE

Sweet Content . . 433

Lullaby . 434

CHURCHILL.

Remorse ... . . 952

Smollett 953

Hogarth . 954

On the Poverty of Poets 955

Character of a Fribble 956
Characters of QUID, Tom Sheudan,

and Gamck 957

From the Prophecy of Famine . 958

GIBBER, COLLEY.
The Blind Boy

CLARE, JOHN.

To the Glowworm .

. . 1033
1405

From « the Fate of Amy"

What is Life

Summer Morning .

The Primrose .

The Thrush's Nest ...

First Love's Recollections

Dawznngs of Genius

NO OF POBIT.

1406*

. . 1407
1408
. 1409
... 1410
. 1411
1412

. ...

Scenes and Musings of the Peasant

Poet .... . 1413

CLEVELAND, JOHN.

His Hatred of the Scots . . 377

On Philhs walking before Sunrise . 378

The Puritan . .. 740

CLOUGH, A. H.

Incitement to Perseverance 1836

To a Sleeping Child . . 1837

COCKBURN, MRS.

The Flowers of the Forest . . 1049

COLERIDGE, HARTLEY.

Sonnet . 1569

On Shakespere . 1570

Sonnets to a Friend . . 1571

To certain Golden Fishes 1572

Song . . . 1573

November. . . .. 1574

COLERIDGE, SAMUEL T.

The Rune of the Ancient Mariner 1503
Hymns before Sunrise in the Vale of

Chamouni . 1504

Love . . . 1505

The Nightengale ......... 1506

Frost at Midnight 1507

Son* . . 1&08

KnblaKhan . 1509

Severed Friendship . . 1510

Epitaph on an Infant - 1511

Answers to a Child's Question . 1512

COLLINS, WILLIAM.

Ode to Pity . ... S87

Ode . ... 888

Ode to Evening ..... . 880

To the Passions ....... 892

Dirge in Cyxnbelme t91

Ode on the Death of Thomson . 899

CONSTABLE, HENRY.

Sonnet .. . 164

COOK, ELIZA. ^
The Old Arm-chair ...... 1720

The Land of my Birth . 1721

The Old Farm-gate . . 1722

The Loved One was not theie . 1723

The Old Water-mill. . . 1724

A Home in the Heart 1725

CORBET, BISHOP.

To his Son, Vincent Corbet... , 251

Journey into France. 2^2
Farewell to the Fairies ..... 253

COTTON, CHARLES.

The New Year. . - 6f6

Invitation to Isaak Walton - 647

The Retirement . " ?TX

A Voyage to Ireland in burlesque 649

NAMES OF THE POETS AND

jro. 02 POBM.

COTTON, NATHANIEL.

TheFireside .........

COWLEY, ABRAHAM

OfMyself ... .

The Chronicle . ... - -

Anacreontics.. . .

Against Hope . .

JForHope ... .*

Claudian's Old Man of Yerona.

The Wish ...

IVom the Hymn to Light .

From the Pindaric Odes

The Complaint. .

From Friendship in Absence

The Waiting Maid ,

Honour ...

Of Solitude

Epitaph on a Living Author . .

COWPER

The Character of Chatham
The Greenland Missionaries . .
Bural Sounds . .

Conversation. . .

On the Receipt of his Mother's Picture
To Mary (Mrs. Unwin) .
English Liberty .

The Winter Evening
Winter Evening- m the Country
Opening of the Second Book of " The
*

542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
558
554

John Gflpin

Epistle to Joseph Hill

1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1088
1084
1085

1086
1087
1088

CRABBE, GEORGE.

The Parish Workhouse and Apothecary 1173

Isaac Ashf ord, a Noble Peasant 1174

Phoebe Bawson 1175

An English Fen— Gipsies . . 1170

The D^ng Sailor . 1177

Resections. 1178

The Wife's Funeral . 1179

CRASHAW, RICHARD

Sospetto d'Herode, Lib L 297

Hymn to the Name of Jesus . 298

Sadden Change. . 299

Music's Duel . . 800

Mark rh. 17.. . 801

CRAWFUKD, WILLIAM.

The Bush aboon Traquair . 1028

Tweedade . , . 1029

On Mrs. A. H. at a Concert . 1030

CROLY, GEORGE.

Pericles and Aspasia ... . 1538

The French Army in Russia . . .. 1539

To the Memory of a Lady . . 1540

Come, Evening Gale » 1641

The Painter... . . .. 1542

Rebellion ...... . 1543

A Lowering- Eve ..... 1544

ACalmEve ....... 1545

Satan ........... 1540

The Poet's Hour ....... 1647

Noon ......... „ 1548

Notre Dame ..... . 1549

Jacob ............... 1550

The Angel of the World ....... 1551

OROWNE, JOHN

Wishes for Obscurity

Passions .
Love in Women
Inconstancy of the Multitude
Warriors.

HO. 09 POB3C.

695
696
697
698
. 699

1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623

CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN.

Hame, Hame, Hame .

My Name, 0. . . .

The Young Maxwell

Fragment

She s gane to dwell m Heaven

The Poet's Bridal-day Song

A Wet Sheet and a lowing Sea

The Tovra Child and Country Child

Thou hast vow*d by thy Faith, my

Jeame. .. 1625

Gentle Hugh Hemes. . 1626

The Sun rises bright in France 1627

CUNNINGHAM, JOHN.

May Eve. . . . . 1022

Content .1023

CUNNINGHAM, THOMAS.
The Hills o' Gallowa' .. .

1684

DANIEL, SAMUEL.

Early Love . 335
The Introduction of Foreign Vices de-
pi ecated . 136
Richard II 137
An Epistle to the Countess of Cumber-
land 138
The Nobility exhorted to the Patronage

of Learning . . , . 139

Sonnets . 140

DARWIN, ERASMUS.

Destruction of Sennacherib's Army 1092
The Belgian Lovers and the Plague 1093
Death o± Eliza at the Battle of Mindon 1094
Philanthropy— Mr Howard 1095

Persuasion to Mothers to suckle their

own Children 3006

Song to May . 3097

Song to Echo 1098

DAVENANT, SIB W.

Gondibert . 372

373
. , . .374

To the Queen . , .

DAVIES, SIR JOHN,

The Vanity of Human Learning ,
That the Soul is more than a perfection

or reflection of the sense
That the Soul is more than the tem-
perature of the humours of the body
In what manner the Soul is united to
Body. . . .
The Immortality of the Soul . ,
An Appeal to the Heart

DAVISON, FRANCIS
Psalm zxx.
Psalm xzm.
Psalm xiu. . . ..

221

223
224

498
499
500

TITLES OF THE POEMS.

iro. ov POXX
DEKKER, T. & WILSON JR.

The Summer's Queen . . . .432

DEKKER, CHETTLE, & HAUGHTON

Sweet Content " 483

Lullaby 434

DEKKER, T.

Virtue and Vice . . 435

Patience . . 436

A Contrast between Female Honour

and Shame . . 437

. A Description of a Lady by her Lover 43S

DENHAM, SIR JOHN.

Cooper's Hill . . 576

On the Earl of Stratford's Trial and

Death . 577

Song to Morpheus 578

DIBDIN, CHARLES.

The Tar for all Weathers

Sir Sidney Smith.

Love and Glory .

Nongl

Tom]

1136
1137
1138
1139
1140

DICKENS, CHARLES.
The Ivy Green . .

DOBELL. SYDNEY.
How's my Boy? . .

DODDRIDGE.

The Gospel

Evening Hymn
To-morrow, Lord, is Thine
On Recovery from Sickness
Preparing- to meet God
A Christmas Hymn

DODSLEY, ROBERT
The Parting Kiss

1818

1671

1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063

DOMMETT, ALFRED.
A Christmas Hymn

DONNE, JOHN.

Address to Bishop Valentine
A Hymn to the Father .
A Hymn to Christ
The Will
Valediction

The 'Break of Day
The Dream
Sonnets
Ode ..

DORSET, EARL OF.
Song

1000
, 1001

1792

227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236

. 680

DORSET, THOMAS SACKVILLE, EARL OF.
The Induction to the Complaint of

Henry, Duke of Buckingham
AllegoncalPersonagesdesonbedmHeU
Henry, Duke of Buckingham, in the

Infernal Regions . . .

DOUGLAS, GAWAIN

The Shipwreck of the Caravel of Grace 56
Morning in May . « . • • 57

DOWLAND, JOHN.

SO. OP POM.

497

DRAYTON, MICHAEL.

Mortimer, Earl of March, and the Queen
surprised by Ed ward III in Notting-
ham Castle . . ...

Description of Morning, Birds, and
Hunting the Deer

The Ballad of Aginoourt . . .

David and Gohah

To his Coy Love

Ballad of Dowsabel

Sonnet

141

142
143
144
145
146
147

DRUMMOND, WILLIAM.

To a Nightingale

To his Lute . .

Spring . ...

Think on thy Home . .

John the Baptist

The Praise of a Solitary Life

DRYDEN, JOHN.

Reason . . - ....
Palamon and Arcite ; or, the Knighffs
Tale

Mac-Flecknoe ...

Alexander's Feast . . ..
Character of Shaftesbury . .
Character of YiUiers, Duke of Buck-

361
362
363
364
3t>5
366

658

.... 661

Theodore and Honona
Enjoyment of the Present Hour re-
commended

DUNBAR, WILLIAM.

The Merle and Nightingale . . .
The Vanity of Earthly Things . ..

No Treasure without Gladness

Of Discretion in Giving ...

Of Discretion in Taking

664
665

51
52
53
54
55

DYER, JOHN.
Grongar Hill ,

E.

EDWARDS, RICHARD.

AmantLum re® Amoris Redmtegratio
est • •

The Lover requesteth some Friendly
Comfort, affirming his Constancy. . 92

ELLIOTT, EBENEZER.
To the Bramble Flower
The Excursion
Pictures of Native Genius .
Apostrophe to Futurity . .
A Poet's Epitaph..

1552

. 1553
,. . i554

1555

. . 1556

^JL JTUOU O *J^*u»^-*.. • 1KR1

A Poet's Prayer 1557

ELLIOT, SIR GILBERT.

Amynta * * •••

ELLIOT, JANE.

The Flowers of the Forest .

,1048

xrii NAMES OP THE POETS AND

1

no O?POHU

JO Off POEM.

ETHEREGE, SIR GEORGE.

G.

Songs . 701, 702, 708

GALL, RICHARD.

F.

My only Jo and Dearie 0
Farewell to Ayrshire

1603
1604

GARTH, SAMUEL.

IS* A TDTJI A "V LM \TX7" A "DT^

786

FAIRFAX, JliUVvAitU.
Description of Armida and her En-
chanted Girdle . . . 148
Rinaldo at Mount Olivet, and the En-
chanted Wood . . . 149

GASCOIGNE, GEORGE
The Arraignment of a Lover
Swiftness of Tune

101
102

The Vanity of the Beautiful

JOS

FALCONER, WILLIAM.
Character of the Ship's Officers 945

Good Morrow
Good Night

104
105

The Ship departing from the Haven 946

De Profundis

106

Distress of the Vessel . 947

Council of the Officers 94S
The Vessel going to Pieces 949

GAY, JOHN
The Monkey who had seen the World
The Painter who pleased Nobody and

792

FANSHAWE, SIR RICHARD.
The Spring . S68

Everybody .
The Lion and the Cub

793
794

A Rose . 369

The Old Hen and the Cook

795

The Saint's Encouragement 370
A Bach Fool . , 871

The Goat without a Beard
The Sick Man and the Angel

796
797

The Fox at the Point of Death

798

FAWKES, FRANCIS.

The Council of Horses

799

The Brown Jug . .. . 1014

The Poet and the Rose

800

The Hare and many Friends

801

FENTON ELIJAH

Sweet William's Farewell

802

An Ode to the Right Hon. John Lord

A Ballad .

80S

Gower 834

The Country Ballad-singer

804

Walking the Streets of London

805

FERGUSSON, ROBERT

Braid Clflith . . . 1052

GEMMET, T M.

The Farmer's Ingle . 1053

Ye're a' the Warl' to me, Lassie ' . .

181?

To the Tron Kirk Bell 1054

A Sunday in Edinburgh . 1055

GTFFORD, WILLIAM.

The Grave ot Anna

1141

TTELD, NATHANIEL.

Greenwich Hill

1142

Song. ... .488

To a Tufb of Early Violets

1143

FITZGEFFREY, CHARLES.

GILFILLAN, ROBERT

Sir Francis Drake . . 492

In the Days o* Langsyne

1646

To Posterity 493

The Exile's Song .. . .

1647

FLATMAN, THOMAS.

GLOUCESTER, ROBERT OF

For Thoughts . . 672

The Muster for the First Crusade . . .

13

Dymjg . 673
The Thought of Death 674

GLOVER> RICHARD.

An Evening Hymn 675

A Night Scene

997

The Armies at Salomis

998

FLETCHER, GILES.

Admiral Hosier's Ghost

999

The Rainbow 810

The Sources of Vain Delights . . 811

GODOLPHIN, SIDNEY.

A Hymn 812

Love

•481

The Demand of Justice . . 813

WA

GOFFE, THOMAS.

FLETCHER^ PHINEAS

The Madness of Orestes ...

467

Happiness of the Shepherd's Life .. 814
Instability of Human Greatness . . 815

Love without Return ,

468

GOLDSMITH, OLIVER.

FORD, JOHN.

The Real and the Ideal ... 456

Edwin and Angelina
Retaliation

916
917

Bummer Sports . ... 457
Beauty be> ond the Reach of Art 458
Bridal Song . 459

The Traveller
The Deserted Village
The Haunch of Venison

918
919
920

FRERE, J. H
Mr. Murray's Proposal 1294
The Giants and the Abbey 1295
War Song on the Victory of Brunnen-

GOULD, ROBERT.
Songs . . 684,

GOWER, JOHN

685

burg 1296

The Tale of the Coffers or Caskets . ,

29

TITLES OF THE POEMS.

3UO11

GRAHAME, JAMES
Scotland
A Spring Sabba
A Summer Sabb
An Autumn Sab
A Winter Sabba
The Burial of th
A Scottish Coun
The Impressed
To My Son

GRANGER, DR
Ode to Solitude

GRANT, MRS.

As a Sprig of Heath
The Highland Poor

GRAY.

Ode on a

College

Hymn to Adversity
The Bard
Elegy -writ

yard

Ode on the Spring
On Vicissitude

GREEN, MATTHEW.
Contentment
The Seeker

GREENE, ROBERT
Beauty Suing for
Samela
Content .
Sephestia's Song
The Shepherd an
A Roundelay
Philomela.' b Ode
Jealousy .
Dorastus on Fawma

GREET, T.

Household Treasures

GREVTLLE, MRS.

The Seeds of Love

HABINGTON, WILLIAM
To Roses in th
To Castara.
A Dialogue be
To the Spring
ToSeymors
Description of
To Castara
To my Nobles
Nomine Labia
Paucitatem

mihi

Et exaltant Humiles
Cupio dissolvi

VO OF POSIT.

KO. 07 POBK.

n of Ladies 30

HALL, BISHOP

i and the Miser . 31

The Requirements of a Tutor 248
Portrait of a Poor Gallant . . .. 2i9

!
. . . 1156

Discontent of Men with their Condition 5250

h Walk 1157

HALL, JOHN.

ith Walk 1158

The Morning Star 875

fcthWalk 1159
h Walk 1160

HAMILTON, WILLIAM.

> Righteous . 1161

The Braes of Yarrow 881

ry Wedding . 1162

Songs 882, 883

ailor Boy 1163
.1164

HARRINGTON, JOHN.
Sonnet made on Isabella Markham . . 99

Verses on a most Stony-hearted

1015

Maiden 100

HARRINGTON, SIR JOHN.

Of Treason. 150

ith . J19

Of Fortune. 151

or 1120

Of Writers who Carp at other Men's

Books . . ... 152

at Prospect of Eton

Of a Precise Tailor 153

907

HART.

Lty 908
909
1 a Country Chuich-

Come, Holy Sphit, come 1075
Be Wise to run thy Race .. 1076

910

HAUGHTON.

g 911

Sweet Content 433

912

Lullaby 434

7.

HAYLEY, WILLIAM.

815

Tiibute to a Mother on her Death . 1089

.. 816

Inscription on the Tomb of Cowper 1090
On the Tomb of Mrs Unwin 1091

Love . . 419

HEADLEY, HENRY

420
421

From his *' Invocation to Melancholy " 1041

to her Child 422
d his Wife . . 423
42J.

HEBER, BISHOP.
Passage of the Red Sea.. . . 1377

. . tCAY

425
426

From. Bishop Heber's Journal 1378
An Evening Walk in Bengal. . 1379

aia . 427

Epiphany 1380
Thou art gone to the Grave . . 1381

Spring . 1S82

ares 1815

HEMANS, MRS.

The Homes of England 1436

^rence . ... 987

The Treasures of the Deep 1437

The Voice of Spring : 1438
The Graves of a Household 1439

H.

Marguerite of France 1440

Bring Flowers . . . 1441

Casablanca 1442

__.____,. y^—.

The Hour of Player 1443

3. FLEETWOOD.
,A fi71

Passing Away . . . 1444

ro . . vi x

The Better Land . .. 1445

LI AM

A Father readme the Bible .. . 1446

Josom of Castara 316
. 317, 318
een Hope and Fear 319

QQA

To a Family Bible .. . 1447
The Child's Fust Grief 1448
Willow Song . ... 1449
The Wandering Wind 1450

, • . . O*U

321

a4*a *«o ^152

The Landing of the Pilgrim Fatheis in
New England . . 1451

istara. o^a
323

The Adopted Child 1452

iViend I C Esq 324

JJ.IQUU, j.. \s , j-iov^ fine

ea aperies o2o

HENRYSONE, ROBERT.

rum meorum nuncia
326

Robene and Makyne 48
Dinner given by the Town Mouse to

oiles . . 327

the Country Mouse . . ... 49

. . 328

The Garment of Good Ladies 50

1

xxiv NAMES OP THE POETS ANI>

2TO. OP POBV.

NO OP POB1L

HERBERT, GEORGE.

The Song of the Shirt. .. ......

1496

302

The Death-bed

1497

Yiitue

303

1498

The Flower . .

304

Son? . ..

1499

The Odour

305

Complaining
Easter .

806
307

HOOK, N
From a Poem entitled Amanda

706

The Call

308

Han . . .

309

EOUGHTON, LORD

HERRICK, ROBERT.
The Kiss, a Dialogue . . .
To Blossoms

340
341

The Brookside
The Men of Old
The Long Ago..

1717
1718
1719

To Daffodils

n/vnr*

842
348

HOWITT, MARY.

DOuE ... .* . *

. To Meadows

" The Country lafe
To Primroses filled with Morning

T\earr

344
345

346

Mountain Children . . .
The Fames of the Caldonlow .
The Monkey
Little Streams

1653
1654
1655
1656

Jsew ...

Trrlitt

347

The Broom Flower ... .

1657

«JUU8> ...

Cherry Ripe
A Thanksgiving for his House..
To Find God..

VTtl

348
349
350

Summer Woods . .
Little Children.. .. ...
Cornfields

1658
1659
1660

To Comma to go a-Maymg . .. .

351

HOWITT, WILLIAM.

HERVEY. T. K
The Oonvict Ship . . . .
Dry up thy Tears, Love

1525
1526

The Departure of the Swallow

1661

*
HUME, ALEXANDER.

3 am 111 Alone . . . .

1527

Early Dawn

391

At his Sister's Grave ... ...

1528

The Noon-tide of a Summer's Day .

392

Parting

1529

Evening

893

HEYWOOD, JOHN.
Idleness

400

HUME, MARY 0.
Render to Caesar tne things which are

Be Merry, Friends... . . .

401

Caesar's

1817

HEYWOOD, THOMAS.
The Death-hell

469

HUMPHREYS, DAYID.
Western Emigration

1847

What is Lorn

470

Go, Pretty Birds . . .
Diana's Nymphs
The Lark ...

471
472
473

EUNNIS, WILLIAM
The Love that is requited with Dis-
dain.

93

Shepherd's Song . . .
Shipwreck by Drink.
Search after God.

474
475
476

HUNT, LEIGH.
On the Birth of the Princess Royal.. .

1397

HTTiTiy AARON.

Verses written when alone in an Inn
at Southampton

1031

To T L H , six years old
To the Grasshopper and Cncket . ..
Chorus of Flowers
The Nun

1398
1399
1400
1401

HI3LOP, JAMES.
The Cameraman's Dream

1652

Abou Ben Adhem
Jaffar.
Mahmoud , ...

1402
1403
1404

HOGG, JAMES.
"When the Kye comes Hame

1612

HUNTER, MRS.

The Skylark .
The Moon was a-waning
Ujlmeny.

To the Comet of 1811 " ! !

1613
1614
1615
1616

Songs 1112,
To my Daughter, on being separated
from her on her Marriage..
The Lot of Thousands.. .

1113

1114
1115

HOOD, THOMAS.

Town and Country ...
Song.

1484
1485

L

A Parental Ode to my Son. .

1486

Rowers ... • . ...
Autumn*.
To a Child embracing his Mother .
To my Daughter on her Birthday. .
I Remember, I Remember
Fair lues.....

1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492

DTGELAND, THOMAS.
My Fantasy will never turn

INGELOW, JEAN.
Requiesoat in Pace 1 .

397
1832

Ruth

1493

The Dream of Eugene Aram.

1494

INGRAM, J. K

The Bridge of Sighs

1495

The Memory of the Dead

1793

TITLES OF THE POEMS.

XXV

xroo OF POEM.

J.

JAGO, RICEABD.
Labour and Genius

JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND.

James bewails his Captivity ..
James fist sees the Lady Jane

JAMES VI , KING

Ane sohort Foeme of Tyme .

JOHNSON, SAMUEL.
London

The Vanity of Human Wishes .
On the Death of Dr. Robert Levett.

JONES, EBNEST.

Moonnse

41
42
43

394

884
885

1794

JONES, SIB W.

An Ode in Imitation of Alc&us . 1011

A Persian Song of Hafiz . . 1012

Tetrasfcc 1018

JONSON, BEN.

To the Holy Trinity . 287

Cupid.. . 288

Song of Hesperus . . 289

On Lucy. Countess of Bedford.. « 240

Song . 241

SongtoCeha. . , 242

A Nymph's Passion 248
Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke 244

A Celebration of Chans . 245

A Hymn to God the Father.. 246

Advice to a Bookless Youth . . t .247

KEATS, JOHN.

From "Endymion"

The Eve of St. Agnes

True Beauty in women

Ode to a Nightingale

Ode on a Grecian Urn

Sonnet

La Belle Dame sans Meioi .

KEBLE, JOHN.
April

The Elder Scripture
St Peter's Day
Is this a time to Plant and Build '

KEN, BISHOP.
Morning Hymn
Evening Hymn .
Midnight £[ymn .

KING ALFRED.

The Soul in Despair

Nothing on Earth permanent

The only Best

The Happy Man

KING, BISHOP.

Siovita..

Life

1819
1820
1821

1823
1824

1795
1796
1797
1798

819

254
255
256

KINGSLET, CHABLES.

0, Mary, go and call the Cattle home. 1799
The Fishermen 1800

KNOWLES, HEBBEBT

Lines written in the Churchyard of
Bichmond, Yorkshire 1883

KNOX, WILLIAM

Opening of the Songs of Zion . 1474

Diree of Bachel 1475

A virtuous Woman 1476

Conclusion of the '* Songs of Israel " 1477

LAIDLAW, WILLIAM.
Lucy'sFhttin'

LAMB, CHABLES.

To Eerier .......

A Farewell to Tobacco .....

The Old Familiar Faces .

On an Infent Dying as soon as Born

The Christening .

The Gipsy's Malison .....

Childhood

LANDON,L E.

From the Improvisatrice ...

Crescentras.

The Shepheid Boy .

Litfle Bed Biding Hood. .

Night at Sea

The Awakening of Endymion

Hannibal's Oath . -

The Grasp of the Dead .

The Troubadour . -

Last Verses of L. E. L ..

LANDOB, W. S.

The Maid's Lament

The Brier .

Children.. .

Iphigema and Agamemnon ..

ToMacaulay. .

The One Gray Hair. .. .

LANGFOBD,J.A

To the First Cuckoo of the Year..

LANGHOBE, DB.
ry J

1649

M0
lg»
1229
1280
1231
1232
1238
1284

1460

1461
1462
1468
1464
1465
1466
1467
. 1468
1469

1272
1273

1275
1276
1277

1816

930

,

Country Justices and their Duties
Gipsies .

An Appeal for the Industrious Poor 932

Mercy should have mitigated Justice.. 938

A Farewell to the Valley of Irwan.. 934

Owen of Carron. ... «85

LANSDOWNE, GEO GBANVILLE, IX)BJ>.

Song ..... 887

LEE, NATHANIEL.

Love
Self-murder

LEWIS, M G.
Alonzo the
Imogine....

694

Brave and the Fair

1313

xxvi NAMES OF THE POETS AND

HO. OP POXK

iro OP poaar

LEYDEN, JOHN.
Dying in a Foreign Land 1129

To the Memory of the First Lady
Lyttelton

906

Sonnet on Sabbath Morn . 1130

Ode to an Indian Gold Com 1131
The Mermaid 1332

LYTTON, LORD.
The Seciet Way .

1828

To Ian the... . 1183

Ode to the Evening Star . . 1184
Scotland 1135

LYTTON, ROBERT.
The Apple of Life.

1829

"Epilogue

l&O

ULLO, GEORGE.

From Fatal Cunobity.. . . 831

LLOYD, ROBERT.

The Miseries of a Poet's Life. . 950

M.

Wretchedness of a School Usher.. 951

LOCKHART, J. G

Bernardo and Alphonso 1522
Zara's Ear-rings . . 1523
The Excommunication of the Cid 1524

MACAULAY, LORD
The War of the League
Naseby

1565

1567

JiODGE, THOMAS.

MACDONALD, GEORGE.

Beauty. 428

The Owl and the Bell

1831

Rosalind's Madrigal . 429
Kosader'sSonetto .. 430

MACKAY, CHARLES

Another .431

The Parting of Lovers

1737

The Child and the Mourners

1738

LOGAN, JOHN.

Under the Holly Bough

1739

To the Cuckoo 962

What might be Done

1740

Written on a Visit to the Country in
Autumn . . , 968

The Good Tune Coming
The Sailor's Wife

1741
1742

Complaint of Nature 964

MACNEILL, HECTOR.

LOKER.T.

The Ale-house . .

1595

Many, many Years ago 1810

The Husband's Return .. . .

1596

LONGLANDE, ROBERT.

Mary of Castle-Cat y

1597

Mercy and Truth. 17

MACPHERSON, JAMES.

Covetousness 18

The Cave

939

LOVELACE, RICHARD.

MAITLAND, SIR RICHARD

Song 352

The Town Ladies

388

To Lucasta 358, 854

ToAlthea 355

MALLET, DAVID.

Song. ... 856
A Loose Saraband 357

William and Margatet
Edwin and Emma

897
898

Song

899

LYDGATIi JOHN.

A Funeral Hymn

900

Canace. . . 86

From " The London Lackpenny " 87
A Sylvan Retreat 88

MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER.
The Passionate Shepherd to his Love .

113

The Golden Age 39

God's Providence 40
LYLY, JOHN.

MARSTON, JOHN
A Scholar and his Dog

466

Cupid and Campaspe 404
The Song of Birds 405
Complaint against Love 406
Apollo's Song of Daphne. ... .407
Song to Apollo 408

MARVELL, ANDREW
Thoughts in a Garden
The Emigrants in Bermudas
Young I^ve
The Nymph Complaining* for the Death

633
634
635

of her Fawn

63$

LYNDSAY, SIR DAVID.

Grievances of a Scottish Peasant of the

MASON.

913

16th Century 58
The Exactions and Delay of the Law . 59
Description of Squyre Meldrum .... 60
Meldrum's Duel with the ISnglfofr Cham-

An Ode from Caractaous .
Ode to Memory
Epitaph on Mrs. Mason . .

914
915

pion Talbart 61

MASSEY, GERALD
The Men of Forty-eight

1745

Christ Coming to Judgment 62

I.YTTELTON, LORD.

The Progress of Love 904

No JewelTd Beauty is my Love
A Poor Man's Wife .

TTlARAB

1746
1747

To the Rev. Dr. Ayscough 905

JXUMIOB . .

Sweet and Twenty

1749

TITLES OF THE POEMS

NO OF POEM

Sweet Spirit of my Love 1750

Old England 1751

England goes to Battle 1752

There's no Dearth of Kindness 1753

To a Beloved One . . 1754

A Wail . . 1755

Oh, lay thy Hand in mme, Dear ' 1756

MASSINGER, PHILIP

Welcome to the Forest's Queen 463

The Sweets of Beauty . 464

Death . . 405

MAY, THOMAS

The Death of Rosamond 367

MAYNE, JOHN

Logan Braes 1605

Helen of Kirkconnel 1606

To the River Nith 1607

Mustering of the Tiaries to Shoot foi

the Siller Gun . 1608

MEREDITH, GEORGE
Love in the Valley

MERRIOK, JAMES.
The Chameleon
The Wish

MIOKLE.

Cumnor Hall

The Mariner's Wife

1744

1016
. 1017

. 928

MIDDLETON, THOMAS

The Three States of Woman 450

What Love is like 451

Happiness of Married Life 452

Devotion to Love 453

Indignation at the Sale of a Wife's

Honour . . 454

Law . ... . 455

MILMAN, H H.

Summons of the Destroying Angel to

the City of Babylon 1664

The Fair Recluse 1665

The Day^of Judgment . . 1666

Bridal Song 1667

Hymn . 1668

Brother, thou art gone . ...1669

Chorus . . . 1670

MILTON, JOHN.
I/Allegro ..
II Penseroso

Hymn on the Nativity

Praibe of Chastity

The Lady's Song in Comus

The Spirit's Epilogue in Comus

On May Morning

Sonnet to the Nightingale

Sonnet on Acre of Twenty-three

Sonnet on his Blindness

Sonnet on his Deceased Wife

Sonnet on the late Massacre in Pied-

mont
Samson bewailing his Blindness and

Captivity .

Translation of Hoi ace .

Athens .

604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614

615

616
617
618

KO. OP POEM.

The Invocation and Introduction to

Paradise Lost 619

Satan's Address to the Sun

Assembling of the Fallen Angels

Satan meets Sin and Death

Address to Light

The Angelic Worship

Paradise
Adam and Eve
Eve's Recollections .
Morning in Paradise
Evening in Paradise
The Messiah .
Temperance .
Expulsion from Paradise

MOIR, D M

CasaWappy ....

The Unknown Grave . ..
Hymn ...

MONTGOMERY, ALEXANDER.
The Cherry and the Slae . . .
Night is nigh gone

MONTGOMERY, JAMES.

Night

The Grave

Aspirations of Youth

The Common Lot . . .

Prayer . . ...

Home .

A Mother's Love . .

To a Daisy

The Reign of Christ on Earth

The Stranger and his Friend

The Field of the World .

MONTGOMERY, ROBERT.
The Starry Heavens , .
Picture of War
Lost Feelings

MOORE, EDWARD
The Happy Marriage

MOORE, SIR JOHN H
L' Amour Tumde
Song .

621
622
623
€24
625

629
630
631

1534
1535
1536
1537

1384
1385
1386
1887
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392

1394

US1

. 1482

1183

1034

. 984

MOORE, THOMAS.

' Tis the Last Rose of Summer .
Wreathe the Bowl
Fill the Bumper fair
And doth not a Meeting like this
Fnend of my Soul
Go where Gloiy waits thee '
Fly to the Desert

The Harp that once through Tara's
Halls

1278
1279
1280
1281

0 i Breathe not his Name

Those Evening Bells . . .

Arianmore

Mniam's Song

Echoes

The Light of other Days ,

The Journey Onwards

1288
1284

1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291

1293

MORE, HENRY.

The Philosopher's Devotion 572

Chanty and Humility 573

xrviii NAMES OF THE POETS AND

2TO. 07 XO31C.

The Soul and the Body . 574
The Pro-existence of the Soul 575

MORRIS, WILLIAM.
From " The Loves of Guarun" .1889, 1840

MOSS. THOMAS.
The Beggar 1027

MO. OP *OBM.

OLDYS, WILLIAM.
Song 1021

OPIE, MRS AMELIA
The Orphan Boy's Tale 1116
A Lament . ... 1117
Song ... 1118

OTWAY, THOMAS.
A Blessing . 687
Parting , . .688
Picture of a Witch 689
Song 690
Description of Morning . , 691

OtfSELEY, T J.
The Angel of the Flowers .... 1811
The Seasons of Life . ... 1812

OVERBTJRY, SIR THOMAS
The Wife .. 495

OXFORD, EDWARD, EARL OF
Fancy and Desire 494

P.

PARNELL, THOMAS.
A Fairy Tale .. .808
The Hermit . . 809
Hymn to Contentment . 810
Song . 811
Morning1 Hymn. . 812
Noontide Hymn . 813
Evening Hymn. . 814

PEELE, GEORGE.
JSnone's Complaint. . . 409
The Song of the enamoured Shepherd 410
The Aged Man-at- Arms. . . 411
England.. , , 412
Joab's Description of David . 413
Joab's Address to David on Death of
Absalom. ,.. . 414
King David ... 415
Bethsabe bathing . 416
Bethsabe's Address to the Zophyr 41 7
David enamoured of Bethsabe.. . . 418

PENROSE, THOMAS
The Helmets , . .. 981
The Field of Battle . 982

PERCY DR THOMAS.
0 Nanny, wilt thou gang wi* me . . . 987
The Friar of Orders Gray . . ..988

PHILIPS, AMBROSE
A Fragment of Sappho . . 788
Epistle to the Earl of Dorset . 789
The First Pastoral 790
To Charlotte Pulteney. .. .791

PHILIPS, JOHN.
The Splendid Shilling 666

MOTHERWELL.
Jeame Morrison . 1631
Sword Chant of Thorstein Raudi . . 1632
They come' the Merry Summer
Months 1688

The Water, the Water 1684
The Midnight Wind ' ....1635
The Cavalier's Song . 1636
The Bloom hath fled thy Cheek,
Mary 1637
My Heid is like to rend, Willie . 1638
The Covenanter's Battle Chant 1639
When I beneath the cold red earth
am sleeping. 1640
Song of the Danish Sea-king 1641

HOULTRIE, JOHN.
The Three Sons 1801

N.

NABBES, THOMAS.
Song by Love to Physander and Bel-
lanima .. 876

NASH, THOMAS.
Storing. ... .489
The Uecay of Summer . 440
The Coming of Winter . . 441
Approaching Death. . 442
Contentment. . 448
Despair of a Poor Scholar.. 444

NICCOLS, RICHARD
Robert, Duke of Normandy, previ-
ously to his eyes being put out . . 496

NICHOLSON, WILLIAM.
The Brownie of Blednooh. . . 1650

NICOLL, ROBERT.
Thoughts of Heaven. . 1642
We are Brethren a' . / . 1648
Wild Flowers. 1644
Death 1645

NORTON, HON. MRS.
Picture of Twilight.. . . 1710
The Mother's fieart . . 1711
To Ferdinand Seymour . „ 1712
We have been Fnends together 1713
£Uan Percy 17u
Love not ... . 171 5
The King of Denmark's Ride . . " ! 1716

NUGENT, EARL.
Ode to Mankind. 1044

0.

OLDMIXON, JOHN.

PHILIPS, KATHERINE
The Inquiry ... . . 384
A Fnend 385

POLLOK, ROBERT
Thus stood his Mind 1430

TITLES OF THE POEMS.

Hell

A fcicene of Early Love .

The Death of the Young Mother .

Friendship

Happiness..

POMFRET, JOHN

Custom. .
1 The Wish .

POPE, ALEXANDER.
The Messiah ,
Satire.

To a Lady.. . .

The Man of Boss
The Toilet

The Dying Ohiistian to his Soul
The Quiet Life.
Moonlight

POPE, DR. WALTER
The Old Man's Wish

PRAED, W. M.

Twenty-eight and Twenty-nine

PRINGLB, THOMAS.
Afar in the Desert...
The Lion and the Giraffe
The Emigrant's Farewell

PRIOR, MATTHEW.
AjiOde .
A Song

The despairing Shepherd
The Lady's Looking-glass
Cupid and Ganymede
Cupid mistaken
Mercury and Cupid
The Garland,
Henry and Emma
The Thief and the Cordelier
Protogenes and Apelles .
Abra's Love for Solomon.
Epitaph, Extempore
For my Own Monument
An Epitaph

On Bishop Atterbury's burying
Duke ol Buckingham

PROCTER, B. W.

Address to the Ocean..

Marcelia..

Night

The Sleeping Figure of Modena

An Invocation to Birds

To the Snowdrop.

Song of Wood Nymphs .

The Blood Horse..

The Sea..

The Stormy Petrel

The Sea in Calm.

The Hunter's Song

The Owl.

A Song for the Seasons

The Poet's Song to his Wife .

Softly woo away her Breath..

The Mother's last Song

Peace ' what do tears avail *

A Bndal Dirge .

Hermione , , ,

A Poet's Thought

A Petition to Time .. .

iro. 01 POBIC

VO. OS

2081C.

1431

Sit down, sad Soul

16*95

1432

Life

16*96

r. . 1438

1434

. . . 1435

Q.

677

QUARLES, FRANCIS.

678

What is Life

292

The Vanity of the World

293

Faith .

294

. . 776

Delight in God only

295

.. . 777

Song ....

296

.. . 778

Hey, then, up go we .

737

.. . 779

780
.. 781

QUARLES, JOHN.
Hymn to the Almighty

676

782
700

100

R.

686

RALEIGH, SIR WALTER.

. . 1709

The Nymph's Reply
The Country's Recreations ,

114
115

RAMSAY, ALLAN.

. 1478

Song ...

824

. 1479

The last tune I came o'er the moor ..

825

1480

Ode from Horace

826

RANDOLPH, THOMAS

747

To a Lady admmng Herself in a Look-

748

ing-glass .

358

749
750

From the Muse's Looking-glass . .
To my Picture

359
360

751

752

RANDS, W B.

. . 753

Lilliput Levee

1826

. , 754

Baby

1827

755

756

REDFORD, JOHN

757

Song of Honest Recreation

403

. 758

759

ROBERTS, W. EL

760

Belshazzar and Daniel

979

. 761

The Jews' Return to Jerusalem

980

g the

, . 762

ROCHESTER, EARL OF.

Song

654

Constancy . .

655

. 1673

Song . . .

656

1674

Song . ....

657

1675

1676

ROGERS, SAMUEL

1877
Ib78

From the " Pleasures of Memory"
From "Human Life" . ..

1180
1181

. 1679

From the " Voyage of Columbus "

1182

1680

Genevra , . ... .

1188

. 1681

The Sleeping Beauty. . , ...

1184

. 1682

A Wish. ...

1185

1688

1186

1684

To the Butterfly

1187

1685

On a Tear

1188

1686

1687

ROLLE, RICHAKD

1688

What is Heaven ? »

16

. ! . 1689

.. 1690
... . 1691
1692

ROSCOMMON, EARL OF
Against False Pnde . . .
An Author should be sincere .

650
651

. . 1698
. . . 1694

A Quack .
On the Dav of Judcnnent

652
658

NAMES OF THE POETS AND

EOSETTI, DANTE GABRIEL.
The Blessed Damozel
The Porte ait
Newborn Death

ROSS, ALEXANDER

Woo'd and Manned and a'
Mary's Dream

ROWE, NICHOLAS.
Colm's Complaint
The Contented Shepherd
Song . .

iro OPPOBM

1841
1842
1843

3045
1046

830

RUSSELL, THOMAS

Sonnet to Valolusa 1042

Sonnet, supposed to be written at
Lemnos . ... 1043

S.

SANDYS, GEORGE

A Thanksgiving- . 477

Psalm zlu 478

Psalm Iron . 479

Chorus of Jewish "Women.. . . 480

SAVAGE, RICHARD.

Remorse 840

The Wanderer.. « ... 841

SCOT, ALEXANDER

To his Heart.. 386

Rondel of Love ... 387

SCOTT, JOHN

The Tempestuous Evening . .. 1018

Ode on hearing the Drum . 1019

Ode on Privateering . . . 1020

SCOTT, SIR WALTER

Description of Melrose Abbey. 1314

Love of Country . . . 1315

Death of Mannion 1316

Young Lochinvar 1317

JookofHazeldean . . . 1318
. 1319, 1320
1321

Border Ballad
Pibroch of Donml Dhu

Coronach . . 1323

Hymn of the Hebrew Maiden 1324

Cadyow Castle .. 1325

TheOatiaw ... . 1326

A Serenade . 1327

Where shall the Lover rest . 1328

The Maid of Neidpath . 1329

The Pride of Youth. . 1330

Rosabelle . 1831

Hunting Song .... 1332

The Palmer . . 1833

The Wild Huntsman 1834

Christmas . . . 1335

Hymn for the Dead . . 1386

SEDLEY, SIR CHARLES.

To a very Young Lady ... 667

Song ... 668

Cosmelia's Charms . . .669

Song 670

SEWARD,ANNA.

The Anniversary. 1111

HO OPPOBK,

832

SEWELL. DR GEORGE.
Verses .

SHADWELL, THOMAS.

Inconstancy of Love .... 700

SHAKSPERE, WILLIAM.

Mercy 165

Night 166

Night and Musio 167

Gnef that cannot be comforted 168

Flowers 169

Richard the Second's Lament 170
Soliloquy of Richard the Second in

Prison 171

Hotspur's Defence 172

Rumour. . 173

Sleep . 174
Henry the Fourth's Expostulation

with his Son. . . 175

The Answer of the Lord Chief Jus-

tice to Henry V . 176

The King's Answer. . 177

Henry the Fifth's Address to his Sol-

diers before Harfleur 178

Henry the Fifth's Address at Agm-

court 179
Henry the Fifth's Soliloquy on the

Battle-field .. 180

Gloster's Soliloquy . 181

Wolsey on hit. Fall . 182

Cranmer's Prophecy of Queen Eliza-

beth 183

Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death. 184
Macbeth before murdering the K.mg 185

Cassius to Brutus . . 186

Mark Antony's Oration on the Body

of Csesar. 187

Cleopatra 188

Life. . 189

Appearances . 190

The Uses of Adversity . 191

A Meditative Fool 192

The World a Stage . 193

Adversity 194

Beauty 195

Ceremony . 196

Friends tailing off .. 197

Gold . 198

Insanity 199

Self-inspection . 200

Lo\e 201

England 202

Order and Obedience . . 203

Proper use of Talents . 204
Tike the beam out of thine own eye 205

The Voice of the Dying. 20«

A Good Conscience 207

Good Name . . 208

Ariel's Song , 209

The Fairy to Puck . 210

Amiens' Song .. . 211

SHAW, CUTHBERT.

From "A Monody to the Memory of

his Wife". . . 1036

SHELLEY, PERCY B.

Opening of Queen Mab . . . 1359

The Cloud . 1860

To a Skylark . 1361

Lines to an Indian Air . 1362

I fear thy kisses 33(3

TITLES OF THE POEMS.

zxxi

NO Off TOXIC

Love's Philosophy 1364

To the Night 1365

The Flight of Love 1366

One Word i*> too often profaned 1367

Invocation.. 1368
Stanzas written, in Dejection near

Naples 13C9

Ozymaudias of Egypt . 1370

To a Lady, with a Guitar 1371

Ode to the West Wind 1372

Autumn . 1873

The Widow Bird . . 1374

Hymn to Intellectual Beauty 1375

Mutability.. . . . 1376

SHBNSTONE

The Schoolmistress t. . 893

A Pastoral Ballad . 894

Ode to Memory 895

Written at an Inn at Henley . 896

SHIRLEY, JAMES.

Upon his Mistress sad . 379

Echo and Narcissus 380

Shepherd and Shepherdesses . 460

The Common Doom 461

The Equality of the Grave . 462

SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP.

Sonnets.. . . 107

SKELTON, JOHN.

To Mistiess Margaret Hussey . 63

SKINNER, JOHN

Tulloohgorum . . . 1050

SMART, CHRISTOPHER

Song to David . 994

From a Tnp to Cambridge 995

Ode , . 996

SMITH, ALEXANDER.

Lady Baibara . 1743

SMITH, CHARLOTTE.

On the Departure of the Nightingale 1099

Written at the Close of Spring 1100

Recollections of English Scenery 1101

SMITH, HORACE.

Addiess to the Mummy in Belzoni's

Exhibition 1418

Hymn to the Flowers . 1419

On the Death of George III , 1420

SMITH, JAMES.

The Upas in Marylebone-lane 1417

SMITH, JAMES AND HORACE

The Theatre . . . 1414

The Baby's DeT>ut . 1415

A Tale of Drury-lane 1416

SMOLLETT, TOBIAS.

Ode to Independence 921

Ode to Leven Water . 922

The Tears of Scotland 923

SOMERVILLE, WILLIAM"

Description of a Hare-hunt , 806

Praise of a Country Life 807

1,0 OP POXtf.

SOTHEBY, WILLIAM.

Stafia 1235

Approach of Saul and his Guards

against the Philistines . ... 1236
Song of the Virgins celebrating the
Victory .7 . 1237

SOUTHERNS, THOMAS.

Song 827

SOUTHEY, CAROLINE.
Autumn Flowers. .
The Pauper's Deathbed
The Last Journey
Manner's Hymn

SOUTHEY, ROBERT.

The Widowed Mother. . . .
A Moonlight Scene .
The Holly-tree .

The Alderman's Funeral

Love .

The Miser's Mansion

After Blenheim !!. *

The Scholar .

Youth and Age. ,

The Complaints of the Poor ... .

The Old Man's Comforts

The Inchcape Rock

Bishop Hatto.

Mary the Maid of the Inn . „

St Romuald

SOUTHWtELL, ROBERT.
Love's Servile Lot
Look Home
Times go by turns
The Image of Death
Scorn not the lease

SPENCER, PETER.
Lines to Fanny
Sent with a Rose to Rose .
A Thought among the Roses. . .

SPENCER, HON W R

Beth Gelerb

Wife, Children, and Friends.

SPENSER, EDMUND

Una and the Redcioss Knight .
Una followed by the Lion
The Squire and the Dove
Fable of the Oak and the Biiar
From the Epithalamion
The House of Riches
The Ministry of Angels
Prince Arthur's Address to Night
The Garden of Adonis . . .

The Bower of Bliss

Sonnets

STANLEY, THOMAS.

The Tomb .

Ceha Singing.

Speaking- and Kissing

La Belle Confidante.
Note to Mosohus .

STEPNEY, GEORGE.

To the Evening Star

1530
1531
1532
1533

, 1218
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218

, 1219
1220
1221

1223
1224
, 1225
1226
1227

108
109
110
111
112

1807
1808
1809

1395
1396

124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134

565
566
567
568

NAMES OF THE POETS

STERLING, EARL OF,
ALEXANDER.

Sonnets

STILL, BISHOP.
Drinking Song-..

STIRLING, EARL OF.
Sonnet. . .

STOKER, THOMAS.

Wolsey's Ambition.. .
Wolsey's Vision. . ,

SUCKLING, SIR JOHN.

2TO 09 POSH

WILLIAM
489

A Ballad upon a Wedding.

Constancy . .

Song

SURREY, HOWARD, EARL OF.

Imprisoned in Windsor, he reconnteth

his Pleasure there passed
No Age Content with his Own Estate.
The Means to attain Happy Life . .
Description of Spring .
How each Thing-, save the Lover, in
Spring reviveth to Pleasure

, and Praise of his Loue,

490
491

330
831

64
65
66
67

68

A Vow to Loue 70

A Lover's Complaint 71

so ov POSIT.

TENNANT, WILLIAM

From Anster Fair . 1628

The Heroine of Anster Fair.. 1629
Description of the Comers to the Fair 1630

TENNYSON, A.

Song of the Brook . . 1703

The Reconciliation 1704

The Widow and Child 1705

From In Memonam. 1706

Lady dare 1707

Dora . 1708

TENNYSON. FREDERICK.

First of March . 1804

The Bridal 1805
The Blackbird . . 1806

THACKERAY, W M.

The Age of Wisdom 1762

Damages Two Hundred Pounds 1763

THOMPSON, EDWARD.

The Sailor's Farewell 1038

Songs . . 1039, 1040

THOMSON, JAMES.

Showers in Spring . 864

Birds Pairing in Spring 865

Domestic Happiness 866

Musidora 867

A Summer Morning 868

The Death of the Warrior-long :.
The Voice of the Morning .
The Mother's Hand.
The Orphan Boy

1697
1698
1699
1700

Lavima .
The Harvest Storm . .
Autumn Evening Scene .
A Winter Landscape

870
871
872
873

Sab^R-tVi Chimes . T .

1701

A Hymn .

874

Love's History ^ -

1702

Prom the Bard's Song in the Castle of

SWIFT, JONATHAN.
Morning
Description of a City Shower ..
Bancos and Philemon ...
Verses on his own Death
The Grand Question debated .

SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES
The Sea .
Meleager Dying .

SYLVESTER, JOSHUA.
The Soul's Errand

771
772
773
774
775

1833
1834

119

Indolence
Ode
Hymn on Solitude
The Happy Man
Rule Britannia,. .

THRALKMRS.
The Three Warnings

TICKELL, THOMAS.
Colin and Lucy .
To the Earl of Warwick on the Death
of Addison** . ,.

875
876
877
878
879

1026

784
785

To Relurion... .. .. .. ...... ... . .

120

TIGHE, MARY.

T.

TANNAHILL, ROBERT.
The Braes o* Balquhither

The BWMH o' aianrifer

1598
1599

The Marriage of Cupid and Psyche .
The Lily. ..

TOPLADY, A.
Love Divine, all love excelling .
Deathless Principle, arise
Rook of Ages cleft for me .. . .

1121
1122

1072
1073
1074

The Flower o' Dumblane
The Midges dance aboou the Burn .
Gloomy winter 's now awa*

TATK NAHUM.
The Birth of Christ

1600
1601
1602

822

TRAIN, JOSEPH
Song

TRENCH, R C.
Harmosan
Be Patient .

1651

1802
1808

From Psalm civ.

TAYLOR^ BISHOP JEREMY.
Of Heaven.

823

555

TUSSER, THOMAS.
An Introduction to the Book of
Husbandry .

81

TITLES OF THE POEMS. xxxiii

NO. OF FOBtf

A Preface to the Buyer of his Book on
Husbandry. . 82
The Ladder to Thrift. .... 88
Directions for Cultivating a Hop-
garden. 84
House wifery Physio ... 85
Good Husbandly Lessons . .... 86
The Winds. . 87
A Christmas Carol . . 88
Posies for thine own Bed-chamber 89
Principal Points of Religion .... 90

XT

UDALL, NICHOLAS
The Work-girl's Song . . 398
The "Minion. Wife.. ... 399

UNCERTAIN.
Sadness 502
The Soul's Errand 503
Content . , 504
The Woodman's Walk 505
Canzonet 506
The Oxford Riddle 507
Ambitio Feminini Generis .. 508
Neo Sutor ultra . ... 509

V.

VANBRUGH, SIR JOHN.
Fable, related by a Beau to Msop ,. S33

VAUGHAN, HENRY
Early Easing and Prayer 556
The Feast . 557
The Bee . . 558
Peace.. . 559
They are all gone. ... . 560
The Timber 561
The Rainbow .. 562
The Wreath .... ... 563

SO. 07 POMM.

On Loving at First Sight 600
The Self-banished 601
The Night-piece 602

WALSH, WILLIAM.
Song 683

WARD, EDWARD.
Song 835

WARNER, WILLIAM.
Tale of Argentile and Curan 484

WARTON, JOSEPH.
To Fancy . 974

WARTON: THOMAS.

The Hamlet . . 965
On Revisiting the River Loddon 966
Written on a Blank Leaf of Dugdale's
Monasticon. . . 967
Sonnet . 968
Inscription in a Hermitage . 969
The Suicide . 970
Ode sent to a Friend on his leaving a
Favourite Village 971

A Panegyric on Oxford Ale . . . 972
The Progress of Discontent , 973

WASTELL, SIMON.
Man's Mortality 501

WATSON, THOMAS.
The Nymphs to their May Queen. ... 122
Sonnet 123

WATTS, DR.
The Rose . . 850
A Summei Evening . . 851
Few Happy Matches 852
The Day ot Judgment ... 853
God known only to Himself ... 854

WEBSTER, JOHN.
A Dirge . . . . 446
The Madman's Song . 447
The Preparation for Execution. . 448
Death. 449

WESLEY, CHARLES.
Come, 0 thou Traveller . . 1064
Weary of Wandering . . 1065
Jesu, Xorer of my Soul . . 1066

WESLEY, JOHN.
From Teisteege . 1067
From the German . 1068
From Count Zuizendorf . . 1069
From Schemer 1070
From the Gsrmafl 1071

The Retreat 564

VERB, AUBREY DE.
Early Friendship 1789
Song 1790
Sonnet 1791

W.

WALLER, EDMUND.
On a Girdle .... .585
On Love.. . . 586
A Panegyric to the Lord Protector . 587
AtPenshurst. . . 588
The Bud. 589
Say, lovely Dream . . 590
Go, lovely Rose . 591
Old Age and Death. 592
To Amoret. . 593
To Phyllis. ... 594
Of the Queen 595
On my Lady Sydney's Picture.. 596
On my Lady Isabella playing the Lute 597
To a Lady.. . .. . 598
Love's Farewell 599

WEST, GILBERT.
Allegorical Description of Vertu . ,. 1032

WHITE, H KIRKE.
ToanEarly Primrose 1165
Sonnet. - 1166
The Star of Bethlehem 1167
A Hymn for Family Worship 1168
TheChristiad 1169
The Ship wrecked Solitary's Song . . 1170
From Clifton Grove 1171

02

XXXLV

NAMES OF THE POETS AND TITLES OF THE POEMS.

WHiTJflHJriM), PAUL
Hunting Song

"WHITEHEAD, W.
Variety . .

iro. OF POEM,
. 1087

986

WILDE, DR

A Complaint of a Learned Divine in
Puritan Times . , - 267

A "Till »ge Scold surpiiung her Hus-

band m an Alehouse 1593

A roalar*s Story . . 1594

WILSON, JOHN.

To a Sleeping Child . . 1421

The Sabbath Day 1422
Lines written in a lonely Burial-

ground in the Highlands . 1 423

The Midnight Ocean . 1424

The Evening Cloud.. . ... .1425

Plague Scenes . . . 1426

Address to a Wild Deer 1427

Mary . . 1428

The Widowed Mother . 1429

WILSON, R.

The Summer s Queen . .

432

WINCHELSEA, ANNE, COUNTESS OF.

A Nocturnal Bevene. . 817

Life's Progress*. ... . 818

WITHER, GEORGE.

Christmas . . ... 271

Sonnet upon a Stolen Bliss . 272

The Companionship of the Muse . 273

A Prisoner's Lay. . 274

From "A Dirge" ... 276

To a Brother Poet . 276

The just Indignation of the oppressed 277
A persecuted Poet's Address to his

King ... 278
My Heavenly Father and his erring

Child 279

Against hired Flatterers . 280

The 148th Psalm paraphrased 281

The Ford of Arle . 282
The sequestered Retirement of Bent-

worth. . . 283

Prayer for Seasonable Weather . 284

WOLCOT, DR.

The Pilgrims and the Peas . 1147

Dr. Johnson's Style „ . 1143

Advice to Landscape Painters . . 1149

The Apple Dumplings and a King 1150
Wiitbread's Brewery visited by their

Majesties 1151

LprdGregory 1152

May-Day .. . 1153

Digram on Sleep .... . 1154

To my Candle .... 1155

WOLFE, CHARLES.

The Burial of Sir John Moore . . 1362

The Death of Mary 1563

• • 1564

NO OF POBJf

WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM.

London, 1802 1189

The World is too much with us 1190
On King's College Chapel, Cambridge 1191

Lines 1192

Lucy 1193

A Portrait 1394

Tmtern Abbey . 1195

To a Highland Gill 1196

An Old Man's Reflections 1197

Ode. 1198

Yarrow Visited 1199

To a Distant Fnend 1200

To the Skylark 1201

To the Cuckoo . 1202

Composed at Neidpath Castle 3 203

Upon Westminster Bridge 1204

Admonition to a Traveller . 1205

The Reaper 1206

The Daffodils . 1207

To the Daisy. 1208

By the Sea 1209

To Sleep 1210

Written in Early Spring 1211

The two April Mornings 1212

WOTTON", SIR HENRY

To his Mistress, the Queen of Bohe-
mia . . , 158
A Farewell tothe Vanities of the World 159
The Good Man . . * .. . 160
A Meditation . 161
On the sudden Restraint of the Earl

Somerset, then falling from favour, 1C2

In praise of Angling. 163

WYAT, SIR THOMAS.

The Lover complameth of the TTn-
kindness of his Love .. . 72

The Lover's Lute cannot be blamed,
though it sing of his Lady's Un-
kmdness 70

The re-cured Lover ezulteth in his
Freedom and voweth to remain
Free until Death , . 74

That Pleasure is mixed with every
Pain . 76

A Description of such a one as he
would love 76

An earnest Suit to his unkind Mis-
tress not to forsake him 77

To his Mistress 78

He lamenteth that he had evei
Cause to doubt his Lady's Faith . 79

WYNTOTO, ANDREW

The Return of David II. from Cap-
tivity 44
Interview of St. Serf with Sathanas . . 45

Y.

YOUNG, EDWARD.

Night. 855

On Life, Death, and Immortality. .... 856

Thoughts on Time . 857

Procrastination . 858

The Emptiness of Riches 850

The Love of Praise .. 8CO

The Astronomical Lady.. . .. 8CI

The Languid Lady 862

The Swearer . 868

ALPHABETICAL LIST OP THE POEMS.

A Ballad 803

A Ballad upon a Wedding .. ... 880

A Blessing 687

ABpdalDirge 1691

ACalinBve 3545

A Celebration of Chans . 245

A Christmas Carol . .... 88

AChiistmasHymn 1068

A Christmas H>mn . . . 1792

A Contrast between Female Honour and

Shame . 437

A Country Song, intituled the Restoration 745
A Description of a Lady by her Lover . 438
A Description of such a One as he would

love : 76

A Dialogue between Hope and Feai . 819
ADirge . 446

-A Fairy Tale 808

A Farewell to the Vanities of the World . 159
A Farewell to the Valley of Ii wan 934

A Farewell to Tobacco . 1229

A Father leading the Bible 1446

A Fragment of Sappho 788

AFrifnd 885

A Funeral Hymn . 900

A Good Conscience . 207

A Home m the Heait 1725

A Hymn . . 812

A Hymn 767

A Hymn . 769

A Hymn 874

A Hymn . . 1172

AHymntoChust . . 229

A Hymn to the Father . 228

A Lament . 1117

A Lawyer's Farewell to his Muse 936

A Letter from Italy . 765

A Little While . 1779

A Loose Saraband 357

A Lover's Complaint 71

A Lowering Ere . . . 1544

A Meditation 161

A Meditative Fool 192

A Moonlight Scene 1214

A Mother's Love . . . 1390

A Night Scene . 287

A Night Scene . . 997

A Nocturnal Reverie . . 817

A Nymph's Passion . 243

A Panegyric on Oxford Ale .. . 972

A Panegyric to the Lord Protector . 587

A Parental Ode to my Son, aged three

years and five months . . ... 1486

10. 0V 20X1C.

A Pastoral 1057

A Pastoral Ballad. 894

A Pastoral of Phillis and Condon 117

A Pedlar's Story 1594

A Persecuted Poet's Address to his King.. 278

A Persian Song of Eafiz 1012

A Petition to Time 1694

A Poet's Epitaph 1556

A Poet's Praye> 1557

A Poet's Thought. 1698

A Poor Man's Wife 1747

A Portrait... 1194

A Preface to the Buyer of his Book on

Husbandry . 82

A Prisoner's Lay . 274

A Public Breakfast .... . 1025

A Quack 652

A Red Red Rose 1584

ARemembiance.. . 1726

ARichFool ... . 871

A Rose ... ... .369

A Roundelay .. .424

ARural Scene . . . . . 959

A Scene ot Early Life.. .. 1432

A Scholar and his Dog . . 466

A Scottish Country Wedding 1162

A Serenade 1327

A Song for the Seasons 1686

A Spnng Sabbath Walk 1157

A Summer Evening 851

A Summer Evening ... . 869

A Summer Morning . 579

A Summer Morning . . * 868

A Summer Sabbath Walk . 1158

A Sunday in Edinburgh .. 1055

A Sweet Pastoral - 118

A Sylvan Retreat . 38

A Tale of Drury Lane 1416

A Tale of Robin Hood . 516

A Thanksgiving 477

A Thanksgiving for his House 849

A Thought among the Roses . 1809

A Valediction . „ - 837

A Village Scold surpiising her Husband in

an Alehouse .... . . 1593

A Virtuous Woman - 1476

AVowtoLoue . 70

A Voyage to Ireland in Burlesque . . 649

A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea , . 1623

A Winter Landscape 873

A Winter Sabbath Walk 1160

A Wish H85

zxcvi

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS.

KO. or POBUC.

AbouBenAdhem . . 1402

libra's Love for Solomon . 758

Abstract of Melancholy . . 487

Acoomplisliments of Hudibras . . 637

Adam and Eve . 626

Adam Bell 514

Address to a Wild Deer . 1427

Address to Bishop Valentine ... 227
Address to Ms Native Soil 291

Address to lag; ht . 623

Address to Hiss Agues Baillie on her

Birthday . 1470

Address to the Mummy in Belzom's Exhi-
bition . . . . 1418
Address to the Nightingale . 121
Address to the Ocean . . . 1673
Adelgitha . 1312
Admiral Hosier's Ghost . . 999
Admonition to a Traveller . 1205
Adventure of "Wallace while Pishing- in

Irvine Water . . 46

Adversity . . 194

Advice to a Reckless Youth . 247

Advice to Landscape Painters . . .1149

Ae Pond Kiss . 1576

Alarm the Desert . . . 1478

After Blenheim . . . 1219

Against Palse Pride . ... 650

Against Hired Flatterers ... 280

Against Hope .... . 543

Alexander's Feast . . 661

All for Love ... . .. 1352

All Wen 1780

Allan Percy . . ... 1714

Allegorical Description of Vertu . .. 1032
Allegorical Peisonages descnbed in Hell 97
Almond Blossom . 1757

Alonzo the Brave and the Pair Imogene 1313
Amantium Ire Amons Eedintegratio est . 91
Ambitio Feminini Generis .. 508

Amiens' Song . . 211

Amynta . . . 1051

An Appeal for the Industrious Poor 932

An Appeal to the Heart . . 226

An Author should be sinceie . . . 651

An Autumn Sabbath Walk . 1159

An Earnest Suit to his unload Mistress not

to forsake him. , 77

An English Pen— Gipsies . . .. 1176
An Epistle to Cuiio 903

An Epistle to the Countess of Cumberland 138
An Epitaph . . 761
An Evening Hymn 675

An Evening Walk in Bengal 1379

An Introduction to the Book of Husbandry 81
An Invocation to Buds . . 1677

An Italian Song . 1186

An Ode ... 747
An Ode . . .. 766
An Ode . 768

An Ode for St. Cecilia's Day 764

An Ode from Caractacus . 913

An Ode in imitation of Alcseus 1011

An Old Man's Reflections . 1197
An Old Man's Sorrow 10

Anacreontics . . 542

And doth not a Meeting like this . 1281
Ane Sohorb Poeme of Tyme 394

Angling £26

Another . 431

Answer to a Child's Question . . 1512
Apollo's Song of Daphne . . 407

Apostrophe to Preedom 32

vo. o? POBW.

Apostrophe to Futurity

Apostrophe to the Ocean . .

Appearances

Approach of Saul and his Guards against

the Philistines
Approach of Spring
Approaching Death
April, 1793
April

Argalia condemned on Palse Evidence
Argaha taken Prisoner by the Turks
Ariel's Song
Arranmore
Aspirations of Youth
Assembling of the Fallen Angels
At Bamborough Castle
At his Sister's Grave
At Oxford, 1786
At Penshurst
Athens

Auld Lang Syne
Auld Robin Gray
Autumn
Autumn.
Autumn.

Autumn Evening Scene.
Autumn Flowers .

1555

1847

190

1236

267

442

1255

1795

581

583

209

1289

1386

621

1246

1528

1244

588

618

1581

1047

1373

1488

1735

872

1530

Baby
Baby May
Baby's Shoes
Ballad of Dowsabel
Banquet of an English Squire
Battle of the Baltic

1827
1766
1707
146
1124
1306

Battle of Wyoming and Death of Gertrude 1300
Baucis and Philemon 773
Be Patient 1803
Be Merry, Friends 401
Be Wise to Run thy Eace 1076
Beauty 195
Beauty 428
Beauty beyond the reach ot Art 458
Beauty Suing for Love 419
Begone, Dull Care 731
Belshazzar and Daniel . 979
Bernardo and Alphonso 1522
Beitha in the Lane 1560
Beth Gelert, or the Grave of the Grey-
hound 1395
Bethsabe Bathing 416
Bethsabe's Address to the Zephyr 417
Bud. Bee, and Butterfly 1517
Bird's-nest 12C7
Birds Pauing in Spring 865
Bishop Hatto 1225
Bishop Hubert 1459
Bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary 1639
Bonnie Leslie . . 1585
Bolder Ballad 1321
BiaidClaith . 1052
Bridal Song . ... 459
Bridal Song 1667
Bring Flowers 1441
Bnstow Tragedy, or the Death of Sir

Charles Bawdin . . 943

Brother, them art gone . 1669

Bruce's Address 1579
Butterfly and Bee . 1269

By the Sea . 1209

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS.

c.

iro OPPOIM.

Caf the Yowes to the Knowes ... ... 1582

Cadyow Castle. . . 1325
Caesar's Lamentation over Pompey's Head 214

Canace, condemned to death by her
father, JEolus, sends to her guilty
brother, Maoareus, the last testimony

of her unhappy passion... . 36

Canzonet . . 506
Careless Content . . . 1056
Casa Wappy 1534
Casablanca 1442
Cassias to Brutus . 186
Celia Singing 566
Ceremony. 196
Character of a Fi ibble 956
Charactei of Sbaftesbury 662
Character of Sir James, of Douglas 33
Character of the Ship's Officeis 945
Character of Villiers, Duke of Bucking-
ham 663
Characters of Qum, Tom Shendan, and

Garnok . . 957
Characteristic of an Englishman . 80
Charity and Humility. . 573
Cherry fiape . 348
Childhood . . 1234
Children " 1274
Choice of a Rural Situation and Descrip-
tion of the Ague . 924
Chorus 1670
Chorus of Flowers . 1400
Chorus ot Jewish Women 480
Chiist coming to Judgment 62
Chiistmas 271
Christmas . 1335
Claudian's Old Man of Veiona 645
Cleopatra 188
Colin and Lucy 784
Colm's Complaint 828
Come, Evening Gale I . 1541
Come, Holy Spirit, come 1075
Come, 0 Thou Traveller . 1064
Come to these Scenes of Peace . 1242
Come unto Me 1109
Commencement of ' ' Dartmoor " 1513
Complaining 306
Complaint against Love . 406
Complaint ot a Learned Divine in Puritan

Times . 257

Complaint of Nature 964

Composed at Neidpath Castle, the pro-

perty of Lord Queensberry, 1803 1203

Conclusion of the Songs of Israel 1477

Constancy . 331

Constancy . . 655
Constitutional Limitation of Despotism . 154

Content . 421

Content . 504

Content, a Pastoral 1023

Contented Shepherd . 829

Contentment 443

Contentment . 815

Cooper's Hill . 576

Cornfields 1660

Coronach . . 1323

Cosmelia's Charms ... . 669

Council of the Officers 948

Count Zinzendorf . 1069

Country Justices and their Dudes . ... 930

NO, OP POSH.

Country Song, intituled the Bestoration .. 745

Covetousness . . . IS

Cowper*s Grave .... .... 1558

Cradle Song . . . ... 1772

Cranmer's Piophecy of Queen Elizabeth . 183

Creation .,.. . 787

Crescentius . 1461

Cumnor UTaH .. . . 928

Cupid ... . ... 288

Cupid and Campaspe 404

Cupid and Ganymede . .. 751

Cupid Mistaken . 752

Cupio dissolvi . . 328

Custom 677

D.

Damages Two Hundred Pounds 1763

Dartmoor . 1514

David and Gohah 144

David enamoured of Bethsabe 418

Dawmnes of Genius . . 1412

Death .. .!...! 449

Death . . . . 465

Death . . 846

Death .... . 1645

Death of Eliza, at the Battle of Minden 1094

Death ot Marmion . . 1316

Death of Sir Henry de Bohun 34

Deathless Principle, arise ' 1073

Delight in God only 295

Description and Praise of his Lone Geraldine 69

Description of a City Shower 772

Description of a Hare-hunt 806
Description of Anmda and her Enchanted

Girdle . . 148

Description of Castara 322

Description of the Comers to the Fair 1630

Description of Haidee 1348

Description of Melrose Abbey . . 1314

Description of Morning 691
Description of Morning Birds and Hunting

the Deer . . 142

Description of Spring 67

Description of Squyre Meldrum . 60

Description of the Priestess of Diana 333

Despair of a Poor Scholar 444

Destruction of Sennacherib . 1343

Destruction of Sennacherib's Army .. 1092

Devotion to Love . 453

Diana's Nymphs . . 472
Dinner given by the Town Mouse to the

Count 17 Mouse . 49

Directions for Cultivatmg a Hop Garden 84

Dirge in Cymbeline . ... 891

Dirge of Rachel . . 1475

Discontent of Men with their Condition . 250

Disdain Returned . . .. 264

Distiess of the Vessel ... 947

Dr. Johnson's Style . 1148

Domestic Happiness . . 866

Domestic Love ... . . 1298

Dora . 1708

Dorastus on Fawnia ,. . . 427
Drinking Song . . . . 402
Dry up thy Tears, Love . - .. 1526
Dying ... . .
Dying m a Foreign Land

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS.

Early Dawn ,

Early Friendship

Early Love

Early Rising and Prayer .

Easter

Echo and Narcissus

Echo and Silence

Echoes

Edom O'Gordon . . .
Edwin and Angelina . .
Edwin and Emma . . .

HO. or POEM.
891
1789
135
556
807
8SO
1520
1291
530
916

Elegy on Thyrza

Elegy •written in a Country Churchward

England

England

England goes to Battle.
England's Landscape .

English Liberty

Enjoyment of the Present Hoar recom-
mended

on Sleep

_

>ipnany . . .

.istle to Joseph Hill .....
Epistle to the Earl of Dorset . .
Epitaph, Extempore
Epitaph, on a Living Author . . .
Epitaph on an Infant . .

Epitaph on Mrs. Mason .....
Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke
Epitaph on the Duke of Buckingham
Et exaltavit Humiles
Eaphrosyne
Eve's Becollectoons . . .

Evening] „
Evening in ]
Excommunication of the CicL
Expulsion from Paradise ....

F.

Fable of the Oak and the Briar

Fable related by a Beau to JEsop

Pair Ines .

Faith

Fall of the Bebel Angels

Fancy and Desire

Farewell to Ayrshire . .
Farewell to the Fairies

Farewell to Town

Fatal Curiosity

Few Happy Matches . .. „ .

Fill the Bumper Fair

First Lore's Recollections

First of March

Flowers „

Flowers

Flowers

Fly to the Desert

961

1354

910

202

412

1732

1752

1516

1083

665

1004

1005

1006

1154

1830

1880

1088

789

759

554

1511

915

244

1761
627

814
820

1059
629

1524

127

294
2

494
1604
253
116
831
852

1413

1804

169

975

1487

1284

JTO. 0* POBM.

544

760

6T2

1620

For Hope

Fur my own Monument

For Thoughts . .

Fragment

Fnend of my Soul ...

Friends falling off 197

Fuendship 848

Friendship 1434

From "A Dirge" .. 275

From a " Monody to the Memory of his

Wife" . 1036

From a Poem entitled " Amanda". 706

From a Tup to Cambridge, or theGiateful

Fair . . 995

From " Anster Fair " . If J28

From Bishop Hebei's Journal 1878

From Clifton Grove . 1171

From "Conversation" 1080

From " Count Zinzendoif" 1069

From "Bndymion" . 1819

From " Friendship in Absence " . 550

From has " Invocation to Melancholy" . 1041
From •' Human Life " ... 1181

Fiom "In Memoriam" ,. . 1706

From India. ... .. 1776

From "Lilhput Levee" ., . . 18iJ6

From"Bollo" 219

From "Schemer" 1070

From"Tersteege" . .. . 1007

Fiom the Bard's Song in the " Castlo of

Indolence" ,. . , 875

From the " Blessed Damozol " , 1841

From the Bpithalamion 128

From the "Fate of Amy" 140C*

From the German , . . , ,. IOCS

From the German . 1071

From the te Hymn to Light " 547

From the " Improvisator© " . 1400
From the " London Lackpenny" 37

From the " Loves of Gudrun * 1830, 1810
From the " Muses' Looking-glass " 350

From the Pindaric Odes . . 548
From the " Pleasures of Memory " 1180

From the "Portrait" . . . 1842
From the " Prophecy of Famine " . . 958
From the ' ' Voyage of Columbus " 1182

Frost at Midnight ... 1507

G

Garment of Good Ladies '50

Gentle Hugh Hemes 1626

Gentlest Gul . ... 1781

Ginevra . 1183

Gipsies 931

Gloomy Winter's now awa' ... . 1602
Gloster's Soliloquy . . . . 181

Glow-worm . 1270

Go, lovely Eose ' .... 591

Go, pretty Birds' . . . .471

Go, where Glory waits Theo . 1288

God known only to Himself ... .804

God's Providence 40

Gold 198

Gondibert 872

Good Husbandly Lessons 86

Good-morrow 104

Good Name SOS

Good-night' 11

Good-night' 105

Good-night, and joy be wi' ye a* I 1611

Greenwich Hill 1142

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS

iro. OP POEM

Grief that cannot be comforted 168

Grievances of a Scottish Peasant of tho Six-
teenth. Century . . 53
Grongar Boll 880

E.

Haidee and Joan at the Feasfc * .. 1350

Eaidee visits the Shipwrecked Don Juan . 1349
Hallowed Ground 1309

Eame, Hame, Hame 1617

Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death . 184

Hannibal's Oath 1466

Happiness 1435

Happiness of a Country Life . . 960

Happiness of Married Life 452

Happiness of the Shepherd's Life 314

Harmosan 1802

He lameuteth that he hod ever cause to

doubt his Lady's Faith 79

Helen of Kirkconnel 3606

Hell 1431

Henry and Emma 755

Henry, Duke of Buckingham, in the In-
fernal Regions OS
Henry the Fifth's Address at Accinoourt 179
Hemy the Firth's Address to his Soldiers

before Harfleur 178

Henry the Fourth's Expostulation with his

Son 175

Henry the Sixth's Soliloquy on the Battle-
field .180
Here's a health to them that's awa* . 1590
Hermione . 1692
Heroine of Anstor Fair 1629
Hey, then, up go we 737
Highland Mazy 1586
Highland Poor 1120
Hills o* GaJlowA' 1648
His hatred of tho Scots . 377
Hogaith , 954
Hohenlinden , 1304
Home . 1389
Homer and Virgil 681
Honour . . 552
Hope 1239
Hope triumphant in Death 1207
Hotspur's Defence 172
Household Treasures . 1815
Housewifery Physio 86
How each thing, save the Lovei/in Spnng

loviveth to Pleasure 68

How Robin Hood lends a poor Knight Four

Hundied Pounds 521

How's my Boy '* 1671

Hudibras commencing Battle with tho

Eabblo 640

Hudibras consulting tho Lawyer 642

Hunting ot the Cheviot . 528

Hunting Song , . 1037

Hunting Song . 1332

Hymn 1637

Hymn (16th Sunday after Trinity) 1668

Hymn before Sunrise on tho Vale of Cha-

tnouni . 1504

Hymn for Family Worship 11C8

Hymn for tho Dead 1336

i of the Hebrew Maid 1324

L on Solitude 877

„ i on the Nativity . , 606

Hymn to Advoisity . 908

JTO. 07 POXlf

Hymn to Content 1106

Hymn to Contentment; . . . 810

Hymn to God the Father . . 246

Hymn to Intellectual Beauty . 1375

Hymn to the Almighty . . . 676

Hymn to the Father . ... 228

Hymn to the Flowers . . . 1419

Hymm to the Name of Jesus. . . 298

I am all alone . 1527

I fear thy Kisses . . . 1363

I love my King and Country well . 738
I remember, I remember 1491

I thank you twice . 739
Idleness . 400
If that were true » . . 1781

II Penseioso . 604
Imagination . 155
Imprisoned in Windsor, he recounteth his

Pleasure there passed . 64

In a Year . .. 1786

In praise of Angling . 163

In -Who Days o' Langsyne 1646

In what manner the Soul is united to the

Body 234

Incitement to Perseverance ...1886

Inconstancy of Love 700

Inconstancy of the Multitude 698

Indignation at the Sale of a Wife's

Honoui . 454

Insanity . 199

Inscription in a Hermitage 969

Inscription on the Tomb of Cowper . 1090
Instability of Human Greatness . 315

Interview ot St Serf with Sathanas 45

Introduction of Foreign Vices deprecated 136
Intioduotion to the "Flower and the

Leal" . . 25

Invitation tolzaak Walton ... 647

Invocation , . 1868

Invocation to Rain in Summer . 1764

Iphigema and Agamemnon .. .. 1275

Ins the Kainbow . . 1835

Jsitoome* . . 1782

Is this a time to plant and build ? 1798

Isaac Ajshf ord, a Noble Peasant 1174

J.

Jacob . . . 1550

Jaflfor . 1408

James bewails Ins Captivity 42

•James first sees the Lady Jane 43

Jealousy . ... 426

Jeame Morrison . . 1631

Jenny dang the Weaver .. 1609

Jenny's Bawbee 1610

Jesu, Lover of my, Soul . . . 1066
Joab's Address to David on the Death of

Absalom .. 414

Joab's Desciiption of David 413

Jock of Hazeldean. . . , . 1818

John Anderson . 1589
John the Baptist . .... 865

Journey into France ' . . 252

Julia . 847

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS.

Kilmeny 1615

King Arthur's Death 95

King David . 415

King Edward IV and the Tanner of Tarn-
worth . 536
King James I. and the Tinkler 717
Kiog John and the Abbot of Canterbury 529
Kisses. .. . 1748
KublaEhan. 1509

NO. OP POEM.

Love not 1735

Love will nnd out the way 534

HO os POEM Love without Return 468

Love's Darts 339

Love's Baits . 483

Love's Farewell 599

Love's History 1702

Love's Philosophy , 1364

Love's Servile Lot . . 108

Loyalty confined 513

Lucy H93

Lucy's Fhttin' 1649

Lullaby 434

Lycidas . 606

L'Allegro .... ,603

L1 Amour Timide 983

La Belle Confidante . 568

La Belle Dame sons Meroi 1825

Labour and Genius, or the MiUatream and

the Cascade.
LadyAhce. . .
Lady Barbara
Lady dare...
Langsyne

Last Verses of L E. L
Lavima .. .

Law

9S5
723
1743
1707
1535
1469
870
455
189

1696

990

818

1838

1192

1128

1146

1362

1807

Life . .

Life. . . ..

Life and Immortality .

Life's Piogress . . . .

Lilliput Levee ....

Lines...

Lines addressed to my Children

Lines on the Death ot his Eldest Son

lanes to an Indian Air .

Lines to Fanny

Lines written in a Lonely Bunal-ground
in the Highlands . 1423

Lines written in the Churchyard of Eich-

mond, Yorkshire . . 1383

Little Children » . . 1659

Little John in the Service of the Sheriff of

Nottingham . 523

Little Jted Biding Hood .. 1463

Idttle Streams . 1656

Lochiel's Warning 1303

Logan Braes 1605

London .„ 884

London, 1802 1189

Look Home 109

LordBeiohan . . . 533

Lord Delaware . .. 715

Lord Gregory . . 1153

Lord UHin's Daughter . . . 1307

Losses 1734

Lost Feehngs . 1483

Love . i>m

693
. 1217
. 1505

1672
1133

1513
1Q72
1744

097
1315
QQQ I

- -

T j™

Love and Glory . .

Love and Nature. . . .
Love Divine, all Love excelling
Love in the Valley

Lovein Women .

Love of Country . .

Loveof Praise . .

M.

Macbeth, before Murdering the King 186

MacFlecknoe 660

Madness of Orestes 467

Mahmoud 1404

Maid of Athens 1333

Man 309

Man's Mortality 501

Many, many Years ago 1810

Marcelia . 1374

Marguerite of France 1440

Maimei's Hymn 3533

Markxn 17 jjoi

Mark Antony's Oration on the Body of

Caesar . . 187
Marriage ot Cupid and Psyche— Psyche's

Banishment 1121

Mary 1438

MaryMonson . . 157$

Mary of Castle Gary 1597

Mary, the Maid ot the Inn 122G

Mary's Dream 1046

Massacre of the Macpherson 3 662

Maternal Care 1299

May, 1795 1257

May Day 1153

Melancholy 215
Meldrum's Duel with the English Champion,

Talbart b 61
Meleager Dying 1834
Memoiy of the Dead , 1812
Mercury and Cupid 753
Meioy *j4
Mercy 3^
Mercy and Truth 17
Mercy should have mitigated Justice 933
Midnight Hynm goi
Midnight Wind 3^5
Miriam's Song . 3290
Miscellaneous Thoughts . 044
Mr Muiray's Proposal 1204
Moonlight ., 78j)
Moonnse 3794
Morning 285
•Morning 771
Morning ' t p^Q
Morning and Evening ' 1709
Morning Hymn 832
Morning Hymn . 339
Morning in May 57
Morning in Paradise . (J28
Morning Landscape . figa
Mother and Son * ' mo
Mortimer Earl of March, and the Queen,
surpnsed by Edward f II m Notting-
ham Castle . ^ 14!

ALPHABETICAL LIST OP POEMS

xli

VO. 0* POEM.

Mountain Children 1653

Music's Duel 300

Musidora . , 867

Mustering of the Trades to shoot for the

Siller Gun 1608

Mutability . 1376

My Bonnie Mary 1577

My Fantasy will never turn . . 397

My Heart's in the Highlands 1580
" r Heavenly Father and His emng Child 279

r Held is like to rend, Willie . 1638

r Name, 0 . . 1618

r only Jo and Deane, 0 . .. 1603

r own dear Country . . 1736

r Wife's a winsome, wee Tiling . 1588

N.

Napoleon and the Sailor 1311

Naseby 1567

Nature and Love . 213

Neo Sutor ultra 509

Nehusta's Lover 1725

Netley Abbey 1256

Newborn Death 1843

Night 166

Night . 288

Night 855

Night . 1384

Night 1675

Night and Musio . 167

Night at Sea 1464

Night is nigh gone 390

No Age content with his own Estate 65

No Jewell'd Beauty is my Love 1746

No Tieasure without Gladness 53

Nomine Labia mea apenes 325

Nongtongpaw 1139

Noon ^ 1548

Noontide Hymn 813

Noontide ot a Summer's Day 392

Not ours the Vows 1456

Note to Moschus . 569

Nothing on Earth Permanent 6

Notre Dame 1549

November 1574
Nymph complaining for the Death of her
>awn . .636

0.

0 I breathe not his Name

0 ' Mary, go and call the Cattle Home

0 i Nanny, wilt thou gang wi* Me

0 1 wheie do Fames hide their Heads
Ode

Ode .

Ode. .

Ode

Ode

Ode from Horace

Ode on a Grecian Urn

Ode on hearing the Drum .

Ode on Mankind

Ode on Privateering

Ode on the Death of Thomson

Ode on the Spring

Ode sent to a Friend on his leaving

favourite Village
Ode to a Nightingale
Ode to an Indian Gold Coin .

1287

1799
937

1502
236
876
888
996

1198

1019

1044

1020

892

911

971
1822
1131

Star
'on John Lord Gower

Ode to Aurora
Ode to Evening
Ode to Independence
Ode to Leven-water
Ode to Memory
Ode to Memory
Ode to Peace
Ode to Pity
Ode to Solitude
Ode to Spring
Ode to the Jfivenu

Ode to the Right

Ode to the West Wind

QEnone's Complaint . . ..

Of a Precise Tailor

Of a1 the Airts the Wind can blaw

Of Church

Of Discretion in Giving .

Of Discretion in Taking .

Of Fortune . . .

Of Heaven .

Of Myself

Of Solitude .

Of the Queen

Of Treason

NO. OF POSIT.

977

. 889

921

922

. 895
. 9U

887
. 1015

1104

1134
834

1872
409
153

1583
156
54
55
151
555
540
558
595
150

Of Writers who carp at other Men's Books 152
Ohi lay thy Hand in mine, Dear' . 1756
Oh, the pleasant Days of Old t . . . 1783

Old Age and Death . 592

Old England.. . ... ... . 1751

On a Distant Prospect of Eton College . . 907

On a Distant View of England 1252

On a Girdle .... 585

On a Spngof Heath. . .... 1119

On a Tear . . 1188

On an Infant Dying as soon as born . 1231
On Bishop Atterbury's Burying the Duke

of Buckingham, MDOCXX 762

On Knag's College Chapel, Cambridge 1191
On leaving a Village in Scotland 1250

On Life, Death, and Immortality .

On Love. . . 586

On Loving at First Sight 600

On Lucy, Countess of Bedford. 240

On May Morning 610

OnMi.W Montague's Return from Travel 265
On Mrs. A H at a Concert . 1030

On my Lady Isabella playing the Lute. . 597
On my Lady Sydney's Picture. . . 596

On Philhs Walking before Sunrise . 378

Oa Recovery from Sickness . 1061

On Reviewing the Foregoing 1260

On Revisiting Oxford . . . 1258

On Revisiting the River Loddon . 966

On Shakspere . 1570

On the Birth of the Princess Royal 1397

On the Day of Judgment . 653

On the Death of George III 1420

On the Death of Sir Bevil Grenville 482

On the Death of Dr. Robert Levett 886

On the Death of the Rev William Benwell 1259
On the Departure of tho Nightingale . 1099
On the Earl of Stafford's Mai and Death 577
On the Funeral of Charles I .. 1243

On the Poverty of Poets 955

On the Receipt of his Mother's Picture . 1081
On the Sight of his Mistress' House 708

On the Sudden Restraint of the Earl of So-
merset, then falling from favour . ... 162
OntheTombofMrs.Unwin . . . 1091

On Vicissitude . 912

One Summer Night. ., ,, 1728

One Way of Love,. , , - 1786

klii

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS

135£

NO. O* POE1T

One Word is too often profaned .

Opening of Queen Mab . . .

Opening of the Minstrel .

Opening of the Second Book ot the Task 1086

Opening of the Songs of Zion . 1474

Order and Obedience . .

OwenofOarron . . __

OzymandiasofJEfeypt.. . . . 1370

P.

Palamon and Aroite ; or, the Knight's Tale 659

Paradise ..... . 625

Parting ....... 688

Parting .... . 1529

Passage of the Bed Sea . . 1377

Passing away . 1444

Passions . . . . 696

Patience. . . . ... 430

Patient Qnssell ....... . 526

Path of Life . 1261
Paudtajem Dierum meorum nuncia mibi . 326

Peace . . . 559

Peace ' "What do tears avail * 1690

Pencles and Aapasia 1538

Persian Song of Eafiz . 1012

Personal Appearance of Hudibras 639
Persuasion to Mothers to Suckle their own

Children . . 1096

Persuasions to Love - 266

Pestilence of the Fifteenth. Century 927

Phcebe Dawson .... 1175

Philanthropy— Mr. Howard .... 1095

Philomela . .... 1760

Philomela's Ode ......... 426

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 1322

Picture of a Witch ... 689

Picture of Twilight 1710

Picture of War . . 1482

Pictures of Native Genius 1554

Pixies of Devon . . . 1515

Plague Scenes . . 1426

Plighting Troth ... 212

Portrait of a Poor Gallant . . 249

Posies for thine own Bedchamber 89
Power and Gentleness , or, the Cataract

and Streamlet . . . 1453

Praise of a Country Life . . 807

Praise of Chastity . . 607

Praise of Good Women . 15

Praise of Women . . 27

Praise to God mo

Prattle your Pleasure under the .Rose 742

Prayer . . 1388

£?yer, T *- ' J519

Prayer for Indifference 987

Prayer for Seasonable Weather 284

Pre-existency of the Soul 575

Preparation for Execution . 418

Preparing to meet God . 1062

Pride of Youth . . 1330

Primrose . . 1266

Prince Arthur's Address to-Night 131

Principal Points of Eehgion 90

Procrastination ... . 858

Proper Use of Talents . 204

Protogenes and Apelles . 757
Psalm xm. . . 500

Psalm xxiii. . . 499

Psalm xxiu., Paraphrase on . 770

Psalm xxs ..... . 498

Psalm jdn. ............. "... 473 j

Psalm xlviii. .

Psalm civ. . .

Psalm cxlviu. Paraphrased

Eainbow . .

Beauty of a True Bekgion

Beason

Rebellion

Becollections of English Scenery

479
823
281

310
157
65S
1543
1101

.Recommendation of a High Situation on

the Sea-coast 925

Beconcihation 1704

Bed, Bed Rose 1584

Beflections „ 1178

Beign of Christ on Earth 1302

Religion of Hudibras 038

Remorse . . 810

Remorse 952

Bender to Caesar the Things which are

Caesar's 1817

Bequiescat in Pace ' 1832

Requirements of a Tutor . 248

Betaliation . . 917

Retirement 993

Bichard EL, the Morning before his Murder 137
Richard the Second's Lament 170

Bmaldo at Mount Ohvet and the Enchanted

Wood 149

Bobene and Makyne 38

Bobert, Duke of Noimandy, previously to

his Eyes being put out 496

Bobm Goodfellow . CIO

Bobm Hood and Allen-a-Dalo . 617

Bobin Hood and Guy of Gisborne .. 519

Bobm Hood and the CurtalFiior 620

Bobm Hood reimburses himself of his Loan 524
Bobm Hood rescuing the Widow's throe

Sons 518

Bobin Hood's Death and Burial C25

Bock of Ages, cleft for Me 1074

BondelofLove . 387

Bosabelle 1331

Bosader's Sonetto 430

Rosalind's Madrigal 429

Bosiphele's Vision of Ladies . . 30

Bule Britannia 879

Bumour 173

Bural Sounds 10? 9

1413

Sabbath Chimes

Sadness

St Petei'sDay

St Bomuald

Sally in our Alley

Samela

1701
502
1797
1227
1035
420

Samson bewailing his Blindness and Cap-

tmty .

Sardanapalus 1733

Satan . ,. 1546

Satan meets Sin and Death , , 022

Satan's Address to the Suu . 620

Satan's Speech . 3

Satire . . 777

Say, lovely Di earn '. , " , 590

Scene of Early Love . 1432

Scenes and Musings of the Peasant Poet . 1418

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS.

KO or POEM.

Scorn not the Least . 112

Scotland . . 1135

Scotland . . . 1156

Search after God . 476
Self-inspection .. . .200

Self-murder 694

Sent with a rose, to Rose . ... 1808

Sephestia's Song to her Child . 422

Severed Friendship . . 1510

She walks in Beauty . 1358

She's gane to dwell in Heaven 1 621

Sheepfold . . 1265

Shepherds and Shepherdesses ... 460

Shepherd's Song 474

Shipwreck by Di ink 475

Shipwrecked Solitary's Song to the Night . 1170

Showers in Spiing S64

Sic Vita . 255

Sir Francis Drake 492

Sir John Barleycorn . 719

Sir Sidney Smith .. 1137

Sit down, Sad Soul . 1695

Sketches from a Painter's Studio . 1775

Sleep 174

Sleep . . 497

Smoking Spiritualized . , . 711

Smollett . . 953

Softly woo away her "breath . . . 1688
Soliloquy of Richard the Second iu Prison 171

Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister . 1787

Solitary Life 395

Song by Love, to Physander and Bellamma 376

Song by Rogero, in the " Rovers " ^ 1145
Song fora Highland Drover returning from

Song for St Cecilia's Day at Oxford
Song f 01 the Seasons

1127
763
1686
1022
239
403
1703
1641
1344

Song — May Eve ; or, Kate of Aberdeen

Song of Hesperus

Song of Honest Recreation

Song of the Brook

Song of the Danish Sea King

Song of the Greek Poet

Song of the Virgins celebrating the Victory 1237

Song of Wood Nymphs . 1679

Song— The Blind Boy 1033

Song- The Parting Kiss . . 1000

Song to Apollo . 408

SongtoCeha .... . . 242

Song to David . 994

Song to Echo . 1098

Song to May . ... 1097

Song to Morpheus , . . 578

Song to Pan 220

Songs, 216, 232, 241, 254, 258, 259, 260,
262,

203, 289, 290, 296, 329,
352, 356, 373, 488, 571, 654, 656, 657,
668, 670, 679, 680, 683, 684, 685, 690,
701, 702, 703, 704, 705, 748, 811, 824,
827, 830, 835, 836, 837, 838, 882, 883,
899, 984, 1001. 1021, 1089, 1040, 1112,
1113, 1118, 1286. 1802, 1319, 1320, 1485,
1499, 1508, 1564, 1573, 1651, 1790.
Sonnet made on Isabella Markham . 99

Bonnet on a Wet Summer . 1009

Sonnet on Age oi Twenty-three . 612

Sonnet on His Blindness 613

Sonnet on His late Deceased Wife . 614

Sonnet on Sabbath Morn 1130

Sonnet on the Late Massacre in Piedmont 615
Sonnet, supposed to be written at Lemnos 1043
Sonnet to the Nightingale . . 611

Sonnet to the Redbreast . .. 1008

NO. 0V POBH.

Sonnet to Valclusa . 1042

Sonnet upon a Stolen Kiss . . . 272

Sonnets, 1U7, 123, 134, 140, 147, 164, 235,
396, 485, 489, 968, 1007, 1010, 1166,
1249, 1251, 1254. 1569, 1791, 1824
Sonnets to a Friend .. . 1571

Sospetto d'Herode, Lib. I. ... . 297

gnfli^lnng grid TTiaamp- 567

Speech 692

Spring . . 41

Spnng 368

Spring . . .. 439

Spring . . 941

Spring .."... . 1382

Spring Cuckoo . . . 1264

Staffa . . . 1235

Stanzas for Music ... .... 1340

Stanzas on the Sea , . . 1457

Stanzas written in Dejection near Naples . 1369
Starlight Frost . ... 1271

Sudden Change . . 299

Summer's Evening . . 1263

Summer Morning ... . . 1408

Summer is i-oumen in ... 12

Summer Sports . . 457

Summer Woods . .. 1658

Summons of the Destroying Angel to the

City oi Babylon 1664

Sunday . . . 302

Sunday in Edinburgh . . . 1055

Sunrise 1262

Sweet and Twenty . 1749

Sweet Content . . 433

Sweet Spirit of My Love 1750

Sweet William's Farewell . 802

Swiftness of Time .. .. 102

Swoid Chant of Thorstein Raudi . .1632

Take the Beam out of thine Own Eye . 205
Tale of Argentile and Curan . . 484

Tale of Drury Lane, by W S . . 1416

Tarn o' Shanter . . 1591

Taate . 902

Temperance , 681

Tendencies of the Soul towards the Infinite 901
Terrors of a Guilty Conscience . 976

Tetraetic . 1013

Thab Pleasuie is mixed with every Pain . 75
That the Soul is more than a Perfection or

Reflection of the Sense . ... 222

That the Soul is more than the Tempera-
ture of the Humours of the Body - . 223
The Adopted Child . . . 1452

The Age of Wisdom . . . 1762

The Aged Man-at-Arms . - 411

The Alderman's Funeral ... . 1216

The Alehouse 1595

The Angel of the Flowers 1811

The Angel of the World . . . 1551

The Angelic Worship .. 624

The Anniversary . • 1111

The Answer of the Lord Chief Justice to

Henry V . 176

The Apple Dumplings and a King . . 1150
The Apple of Life . 1829

The Armies at Salamis . 998
The Arraignment of a Lover . 101
The Astronomical Lady . . 861

The Author's Picture $78

xlir

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS.

2fO OP20BM

The Awaking of Endymion . . . 1465

The Ballad of Aginoourt . . 143

The Baby's DSbut, by W W. 1415

The Bard . 909

The Battle of Byland's Path 35

The Bee . . 558

The Beggar . . .. 1027

The Belgian Lovers and the Plague 1093

The Better Land 1445

The Birth of Christ . < . . 822

The Birth of Robin Hood . 515

The Blackbird . . 1806

TheBlaok-cook . . . . 1471

The Blind Beggar of Bednall Gieen 714

The Blood Horse . . . 1680

The Bloom hath fled thy Cheek, Mary 1637

The Boat-race . . 1777

The Bower of Bliss . 133

The Braes o' BalquMther 1598

The Braes o' Glemffer 1599

The Braes of Yarrow . . 881

The Brave Earl Brand, and the King of

England's Daughter. . . .721

The Break of Day . . .233

The Bridal . . 1805

The Bridge of Sighs 1495

The Bner . . 1273

The Brook-side . 1717

The Broom-Flower . . 1657

The Brown Jug . 1014

The Brownie ot Blednook ... . 1650

The Bud . . .... 589

The Burial of Sir Jonn Moore . . 1562

The Burial of the Bighteous . 1161

The Bunal-Maroh of Dundee . . 1663

The Bush aboon Traquarr . . . 1028

The Call ... ... 308

The Cameroman Cat . .738

The Cameroman's Dream . . . 1652

The Canterbury Tales . . . 19

The Cathohok . 712

The Cavalier's Farewell to his Mistress 743

The Cavalier's Song . . . 1636

The Cave 939

The Chameleon ,„.,. . . 1016

The Character of Chatham . . 1077

The Cherry and the Slae „ 389

The Child and the Mourners 1738

The Child and the Watcher . 1559

The Ohilde of Elle . 535

The Child's First Grief . 3448

The Christening „ . 1282

The Ohnstiad 1169

The Chronicle ... . 541

The Chwrch-builder . 839

The Cloud .... . I860

The Cobhler and the Vioar of Bray . . 744

The Coming of Winter 441

The Commencement of Dartmoor . 1513

The Common Doom .... . 461

The Common Lot 4 1387

The Companionship of the Muse . 273

The Complaint . . 549

The Complaints of the Poor . 1222

The Compliment 261

The Confession . . . 445

The Contented Shepherd .. 829

The Convict Ship ... . 1525

The Cotter's Saturday Night 1592

The Council of Horses . 799

The Country Bdllad-smger 804

The Country Life. , .. 345

The Country's Eeoreations 115

The Covenanter's Battle Ohant . .

The Cross .

The Cuokow and the Nightingale

The Daffodils

The Day of Judgment

The Day of Judgment ...

The Death-bed .

The Death-bell ,

The Death of a Good Man

The Death of Haidee

The Death of Janusa and Ammurat

The Death of Mary .

The Death of Rosamond

The Death of the Virtuous

The Death of the Warnor King

The Death of the Young Mother .

The Death of Wallace

The Decay of Summer .

The Demand of Justice .

The Departure of the Swallow .

The Deserted Village

The Despairing Shepherd ..

The Dispensary

The Diverting History of John Gilpin

The Dream ,

The Dream

The Dream of Eugene Aram

The Duplicity of Women

The Dying Christian to his Soul .. .

The Dying Sailor

The Elder Scripture

The Elephant in the Moon

The Emigrant's Adieu to Ballyshannon

The Emigrant's Farewell

The Emigrants in Bermudas

The Emptiness of Riches

The Envious Man and the Miser .

The Equality of the Grave

The Eve of St Agnes

The Evening Cloud

The Exactions and Delay of the Law .

The Excommunication of the Cid . .

The Excursion . . ...

The Exile's Song

The Fair Recluse

The Fairies of the Caldonlaw,
The Fairy to Puck ..

The Fanner's Boy

The Farmer's Ingle . .. ,
The Farmer's Life
The Father and Child

JTO OVPOIX.

1639
1730
. 21
. 1207

1666
1497
469
848
1351
584
1563
367
1108
1697
1433
47
440
313
1661
919
749
786
1087
234

1241, 1341
1494
26
781
1177
1796
643

1480

684

859

31

462

1820

1425

59

1524
1553
1647
1665
1654
210
725
1053
1123
1724

The Father of Pharonnida discovers her

Attachment to Argalia . , . 582

The Feast . ... 557

The Field of Battle . . ... 982

The Field of the World . . , 1394

The Fireside . . ..... 1024

The First Day . . ... 1

The First Pastoral . . 790

The Fishermen . . .... 1800

The Flight of Love . . . . 13C0

The Flower . . . 804

The Flower o' Dumblane . 1600

The Flowers of the Forest ., , 1048

The Flowers of the Forest . . . 1049

The Ford of Arle „ . 282

The Fox at the Point of Death 798

The French Army in Eussia . . 1589

The Friar of Orders Gray . . , 988
The Fnend of Humanity and the Knife-

grinder .. 1144

The Garden of Adonis . . . . 132

The Garden Gate . .. 729

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS.

xlv

SO OBfOBK.

The Garland . ... 754

The Giants and the Abbey . . 1295

The Gipsy's Malison ... . 1283

The Girl of Cadiz 1889

The Gladiator 1340

The Goat without a Beard . . .. 796

The Golden Age . . 39

The Golden Glove . ... 716

The Good Man . . . .160

The Good Tune coming 1741

The Gospel . . . . 1058

The Grand Question debated 775

The Grasp of the Dead . . . . 1467
The Grave .. . ... . 842

The Grave . 847

The Grave 1885

The Grave of *™™- ... . 1141

The Graves of a Household 1439

The Greenland Missionaries .. 1078

The Greenwich Pensioners . 1240

The Greenwood 1241

The Hamlet, an Ode • 965

The Happy Man 8

The Happy Man . . 878

The Happy Marriage . 1034

The Hare and many Friends 801

The Harp that once through Tara's Halls . 1285
The Harvest Storm ... 871

The Haunch of Vemson . . 920

The Haymaker's Song . . 728

The Heir of Linne. . . . 537

The Helmets . 981

The Hermit . . . . 809

The Hermit 992

The Heroine of Auster Fair . 1629

The Highland Poor . . 1120

The Hills of Gallowa* . . . 1648

The Hitchin May-day Song . . 727

The Holly Tree 1215

The Homes of England 1436

The Hour of Prayer 1443

The House of Fame 23

The House of Riches ... .129

The Hunter's Song . . . . 1684

The Hunting of the Cheviot . . 528

The Husband's Return . 1596

The Image of Death . Ill

The Image of Jealousy in the Chapel of

Diana 334

The Immortality of the Soul . 225

The Impressed Sailor Boy . . 1168

The Inohcape Bock . 1224

The Induction to the Complaint of Henry,

Duke of Buckingham . 96
The Inquiry . 384
The Interview of Vortigern with Bowen 14
The Invocation and Introduction to Para-
dise Lost .619

The Ivy Green 1818

The Jews' Return to Jerusalem 980

The Journey onwards .. 1298

The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove 722

The Just Indignation of the Oppressed , 277
The Reach i' the Creel 718

The King of Denmark's Bide . „ 1716

The King's Answer . . . 177*

The Kiss, a Dialogue.. . 340

The Kitten . . 1473

The Knight releases his Lands and suc-
cours A yeoman . ... 522
The Ladder to Thrift , .88
The Lady's Looking-glass . . .750
The Lady's Song in Ts Comus " . . 608

The Land of My Birth ... . 1721
The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers ... 1451
The Languid Lady 862

The Lark . .. ." . . ." ... 478

The Lass of Lochroyan 539

The Last Journey . 1532

The Last Tune I came o'er the Moor . 825

The Last Yerses of Chaucer 28

The Light of other Days 1292

The Lily . . ... 1122

The Lion and Giraffe 1479

The Lion and the Cub 794

The Long-ago 1719

The Lost Leader ... . . 1788

The Lot of Thousands .. 1115

The Love of Praise . . . . 860

The Love that is requited with Disdain . .. 93
The Loved One was not there . . 1743

The Lover complaineth of the Unkmdness
of His Love . . .... 72

The Lover requesteth some Friendly Com-
fort, affirming his Constancy . . 92
The Lover's Lute cannot be blamed,
though it sing of his Lady's Unkind-
ness ... .... 73

The Loyal Soldier 746

The Mad Lover . . , . 382

The Madman's Song 447

The Madness of Orestes 467

The Maid's Lament . .. .. 1272

The Maid of Neidpath. . . ... 1829

The Man of Boss . 779

The Manner's Wife . . . . 929

The Marriage of Cupid and Psyche . 1121

The Massacre of the Macpherson 1662

The Means to attain Happy Life ... 66
The Memory of the Dead . 1793

The Men of Forty-eight . . . 1745

The Men of Old .. . 1718

The Merle and Nightingale . . 51

The Mermaid ... . 1132

The Messiah 630

The Messiah . . . .776

The Midges dance aboon the Bum .. . . 1601

The Midnight Messenger 710

The Midnight Ocean 1424

The Midnight Wind 1635

The Minion Wife 399

The Ministry of Angels 130

The Minstrel's Song lu Ella .. .. 944

The Miser 844

The Miser's Mansion 1218

The Miseries of a Poet's Life . .. 950

The Monkey . . . . 1655

The Monkey who had seen the World .... 792
The Moon was a-wanmg . .. 1614

The Morning Star 875

The Mothers Hand 1699

The Mother's Heart 1711

The Mother's last Song 1689

The Mow . . 726

The Muster for the first Crusade 13

The Nabob 1102

The New Litany 735

The New-mown Hay 780

The New Year 646

The New Tear's Gift 1472

The Night before the Battle of Waterloo . 1358
The Night-piece : or, a Picture Drawn in

theDark ... 602

TheNiMbtingale 1506

The Nobility exhorted to the Patronage of
Learning 139

xlvi

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS

OP *OBM.
720
. 392

The Nobleman's generous Kindness

The Noontide of a Summer's Day .

The Nun . . 1*01

The Nutbrown Maid 94

The Nymph's Reply . . 114

The Nymphs to then- May Queen . 122

The Odour . 305

The Old and Young Courtier 511

The Old Arm-chair .. . . 1720

The Old Familiar Faces.. . . 1230

The Old Farm-gate ... . 1722

The Old Hen and the Cock 795

The Old Man's Comforts 1223

The Old Man's Wish . 686

The Old Protestant's Litany 736

The Old Water-mill . 1724

The One Gray Hair. 1277

The Only Rest ... 7

The Orphan Boy . . 1700

The Orphan Boy's Tale . 1116

The Outlaw . . 1326

The Owl . .... . 1685

The Owl and the Bell 1831

The Oxford Riddle. 507

The Pamter 1542
The PamterwhopleaaedNobodyandEvery-

body.. . . 793

The Palmer . . 1333
The Parish Workhouse and Apothecary 1173

The Parrot . 1310

The Parting of Lovers 1737

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love . 113

The Past 1727

The Pauper's Death-bed . . 1531

The Philosopher's Devotion . 572

The Pilgrims and the Peas . 1147

The Pixies of Devon ... , . 1515

The Poet and the Rose 800

The Poet's Bridal-day Song .. 1622

The Poet's Hour. , .. . 1547

The Poet's Song to his Wife . . . 1687

The Power of Love . . 217

The Praise of a Solitary Life . . 366

ThePre-existencyof the Soul . 575

The Preparation for Execution . 448

The Pride of Youth . 1330

The Primrose . 270

The Primrose . 1409

The Prisoner of Chillon . 1345

The Progress of Discontent 978

The Progress of Love . . 904

The Prophecy 942

The Puritan 740

The Queen . 1774

The Quiet Life ... . 782

The Rainbow . . . 310

The Rainbow .... 562

The Real and the Ideal . . 456

The Reaper 1206

The Reconciliation . . , 1704
The Re-cured Lover exulteth in his Free-
dom, and voweth to remain Free until
Death.. 74
The Reign of Christ on Earth . 1392
The Resolve . . 381
The Resurrection . 849

The Retirement 648

The Retreat.. . 564

The Return of David II from Captmty 44

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner... 1503

The Rose 850

The Roundhead 741

The Sabbath Day . . 1422

The Sailing of Beowulf

The Sailorrs Farewell

The Ballot's Wife

The Saint's Encouragement .

The Scholar

The Schoolmistress..

The Sea

The Sea

The Sea m Calm

The Seasons of Life

The Secret Way ..

The Seeds of Lovo

The Seeker

The Self -banished

iro. OP POBH.
0

1038

1742

370

1220

893
1681
1833
1680
1812
1828
671
816
C01

The sequestered Retirement of Bentworth 283

The Shepherd and his Wife 423

The Shepherd Boy 14(i2

The Ship departing from the Haven . 946
The Shipwreck of the Caravel of Grace . 56
The Shipwrecked Solitary's Song . 1170

The Sick Man and the Angel 797

The Skylark.. . . 1613

The Sleep . 1561

The Sleeping Beauty , 1184

The Sleeping Figure of Modena 1676

The Soldier's Dream . . 1303

The Soldier's Home . . . 1125-

The Solitary Tomb . . 1468-

The Song- of the Enamoured Shepherd 410

The Song of the Shirt .. . 1490

The Songs of Birds . 405

The Sorcerers of Vain Delights . 311

The Soul and Body 574

The Soul in Despair 5-

The Soul's Errand .... 119

The Soul's Errand . . 503

The Spanish Lady's Love . , .538

The Spirit's Epilogue in ' • Oomus " 600

The Splendid Shilling . . 606

The Spring ... .308!

The Squue and the Do re . 120-

The Squiere's Tale . . . 20

The Star of Bethlehem 1167

The Starry Heavens . ... 1481

The Stormy Petrel . . 1682.

The Stranger and his Friend ] 393

The Suicide . 97O

The Summer's Queen . . 432

The Sun rises bright in France . HiiJ7

The Swearer . 803

The Sweets of Beauty . . 464

The Tale of the Coffers or Caskets . . 2i>

The Tar for all Weathers . HiJtf-

The Tears of Scotland ... 923

The Tempestuous Evening , . 101&

The Temptation of Eve . 4.

The Theatre . 1414

The Thief and the Cordelier 75tt

The Thought of Death ... t>74

The Three Knights . . . 713,

The Three Sons • .. 1803

The Three States of Woman 450

The Three Warnings . . 1Q26

The Thrush's Nest . 1410

The Timber . . . 5C1

The Toilet . . 73$

The Tomb . . QQQ.

The Town Child and Country Child . 1624

The Town Ladies . 388

The Traveller . . 038

The Treasures of the Doep 1437

The Troubadour . , 1403.

The Tub Preacher 734

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS

xlvfi

VO. OI POBH.

The Twa Sisters o' Binnorle 527

The Two Apnl Mornings 1212

The Unknown Grave 1636

The Upas in Marylebone Lane. 1417

The Useful Plow 724

The Uses of Adversity 191

The Valediction . 570

The Vanity of Human Learning- . . 221

The Vanity of Human Wishes .. 885

The Vanity of the Beautiful . 103

The Vamt v of the World , 293

The Vessel going to Pieces 949

The Voice of Spring 1438

The Voice of the Dying . . 206

The Voice of the Morning . 1698

The Votaress of Diana . , 336

The Waiting-maid 551

The Wanderer 841

The Wandering Wind , . 1450

The War of tib.e League .... 1565

The Water* the Water » 1634

The Water Lady . 1498

The Water oj Wearie's Well . 532

The Widow and Child . . . 1705

The Widow Bird . 1374

The Widowed Mother . 1213

The Widowed Mother . 1429

The Wife . 495

The Wife's Appeal . 1778

The Wife's Funeral . . 1179

The Wild Huntsman . ... 1834

The Will ... 230

The Winds 87

The Winter Evening . 1084

The Wish . . 546

The Wish . 678

The Wish . 1017

The Witch's Cave 335

The Wreath 568

The Woodman's Walk , 505

The Work-girl's Song , 898

The World a Stage 193

The World is too much with us 1190

The Worn Wedding Ring . . 1768

The Young Man's Wish 709

The Young Maxwell . . . 1619

Theodore and Honona . , . 664

There be those . ,. 1455

There is an Ancient Man 1733

There is a Garden in her Face 486

There's no Dearth of Kindness 1753

They are all gone 560

They come, the Merry Summer Months 1633

Think on thy Home 364

Think not of the Future 1501

Thomas the Rhymer 531

Those Evening Bells 1288

Thou art gone to the Grave 1381
Thou hast vow*d by thy Faith, my Jeanie 1625

Thoughts of Heaven 1642

Thoughts in a Garden . 633

'Thoughts on Time 857

Thus stood his Mind. . 1430

Time's Alteration . 512

Time's Song 1814

Times go by turns 110

Tintern Abbey 1195

"Tis the Last Rose of Summer . 1278

To a Beloved One . 1754

To a Brother Poet 276

To a Child embracing his Mother . . .. 1489

To a Ooy Lady . 383

To a Cricket . 1764

3TO. OS POB3C.

To a Daisy . ,,. 1891

To a Distant Friend 1200

To a Family Bible 1447

i To a Highland Girl 1196

To a Lady 598

To a Lady 778

To a Lady admiring Herself in a Looking*
glass .. *. 858

To a Lady I know, aged One 1771

To a Lady with a Guitar . ... 1371

To a Lady with some Painted Flowers 1105
To a Mountain Daisy . ... 1575

To a Nightingale . . . 361

To a Skylark . 1361

To a Sleeping Child . . 1421

To a Sleeping- Child 1837

To a Tuft of Early Violets 1143

To a very Young Lady 667

To Althea (from Prison) . 355

To Amoret 593

To an Early Primrose . 1165

To Autumn . .... 1521

ToBelsbazzar .. . . 1357

To Blossoms 341

To Castara 317

To Castara, inquiring why I loved her. . 318
To Castara (the Record of Innocent

Love) . . - . .... 32S

To furtam Golden Fishes . . 1573

To Charlotte Pulteney 791

ToChloe . . 388

To Connna 851

To Daffodils 842

To Fancy 974

To Ferdinand Sejmour 1712

To find God 350

To Hester 1228

To his Coy Love 145

To his Empty Purse 22

To his Heart 386

To his Lute . . . . 362

To his Mistress . ... 78

To his Mistress . 645

To his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia . 158
To his Son Vincent Corbet . 251

To his Wife . . 1126

To his Wife . 1500

To lanthe 1133

To Lucasta (going to the Wars) 353

To Lucasta (from Prison) . 354

To Macaulay . . 1276

To Mary (firs Unwin) . . . 1082

To Marv in Heaven 1587

To Meadows . 344

To Mrs Bishop . 1002

To Mrs Bishop 1003

To Mistress Margaret Hussey . . 63
To my Candle 1155

To my Daughter, on being separated from

her on her Marriage . . .. 1114

To my Daughter, on her Birthday . 1490

To my Noblest Fnend 324

To my Picture 360

To my Son 1164

To Phyllis 594

To Posterity 493

To Primroses filled with Morning Dew .. 346

To Religion . 120

To Roses in the Bosom of Castara. .. 316
ToSaxham . . ... 269

To Seymors 381

To Sleep 218

To Sleep

4

adviii

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF POEMS.

ZTO. OT t OBM.

To T. L. H., six years old, during a Sick-
ness .... - 1898
To the Bramble Flower .. . 1552
To the Butterfly . . 1187

To the Comet of 1811 1616

To the Cuckoo 962

To the Cuckoo .... . 1202

To the Daisy . . 1208
To the Earl of Warwick on the Death ot

Addison . . 785

To the Evening Primrose 1454

To the Evening Star . . 682

To the Evening Star . . . 1301

To the First Cuckoo of the year . 1816

To the Glowworm . ,. 1405

To the Grasshopper and the Cricket 1399

To the Holy Trinity . , 237

To the Memory of a Lady . 1540
To the Memory of the First Lady Lyttelton 906

To the Night. 1365

To the Nightingale . . .707

To the Passions . . . . 890

To the Queen 374

To the Reverend Dr Ayscough 905

To the Bayer Cherwell . ,. 1258

To the River Nith . . 1607

To the River Tweed . .. 1248

To the River Wensbeck . 1247

To the Skylark . 1201

To the Snowdrop 1678

To the Spimg- 820

Ofc the TronEirk Bell . . 1054

To Thomas Moore . . 1337

To Time . 1288

To Tom Bowling 1140

ToW. G. B 1773

To-morrow, Lord, is Thine. 1060

Town and Country 1484

Translation of Horace, Odes, I 5 617

Tribute to a Mother on her Death 1089

True Beauty m Woman . 1821
TuUochgorum .. . . 1050

Tweeds&e . 1029

Twenty-eight and Twenty-nine 1709

Two April Mornings . 1212

U.

Una and the Red Cross Knight
Una followed by the Lion
Under the Holly Bough
Unprepared for Death
Upon his Mistress sad
Upon Westminster Bridge
Urania

, 124

125

1789

845

379

1204

1759

V.

Valediction 231

Vanity of Earthly Things 52

Variety. 986

Verses 832

Verses on a most stony-hearted Maiden .. 100

Verses on his Own Death 774

Verses written when alone in an Inn at

Southampton 1081

Vicarious Justice 641

Virgin Purity.,.. „.... .... .. 580

Virtue 80S

Virtue and Vice
Vision of Be

JTO, 07 *OBM '

485

1856

W.

805

1065
1769

463

1103

16

292
1407

470

451
1740

Walking the Streets of London

War Song on the Victory of Brunnenburg 1296

Warriors 699

Washing-day 1107

We are Brethren a' .... 1643

We have been Friends together .. 1713

Weary of Wandering . ..

WedcUng Words

Welcome to the Forest* s Queen

What ails this Heart o* mine ^ . .

What is Heaven 2 , . „

WnatisLife* . .

What is Life2

What is Love*.

What Love is like .

What might be done

When I beneath the cold red Earth am

sleeping . 1640

When the King comes Home in Peace

again . . . 732

When the Eye comes Hame 1612

When we two paited . 1342

Where shall the Lover Rest 2 1328

Whitbread's Biewery visitod by their

Majesties 1151

Wife, Childien, and Fiiends . 1396

Wild Flowers . .. . 1644

WiUiam and Maigaret . . 897

Willow Song . 1449

Winter Evening in the Country . . . 1085
Winter Redbreast . . . 1268

Wishes for Obscunty . . 695

WolseyonhisFall ... 182

Wolsey*s Ambition . 490

Wolse/s Vision ... 491

Woman's Voice . . . 1758

Woo'd and married and a' 1045

Work-girl's Song . . . . 398

Wieathe the Bowie . 1279

Wretchedness of a School Usher 051

Written at an Inn at Henley . 89C

Written at the Close of Spring 1100

Written at Tynemouth, Northumberland,

after a Tempestuous Voyage . 1245

Written in a blank leaf of Dugdale's

" Monasticon " 967

Written in Eaily Spring . 1211

Written on a Visit to the Country in

Autumn . . . 963

T.

Yarrow Visited , , ,.

Ye Mariners of England

Ye're all the World to me, Lassie ,

Young Loohinvar „.. ..,

Young Love „ ,

Youth and Age

Youth and Age

1199
1305
1813
1317
635
1221
1355

Zara's Ear-rings.,

1523

THE FIRST LINES OP THE POEMS.

JTO. 07 POBK

A band, a bobwig, and a feather 833

A brace of sinners, for no qx>od 1147

A broad stream, smooth with deep-grass'd

fields 1775

A chieftain to the Highlands bound 1307

A cloud lay cradled near the setting aim 1425
A cobbler and a curate once disputed 509

A country life is sweet ' . . 724

A curious eye . 334

A curse upon that faithless maid 704

A face that should content me wondrous

well . . 76

A fair young May went up the street 718

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 1210
A fool ! a fool ' I met a fool if the

forest 192

A fox, in life's extreme decay 798

A gentle knight was pricking on the

plain 124

A gentle maid, of rural bi eedmg 986

A gentle squire would gladly entei tain 248
A good Pope was thilk time at Borne that

hecht Urban 13

A happy bit hame this auld world would be 1643
A jewel for my lady's ear 1769

"A knife," dear gul, "cuts love/* they

say t v 1002

A learn' d society of late 643

A little child, beneath a tree 1738

A little onward lend thy guiding hand 616

A mighty pain to love it is 542

A monkey, to reform the tunes 792

A mother's love— how sweet the name ' . 1390
A noble marquess 526

A nobleman Lived in a village of late 720

A parrot from the Spanish main 1310

A poor wayfaring man of grief 1393

A quack (TOO scandalously mean to name) 652
A star has left the kindling sky 1469

A steed ' a steed of matchless speed 1636

A tailor, thought a man of upright dealing 153
A thousand miles from land are we 1682

A thousand pretty ways we'll think upon 550
A tree grew in Java, whose pestilent nnd 1417
A veteran gambler, m a tempest caught 1006
A wandering orphan child was I 1699

A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright 1318
A wealthy young squire of Tamworth, we

hear 716

A weary lot is thine, fair maid 1320

A wet sheet and a flowing sea 1623

A widow bird sate mourning for her love. 1374
A wretch had committed all manner of evil 839
A I fredome is a nobill thing » 32

NO Off POBH.

Abou BenAdhem (may his tribe increase ') 1402
Actaeon lost, in middle of his sport 123

Adieu, farewell earth's bliss . 442

Adieu to BaHyshannon 1 where I was bred
and born ...... 1838

Ae fond HSS. and then we sever . 1576

Afar in the desert I love to ride „ 1478
Afric is an the sun's, and as her earth. . 1351
After giving, I speak of taking 55

Again, how can she but immortal be * . . 225

Again, sweet siren, breathe again
1

. 1133
the chief th1 instructive draught ex-

tendt . .948

Ah I Chlons, that I now could sit . 667

Ah 1 County Guy, the hour is nigh 1327

Ah i from mine eyes the tears unbidden

start . 1252

Ah' I remember well (and how can I. 135

Ah. lovely lachfield t that so long hast

shone .... 1111

Ah, me » full sorely is my heait forlorn . 893
Ah, me ' the little tyrant thief 357

Ah, mourn, thou loved retreat ' No more 971
Ah, ope, Lord Gregory, thy door 1152

Ah, the poor shepherd's mournful fate * 883
Ah, were she pitiful as she i& fair 427

Ah i what a weary race my feet have run 966
Ah t what is love * It is a pretty thing 424
Ah 1 who can tell how hard it is to climb 988
Alas ' in how grim .. 5

Alas t that moon should ever beam . 1498
Alas i they had been friends in youth 1510
Alexis shunned his fellow-swains 749

All human things are subject to decay 660

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd .. 802
ALL June I bound the rose in sheaves .. 1785
AH men loved him for his bounty . 33

All praise to Thee, my God, this night 820

AH smatterers are more brisk and pert 644
AH the world's a stage .. . 193

AH these and more came flocking; but

with looks . .. 621

AH thoughts, all passions, all delights . 1505
AH we have is God's, and yet 301

AH white hung the bushes o'er Slaw's sweec

stream . . . 1472

AH. wit and fancy, like a diamond 644 '

AH ye, who far from town, in rural hall . 1009
AH ye woods, and trees, and bow'rs 220

Almighty Father Uet Thy lowly child . 1557
Alone she was, her head against the waH 1839
Along the garden walk I stray' d . . 1807

Along the mead Europa walks . ... 569
Amang the birks sae blithe and gay ...... 1648

THE FIRST LINES OF THE POEMS

NO. 07 POEM.

Aznarantha sweet and fair 356

Among thy fancies tell me this 840

An ancient story I'll tell you anon 529

An old dull sot, who toll'd the clock 642

An old song made by an aged old pate 511
And are ye sure the news is true? 929

And doth not a meeting like this make

amends 1281

And down the cliff the island virgin came 1349
And eke this house hath of entries 23

And first within the porch and jaws of hell 97
And hast thou sought thy heavenly home 1534
And is the swallow gone * 1661

And is there care in heaven * And is there

love 130

And is this the old mill-stream that ten

years ago . . 1724

And is this Yarrow *— this the stream 1199
And now before young David could come in 144
And now, lashed on by destiny severe 949

And now, philanthropy ' thy rays divine 1095
And now, to be brief, let's pass over the

rest * 717

And now, unveiled, the toilet stands dis-
played . 780
And Baohel lies in Efphrath's land 1475
And so I glade* of the season sweet 25
And the night was dark and calm 1466
And then came Covetase, can I him not

descnve * 18

And thou art dead, as young and fair 1354
And thou hast walkM about (how strange

a story ') . ^ 1418

And well our Christian sires of old 1335

And what is life * An hour-glass on the

1407
292
34
1654
1222
77

rnn

And what's a life *— a weary pilgrimage
And when the king wist that they were
And where have you been, my Mary
And wherefore do the poor complain *
And wilt thou leave me thu*
And with that word she smiled, and ne'er-

theless

Anger, in hastv words 01 blows
Another nymph, amongst the many fair
Are they not senseless, then, that think

the soul

Ariel to Miranda .—Take
ArraVd a half-angelic sight
Ait thou a thing of mortal birth
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slum-

bers • .

As after noon, one summer's day
As at tiie approach of winter all
As bird in cage debarred the use of wings
As, by some tyrant's stern command
As by the shore at break of day
As chaos which by heavenly doom
As doctors give physic by way of preven-
tion

As due by many titles, I resign
As nreflauo>A *- - -L1- ' *

148
586
758

1371
1232
1421

752
644
496
936
1286
1416

235

n%hty Tithon spouse 57
As nomeward by the evening star 1263

As I walked forth one summer's morn 730

AS i was pausing in a morning aire 894

As in to evening, when the gentle air' . 286
'K?-!?J5!?tt»3W -. 121

4* S"^ lon£ b7 wasting sickness worn 1254
AsBoohefoucauTt his maims drew . 774
As slowldimb the cliff's ascending side

NO 07P03K.

As slow our ship her foamy track 1293

As through the land at eve we went 1704

As virtuous men pass mildly away 231

As we bene on the high hills situate 56
As when, to one, who long hath watch'd the

morn 1007

Ask me no more where Jove bestows 260

Ask me why I send you here 270

At Beauty's bar as I did stand 101

At length escaped from every human eye 906

At Sarra, in the land of Tai tone 20
At the close of the day, when the hamlet

is still 992

At Willie's wedding on the green 1609
Autumn hath all the summer's fruitful

treasure 441
Avenge, 0 Lord, Thy slaughtered saints,

whose bones 615
Awake, my muse, and leave to dream of

loves 489

Awake, my soul, and with the sun . . 819

B

Back and side go bare, go bare 402

Balm of my cares, sweet solace of my toils 972
Batter my heart, three-peisoned God ; for

you . 235

Be merry, friends, take ye no thought 401

53

, ,

Be merry, man, and take nought far in mynd
Be patient • Oh, be patient ' put your ear

againbt the earth . , 1803

Be wise to-day ; 'tis madness to defer 858

Be wise to run thy race . 1076

Beat on, proud billows Boreas, blow 513

Beauteous and bright is he among the

tabes „ ... 41$

Beauties, have you seen this toy 238

Beautiful children of the woods and fields I 1644

419
195
107
230
111
4

731
1206
1039
1397
297
1357
970

Beauty, alas ' where wast thou born

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good

Because I oft in dark abstracted guise

Before I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe

Before my face the picture hangs

Began then himself equip

Begone dull care ' „,

Behold her, single in the field

Behold upon the swelling- wave

Behold where thou dost lie .

Below the bottom of the great abyss

Bolshazzar I fiora the banquet turn

Beneath the beech, whose branches bare

Beneath this stony roof reclined „ „ yey

Bereave me not of fancy's shadowy draams 1244

Beside her babe who sweetly slept . . , 1429

Betwixt two sloping verdant hills , 935

Bewailing in my chamber thus alone 43

Beyond the smiling and the weeping . 1779

Bid me not go where neither suns nor

showers 337

ioff, him, bang, borne ' 1331

ird, bee, and butterfly— the favourite

three . , 1517-

Bii d of the wilderness 1613

Blame not my lute I for he must sound 73

Bless God, my sort ' Thou, Lord, alone 823

Blessed as the immortal gods is ho 788

Blest temple, haile, where the chast altar

1757
211

« ..

Blossom of the almond trees
Blow, blow, tboa winter wind

THE FIRST LINES OF THE POEMS,

It

779

866
224

926

872

24

WO OPPOE1T.

Bone-weary, many-childed, trouble-tried I 1653
Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen 1615

Bora in yon blaze of orient sky 1097

Breathes there a man with soul so dead 1315
Bright star ' by Venus fix'd above 682

~ ght sun had m his ruddy robes been

ht 940

and best of the sons of the
morning 1380

Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal

board . 1441

Brother, thou art gone before us 1669

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bude 881
Busy, curious, thirsty fly 1021

But all our praises why should lords en-
gross «
But happy they ' the happiest of then

kind1

But how shall we this union well express*
But if the breathless chase o'er hill and

dole

But see the fading many-colour' d woods
But sith 'tis so there is a trespass done
But still, foiyot the grandeur of thy reign
But wood and wild, the mountain and the

dale 1161

By Logan streams that nn sae deep 1605

By painful steps at last we labour up 681

By sylvan waves that westward flow 1 702

By this had chanticleer,, the village cook 285

Ca' the yowes to the knowes 1582

Cajlia is cruel Sylvia, thou 685

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren 446
Can gold calm passion, or make reason

shine? 859

Can you paint a thought * or number 458

Care-charmer sleep, son of the sable Night 140
Care-charming sleep, thou easer of all woo& 218
Careful observers may foretell the hour 772
Careful sorrowing 10

Cease to blame my melancholy 984

Cecilia, whose exalted hymns 763

Ceha and I the other day 750

Checke thy forward thoughts, and know 319
Cheeks as soft as July peaches 1766

Cherry npe, ripe, npe, I cry 348

Cherwelll how pleased along thy willow' d

hedge 1253

Child amidst the flowers at play 1443

Child of the country I free as air 1624

Child of the potent spell and rumble eye 1041
Child of the sun ' pursue thy rapturous

flight 1187

Children are what the mothers ore 1274

Chloo, why wish you that your y eai s 338

Chlons. yourself you so excel . 598

Clorinda came at last . 336

Close in the covert of an hazel copse 867

Clysdale, as thy romantic vales I leave 1250
Cold is the senseless heart that never

strove 1010

Come, all ye feathery people of mid air 1677
Come all ye jolly shepherds 1612

Come, all ye youths whose hearts e'er bled 690
Come back, come back together 1463

Come, come away 745

Come, evemnge gale ' the crimsonne rose 1541
Come, Evening^ once again, season of peace 1085

NO. OP POBK.

Come, gentle sleep ' attend thy votary's

prayer ... 1154

Como, gentle zephyr, tnck'd with those

perfumes , . 417

Come, gie's a sang, Montgomery cried . . 1060
Come here, come here, and dwell . 1679

Come, Holy Spirit, come . ... 1075

Come, list and hark, the bell doth toll . 469
Come, listen to me, you gallants so free 517
Come, little infant, love me now ... . 635
Come, live with me and be my love . 113 *

Come, my Way, my Truth, my life * . 308

Come, 0 come, with sacred lays 281

Come, 0 thou traveller unknown . . 1064
Come, said Jesus' sacred voice , 1109

Come, sleep, 0 sleep, the certain knot of

peace . 107

Come to these scenes of peace 1242

Come, ye brown oaks, and stoop your

heavy boughs „ . , . . 1548

Come ye into the summer woods . 1658

Comes next from Boss-shire and from

Sutherland . . 1630

Comforts lastraft loves oncreasing . 459

Condemned, to Hope's delusive mine . 886

Connubial Fair 1 whom no fond transport

warms . , . 1096

Contentment, parent of delight . 815

Cosmelia's charms inspire my lays . 669
Crowns, therefore keep your oaths of

coronation . . 154

Cupid and nay Campaspe played 404

Cursed with unnumber'd groundless fears 976
Custom, the world's great idol, we adore . 677

D.

Darkness, which fairest nymphs disarms 602
Daughter of Jove, relentless power . . 908
Daughter of Time, sincere Posterity 498

Daughters of Israel ' praise the Lord ot

Hostsi . 1237

Day stars * that ope your eyes with morn

to twinkle 1419

Dazzled thus with height of place . 162

Dear Agnes, gleam'd with joy and dash'd

with tears . 1470

Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd 1024

Dear Fanny, nine long years ago 1490

Dear is my little native vale . 1186

Dear Joseph, five and twenty years ago 1088
Dear to my heait as life's warm stream 1114
Dear Tom, this biown jug that now foams

with mild ale . 1014

Death, be not proud, though some have

called thee . 235

Deathless principle, arise 1 . 1073

Death's shafts fly thick ' Here falls the

village swain .. . . 847

Deem as you list upon good cause . .. 79
Deem not devoid of elegance the sage 967

Defeating oft the labours of the year . 871
Degeneiate Douglas' Oh the unworthy

lord' 1203

Delightful is this loneliness , it calms 1158
Despairing beside a dear stream 828

Didbt thou but know the inly touch of love 201
Dim as the bonow'd beams of moon and

stars . • .658

Do I not know a great man's power and

might . • • 277

lii

THE FIRST LI1TES OF THE POEMS

SO. 07 POBM.

Do not beguile my heart 306

Do not unjustly blame 646

Do you ask me what the birds say * The

sparrow, the dore 1612

Down to the vale this water steers 1197

Drink to me, only with thine eyes 242

Drop. drop, slow tears, and bathe those

beauteous feet . . 312

Dry those fair, those crystal eyes 264

Dry np thy tears, love *— I fain would be

gay* . . 1626

Dwellers by lake and hffl » . 1663

Each, opening season, and each opening

scene . . 1413

Earl Gawam woo'd the Lady Barbaia . 1743
Earth has not anything to show more fair. 1204
Enjoy the present smiling' hour 665

Equipp'd and bent for neaven I left yon

worfi 1421

Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade . 1611
Ere yet the fell Flantagenets had spent 927
Eternal spirit of the chamless mind ' 1346

Etheieal minstrel ' pilgrim, of the sl^' 1201
Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture

glow . 989

Even the lag flesh . .... 849

Even thus amid thy pnde and luxury 1666
Evening and morning— those two ancient

names . . 1729

Evening, as slow thy placid shades descend 1249

F.

Faintly brayM the battle's roar 982

Fair and soft, and gay and young 684

Fair as unshaded light or as the day 374

Fair daffodils, we weep to see 342
Fan- Echo, nse ' sicfc-thoughted nymph,

awake 380

Fair Fidelia, tempt no more 743

Fair flower that shunn'st the glare of day 1454

Fair is thy level landscape, England feir 1616

Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair . 140

Fair lady, when you see the grace 358

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 841

Fair Eosomond within her bower of late . 367

Fair stood the wind for France 143
Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts

• therefore . 440

Fair! that you may truly know 693
Faire mistresse of the Earth, with garlands

erown'd . . 320
Fall'n pile I I ask not what has been thy

fete . . :. ... 1256

False world, thouly'st thou canst not lend 288
Famous was Beowulf ... .9

Fancies are but streams 456

Far have I clambered in my mind 673
Far in a wild, unknown to public view 809
Far in the country of Arden . . 146
Far in the windings of a vale . 898
Farewell, a long farewell to all my great-
ness 1 182

Farewell rewards and fairies 253

Farewell, sweet groves to you 1 .... 276

Farewell the fields of Lrwan's vale ... . 934

MX). Off POBK.

Farewell, thou busy world, and may 648

Farewell to Loohaber, farewell to my Jean 824
Farewell, ye gilded follies ' pleasing trou-

Father in heaven > who gave me breath 1537
Father, wake, the storm is loud 1734

Few are thy days and full of woe 964

Few have lived 1727

Fhairshon swore a feud 1662

Fight on, brave soldiers, for the cause 370

FiBi the bowl with i osy wine 542

Fill the bumper fan- ' 1280

First shall the heavens want starry light 431
First think, my soul, if I have foes 274

First-love will with the heait remain 1411

Five years have pass'd : five summers, with

the length 1195

Flower of the waste f the heath-fowl shuns 1119
Flowers to the fair ; to you these flowers I

bring 1105

Fly from the press, and dwell with soth-

fastness 28

Fly to the desert, fly with me 1284

Follow a shadow, it still flies you 241

Fond man, that looks on earth for happiness 315
Foolish Prater, what dost thou . 542

For his religion, it was fit 638

For many a coal-black tribe and cany

spear " 1377

For me who feel, whene'er I touch the lyre 1089
For sure in all kmds of hypocrisy 157

For, this ye know well, tho' I wouldin lie 27
Forget not yet the tried intent 78

Fortitude then stood steadfast in his might 39
Fortune, men say, doth give too much to

many 151

Friend of my soul ' this goblet sip 1282

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me

your ears 187

Friendship, like love, is but a name 801

From an extempore prayer and a godly

ditty 735

From Ashur's vales when proud Sennache-
rib trod 1092
From depth of doole wherein my soule doth

dwell 106

From frozen climes, and endless tracts of

snow 789

From fruitful beds and flowery borders 558
From Oberon in fairy land 510

From Pembioke's princely dome, where

mimic art 968

From that rich valley, where the angels

laid him . 491

From Tuskane came my ladies woi thy race 69
Full of the art of brewing beer .. . 1151

Gamarra is a dainty steed 1680

Gane were but the winter cauld , . 1620

Gather ye rose-buds, while ye may 343

Genius of the forest shades 1128

Gentle nymphs, be not refusing . 289

Gentlefolks, in my time, Pve made many a

rhyme . 1137

Gentlest girl ., 1731

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming

morn . .351
Give me more love, or more disdain 262

Gloomy winter's now awa' 1602

THE FIRST LINES OF THE POEMS.

os POEM:.
1808
1577
591

. 276
1626
119

Go, blushing flow*r ' . .
Go, fetch, to me a pint o3 wine

Go, lovely rose '

Go, my Willy, get thee gone
Go, seek in the wild glen
Go, soul, the body's guest
Go to your bosom .. , - . . zuo

Go where glory waite thee . . ...1288

Go, youth beloved, in distant glades . 1118
God hath a thousand handes to chastise . 40
God sendeth and giveth both mouth and

•meat .... 86

God, who the universe doth hold 499

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes .. . 434

Good husbandmen must moil and toil . 81
Good huswife provides, ere a sickness do

come . 85

Good-morrow to thy sable beak .. 1471

Good muse, rock me asleep . . 118

Good name in man and woman, dear, my

Lord . 208

Good-night, and joy be wi' ye a' . 1611

Gr-r-r — there go, my heartfs abhorrence ! 17S7
Great God, whose sceptre rules the earth 676
Great Strafford, worthy of that name,

thouffLall ... 577

Green little vaulter in the sunny grass . 1399
Grieve not, fond man, nor let one tear . 468

Had Cain been Scot, God would have

changed his doom 377

Haidee and Juan carpeted their feet . 1350
Hail, beauteous Dian, queen of shades ,. . 472
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ' 962

Hail, Bishop Valentine ' whose day this is 227
Hail, gentle stream ' for ever dear 1607

Hail, holy Light, offspnng of Heaven,

firstborn . 623

Hail, mildly pleasing solitude . . 877
Hail, old patrician trees, so great and good 553
Hail, progeny divine ' 1063

Hail thou, my native soil ' thou blessed

plot * 291

Hail to the Lord's anointed 1892

Hail to thee, blithe spirit t . 1361

Hame, hame, hame, hame, fam wad I be . 1617
Happy insect, what can be . 542

Happy the man who his whole tune doth

bound . 545

Happy the man whose wish and care 782

Happy those early days, when I 564

Haik t ah, the Nightingale ' . 1760

Hark ' hark ' the clash and nlftiag 1286

Hark ' now everything is still . 448

Hark I the cock crows, and yon bright

star 646

Hark 1 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder

bridge . . 1084

Harp of Zion, pure and holy 1474

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning

star . 1504

Haunts of my youth ! 1101

Having this day my horse, my hand, my

lance 107

Haymakers, rakers, reapers, and mowers 457
He comes ; thy God, 0 Israel, comes 1062

He ended ; and the Archangel soon drew

nigh , . . .... 682

He is gone on the mountain . . .

NO. OJf POBM.

He, o'er his sceptre bowing, ros ........

He raised the golden cup from the board 1468
He that loves a rosy cheek ...... 264

He that of such a height hath built his

^ ................

He^was bot twinfce yeins of age ..... 60
He's not the happy man to whom is

given ............. 878

Hear me, 0 God' ......... 246

Hear me, ye nymphs, and every swain .. . 1028
Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell ...... 1508

Hear ye, ladies that despise ....... 217

Heart-tearmg cares and quisling fears 115
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do 204
Heaven hath its crown of stars, the Earth 1754
Heaven's verge extreme — . 1800

Hence all you vain delights . . 215

Hence, heart, with her that must depart . 886
Hence, loathed Melancholy . 603

Hence, vain deluding joys . ... 604

Henrnst that day did his might . .. 14

Her brow was overhung with corns of gold 1848
Her cell was hewn out in the marble rock 335
Her dainty hand nestled in mine, rich and

white . . 1747

Her form was as the morning's blithesome

star ..... 1629

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowline 1140
Here did presumption her pavilion spread 311
Here, stranger, in this humble nest .. 554
Here the lank-sided miser, worst of felons 844
Here's a health to them thatf s awa' . .. 1590
Hey, now the day 's dawning . 390

High in the airy element there hung . 310
High mounted on an ebon throne on which 581
High peace to the soul of the dead .. 1540

High thoughts i 1642

Higher, higher, will we climb . 1386

His golden locks tune hath to silver turned 411
His tawny beard was th' equal grace 639

Ho > pretty page, with the dimpled chin 1762
Ho, sailor of the sea «. . . ...... 1671

Home they brought her warrior dead . . 1705
Hope ' of all ills that men endure . 544

Hope ' whose weak being rum'd is . 543
Hot sun, cool fire, tempered with sweet air 416
Household treasures, household treasures 1815
How are Thy servants blest, 0 Lord ' 768

How beautiful is night I . . .1218

How blest has my tune been * what joys

have I known . .. . 1034

How blest the man who, in these peaceful

plains . . 960

How calmly, gliding through the dark blue

sky ... 1214

How cheerfully th' impartial! sunne . 327
How custom steels the human breast . 1020
How dazzling white the snowy scene ' deep,

deep . . . 1160

How delicious is the winning . . 1302

How fair is the rose ' what a beautiful

flower . . . .850

How fine has the day been, how bright

was the sun . . 851

How fond are men of rule and place .. 794
How fresh, 0 Lord, how sweet and clean . 304
How gaily is at first begun . * . 818

How happy is he born and taught . 160
How long must women wish in vain . .. 700
How lovely is this wilder'd scene . . . 1616
How many summers, love . 1687

How many thousand of my poorest subjects 174
How miserable a thing is a great man ..... 695

llY

THE FIRST LINES OF THE POEMS.

flow mournfully this burial-ground
How near am I now to a happiness
How pleasant came thy rushing, silver

Tweed ' .

How shall I meet thee, summer, wont to fill
How shocking must thy summons be, O

Death »

How short is life's uncertain space '
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of

youth

How soothing is that sound of far-eft wheels
How sweet the answer echo makes
How sweeb the harmonies of Afternoon '
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this

bank

How sweet thy modest light to view
How sweetly doth My Master sound '—My

Master

How vainly men themselves amaze
How wither d, pensh'd seems the form
How wonderful is Death ,

JTO OPPOBM.

1428
452

1156
1257

845
1017
S88

612
1735
1291
1806

167
1184

305
638
1122
1359

I am all alone ' and the visions that play 1527
I am an Englishman, and naked I stand

here . 80

I am as I am, and so will I be 74

I am content. I do not care . 1056

I arise from dreams of Thee . . 1362
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting

flowers . . 1360

I cannot change as others do 655

I chanced, my dear, to come upon a day 489

I come from haunts of coot ana hem 1703

I come, I come ' ye have caird me long 1438

I disdain all pomp when thou art by 693

I do not love thee for that fair 261

I envy not in any moods 1706

I fear thy kisses, gentle maid 1363

I had a vision evening sat in gold 1543

I hate that drum's discordant sound 1019

I hate the man who builds his name 800
I hate these patent madmen, who keep all 699
1 have a son, a little son, a boy just five

years old . 1801

I have an eye for her that's fair 706
I have been in love, and in debt, and in

drink . 382
I have been studying how to compare 171
I have had playmates, I have had com-
panions . 1230
et I have no hopes," the duke he says, and

dies . . 762

I have no muses that will serve the turn . 280

I hear theespeak of the better land 1445

I heard a sick man's dying sigh 1709

I heard a thousand blended notes 1211

I hold as faith 712

1 know not that the men of old , 1718

I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus 186

I lately vow*d, but 'twas in haste 838
I lent my gossop my meir to fetch, name

coals . . 59

111 not such favour to rebellion show . 698

I looked upon, his brow— no sign 1461
I love (and have some cause to love) the

earth .< . 295

I love, and he loves me again . 243

I love it, I love it ; and who shall dare 1720

so. or POBK.

I love my king and country well . 73D

I loved him as young- Genius loves 1460

I loved him not , and yet, now he is gone 1272

I met a traveller from an antique land 1370

I met four chaps yon birks amang 1610
I must not gneve, my love, whose eyes

would read 140

I must not say that thou wert true . 1761

I never heai the sound of thy glad bells 1258

I never loved ambitiously to climb 443

I never sawe my Ladye laye apart 71

I own I like not Johnson's turgid style 1148

I pity, from my soul, unhappy men 651

I pray thee, cease thy counsel 168

I pray thee, love, love me no more 145

I pnthee leave this peevish fashion 383

I pnthee send me back my heart 332

I remember, I remember 1491

I remember well one summer's night 1728

I nee, dear Mary, from the soundest rest 1126

I sail'd from the Downs in the " Nancy" 1136

I saw him last on this terrace proud 1420

I saw where in the shroud did lurk 1231

I sing the name which nono can say 298
I sought Thee round about, 0 Thou my

God' 476
I sowed the seeds of love, it was all in the

spring 671

I swear, Aurora, by thy starry oyes 396

I tell thee, Dick, where I have been . 330

I then did use the person of your father 170

I thirst, thou wounded Lamb of God 1008
I turn these leaves with thronging thoughts,

and say 1260

Tve a letter from thy sire 1742

I've a proposal here from Mr Murray 1291
Tve heard the biting at our yowe-milkrag 1048

I've often wished that I had clear 777

I've seen, indeed, the hopeful bud 290

I've seen the smiling 1049

Tve wander'd East, I've wandered West 1631

I wander'd by the brook-side 1717

I wander'd lonely as a cloud 1207

I was a scholar seven useful springs 460

I went from England into France 252
I wha stand here, in this bare scowry coat 159 1

I will go back to the great sweet mother 1833

I will not have the mad Clytie 1487

I wish I had a cottage snug and neat 1628

I wish I was where Anna lies 1141

I wish I were where Helen lies 1GOG

I wot not how the world's degenerate ii50

If all the world and love were young 114

If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song 881>
If dumb too long, the drooping1 muse hath

stay'd 78f>

If heaven the grateful liberty would give 678

If I could but attain my wish 700

If I had thought thou couldst have died 15(53

If I live to grow old, for I find I go down 68(5

If in that breast, so good, so pure 9S£

If she doth then the subtle sense excel 223

If the quick spirits in your eye 26*3.
If thou shouldst ever come by choice or

chance ., . 1183

If thou wert by my side, my love 1878*

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright 1814

If we no old historian's name 384

If we, O Dorset 1 quit the city throng 790
If you become a nun, dear 1401

Illustrious England, ancient seat of kings 412

Image of her whom I love more than she 234

Impeiialbird, who wont to soar . 996

THE FIBST LINES OP THE POEMS.

91

In a oronique thus I rede ............. 29

In a deep vision's intellectual scene . ... 549
In a dream of the night I was wafted

away . . t .... 1652

In a howm whose bonny burnie ....... 1595

In a maiden tune professed . , . . 450
In a melancholy study ...... 257

In ancient times, as story tells . . 77g

In Bedfordshire there dwelt a knight . . 744
In Britain's isle and Arthur's days 808

In days of old. there lived, of mighty fame 659
In eddying course when leaves began to

fly ....... ........ 1520

In going to my naked bed, as one that

would have slept . .

In haste he sent to gather fresh reciuits
In heaven, one holiday, you read 751

In martial sports £ had my canning tiied 107
In May as that Aurora did upspring 51

In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse 1234
In pride of wit, with high desire of fame . 147
In Borne BO temple was so low . , . 644

In search of things that secret are ray

mated muse began . 93

In such a night> when every louder wind 817
In sullen humour one day Jove . 753

In summer time, when leaves grow green 5^6
In summer when the shawes be shene . 516
In sunlight and in shade .. . 1514

In the days o' langsyne when we carles

were young- . . 1646

In the hollow tree, in the old gray tower 1685
Tn the merry month of June 728

In the Parliament House, a great rout has

been there ..... 715

In the summer time, when leaves grow

green .... 520

In those low paths which poverty sur-

rounds . . . . 1412

In vain you tell your parting lover . 748

In Ver, that full of virtue is and good 41

In walks of humour, in that cast of s-yle 954
In what torn sbrp soever I embazk 229

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 1509

In yonder brake there is a nest 1267

In yonder grave a Druid lies . . 892

I' the thrang of stones tellin' . 1593

Interred beneath this marble stone . 761

Interval of grateful shade , 1059

Invidious grave I how dost thou rend in

sunder . . 843

Iphigenia, when she heard her doom 1275

Is chance a guilt, that my disastrous heart 840
Is it come ^ they said, on the banks of the

Nile ............. 17S2

" Is there no hope 2" the sick man said 797
Is there, or do the schoolmen dream . 1044

Is this a dagger which I see before me 185

Is this a time to plant and build 1798

It fell about the Martinmas . ,, . 580

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free 1209
It is a place where poets crown' d . . . 1558
It is an ancient manner . . . 1503

It is not that I love you less . . 601

It is the midnight hour the beauteous

sea .......... 1424

It is written on the rose . . . 1444

It standeth so ; a deed is do' ,. . 94

It was a beauteous lady nobly dress'd . 1714
It was a dreary place. The shallow brook 1674
It was a friar of orders gray . . 938

It was a summer evening . 1219

It was an eve of autumns holiest mood . . 1432

I SO. OS 70SX

i It was near a thicky shade 423

! It was not by vile loitering in ease 875

! It was not in the winter 1485

f It was the calm and silent night! 1792

I It was the time when 'gainst the breaking

I day 149

It was the tune when the still moon 548

It was the winter wild 606

It was when from Spam across the Main
the Od had come to Rome

J.

Jafiar the Barmecide, the good vizier ..

Jesu, Lover of my soul ,

Jesus, thy Blood and Bighteousness ..

John Anderson, my jo, John

John Bull for pastime took a prance

John Grilpm was a citizen ... ... .

Just for a handful of silver he left us
Justice gives sentence many times

1043
1066
1069
1589
1139
1087
1788
641

Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o1 Glen-

iffer . . 1599

King of kings! and Lord of lords 1 ... .1670
Enow this, my brethren, heaven is clear ... 737
Knowledge's next organ is imagination . 155

701

Lady Alice

wmdow

Laid in my quiet bed . 65

Land of my fathers f though no mangrove

here ... ... 1135

Langsyne 1 how doth the word come back 1535

Lately on yonder swelling bush 589

rj&nych thy bftrkj Tr>ft'|*ine'p l . ................ 1533

Lead the black bull to slaughter, with the

boar 266-

Lessons sweet of Spnng returning 1795

Let fools great Cupid's yoke disdain 258

Let God, the God of battle, nse 479

Let long-lived pansies here their scents

bestow 975

Let me speak, sir .... 183

Lest men suspect your tale untrue . ... 793
Let observation, with extensive view ... 885
Let otheis smg of knights and paladins 164
Let their vile cunning in their limits pent . 136

Let us go, lassie, go 1598

Like as the culver, on the bared bough ... 134

Like as the damask rose you see 501

Like some vision olden 1462

Like the low murmur of the secret stream 1519

Like the violet, which alone 322

Like to a light fast lock'd in lanthorn dark 574

Like to Diana in her summer weed 420

Like to the clear in highest sphere 428

Like to the falhng of a star 255

Lips, lips, open ' 1837

Lithe and listen, gentlemen 537

Lithe and lysteu, gentylmen . . .... 521

Little streams are light and shadow

hi

THE FIRST LINUS OF THE POEMS.

JTO. OP POEM

TLo * at the couch where infant beauty sleeps 1299
Lo I in the west, fast fades the lingering

light . ... 1371

Lo i now on earth is he ... 8

Lo what is it to luve . 887

Lo ' where the rosy-bosom* d Hours . 911

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day . . 1303
Lone upon a mountain, the pine-trees wail

ing round him . . . 1465

Long he wooed a maid all innocence and

truth 1518

Long in thy shackles, liberty 354

Long of yore, on the mountain, the voice 1830
Look back ' a thought which boideis on

despair. 952

Look, how the fiower which hngfimgly

doth fade 364

Look, how the industrious bee in fragrant

May , . 492

Look on these waters with how sort a kiss 1545
Look once more ere we leave this specular

mount . 618

Look out, bright eyes, and bless the air ' 216
Look up to Pentland's toweimg top 826

Look what immortal floods the sunset pouis 16S3
Look where my dear Hamilla smiles 1030

Loose every sail to the bieeze 1040

Lord ' as the hart embost with heat 478

Lord, how long, how long wilt thou . 500

Lord, should the sun, the clouds, the wind 284
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell 349

Loi d, to Thee while I am living 498

Lord Beichan was a noble lord 533

Lord Eonald courted Lady Clare 1707

Love divine, all love excelling , 1072

Love in fantastic triumph sat 705

Love in my bosom, like a bee 429

Love is by fancy led about . 837

Love is hke a Iamb and love is like a lion 451
Love is the happy privilege of the mind 1672
Love is too great a happiness 644

Love mistress is of many minds . 108

Love, nature's plot, this great creation's

soul . . 385

Love not I love not ' ye hapless sons of

clay' . . . 1715

Love still has something of the sea 668

Love thy mother, little one * 1489

Love's heralds should be thoughts 201

Lovely Devoma « land of floweis and songs ' 1513
Lovely, lasting peace of mind . 810

Low in a glen . 1163

Lowwalksthesun, and broadens bydegrees 869
Lullaby— lullaby, baby dear ' 1772

Lyth and lysten, gentyll men 523

M.

Magnificence of ruin » what has fame 1539

Magnificent creatuie 1 so stately and

1427
1338
747
1001
1321
541

bright

Maid of Athens, ere we part .
Man f foohsh man »
Man 's a poor deluded bubble
March, march, Bttnck and TenotUale '
Margarita fiist possest
Mark the soft-falhne snow

rt do attain
May the Babylonish curse
Meantime, the moist malignity to shun
Meanwhile, the adversary of God and man

1TO. OP FOB1C.

379
409
514

1726
1730

Melancholy, hence, and get

Melpomene, the muse of tragic songs

Merry it was in the green forest

Merry Margaret

Methinks I can remember when a shade

Methinks I could have borne to live my

days

Methinks it is good to be here
Metbought I heard a butterfly 1269

Methought I saw my late espoused saint 614
'Mid the cloud-enshrouded haze 1835

Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire ' 1165
Milton t thou shouldst be living at this

hour 1189

Mine be a cot beside the hill 1185

Mistress Matrossa hopes to be a lady 508

Mona on Snowdon calls 913

Monkey, little merry fellow 1655

Morn on the waters ' and purple and bright 1525
Morpheus, the humble god, that dwells 578
Most earnest was his voice < most mild his

look 1157

Mother of Wisdom t thou whose sway 914

" Mother, the storm, how it shrieks

without i

Mother's wag, pretty boy
Mouin, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Mournfully I 0 mournfully
Muses, that sing Love's sensual empnie
My boat is on the shore
My brier that smelledst sweet

§ brother Jack was nine in May
Daphne's hair is twisted gold
days among the dead are passed
m days have been so wondrous free
My dear mistress has a heait
My early love, and must we part ?
My ear-nngs ' my ear-rings ' they've dropt

into the well 1528

My father was an auld man and an hoar 58

§ God, I heard this day 309

God, now I from sleep awake 821

. God, Thy service well demands 1061

My heart acnes, and a drowsy numbness

pains 1822

My heart leaps up when I behold 1192

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is

not here 1580

My held is hke to rend, Willie
My Infekoe's face, her brow, her eye

__
923
1635
485
1337
1273
1415
407
1220
811
657
1529

My liege, I did deny no prisoners
My loved,

1638
438
172

my honour'd, much-respected

friend ' 1592

My lute, awake » perform the last 72

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst

grow 362

My own ,dear country • thy remembrance

comes , , 1736

My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-

hook r 1051

My song hath closed, the holy dream 1477

My soul, there is a country . 559

My time, 0 ye Muses, was happily spent 1057
My untried Muse shall no high tone assume 1125

N.

Napoleon's banners at Boulogne
Needy knife grinder ' whither

going*
Never any more

aie you

1311

1144
1786

THE FIRST LINES OP THE POEMS.

Ini

SO OP POBU.

Next to these ladies, but m nougnt alhed 1174
Night is the tune for rest 1384

Night I thou foul mother of annoyance

sad .. . 131

No cloud, no relict of the sunken day 1506
No jewell'd beauty is my love . 1746

No, my fair cousin . . 179

No plate had John and Joan to hoard ... 1004
No seas again shall sever . 1750

No season this for counsel or delay ' 947

No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but

all ^^ . 7 .. 624

No stir in the air, no stir m the sea . . 1224
Noble the mountain stieam 1453

Nobles and heralds, by youi lea-v e 759

Noe monument of me remaine 325

Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds 1079
North-east, not far from this great pool,

theie lies 952

North -winds send hail, south winds bring

rain 87

Not a drum was heaid, not a funeral note 1562
Not a leaf of the tree which stood near me

was stirr*d 1458

Not canng to observe the wind 600

Not in the swaying of the summer trees 1758
Not ours the vows of such as plight 1456

Not to be wrought by malice, gam, or

pride 452

Not unremember'd is the hour when

friends . 1434

Nothing did make me, when I loved them

best 437

Nothing is to man so dear 15

Nothing so true as what you once let fall . 778
Nought is there under heaven's wide hol-

lowness 125

Now came still evening on, and twilight

gray . 629

Now dawns the morn, and on Mount Olivet 9SO
Now fare thee well. England no further Til

roam . . 1127

Now, from his eastern couch, the sun 1737
Now, gentle sleep hath closed up those

eyes 272

Now, glory to our England 1752

Now, glory to the Eoid of Hosts, from

whom all glones aie 1565

Now, golden Autumn from her open lap 806
Now great Hyperion left his golden throne 287
Now, hardly heie and there a hackney

coach . . 771

Now, 'mid the general glow of opening

blooms 1162

Now morn her rosy steps in thf eastein

clime 628

Now moi n, with rosy-coloured finger, raised 979
Now, my co-mates and hi others in exile 191
Now, my fairest fnend 169

Now our work 's done, thus we feast 726

Now, sober industry, illustrious power ' 959
Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath

lost . 267

Now the bright morning star, day's har-
binger 610
Now the golden morn aloft 912
Now the third and fatal conflict for the

Persian throne was done . 1802

Now to thy silent presence, Night ' 1675

Now westward Sol had spent the nchest

beams . . 300

Now what is love I will thee tell 470

Nowe is the knyght went on his way 522

VO. OP POX1C.

0 i Arranmore, loved Arranmore 1289

0 beauteous God f uncircumscribed treasure 555

0 blithe new comer ! I have heard 1202

0 Brignall banks are wild and fair 1826

0 come away 557

0 cruel love, on thee I lay 40o

0 day most calm, most bright 802

0 did you ever hear of the brave Earl

Brand 1521

0 faithful love, by poverty embraced ' . 054
0 for a lodge in some vast wilderness 1 7gg
0 gentle, gentle summer rain . 14$4

0 gentle love, ungentle for thy deed 10

0 give me, kind Bacchus, thou God of the

vine . . .835

0 happy, if ye knew your happy state 807
0 happy persecution, I embrace thee. 453

0 happy Thames, that didst my Stella bear 1Q7
0 hard condition, and twin-born with great-
ness. . . .196
0 Holy, blessed, glorious Trinity. . 237
0 ignorant poor man 1 what dost thou bear 226
0 lady, leave thy silken thread . 1499
0, let us howl some heavy note 447
0 listen, listen, ladies gay ! .. . 1331
0 Lord i another day is flown . . 1168
0 Lord, my God, in mercy turn.. . 1172
0 lovers' eyes are sharp to see . 1329
0 Mary, go and call the cattle home 1799
0 Memory ' celestial maid ' . 895
0, my heart, my heart is sick awishing and

awaiting . . 1SS2

0, my luve s like a red, red rose . 1584

0 Nanny, wilt thou gang wi' me. 937

0 nightingale, best poet of the grove £76

0 nightingale, that on yon bloomy spiay 611
0 parent of each lovely muse ' . 974

0 perfect light, which shed away 391

0 saw ye bonnie Leslie 1585

0 saw ye not fair lues * . . 1492

0 say not that my heart is cold . 1564

Osay i what is that thin* call'd light . 1033
Qi sing unto my roundelay . 944

0 Solitude, romantic maid ! . . . 1015

0 sun 1 thou o'er Athenian towers .. 998

0 talk not to me of a name great in story . 1352
0 the broom, the yellow broom 1657

0 the month of May, tie merry month of

May 432

0 thou great Power i in whom we move 161
0 thou, that sitt'st upon a throne 994

0 thou, that, with surpassing glory crown'd 620
0 thou, the friend of man assign' d . . 887
0 thou, the nymph with placid eye ' . 11 06
0 Thou, to whose aH-searching sight . 1071
0 thou vast ocean ' ever-sounding sea ' . 1673
0 Time » who know*st a lenient hand to

lay . 1238

0 tuneful voice ! I stall deplore 1118

0 Tweed ! a stranger, that with wandering

feet. . . . * 1248

0 wha, will shoe my bonny foot * 539

0 what can ail thee, knight-at-arms 1825

0 when did baby come . .. 1827

0 I where do fames hide their heads . 1502
0 * wheiefore come ye forth in triumph

from the North. , . 1567

hou breath of Autumn's

1873
515

0 wild west wind, thou breath of Autumn's
0 Willie 's large o' limb and Hth

lYlil

THE HRST LINES OF THE POEMS

2TO. 07 POSIT

0 ye wild groves, 0 where is now your

bloom * 990

O'er moorlands and mountains, rude, barren

and bare 1023

O'er the gay vessel, and her dating: band 945
O'er the level plain, where mountains greet

me as I go . . 1814

O'er winter's long nnolement sway . . 834

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw , 1583

Of all deeds yet this strikes the deepest

wound . . 454

Of all the oitxes in Romanian lands 664

Of all the girls that are so smart . . 1035

Of all the kings that ever here did reign 107
Of all the thoughts of God that are 1561

Of all the torments, all the cares . 683

Of comfort no man speak 170

Of Israel's sweetest sieger now I sing 415

Of Jupiter thus I find y-wnt . 31

Of Lemster, famed for maidens fair 784

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit 619
Of Nelson and the North . 1306 |

Of old, when Scarron his companions invited 917 j
Of these the false Achitophel was first . 662
Of tune and nature eldest born ... 977
Oft am I by the women told . . - 542

Oft has it been my lotto mark . . 1016

Oft in the stilly night 1292

Oft Fve implored the gods in vain . . 987
Oft that wud untutored race would draw 1295
Oh ' a dainty plant is the ivy green . . 1818
Oh t ask not a home in the mansions of

pnde . 172S5

Oh t breathe not his name < let it sleep in

the shade . 1287

Oh 1 call my brother back to me ' , 1448
Oh, oomeyou h-omthe Indies, and, soldier,

can you tell 1776

Oh! do not wrong my honest simple truth 212
Oh, don't go in to-night, John ' .. " 1778
Oh I hadet thou never shared my fate .. 1500
Oh how this spring of love resembleth . 201
Oh 1 1 shall not forget, until memory depart 1457

Oh, lay thy hand in mine, dear 1 1756

Oh Lord, in sickness and m health 1261

Oh, Mary, at thy window be 1578

Oh ' my black soul, now thou art sum-
moned . . 285

Oh i my golden days of childhood 1810

Oh i my love's a winsome lady. 1749

Oh! my love's hke the steadfcst sun . ... 1622

Oh, never talk again to me

Oh, reader I hast thou ever stood to see
Oh, sunny curls * oh eyes of blue ' ..
Oh that the chemist's magic art
Oh that those lips had language > Life has

On a hill there grows a flower . . 117

On Carron's side the piimrose pale. . 935

On either side is level fen; a prospect wild

and wide 1176

1 On Jura's heath now sweetly swell. 1132

On Leven's banks, while tree to rove . 92i

On Luiden, when the sun was low 1304

On parent knees, a naked new-born child.. 1015
On Sunday, here, an alter' d scene 1055

On sure foundations let your fabric use 650
On that deep, retiring shore 1719

On this lone isle, whose rugged rocks ai-

fiight 1043

On Trinity Monday m the morn 95

On Wednesday the false Southron faith

brocht 47

On yonder hill a castle stands 505

Once in the flight of ages past 1387

Once more unto the breach, dear friends,

once more . . 178

Once on a time, a monarch, tired with

whooping . . 1150

One day, it matters not to know 1227

One kind wish before we part 1000

One kiss more, sweet ' . 1748

One more Unfortunate 1495

One word is too often profaned 1367

Open the door, some pity to show ' 1333

Open your ears foi which of you will stop 173
Our bark is on the waters deep, our blight

blades in our hand « „ 1641

Our bugles sang truce , for the night-cloud

had lower1* 1308

Our life IB twofold, sleep hath its own

world . 1341

Our native land — our native vale 1480

Our sighs were numerous, and profuse- our

tears , , ... 1433

Our task is done '—on Guuga's breast .. 1379
Out of her swoone when she did abbraade . 36
Out of the west coast, a wench, as me-

thought ....
Out upon it, I have loved
Over hill, over dale
Over the mountains
Oxford and Cambridge shall agree

17

210
534
732

1215
1771
1188

1081

Oh the balls < the xnormnsfbells ! 1805

Oh the pleasant days of old, which so often

people praise! . 1783

Oh ' the sad day. . . 674

Oh those little, those little blue shoes » 1767
Oh, tnou conqueror. 21 4

Oh twilight ! Spirit that doth render birth 1710
Oh I weep not that our beauty wears . 1483
Oh i well maythe poetsmake a fuss 1484

Oh j what is this which shines so bright. 1270
Oh » when 'tis summer weather. . 1241

Oh ' who hath tasted of Thy clemency.. , 477
Ohl whyleftlmyhame* 1647

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the
••west . 3317

Old Sir BobertBolton had three'sons ..'.... 722

P.

Pack clouds away, and welcome day ., 473
Patience ' why, rtos the soul of peace 436

Patriots, alas ' the few that have been

found 1077

Peace, heaven-descended maid' whose

powerful voice 993

Peace ' what can tears avail « ... 1690

Phyllis l why should we delay 594

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu . 1322

Pipe, merry Annot * 398

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man ' . 1027
Placed, by false Manto, in a closet, which 584
Poor robin sits and sings alone . , 12C8

Pope, to whose reed beneath the beechen

shade . . .904

Praise to God, immortal praise 1110

Pray thou thy days be long before thy

death * „ 188*

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire 1888

Prepare the haUow*d strain, my muse 764

Pretty firstling of the year ' 1678

Prince of the fallen 1 around thee sweep... 1546

THE FIEST LINES OF THE POEMS.

lix

Proud Maine IB in the wood
Pursuing beauty, men descry
Put the Droidery-frame away

2TO OF POEM.

1830

827
. 1560

Queen, and huntress, chaste and fair . 239
Quxn, from, afar, lured by the scent of fame 957
Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares . 163

E

Rarely, rarely, comest tkott

Header, when these dumb stones have told 268
Reason thus with life . 189

Red rows the Nith 'tween bank and brae . 1618
Religion, 0 thou life of life 120

Remember us poor Mayeis all I . 727

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow 918
Render to Caesar things which Caesar's are 1817
Restless forms of living light . 1572

Restrain your child , youll soon believe 795
Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights 109
Rise, heart ' thy Lord is risen Sing His

piaise . S07

Rise, lady 1 Mistress, rise I .. . 488

Rise i sleep no more ' *Tis a noble morn 1684
Rise, then, Aristo's son, assist my muse . 575
Robene sat ongudgrenehill . . 48

Rock of Ages, cleft for me 1074

Roses, in breathing forth their scent . 566
Rosy child, with forehead fair . . 1712

" Ruin seize thee, ruthless king . . 909

S.

Sad is our youth, for it is ever going . 1791
St. Agnes1 Eve— Ah, bitter chill it was 1 1820
Satan harangued 3

Saw ye my wee thing, saw ye my am

thing . . 1597

Say, dearest friend, how roll thy hours

away « 905

Say, from what golden quivers of the sky 547
Say, lovely dream ' where couldst thou find 590
Say, mighty love, and teach my song 852

Say not the struggle nought avaueth 1836

Say, why was man so eminently raised 901
Scenes ot woe and scenes of pleasure 1604

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled 1579

See, brother, how the wicked throng and

crowd 359

See, how fair Comma lies 702

See, 0 see i 571

See i Btretoh'd on nature's couch of grass 1005
See the chariot at hand here of love , 245
See the star that leads the day . . . 812
Seest thou how gaily my young master

goes . 249

Seest thou not, in clearest days 273

Set me whereas the sunie dotn paiohe the

grene - 70

Shall I tell you whom I love . 290

She conies adown the pale blue depths of

heaven . . . 1811

She dwelt among the untrodden ways . . 1193
She is a winsome wee thing . 158S

3fO. 07 POSH.

She loves, and she confesses too ...... 552

She rose, and all enchanted gazed .. 1121

She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh .. 1759
She stood breast-high amid the corn . 1493
She walks in beauty, like the night ...... 1353

She was a phantom of delight . .. .1194

She's gane to dwell in heaven, my lassie . 1621
Should auld acquaintance be forgot . . . 1581
Silent nymph, with curious eye ...... 880

Silent with passion, which his eyes in-

flamed ................... 582

Silver Phoebe spreads ........ 997

Since I did leave the presence of my love . 134
Since I in storms moat -used to be ........ 563

Sing aloud 1 His praise rehearse ...... 572

Sing forth, sweete cherubm (for we have

choice ...... 317

. . . Sing, heavenly muse ' . 666

Sing the old song, amid the sounds dis-

persing . .............. 1790

Sine to Apollo, god of day ...... 408

Sir* I hate the countne's durt and manners,

yet .................. 324

Sit down, sad soul, and count ....... 1695

Sitting by a river's side ....... 425

Slave of the dark and dirty mine I ... . 1131

Sleep breathes at last from out thee ... 1398
Sleep, downy sleep, come close my eyes 675
Sleep on, and dream of heaven awhile .. 1184
Sleep on, baby, on the floor ....... 1559

Sleept The ghostly winds are blowing i 1689
Slowly, with measured tread ...... 1532

So cruel prison how could betide, alas . 64
So nov7 is come our joyfuVst feast ... 271

So on a tune he desired to play . 46

So on he fares, and to the border comes 625
So on he passed, till he comen hath . 1032
So she rose, and went forth thro' the city 1829
So stood Eliza on the wood-orown'd heigh 1094

Softly woo away her breath

Some ask'd me where the rubies grew

1688
347

Some men delight huge buildings to behold 4S9
Some nymphs prefer astronomy to love 861
Some of their chiefs were princes of the

land

Some wins of the borowstoun

Sometimes briskly, sometimes
Soul, not yet from heaven 1
Sound the flfe, and cry the
Sound the loud timbrel o'er

sea'

Sow in the morn thy seed .

Speak, goddess 1 since 'tis thou that best M

canst tell . . — *****

Special Jurymen of England ! who admire

your country's laws . . 1763

Speech is morning to the mind . ... 692
Spirit of light and life ' when battle rears 1482
Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my

Spite of ins spite, which that in vain ... . 397

Sporting through the forest wide 1659

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's

pleasant king . * 489

Staffa, I scaled thy summit hoar . . 1235
Stand and adore « how glorious He . . 854
Star that bnngest home tho bee . .. . 1801
Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake . . 1116

Stay, 0 sweet I and do not nse ... 233

Still Herald of the Morn i wnose ray . . 375
Still young and fine, but what is still in

view .

Stop, mortal I Here thy brother lies

THE FIRST LINES OF THE POEMS

39-0 OP POEM

gublimer steams, 0 rustic muse ' prepare 804
Suoh moving sounds from snob a careless

touch i . .597

Such was Philoolea, and such Dorus* flame ' 596
Suck, baby, suck « mother's love grows by

giving ... "TO

Summer is i-cumen m . *•*

Sunk was the sun, and up the eastern

heaven . - - 1665

Sure such a wretch as I was never born 995
Sure the last end . 848

Sure there are poets which did never dream 576
Sure thou didst flourish once, and many

springs . ... . 561

Sure 'tis a serious thing to die ' My soul 846
Sweet are the charms of her I love 836

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of con-
tent .. . 421
Sweet Auburn « loveliest village of the plain 919
Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early

hours . . . 361

Sweet country life, to such unknown 345

Sweet daughter of a rough and stormy sire 1104
Sweet day i so cool, so calm, so bright . 303
Sweet Echo » sleeps thy vocal shell 1098

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that

Sweet flowers 1 that from your humble beds 1148
Sweet Highland girl ' a very shower 1196

Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere 134
Sweet is the scene when virtue dies ' 1108

Sweet maid, if thou wouldst charm my

sight .1012

Sweet poet of the woods, a long adieu 1 1099
Street, solitary hfe > lovely dumb joy 395

Sweet spirit of my love ' . 1750

Sweet Spring, thou com'st with all thy

goodly train 368

Sweetest Love, I do not go . . 232

Swiftly walk over the western wave . 1365

T.

Take, holy earth 1 all that my soul holds

dear . 915

Take, oh ' take those lips away . 219

Tasteful illumination of the night . 1405

Tax not the royal saint with vain expense 1191
Tell me not of a face that's fair . 381

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind 853

Tell me, 0 great all-knowing God ' 826

Tell me what is a poet's thought - 1693

Thalestns tmumphs in a manly mien. 863

Thanks, my lord, for your venison, for finer

or fatter . . , rt 920

That day of wrath, that dreadful day 653

That day of wrath, that dreadful day 1386
' rude

,
That house's form within was

and

s .... .... 129

That rock 's his haunt. There's not in all

ourhills 1542

That sound bespeaks salvation on her way 1078
That thou wilt be pleased to grant our

requests 73$

That which her slender waist confined 585

The air which thy smooth voice doth

break 5*7

The All-powerful had . " 3

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on

the told 134g

The autumn is old .... . " 1488

NO oppomr

The awful shadow of some unseen power 1375
The barge she sat in like a burnish' d

throne *88

The beam-repelling mists arise 81 i

The bee is humming in the sun 1 204
The bell strikes one We take no note of

time . 857

The blessed Damozel lean'd out 1841

The bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary 1637

The blushing rose and purple flower 464

The boy stood on the burning deck 1442

The breaking waves dashed high 1451

The bnde cam' out o' the byre 1015
The Brutons thus departed hence, sovcn

kingdoms here begone 48 1

The budding floweret blushes at the light Ml

The castle clock had toll'd midnight 1243
The course of true love never did run

smooth ... . . 201

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day 010

The cushat crouds, the oorbie cries . 389

The daisies peep from every field . . . 1153

The day goeth down red darkling . . . 1755
The day was spent, the moon shone bright
The dew is on tie summer's greonont

grass

The dews of summer night did fall
The dreamy rhymer's measured snoro
The emphatic speaker dearly loves to

The farmer's hfe displays in ovoiy part
The f eather'd songster chantioloer
The feeling is a nameless on*
The flower that smiles to-day .
The flowers the sultry summer killn
The flowers were blooming fresh and loir

1040
i)28
1276

1080

im

043
1528
1370
1406
1816

The fountains minglo witn" tho river . . 1364
The frost performs itb secret ministry .. . 1507
The garlands fade that Spring so lately

1100
1206
502

402
21

500
1780

950
1285
I HID

wove

The gates were then thrown open
The gentle season of tho year ...

The Gipsy race my pity rarely movo. .
The glories of our blood and state . . .
The god of love and bonodicite , . .
The golden sun that brings tho day
The half-seen memoiios of childish days
The harlot muse, so passing gay . ...

The harp that once through Tara's halla
The heath this night must bo mv bod ...
The heavens on high perpetually do movo
The hierarchy is out of date ........ 7$)

The hinds how blest, who ne'er beguiled . 1)05
The hour is come ! tho hour us como t

With voice . .......... 1004

The house's form within was rude and

strong . ........ 120

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece 1 1344
The king to Gondibert is grown so kindo, 372
The King was on his throne . . . . 13&5

The languid lady next appears m stato 862
The lark has sung his carol m the sky , . 1181
The lark now leaves his watery nest .. 373

The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to

D«iia - .... 595

The last and greatest herald of heaven's

^^g . . 365

The last time I came o'er the moor 825

The lift was clear, the morn serene . 1608
The lives of frail men are compared by

the sages . ,/ 049

The lopped trees in tame may grow again 13 0
The Lord my pasture shall prepare .... 770

FIRST LINES OF THE POEMS.

1ft

SO OP POEM.

The lovely purple of the noon's bestow-
ing . 1464
The lovely young Lavima once had friends 870
The mellow year is hasting to its close . 1574
The midges dance aboon the burn 1601
The moon had ohxnb'd the highest hill 1046
The moon shines bright — In such a night

as this 166

The moon was a- waning . . . 1614

The morning hath not lost her virgin blush 579
The morning pearls 580

The Moslem spears were gleaming 1440

The mountains high, whose lofty tops do

meet the haughty sky 92

The Muses are turn'd gossips . they have

lost . . 1107

The night-helm grew dusky 11

The north-oast spends his rage; he now

shut up 864

The ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded 1312

The organ peals , at once, as some vast wave 1549
The Percy out of Northumberland 528

The pride of every grove I chose 754

The proudest pitch of that victorious spit it 1294
The quality of mercy is not strauVd 165

The lapid motion of the spheres . , 480

The readers and tho hearers like my books 152
Tho room is old— the night is cold , 1700

The roses grew so thickly ., 1809

The sable mantle of the silent night , 288

The sails were furl'd , with many a melting

close . , 1182

The sea ' the sea 1 the open sea ' 1681

The seal is set —Now welcome, thou dread

power i 1346

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er 592
Tho season comes when fiist we met 1112

Tho sheep were in the fold at night 1265

The shoryf dwelled in Notynghame 524

The silver moon at midnight cold and still 1129
The silver moon's enamour' d beam 1022

The slngmbh morn as yet undress'd 378

Tho smiling mom, the breathing spring 899
The social laws from insult to protect 930

The soft green grass is growing 1812

The soote season, that bud and bloom forth

brings i 67

The soul of man is larger than tho sky . 1570
Tho soule which doth with God unite . . 328
Tbo spacious firmament on high . 766

Tho spearmon heard the bugle sound 1395
The stats are shining overhead 1271

The stately homos of England 1436

Tho summer and autumn had been so wet 1225
The sun from, the oast tips the mountains

with gold , . 1037

Tho sun had set behind yon hills 725

The sun has gone down o'er the lofty Bon

Lomond . ... 1600

The sun is swiftly mounted high , 813

The sun is warm, the sky is clear . 1369
The sun rises bright in Franco . 1627

The sun was sinking on the mountain zone 1550
Tho sun's bright orb, declining all serene 946
The thirsty earth soaks up the rain 542

The tune so tranquil is and olear 392

The tongues of dying men . 206

Ths topsails shiver in the wind 1038

The tree of deepest root is found . 1026
The troops exulting sat in order round 783
The truest characters of ignorance 644

. . . The Turks had ought . 583
The twentieth year is well nigh past

yro. ov POEH.
The voice of the morning is calling to

childhood 1698

The wanton troopers riding by 636

The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is

wailing , 1373

The water 1 the water ' . . 1684

The Wildgrave winds his bugle horn . 1334
The wind is up, the field is bare . 939

The wind, the wandeiing wind . 1450
The wisest of the wise . . . 1277

The world is too much with us ; late and

soon * .1190

The world is stall deceived with ornament 190
The wrathfull winter prochinge on a pace 96
" Thee, Mary, with this nng I wed " 1003

Thee, senseless stock, because thou'rt

richlygilt , 371

Thee will I love, my strength, my tower 1070
Theirs is yon house that holds the parish

poor . 1173

. . . their harboury was tane 49

Then came the jovial day, no streaks of

red . . 1124

Then clanouns and trumpets blew 61

Then died, lamented, in the strength of

Me. . 1179

Then ttrst came Henry, Duke of Bucking-
ham . . 98
Then Qudrun turned . 1849
Then hear me, bounteous Heaven .. 687
Then may I trust her body with her mind 495
Then wisdom again . 6
Ther is lyf withoute ony deth 16
There are noble heads bowed down and

pale 1697

There are twelve months in all the year 518
There be none of beauty's daughters 1 340

There be those who sow beside 1455

There cam a bird out o' a bush 532

There cam a strange wight to our town-en' 1650
There came a man making bis hasty moan 1404
There came three mtsn out of the west 719
There did three knights come from the west 713
There dwells a people on the earth 507

There grew an aged, tree on the green 127

There had not here as yet . 1

There is a book, who runs may read . 1796
There is a calm for those who weep 1385

There is a flower, a little flower , 1391

There is a garden in her face 486

There is a gloomy grandeur in the sun 1544
There is a jewel which no Indian mine can

buy . . 504

There is a land, of every land the pnde 1889
There is a pleasui e in the pathless woods 1347
There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook 199
There is an ancient man who dwells 1733

There is an old proverb which all the world

knows 742

There is continual spring and harvest there 132
There she sits in her Island home . 1751
There the most dainty paradise on ground 138
There was a Cameraman cat 738

There was a sound of revelry by night 1358
There was a tune when meadow, grove, and

stream . . 1198

There was an eye whose partial glance . 1117
There were twa sisters sat in a bow*r 527

"There, win the cup, and you, shall have

Toy girl it i §

Theres a good time coming, boys 1741

There's a magical tie to the land of our
home 172L

Itl

THE FIRST LINES OP THE POEMS

1753

1355
697

874
855
197
560
1515

103
1439
1745

1217
266

1501

180

475

711

1842

1216

240

540

640

There's glory on thy mountains, proud

Bengal 1551

There's grandeur in this sounding storm 1018
There's music m the morning air 1701

There's no dearth, of kindness
There's not a joy the world can give like

that it takes away

These are great mayi-ma, sir, it is confessed
These, as they change, Almighty Father,

these

These thoughts, 0 night ' are tame
They answer in a joint and corporate voice
They are all gone into the world of light
They are flown
Tney course the glass, and let it take

no rest

They grew in beauty, side by side
They rose in freedom's rare sunrise
They seized the keys, they patrolled the

street

They sin who tell us love can die
Think not, 'cause men flattfnng say *
Think not of the future, the prospect is

uncertain
This battle fares like to the morning's war

This gentleman and I
This Indian weed, now withered quite
This is her picture as she was
'This man of half a million .

This morning, timely rapt with holy fire
This only grant me, that my means may

he
This royal throne of kings, this soepter'd

Isle .

This said, with hasty rage, he snatoh'd .
This song 'a of a beggar who long lost his

sight . . 714

This truth of old was sorrow's friend 942

This was the ruler of the land . . 1538

This wavering warld's wretchedness 52

This world is full of variance 26

Those evening bells ' those evening bells ' 1288
Those few pale autumn flowers . 1530

Those whiter lilies which the early morn 368
Thou angel sent amongst us, sober Law 455
Thou art gone to the grave— we no longer

deplore thee . . 1381

Thou askest what has changed my heart 1476
Thou blushing rose, within whose virgin

leaves a«a

Thou earnest with kind looks, when on the

brink

Thou gallant court, to thee farewell ' 116

Thou nappy, happy elf > I486

Thou hast beauty bright and fair 1692

Thou hart vow'd bv thy faith, my Jeame 1625
Thou hidden love of God, whose height 1067
Thou lingering star, with less'mng ray 1687
Thou lone companion of the spectred

night t 1155

Thou maid of gentle light I thy straw-wove

Tert 1521

Thou mouldering mansion, whose embat-

tled side . 1218

Thou spirit of the spangled night f 1370

^ousfenunravishedbnde of quietness '. 1823
Thou thrice denied, yet thricebeloved 1797
Thou, to whose eyes 1 bend, at whose com-

mand . 755

Thou wealthy man of large possessions here 710
Though clouds obscured the morning hour 1142
Though frost and snow look'd from mine

Though grief and fondness in my breast

rebSl 884

Though short thy span, God's unimpoach'd

decrees 1146

Thoughts i what are they ? . 072

Three days before my* Mary's death - 1 428
Three -fishers went sailing out into the west 1800
Thnce happy he who by some shady grove 366
Thnoe has the spring beheld thy faded

fame . 903

Thnoe. 0 thrice happy shepherd's life and

state t 314

Through a close lane as I pursued my jour-
ney (>89
Through a fair forest as I went , 505
Through the gaunt woods the winds are

sbjifiing cold . .1801

Through the bushed air the whit'nmg

shower descends . 873

Through winter streets to steer your course

aright . .. 806

Thus Eve replied "0 thou for whom .. 627
Thus far have I pursued my solemn theme 1169
Thus, having in few images exprest ... 156
Thus spoke to my lady the knight full of

care . . 776

Thus stood his mind when round him camo

a cloud . ,1430

Thus were they fechtand in the pass &>

Thus when the plague, upborne on Belgian

air . . .. . 1008

Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue 1608

Thy fruit full well the schoolboy knows . 1552
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties

weir . . ........ 200

Thy maid t Ah » find some nobler theme B81
Thy pencil traces on the lover's thought , 1298
Thy wish was &ther, Harry, to that

thought 175

Thy spint, independence, let me share . . 921
Till at the last, among the bowes glade ... 88

Timely blossom, infant fair 791

Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep ! 856

'Tis affection but dissembled 481

'Tis certain, that the modish passions . 79ft
'Tis chastity, my brother, chastity . 607
'Tis long ago— we have toil'd and traded .. 1781
'Tis not the gray hawk's flight o'er moun-
tain and mere . 1632
'Tis past t no more the summer blooms ! JMM
'Tis past the iron north has spont his rage 0(51
'Tis sweet to hear the merry lark . . 1J578
'Tis sweet to meet the morning breeze .. 34 OH
Tis sweet to view from half-past five to sue Ml 4
'Tis the first primrose » see how mock .. 12fif?

'Tis the hour of even now 1 4ft>

'Tis tho last rose of summer . ... 127H

To all you ladies now at land 680

To battle » To battle ! 1030

To be, or not to be, that is the question . 184
To fair Fidele's grassy tomb ., 891

To one who has been long m city poni . . 18*24
To pray to God continually .. 00

To speak of gifts and almos deeds. . ..54
To take thy calling thankfully ... 8;;
To the brook ana the willow that hoard

him complain . ... 830

To the deep woods . 8(J5

To the ocean now I fly (K)9

To the sound of timbrels sweet 1067

To thee, fair Freedom, I retire 896

To view these walls each night I come

alone .T? 708

THE PIRST LINES OP THE POEMS.

Jxiri

NO or POEM.
To you, my purse, and to none other

wight . . . 22

To-day Death soems to me an infant child 1843
Together will ye walk through long, long

Greets . 1426

To-morrow, Lord, is Thine . . 1060
Too late, alas* I must confess . 656

Touch us gently, Time ' . 1694

Tread softly' bow the head . . 1531
Treading the path to nobler ends . . 599
Treason doth never prosper ; whatf 9 the

reason? . ... 150

True Thomas lay on Huntley hank 531

Trusting in God with all her heart and

mind 1091

" Turn, gentle hermit of the dale . 916

Turn I my looks unto the skies . 430

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 661
'Twas at the silent, solemn hour 897

'Twas early day, and sunbght stream'd . 1446
'Twas in the battle-field, and the cold,

pale moon 1467

'Twas in the prime of summer tune 1494

'Twas midnight—every mortal eye was

closed . 981

'Twas when the seas were roaring . 803

'Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk-

tieewasfe'in . . 1649

Twenty lost yeais have stolen their hours

away . . 1081

Twice has the sun commenced his annual

round.. 1164

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village

green . . 1180

Two boys, whose birth beyond all question

spnngs 958

Two of far nobler shape, erect and talL. 626
Two pretty rills do meet, and meeting

make . 283

Two summers since I saw at Lammas

fair 1175

U.

Under yonder beech tree, standing on the

greensward . , ... 1744

Underneath this myrtle shade . 542

Underneath this sable herse . 244

'Unfading Hope ' when life's last embers

burn . ... 1297
Unnumber'd objects ask thy honest care . 983
Upon a couch of silk and gold . . . 1676
Upon a time a neighing steed 799

Upon the white sea-sand 1784

Upon two stony tables, spread before
•her 313

V.

570
236

Vengeance will sit above our faults . .
Venomous thorns that are so sharp and
keen .... . . -.76

Victorious men of earth no more . . 461
Virtue's branches wither, virtue pines ... . 485

Vital spark of heavenly flame 781

Voice of summer, keen and shrill ., . . 1765

W.

NO. OP FOUL

Wake now, my love, awake ; for it is time 128
Waken, lords and ladies gay ...... 1332

Walking in a shady grove .......... 445

Wanton droll, whose harmless play . . . 1473
Wanwordy. crazy, dmsome thing ..... 1054

Was not Christ our Saviour . 88

We are born ; we laugh , we weep . . 1696
We axe the sweet flowers ., 1400

We gathered round the festive board 1723

We have been dwellers in a lovely land . 1732
We have been friends together . 1713

We love the king who loves the law . . 1083
We oft by lightning read in darkest

nights . . .696

We saw and woo'd each other's eyes . 323
We that have known no greater state . 474
We walk'd along, while bright and red 1212
We watched her breathing thro* the night 1497
Weary of wand'rmg from my God ..... 1065
Weave no more the marriage chain ' 1691

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower 1575

Weep, weep, you Argonauts ..... 467
Weep you no more, sad fountains . . 497
Weigh me the fire , or, canst them find 350
Welcome, pale primrose i starting up be-

tween ... . . T .... 1409

Welcome, thrice welcome, to this shady

463
376
7
631

green
Welcom

elcome, welcome, happy pair .
Well, 0 children of men .

Well observe the rule of Not too muck .
Well said the wise man, now proved true

by this . 126

Well, then ; I now do plainly see . . 546

Were I at once empowered to show . 951

Whan gloamin grey out owre the welkin

keeks ... 1053

Whanne that April with his ahonres sote . 19
What ails this heart o' mine « . .1103

What art thou, Mighty One ' and where

thy seat' .... .1166
What beauties does Flora disclose 1 ..... 1029
What bird so sings, yet so does wail . . 405
What blessings attend, my dear mother,

all those ....... 1025

What constitutes a state » . . .3011

What creature 's that, with his short hairs 741
What heart can think, or tongue express . 400
What hidest thou. in thy treasure caves and

cells . « . . 1487

What household thoughts around thee, as

their shrine . . - 1447

What I shall leave thee none can tell . .. 251
What » irks it, David, tliat the victor

breathes . - 414

What is the existence of man's life ..... 256
What is 'fc to us if taxes rise or fall « ... 955
What lookest thou herein to have ... 82
What might be done if men were wise .. . 1740

What slender youth, bedewed with liquid

I I *«~w «»_ ¥ f m.

odours ... ........ OJL/

What stands upon the highland 2 ... 1794

What stronger breastplate than a heart

untainted . . ........ 207

What then is taste, but these internal

ifondbardbefled 1042

Ixiv

THE PIEST LINES OF THE POEMS.

NO OBTOBM.
What torments are allotted those sad

spmts . 694

What tunes, what words, what looks, what

wonders pierce . 418

What was't awaken'd first the untried ear 1569
What will not men attempt for sacred

praise*

860

w hat wisdom more, what better life, than

pleaseth God to send . 89

What would I have you do* I'll tell you,

kinsman 247

What would it pleasure me to have my

throat out 449

What's hallowed ground ? Has earth a

clod . 1309

Whatever you wish in landscape to excel 1149
When age hath made me what I am not

now 360

When all the fiercer passions cea&e 1178

When all thy mercies, 0 my God 767

When Britain first, at Heaven's command. 879
When by God's inward light a happy child 1422
When chapman billies leave the street 1591
When civil dudgeon nrsb grew high . 637

When come was the month of May 30

When, cruel fair one, I am slain 565

When day is done, and clouds are low . 1547
When, doflfd his casque, he felt free air . 1316
When evening- listen'd to the dripping1 oar 1240
When first thou earnest, gentle, shy, and

fond . 1731

When first thy eyes unvail, give thy soul

leave 556

When from my humble bed I rise 1262

When gods had framed the sweets of

woman's face . 426

When homeward bands their several ways

dispoise . 1159

When hope lies dead within the heart 1115
When I beneath the cold red earth am

Bleeping . . 1640

When I consider how my light is spent 613
When I first came to London, I rambled

about 816

When I go musing all alone 487

When in the crimson cloud of even 991

When in the field of Mars we he 746

When Israel of the Lord beloved 1324

When love with unconfined wings . 355

When maidens such as Hester die 1228

When maishalTd on the nightly plain . 1167
When Music, heavenly maid, was young . 890
When now mature in classic knowledge . 973
When on my sick bed I languish . 673

When on the breath of autumn breeze . 1660
When our heads are bow*d with woe 1668

When Phillis watohed her harmless sleep . 703
When Phoebus hits his head out of the

winter's wave . 142

When poets wrote, and painters drew 757

When prmcely Hamilton^ abode 1325

When rising from the bed of death 769

When Bobin flood and Little John 525

When shaws be sheen, and swards full fair 519
When silent tame wi' lightly foot 1102

When spring unlocks the flowers to paint

the laughing soil . . 1382

When that the fields put on their gay attire 1008
When the blaok-letter'd hst to the gods

was presented . . 1395

When the fierce north wind, with his airy

*°roes - - .853

When the lamp is shattered .. . 1366

When tho men y lark did gild 108(5

When the sheep are in tbe iauld, and the

kye at home 1017

When this old cap was new . 512

When thou has spent tho Imgrmg day lu

pleasure and delight . 105

When travels grete in matters thick . . 4<K$
When we two parted . ItUti

When we were idlers with the loitering

nils 1571

When wert thou born, Desiro 2 Jn. pndo

and pomp of May 49 Jt

When Windsor walls sustaiii'd my wcaucd

arm . <>8

Wh ence comes my lovo * Oh, heart d iscloso , W
Whence could arise this mighty critic

spleen , . Of*

Whene'er with haggard eyes I view 1 U 5

Where am 1 * Sure I wander 'midst en-
chantment . , . . 088
Wheie gang yo, thou silly auld carlo * 1019
Where is that learned wretch that knows . 483

Whero shall the lover rest 1328

Where the bee sucks, there lurk I ... 209
Where the remote Bermudas rule 03 1

Where, where is the gate that onco worvod

to divide . .. 1722

Where words are weak and foes encoun-

t'rincp strong 112

Where yonder ridgy mountains bound the

scene . . 1120

Whereas in ward full oft I would bo wail 4 2

Where'er I turn ray eyes 10M

Whether in crowds 01 solitude^ in stiootw 1485
Whether the soul receivo.4 intelligence . . 137
While here my muse in discontent doth

sing .... 278

While m my matchless graces wrapt I

stand , . ... 5)78

While in this park T sing, the lut'ning door 688
While on those lovely looks I gozo . . (554

While St. Serf, rntil a stead 15

While shepherds watched their flocks by

night .. 822

While slowly wanders thy soquoHtor'd

stream , , . . 12-17

While that the armod Hand doth fight

abroad . !>(),",

While with a strong and yot a gentle hand M7
While you, my lord, the rural shades

admire . ,. 7<>f>

Whilst m this cold and blustering climo (147
Whilst some affect tho sun, and Homo thu

shade 842

Whither goost thou ? Hero bo woodti ati

green 21tt

Who feats to speak of Ninety-eight ¥ . . .
Who has e'er been at Pans must needs

know the Gieyo 7Cf>

Who is yonder poor maniac. whoHO wildly

fix'doyes . . .

Who should this stranger be? And then

this casket .

Who sleeps below 1— Who aleops below ? . .
Who so to marry a minion wifu . #1®

Who thus were ripe for high contemplating 181 S>
Whom fancy persuadeth, among other

crops. ... ... 84

Whose was that gentle voice, that wbwpoi -

ing sweet Igfffi

Why art thou silent ? Is thy love a plant . 1200
Why art thou slow, thou rest of trouble,

death 465

THE FIRST LINES OF THE POEMS.

her

WO OP POEM.

Why do ye weep, sweet babes * Can tears 346
Why, Damon, with the forward day 832

Why did my parents send me to the schools 221
Why didst thou raise such woeful wail . 100
Why doth the stubborne iron prove . 318
Why is't damnation to despair and die , . 444
Why, little charmer of the air . , .. 707
Why should you swear I am forsworn . 352
Why so pale and wan, fond lover i . 329

Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty 181
Why this will lug your priests and servants

from your sides .. . 198

Why weep ye by the tide, ladye 1318

Why wouHst thou leave me, 0 gentle child * 1452
Wi* drums and pipes the olachan rang . 1651
Will you hear a Spanish lady . 538

Willow t in thy breezy moan 1449

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun 228
Wine, wine, in a morning . 679

Wishfd morning's come; and now upon

the plains 691

With cheerful step the traveller 1221

With face and fashion to be known . 734
With face and fashion to be known .. 740
With farmer Allan at the farm abode 1708
With fingers weary an d worn 1496

With fragrant flowers we strew the way . 122
With how sad steps. 0 moon, thou climb' st

the skies . 107

With httle here to do or see . . 1208

With quicken' d step 868

With silent awe I hail the sacred morn 1130
With some good ten of his chosen men,

Bomordo hath appear'd . 1522

With that low cunning, which in fools

supplies . 956

Within a little silent grove hard by 333

Within a thick and spreading hawthorn

bush. .. 1410

Within the castle hath the queen devised . 141
Within the hall, neither rich nor yet poor 37
Woman » when I behold thee, flippant, vain 1821
Woodmen, shepherds, come away . 460

Word was brought to the Danish long 1716
Would my good lady love me best . 50

Would you know what's soft * I dare 259
Wouldst thou view the lion's den * 1479

Wreathe the bowl 1279

T.

NO, OS * OX1C.

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around . 1586
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers . 907

Ye have been fresh and green 344

Ye holy towers that shade the wave-worn

steep 1246

Ye httle birds that sit and sing . . 471
Ye manners of England . . „ 1305

Ye midnight shades I o'er Nature spread 900
Ye nymphs of Solyma ' begin the song 776
Ye quenchless stars ' so eloquently bright 1481
Ye rooks1 ye elements' thou shoreless

•mtmi . . 1555

Ye shepherds of this pleasant vale 882

Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay . 894

Ye wha are fain to hae your name .. . 1052
Ye who amid this feverish world would

wear . . . 924

Ye who have scorn' d each other 1739

Ye who with warmth the public triumph

feel. . . 1090

Yee blushing virgins happie are 316

Yes I there are real mourners. — I have seen 1177
Yes, there is holy pleasuie in thine eye ' . 1205
Yes, wife, I'd be a throned king . . 1774

Yet, as through Tagus' fair transparent

streams . 490

Yet, I confess, in this my pilgrimage . 279
Yet in prison was King Davy 44

Yet once more, 0 ye laurels, and once more 605
" You are Old Father Wilham," the young

man cned . 1223

You are light, justice, and you weigh this

well . 177

You ask us why the soil the thistle breeds 787
You earthly souls that count a wanton

flame . . .568

Yon mansion, made by beaming tapers gay 841
You meaner beauties of the night .. .158
You mighty lords that with respected grace 139
You that haue spent the silent night . . . 104
You were used to say . . 194

Young Henry was as biave a youth . . 1138
Your wedding-nog wears thin, dear wife ;

ah, summer? not a iew ., 1768

BIOGRAPHIES OF THE AMERICAN POETS.

Adams, John Qmnoy.
Allston, Washington.
Barlow, Joel
Bryant, William Cidlen.
Clifton, William
Dwight, Timothy.
Emerson, Ralph Waldo.
English* Thomas Dunn.
Freneau, Phillip
Halleck, Fitz-Greeno.

Hoffman, Charles Fenno
Holmes, Oliver Wendell
Honeywood, St. John.
Hopkinson, Joseph.
Humphreys, David
Leland, Charles G.
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth.
Lowell, James RusselL
Moms, George P.

Foe, Edgar Allan
Read, Thomas Buchanan.
Sohooloraft, Henry Rowe.
Stoddard, R. H.
Taylor, Bayard.
Trumbull, John.
Tuckerman, Henry Theodore.
Whittier, John Greenleaf:
Willis, N. P.

NAMES OF AMERICAN POETS WITH NUMBERS OF POI

NO. OP PO8M.

Adams, John Quinoy 1850
Akere, Elizabeth 1938-1945
Allston. Washington . 1853
Barlow, Joel 1848

Bnrant. William Cullen

1855-1869

Clark, Willis G . . . 1898
Clifton, William 1852

Dwight, Timothy . 1846
Emerson, Ralph Waldo

1864-1870

Ffrglteh, Thomas Dunn . 1918
Freneau, Phillip 1844

zro. or POEM.

Halleck, Fitz-Greene 1860-1862
Hoffinan, Charles Fenno 1871
Holmes, Ohver Wendell

1889-1897

Honeywood, St. John 1849
Hopkmson, Joseph. 1851

Humphreys, David.. 1847

Loland, Charles G. 1921-1928
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

1872-1883

Lowell, James Russell 1911-1917
Morns, George P. . . 186S

Poe, Edgar Allan. .1899-1908

Read, Thomas Buchanan

1919, 1920

Saxe, J. G. . . - 1936, 1937
Sohooloraft. Henry Rowe. 1854
Stoddard, R H. . 1932-1935
Taylor, Bayard . . 1924-1931
Tromoull, John . 1845
Tuekennan, Henry Theodore

1909, 1910
Whittier, John Greenleaf

1885-1888
Willis, N. P. , 1884

NAMES OF AMERICAN POETS WITH THE TITLES OF POEMS.

ATIAMPI TCVFTN1 OTTTNTfnT

vo. or POEM.

70. OV *OB1L

.. . . 1942

The Wants of mf^ - r T> -

1850

Kisses

1948

AKERS, ELIZABETH.
Broken Faith
Time . . .
Endurance . .

1938
. 1939
1940
1941

Rook me to Sleep*
Lost

ALLSTON, WASHINGTON.
America to Great Britain...

1944
. . 1945

1858

kvrii ' AMERICAN POETS.

xro.

OH pone.

NO OVPOBM.

BARLOW, JOEL
Burning of New England Villages

. 1848

Endymion
The Beleagured City
It is not always Mav

1876
1877
1878

BRYANT, WILLIAM CTOLEN.
The Prairies * *

1855

Midnight Mass for tho Dying Yoar .
Maidenhood . .

1879
1880

Forest Hymn

1856

The Children's Hour

1881

The Antiquity of Freedom

1857

A Spring Landscape

3882

Oh Mother of a Mighty Race

1858

The Wreck of the IIc%p& ?w .

1889

Song of Marion' a Men . ...

, . 1859

LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL.

CLARK, WILLIS G.

To the Dandelion

1911

'GiitiiRnfliffFft

. 1898

The Poet

1912

The Sirens

1SH3

CLIFTON, WILLIAM.
To William Gifford, Esq.

. 1852

An Incident in a Railroad Car
The Heritage ..

11)11

To the Future , ...

lOld

DWIGHT, TIMOTHY

The Fountain . ...

1917

England and America

. 1846

MORRIS, GEORGE P.

EMERSON, RALPH WALDO.

Woodman, Spare that Tree

1803

"Good-bye, Proud World'" .
To the Humble Bee . .

1864
1865

POE, EDGAR ALLAN.
.Annabel Lee . .

3899

The Snow-Storm

1866

Ulalume A .Ballad

1UOO

The Problem

1867

Dream-land

1901

The Poet

< 1868

Lenore , . .

UJ02

Dirge
The Mountain and the Squirrel

1869
1870

Israfel
The Bells

1903
100 1

To F S 0

1JKI5

ENGLISH, THOMAS DUNN.

For Annie . .

Ben Bolt

1918

The Raven . . .

1J)07

FRENEAU, PHILIP.

The Conqueror Worm

JDU8

The Dying Indian

1844

READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN

The Bnckmaker . ...

1019

HALLECK, FITZ-GBEENE.

My Hermitage

Burns ...

1860

Alnwiok Gastie . .

. 1803

SAXE,J, Q

Marco Bozzaris

1862

The Way of the World

1 01)0

Ye Tailyor-man , ...

l!)J)7

HOFFMAN, CHARLES FENNO.
The Origin of Mint Juleps .

1871

SOHOOLCRAFT, HENRY ROWE
Geohale . An Indian Lament ,

385 i

HOLMES, OLIVEPu WENDELL.
On Lending a Punch-Bowl
An Evening Thought
La Gnsette
The Treadmill Sons:
Latter-Day Warnings

. 1889
. 1890
1891
. 1892
1893

STODDARD, R. JI.
Loonatus ....
The Shadow of tho Hand
Invocation to Sleep
AtRest . .

1HB3

m5

The Old Man'tf Dieam
What we all Think
The Last Blossom ...

. 1894
1895
. 1896

TAYLOR, BAYARD.
Bedouin Song.. .
Tho Arab to the Palm . ,

ina*

Contentment ...

1897

Kubloh

ii)S>

HONEYWOOD, ST. JOHN.

The Poet in the Eaut
ICihmandjaro

nw
insw

Crimes and Punishments

1849

An Oriental Idyll
Hassan to his Mare

HOPKINSON, JOSEPH.

The Phantom

1931

Kail, Columbia 1

. 1801

TRUMBULL, JOHN.

HUMPHREYS, DAVID.

Character of MoFmgal

1815

1847

TUCKERMAN, HENRY TliKODORBL

ItELAND, CHARLES G.

TOOT

Mary
Florence

1909
1910

A Dream of Love . ". ".
The Three Fnends

. ,. liftsl
1922
..1923

1885

WBLITTIER, JOHN GKEENLEAF.
The Ballad of Cassandra bouthwick ,

tiONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH.
Nuremburg . ... 1872
The Arsenal at Springfield 1873

Pentuoket . . ... .... .
Randolph of Roanoko
Democracy , ... .

3887
1888

The Skeleton in Armour

*. . 1874

WILLIS, N. P.

A Psalm of Life

1875

A.nri1 Vinlnfja ....

1884

TITLES OF THE AMERICAN POEMS.

JTO. OP POEM.

VO. OV POBK.

AJ* wick Castle

1861

Latter-day Warnings

1893

America to Great Britain

. 18C3

Lenore .

1902

Annabel Lee . .

1899

Leonatus

1932

Antiquity of Freedom, The

1857

Lost .

1945

Apnl Violets

1884

Arab to the Palm

1925

Maidenhood ..

1880

Arsenal at Springfield, The

1873

Marco Bozzaxis . >

1862

At Rest .

1985

Mary

1909

Ballad of Cassandra Southwick, The
Bedouin Song

1885
1924

Midnight Mass for the Dymfc Year
Mountain and the Squirrel, The „ .
My Hermitage .

1879
1870
1920

Beleagured City, The

1877

Bella, The

1904

Wuremburg ... . . „

1872

Ben Bolt .

1918

Biickmaker, The
Broken Faith
Burning of New England Villages
Burns ...

1919
1988
1848
1860

Oh Mother of a Mighty Bace
Old Man's Dream, The
On Lending a Punch-Bowl
Oriental Idyll, An

1858
1894
1889
1929

Character of McFingal

1845

Origin of Mint Juleps, The

1871

Children's Hour, The
Conqueror Worm, The

1881
1908

Pentiioket
Phantom, The . . .

1886
1931

Contentment

1897

Poet in the East, The

1927

Crimes and Punishments

1849

Poet, The

1868

Poet, The . ....

1912

Democracy

1888

Prairies, The

1855

Dirgo
Bream, A

1869
1942

Problem, The
Psalm of Life, A

1867
1875

Dream of Lore, A

1922

Dreamland

1901

Randolph of JRoanoke

1887

Dying Indian, The

1844

Raven, The
Bock me to Sleep

1907
1944

Endurance ,

1940

Endymion

1876

Shadow of the Hand, The . ...

1933

England and America

1846

Skeleton in Armour, The

1874

Euthanasia

1898

Pfonprniflr iyn the Ram

1941

Evening Thought, An

1890

Sirens, The

1913
1866

Snow-Storm, The

Florence

1910

Song of Marion's Men

1859

Fountain, The

1917

Spring Landscape, A ....

1882

For Annie

1906

k

Forest Hymn

1856

Theleme . ...

1921

Three Friends, The ,

1923

Geehale an Indian Lament ,

1854

Time

1939

« Good-bye, Proud World ' "

1864

To F S. 0. .

1905

To the Dandelion

1911

Hail, Columbia ' . .

1851

To the Future .

1916

Hassan to his Mare

1930

To the Humble Bee

1865

Heritage, The . .

1915

To William Gifford, Esq
Treadmill Song, The

1852
1892

Incident in a Railway Car, An .
Invocation to Sleep

1914
1934

Ulalume • a Ballad

1900

Israfel

1903

It is nob always May

1878

Wants of Man, The
Way of the World, The

1850
1936

33jlimandja.ro
£jfises

1928
1943

Western Emigration . . .
What we all Think

1847
1895

Kubleh .

1926

Woodman, Spare that Tree
Wreck of the Hesperus, The

1863
1883

La Grisette

1891

Last Blossom, The ...

1896

Ye Tally or-man. .

1937

Izz

AMERICAN POETS.

PIEST LINES OF AMERICAN POEMS.

NO. OF POEM

Again I sit within the mansion 1931

Ah, broken is the golden bowl 1902

Ah, Clemenoe, when I saw thee last , . 1891
All hail * thou noble land . 1858

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky 1866
A silver javelin which the hills 1929

At midnight, in his guarded tent 1862

A youth would marry a maiden . 1936

Back again, darling f 0 day of delight i 1942
Backward, turn backward, OTime, in your

flight . 1944

Between the dark and the daylight . 1881
Buds on the apple-boughs . , 1938

By a route obscure and lonely ,. 1901

Come, my beauty i come, my desert

darling' .... . 1980

Bear, common flower, that grow*st beside

the way . . 1911

Don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt* 1918
Draw the curtains round your bed . 1984
Fine humble-bee i fine humble-bee ' 1865

For this present, hard . . 1868

From the desert, I come to thee . 1924

Good-bye, proud world 1 Fm going home.. 1864
Hail, Columbia ' happy land . 1851

Hftil to thee, monarch, of African mountains 1928
Hear the sledges with the bells 1904

Here are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled

pines . 1857

He spoke of Burns : men rude and rough*. 1914
Home of the Percys high-born race 1861

How much the heart may bear, and yet

not break' ... , . . 1940

How sweetly on the wood-girt town 1886

I dream'd I lay beside the dark blue Rhine 1922
If sometimes in the dark blue eye . 1890

I have found violets. April hath come on. 1884
I have read in some old marvellous tale 1877
I have three friends, three glorious friends,

three dearer could not be. 1923

I like a church, Ihke a cowl 1867

In heaven and earth a spirit doth dwell 1903
In the old days of awe and keen-eyed

wonder . 1912

In the valley of Pegmtz, where across broad

meadow lands .. . . 1872

In these cold shades, beneath these shift-

ingflkiefl . 1852

Into the sunshine . , . 1917

I sat one night on a palace step . . " 1921
It was many and many a year ago 1899

It was the schooner Hesperus .. 1883

Knows he who tills this lonely field . .. 1869
Let the blinded horse go round .. . 1919

J^fnJ Mk ' my wants are few •' 1897

I<o 1 Tis a gala night 1908

Maiden « with the meek, brown eyes " * 1880

Man wants but httte here below « , 1850

Of crimes, empoisoned source of human

NO. OP20BM.

1 888

. . 1 81) I
. . JH87

1858

101 C>

Oh, fairest bora of lovo and light .
Oh for one hour of youthful joy '
Oh, mothor Korth ! upon thy lap
Oh mother of n mighty loco
0, Land of Promise ' from what

height ...

Once upon a midnight droary
On yondor lake I spread the sail no moro 18 ( 1
Our band is fow, but true and triod . 185i)

Princes, when softon'd in thy awooi om-

braoe ...... 1030

Eight -jollie is ye toilyor-man ,. ,. 1037
Soon fleets the sunbnght form, by man

adored . ... ... 1346

" Speak i speak ' thou fearful guost i " . . 1874
Tell me not m mournful numborn . 1875

Thank Heaven' the crisis ...... 1WKJ

That ago was older onoe than now . , . 1895
The blackbird is singing on Michigan's

shore . . 1884

The black-eyed children of tho Dosort drove 1026
The fair boy Leonatus .... . 1982

The green trees whispor'dlowand mild..... 1882

The groves were God's first temples ...... 18f>(J

The kiss of friendship, land and calcn . 1043
The mountain and the squirrel ..... 1 870

Tho poet came to the land of tho Ifiaat . . 1927
The iioh man's son inherits lands ...... 3915

The rising moon has hid the stara ..... 1876

The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary 3013

These are the gardens of the desert, those 1855
The skies they are ashen and sober ..... 1900

The stars arc rolling in tho sky ...... 2802

The sun is bright, the air is clear ....... 3878

The word has come , — go forth ......... 1945

This ancient, silver bowl of mine, it tolls

of good old times ...... 3880

Tms*is the arsenal From floor to coiling 1873
Though young no moie we still would

dream ...„ ................ 1890

Thou would'st be loved'— then let thy

heart ................ 1005

Through solid curls of smoke, tho bursting

fi£s . '., . . .1848

Tis said that the Gods, on Olympus of old 1871
To the God of all sure mercies lot my

blessing rise to-day , .,. 3885

What though the namo is old and oft re-

peated ............ 1909

When legislators keep the law , „.., 3893

When Yankees, skill' d in martial mle ...... 1845

Where the elm-tree branches by tho rflift

aresforrM ........... , 1941

Wild rose of Alloway, my thanks . . 1860
With all that's ours, together let us mo 1847
With folded hands the lady lios .. . . 1935

Within a wood one summer's day .... 1920

Woodman, spare that tree I ............ 1863

Yes, the year is growing old .........

You see the tree that sweeps my window
^ pane* . .' . . .

You were very charming, madam

THE PIEST PEEIOD,

FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE YEAR 1400.

<* "TDELOVED indeed," says dear old genial Dibdin, "is the poetry of our own country."
J_) It expresses all the great changes England has undergone It tells of its manners and
customs, of its thoughts and feelings, of its hopes and fears, of its inner and outward life One
cannot .read it without gaining an insight into the every-day experience of our forefathers.
Whatever is keenly felt is suie to manifest itself in language of touching verse And thus it has
been in tunes gone by, the real life of the people, of the prince and the peasant, has found an
utterance in the poetry of our gifted bards. Indeed, more of true history may be learnt from
even the slight and almost despised Ballad, sung about the streets, than from the more
dignified and solemn nairafave of the historian. He takes generally what is called a deep
and philosophical view of events and men and manners, but one little song sung by a few
strolling minstrels before the houses of the nch or poor tells us more of what England was,
•and what were England's feelings, than all tfriq pomp and parade of philosophic learning.
Juat indeed as one may know a man for years, and never, notwithstanding admiration for his
intellect and accomplishments, get one glimpse of his heart, and yet in some unforeseen
moment of sudden joy or sorrow learn for the first time the deep tenderness of his heart ; so
with the poetry of any land, it opens up the unselfish soul of a nation ; it shows that there is
the freshness of spring, when all seems sear and withered with frost and snow and sleet and
winter , it reveals the love of the holy and the best, and brings down to earth, as it were,
heaven in its purity and sweetness, and divine, untainted loveliness and glory.

And also, poetry reveals the darker doings of mankind, opens up the terrible passions of
mankind, shows human nature as it too often is, thoroughly regardless of the pure and the
•beautiful and the good Yet, this is but exceptional, its spirit is rather to breathe sweet and
loving accents, to gather together earth's beauties, to depict scenes of fairest loveliness, to
toll of holiest sacrifices, to bung down as it were the very glones of a world beyond to a
world which knows sorrow and pom and sickness and death

This our earliest period is characterized by many features which make it essentially different
to^all the rest Its poetry is the rude utterance of a rude but brave people A few mission-
Aries of Christ were almost the only ones who helped to a purer faith and feeling. Then came
wars, and invasions, and mixture of races ; still the old primitive British Church, planted likely
by the Apostle St Paul, maintained her hold upon the affections of the people and influenced
even her conquerors. But Borne come and conquered, Augustine came , — then attacks from
Danes, then William the Norman , thus the language became inundated with words from
other nations, our own early speech was considered vulgar, the conquerors' speech prevailed.
Yet notwithstanding all this confusion, the early speech of our old forefathers maintained a
hold which to this day has not been lost The poetry therefore of this period will be found to be
of a varied nature, exhibiting great force and rigour, and sometimes verses of touching
sweetness and beauty

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

C-2BDMON.

Cffidmon is considered the earliest of our
English poets. He was a man sprung from
the people, and at one time in his life was a
mere cowherd. He was, however, addressed
one night by a stranger, as he thought, m his
sleep, and asked to sing a song. He replied
that he could not, when the stranger urged
that he could, and that he could sing the

"Creation" Osedmon then, wondering at
himself, began to qypg most beautiful verses.
He soon afterwards awoke, and went im-
mediately to the Reeve of "Whitby, who, wiae
and good man that he was, took him to the
abbey and told the wondrous story to the
Abbess Hilda He recounted the last night's
adventure and repeated the verses, which at
once obtained the admiration of the persons
present They then explained to him other

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES. [FIRST PERIOD — From, flie

ports of Holy Scripture, whereupon ho went
home and produced a beautiful poem. At the
request of the abbess he became a monfc, and
continued to write poems founded on Sacred
History

Our readers will notice the striking re-
semblance between C&dmon's account of
" The Fall of Man," &c , and portions of
Milton's <b Paradise Lost " Conybeare, in his
" Illustrations of Anglo-Saxon Poetry," says
— " The pnde, rebellion, and punishment of
Satan and his pnnoos have a resemblance to
Milton so remarkable, that most of this por-
tion might be almost literally translated by a
cento of lines from the great poet " The time
of Cssdmon's deaih is uncertain, probably
about 680

ALFRED THE GEEAT.

Alfred the Great was the youngest son of
Ethelwolf, king of the West Saxons, and
Osburga, daughter of Oslao the Goth, who
inherited the blood of the sub-kings of the
Isle of Wight At the age of five he was sent
to Borne, where Leo IV. anointed him with
the royal unction. When only twenty-two
years of age he found himself the monarch of
a distracted kingdom. After several un-
fortunate battles with tho Danes, he elm-
banded his followers and wandeiod about
the woods, and finally found shelter in tho
cottage of a herdsman named Donulf, at
[ Athelney, in Somersetshire Hero occurred
I the interesting ovent which has pleased RO
many boys and guls— — the burning of tho
cakes, Receiving information that Orion,
Earl of Devon, had obtained a victory over
the Danes in Devonshire, and had taken their
magical standard, he disguised himself an a
harper and obtained admission to the Danish
camp, where his skill was so much admired
that he was retained a considerable time, and
was admitted to play before King Gorm, or
Guthrum, and his chiefs. Having, by these
means, gained a knowledge of lub enemy, ho
collected his vassals and nobles, surprised tho
Danes at Eddmgton, and completely defeated
them, in May, 878. The king behaved with
great magnanimity to his foes, giving up the
kingdom of East Anglia to those of tho
Danes who embraced the Christian religion
He now put his kingdom into a state of
defence, and greatly increased his navy, and
by his energy, activity, bravery, and wisdom
the country became exceedingly prosperous
He is said to have fought fifty-six battles by
sea and land, although his valour as a warrior
has excited less admiration than his wisdom
as a legislator He composed a body of
statutes, instituted trial by jury, divided the
kingdom into shires and' tithmgs. He was
BO exact in his government that robbery was
unheard of, and gold chains might be left in
the highways untouched. He also formed a
parliament, which met in London twice a year.

There was no little learning in IHH time, that
from the Thames to tho Humbor hardly a
man could bo found who understood Latin.
To remedy this state of thmgH, ho invited
barned mon from all parts, and endowed
schools throughout tho kingdom; antl if
indeed ho was not the f oundoi of tho UniverHity
of Oxford, ho raised it to a reputation which it
had never before enjoyed. Anionp: other act«
of munificence to that seat of loaimng ho
founded TTnivoraty Collogo Ho himself was
a learned pimoe, composed MOTTO] works,
translated tho historical woiks of Orohins and
Bede, some religious and mortal treatise^
perhaps .Shop's Fables and tho Prtolms of
David; also tho Metros o£ BocthiuK JIo
divided tho twenty-four hours into Ilireo
equal parts , one ho devoted to iho son i<»o oi
God, another to public affairs, and tho third
to rest and refreshment In private lifo lie.
was benevolent, pious, cheerful and aflable ,
the story of his giving the poor bog-gar hid?
his loaf when famished himself in 0110 of the
many things which have won for him the love
and admiration of all true JKngliwhmen He wan
born at Wantage m Luikuluro, 810, dieil JK)0.
— Sec Kecton's (jnwerxal ttttufrtiyhif, p. 5(1

ROBEET OP OTXttJCKHTKK.

Eobcrt of Gloucester livod during iliMi'ty
of Henry in and Edward I. , and eoni|io, CM I,
111 verso, "Tho Chro'uclo of Nii'thrili Affairs,"
from tho oaihes-il to 3iin own times. I in WMM it
monk of Gloiuwtttar Abbev ; Ueueo ho in eulled
iuobcrt of Glounortiior Wai ion denei'Ibes iho
woik as alike doHtilntoof urtand imagination,
and in many imrtw oven It-nn nooih«il iliim i,h<»
prose history by Ui>c>ffroy of Motiiuouili, from
which moat of tho events woro iakon.
Another critic, however, Ryoaku of his ]>o<mi
as in general appropriate and dramatic,
proving not only IUK good ^(mH<», but »l-w> liis
eloquence Thorn arc wtnrnl oopuw of liin
worlc, which was edited >>y I!c»:!»r»o uinl f>ub-
lishodin 1^24 — Soo (7m?«/^T^, vol, i. )>. <»

BOBEBT D

Kobort do Brtinno, or Itobori Ma?niyii^, a
native of Brunno,m Lmool&Hhiro, wam a oaii<m
of the Gilbortincj ordor, and roH«loiii in tlio
pnory of Sompnugham ton y«ar« in th(» tm«»
of Prior John of Camelton, and flvo years with
John of Clyntono tn 130IJ ho Ix^tni luw
translation, or rather paraplirano, of c< MantK*!
Pi?ch6," or "Manuel dort Pdoh^H/' iliai in,
" The Manuel of Sins." It IB a long prodiujtiou,
treating of tho Decalogno and tlio Hovon
Beadly Sins, which are illustrated by many
logondary stonoR It was novor i)rinix'd, bnt
is preserved in tho Bodleian Library MSM.,
No 415, and in tho Harloian MHftJ^ No.
1,701. In this work ho romonstratoH upon
the introduction of foreign terms into tho

EarUest Times to 1400 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

language. "I seke," says ho, "no straunge
Ynglyss."

But a more unpoitant work of his is "A
Metrical Chronicle of England " The former
part IB a translation from an old French poet,
called Maister Wace, or Gasse, who copied
Geoffrey of Monmouth in a poem called
" Roman des Bois d'Angleteire." The second
part of " De Brunne's Chronicle," beginning
from Cadwallader, and ending with Edward
I , is translated principally from a chronicle
by Peter Langtoffc, an Angnstine canon of
Bridhngton, in Yorkshire, who is supposed to
have died in the reign of Edwaid EC , and was
therefore a contemporary of De Brnnne
Hearne edited De Brunne, but suppiesaed
much of the translation Both EUis and
Warton refer to this poet — Jdibone, vol. i
p 269

RICHARD ROLLE

Richard Eolle, a hermit of the order of St
Augustine and doctor of divinity, who lived a
solitary life near the nunneiy of Hampole,
four miles from Doncastei He wrote metrical
paiaphrases of certain parts of Scripture, and
an original poem of a moral and religious
nature, entitled, " The Pncks of Conscience ,"
"but of the latter work it is not certainly
known that he composed it in Enghbh, there
being some leason for believing that, in its
present form, it is a translation from a Latin
original written by him — CltuwlerSj vol. i.
p. 11

ROBERT LANGLANDE

Robert Langlande was one of the first
disciples of Wiokhffe, and composed a cunons
poom, entitled " The Visions of Piers Plow-
man," intended as a satire on almost every
description of men, but especially the clergy
It is written in blank verse, with wit and
humour, in an alliterative measure — (See
ficeton's Dictionary of Universal BiograpJiy,
p. 627 ) Chambers says of this work " ' The
Vision of Pierce Plowman,' a satirical poem,
ascribed to Robert Longlando, a secular priest,
also shows very expressively the progress
which was made, about the middle of the
fourteenth century, towards a literary style.
Tins poem, in many points of view, is one of
tho most important woiks that appeared in
England previous to tho invention of printing.
It is tho popular representative of the doc-
trines which were silently bringing about the
Reformation, and it is a peculiarly national
poom, not only as being a much purer specimen
of the English language than Chaucer, but as
exhibiting the revival of the same system of al-
literation which characterized the Anglo-Saxon
poetry. It is, in fact, both in this peculiarity
and in its political charactei, characteristic
of a great literary and political revolution, in
which the language as well as the independence

J

of the Anglo-Saxons had at last gained the \
ascendency over those of the Normans.
Pierce is represented as falling asleep on the
Malvern Hills, and as seeing, in his sleep, a
series of visions ; in describing these, he ex-
poses the corruptions of society, but particu-
larly the dissolute lives of the religious orders,
with much bitterness." — Chambers, vol. i. p. 11.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER.

Geonrey Chauoor, 1328—1400, the father
of English poetry, was a native of London.
His parentage and early life are involved
in great obscurity, and the honour of his
education ib claimed by both Universities*
He was a great favouiite at the court of
Edward III , and a devoted adherent to the
celebrated John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster,
whose sister-in-law. Philippa de Rouet, ac-
cepted the offer of his hand. By this connec-
tion the poet became linked with the good or
ill fortune which attaches to greatness But
this geneially leceived narrative has been,
doubted by some critics In 1856 we find
Chancer bearing arms in the expedition of
Edward HI again&t France. For some time
he was held as a prisoner of war by the enemy.
In 13C7 ho was allowed an animal pension of
twenty maiks, between two or three hundred
pounds of our present money, and in 1873
was employed in an embassy to Genoa on
affairs of the State A year later than this he
was appointed Comptroller of the Customs of
Wool, &c It was during this visit to Italy-
he had before travelled on the Continent— that
he enjoyed somo delightful converse with
Petrarch, to which he alludes in the Prologue
to the Clerke's Tale —

" I wol you lell a tale, which that I
Learned at Padowe of a worthy clerk,
As proved by his wordes and his werk ;
Fraunceis Fetrark, the laureat poete,
Highte this clerk whos rhetonke swete
Enlumined all Itaillo of poetrie,
As Lynyan did of philosophic," &c.

Mr. Tyrwhitt is inclined to doubt this
meeting of the poets, but Do Sala promised
to prove its occurrence He died before he
fulfilled the pledge. Four years before this
acquaintance, Chaucer had added to the
evidence of his own poetical talents by the
Lament for the Death of Blanche, Duchess
of Lancaster, entitled "The Book of the
Duchebse " In the early part of the reign of
Richard II our poet became involved in the
political religious tioubles of the day, espousing
the cause ot John Comberton (John de
Northampton), a warm champion of the
doctrines of Wickliffe Comberton was im-
prisoned, while Chaucer escaped the same
fate by a precipitate flight to the Continent.
Of course he lost his place in the Customs.
Ho was so imprudent as to return to London

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[FIRST PEKIOD.

within a short penod ; was committed to the
Tower, and only released by disclosing the
names and projects of his late associates For
this breach of confidence he subsequently ex-
perienced great remorse, and composed his
" Testament of Love,'1 in which he complains
of the change in his fortunes and of the
disgrace in which his conduct had involved
him.

Campbell, in his " Specimens of the British
Poets," says, " It is not known what he
revealed, certainly nothing to the prejudice of
John of Oatmt, since that prince continued to
be his friend To his acknowledged partisans,
who had betrayed andtned to starve him during
his banishment, he owed no fidelity It is
true that extorted evidence is one of the last
ransoms which a noble mind would wish to
pay for liberty; bat before we blame Chaucer
for making any confession, we should con-
aider how fair and easy the lessons of
tmcapitnlatiiig fortitude may appear on the
outside of a prison, and yet how hard it may
be to read them by the light of a dungeon.
As far as dates can be guessed at in so
obscure a transaction, his liberation took place
after Richard had shaken off the domineering
party of Gloucester, and had begun to act for
himself. Chaucer's political errors — and he
considered Ms shard in the late conspiracy as
an error of judgment, though not of intention-
had been committed while Eichard was a
minor, and acknowledgment of them might
seem less humiliating when made to the
monarch himself, than to an usurping faction
ruling in his name. He was charged too, by
his loyalty, to make certain disclosures im-
portant to the peace of the kingdom ; and his
duty as a subject independent of personal
considerations, might well be put in competi-
tion with ties to associates already broken by
their treachery." — Campbell, p 2.

In 1389 his great patron returned from
abroad, and Chaucer's fortunes improved. He
was appointed Clerk of the Works at West-
minster, and soon after to those at Windsor.
He retained these offices scarcely two years,
when he retired, at the age of sixty-four, to
Woodstock, at which quiet town he composed
his immortal « Canterbury Tales." In 1394
he received a pension of J320 per ^.-n-nn^ and
during the last year of Richard's reign he
was granted yearly a tun of wine. These
were continued under the new reign, with an
additional pension of forty marks. He did
not long live to enjoy this accession of for-
tune, for on the 25th of October, 1400, he
died. He was buned in Westminster Abbey,

*• Chaucer's forte," writes a poet and cntic,
"is description, much of his moral reflection
is superfluous , none of his painting charac-
teristic. His men and women are not mere
ladies and gentlemen, like those who furnish
apologies for Boccaccio's stones. Theynse
before us minutely traced, profusely vaned,
and strongly discriminated. Their features

and casual manners soem to have an amusing-
congnuty with their moral characters. He
notices minute circumstances as if by chance ,
but every touch has its effect on our con-
ception so distinctly, that we soom to live and
travel with his personages throughout the
journey "

JOHKT GOWER

John Gowor, 1325 (P) — 1402, was con-
temporary and friend of Chaucer. Ho WOK a
student of law in the Inner Temple, a man of
substance, much esteemed, and lost hin wght
about throe years previous to his death iio-
yond these particulars nothing further ia
known. His monument is still to bo noon m
St. Saviour's Church. As to his poems, it
may truly be said, "that even in tho lighter .
strains of his muso he sought to bo the in-
structor of the dark age in which lus lot waa
cast." Peacham, m his " Comploat Gentle-
man, ' says, " His versos aro full of good and
brave morahtie " " Indeed," as Wiucton
remarks, "if Chaucer hod not oxwtod, the
compositions of "Grower would havo boon
sufficient to rescue tho reigns of Edward III.
and Eichard II. from tho imputation of
barbarism."

JOHN BARBOUR.

John Barbour, Barber, Borboro, or Darbar,
Archdeacon of Aberdeen, died II JUG, in ono of
the earliest Scottish poots and historiaJiH.
The date and place of IUH birth aro un-
known Ho wrote a metrical chronicle,
entitled "Tho Bruco," which rocouutn tho
heroic deeds of Robert I. in support of )JJB
country's independence. Some wrilorH affhm
that tho work was undertaken at tlio roquet
of Robert's son and sucoonHor. Ho wroto
another work, in which ho givoR a genealogical
history of the kings of ScoUand, and traonn
their origin to tho Trojan colony of IfrutuH
In 1357 we find that ho rocoivocl from
Edward m., of England, a safe-conduct in
these words " John Barber, Archdeacon of
Aberdeen, with three scholars in hi« company.
Coming in order to study in tho Uirivorwity
of Oxford, and perform hiB aoholoHtio exor-
cises." A loomed writer sayH, "Onr Arch-
deacon was not only famous for liis oxtonHivo-
knowledge in the philosophy and divinity of
those times, but still moro admiral for WM
admirable genius for English poetry , in
which ho composed a history of tho lifo and
glorious actions of Robert Bruco— a, work
not only remarkable for itn copious cir-
cumstantial details of th<s exploits of that
illustrious pnnco and his bravo companion*
m aims, Randolff, Earl of Moray, and tho
Lord James Douglas, but also for tho beauty
of its style, which is not inferior to that o£
his contemporary Ohaucor "

THE BOOK OF POETET,

FIRST PERIOD.

From the Earliest Times to 1400

i — THE FIRST DAY

THBUE had not horo as yot,

Save cavern-shade,

Aught been ,

Bnt this -wide abyss

Stood deep and dim,

Strange to its Lord,

Idlo and useless ,

On which looked with his eyes

The King firm of mind,

And beheld those places

Void of joys ;

Saw the dark cloud

Lower in eternal night,

Swart under heaven,

Bark and waste,

Until this worldly creation

Through the world existed

Of tho Glory-King.
Here first shaped
The Lord eternal,
Chief of all Creatures
Heaven and earth ,
The firmament upreared,
And this spacious land
Established,
By His strong Powers,
The Lord Almighty.
The earth as yet was
Not green with grass ;
Ocean covered,
Swart in eternal night,
Far and wide,

The dusky ways.

Then was the glory-bright
Spirit of heaven's Guardian
Borne over the deep
With utmost speed :
The Creator of angels bade,
The Lord of life,
Light to come forth
Over the spacious deep
Quickly was fulfilled
The high King's behest;
For him was holy light
Over the waste,
As the Maker bade.

Then sundered

The Lord of triumphs

Over the ocean-flood

Light from darkness,

Shade from brightness,

Then gave names to both

The Lord of life

Light was first

Through the Lord's word

Named day ;

Beauteous, bright creation !

Well pleased

The Lord at the beginning

The procieatrve time
The first day saw
The dark shade
Swart prevailing
Over the wide abyss.

ly B&ngaafiw, Thorpe, — About 660.

0-aoDMOisr.]

PALL OF THE REBEL ANGELS [FIRST PERIOD.— Fww the

2 —THE FALL OF THE EEBEL ANGELS.

The All-powerfal had

Angel-tribes,

Through might of hand,

The holy Lord,

Ten established,

In whom He trusted well

That they His service

Would follow,

Work HJB will;

Therefore gave he them, wit,

And shaped them with his hands,

The holy Lord

He had placed them BO happily,

One He had made so powerful,

So mighty in his mind's thought,

He let him sway over so nmoh,

Highest after himself in heaven's kingdom.

He had made him so fair,

So beauteous was his form in heaven,

That oame to him from the Lord of Hosts,

He was like to the light stars,

It was his to work the praise of the Lord,

It was his to hold dear his joys in heaven,

And to •fchtpib' his Lord

For the reward that He had bestowed on him

in that light ,

Then had He let Mm long possess it ,
But he turned it for "himself to a worse thing,
Began to raise war upon Him,
Against the highest ruler of heavon,
Who sitteth in His holy seat.
Bear was he to our Lord,
But it might not be hidden from TTim
That His angel began
To be presumptuous,
Raised himself against haft Master,
Sought speech of hate,
Words of pride towards him,
Would not serve God,
Said that his body was
Light and beauteous,
Fair and bright of hue
He might not find in his mind
That he would God
In subjection,
Has Lord, serve •
Seemed to himself
That he a power and force
Had greater
Than the holy God
Could have
Of adherents

Many words spake

The angel of Presumption ;

Thought, through his own power,

How he for himself a stronger

Seat might make,

Higher in heaven

Said that ^-|Yni his mind impelled,

That he west and north

Would begin to work,

Would prepare structures -

Said it to him seemed doubtful

That he to God would

Be a vassal.

" Why shall I toil P " said ho ,

66 To mo it is no whit needful

To have a superior ,

I can with my hands as many

Wonders work ,

I have groat power

To form

A divinor throne,

A higher in hoavou.

Why shall I for hw favor servo,

Bend to him in such vaHHalaye V

I may bo a god ae» ho

Stand by mo strong aquooiatos,

Who will not fail me m the strife

Heroes atom of mood,

They have ohoHGii me for chief ,

Renowned warriors '

With such may ouo dovwo counsel,

With such capture his adherents ,

They are my zealous friends,

Faithful in their thoughts ;

I may bo then* chieftain,

Sway in this realm

Thus to mo it soometh not right

That I in aught

Need cruigo

To God for any flood ,

I will no longer IIP his vawHal "
When the AH-poworf ul it
All hod hoard,
That his angel <loviHo<l
Gieat presumption
To raise up ogainut his M,v4or,
And spake proud wor<li>
Foohwhly againKt hiH Lord,
Then must ho expiate the dood,
Share the work of war,
And for his puniHhmoiit munt lutvo
Of all deadly illn the greatest
So doth ovory man
Who ogamtit lun Lord
Devisoth to war,

With crime againHt tho grout Ruler.
Then was iho Mighty angry,
The highest Ruler ot hoavou
Hurled him from the lofty uuat ;
Hate had ho gamed at liiw Lord,
His favor ho hail loHt,

Incensed with him was tho (load hi hiH mind.
Therefore mtiHt ho week the gulf
Of hard hell-torment,

For that ho hod warred with lioavon'w Rulor.
He rejected him then from his favor,
And oast him into hoi I,
Into the deep parts,
Where ho became a dovil
The fiend with all MB oomrudoH
Fell then from heavon atavo,
Through as long as throo nights and days,
The angela from hoavon into holl ,
And them all the Lord transformed to devils,
Because they his deed and word
Would not revere ;
Therefore them in a worse light,
Under the earth beneath,

ewrliebt Times to 1400 ]

SATAN'S SPEECH.

Almighty God
Had placed tnumphless
In the swart hell ,
There they have at oven,
Immeasurably long1,
Each of all the fiends,
A renewal of fire ,
Then oometh ere dawn
The eastern wind,
Frost bitter oold,
Ever fire or dart ,
Some hard torment
They must have,

It was wrought for them in punishment,
Their woild (He) was changed
For their sinful couise
He filled hell with the apostates
The angelti continued to hold
The heights of heaven's kingdom,
Those who ere God's pleaauio executed ,
The others lay fiends in the fire,
Who ere had had so much
Strife with their Ruler
Torment they suffer,
Burning heat intense,
In midst of hell
Fire and broad flames ,
So also the bitter reeks,
Smoko and darkness,
For that they the service
Of God neglected,
Them their folly deceived ,
The angel's pnde
They would not the All-powerful's
Word revere,
They had great torment
Then wore they fallen
To the fiery abyss,
Into the hot hell,
Through frenzy
And through pride ,
They sought another land,
That was void of light
And was full of flame,
A great receptacle of fire,

Cwlmon, ly BtnyamM, Tlwrpe. — Abovt 660

3.— SATAN'S SPEECH

Satan harangued,

Sorrowing spake,

Ho who hell henceforth

Should rule,

Govern the abyss

He was erst God' a angel,

Fair in heaven,

Until Tntrn his mind urged,

And his pride

Most of all,

That he would not

The Lord of host's

Word revere

Boiled within him

His thought about his heart,

Hot was without him

IFfra dire punishment

Then spake he the words —

" This narrow place is most unlike

That other that we ere knew,

High in heaven's kingdom,

Which my Master bestowed on me,

Though we it, for the All-powerful,

May not possess,

Must cede our realm

Yet hath he not done rightly,

That he hath struck us down

To the fiery aby&s

Of the hot hell,

Bereft us of heaven s kingdom,

Hath it decreed

"With mankind

To people

That of sorrows is to me the greatest,

That Adam shall,

Who of earth was wrought,

My strong

Seat possess ;

Be to him in delight

And we endure t^18 torment,—

Misery in this helL

Oh ' had I power of my hands,

And might one season

Be without,

Be one winter's space,

Then with this host I

But around me lie

Iron bonds ;

Presseth this cord of chain, —

I am powerless f

Me have so hard

The clasps of hell,

So firmly grasped '

Here is a vast fire

Above and underneath

Never did I see

A loathier landskip ,

The fiamo abateth not ,

Hot over hell.

Me hath the clasping of these rings,

This hard-polished band,

Impeded in my course,

Debarred me from my -nay ,

My feet are bound,

My hands, manacled ,

Of these hell-doors ate

The ways obstructed,

So that with aught I cannot

From these limb-bonds escape ,

About me lie

Of hard iron

Forged with heat,

Huge gratings,

With which me God

Hath fastened by the neck

Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind,

And that knew also

The Lord of hosts,

That should us, through Adam,

Evil befall

About the realm of heaven,

Where I had power of my hands.

OfflDMON ]

THE TEMPTATION OF EVE. [FIRST FEBIOI> —

But we now suffer chastisement m hell,

Which is darkness and heat, —

Grim, bottomless ,

God hath us himself

Swept into these swarf; mists,

Thus he cannot us accuse of any sin

That we against TIITTT m the land frame J ovil ,

Yet hath he deprived us of the light,

Oast us into the greatest of all torments

We may not for this execute vengeance,

Reward him with aught of hostility,

Because he hath bereft us of the light

He hath now devised a world

Where he hath wrought man

After his own likeness,

With whom he will re-people

The kingdom of heaven with pure souls ;

Therefore must we strive zealously

That we on Adam, if we ever may,

And likewise on his offspring1, our wiongs
repair,

Corrupt friT™ there m frig will,

If we may it in any way devise.

Now I have no confidence farther in this bright
state,

That which he seems long destined to enjoy,

That bliss with his angel's power.

We cannot that over obtain,

That we the mighty God's mind weaken ,

Let us avert it now from the children of men,

That heavenly kingdom, now we may not
have it ,

Let us BO do that they forfeit his favour,

That they pervert that which he with his word
commanded

Then with them will he be wroth in mind,

Will cast them from his favor ;

Then shall they peek this hell,

And these grim depths ,

Then may we them have to ourselves as vassals

The children of men in this fast durance.
Begin we now about the warfare to con-
sult —

If to any follower I

Princely treasures

Gave of old,

While we in that good realm

Happy sat,

And in our seats had sway,

Then me he never, at tune more precioun,

Could with recompense

My gift repay;

If in return for it he would

(Any of my followers)

Be my supporter,

So that up from hence ho

Forth might

Pass through these barriers ;

And had power with him,

That he with wings

Might fly,—

Revolve in cloud, —

To where stand wrought

Adam and Eve,

On earth's kingdom,

With weal encircled , —

And wo arc hither cast

Into this deep don

Now with the Lord aro they

Far higher in esteem,

And may for themselves that wool posnosfl

That we in heaven's kingdom

Should have, —

Our realm by light

This counsel is decreed

For mankind.

That to me is in my mind HO painful,

Rueth in my thought,

That they heaven's kingdom

For ever shall possess.

If any of you may

With aught so turn it,

That they God's word

Through guile forsake,

Soon shall thoy be the moro hateful to him ;

If they break his commandment,

Thon will he bo incensed against thorn ;

Afterwards will tho weal bo turned from thorn,

And for them punishment will bo prepared, —

Some hard lot of evil "

Ccednion, "by BcnjaniiA Tlimiw. — Alnnt GtiO.

4 —THE TEMPTATION 03T EVE

Began then himself equip

The apostate from God,

Prompt in arms.

Ho had a cratty soul ,

On his head tho ehiof hm helmoii sot,

And it full strongly bound,

Braced it with clospn

He many spooohoH know

OX guileful wordn ;

Wheeled up from Ihonro,

Departed through tho door« of hell.

(He had a strong mind)

Lion-hko in air,

In hostile mood,

Dashed tho fire aside

With a fiend' fl power ,

Would secretly

Tho subjects of tho Lord

With wicked cUxjdH,

Men deceive,

Mislead and pervert,

That they miftht bocomo hatof til to God.

He journeyed then,

Through his fiend's might,

Until he Adam

On earth's kingdom,

The creature of God's hand,

Found ready,

Wisely wrought,

And his wife also,

Fairest woman ,

Just as they knew many thin^j

Of good to frame,

Which to them, his cUsciplo«,

The Creator of mankind

Had himself pointed out ;

And by them two

earliest Times to 1400]

THE TEMPTATION OF EVE.

Trees stood,

That wore without

Laden with fruit, —

With produce covered ,

As them the powerful God,

High King- of Heaven,

With his hands had set,

That there the child of TOETTI

Might choose

Of good and evil, —

Everyman

Of weal and woe

Tho f rut was not alike ;

The one so pleasant was,

Fair and beautiful,

Soft and delicate. —

That was Life's tree ,

He might for ever

After live,

Be m fche world,

Who of this fruit tasted,

So that him after that

Ago might not impair,

Nor grievous sickness ,

But he might ever "be

Forthwith in joys,

And his life hold ,

The favor of heaven's King-

Here in the world have,

To him should be decreed

Honours in the high heaven

When ho goeth hence

Then was the other

TTtfceily black,

Dim and dark, —

That was Death's tree.

Which much of bitter bare.

Both must know

Every mortal,

Evil and good ;

Waned in this woild,

He in pain must evor,

With sweat and with sorrows,

After live

Whoe'er should taste

Of what on this tree grew ,

Age should from him take

Of bold deeds

The joys, and of dominion,

And death be him allotted.

A little while he should

His life enjoy,

Then seek of lands

With fire the swartest ,

To fiends should minister

Where of all penis is the greatest

To people for a long season.

That the foe well knew ,

The devil's dark messenger,

Who warred with God,

Cast "hV> then into a worm's body,

And then twined about

The tree of death.

Through devil's craft,

There took of the fruit,

And again turned in™ thonce

To where he knew the handiwork

Of heaven's King to be

Began then ask him,

With his first word

The enemy with lies,

" Gravest thou aught,

Adam, up with God ?

I on his errand hither have

Journeyed from far 5

Nor was it now long since

That with himpelf I sat, [journey,

•When he me bade to travel on this

Bade that of this fruit thou eat,

Said that thy power and strength

And thine undei standing

Would become greater,

And thy body

Brighter far, —

Thy form more beauteous ,

Said that to thee of my treasure need

Would not be in the woild

Now thou hast willingly

Wrought the favor

Of heaven's King,

Gratefully served

Thy Master,

Hast made thee dear with thy Lord

I heard him thy deeds and words

Praise in his brightness,

And speak about thy life.

So must thou execute

What hither, into this land,

]pTifl angels bring"

In the world ore broad

Green places

And God ruleth

In the highest

Realm of heaven

The All-powerful above

Will not the trouble

Have himself

That on this journey he should come,

The Lord of men ;

But he his vassal sendeth

To thy speech

Now biddeth he thee, by messages,

Science to learn ;

Perform thou zealously

Take thee this fruit in hand.

Bite it and taste,

In thy breast thou shalt be expanded

Thy form the fairer ,

To thee hath sent the powerful God,

Thy Lord, this help

From heaven's kingdom."

Adam spake,

Where on earth he stood,

A self -created man

" When I the Lord of triumph.

The mighty God,

Heard speak

With strong voice ;

And He me here standing bode

Hold His commandment 5 •

And me gave this bnde.

C-ffiDMON J

THE TEMPTATION OF EVE [FIRST PHBIOD — From the

This wife of beauteous mien ,

And me bade beware

That in the tree of death.

I were not deceived,

Too much seduced

He said that the awart hell

Should inhabit

He who in his heart aught

Should admit of sin [with lieu,

I know not (for thou may*st oomo

Through dark design)

That thou art the Lord's

Messenger from heaven ;

Nay, I cannot of thy orders,

Of thy words, nor courses,

Aught understand.—-

Of thy journey, nor of thy saying's

I know what He himself commanded me,

Our Preserver,

When TTnm last I saw ,

He bade me His words revere

And well observe,

Execute His instructions

Thou art not like

To any of His angola

That I before have seen,

Nor showest thou me

Any token

Which Ho to me in pledge

Hath sent,

My Lord, through favor ,

Therefore I thee cannot obey —

But thou mayest take thee hence

I have film trust

On the Almighty God. above,

Who wrought me with his arms

Here with his hands ,

He can me, fiom H-IP high realm,

Gift with each good,

Though he send not his vassal "

He turned him, wroth of mood,
To where he saw the woman
On earth's realm,
Eve standing,
Beautifully formed ,
Said that the greatest ills
To all their offspring
From thenceforth
In the world would be
" I know that the supreme God with you
Will be incensed,
As I to "hiiTi this message
Myself relate,

When I irom this journey come
Over a long way ,
That ye will not well execute
Whatsoever errand he
From the east hither
At this time sendeth.
Now must he come himself
For your answer,
His errand may not
TTiH messenger command ,
Therefore know I that he with you will

be angry;
The Mighty, in his mind*

If thou nathless wilt,
A willing woman,
My words obey,

Then from this mayst thon amply
Counsel devise,
Consider in thy breast,
That fiom you both thoa mayrit
Ward oft punishment,
As I shall show thee
Eat of tliia fruit,

Then will tin-no oyeH become so clear
That thou mayst HO widoly
Over all the world
See afterwards,
And the throne of himself,
Thy Loid, and have
His grace henceforward
Thou mightest Adam
Afterwards rule,
If thou his affection have,
And he trust in thy word*
If thou soothly say to him
What monitions thou thyself
Hast in thy breast,
Wherefore thou God's mandate
By persuasion hast performed ;
He the hateful wirifo,
The evil answer,
Will abandon
In his breast's receHti ,
So we both to him
One purpose ftpoak
Urge thou him zoaloiiHly,
That he may follow thy instruction,
Lest ye hateful to God,
Tour Lord,
Should become.

If thou perfect this attempt, —
Best of women, —
I will conceal fiom your Lord
That to me so much calumny
Adam spake,
Evil words,

Accusoth me of untiuths,
Sayoth that I am aimoun for nufaohiofu,
A servant of the malignant,
Not God's angol.
But I so readily know all
The angels' origins,
The roofw of the high heavens, —
So long was tho while
That I diligently
Served God,

—^Through taithf ul mind,
My Master,
The Lord himHolf,—
I am not like a devil "
Ho led her thus with lion,
And with wilos instigated
The woman to that ovil,
Until began within her
The serpent's counsel boil
(To her a weaker mind had
The Creator assigned),
So that she her mood
Began relax, after those allurements ;

ewrlMst Tunes to 1400 ]

THE TEMPTATION OF EYE.

Therefore she of the enemy received,

Against the Lord's word,

Of death's tree

The noxious fruit.

Then to her spouse she spake —

" Adam, my lord.

This fruit is so sweet,

Mild in the breast ,

And this bright messenger,

God's angel good

I by his habit see

That he is the envoy

Of our Lord,

Heaven's Km?,

His favour it is for us

Better to gam

Than his aversion

If thou to TITTO this day

Spake aught of harm,

Yet will he it forgive,

If wo to friTn obedience

Will show

What fltall profit the© such hateful strife

With thy Lord's messenger P

To us is his favor needful ,

He may boar our errands

To the All-powerful,

Heavenly King

I can see from thence

Where He himself mtteth,

That i<3 aouth-ea^t,

With bli&s encircled,

Him who formed this world :
I BOO hw angoln

JEncoinpaRR him
With feathery wings,

Of all folks gioate^t,

Of bandH mont joyous.

Who could to mo

Such perception qive

If now it

God cM not sonrt,

Heaven's Ruler P

I can hear from far,

And BO widely ROC,

Through the whole world,

Ovor the broad Creation ,

I oan the joy of tlio firmament

Hoar in hoavon ,

It became light to mo in mind,

From without and from within,

After the fruit I tasted

I now havo of it,

Hero m my hand,

My good lord, —

I will fain give it thee ;

I behove that it

Cam$ from God,

Brought by his command,

Prom what this messenger told me

With cautions words ;

It is not like to aught

Else on earth

But, — ao this messenger sayeth, —

That it directly came from God."

She spake to him oft,

And all day urged him

To that dark deed,

That they their Lord's

Will break

The f ell envoy stood by,

Excited his desires,

And with wiles urged him,

Dangerously followed Trim.

The foe was full near

Who on that due journey

Had fared

Over a long way •

Nations he studied

Into that great perdition

Men to cast,

To corrupt and to mislead,

That they God's loan,

The Almighty's gift,

Might forfeit,

The power of heaven's kingdom ;

For the hell-miscreant

Well knew

That they God's ire

Must havo,

And hell-torment, —

The torturing punishment, —

Needs receive,

Since they God's command

Had broken.

What time he (the fiend) seduced,

With lying words,

To that evil counsel

The beauteous woman,

Of females fairest,

That she after his will spake,

Was as a, help to Yn-m

To seduce God's handiwork.

Then she to Adam, spake —

Fairest of women —

Full oft,

Till in the man began

His mind to turn,

So that he trusted to the promise

Which to friTP the woman.

Said m words

Tet did she it through faithful mind,-

Knew not that hence so many ills,

Sinful woes,

Must follow

To mankind,

Because she took in mind

That she the hostile envoy's

Suggestions would obey,

But weened that she the favor

Of heaven's King

Wrought with the words

Which she to the man

Revealed, as it were a token,

And vowed them true j

Till that to Adam,

Within his breast

His mind was changed,

And his heart began

Tom to her will

He from the woman took

Hell and death,

THE SOUL INT DESPAEB

[FIRST PERIOD — Ftom the

Thongh it was not so called,

Bat it the name of fruit

Must hare ,

Tet was it death's dream,

And the devil's artifice,

Hell and death,

And man's perdition,

The destruction of human, kind,

That they made for food

Unholy fruit '

Thus it came within him,

Touched at his heart.

Laughed then and played

The bitter-purposed messenger.

Ccedmon, ly Benjamin TJwrpe.-~About 660

5.— THE SOUL Iff DESPAIB

Alnj* r in how grim

And how bottomless

A gulf labours

The dOfr'Hing mind,

When it the strong

Storms lash

Of worldly cares ,

When it, thus contending,

Its proper light

Once forsakes,

And in woe forgets

The everlasting joy,

And rushes into the darkness

Of this world,

Afflicted with cares '

Thus has it now befallen

This my mind ,

Now it no more knows

Of good for God,

Bat lamentations

For the external world •

To it is need of comfort

JEVn/7 Alfred's Metres of BoetJmis —About 880.

6 — NOTKCNa ON EABTH PEBMANENT.

Then Wisdom again

His treasury of words unlocked,

Sung various maxims,

And thus expressed himself . —

" When the Sun

dearest shines,

Serenest in the heaven,

Quickly are obscured

Over the earth

Ajl other stars ;

Because their brightness is not

Brightness at all,

Compared with

The Sun's light

When mild blows

The south and western wind

Under the clouds,

Then quickly grow

The flowers of the field,

Joyful that they may :
But the stark storm,
When it strong comes
Prom north and east,
It quickly takes away
The beauty of the rose.
And also the northern storm,
Constrained by necessity,
That it is strongly agitated
Lashes the spacious sea
Against the shore
Alas ' that on earth
Aught of peimanent
Work in the world
Does not ever remain "

Eiiy? Alfred,'* Metros of BoetMus.— About 880

7.— THE ONLY BEST.

Well, 0 children of mon,

Throughout the mi<l<llo earth 1

Let every one of the free

Aspire to the

Eternal good

Which we aie ppoaking about,

And to the felicities

That we are telling of

Let firm who is now

Straitly bound

With the vain love

Of this great

Middle earth,

Also quickly seek for himself

Pull freedom,

That he may amvo

At the felicities

For the good of souls ,

For that is the only rest

Of all labours ,

The desirable haven

To the lofty ships

Of our mmd, —

A great tranquil station ;

That is the only haven

Which ever is,

After the waves

Of our labours,

And every storm,

Always calm

That is the refuge,

And the only comfort,

Of aH the wretched,

After these

Worldly labours.

That is a pleasant place,

After these miseries,

But I well know,

That,neither golden vessel*,

Nor heaps of silver,

Nor precious stones,

Nor the wealth of the middle earth,

The eyes of the mind

Ever enlighten ;

wliest Times to 1400 ]

AN OLD MAN'S SORROW

[ANONYMOUS,

Nor aught improve
Their sharpness
To the contemplation
Of true felicities ,
Bat they rather
The mind's eyes
Of every man

Make blind in their breasts,
Than make them clearer*
For everything
That in this present
Life delights
Are poor
Earthly things,
Ever fleeting '
But wonderful is that
Splendor and brightness
"Which every one of things
With splendour enlightens,
And afterwards
Entirely rules
The Ruler wills not
That our souls
Shall perish ,
But he him&elf will them
With a ray iBumine, —
The Ruler of life '
If, then, any man,
With the clear eyes
Of Mg mind, may
Ever behold
The clear brightness
Of heaven's light,
Then will he say
That the brightness of tho sun
Is darkness ,
So overy man,
Compared with
That great light
Of God AJmighty,
That is to every soul
Eternal without end,
To blessed souls.
King AJfi erf's Metres of Boethius. — Abwt 880

8 —THE HAPPY MAN.

Lo ' now on earth is he

In every thing

A happy •nnn.TiJ

If he may see

The clearest

Heaven-shining stream,

Tho noble fountain

Of all good ;

And of himself

The swarthy mist, —

The darkness of the mind, —

Can dispel f

We will as yet,

With God's help,

With old and fabulous

Stones instruct

Thy mmd,

That thou the better mayest

Discover to the skies
The light path
To the eternal region
Of our souls
King Alfred's Metres of Boeflnus — About 880.

9.— -THE SAILING OF BEOWULF.

Famous was Beowulf;

Wide sprang the blood

Which the heir of the Shylds

Shed on the lands

So shall the bracelets

Purchase endeavor,

Freely presented

As by thy fathers ,

And all the young men,

As is their custom,

drag round their leader

Soon as the war comes.

Lastly, thy people

The deeds shall bepraise

Which their men have performed.

When the Shyld had awaited

The tune he should stay,

Came many to face

On the billows so free.

His ship they bore out

To the bran of the ocean,

And his comrades sat down

At their oars as he bade

A word could control

Hia good fellows, the Shylds.

There, at the Hybhe,

Stood his old father,

Long to look after him.

The band of his comrades,

Eager for outfit,

Forward the Athelmg

Then all the people

Cheered their loved lord,

The giver of bracelets.

On the deck of the ship

He stood by the mast.

There was a treasure,

Won from afar,

Laden on board.

Ne'er did I hear

Of a vessel appointed

Better for battle,

With weapons of war,

And waistcoats of wool,

And axes and swords

MocL&msscd "by W Taylor.— About 900.

10— AN OLD MAN'S SORROW.

Careful, sorrowing,

He seeth in his son's bower

The wine-hall deserted,

The resort of the wind noiseless.

The knight sleepeth ;

The warrior, in darkness.

There is not there

1

j ANONYMOUS ]

GOOD NIGHT

PBBIOD. — From the

Noise of the harp,
Joy in the dwellings,
As there was before
Then departeth ho into songs,
Snigeth a lay of sorrow,
One after one , —
All seemed to him too wide,
The plains and the dwelling-place.
Modernised ty JoTw IT Kemble.— About 900

I

II — GOOD NIGHT.

The night-helm grew dnsky,
Dark over the vassals ,
The court all rose,
The mingled-haired
Old Soylding
Would visit his bed,
The Ge& wished the
Renowned warrior to rest
Immeasurably well
Soon him the foreigner,
Weary of his journey,
The hall-thane goidod forth,
Who, after a fitting manner,
Provided all that
The thane needed,
Whatsoever that day
The sailors over the deep
Should have

The magnanimous warnor rested.
The house rose aloft,
Carved and variegated with gold ,
The stranger slept therein
Until the pale raven,
Blithe of heart,
Announced the joy of heaven,
The bright sun, to be come
Modernised "by John M. Eemble — About 900.

12 — SUMMER IS I-CUMEN IN" *

Summer is i-cumen in,
Llude sing cuccn ,
Groweth sed, and bloweth med,
And spnngth the wde nu.
Sing cuccu, cuccu

Awe bleteth after lomb,
Lhonth after oalue cu ,
Bulluc sterteth buoke verteth ;

JuLune smcr ouccu,

Cuceu, ouccu.
Wei singes thu ouoou,
Ne swik thu nauer nu ;

Sing oucou nu,

About 900

* Thi* is the most ancient English song that appears
in our manuscripts with the musical notes annexed,
The xntuio is of that species of composition which is
<*M Canon %n the Unison, and is supposed to be of
the £Uteeii«u — «tory — WAMOH*S "History of English.
Poetry. '

THE SONG- OP

Summer is a coming in,

Loud sing, cuckow ,
Groweth seed, and blowoth mead,
And spnngeth the wood now,

Sing, ouckow, cuckow.

Ewe bleateth after lamb,

Loweth calf after cow,

Bullook starteth, buck departeth,

Merry sing, cuckow,

Ouokow, cuckow
Well smgeth the cuckow,
Nor cease to sing now ,

Sing cuokow, now,

Sing cuokow

Hodermzcd &?/ Wcurton. — A "bout 1785.

13— THE MUSTER FOB THE FIBST
CBUSADE

A good pope was thilk time at Bomo, that

heoht Urban,
That preached of the creyserie, and creysod

mony man.
Therefore he send preachers through all

Christendom,
And himself a-this-side the mounts and to

France come ;
And preached so fast, and with so great

wisdom,
That about in each lond the cross fast mo

nomo

In the year of graco a thousand and sixteen,
This great creysene began, that long was

i-soen
Of so much folk nyme the cross, no to tlio

holy land go,

Me ne see no time before, no suth nathomo
For self women ne beleved, that they ne wond

thither fast,
Ne young folk [that] feeble were, tho whilo

the voyage y-last
So that Eobert Curthose thitherward his

heart oast,
And, among other good knights, no thought

not be the last

He wends here to Englond for tho oreyworjo,
And laid William his brother to wed Nor-
mandy,
And borrowed of fa™ thereon an hundred

thousand mark,
To wend with to the holy lond, and that waH

somedeal stark * *
The Earl Eobert of Flanders mid him wend

also,
And Eustace Earl of Boulogne, and mony

good knight thereto
There wend the Duke Geoffrey, and tho Earl

Baldwin there,
And the other Baldwin also, that noble mo a

were,

And longs syth all three of the holy lond.
The Earl Stephen de Blois wend eko, that

great power had on hond,

eaffUest Times to 1400 ]

WHAT IS HEAVEN?

[BlCHAJ&D ROLLS

And Robert's sister Cuithose espoused had to

•wive
There wend yet other knights, the best that

were alive ,

As the Earl of St Giles, the good Raymond,
And Niel the king's brother of France, and

the Earl Beaumond,

And Tancred his nephew, and the bishop also
Of Podys, and Sir Hugh the great earl

thereto;
And folk also without talc, of all this west

end
Of Englond and of France, thitherward gan

wend,
Of Normandy, of Denmark, of Norway, of

Britain,
Of Wales and of Ireland, of Gascony and of

Spam,

Of Provence and of Saxony, and of Alemain,
Of Sootlond and of Greece, of Rome and

Aquitain * *

Rabat of Gloucester — About 1260

14 — THE INTERVIEW OF VORTIGEfiN
"WITH ROWEN.

Hengist that day did hia might,
That all were glad, king and knight.
And as they were best in glading,
And well cnp-shotten, knight and king,
Of chamber Rowenen so gent,
Before the Tnng in hall she went
A cup with wine she had in "hand,
And her attire was well f arand
Before the Tnng on knee set,
And in her language she fry™ gret
1 Laverd king, wassail ' ' said she
The king asked, What should be
On that language the king ne couth
A knight her language lend in youth,
Bregh hight that knight, bom Breton,
That lend the language of Saxon.
This Bregh was the latimer,
What she said told Yorhgor
' Sir,9 Bregh said, 'Bo wen you greets,
And king calls and lord you leets
This is their custom and their gest,
When they are at the ale or feast,
Hk man that loves where him thank,
Shall say Wassail ' and to him drank
He that bids shall say, Wassail '
The tother snail say again, Dnn'khail '
That says Wassail drinks of the cup,
Kissing his fellow he gives it up
Drinkhaal he says, and drinks thereof,
Kissing fa™ in bourd and skof '
The fc™g said, as the knight gan ken,
1 Dnnkhaal,' amil-mg on Rowenen
Rowon drank as her list,
And gave the long, syne him kissed
There was the first wassaal in dode,
And that first of fame gaed
Of that wassail men told great tale,
And wassaal when they wore at ale,

And <

Thus was wassaal ta'en to thank.
FeU sithes that w^flfo ymg
Wassailed and kissed the Tring
Of body she was right avenant,
Of fair colour with sweet semblant.
Her attire full well it seemed,
Mervelik the Vmg she queemed.
Of our measure was he glad,
For of that ypn-i^iTi he waac all mad.
Drunkenness the fiend wrought,
Of that paen was all his thought
A mischance that time him led,
He asked that paen for to wed.
Hengist would not draw o lite,
Bot granted him all so tite
And Hors his brother consented soon.
Her friends said, it were to done
They asked the king to give her Kent,
In dowery to take of rent
Upon that ™<"dfr> lag heart was oast ;
That they asked the Tnng made fast.
I ween the >™g took her that day,
And wedded her on paen' a lay.

Robert De Brwnne — About 1320.

15 —PRAISE OF GOOD WOMEN.

Nothing is to *"*»*! so dear

As woman's love m good manner.

A good woman is man's bliss,

Where her love right and stedfast is.

There is no solace under heaven,

Of all that a man may neven,

That should a man so much glew,

As a good woman that loveth true *

Ne dearer is none in God's hnrd,

Than a chaste woman with lovely word.

Robert I>e Snmne —About 1320.

16.— WHAT IS HEAVEN?

Ther is lyf withoute ony deth,
And ther is youthe without ony elde ,
And ther is alle manner welthe to welds
And ther is rest without ony travaille ,
And ther is pees without ony strife,
And ther is alle manner lykmge of lyf —
And ther is bright somer ever to se,
And ther is nevere wynter in that countrie • —
And ther is more worshipe and honour,
Then evore hade kynge other emperour
•And ther is grete melodie of anngeles songe,
And ther is preysing hem amonge
And ther is alle manner frendshipe that may be,
And ther is evere perfect love and ohante ,
And ther is wisdom without f olye,
And ther is honeste without vileneye
Al these a man may joyes of heveue call
Ac yutte the most soveroyn joye of alle
Is the BJghte of Goddes bright face,
In wham resteth alle manere grace.

RicJiard Rolle.— About 1350.

EGBERT LONGLANDE ]

MEEOT AND TRUTH.

[FIRST PBBIOD.— From tti&

17,— MEBCY AND TJbfcUTH.

Out of the west coast, a wench, as me thought,
Came walking in the way, to hell-ward she

looked;

Mercy hight that maid, a meek thing withal,
A full benign bard, and buxom of speech ;
Her sister, as it seemed, came soothly walking,
Even out of the east, and westward she looked,
A faU comely creature, Truth she bight,
For the virtue that her followed afeard was

she never.

When these maidens mette, Mercy and Truth,
Either axed other of this great wonder,
Of the din and of the darkness, &o,

Robert Longlande —About 1350

18 — COVETOUSNESS.
And then came Covetise, can I him not cfe-

soriv69

So hungrily and hollow Sir Hervey him looked ,
He was beetle-browed, andbabber-lipped also,
With two bleared een as a blind hag,
And as a leathern purse lolled his cheeks,
Well syder than his cTrin, they shriveled for eld :
And as a bondman of his bacon his beard was

bednveHed,

With an hood on his head andalousy hat above
And in a tawny tabard of twelve winter age,
Al so-torn and baudy, and full of lice creeping- ,-
But if that a louse could have loupen the better,
She should not have walked on the welt, it

was so threadbare.

Robeit Longlcmde.— About 1850.

19.— THE CAOTEEBUBY TALES.

THE PBOLOGT7X.

Whanne that April with his shoures sote
The dcoughte of March hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veme in swiche Hoour,
Of whiche vertue engendred is the flour ;
Whan Zephirus eke with his sote brethe
Enspired hath in every holt and hethe
The tendre oroppes, and the yonge sonne
Bfafh in the T^tn "Kip halfe cours yronne,
And ffTft^rlft f oules Tpfi^rAT| melodie,
That slepen alle night with open eye,
So pnketh hem nature in hit oorages <
Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken strange strondes,
To serve halwes oouthe in sondrylondes ,
And specially, from every shire's ende
Of Englelond, to Canterbury they wende,
The holy fclisful martyr for to seke,
Thathem hathholpen, whanthatthey were seke.

Bef eJle, that, in that seson on a day,
In Southwerk'at the Tabard as I lay,
Eedy to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with devoute corage,
At night was come into that hostSrie
Wei nine and twenty in a oompagnie
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
In. felawsMp, and pilgrimes were they alle,

That toward Canterbury wolden nde.
The chambres and the stables weren wide,
And wel we weren esed atte beste.

And shortly, whanthe sonne was gon to reste,
So hadde I spoken with hem evench on,
That I was of Mr f elawship anon,
And made f orword erly for to nse,
To take oure way ther as I you devise.

But natheles, while I have time and space,
Or that I f orther in this tale pace,
Me thinketh it accordant to reson,
To tellen you alle the condition
Of eohe of hem, so as it seined me,
And whiche they weren, and of what degre ;
And eke in what araie that they were nine :
And at a knight than wol I firste begmne.

A KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy man,
That fro the time that he firste began
To nden out, he loved ohevalrie,
Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie.
Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,
And therto hadde he ridden, no man f erre,
As wel m distendom as in Hethenesse,
And ever honoured for his worijhinesse

At Alisandre he was whan it was wonne
Ful often tune he hadde the bord begoniiw
Aboven alle nations in Pruco.
In Letfcowe hadde he reysed, and in Buco,
No Glisten man so ofte of his degre
In G-eraade at the siege eke hadde he be
Of Algesir, and ndden in Belmarie
At Leyes was he, and at Satahe,
Whan they were wonne ; and in the Grete seo
At many a noble armee hadde he be
An mortal bataoJles hadde he ben fiftone,
And foughten for our faith at Tramisseno
In listes times, and ay slain his f o.

This ilke worthy knight hadde ben also
Somtune with the lord of Palatio,
Agen another hethen in Turtle
And evermore he hadde a sovereine pris.
And though that he was worthy he was wiwo,
And of his port as meke as is a mayde
He never yet no vilame ne sayde
In alle his hf , unto no manere wight
He was a veray parfit gentil knight.

But for to tellen you of bqs aroie,
His hors was good, but he ne was not gale.
Of fustian he wered a gipon,
AJle besmotred with his habergeon,
For he was late ycome fro his viago,
And wente for to don his pilgrimage.

With him ther was his sone a yonge SQUIER,
A lover, and a lusty bachelor,
With lookes crull as they were laide in pro&sc.
Of twenty yere of age he was I gosse.
Of his stature he was of even lengtho,
And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengtho.
And he hadde be somtime in ohevaohie,
In Maundies, in Artois, and in Pioardie,
And borne him wel, as of so htel space,
In hope to stonden in his ladies grace.

Embrouded was he, as it were a medo
Alle fol of freshe floures, white and redo.

ecu-best Twnes to 1400.]

THE CANTEBBTTBY TALES.

[CXAVCOBB.

Singing he was, ox floyting all tlie day,
He was as froslie as is the monoth of Hay.
Short; was his gouno, with sieves long and wide.
Wei ooude he sitte on hors, and f ayre ride.
He coude songes make, and well endite,
Juste and eke dance, and welpourtraae and write.
So hote he loved, that by mghtertale.
He slop no more than doth the* nightingale.

Curfcoib he was, lowly, and servisablo,
And oarf before his fader at the table

A TBMAN hadde he, and servantes no mo
At that tune, for him Insto to nde so ,
And he was oladde in cote and hode of grene
A shefo of peacock arwes bright and kene
Under hi« belt he bare f ul thriftily.
Wei coude ho dresse his takol yemanly
His orwos drouped not with f etheros lowe.
And in his hond ho bare a mighty bowe.

A not-hod hadde he, with a brouno visage.
Of wood-craft oonde he wel alle the usage
Upon hw iirme ho bare a gaie bracer,
And by hiH Hide a sword and a bokolor,
And on that other side a gaio daggore,
Harneisod wol, and sharpo as point of spere
A Cristofro on his brosto of silver sheno
An home ho bore, the baudrik was of greno.
A foiutor WOK ho aotholy as I gesso.

Thor was alno a Nonno, a PSIOBBSSBI,
That of hiro smiling was f ul Himplo and coy ,
Hue grotoHt oiho n'as but by Soint Eloy ,
And Hho waH olepod madamo Eglontino.
Ful wol Hhe sango the service dovino,
Entunod in hiro nose ful flwotoly ,
And Fronoho Hhe spake ful fayro and f ofasly,
After the acolo of Stratford atte bowe,
For Froncho of Paris was to hiro xmknowe.
At mote wan Hho wol ytaughto withallo ;
She lotto no mowol from hire lippes fallo,
No wette hiro fingros in hiro Banco dope.
Wol ooudo flho oano a monjol, and wol kopo,
Thatto no dropo no foil upon hiro brost.
In ourtosio wafl Hollo ful mooho hiro loat.
Hiro ovor hppo wipod who so clone,
That in hiro ouppo wan no forthing none
Of grotto, whan Hhe dronkon hadde hiro draught.
Ful Bomoly after hiro mote Hho raughl.
And Bikerly nho waH of groto dwport,
And ful plowtnt, and amiable of port,
And poinod hiro to oontrofotou choro
Of court, and bon owfcatelioh of mauore,
And to bon holclon digno of reverence.

But for to Hpekon of hiro conscience,
She wan HO charitable and BO pitous,
She woldo wopo if that Hhe saw a mous
Caughto in a trappe, if it wore dod or bloddo.
Of Bmalo houndoB hadde Hho, that Hho foddo
With routed floHh, and milk, and waste! brode.
But sore wept who if on of horn were dedo,
Or if men. amoto it with a yorde smorto
And all waH conscience and tondxo horte.

Ful Hemoly hiro wimple ypinohod was ;
Hiro noHO troUrt ; her oyon grey as gloa ;
Hire mouth ful Hmalo, and Ihorto wofi and rod ;
But sikorly sho hadde a fayro forehod.

It was almost a spanne brode I trowe ;
For hardily she was not undergrowe.

Ful f efase was hue cloke, as I was ware.
Of smale corall aboute hire arm she bare
A pair of bedes, gauded all with grene ;
And thereon heng a broohe of gold ful shene,
On whiohe was first ywnten a crooned A,
And after, Amor vmoit omwut.

Another NONNS also with hire hadde she
That was hire diappellme, and PBEBBTM thre.

A HONK ther was, a f ayre for the maastrie,
An out-nder, that loved venene ;
A manly man, to ben an abbot able
Ful many a delate hors hadde he in stable :
And whan he rode, men mighte his bridel

here

G-ingeling in a whistling wind as olere,
And eke as loude, as doth the chapell belle,
Ther as this lord was keper of the celle.

Thereule of seint Mature and of seint Beneit,
Booause that it was olde and sondele streit,
This like monk lette olde thinges pace,
And held after the newe world the trace,
He yave not of the teifc a pulled hen,
That saith, that hunters ben not holy men;
Ne that a monk, whan he is rekkeles,
Is like to a fish that is waterles ;
This is to say, a monk out of his cloietre.
This like text held he not worth an oifltre.
And I say his opinion was good.
What shulde he studie, and make hunselven

wood,

Upon a book m cloistre alway to pore,
Or swinken with his hondes, and laboure,
As Austin bit ? how shal the world be served P
Let Austin have his swmk to ^m reserved.
Therefore he was a priokasoure a right ;
Greihoundes he hadde as swift as foul of flight:
Of pricking and of hunting for the hare
Was all his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.

I saw his sieves purfled at the hond
With gris, and that the finest of the lond.
And for to fasten his hood TiTvite1* his ^h™"!"*!
He hadde of gold ywrought a curious pinne :
A love-knotte in the gxeter ende ther was.
His hed was balled, and shone as any glas,
And eke his face, aa it hadde ben anoint.
Ho was a lord ful fat and in good point.
His even stepe, and rolling in his hed,
That stemed as a f orneis of a led.
His bootes souple, us hors in gret estat,
Now certainly he was a f ayre prelat
He waa not pale as a forpmed gost.
A fat swan loved he best of any rost
His palfrey was as broune as is a bery

A FRERE ther was, a wanton and a mery,
A lomitour, a ful solempne man.
In all the ordres f cure is non that can
So moohe of daJianoe and fayre langage.
He hadde ymade ful many a manage
Of yonge wimmen, at his owen cost.
Until his ordre he was a noble post.
Ful wel beloved, and f amiher was he
With fraaakeleins over all in his contree,

2*

CHA-XTCEIt ]

THE CATEKBtTRY TALES. [FIRST PBSEIOD — From the

And eke with worthy wunmen of the toon *
For he had power of confession,
As saide hunselfe, more than a carat,
For of his ordre he was lioentiat
Fnl swetely herde he confession,
And plesant was his absolution.
He was an esy man to give penance,
Ther as he wiste to han a good pitanoe :
For unto a poure ordre for to give
Is signe that a man is well yshrive.
For if he gave, he dorste make avant,
He wiste that a man was repentant.
For many a man so harde is of his herte,
He may not wepe although frfrn sore smerte.
Therefore in stede of weping and praieres,
Men mote give silver to the ponre freres.

His tippet was ay farsed fol of knives,
And pinnes, for to given fayre wives.
And certainly he hadde a mery note*
Wel coude he singe and plaien on a rote
Of yeddinges he bare utterly the pns.
His nekke was white as the flour de lis
Thereto he strong was as a ohampioun,
And knew wel the tavernes in every toun,
And every hosteler and gay tapstere,
Better than a lazar or a beggere.
For unto swiohe a worthy man as he
Acoordeth nought, as by his faoulte,
To haven with sike lazars acquauitance.
It is not honest, it may not avance,
As for to delen with no swiohe pouraille,
But all with riohe, and sellers of vitaille.

And over all, ther as profit shuld arise,
Ourteis he was, and lowly of servise.
Ther n'as no man no wher so vertuous
He was the beste begger in all his hous :
And gave a certaine f erme for the grant, '
]STon of his brethren came in his haunt.
For though a widdewe hadde but a shoo,
(So plesant was his Inprmcqwo)
Yet wold he have a f erthing or he went
His pourohas was wel better than his rent.
And rage he coude as it hadde ben a whelp,
In lovedayes, ther ooude he mochel help.
For ther was he nat like a cloisterere,
'With thredbare cope, as is a poure scolere,
But he was like a maister or a pope.
Of double worsted was his senucope,
That round was as a belle out of the presse
Somwhat he lisped for his wantonnesse,
To make his TfrngrKqii awete upon his tonge ;
And in his harping, whan that he hadde songe,
His eyen ibwinkeled in his hed aright,
As don the sterres in a frosty night.'
This worthy hmitour was doped Huberd.

A MAECHANT was ther with a forked berd,
In mottelee, and highe on hors he sat,
And on his hed a Ilaundnsh bever hat.
His bootes elapsed fayre and fetisly
His resons spake he ful solempnely,
Souning alway the enorese of his winning.
• He wold the see were kept for any thing
Betwixen Mddleburgh and QrewelL
Wel coud he in esohanges sheldes selle.
This worthy man ful wel his wit besette ,

Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette,
So stedefastly didde he his governance,
With his baargemes, and with his ohevisanoe.
Forsothe he was a worthy man withalle,
But soth to sayn, I n'ot how men "him calle.

A CLEBK ther was of Ozenf orde also,
That unto logike hadde long ygo.
As lene was his hors as is a rake,
And he was not right fat, I undertake ;
But loked holwe, and therto soberly.
Ful thredbare was his overeat oourtepy,
For he hadde geten him yet no benefice,
Ne was nought worldly to have an office.
For him was lever han at his beddes hed
Twenty bokes clothed in blake or red,
Of Aristotle, and his philosophic,
Than robes nche, or fidel, or sautrie.
But all be that he was a philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre
But all that he might of his frendes hente,
On bokes and on lerning he it spente,
And besily gan for the soules praie
Of hem, that yave him wherwith to soolaie.
Of studie toke he moste cure and hede
Not a word spake he more than was nede ;
And that was said in forme and reverence,
And short and quike, and ful of high sentence
Souning in moral vertue was his sgeche,
And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly techo

A SEBGEANT OF THE LAWB ware and wise,
That often hadde yben at the paruis,
Ther was also, ful nche of excellence.
Discrete he was, and of gret reverence
He semed smote, his wordes were so wise.
Justice he was ful often in assise,
By patent, and by pleine oommissioun ;
For his science, and for his high renoun,
Of fees^nd robes had he many on
So grete a pourohasour was no wher non.
All was fee simple to him in effect,
His pourohasing might not ben in suspect.
No wher so besy a man as he ther n'as,
And yet he semed besier than he was.
In termes hadde he cas and domes alle,
That fro the tame of king Will, weren fallo.
Thereto he coude endite, and make a thing,
Ther coude no wight pmche at his writing
And every statute coude he plaane by rote.
He rode but homely in a medlee cote,
Girt with a seint of silk, with barres smale
Of his array tell I no longer tale.

A FBAITKELBIN was in this compagnie *
White was hia berd, as is the dayesie
Of his complexion he was sanguin
Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in win.
To liven in delit was ever his wone,
For he was Epicure's owen sone,
That held opinion, that plein delft
Was veraily felicite parfite
An housholder, and that a grete was he ;
Seint Julian he was in his contrea.
His brede, his ale, was alway after on ;
A better envyned man was no wher uon.

earliest tomes to 1400.]

THE CANTERBURY TALES.

[CHA.TTOEB.

Withouten bake mete never was his hous.
Of fisli and flesh, and that so plenteous,
It snewed in his hous of mete and dnnke,
Of alle demtees that men coud of thmke
After the sondry sesons of the yere,
So changed he hia mete and his gpupere.
FuL many a fat partnoh hadde he in mewe,
And many a breme, and many a luce in stewe
Wo was his coke, but if his sauce were
Poinant and sharpe, and redy all his gere.
ffiM* table dormant in frig halle alway
Stode redy covered aUe the longe day

At sessions ther was he lord and sire
Ful often time he was knight of the shire
An anelace and a gipoiere all of silk,
Heng at his girdel, white as morwe "milk
A shereve hadde he ben, and a contour.
"Was no wher swiohe a worthy vavasour

AN HABERDAJSHE&, and a CAJ&PENTEB,
A WEBBE, a DBJYEB, and a TAFISEB,
Were alle yclothed in o hvere,
Of a solempne and grete fratermte
Fnl freshe and newe hir gere ypiked was
HIT knives were yohaped not with bras,
But all with silver, wrought fed dene and wel,
Hir girdeles and hir pouches every del
Wel seined eohe of hem a fayre burgeis,
To sitten m a gild halle, on the deis
Everich for the wisdom that he can,
Was shapehoh for to ben an alderman
For catel hadden they ynough and rent,
And eke hir wives wolde it wol assent
And elles certainly they were to blame.
It is ful fayie to ben yoleped madame,
And for to gon to vigiles all before,
And have a mantel realhch ybore

A COKE they hadden with hem for the nones,
To boil the ohikenes and the mano bones,
And poudre marohont, tart and gahngale.
Wel ooude he knowe a draught of London ale,
He ooude roste, and sethe, and broile, and fine,
Maken mortrewes, and wel bake a pie ,
But gret harm was it, as it thoughte me,
That on his shinne a mormal hadde he
For blanc manger that made he with the best

A SHIPMAN was ther, woned f er by West ,
For ought I wote, he was of Dertemouth.
He rode upon a rounoie, as he couthe,
All in a goune of folding to the knee
A dagger hanging by a las hadde hee
About his nokke under his arm adoun *
The hote sommer hadde made his hewe al broun
And certainly he was a good f elaw.
Ful many a draught of win he hadda draw
From Burdens word, while that the chapmen

slope

Of nice conscience toke he no kepe.
If that he faught, and hadde the higher hand,
By water he sent hem home to every land
But of his craft to reken wel his tides,
His stremes and his strandes horn besides,
His herberwe, his mone, and his lodemanage,
Ther was non swiohe, from Hull unto Cartage

Hardy he was, and wise, I undertake :

With many aliempest hadde hisberd be shake.

He knew wel alle the havens, as they were,

Fro Gotland, to the Cape de fbistere,

And every oreke in Bretagne and in Spame :

ffiiB barge yoleped was the Magdelaine

With, us ther was a DOCTOTTB OF Pmsna,
In all thus world ne was ther non T»™ like
To speke of phisike, and of surgene
For he was grounded in astronomie.
He kept his patient a ful gret del
In houres by V« magike nature!.
Wel coude he f ortanen the ascendent
Of his images for his patient

He knew the cause of every maladie,
Were it of cold, or hote, or moist, or dne,
And wher engendred, and of what humour,
He was a veray partite practisour.
The cause yknowe, and of his harm the rote,
Anon he gave to the sike man his bote.
Ful redy hadde he his apothecaries
To send him dcagges, and his lettuaries,
For eche of hem made other for to wizme :
Tpp* frendship n'as not newe to begmne.
Wel knew he the old Esculapius,
And Dioscondes, and eke Boras ;
Old Eippocras, Hall, and Gallien;
Serapion, "BasiSj and Avicen ;
Aweiois, Damascene, and Constantm ;
Bernard and Gatisden, and Gilbertm
Of his diete mesurable was he,
For it was of no superfluitee
But of gret nourishing, and digestible.
His etudie was but litel on the Bible.
In sangum and in perse he clad was alia
Lined with taffata, and with sendalle
And yet he was but esy of dispence
He kepte that he wan in the pestilence.
For gold in phisike is a cordial ;
Therefore he loved gold in special

A good WrF was ther ov beside BATHE,
But she was som del def e, and that was scathe.
Of cloth •mn.Trmgr she hadde swiche an haunt,
She passed hem of Ipres, and of Gaunt.
In all the parish wif ne was ther non,
That to the offnng before hire shulde fcon,
And if ther did, certain so wroth was she,
That she was out of alle chantee.
Hire coverchief s weren ful fine of ground ;
I dorste swere, they weyeden a pound
That on the Sonday were upon hire hede.
Hire hosen weren of fine scarlet rede,
Ful streite yteyed, and shoon ful moist and

newe

Bold was hiie face, and fayre and rede of hew.
She was a worthy woman all hire live,
Housbondesat the f^irnha dore hadshehadnve,
Withouten other compagme in youthe.
But therof nedeth not to speke as nouthe.
And thnes hadde she ben at Jerusaleme.
She hadde passed many a strange streme
At Borne she hadde ben, and at Bolorne,
In Galice at Seont James, and at Ooloine.
She coude moche of wandnng by the way.

CHAXTOTR.]

THE CANTEBBUBY TALES. [FIRST PBBIOD — From tTio

she, sothly for to say.
"Upon ma ambler esily she sat, *
Ywimpled wel, and on line hede an hat,
As brode as is a bokeler, or a targe.
A. fete mantel about hire hippes large,
And on hire fete a pair of sporres sharpe.
In felawsMp wel coude she laughe and oarpe,
Of remedies of love she knew parobanoe,
Tor of "that arte she ooude the olde dance.

A good man ther was of religioun,
That was a poure PEBSONE of a toun :
Bat ridhe he was of holy thought and werk.
He was also a lerned man, a clerk,
That Castes gospel trewely wolde preehe.
Trip pezishens devoutly wolde he teohe.
Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,
And in adversite fnl patient
And swiohe he was ypieved often srfches.
Pol loth wer him to corsen for his tithes,
But rather wolde he yeven out of doute,
Unto his pome parishens aboute,
Of T"8 onring, and eke of fag substance.
He ooude in litel thing have suffisanoe
"Wide was his parish, and houses f er asonder,
But he ne left nought for no rain ne thonder,
In sdcenasse and in mischief to visite
The fairest in his parish, mocha and lit*,
Upon his fete, and in ms hand a staf
This noble ensample to his shepe he yaf ,
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.
Out of the gospel he the wordes caught,
And this figure he added yet therto,
Thai af gold ruste, what shuld iren do ?
For if a preest be f oule, on whom we trust,
No wonder is a lewed man to rust .
And shame it is, if that a preest take kepe,
To see a shitten shepherd, and dene shepe
Wel ought a preest ensample for to yeve,
By his olenenesse, how his shepe shulde live

He sette not his benefice to hire,
And letfce his shepe aoombred in the mire,
And ran unto London, unto Seint Ponies,
To seken him a chantene for soules,
Or with a brotherhede to be withold -
But dwelt at home, and kepte wel his fold,
So that the wolf ne made it not miaoone.
He was a shepherd, and no meroenarie
And though he holy were, and vertuous,
He was to sinful men not dispitous,
Ne of his speche dangerous ne digue,
But in his tecmng discrete and bexugne.
To cbawen folk to heven, with f aarenesse,
By good ensample was his besmesse :
But it were any persone obsinnat.
What so he were of highe or low estat,
Hun wolde he smbben sharply for the nones
Abettor preest I trowe that no wher non is
He waited after no pompe ne reverence,
Ne mated him no spiced conscience,
But Gristes lore, and his apostles twelve,
He taoght, but first he folwed it himselve.

With him ther was a PLOWMAN, was his

brother,
That hadde ylaid of dong fol many a f other.

A trewe swinker, and a good was ho,
laving in pees, and parfite chanteo
God loved he beste with all his herte
At aJle times, were it gam or smerte,
And than his neighebour right as hunselve.
He wolde thresh, and therto dike, and delve,
For Onstes sake, for every poure wight,
Withouten lure, if it lay in his might

His tithes paied he ful f ayre and wel
Both of his propre swmke, and his catel.
In a tabard he rode upon a mere

Ther was also a Beve, and a Millere,
A Sompnour, and a Pardoner also,
A Manciple, and myself, ther n'ero no mo

The MHXEE, was a stout carl for the nones,
Ful bigge he was of braun, and eke of bones ,
That proved wel, for over all ther he came,
At wrastbng he wold bare away the ram.
He was short sholdered brode, a thifrke gnarre, '
Ther n'as no dore, that he n'olde heve of barre,
Or breke it at a reaming with his hede.
His berd as any sowe or fox was rede,
And therto brode, as though it were a spade.
Upon the cop right of his nose he hade
A wert, and theron stode a tufte of heres,
Bede as the bristles of a sowes eres
His nose-thirles blaoke were and wide
A swerd and bokeler, bare he by his side.
His mouth as wide was as a f orneis.
He was a jangler, and a goliardeis,
And that was most of giTi^ and harlotries.
Wel ooude he stolen oorne, and tollen thnes.
And yet he had a thomb of gold parde
A white cote and a blew hode wered he
A baggepipe wel coude he blowe and soune,
And therwithall he brought us out of tonne.

A gentil MANCIPLE was ther of a temple,
Of which achatours mighten take ennemple
For to ben wise in bying of vitaillo,
For whether that he paade, or toke by taillc,
Algate he waited so in his aohate,
That he was ay before in goqd estate
Now is not that of God a ful f ayre grace,
That swiohe a lewed mannes wit shal pace
The wisdom of an hepe of lerod men P

Of maisters had he mo t^**-1" thrios ten,
That were of lawe expert and curious •
Of which ther was a dosein in that hou&,
Worthy to ben stewardes of ront and lond
Of any lord that is in Englelond,
To maken him live by his propre good,
In honour detteles, but if he were wood,
Or live as scarsly, as "fa™ list deraro ;
And able for to helpen all a shire
In any cas that nughte fallen or happo ;
And yet this Manciple sette hir aller cappo.

The EEVE was a slendre colerike man,
His berd was shave as neighe us ever he con.
His here was by his eres round yshorno
His top was docked like a preest bef orno.
Fal longe were his legges, and fed lene,
yiike a staff, ther was no calf ysene.
Wel coude he kepe a garner and a birrno :

ewliest Times to 1400 ]

THE CANTEKBTTI&Y TALES.

Ther was XLOXL auditour coude on "h™? wmne.
Wei wiste lie by the drought, and by the rain,
The y elding of his seed, and of his grain
His lordes shepe, his nete, and his deine,
His swine, his hors, his store, and his pultne,
Were holly m this reves governing,
And by his covenant yave he rekemng,
Sin that his lord was twenty yere of age ;
Ther oonde no man bring fa™ in arerage,
Ther n'as baflhf, ne herde, ne other tone,
That he ne knew his sleight and his covme :
They were adradde of him, as of the deth.
His wonmng was ful fayre upon an heth,
With grene trees yshadewed was his place.
He oonde better than his lord pourchace.
Ful nche he was ystored pnvily
His lord wel coude he plesen subtilly,
To yeve and lene him of his owen good,
And have a tTm-nk and yet a cote and hood.
In youthe he lemed hadde a good mistere
He was a wel good wnght, a oarpentere
This reve sate upon a right good stot,
That was all pomelee grey and highte Scot,
A long snroote of perse upon he hade,
And by his side he bare a rusty blade
Of Norfolk was this reve, of which I tell.
Beside a toun, men clepen Baldeswell.
Tucked he was, as is a frere aboute,
And ever he rode the hmderest of the route

A SOMPNOUB was ther with ns in that place.
That hadde a fire-red ohembinnes face,
For sauseflomG ho was, with eyen narwe
AR hote he was, and likerous aa a sparwe,
With RCaJled browes blako, and pilled berd
Of his viRogo children wero sore oford
Ther n'os quiksilver, htarge, ne bnmston,
Boras, oorose, ne oile of tartre non,
Ne oinemont that wolde donee or bite,
That him might helpon of his whelkes white,
Ne of tho knobbes sittmg on his ohekes
Wol lovod he garhke, onions, and lekes,
And for to drinke strong win as rede as blood
Than wolde ho spoke, and cne as he were wood
And whan that he wol dronken hod tho win,
Than wold ho spoken no word bnt Latin
A f owe tonnes condo ho, two or thrco,
That ho had lorned out of nom decree ,
No wondor in, ho herd it all tho day
And oko ye knowen wel, how that a jay
Can olopcn watte, an wel as can the pope
But who so woldo in other thing Tnm grope.
Than hadde ho spent all his philosophic,
Ay, Qurxfao qincl fum, wolde he one

Ho was a gontil harlot and a kind ,
A bettor f elaw shulde a man not find.
Ho wolde Bunre for a quart of wine,
A good f elaw to have hin concubine
A twelvemonth, and excuse him at the full.
Ful pnvely a finch eko coudo he pull
And if he found o whore a good felawe,
Ho wolde techen him to have non awe
In flwiche a cas of the archedekones curse ,
But if a monnes soule were in his purse ,
For in his purse he shulde ypumshed be
Parse is the arohedekenes helle, said he

But wel I wote, he lied right in dede •
Of cursing ought eons cxLty Tyyp.T> HITD orede
For curse wol sle right as assoihng saveth,
And also ware him of a sigmficamt

In danger hadde he at frta owen gise
The yonge girls of the diocise,
And knew hir conseil, and was of hir rede.
A gerlond hadde he sette upon lus hede,
As gret as it were for an alestake .
A bokeler hadde he made Mm of a cake.

With Tirm ther rode a gentil PABDONBBB
Of Rouncevall, his frend and his compere,
That streit was comen from the court of Borne
Ful loude he sang, Come hither, love, to me.
This sompnour bare to TK1*'"? a stiff burdoun,
Was never trompe of "half so gret a soun
This pardoner had hero as yelwe as wax,
But smoth it heng, as doth a strike of flaa: •
By unces heng his lokkes that he hadde,
And therwith he his shulders overspradde.
Ful thmne it lay, by culpons on and on,
But hode for jolite, ne wered he non, '

For it was trussed up m his wallet.
Kim thought he rode al of the newe get,
Dishevele, sanf his cappe, he rode all bare
Swiche glaring eyen hadde he, as an hare
A vernicle hadde he sewed upon his cappe.
His wallet lay beforne *hwn in his lappe,
Bret-ful of pardon come from Borne al hote,
A vois he hadde, as smale as hath a gote.
No berd hadde he, ne never non shuld have,
As smothe it was as it were newe shave ;
I trowe he were a gelding- or a mare

But of his craft, fro Berwike unto "^Tare,
Ne was ther swich an other pardonere.
For in his male he hadde a pilwebere,
Which, as he saide, was our ladies veil •
He saide, he hadde a gobbet of the eeyl
Whiche Semt Peter had, whan that he went
Upon the see, till Jesu Onst him hent
He had a crois of laton full of stones,
And in a glas he hadde pigges bones
But with these rehkes, whonne that he fond
A poure persone dwelling up on lond,
TJpon a day he gat him more moneie
Than that the persone gat in monethes tweie.
And thus with famed flattering and japes,
He made the persone, and the peple, his apes.

But trewely to tellen atte last,
He was in chirohe a noble ecclesiast
Wel coude he rede a lesson or a stone,
But alderbest he sang an offertone
For wel he wiste, whan that song was songe,
He must preche, and wel afile his tonge,
To wime silver, as he right wel ooude :
Therfore he sang the merier and loude.

Now have I told you shortly in a clause,
Th'eBtat,th'aiaie, thenombre, andekethe cause
Why that assembled was this oompagme
In Southwerk at this genM hostelne,
That highte the Tabard, faste by the Belle.
But now is fame to you for to telle,
How that we baren us that like mght,
Whan we were in that hostelne alight.

CHAUCEB ]

THE CANTERBURY TALES

PBBIOD — From tJie

And after wol I tefle of our viage,
And all the remenant of our pilgrimage

But firste I praie you of your ourtesie,
That ye ne arette it not my vilaane,
Though that I plainly speke in t.hiH matere,
To tellen you tax wordes and hir ohere ;
Ne though I speke hir wordes proprely.
For this ye knowen al so wel as I,
Who so shall telle a tale after a man,
He moste reherse, as neighe as ever he can,
Everich word, if it be in his charge,
AH speke he never so rudely and so large ;
Or elles he moste tellen his tale untrewe,
Or feinen thinges, or finden wordes newe
He may not spare, although he were his brother
He most as wel sayn o word, as an other.
Crist spake himself f ul brode in holy writ,
And wel ye wote no vilanie is it
Eke Plato sayeth, who so can "him rede,
The wordes moste ben ooam to the dede.

Also I praie you to forgive it me,
All have I not sette folk in hir degree,
Here in this tale, as that they shulden etonde.
My wit is short, ye may wel understonde.

Gret chere made cure hoste us everich on,
And to the souper sette he us anon
And served us with vitaalle of the beste
Strong was the win, and wel to drinke us leste
A semely man our hoste was with alle,
For to fop-Tt ben a "nfvf*^1"-! m QJI halle*
A large mam he was with eyen stepe,
A fairer burgeis is ther npn in Chepe
Bold of his speche, and wise and wel ytaught,
And of manhood him lacked righte naught.
Eke therto was h© right a mery man,
And after souper plaien he began,
And spake of mirthe amonges other thinges,
WtMm that we hadden made our rekemnges ,
And saide thus " Now, lordinges, trewely
Ye ben to me welcome right hertnly
For by my trouthe, if that I shal not lie,
I saw nat this yere swiohe a oompagme
At ones in this herbewe, as is now
Fayn wolde I do you mirthe, and I wiste how
And of a mirthe I am right now bethought,
To don you ese, and it shall coste you nought.
Ye gon to Canterbury , God. you spede,
The blisf ul martyr quite you your mede ,
And wel I wot, as ye gon by the way,
Ye shapen you to talken and to play •
For trewely comfort ne mirthe is non,
To riden by the way dombe as the ston .
And therf ore wold I maken you disport,
As I said erst, and don you some comf ort,
And if you hketh alle by on assent
Now for to stonden at my jugement
And for to werohen as I shal you say
To-morwe, when ye riden on the way,
Now by my f aders soule that is dad,
But ye be mery, smiteth of my hed.
Hold up your hondes withouten more speche "

Our conseil was not longe for to seche
Us thought it was not worth to make it wise,
And granted Tn™. withouten more avise,
And bad *»™ say his verdit, as fa™ leste

" Lordinges," (quodhe) " now herkenethfor

the beste;

But take it nat, I pray you, in disdain ,
This is the point, to speke it plat and plain,
That eohe of you to shorten with youre way,
In this viage, shall tellen tales tway,
To Canterbury ward, I mene it so,
And homeward he shall tellon other two,
Of aventures that whilom han befallo
And which of you that bcreth Tnm best of alle,
That is to sayn, that telLeth in thin cas
Tales of best sentence and most solas,
Shal have a souper at your aller cost
Here in this place sitting by this post,
Whan that ye comen agen from Canterbury
And for to maken you the more mery,
I wol my selven gladly with you ride,
Bight at mm owen cost, and be your gido.
And who that wol my jugement withsay,
Shal pay for alle we spenden by the way
And if ye vouchesauf that it be so,
Telle me anon withouten wordes mo,
And I wol erly shapen me therf ore "

This thjTig was granted, and our othes swore
With ful glad herte, and praiden "hi™ also,
That he wold vouohesauf for to don so,
And that he wolde ben our govornour,
And of our tales juge and reportour,
And sette a souper at a certain pris ,
And we wol ruled ben at his devise,
In highe and lowe and thus by on assent,
We ben accorded to his jugement
And therupon the win was fette anon
We dronken, and to roste wenten eohe on,
Withouten any longer tarrying

A morwo whan the day began to spring,
Up rose our hoste, and was our aller cok,
And gaderd us togeder in a flok,
And forth we riden a litel more than pa?,
Unto the watering of Semt Thomas
And ther our hoste began his hors arest,
And aaide, " lordes, herkeneth if you lest.
Ye wete youi forword, and I it record,
If even song and morwe song accord,
Let se now who shal telle the fixate talc
As ever mote I dnnken win or ale,
Who so is rebel to my jugement,
Shal pay for alle that by the way is spent
Now draweth cutte, or that ye f orlher twmne
He which that hath the shortest sholbeginnc.
" Sire knight," (quod he) *' my maister and

my lord,

Now draweth outte, for that is ™™ accord
Cometh nere " (quod he) " my lady pnoiesfae,
And ye, sire clerk, let be your shamefaoednesae,
Ne studie nought lay hand to, every man."

Anon to drawen every wight began,
And shortly for to tellen as it was,
Were it by aventure, or sort, or oas,
The sothe is this, the outte felle on the knight,
Of which ful bkth and glad was every wight ,
And tell he must his tale as was reson,
By forword, and by composition,
As ye han herd , what nedeth wordes mo ?
And whan this good man saw that it was so,
As he that wise was and obedient

earliest Times to 1400 ]

THE CANTE&BTJRTr TALES

[CHAUCER.

To kcpe his f orworcl by his free assent,
He saa.de , st Sithen I shal begin tVs game,
What, welcome be the ontte a Goddes name.
Now let us nde, and herkeneth what I say "

And with that word we riden forth our way ,
And he began with right a mery chore,
His tale anon, and saide as ye shal here.

Chaucer— About 1380

20 — THE SQTJIEBES TARE.

At Sarra, in the lond of Tartarie,

Ther dwelt a king that werreied Bussie,

Thurgh which ther died many a doughty man

This noble king was cleped Cambu&can,

"Which in his tame was of so gret renoon,

That ther n'as no wher in no regioun,

So excellent a lord in alle thing

Hun lacked nought that longeth to a long,

As of the secte of which that he was borne

He kept his lay to which he was yswoine,

And therto he was hardy, wiso, and nche,

And pitous and just, and alway yliche,

Trewe of his word, bemgne and honourable .

Of his oorago as any centre stable ,

Yong, fresh, and strong, in aimes desirous,

As any bachelor of all his hous

A faire person he was, and fortunate,

And kept alway BO wel real estat,

That thei n'as no wher swiche another man.

This noble king, this Tartre Cambubcan,
Hadde two sonoa by Elf eta his wif ,
Of which the eldest sone highte Algorsif,
That other was yclepod Camballo

A doughter had this worthy long al&o,
That yongeut was, and highte Canace
But for to tellen you all hire beautee,
It hth not in my touge, ne in my conning',
I dare not undertake so high a thing
Jflwt English, eke iw unsuiEoient,
It musto ben a Rothor excellent,
That coude his colours longing for that art,
K ho shuld hire descnvon ony part
I am noli awiche, I moto speke as I con

And so befell, that whan this Cambubccui
Hath twenty winter boine his diodeme,
As he was wont fro yoie to yere I dome,
He let the f oste of his natmtee
Don orion, thurghout Sarra his oitee,
The last Icluy of March, after the yere

Phebus the sonne ful jolif was and clero,
For ho waw nigh hia exaltation
In MortoH face, and in his mansion
In Aries, tho colertko hote aigne
FuL lusty was the Aether and bemgno
For which the f oules again the sonne shene,
What for the seson ane the yonge grene,
Ful loude songen Mr affections
Hem semed han getten hem protections
Again the swerd of winter kene and cold

This Cambuscan, of which I have you, told,
In real vostiments, sit on his dels
With diademe, fal high in his paleis,
And holte his f este solempne and so riche,
That in this world ne was ther non it hche,

Of which if I shal teUen all the array,
Than wold it occupie a somers day ,
And eke it nedeth not for to devise
At every cours the order of hir service.
I wol not tellen of hir strange sewes,
Ne of hir swonnes, ne hir heronsewes.
Eke in that lond, as tellen fcnightes old,
Ther is som mete that is ful deintee hold,
That in this lond men recohe of it ful smal :
Ther n'is no man that may reporten aL
I wol not tarien you, for it is prune,
And for it is no fruit, but loss© of time,
Unto my purpose I wol have reoours.

And so befell that aftei the thzidde cours
"While that this fang sit thus in his nobley,
Herkmg his mimstralles hir thinges pley
Bef orne fa™ at his bord dehciously,
In at the hallo dore al sodenly
Ther came a knight upon a stede of bras,
And in his hond a brod mirrour of glas ,
Upon his thombe he hod of gold a ring,
And by his side a naked swerde hanging .
And up he ndetli to the highe bord
In all the Mle ne was ther spoke a word,
For mervaille of this blight , him to behold
Ful besily they waiten yong and old.

This strange knight that come thus sodenly
Al armed save his hed ful riehely,
Salueth king and queue, and lordes alle
By order, as they saten an the halle,
With so high reverence and observance,
As wel in specie as in his contenance,
That Grawam with his olde curtesie,
Though he wore come agen out of Faerie,
Ne coude fr"p not amenden with a word
And after this, beforn the highe bord
He with a manly vois sayd his message,
After the forme used in his langage,
Withouten vice of siUable or of letter.
And for his tale shulde seme the better,
Accordant to his wordes was his ohere,
As techeth art of speche hem that it lere.
Al be it that I cannot soune his stile,
Ne cannot cluaben over so high a stile,
Yet say I thus, as to oomun entent,
Thus much amounteth all that ever he meat,
If it so be that I have it in mind.

He sayd , " The king of Arable and of Inde,
My liege lord, on this solempne day
Salueth you as he best can and may,
And sendeth you in honour of your f este
By me, that am al redy at your heste,
This stede of bras, that esiLy and wel
Con in the space of a day naturel,
(This is to sayn, in four and twenty houres)
Wher so you list, in drought or elles shoures,
Beren your body into every place,
To which your herte willeth for to pace,
Withouten wemme of you, thurgh f oule orf aire.
Or if you list to neen as high in the aire,
As doth an egle, whan fa™ list to sore,
This same stede shal bere you evermore
Withouten harme, till ye be ther you lest,
(Though that ye slepen on his back or rest
And tuxne again, with writhing of a pin.
He that it wrought, he ooude many a gin ;

OHATTCEB.]

THE CANTEEBTJET TALES. [FiBST PERIOD — Ftom t7te

He waited many a constellation,

Or he had don this operation

And knew fol many a sele and many a bond

" This mirronr eke, that I have in -mm hond,
Hath swiche a might, that men may in it see,
Whan ther shal f alle ony adversitee
Unto your regne, or to yourself also,
And openly, who is your frend or fo.
And over all this, if any lady bright
Hath set hire herte on any maner wigtib,
If he be false, she shal his treson see,
His newe love, and all his subtiltee
So openly, that ther shaJ nothing hide

" Wherfore again this lusty somer tide
This mirrour and this ring-, that ye may se,
He hath sent to my lady Canaee,
Your excellente doughter that is here.

" The vertue of this ring, if ye wol bere,
Is this, that if hue list it for to were
Upon hire thombe, or in hire purse it here,
Ther is no f oule that fleeth under he ven,
That she ne ahal wel understond his steven,
And know V.S m^T^ng openly and plame,
And answer© JUT" in "bis langage again .
And every gras that groweth upon rote
She shal eke know, and whom it wol do bote,
AH be his wotmdes never so depe and wide

"This naked swerd, that hangeth bymyside,
Swiohe vertue hath, that whatmanthat it smite,
Thurghout his armure it wol kerve and bite,
Were it as thicke as is a braunohed oke
And what man that is wounded with the stroke
Shal never be hole, 1 1 that you list of grace
To stroken "hi™ with the platfce in thilke place
Ther he is hurt , this is as much to sain,
Ye moten with the platte swerd again
Stroken Tnm in the wound, and it wol close
This is the veray soth withouten gtose,
It failleth not, while it is in your hold "

And whan this knight hath thus his tale told,
_ He rideth out of halle, and dotm he hght
Sis stede, which that shone as sonne bright,
Stant in the court as stille as any ston.
Tins knight is to his ohambre ladde anon,
And is unarmed, and to the mete ysette
Thise presents ben ful nchelich yfette,
This is to sain, the swerd and the mirrour,
And borne anon into the big he tour,
With certain officers ordained therfore ,
And unto Canace the ring is bore
| Solempnely, ther she sat at the table ;
1 But sikerly, withouten any fable,
1 The hors of bras that may not be remned ,
It stant, as were to the ground yglued ,
Ther may no man out of the place it drive
For non engine, of wmdas, or pohve
And cause why, for they con not the craft,
And therfore in the place they han it laft,
Til that theknight hath taught hem the manere
To voiden him, as ye shal after here

Qretwas the prnes that swarmed to and fro
To gauren on this hors that stondeth so
For it so high was, and so brod and long,
So wel proportioned for to be strong,
Bight as it were a stede of Lumbardie ;
Therwzth so horsly, and so quik of eye,

AJS it a gentil Poileis courser were
For certes, fro his tayl unto his ore
Nature ne art ne ooud him not amend
In no degree, as all the peple wend

But evermore hir moste wonder was,
How that it coude gon, and was of bras ;
It was of faene, as the peple semed.
Diverse folk diversely han demed ,
As many heds, as many writes ben.
They murmured, as doth a swarme of been,
And maden skilles aftei hir tantasies,
Eehersmg of the olde poetries,
And sayd it was ybke the Pegaseo,
The hors that hadde wmges for to flee,
Or elles it was the Grekes hors Sinon,
That broughte Troye to destruction,
As men moun in thise olde gestes rede.

"Mm herte," quod on, "is evermore in drede,
I trow som men of armes ben therm,
That shapen hem this citee for to win :
It were right good that al swiche -Hying were

know"

Another rowned to his f elaw low,
And sayd, " He lieth, for it is rather like
An apparenoe ymade by som magike,
As jogelours plain at those festes greto."
Of sondry doutes thus they jangle and trote,
As lewed peple demon, oomunly
Of thmges, that ben made more subtJly
Than they can in hir lewednosse comprohcndc,
They demen gladly to the badder en.de

And som of hem wondred on the mirrour,
That born was up m to the maister tour,
How men mighte in it swiche thmgos seo

Another answered, and sayd, "It might wel bo
Naturelly by compositions
Of angles, and of she reflections , "
And saide that in Rome was swiohe on.
They speke of Alhazen and Vitollon,
And Aristotle, that wiiten in hir lives
Of queinte mirrours, and of prospective^,
As knowen they, that han hir bookes herd

.And other folk han wondied on the swerd,
That wolde percen thurghout every thing
And fell in speohe of Telephus the king,
And of Achilles for his queinte spere,
For he ooude with it botho hole and dorp,
Eight in awiche wise as men may with th<>

swerde,

Of which right now ye have yourselvon herd.
They speken of sondry hardmg of metall,
And Bpekmg of medicines thorwithall,
And how, and whan it shulcl yharded bo,
Which is unknow algates Tmio me

Tho speken they of Oanacoes nog,
And saiden all, that swiche a wonder thing
Of craft of nnges herd they never non,
Save that he Moifles and king Salomon
Hadd&n a name of conning in swiohe art
Thus sain the peple, and drawon horn apart.

But natheles som saiden that it was
Wonder to maken of feme ashon glas,
And yet is glas nought like ashen of ferae,
But for they han yknowon it so f orae,
Therfore ceseth hir jangling and hir wonder.
As sore wondren som on cause of thondor,

ervrliest Times to 1400 ]

THE CANTERBURY TAXES

On ebbe and floud, on gossamer, and on mist,
And on all thing, til that the cause is wist

Thus janglen they, and demen and devise,
Til that the king gan fro his bord arise

Phebns hath left the angle meridional.
And yet ascending was the beste real,
The gentd Leon, with his Aldnon,
Whan that this Tartre king, *fa« Cambuscon,
Rose from his bord, ther as he sat fal hie
Bef orne fa™, goth the londe minstralcie,
Til he come to his ohambre of parements,
Ther as they sounden divers instruments,
That it is like an heven for to here

Now daancen lusty Venus children dere
For in the Fish hir lady set fal hie,
And loketh on hem with a frendly eye

This noble king is set upon his trone ,
This straunge "knight is fet to fa™, fal sone,
And on the daunce he goth with Canace

Here is the revell and the jolitee,
That is not able a duU man to devise
Ho mast han knowen love and his pervise,
And ben a f esthch man, as fresh as May,
That shalde you devisen swiche array.

"Who ooude tellen you the forme of daunces
So uncouth, and so freshe contenaunoes,
Swiche subtil takings and dissimtQingq,
For dred of jalous mennes apperceivings 9
No man but Launoelot, and he is ded
Therf ore I posse over all this lustyhed,
I say no more but in this jolmesse
I lete hem, til men to the souper hem drcsse

The steward bit the spices for to hio
And eko tho win, in all tins melodie ,
The ushers and tho squiorie ben gon,
The spices and the win w come anon
They etc and dnnke, and whan this hod an end,
Unto tho temple, as reson was, they wend
The service don, they soupen all by day

"What nedeth you rehersen hir array •*
Eche man wot wel, that at a kuxges fest
Is plentee, to the most and to tho lest,
And dointeos mo than ben m my knowing

At after souper goth this noble king
To seen this hors ot bras, with all a route
Of lordcs and of ladies nim aboute
Swiche wondnng was thor on this hois of bras,
That bin tho gret assogo of Troyo was,
Ther as men wondrcd on an hors also,
Ne was ther swicho a wondnng, as was tho
But finally the king ankcth the knight
Tho vertue of this courser, and the might,
And praied him to toll his governaunce

This hors anon gan for to trip and daunce.
Whan that tho knight laid hond up on his rein,
1 And soide, " Sire, thor n'ls no more to som,
But whan you list to xiden any where,
Ye moton tnll a pin, stont in his ere,
Winch I shall tellen you betwixt us two,
Ye moten nempne him to what place also,
Or to what conferee that you list to nde

" And whan ye come ther as you hst abide,
Bid fa™ descend, and tnll another pin,
(For therm heth the effect of all the gin)
And he wol doun descend and don your will,
And m that place he wol abiden still

Though el the world had the contrary swore,
He shal not thennes be drawe ne be bore.
Or if you list to bid fa™ thennes gon,
Tnlle tfag pin, and he wol vanish anon
Oat of the sight of every maner wight,
And come agen, be it by day or night,
Whan that you list to olepen M^ff again
In swiche a guise, as I shal to you sain
Betwixen you and me, and that fal sone.
Ride whan you list, ther n'is no more to done."*
Enf ourmed whan the king was of the knight,
And hath conceived in his wit anght
The maner and the forme of all this thing,
Ful glad and blith, ftfag noble doughty Mug
Repaireth to his revel, as bef orne.
The bridel is in to the tour yborne,
And kept among his jewels lefe and dere :
The hors vamsht, I n'ot in what monere,
Out of hir sight, ye get no more of me ,
But thus I lete in lust and jolitee
This Cambuscan his lordes festeymg,
Til that wel nigh the day began to spring.

PASS SECTJNDA.

The nonce of digestion, the slepe,
Gan on hem winke, and bad hem taken kepe,
That moohel dnnke, and labour wol have rest:
And with a galping mouth hem all he kest,
And said, * that it was time to lie adotm,
For blood was in his donunatioTin •
Chensheth blood, natures frend," quod he.

They thanken him galping, by two by three ;
And every wight gan diawe him to his rest,
As slepe hem bode, they toko it for the best

Hir dremes shul not now bo told for me ;
Ful were hir hedes of fumositee,
That causeth dreme, of which ther is no charge.
They slepen til that it was prime large,
The moste part, but it were Canace ,
She was ful mesuxable, as women be
For of hire father had she take hue leve
To gon to rest, sone after it was eve ;
Hire Iiste not appalled for to be,
Nor on the morwe unf esthche for to see ;
And slept hire firste slepe, and than awoke.
For swiche a joye she in hire herte toke
Both of hire queinte ring, and of hiremirrour,
That twenty time she chaunged hire colour ,
And in hire slepe right for the impression
Of hire miriour she hod a vision
Wherf ore, or that the sonne gan up glide,
She clepoth upon hire maistiesse hire beside,
And saide, that hire luste for to arise.

Thise old women, that ben gladly wise,
As is hire maistrosse, answered hire anon,
And said " Madame, whidei wol ye gon
Thus erly ? for the folk ben all in rest "

4 I vrol," quod she, " onsen (for me lest
No longer for to slepe) and walken aboute "

Hire maistresse olepeth women a gret route,
And up they risen, wel a ten or twelve ;
Up nseth freshe Canace hireselve,
As rody and bright, as the yonge sonne.
That in the Bam is foure degrees yronne;
No higher was he, when she redy was ;
And forth she walketh esily a pas,

OHATTOBB]

THE OAOTEBBTTBY TALES. [FiBST PERIOD. — From the

Arrayed after the lusty seson sote
Inghtely for to playe, and walken on f ote,
Nought but -with five or size of her memie ,
And in a tranche forth in the park goth she.

The vapour, which that fro the erthe glode,
Maketh the aonne to &eme rody and brode
But natheles, it was so faire a sight,
That it made all hrr hertes fox to light,
What for the seson, and the morwening,
And for the f oules that she herde sing
Fox right anon she wiste what they ment
Bight by hir song, and knew al hir entent

The knotte, why that every tale is tolde,
If it be taxied til the lust be oolde
Of hem, that ham it hexkened after yore,
TJie savour passeth ever lengex the more,
Fox f ulsumnesse of the prolmtee
And by that same reson thinketh me
I shuld unto the knotte condescende,
And moken of hire walking sone an ende

Amidde a tree fox-dry, as white as chalk,
As Oanace was playing ni hire walk,
Thex sat a faucon over hire hed fnl hie,
That with a pitous vois so gun to one,
That all the wood xesouned of hire cry,
And beten had hixeself so pitously
With bothe hire winges, til the rede blood
^jfayn. endelong the tree, thex as she stood
And ever in on alway she cried and shnght,
And with hire bek hireselven she so twight,
That thex n'ls tigxe, ne no cruel best,
That dwelleth othex in wood, ox in forest,
That n'olde ban wept, if that he wepen ooude,
Fox sorwe of hire, she shnght alway so loude.

Fox thei was nevex yet no -mam, on live,
If that he ooude a faucon well descxive,
That hexde of swiohe another of fayrenesse
As wel of plumage, as of gentilesse,
Of shape, of all that might yrekened be
A faucon peregrine semed she ,
Of fremde lond, and ever as she stood,
She swouned now and now fox lack of Hood,
Til wel neigh is she fallen fro the tree

This faire kmges doughtex Canaoe,
That on hire finger bare the queinte img,
Thuxgh vrhioh she understood wel every thing
That any f oule may m his leden sain,
And ooude answere Th^yn in his leden again,
TTafrH undorstonden what ^Trm faucon seyd,
And wel neigh fox the xouthe almost she deyd
And to the tree she goth ful hastily,
And on "fclnfi faucon loketh pitously,
And held hire lap abrode, fox wel she wist
The faucon muste fallen from the twist
Whan, that she swouned nest, forfaute of "blood
A longe while to waiten hire she stood.
Til at the last she spake in "flr"* manere
Unto the hauk, as ye &hul after here

" What is the cause, if it be for to tell,
That ye ben in this f unal peine of hell * "
Quod Canaoe unto this hauk above ,
" Is this for soxwe of deth, or losse of love *
For as I txow, thise be the causes two,
That causen most a gentil herte wo
Of other harme it nedeth not to spoke,
For ye yourself upon yourself awreke,

Which preveth wol, that other ire or drede

Mote ben encheson of your cruel dede,

Sin that I se non other wight you chaoo

For the love of God, as doth yourselven grace :

Or what may be your helpe P for west ne est

Ne saw I never er now no bnd ne best,

That f erde with himself so pitously.

Ye sle me with your aorwe veraily,

I have of you so gxet compossioun

For Goddes love come fro the tree adoun ;

And as I am a kmges doughtex trewe,

If that I veraily the causes knewe

Of your disese, if it lay in my might,

I wold amend it, ox that it were night,

As wisly help me the grot God ol kind

And herbes shal I right ynough ytind,

To elen with your hurtes hastily "

Tho shright this fauoon yet moio pitously
Than ever she did, and fell to ground anon,
And hth aswouno, as ded as lith a ston,
Til Canace hath in hire lappe hire take,
Unto that time she gan of swouno awake
And after that she oat of swoune abiaide,
Bight in hue haukes leden thus sho sayde
" That pitee renneth sone m genial herte
(Feling his similitude in peines smerte)
Is proved alle day, as men may see,
As wel by wexke as by auotoriteo,
For genial herte kitheth gentillesse
I see wel, that ye have on my distxo&ao
Compassion, my faire Oanace,
Of veray womanly benigmtee,
That nature in your principles hath sot
But for non hope for to fore the bet,
But for to obey unto your herte free,
And for to maken other ywore by me,
As by the whelpe chastised is the taon,
Bight foi that cause and that conclusion,
While that I havo a leiscr and a spaoo,
Mm harme I wol confes&en er I pace "
And ever while thai on hire sorwe told,
That other wept, as £>he to water wold,
Til that the fauoon bad hire to be still,
And with a sike right thus she said hiro till.

" Ther I was bred, (alas that like day ')
And fosired in a roche of marble gray
So tendrely that nothing ailed mo
I ne wist not what was adversitoo,
Til I coud flee ful high undex the skio

" Tho dwelled a texcolet me fa*>to by,
That semed wolle of alle gentillosse,
Al were he ful of treson and folsonosse.
It was so wrapped undex humble ohexe,
And under hew of trouth in swiche mancro,
Under plesance, and under bcsy pemo,
That no wight coud have wend he ooude f oino,
So depe in greyn he died his coloured.
Bight as a serpent hidetih him under flouros,
Til he may see his tune for to bite ,
Bight so this god of loves hypocrite
Doth so his ceremonies and obeisanco,
And kepeth in semblaunt alle his observance,
That souneth unto gentillnesse of lovo.
As on a tombe is alte the faire above,
And under is the corps, swiche as ye wote ,
Swiche was this hypocrite both cold and hote,

earliest Tunes to 1400.]

CANTEEBUBY TALES.

[CEAUCBB

And in this wise he served his entent,
That, save the fend, non wiste what he meat
Til he so long had weped and complained,
And many a yere his service to me famed,
Til that mm herte, to pitous and to nice,
Al innocent of his crowned malice,
For-f ered of his deth, as thonghte me,
Upon his oth.es and his seuretee,

That evermo TT"T* honour and renoun
Were saved, -bothe pnvee and apert ;
This is to sar, that, after his desert,
I yave imp all Tnm herte and all my thought,
(God wote, and he, that other wayes nought)
And toke his herte in chaunge of mm for ay
But sofch is said, gon sithen is many a day,
A trewe wight and a theef thmkcn not on.

" And whan he saw the thing so fer ygon.
That I had granted him fully my love,
In swiche a guise as I have said above,
And yeven him my trewe herte as free
As he swore that he yaf his herte to me,
Anon this tigre, ful of donblenesse,
Fell on his knees with so gret humblesse,
With so high reverence, as by his chere,
So hke a gentril lover of manere,
So ravished, as it semed, for the joye,
That never Jason, ne Pans of Troye,
Jason P certes, ne never other man,
Sin Lamech was, that alderfirst began
To loven two, as wnten folk bef orne,
Ne never eithen the first man was borne,
Ne oonde man by twenty thousand part
Contrefete the sophimcs of his art ,
Ne were worthy to unbocle his galoche,
Ther doublenesse of faming skald approche,
Ne coude so thanke a wight, as he did me
His manor was an heven for to see
To any woman, wore she never so wise ;
So painte 3. he and kempt, at point devise,
As wel his wordes, as his contenance
And I so loved him for his obeisance,
And for the tronthe I demed in his herte,
That if BO were that any thing him smerte,
Al were it never so lite, and I it wist,
He thought I felt deth at myn herte twist.
And shortly, so feiforth this thing is went,
That my will was his willes instrument ,
This is to say, my will obeied his will
In alle thinge, as fer as reson fill,
Keping the boundes of my worship ever
Ne never had I thing so lef e, ne lever,
As Tbp™3 God wot, ne never shal no mo

" This lasteth lenger than a yere or two,
That I supposed of him nought but good
But finally, thus at the last it stood,
That fortune wolde that he muste twin
Out of that place, which that I was in.
Wher mo was wo, it is no question ;
I cannot make of it description.
For o thing dare I tellen boldely,
I know what is tho peine of deth therby,
Swiche harme I felt, for he ne might byleve.

" So on a day of me he toke his leve,
So aorweful eke, that I wend veraily,
That he had felt as xnochel harme as I,

Whan that I herd him spoke, and sawe his

hewe

But natheles, I thought he was so trewe,
And eke that he repairen shuld again
Within a litel while, soth to sain,
And reson wold eke that he muste go
For his honour, as often happeth so,
That I made vertue of necessitee,
And toke it wel, sin that it muste be.
As I best might, I hid fro him my sorwe,
And toke ham by the hond, Seint John to

borwe,

And said fan™ tfoig ; * Lo, I am youres all,
Beth swiche as I have ben to you and shall *

" What he answerd, it nedethnotreherse ,
Who can say bet than he, who can do worse p
Whan he hath at wel said, tha,n hath he done.
Therfore behoveth him a ful long spone,
That shal ete with a fend , thus herd I say.

" So at the laste he muste forth his way,
And forth he fleeth, til he come ther Tnm lest.
Whan it came him to purpos for to rest,
I trow that he had thflke text in mind,
That alle ^"hfag repairing to his kind
Gladeth himself, thus sain men as I gesse •
Men loven of propre kind newefangelnesse,
As bnddes don, that men m cages tede.
For though thou night and day take of hem.

And .strew hir cage faire and soft as silke,
And give hem sugre, hony, bred, and milke,
Yet right anon as that his dore is up,
He with his feet wol spurnen doun his cup,
And to the wood he wol, and wormes ete ,
So newefangel ben they of hir mete,
And loven noveltees of propie kind ,
No genidllesse of blood ne may hem bind.

" So ferd this teroelet, alas the day >
Though he were gentil borne, and fresh, and

gay,

And goodly for to seen, and humble, and free.
He saw upon a time a kite flee,
And sodenly he loved this kite so,
That all his love is dene fro me ago
And hath his trouthe faked in this wise
Thus hath the kite my love m hire service,
And I am lorn withouten remedy."

And with that word this f auoon gon to cry,
And swouneth eft in Canacees bonne
Gret was the sorwe for that haukes harme,
That Oanace and all hire women made ;
They n'isten how they might the faucon glade
But Canace horn bereth hire in hire lap,
And softely in piastres gan hire wrap,
Ther as she with hire bek had hurt hireselve

Now cannot Canaoe but horbes delve
Out of the ground, and maken salves newe
Of herbes precious and fine of hewe,
To helen with this hauk , fro day to night
She doth hire besinesse, and all hire might
And by hire beddes hed she made a mew,
And covered it with velouetfces blew,
s In signe of trouth, that is in woman sene ,
And all without the mew is pointed grene,
In which were peinted all thise false foules,
Afl ben thise tidifes, tercelettes, and owles ;

CKATJOEE ]

CUCKOW AND NIG-HTING-ALE. [Fn&ST PBBIOD —From the

And pies, on hem for to cry and chide,
Eight for despit were pointed hem beside

Thus lete I Canace hire hauk keping.
I wol no more as now speke of hire ring,
Til it come eft to purpos for to sain,
How that this f auoon gat hire love again
Bepentant, as the story teUeth us,
By mediation of Camballus
The kmges gone, of which that I you told
But hennesforth I wol my processe hold
To speke of aventures, and of bataiHes,
That yet was never herd so gret mervaillos.

First wol I tellen you of Cambuscan,
That in his tune many a citee wan
And after wol I speke of Algarsif ,
How that he wan Theodora to his wif,
For whom ful oft in gret peril he was,
Ne had he ben holpen by the hors of bras
And after wol I speke of Camballo,
That fought in Hstes with the brethren two
For Canace, er that he might hue wmno,
And ther I left I wol again begmne.
* * * <

Chaucer — About 1380.

21.— THE CUCKOW AND THE OTGHTEff-
' GALE.

The god of love and benedioite,
How mighty and how great a lord is he,
For he can make of low hertes hy,
And of high low, and like for to dy,
And herd hertes he can maken free

He can make within a little stound
Of sicke folke hole, fresh, and sound,
And of hole he can make seeke,
He can bind and vnbinden eke
That he woll have bounden or vnbound

To tell his might my wit may not suffice,
For he can make of wise folke fall nice,
For he may do all that he woll devise,
And hthy folke to destroyen vice,
And proud hertes he can make agrise

Shortly all that ever he woll he may,
Against him dare no wight say nay,
For he can glad and greve whom fa™ hketh,
And who that he woll, he lougheth or siketh,
And most his might he shedeth ever in May.

For every true gentle herte free,
That with him is, or thinketh for to be,
Agame Hay now shall have some stenng,
Or to joy or els to some mourning,
In no season so much, as thinketh me.

For whan they may here the birds sing,
And see the flonres and the leaves spring-,
That bringeth into hir remembrannce
A manner ease, meddled with grevaunce,
And lusfae thoughts full of groat longing.

And of that longing commeth hevmesse,
And thereof groweth of great sicknesse,
And for lacke of that that they desire,
And thus in May ben hertes set on fire,
So that they brennen forth in great distresse.

I speake this of feeling truly,

If I be old and vnlusty,

Yet I have felt of the sicknesse through May

Both hote and cold, and axes every day,

How sore ywis there wote no wight bat I.

I am so shaken with the fevers white,

Of all this May sleepe I but a lite,

And also it is not like to me,

That any herte should sleepy be,

In whom that Love his firy dart woll smite.

But as I lay this other night waking,
I thought how lovers had a tokening,
And among hem it was a commune tale,
That it wore good to here the nightingale,
Blather tba»p the leud cuokow sing.

And than I thought anon as it was day,
I would go some where to assay
If that I might a nightingale here,
For yet had I none heard of all that yero,
And it was the the third rnght of May

And anone as I the day aspide,

No lenger would I in my bed abide,

But vnto a wood that was fast by,

I went foith alone boldely,

And held the way downe by a brooke side

Till I came to a laund of white and green,

So faue one hod I never in boon,

The ground was green, ypoudred with daisie,

The flonres and the greues like hy,

All greene and white, was nothing els soeno.

There sate I downe among the f aare flours,
And saw the buds tnp out of hir bours,
There as they rested hem all the night,
They were so joyfull of the dayes light,
They began of May for to done honours.

They coud that seruice all by rote,
There was many a lonely note,
Some song loud as they had plained,
And some in other manner voice yf ained,
And some all out with the fall throte

They proyned hem, and made hem nght gay,
And daunceden and lepten on the spray,
And euennore two and two ux fere,
Bight so as they had chosen hem to yere
In Feuerere vpon saint Ualentmes day.

And the riuer that I sate vpon,
It made such a noise as it ron,
Aocordaunt with the birds arxnony,
Me thought it was the best melody
That nught ben yheard of any mon.

And for dehte I wote neuer how
I fell in such a slomber and a swow,
Nat all asleepe, ne fully waking,
And in that swow me thought I hoard
The sorry bird, the loaud ouokow.

earliest Twos to 1400.]

CTJOKOW AND MGHTINGALE.

[CHAITCEE.

And that was on a tree right fast by,
But who was than etull apaid but I .
" Now God," quod I, " that died on the crois
Yeue sorrow on thee, and on thy leaud vois,
Full little joy haue I now of thy oiy."

And as I with the cuokow thus gan chide,

I heard in the next bush beside

A nightingale so lustely sing-,

That with her clere voice she made nog

Through all the greene wood wide

"Ah, good nightingale," quod I than,
" A little hast thou ben too long hen,
For here hath ben the leaud cuckow,
And songen songs rather than hast thou,
I pray to Q-od euill fire her bren "

But now I woll you tell a wonder thing,
As long as I lay in that swoumng,
Me thought I wist what the birds ment,
And what they said, and what was hir entent,
And of hir speech I had good knowing.

There heard I the nightingale say,
" Now, good ouokow, go somewhere away,
And let vs that can srngen dwellen here,
For euory wight esoheueth thee to herd,
Thy songs be so elenge in good fay."

"What," quod she, "what may thee aylen now,
It thmketh me, I sing as well as thou,
For my song is both true and plaine,
And though I cannot crakell so in vame,
As thou dost ui thy throte, I wot neuer how

" And onory wight may vnderstand mee,
But mghtingale so may they not done thee,
For thou hast many a nice quemt cry,
I haue thee heard same, ocy, ooy,
How might I know what that should be P "

"Ah1 foole," quod she, "wost thou not what

it is,

Whan that I say, ocy, ooy, ywis,
Than moane I that I would wonder f nine,
That all they were shamefully yslaine,
That moanon ought agame loue amis.

" And also I would that all tho were dede,
That thinko not in loue hir kf e to lode,
For who so that wol not tho god of loue some,
I daro well say he is worthy to sterue,
And for that skill, ocy, ooy, I grede."

" Bye," quod the cuckow, " this is a quomt law,

That ouory wight shall louo or be to draw,

But I forsake all such companie,

For mine entent is not for to die,

No neuer while I Hue on Loues yoke to draw.

" For louors ben tho folke that ben on Hue,
That most disease haue, and most •vnthrme,
And most ondure sorrow, wo, and oaro,
And least feelon of welfare,
What nodoth it ayenat trouth to striue."

« What," quod she, " thou art out of thy mind,
How might thou in thy churlenesse find
To speake of Loues seruaunts in this wise,
For in this world is none so good seruise
To euery wight that gentle is of land.

" For thereof truly commeth all goodnesse,
All honour and all gentlenesse,
Worship, ease, and all hertes lust,
Partite joy, and fall assured trust,
loHtie, pleasaunce, and freshnesse,

" Lowlyhead, largesse, and ourtesie,
Semelyhead, and true oompame,
Drede of shame for to done amis •
For he that truly Loues seruaunt is,
Were letter be shamed than to die.

"And that this is soth that I sey,

In that beleeue I will hue and dey,

And ouokow so I rede that thou do ywis - "

" Than," quod he, " let me neuer haue blisse

If euer I vnto that oounsaild obey.

" Nightingale thou speakest wonder faare,
But for all that is the sooth contraire,
For loue is in yong folke, but rage,
And in old folke a great dotage,
Who most it Yseth, most shall enpaire.

" For thereof cometh disease and heumesse,
So sorow and care, and many a great sioknesse
Despite, debate, anger, and enuie,
Deprauing, shame, •vntrust, and jalousie,
Pnde, misoheefe, pouerty, and woodnesse

" Loumg is an office of despaire,

And one fo^g is therein that is not f aire,

For who that getteth of loue a little blosse,

But if he be alway therewith ywis,

He may full soone of age haue his haire.

" And, nightingale, therefore hold thee ny,
For loue me well, for all thy quemt cry,
If thou be ferre or long fro thy make,
Thou shalt be as other that been forsake,
And than thou shalt hoten as doe I."

" Fie," quod she, " on thy name and on thee,
The god of loue ne let thee neuer yfchee,
For thou art worse a thousand fold than

wood,

For many a one is full worthy and full good,
That had be naught ne had loue ybee.

" For euermore Lone his seruants amondeth,
And from all euill taches hem defendeth,
And maketh hem to brenne right in a fire,
In trouth and in worshipfull desire,
And whan fa™ liketh, joyinough hemsendeth."

" Thou nightingale," he said, "be still,
For Loue hath no reason, but it is will,
For oft time vntrue folke he easeth,
And true folke so biterly he displeaseth,
That for default of courage he let hem spill/

CHAUCEB.]

CTJCKOW AND MGHTINGALE. [FiBST PERIOD — fron

I Than tooke I of tho nightingale keepe, (

How she cast a sigh out of her deepe,
And said, " .Altm that euer I was bore,
I can for tene not say one word more,"
And right with that word she brast out to
weepe.

" AJas," quod she, " my herte woll to breake,
To hearen thus this leaud bird speake
Of Loue, and of his worshipfull sertuse.
Now. god of lone, thou help me in some wise,
That I may on this cuokow been awreake."

Me thought than he sterb vp anone,
And glad was I that he was agone,
And euermore the cuckow as he flay,
Said, "Farewell, farewell, popmgay "
As though he had scorned me alone

And than came th ' nightingale to mee,
And said, " Fnend forsooth I thanke thee,
That thou hast li&ocr me to rosoow,
And one auow to loue make I now,
That all this May I woll thy singer be "

I thanked her, and was right well apaied :
"Ye," quod she, "and be thou not dismaied,
Tho thou haue herd the ouokow erst than me,
For if I hue, it shall amended be
The next May, if I be not affirmed.

" And one thing I woll rede thee also,
Ne leue thou not the ouokow, ne his loues so,
For all that he hath said is strong leasing "
" Nay," quod I, " thereto shall nothmg me

bring,
For loue and it hath doe me much wo.

" Ye, vse," qnod she, " this medicine

Buery day t^g May or thou dine,

Go looke vpon the fresh daisie,

And though thou be for wo in point to die,

That shall full greatly lessen thee of thy pine.

"And looke alway that thou be good and

trew,

And I woll sing one of the songs new
For loue of thee, as loud as I may one • "
And than she began this song full hie,
" I shrew all hem that been of loue vntrue."

And whan she had song it to the end,

" Now farewell," quod she, " for I mote wend,

And god of loue, that can right well, and may,

As much joy send thee this day,

As any yetlouer he euer send."

Thus taketh the nightingale her leaue of me
I pray to God alway with her be,
And joy of loue he send her euermore,
And ahalde us fro the cuckow and his lord,
For there is not so false a bird as he

Forth she new the gentle nightingale
To all the birds that were in that dale,
And gate hem all into a place in fere,
And besoughten hem that they would here
Her disease, and thus began her tale.

" The ouokow, well it is not for to hide,
How the ouokow and I fast haue chide,
Euer sithen it was day light,
I pray you all that ye do me right
On that foule false vnkind bndde."

Than spake o bird for all, by one assent,
" This matter asketh good auisement,
For we ben birdes here in fere,
And sooth it is, the cuokow is not here,
And therefore we woll haue a parliment.

"And thereat shall the egle be our lord,
And other peres that been of record,
And the cuckow shall be after sent,
There Fh*M be yeue the judgement,
Or els we shall finally make accord.

" And this shall be without nay
The morrow after Saint Ualentines day,
Under a maple that is faire and grone,
Before the chamber window of the quene,
At Woodstooke vpon the grene lay."

She thanked hem, and than her leaue toko,
And into an hauthorne by that broke,
And there she sate and song vpon that tree,
" Terxne of life loue hath withhold me,"
So loud that I with that song awoke

EXPLICIT

0 leud book with thy foul rudenosse,

Sith thou haste neither beauty ne eloquence
Who hath thee caused or yeue the hardmohc»o
For to appeare in my ladies presence,

1 am full siker thou knowest her beneuolenoo,
Full agreeable to all her abying,

For of all good she is the best liuing.

Alas that thou no haddost worthrnosflo,
To shew to her some pleasaunt sentence,
Sith that she hath through her gentillohflo
Accepted the sernant to her digne reucrenoe,
0, me repenteth that I no had science
And leiser als, to make thee more flourishing,
For of all good she is the best huing

Beseech her meekely with all lowlineaso,

Though I be ferre from her in absence,

To thmV on my trouth to her and stcdfapt-

And to abridge of my sorrowes the violence,
Which caused is, wherof knoweth your HU-

pience,

She like among to nofafio mo her liking
For of all good she is the best lining.

LAJOTOYE.

Aurora of gladnesse, and day of lustmcsBO,
Lucern a night with hoauenly influence
Illumined, root of beauty 'and goodnesao,
Suspires, which I effonde in silence,
Of grace I beseech alledge let your writing,
Now of all good, sith ye be best litung

EXPLICIT.

Cluwccr— i

ej.iliesd Times to 1400 ] FROM " THE FLO WEB AND LEAP "

[CKAUCTSCJ.

22 —TO HIS EMPTT PUESE

To you my purse and to none other wight

Complaine I, for ye be my lady dere,

I am sorry now that ye be light,

For certea ye now make me heauy ohere,

Me were as lefe laid vpon a bore,

For which vnto yonr mercy thus I one,

Be hoauy agame, or els mote I die.

Now vouchsafe ff"« day or it be night,
That I of yon the blissful sowne may here,
Or see your colour like the sunne bright,
That of yelowness had neuer peie,
Ye bo my life, ye be my herte^ stere,
Queene of comfort and of good compame,
Be heauy agame, or els mote I die

Now purse that art to me my liue& liijhfc,
And sauiour, as downe in this world heio
Out of this towne helpe me by youi might,
Sith that you woll not be my treasure,
Foi I am shaue as nere as any freie.
But I pi ay vnto your cmteaie,
Be heauy againe, or els mote I did

EXPLICIT

OJii/v<Vi — Alovt 13SO

23 —THE HOUSE OF FAME

And eko this house hath

As many a<* leaves ben on trees

In Mimmor, whon that thoy bon gieon ;

And on the loof yet men may seue

A thousand bolis, and well mo,

To lotten tlio sound out ygo

And by day, in every tide,

Ben all tho doores open wido ,

And by night each one i& unthette ,

Ne porter is there nono to let,

Ne maiioro tidings in to pace ,

No never rest is in that place,

That it n' is filled full of tidings,

Either loud, or of whisperings

And, ever, all tho House's angle*

Is full of rownings and of jangles ,

Of wars, of peace, of marriages,

Of rests, of labour, of vikges,

Of abode, of death, of life,

Of love, of hate, accord, of strife ,

Of loss, of lore, and of winnings,

Of health, of sickness, or loMngs ;

Of f aire weather, and tempestis,

Of qualm, of folke, and of beastia ;

Of divors transmutations

Of f»states and of regions ,

Of truBt, of dread, of jealousy,

Of wit, of winning, of f ollj1 ,

Of plenty, and of great famine ,

Of cheap, of dearth, and of mine ,

Of good, or of nusgovernment,

Of fire, and divers accident.

Cliauccr. — About 1380.

24— MERCY

But, sith. tis so there is a trespass done,
Unto Mercy let yield the trespasso&i.
Ifc is her office to redress it soon,
For Trespass is to Meroy a mirrour
And like as the sweet hath the price by sour,
So by Trespass, Mercy hath all her might •
Without Trespass, Mercy hath lack of light

What should Physic do but if Sickness were ?
Whatneedeth salve but if there were a sore ?
What needeth drink where thu&t hath no

powtr ?

What bhould Meroy do, but Tre&pass go afore ?
But Trespass, Mercy woll be little store ;
Without Trespass near execution.
May Mercy have ne chief perfection

Cltavce* — Alovt 1380.

25 —INTRODUCTION TO e THE FLOWEE
AND THE LEAF."

And so I, glade of the season sweet
Was happid thus , upon a certain night
As I lay in my bed, sleep full unmeet
Was unto me ; but why that I ne might
Ee>st I ne wist, for there n* 'as earthly wight,
\ A* I suppose, had more of hertfs ease
, Than I, for I n* 'ad sickness nor disease.

1 Wherefore I marvelTd greatly of myself
\ That I so long withouten sleepe lay,
And up I rose three houis after twelve,
About the spiinging- of the gladsome day.
And on I put my gear and mino anay,
And to a pleasant grove I 'gan to pass
Long or the bright sunne* uprisen was ;

In which were oakes great, straight as a line,
Under the which the grass so fresh of hue
Was newly sprung, and an eight foot or nine
Every tree well from his fellow grew
With branches broad, laden with leaved new,
That apnngen out against the sonne* sheen,
Some very red, and some a light glad green,

Which, as methought, was anght pleasant sight;
And eke the burdfs songis for to hear,
Would have rejoiced any earthly wight,
r And I, that couth not yet in no manure
Hearen the nightingale of all the year,
Full busily hearkened with heart and ear
If I her voice perceive could any -where

And at the last a path of little brede
I found, that greatly had not us£d be,
For it fcigrowen was with grass and
That woll unneathis a wight might it see
Thought I, ''This path some whidor goth,

parde* ' "

And so I followed it till it me brought
To a nght pleasant herbrr well ywrought,

Which that benchld was, and with turves* new
Freshly turve*d, whereof the greentf graas
So small, so thick, so soft, so fresh of hue,
lhat most like to green wool, wot I, it was ;
The hedge also that yeden in compass,

1

3

CHAUCER.]

DUPUCITT OP WOMEN". [FIRST PERIOD — PVw.t ike

And closed in alle the green herbere
With sycamoie was set and eglatere

Within, in fero so weE and cunningly,
That every branch and leaf grew by measure
Plain as a board, of an height by and by ,
I see never a thing, I you ensure,
So well ydone , for he that took the cure
It for to make, I trow, did all his pain,
To make it pas* all tho that men have seen

— About 13SQ

26 —THE DUPUCnT OF TTOMEX

This world is fall of variance,
In everything, who taketh heed,
That faith and trust, and all Constance,
Exfle'd be, this is no diode,
And save only in womonhead,
I can ysee no sikemeas ,
But for all that yet, at I read,
Beware alway of doublenes*

Also that the fre^h summer flowers,
The white and red, the blue and green,
Be suddenly with winter showers,
Made faint and fade, withouten ween.
That trust is none, as ye may seen,
In no thing, nor no steadfastness,
Except IB women, thus I mean ,
Tet aye beware of doubleness.

The crooked moon (this is no talo),
Some while isheen and bright of hue,
And after that foil dark and pale,
And every moneth changeth new,
, That who the very Both! knew
All thing is built on brittlene«>R,
Save that women alway be trae ;
Tet aye beware of doubleness

The lusty fresho summer's day,
And Phcabus with his beanies clear,
Towarde*s night they draw away,
And no longer list t' appeal,
That in this present lif o now here
Nothing abideth in his fairness,
Save women aye be found entere,
And devoid of all doubleness

The sea eke with his stern*? wawes
Each day yfloweth new again,
And by the concourse of his Lawes
The ebbe floweth m certain,
After great drought there cometh rain ;
That farewell here all stableness,
Save that women be whole and plcin ,
Yet aye beware of doubleness

Fortunes wheel go'th round about
A thousand tunes day and night,
Whose course standeth ever in doubt
For to transmue she is so light,
For which adverteth in your sight
Th* untrust of worldly fickleness,
Save women, which of kindly right
Ne hath no touch of doubleness.

What man ymay the wind ret
Or holden a snake by the tail ?
Who may a slipper eel oonstrajjj
That it will void withouten ical •*
Or who can dnven so a nail
To make sure newfanglenep? ,
Save women, that can gio their isa'd
To row their boat with doublcnosa ^

At every haven they can arrive
Whereas they wot is good paasa#o ,
Of innocence they jonuot strive
With wawes, nor no rockes rage f
So happy ia their lodemanage
With needle1 and stone their coiiryo lc dw»<s
That Solomon was not so Hago
To find in them no doublenoss

Therefore whoso doth them ooaii v
Of any double intention,
To speak6 rown, other tc muse,
To pinch at their condition,
All is but false collusion,
I dare right well tho soth oxpro^i,
They have no bettor protection,
But shroud them under doublonoHS.

So well f ortunod is their chanco,
The dice to-turnen up so down,
With sico and cinque they con odvai'co,
And then by revolution
They set a fell conclusion
Of loznbcfl, as in sothf astness,
Though oleikeH maken mention
Their kind is fret with doubluiions.

Sampson yhod exporienoo
That women were full truo yfoonf 1 T
When Dalila of innocence
With shear£s 'gan his hair to roii:j<l ,
To speak also of Rosamond,
And Cleopatra's faithfulnoss,
The stones plainly will confounc1
Men that apeach. their donblcnen1:

Smgle thing is not ypraisc*!,
Nor of old is of no renown,
In balance when they be yproiod,
For lack of weight they bo borao <io\/n,
And for this cause of just reason
These women all of nghtwisnosa
Of choice and froo election
Most loro exchange and dooblonof-H

0 ye women r which be inclined
By influence of your naiiiro
To be as pure as gold yfined,
And in your truth for to ondnre,
Armeth yourself in strong aratfra
(Lest men assail your sikernosR),
Set on your breast, yourself t'asBnro,
A mighty shield of doubleness.

CJlOMCGT - Al)OUt 1380.

earliest Tunes to 1400 ]

THE TALE OF 'i'l* K COFFERS

t JOHN GO-WHIG.

27 —PRAISE OF WOMEN

For, this ye know well, tho' I wouldin lie,
In women is all truth, and steadfastness ,
For, in good faith, I never of them sie
But much, worship, bouniy, and gentleness,
Bight coming, fair, and fall of meekeness ;
Good, and glad, and lowly, I you ensure,
Is this goodly and angelic creature

And if it hap a man be in disease,
She doth her business and her full pain
With all her might fr™ to comfort and

ploaso,

If fro his disease him she might restrain
In word no deed, I wis, she woll not fame ,
With all her might she doth hor business
To bnngen him out of his heaviness.

Lo, horo what gentleness these women have,
If wo could know it for our rudeness '
How busye they bo us to keep and save
Both in hele and also in sickness,
And olway right sorry for our distress '
In overy manere thus shew they ruth,
That in them is all goodness and all truth.

Cftcutcer— About 1380

28. — THE LAST VERSES OF CHAUCEK

(Written on, his Deathbed )
Fly from the press, and dwell with sothfa&t-

Suffico unto thy good though it be small ,
For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickloness,
Press hath envy, and weal is blent o'er all ,
Savour no more th.giTj thee behoven shall ,
Rodo well thyself, that otherfolk can'st rede,
And truth thee shall deliver 't is no diede.

Pain thee not oach crooked to redress
In trust of hor that turneth as a ball ,
Great rest standoth in little business ,
Beware also to spurn against a nolle ,
Strive not as doth a crooke* with a wall
Doomoth thyself that doomest other's deed,
And truth theo ah^l deliver *t is no drodc

That thoo is sent receive in buzomncss ,
The wrosibng of thia world asketh a fall ,
Here is no homo, here is but wilderness ,
Forth, pilgrim, forth , 0 beast out of thy stall ,
Look up on high, and thank thy God of all ,
Waiveth thy lust and let thy ghost thee lead,
And truth thee shall deliver 't is no drede

07Mwe0r— ; Atoii* 14M

29 — THE TALE OF TM M COFFEBS OB
CASKETS, &o.

In a cronicjue tfrT*a I rede .
Aboute a king, as must nede,
Ther was of knyght&s and squiers
Gret route, and eke of officers :
Some of long time "him hadden served,
And thoughten that they haue deserved,
Avanc£ment, and gon withoute
And some also ben of the route,
That comen but a while agon,
And they avanced were anon

These old& fngn upon tt"3 thing
So as they durst, ageyne the king
Among hemself compleignen ofte :
But there'is nothing said so softe,
That it ne comith out at laste
The Tn-ng it wiste, and als so faste,
As he which was of high prudbnoe
He shope therefore an evidence
Of hem that pleignen in the ^fM*
To knowe in whose defalte it was :
And all within his owne entent,
That non ma wiste what it ment
Anon he let two oofres make,
Of one semblance, and of one make.
So lioh, that no bf thilke throwe,
That one may fro that other knowe
They were into his chamber brought,
But no Tnn.fi wot why they be wrouglr",
And natheles the king hath bede
That they be set in privy stede,
As he that was of wisdom shh ;
ii/Vfttm y^Q therto his time sih,
All pnvely that none it wiste,
Km owne hondes that one ornate
Of fin gold, and of fin pene,
The which out of his tresone
Was take, anon he fild full ,
That other cofie of straw and mull
With stones meynd he fild also
Thus be they full bothe two.
So that erliche upon a day
He had within, where he lay,
Ther should be tof ore his bed
A bord up set and f aare spred
And than he let the cofres f etfce
Upon the bord, and did hem setfce
He knewe the names well of tho,
The whiche agem "him grutohed so,
Both of his cnaonbre, and of his halle,
Anon and sent for hem alle ;
And seido to hem in this wise

There shall, no man his hap despise :
I wot well ye have longe served,
And god wot what ye have deserved ;
But if it is along on me
Of that ye unavanced be,
Or elles if it belong on yow,
The sothe shall be proved now •
To stopp& with your evil word,
Lo 1 here two cofres on the bord ,
Chese which you list of bothe two ;

3*

GOWEJt.]

BOSIPHELE'S VISION

[FIBST

. — JFrom the

And witeth well that one of tho
Is with, tresor so foil begon,
That if he happe therapon
Te shall be nch& men for ever
Now ohese and take which you is lever
But be well ware ere that ye take,
For of that one I undertake
Ther is no maner good therein,
Wherof ye nughten profit wmne
Now gotih together of one assent,
And taketh your avisement ,
For but I you this day avanoe,
It stant upon your owne chance,
Al only in defalte of grace ,
So «hpfl be shewed in this place
Upon you all well afyn,
That no defalt& shal be myn

They knelen all, and with one voirf
The king they thonken of this ohois
And after that they up arise,
And gon aside and hem arise,
And at laste they aooorde
(Wherof her tale to recoide
To what issue they be f alle)
A knrght aMI spekS for hem alle .
He knsleth doun unto the king,
And seith that they upon this thing.
Or for to wmne, or for to lese,
Ben oil avised for to chese

Tho toke this knyght a yerd on honde,
And goth there as the cofres stonde,
And with assent of everyohone
He leith T^a yerds upon one,
And seith the king how thilke same
They ohese in reguerdon by name,
And preith him that they might it have

The king, which wolde his honor save,
"Whan he had heard the common vois,
Hath granted hem her owne chois,
And toke hem therupon the keie ,
But for he woldfc it were seie
What good they have as they suppose,
He bad anon the oofre unclose,
"Which was fulfildwith straw and stones
Thus be they served all at ones

This king than in the same stede,
Anon that other cofre undede,
Where as they sihen gret richesse,
Wei more than they oouthen ges^e

Lo ' seith the king, now may ye see
That ther is no defalte in me ,
Forthy my self I wol acqutte,
And bereth he your owne wite
Of that fortune hath you refused.

Thus was this wise king excused
And they lefte off her evil speche,
And mercy of her king beseche

John Gower — About 1390.

30 — ROSIPHELE'S VISION OF LADIES

When come was the month of May,
She would walk upon a day,
And that was ere the sun arist,

Of women but a few it wist

And forth she went privily

Unto a park was fast by,

All softe* walkend on the grass,

Till she came there the land was

Through which ran a great nv^re

It thought her fair, and said, *e Here

" Will I abide, under the shaw , "

And bade her women to withdraw.

And there she stood alone &till,

To th™fe what was in her will

She saw the sweet flowers spring ,

She heard (the) glad f owlts sing ,

She saw beastes in their kind,

The buck, the doe, the hart, the hind,

The males go with the female

And so began there a quaroll

Between love and her owne heart,

From which she couthe* not astart.

And as she cast her eye about,

She saw, clad in one suit, a rout

Of ladies, where they comen ndo

Along under the wood side ,

On fair ambulend horse they set,

That were all white, fair, and great ;

And evenohe one nd on side

The saddles were of such a pride,

So rich, saw she never none

With pearls and gold so well begone ;

In krrtels and in copes rich.

They were all clothed all alich,

Departed even of whito and blue

With all lustes that she know

They were embroidered over all ,

Their bodies weren long and small

The beauty of their fair face

There may no earthly thing deface

Corowne*s on their heads they bare

As each of them a queen wero ,

That all the gold of Croesus' hall

The least coronal of all

Might not have bought, after the worth

Thus comen they ridend forth

John Gnuer.~-A.lfMt 1390.

31 —THE ENVIOUS MAN AND THE
3MCI8EB.

Of Jupiter thus I find y-writ,
How whilom that he would wit,
Upon the plaints which he heard
Among the men, how it fared,
As of the wrong condition
To do justification ;
And for that cause down he senb
An angel, that about went,
That he the sooth know ma$ .

So it befel upon a day,
This angel which "him should inform
Was clothed in a man's form,
And overtook, I understand,
Two men that wenten over load ;
Through which he thought to aspy
His cause, and go'th in company.

wlic&t Times to 1400 ] DEATH OF SIB HENRY DB BOHUN

[JOHN

This angol with his words wiso
Opposeth thorn in sundry wise ,
Now loud words and now soft,
That made them to dispnten oft ,
And each his reason had,
And thus with tales he them led,
With good examination,
Till he knew the condition,
What men tlioy wore both two ;
And saw well at last tho,
That one of them was covetous,
And his fellow was envious
And thus when he hath knowledging.
Anon he feigned departing,
And said ho mote algate wend ,
But heaiken now what fell at eiid !
For then he made them undeibtond,
That he was there of God's sond,
And said them for the krndship,
He would do them some grace aaam,
And bade that one of them should sain
What thing is him levest to crave,
And he it aTtall of gift have
And over that ke forth with all
He saith, that other have shall
The double of that his fellow axeth ,
And thus to thorn his grace he taxeth

The Covetous was wonder glad ,
And to that other man he bade,
And saith, that he first ax should ,
For he supposeth that he would
Mako his axing of woild's good ,
For then he knew well how it stood ;
If that himsell by double weight
Shall after take, and thua by sleight
Because that he would win,
Ho bado his fellow first begin
This Envious, though it be late,
When that he saw he mote, algate,
Make his axing first, he thought,
If he his worship and profit sought
It shall be double to his fere,
That he would ohuse in no maozier
But then he showeth what he was
Toward envy, and in this case,
Unto thiR angel thus he said,
And for his gift thus he prayed,
To make him blind on his one ee,
So that his fellow nothing see

This word was not so soon spoke,
Than his one ee anon was loke
And his fellow forthwith also
Was blind on both his eyes two.
Tho was that other glad enough
That one wept, and that other lough
He set his one ee at no cost,
Whereof that other two hath lost

John Gorcr— About 1300

32 — APOSTEOPHE TO FREEDOM.

A ' fredome is a nobill thing '
Fredome mayse man to haiff liking '

Fredome all solace to man giffis •
He levys at ese that froly levys !
A noble hart may Tbg/nff nane ese,
Na ellys nocht that may fa™ plese,
Gyff fredome failythe for fire likag
Is yearnyt our all oihir thing
Na he, that ay hase levyt fre,
May nocht knaw weill the propyrto,
The angyr, na the wreohyt dome,
That is cowplyt to foule thyrldorae.
Bot gyff he had assayit it,
Than all perquer he suld it wyt ,
And suld tTriTJfr fredome mar to pryse
Thfji all the gold in warld that *s

Jultii H>'tlt .'i — Alvt i

33 —CHARACTER OF SIR JA3IES C51
DOUGLAS

All men loved fa™ for his bount $,
For he was of full fair affair,
Wise, courteous, and debonair
Large, and luffand als was he,
And oure all things love"d lawt£.
w * *

He was in all his deedis leal ;
For fa™ dedeynyeit not to deal
With treachery, na with f alset :
His heart on high honour was set ;
And Tnm contentit on sic mane re,
That all him loved that were him near.
But he wo/* not so fair, that we
Should speak gieatly of his beauty
In visage he was some deal grey,
And had black hair, as I heard say ,
But of limbs he was well made,
With banys great, and shoulders braid.
+ * *r

When he was blythe he was lovelj",
And meek, and sweet in company ,
But who in battle might fa™ see,
Another countenance had he

Jolm Barboiit — A'baut 1390

34 —DEATH OF STB HENRY DE BGHUN
! And when the Vmg wist that they were
j In hale battle, comand sae near,
t His battle gart he weel array
He rade upon a little palfrey,
j Lawcht and joly orrayond

His battle, with an ax in hand.
I And on his bassinet he bare
An hat of tyre aboon ay where ,
And, thereupon, into tafcm,
Ane high crown, that he was king
And when Gloster and Hereford TVGIG
With their battle approachand near,
Before them all there came ridand,
With helm on held and spear in hand,
Sir Henry the Boon, the worthy,
That was a wioht knicht, and a hardy,
And to the Earl of Hereford cousin ;
Armed in arms gnde and fine ;

JOHN BABBOITB ]

BATTLE OF BYLAND'S PATH.

PBBIOD.

Came on a steed a bowshot near,
Before all other that there were
And knew the king, for that he saw
HI™ sae range his men on raw,
And by the crown that was set
Also npon his bassinet.
And toward him he went in hy
And the Vmg sae apertLy
Saw fa™ come, forouth all his feara,
In hy till in™ the horse he steers
And when Sir Henry saw the king
Come on, foroutin abasing,
Till him he rode in great hy.
He thought that he should weel Lchtly
Win him, and have Imjn at his will,
Sin1 he him horsit saw sae iIL
Spront they stunen fovfcli a lyng* ,
Sir Henry missed tho noble king ;
And he that in his stirrups stude,
With the ax, that was hard and guile,
With sae great main, raacht him a dint,
That nouther hat nor helm mioht ntmt
Tho heavy dush, that he Trnn gave,
That near the head till the hams cla^, o
The hand-ax shaft frushit in tway ,
And he down to the yird gan gae
All flathngs, for him feulit mioht
This was the first straik of tho fioht,
That was perf ormit douchtily.
And when the king's men sae stoutly
Saw him, noht at the first meeting,
Forouten doubt or abasing,
Have Blain a kmcht sao at a straik,
Sic hard'ment thereat gan they tak,
That they come on noht hardily.
When Englishmen saw them sae stoatly
Come on, they had great abasing ,
And specially for that the fa^g
Sae smartly that gude knicht has t li.j,
That they withdrew them evenlk a-j,
And durst not one abide to ncht :
Sae dreid they for the king's nucht
tThen that the king repaint was,

That gart Ms men all leato the ohase,

The lordis of his company

Blamed Trim, as they duist, gieatumly,

That he Tnyn put in aventore,

To meet sae stith a knicht, and stour,

In sio point as he then was seen

For they said weel, it mioht have been

Cause of their tynsal evenlk ane

The kwg answer has made them nano,

But mamit TK^s hand-ax shaft sae

Was with the straik broken in tway

Jnltn Barbwr—. About 1300.

35 —THE BATTLE OF BTLAND'S PATH.

Thus were they feohtand in tho pass,
And when tho kmg H&obort, that wtia
Wiss in his deid, and anorly,
Saw his men floe right doughtily
The path upon their fayis ta' ;
And saw his f ayis dof ond them BOO ;
Then gart he all the Inshry
That were mtill his company,
Of Argyle and the Isles ulsna,
Speed them in great hy to the brao
And bade them leave the path holy
And ohrab iip in the oragK hy ;
And apeod them fast the height to ta' •
Then might mon see them ntoutly gae,
And climb all gate up tho height,
And leave not for thoir fayis might
Maugre their fayift, they baro thorn i\ w
That thoy are gotten abune tho biuo
Then might mon soo them nght folly f
And rusche thoir fayis stiirchly.
And thoy that till tho post* were gone,
Maugro their fayiB, the height has toiio ,
Then laid they on with all their miiyht ,
There might men BOO thoiu folly fight

John Barlow —About l;«MX

THE SECOND PEKIOD,

FROM 1400 TO 1338.

WALTON, with great beauty and justice, compares the appeaiance of Chaucer in our
language to a piemature day in an English apiing ; aftei which tho gloom of winter
returns, cud the buds and blossoms, which have been called foilh by a transient sunshine, are
nipped by frosts and scattered by storms The causes of tho relapse of our poetry, after
Chaucer, seom but too apparent in the annals of English history, which during five reigns of
the fifteenth century continue to display but a tissue of conspiracies, iiioscriptions, and blood-
shed Inferior even to France in literary progress, England displays in the fifteenth century a.
still more mortifying contrast with Italy. Italy, too, had her religious schisms and public
distractions , but her arts and hteratuie had always a &heltoring-place. They were even
cherished by tho rivalship of independent communities, and received encouragement from the
opposite sources of commercial and ecclesiastical wealth But ive had no Nicholas the Fifth,
nor house of Modicis In England, the evils of civil war agitated society as one mass. There
\v as no ref «igo from them— no inolosure to fence in the field of improvement — no mound to
stem tho torront of public troables. Before the death of Honry VI , it is said that one half of
the nobility and gentry in the kingdom had perished in the held or on the scaffold Whilst
in England tho public spirit -was thus brutalized, whilst the value and ^ecunty ot life were
abridged, whilst the wealth of the rich was employed only in \var, and the chance of patronage
taken fiom the scholar, in Italy, piinces and magistrates vied with each othoi in calling men
of genius aioimd them, as the brightest omainents of their states and couits Tho art of
printing carao to Italy to record the treasures of its literary attainments , but when it came to
England, with a very few exceptions, it could not be said, ior the purpose of diffusing native
literature, to be a necessary art A circumstance, additionally hostile to the national genius,
may cdrtainly bo traced in tho executions for leligion, which sprang up as a horrible novelty
in our country in the fifteenth contuiy Tho clergy were determined to indemnify themselves
for tho exposures which they had met with in the preceding age, and the unhallowed com-
promise which Henry IV made with them, in return for supporting his accession, armed them,
in an evil hour, with the toioh of persecution In one point of impiovcment, namely, in the
boldness of loligious mquiiy, the Noith of Europe might aheady boast of being superior to
the South, with all its learning, wealth, and elegant acquirements. The fc>ciiptnros had been
opened by WiokLiffe, but they weie again to become " a fountain sealed, and a tpring shut up "
Amidst the progress of letters in Italy, the fine arts threw enchantment aiound supeistation ,
and the warm imagination of the South was congenial to the nature of Catholic institutions.
But the English mind had already shown, even amidst its comparative barKaiism, a stern
independent spirit of lehgion , and from this single proud and elevated point of its character,
it was now to be crushed and beaten down Sometimes a baffled struggle against oppression
is more depressing to tho human faculties than cont'nuod submission.

Our' natural hatred of tyianny, and we may safely add, tho general te^t of liistory and
expciience, would dispose us to bulievc leligious persecution to be necessarily and essentially
baneful to the elegant arts, no less than to the intellectual pursuits of mankind. It is natural
to think, that when punishments are let loose upon men's opinions, they will spread a
contagious alarm from the understanding to the imagination They will make the heart grow
close and insensible to generous feelings, where it is unaccustomed to oxpiess them freely , and
the graces and gaiety of fancy will be dejected and appalled In on age of persecution, oven
the living study of his own species must be comparatively darkened to the poet. He looks
round on the characters and countenances of his follow-cieatures , and instead of the naturally
cheerful and eccentric variety of their humours, he reads only a sullen and oppressed
uniformity To the spirit of poetry we should conceive such a period to be* an impassable
Avernus, where she would drop her wings and expire. Undoubtedly this inference will b$

THE SECOND PERIOD.— FROM 1100— J 058

found warranted by a general survey of the history of Genius It IK, at tho same time, im-
possible to deny, that wit and poetry have in some instances flourished coeval with fcrooiouw
bigotry, on the same spot, and under the same government The liteiary glory of Spain wan
posterior to the establishment of the Inquisition The fancy of Cervantes spoitcd in jts
neighbourhood, though he declared that he could have made his writings still more enter-
taining if he had not dreaded the Holy Office But the growth of Spanish genius, in spite of
the co-existence of religious tyranny, was fostered by uncommon and glonous advantag-OK in
the circumstances of the nation Spam (for we are comparing Spain in tho sixteenth with
England in the fifteenth century) was, at the period alluded to, great and proud in an ompjro
on which it was boasted that the sun never set Her language was widely diffused The
wealth of Amenoa, for a while animated all her arts Robertson says that tho Spaniards dis-
covered at that time an extent of political knowledge which the English themselves did not
attain for more tlbgm a century afterwards Religious persecutions began in England at a time
when she was comparatively poor and barbarous, yet after she had been awakened to so much
intelligence on the subject of religion as to make one half of the people indignantly impatient
of priestly tyranny If we add to the political troubles of the age, the crrcumRtanccs of
religious opinions being silenced and stifled by penal horror?, it will seem more wondeifnl that
the spark of literature waa kept alive, than that it did not spread more widely Yet the
fifteenth century had its redeeming traits of refinement, the more wonderful for appearing in,
the midst of such unfavourable circumstances It had a Foitescue, although ho wandered in.
exile, unprotected by the constitution which he explained and extolled in his wiitings. It had
a noble patron and lover of letters m Tiptoft, although he died by tho hands of tho executioner.
It witnessed the founding of many colleges in both of the univerriitios, although they wore
still the haunts of scholastic quibbling , and it produced, in the veneiablo Pocock, one con-
scientious dignitary of the church, who wished to have converted the Protestants by appeals
to reason, though for so doing he had his books, and, if he had not rocanted in good time, would
have had his body also, committed to the flames To these causes may be ascribed tho back-
wardness of our poetry between the dates of Chaucer and Spenser. I speak of the chasm
extending to, or nearly to, Spenser , for, without undervaluing the elegant talents of Lord Surrey,
I JhTnTr we cannot consider the national genius as completely emancipated from oppressive
oircumatanoes, tJl the time of Elizabeth There was indeed a commencement of otu poetry
under Henry VJLLl. It was a fine, but a feeble one English genius seems then to have come
forth, but half assured that her day of emancipation was at hand There la something
melancholy even in Iiord Surrey's strains of gallantry The succession of Henry VIII gave
stability to the government, and some degree of magnificence to the state of society But
tyranny was not yet at an end ; and to judge, not by the gross buffoons, but by the few minds
entitled to be called poetical, which appear in the earlier part of the sixteenth century, wo may
say that the English Muse had stOl a diffident aspect and a faltering tone * * * *

The Scottish poets of the fifteenth, and of a part of the sixteenth century, would also juntly
demand a place in any history of our poetry that meant to be copious and minute , as the
northern "-makers," notwithstanding the difference of dialect, generally denominate their
language " Inglis " Scotland produced an entire poetical version of the JEneid, before Lord
Surrey had translated a single book of it , indeed, before there was an English version of any
classic, excepting Boethras, if he can be called a classic Virgil was only known in tho
English language through a romance of the Siege of Troy, published by Caxton, which, as
Bishop Douglas observes, in the prologue to his Scottish JEneid, is no more hko Virgil than
the devil is like St Austin Perhaps the resemblance may not even bo so gioat. But tho
Scottish poets, after all that has been said of them, form notliing like a brilliant revival of
poetry. 'They are on the whole superior, indeed, in spirit and originality to their EngliHh
contemporaries, which is not saying much , but their style is, for the most port, oast, if possible,
in a worst taste The prevailing- fault of English diction, in the fifteenth century, is redundant
ornament, and an affectation of Anglicising Tirfm words In this pedantry and use of " a/ivrcate
terms," the Scottish versifiers went even beyond their brethren of the south Some excoptioiw
to the remark, I am aware, may be found in Dunbar, who sometimes exhibits simplicity and
lyrical ^terseness ; but even 7m style has frequent deformities of quaintness, false ornament,
and alliteration The xest of them, when they meant to be most eloquent, tore up wordH from
the Latin, which never took root in the language, like children making a mock garden with
flowers and branches stuck in the ground, which speedily wither. — Campbell's Essay on
English Poct/y

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

JOHN LTDGATE

John Lydgate, who flourished about the
year 1400, was an Augustine monk of St Ed-
mund's Bury " His muse," says Warden, u was
of universal access, and he was not only the
poet of the monastery, but of the world in
general I{ a disguising was intended by the
company of Goldsmiths, a mask before His
Majesty at Eltham, a May-game for the
sheriffs and aldermen of London, a mumming
before the Lord Mayor, a procession of
pageants from the creation for the festival
of Corpus Chi isti, or a oard for the corona-
tion, Lydgate was consulted and gave the
poetry " He travelled in France and Italy
He kept a school for pupils of the higher
classes in versification He wrote, according
to Bitson, in his " Bibliographica Poetica"
no fewer than 251 works. He was a good
mathematician and also an accomplished
scholar Born 1375, died 1461

JAMES I.

James I , King of Scotland, the son of
Robert HE , was taken by the English on his
passage to France, and kept in confinement
eighteen years In 1423 he obtained his li-
berty on Marrying Joanna Beaufort, daughter
of the Earl of Somerset, with whom he had
fallen in love from seeing her walking in the
royal gardens at Windsor while he was a
prisoner there, and who is believed to bo the
lady alluded to in James's pleasing poem of
the "King's Quhair" On his return to
Scotland he severely punished his uncle, the
Duke of Albany, and others, who had mis-
governed the country in his absence, in con-
sequence of which a conspiracy was formed,
and he was murdered in his private apart-
ments in 1437 James I was a most accom-
plished gentleman, and a poet of no little
merit He invented a sort of plaintive
melody, which was greatly admired and imi-
tated in Italy, in which country he was, in
consequence, long remembered with respect.
He was one of the most skilful harpers of his
time, and excelled all competitors in the use
of that instrument. Three compositions of
his have come down to us, " Christ's Kirk on

the Green," tho "King's Quhair," and
"Peebles at the Play," which exhibit no
mean degree of intellectual power and liteiary
skdl — Bettors Universal Biogtnpliy, p 548

ANDBEW WTNTOUM",

Andrew Wyntoun lived in the early part of
the 15th century. He was a pnest of St.
Serfs monastery in Loohleven He wrote a
chronicle of his country in rhyme It is
" valuable as a picture of ancient manners, as
a repository of historical anecdotes, and as a.
specimen of the literary attainments of our
ancestors It contains a considerable number
of fabulous legends, such as we may suppose
to have been told beside the parlour fire of a
monastery of those days " — ChAMler*'* CycZo-
gcpdia. ftf JBnghtsh Literature, voL i p. 28

BLETO HABEY.

Blind Harry, or Henry the Minstrel, lived
about the close of the 15th century He sang
the adventures of Wallace, and the poem, in
eleven books, is full of animated descriptions
of battle and heroic deeds William Hamilton
of Chbertfield paraphrased it into modern
Scotch In its now dress it has been exceed-
ingly popular among the peasantry, and tended
greatly to kindle the genius of Burns

ROBERT HENRYSONE.

Little is known of this poet's history.
He was a schoolmaster at Dnnfermline,
and a monk of the Benedictine order He
wrote a number of poems, the chief of
which are "The Testament of Cresseide,"
being a sequel to Chaucer's Troilus and
Cresseide "Fabils," thirteen in number.
His best fable is the " Vpoulands Mouse and
the Burgesse Mouse , " but his most exquisite
production is " Eobene and Makyne," which is
probably the earliest specimen of pastoral
poetry in the Scottish language Dr David
Irving, in his "Lives of the Scottish Poets,"
thus speaks of him — " The various works of

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SECOND PERIOD —

Henrysone afford so excellent a specimen of
the Scottish language and versification, that a
complete collection, printed with due accuracy
and accompanied with proper illustrations,
could not fail to be highly acceptable to the
lovers of our early literature. The poems of
Henrysone are given m the collections of
Hailes, Pmkerton, Eamsay, Sibbald, Irving,
and Ellis." He died some tune before the
year 1508.

WILLIAM DUNBAR

"William Dunbar, born 1465, died 1530.
Dunbar was a native of Salton, East Lothian,
Scotland. He received his education at the
University of St Andrew He became a
ITranoiscan fnar, and preached in Scotland,
England, and France. James IV gave him
residence at the court, and employed him m
diplomatic services. Ho wrote *• The Thistle
and Rose," an allegory celebrating the
marriage of James IV. of Scotland with
Margaret, daughter of Henry VH ; "The
Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through
Hell," and "The Golden Terge." His
Ck Merle and Nightingale " exhibits much
beauty. "The Two Married Women and the
Widow " is m a rich vein of humour it is
however indelicate Sir Walter Scott ex-
presses a very high opinion of Dunbar, ho
says, "that he is unrivalled by any poot that
Scotland has yot produced ; " and Ellis speaks
in equally high terms " Dunbar' s peculiar
excellence is much good sense and sound
morality, expiessed with foioe and concise-
ness. His style, whether grave or humorous,
whether simple or ornamented, is always
energetic, and though all Ins compo^tions
cannot be expected to possess equal merit, we
seldom find m them a weak or redundant
stanza" His poems were published with
notes by Sir David Dalrymple Strange to
Fay that, with a very slight exception, all his
writings remained in manuscript till the
beginning of the last centuiy.

GAWAIN DOUGLAS

Gawain Douglas, born at Brochin 1475,
died 1522 He was the third son of Archi-
bald, fifth Earl of Angus, and became Bishop
of Dunkold He was educated at tho Univer-
sity of Fans, and having entered the church,
he was ever regarded as a lover of peace He
was a poet of considerable power, and his
principal production, c* The Palico of Honour,"
wiH often remind the reader of Bunyan's
Pilgrim's Progress. He is, however, best
known for his translation of Virgil's JEneid
into Scottish verse the first version of any
classic author into the British, language.
Hallam,in " Introduction to Literary History,"
says e*the character of Douglas's oiiginal
poetry seems to be that of the middle ages in

general — prolix, though sometimes animated,
descriptive of sensible objects " Warton
speaks of >»™ as highly poetical , and Irving
as a bold and energetic writer.

SIB DAVID LYNDSAY.
Sir David Lyndsay was born about 1490-
He served "K^g James V in a variety of
offices, as sewer, carver, cupbearer, purse
master, and was afterwards appointed Lord
Lyon King at Arms. He was given to hu-
mour and satire , and though so intimately
connected with tho court, yet ho boldly de-
nounced its foibles and abuses Tho clergy,
vvho then led for tlie moflt part very dissolute
lives, he strongly assailed. His writings
doubtless contiibutod in no little degree to
help forward the Beformation in Scotland.
Ho died about the yoai 1555.

JOHN SKELTON

John Skelton was born cibher in Cum-
berland, or more probably in Norfolk, about
1460. Ho was educated at Oxford, and after-
words became Eector of Diss His conduct
was very unsuitable lor a clergyman, although
feome allowance mu3t be made for the goner il
laxity of tho tunes Through an attack in
his poem *• Why come yo not to Court r1 " on
Caidmal Wolsey, thon in the zenith of power,
he was compelled to seek refuse with Mip,
the Abbot of Westminster. With this kind
and faithful friend ho lived till his death, in
1529 His works consist chiefly of satiros
and bonnets there aio albo somo severe i einaikt*
on Lily, a noted grammaiian at that period
The Bev Aloxandei Dj GO has published hiH
poems.

HENSY HOWARD

Henry Howard, Bail of Surrey, born 1518,
died 1547 Ho was the third son of Thomas,
Earl of Surrey, and third Duke of Norfolk, by
his second duchess, Elizabeth, daughter of
Stafford, Duke of Buckingham Ho was tho
companion of Hemy Fitzroy, Duke of liioh-
mond, Henry VIII Js natural son, Both wore
sent to Cardinal College, now called Christ
Church, Oxford Ke married in 1535 Lady
Frances Veie In 1542 he served under his
fathei in Scotland. Two years aflorwardH he
was appointed Field-Marshal of tho English
army on tho Continent He distinguished him-
self greatly at tho sieges of Lamlrocy aud
Boulogne He become highly popular, and de-
servedly so, as his valour, skill, and accom-
plishments wore groat. But tlu5. the jealous
Henry could ill brook He was rooallod from
the Continent and imprisoned immediately on
his arrival in England. He was then chained,

From 1400 to 1558 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

OIL the most trifling and flimsy pretences, with
high treason. He was convicted, and on the
19th January, 1547, this brave, generous,
noble-hearted T^TT was beheaded on Tower
Hill, through the caprice of a relentless
tyrant. He left two sons and three daughters
Robert Chambers rightly describes the poetry
of Surrey as " remarkable for a flowing melody,
correctness of style, and purity of expression
He was the first to introduce the sonnet and
blank verse into English poetry The gentle
and melancholy pathos of his style is well
exemplified in the verses which he wrote
during his captivity in Windsor Castle " He
was celebrated by Drayton, Dryden, Fenton,
and Pope , and Sir Walter Baleigh says, *e he
was no less valiant than learned, and of excel-
lent hopes." Lodge, in " Biogiaphical Ac-
counts of the Holbein Portraits," states that
"the character of Henry, Earl of Surrey, re-
flects splendour even upon the namo of Howaid
He revived, in an age too rude to enjoy fully
those beauties which mere nature could not but
in some degree relish, the force of expression,
the polished style and the passionate senti-
ments of the best poets of antiquity " Ho-ll"-1"^
in his " Literary History of Europe," writes,
" the taste of this remarkable man is more than
his poetical genius He did much for his own
country and his native language "

SIR THOMAS WYAT.

Sir Thomas Wyat the Elder was born at
Allmgton Castle, in Kent, in 1503 He was.
educated at tho Umvei&ity of Cambridge
He married early, and was in groat repute
with Henry VIH , who sent him on many
difficult missions, in all of which he showed
great wisdom and knowledge of mankind It
is behoved that he was attached to Anne
Boloyn before her marriage with the king
His pooms were one of the lost works read by
tho ill-fated queen Once Wyat seems to
have lost his influence at court, for he was
committed to the Tower , but though unfairly
tried, was honourably acquitted He ^ once
again became a favouiite with the capricious
and tyrannical monarch. " In the autumn of
1542, ho received orders to meet the Spanish
Ambassador, who had landed at Falmouth,
and to conduct him to London In this
journey he overheated mm self with riding, and
was seized at Sherborne with a malignant
fever, which earned him oft7, after a few days'
illness, in his thirty-ninth year " — (Campball'b
Specimens of the Bt itish Foefo ) He wrote
many beautiful songs and sonnets, principally
u,t his patornal seat of Alhngton He also
translated David's Paalins into Enghsh verse

AttDBEW BOUEfl)

Andrew Bourd, born about 1500, died 1549
was a native of Sussex, and educated at

Oxford Hearne tells us that he "frequented
markets and fairs where a conflux of people
used to get together, to whom he prescribed,
and to induce them to flock thither the more
readily, he would make humorous speeches."
He published " Pryncyples of Astronomye " in
1540 , in 1542 he issued " The First Boke of
the Introduction of Knowledge, the which doth
teach a man to speake part of al maner of
languages, and to know the usage and fashion
of al maner of countryes, &c.," of which work
Dibdin says, " Probably the most curious and
generally interesting volume ever put forth
from the press of the Coplands " He wrote
the well-known and celebrated '• Meme Tales
of the Mad Men of Gotham " This kCwas
accounted a book full of wit and mirth by
scholars an*d gentlemen Afterwards being
often printed, is now sold only on the stalls of
ballad-singers "-— (Atlicn. Own) He wrote
Ck The Brenarie of Heolthe for all Manner of
Sicknes&ea and Diseases," <fcc., 1547, which
was approved by the University of Oxford.
In the dedicatory Epistle to the College of
Ph3Tsicians he thus writes : " Egregious doctors
and masters of the eximious and arcane
science of physic, of your uibamty exas-
peiate not yourselves against me for making
thid little volume of physic " See Wood's
" Athen Oxon ," Bliss's edit , Worton's "Eng-
lish Poetry", Dibdin's "Ames"; "Bnt.
liibhog " , Eitson's^Bibliog. Poet " , Dodd's
"Oh Hist," vol i, Cooper's "Muses'
Library " ; Phillips' s " Theatrum Poet.
Angl. " , Hearne's tk Pref to Benedictus Abbas
Petroburg" , Chalmers's " Biog Diet."

THOMAS TFSSEB.

Thomas Tusser, bom 1523, died 1580.
Little is known of this poet beyond that "he
was well educated, commenced life as a
courtier under the patronage of Lord Paget,
but became a farmer, pui&uing agriculture at
Eatwood,in Sussex, Ipswich, Fairstead in
Essex, Norwich, and other places; that he
was not successful, and had to betake himself
to other occupations, such as those of a cho-
rister, fiddler, &c. , and that finally ho died a
poor man in London in the year 1580. Tusser
hai left only 01.0 work, published in 1557,
entitled ' A Hundred Good Points of Hus-
bjmdrie,' written in simple, but at tho some
time strong verse. It is our first, and not
our worst didactic poem"— Oeo Qiljillan's
Specimens, tilth Me.noirs of the less Liown,
British Poets.

BICHAJBD EDWABDS.

Richard Edwards, 1523—1566 One of the
earliest dramatic writers, educated at Corpus
Chnsti College, and Christohuroh, Oxford.
He was one of the contributors of the
"Paradyse of Daynty Devises," author of

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SECOND PERIOD

"Damon and Pythias" This " Damon and
Pythias " was the foremost of English dramas
on classical subjects, and wa^ acted before
, Queen Elizabeth in 1566. He mote also the
comedy of c* PaLemon and Arcyte," which was
performed in the hall of his former college,
Christchurch, in the same year , and Wood, in
" Athen Oson ," Bliss's edit , i 353, gives a
most interesting' account of the acting
thereof in the presence of Royalty, when the
cry of the hounds was so well imitated that
many of the scholars "wers so much taken
and surprised, supposing it had been real,
that they cned out, * There, there — he's caught,
he's caught ' ' AH which the queen meinly
beholding, said, 'Oh, excellent ' those boys in
very truth are ready to leap out of the
windows to follow the hounds ' " Edwards's
madrigals and other poetical productions were
very popular See Puttenham's " Arte of Eng.
Poets " , "Wood's " Annals " , Sir E Brydges's
edit of PhuTips's "Theatrum Pootarum",
"BntBibliog" vol in , Hawkins's "Hast. of

Music" , EILs's "Spec Eng Poet ", Warton's
" Hist of Eng Poet " , " Biog Drainat " ,
j Collier's "Hist of Dram Poet " , and Drake's
Shakspeare and his Times."

WILLIAM HUNNIS

William Hunms was chapel-master to Quoon
Elizabeth He wrote "Certayne Psalms in
English Metre," 1550 , also in 1578 a "Hyvo
full of Hunny, containing the First Booko of
Moses called Genesis turned into English
Metre" He published "Seven Sobs of a
Sorrowful Soule ior Sinne," &c., in 1585,
<k Eecreations," in 1588, and other works.
See "Bibl Anglo Poet ", Lowndes's "Bibl
Man ", Brydges's "Brit. Bibliog ", Camp-
boll's " Spec of Eng Poets " , Dibdin's "Lib
Comp,"od 1825,055, Hallam's "Lit Hist
of Europe," ed 1854, u 120, Collier's
"Annals of the Stage," vol i p. 235.

SECOND PEKIOD,

F.OM 1400 i

36— CANA.CE, CONDEMNED TO DEATH
BY HER FATHER JEOLUS, SENDS TO
HER GUILTY BROTHER MACAREU3
THE LAST TESTIMONY OF HER UN-
HAPPY PASSION

Out of her swoone when she did abbraide,
Knowing1 no mean but death in her distiesse,
To her bioth«r full piteouslie she said,
" Cause of my son owe, roote of my heaviness,
That whilom were the somso of mygladn^sse,
When both our joyed by wille were so disposed,
Under one key our he*irts to be enclosed

Thib is mine end, I may it not astaite ,

0 biother mine, there is no more to eaye ;
Lovi ly beseeching with mine whole heart
For to remembei frpeeially, I praye,

If it befall my httel sonne to dye,

That thou mayst after Rome mind on us have,

Suffei us both be buiied in one grave

1 hold him strictly twene my armfcs twein,
Thou and Nature laide on me thit. charge ,
He, guiltlesse, mustfc with me suffer pame,
And, &ith thou ait at freedom and at large,
Let Mndnesse our6 love not so discharge,
But have a mmde, wherever that thou be,
Once on a day upon my child and me

On thee and me depondeth the tresp&co
Touching our guilt and our great offence,
But, 'welaway ' most angehk of face
Our childe, young in his pure innocence,
Shall agayn right suffer death's violence,
Tender of limbes, God wote, full guiltSlesso
The goodly faire, that keth here speechless

A mouth he has, but wordis hath he none ;
Cannot comploiaie alas ' for none outrage
Nor grutcheth not, but lies here all alone
Still as a lambe, most meke of his vis&ge
What heait of st&e could do to him dam&ge,
Or suffer him dye, beholding the manure
And looko bemgne of his twem eyen clere " —

Writing her letter, awhapped aU in drede,
In her right hand her pen ygan to quake,
And a sharp sword to make her hearte blede,
In her left hand her father hath her take,

And most her sorrowe was for her childes eako,,
Upon whose lace in her barme sleepynge
ITull many a tere she wept in cGmplayning
After all thi** so as she stoode and quoke
Hei child beholding mid of her pemes smart,
"Without abode the sharpe sword she tooke,
And rove heiselfe even to the hearte ,
Her childe fell down, which might&not a&tert,
Having no help to succour T»m nor save,
But m her blood theselfe began to bathe
— .l/ii»'f 1420

THE LONDON LACK-
PENNY"

"Within the hall, neither rich nor yet poor
Would do for me aught, altho' I should die,

Which seeing I gat me out of the dooi,
Where Flemings began on me for to cry,
" Master what will jou kopen or buy "

IFine felt hats, or spectacles to lead r

Lay down your silvei and here may you speed "

Then to Westminster gate I piesently went,
When the sun it was at high prime

And cooks to cie they took good intent,
And proffered me bread, with ale and wine,
Bibs of beef, both fat and full fine,

A fair cloth they 'gan for to spread

But, wanting money, I might not be sped

Then unto London I did me hie

Of all the land it beareth the price.

" Hot peascods ! " — one began to ciy,

" Strawberry ripea and chenies m the use "
One bade me draw near and buy some spice

Pepper and saffron they 'gan me bid,

But, for lack of money, I might not speed

Then to the Cheepe I 'gan me drawn,
Where much people I saw for to stand

One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn ,
Another he taketh me by the hand, —
"Here is Pans thread, the finest m the land ' J

I never was used to such things indeed

And, wanting money, I might not speed.

Then went I forth by London Stone.
Through out all Canwyke Street.

Drapers much cloth me offered anon
Then oomea me one cned — "Hot sheep' s feet.' '
One cned " Mackrell » "— " Rysses green ' "
another *gan greit

/OHN IiTDGATE j

A SYLVAN RETREAT

[SECOND PERIOD. —

One bade me buy a hood to cover my head,
But, for want of money, I might not be ppeU

Then I hied me unto East Cheepe

One ones nbs of beef, and many a i«ie

Pewter pots they clattered on a heap
There was harp, pipe, and minstrally
*k Tea, by cock ' nay, by cocli ' " — ?ooie 5gan
cry

Some sa^g of Jenkin and Julian for their rncod

But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

Then into Oornhill anon I yode,
Where was much stolen gear ,

I saw where hung mine own hood,
That I had lost among: ^he throng
To buy my own hood I thought it wrong-

I know it, well as I did my creed,

But, for lack of money, I could not ppced

The taverner took mo by tho sleeve,

s* Sii," say«tho, " will you our wine assay P

I answered, " That cannot much mo gnore,
A penny can do no more than it me-:' "
I drank a pint, and for it did pay

Yet sore a hungered from thence I yedo,

And, wanting money, I could not speed

John LyJ'jtitc —About 1420

38— A SYLVAN RETREAT

Till at the last, among tho bowes glade,
Of adventure, I caught a pleasant fehade ,
Full smooth, and plain, and lusty for to seen,
And soft as velvet waa the vonge green
"Where from my horse I did alight as fast,
And on the bow aloft his reine oast
So faint and mate of weariness I was,
That I me laid adown upon the grass,
Upon a bnnke, shortly for to tell,
Beside the river of a crystal well :
And the water, as I reherae can,
lake quioke silver in MB sti earns* y-ran
Of which the gravel and the bnghte stone,
As any gold, against the sun y-shone

John LyJgate —About 142'"'

39— THE GOLDEN AGE.

Fortitude then stood steadfast in his might ,
Defended widows , cherished chastity ;
Kjoighthood in prowess gave so clear a light,
Girt with his sword of truth and equity

JoTiA Lydgate — About 1420

40— <H)D'S PROVIDENCE.
God hath a thousand hand&s to chastise
A thousand darte*s of punicion ,
A thousand bow£s made in divers wise ,
A thousand arlblaets bent in his dongeon

John Zydgate, — About 1420

41 — SPRING.

CANTO II

In Ver, that full of virtue is and good,
When Nature first begmneth her ompriso,
That whilom was, by cruel froht and flood,
And ohowers sharp, oppressed in many wise
And Cynthius beguineth to aiiso
High in the east, a monow soft and Hwoot,
Upwards his course to dnve in Anoto ;

II

Passit but midday four 'grois, ovon
Oi length and breadth his angel wmgia bright
He spread upon the ground down from tijo

heaven ,

That for gladness and comfort of ilio s%ht,
And with the tickling of TV»B heat and light,
The tender flowns openit them and sprad,
And in their nature thankit bwyi for glad.
James I of Scotland — About 1420.

42 —JAMBS BEWAILS HIS CAPTIVITY,

CANTO II.
VII

Whereas in ward full oft I would bewail,
My deadly life full of pain and penntlnco,
Saying right thus — u What have Ignilt, tofjul
My freedom in this world and my ploasaunoo *
Sinco every wight thereof has suffiwanoo,
That I behold, — and I, a creature
Put from all this — hard is mine aventi ire

VIII

" The bird, tho beast, tho fi*h oke Li tho son,,
They live in freedom, overich in his kind,
And I, a man — and lacketh liberty '
What shall I sayn P What icason may I find
That fortuneshould do so P " Thus inmy mind ,
My folk I would argowo — but all for nought —
Was none that might that on my pamew rouyiii
James I of ScotiatiJ — About 1420

43 —JAMES FIRST SEES THE LADY
JANE.

Bewailing- in my chamber, thus alono,
Despaired of all joy and remedy,
For-tured of my thought, and woo-bogoao,
And to the window gan I walk in hy
To see the world and folk that wont forbyo,
As, for the time, tnough I of mirthiw foot!
Might have no more, to look it did me good

Now was there made, f a«*t by tho towrin wall ,

A garden fair , and in the corners sot

Ane arbour green, with wandis lon# and

small

Railed about, and HO with trees set
Was all the i lace, and hawthorn hodgoa knot
That lyf was none walking there forbyo,
That might within scarce any wight espy.

THE BETITRN OF BAVID IE.

[ANDBEW WYNTOTO-,

•So thick the bonghis and the leavis green
Beshaded all tho alleys that there weie,
And mids of every arboui might be seen
The sharpo greone sweete jumper,
Growing so fair with branches here and thoio
That as it seemed to a lyf without,
The boaghis spread the arbour all about

And on the smallo greene twistis sit,
The little sweote nightingale, and song
So loud and oloar, the hymms oonseerat
Of lovis use, now soft, now loud among
That all the gardens and the wollis rai^
Bight of their song *• +

— — — Oast I down mine eyes again,
Where as I saw, walking under the towei.
Fall sociatiy, new comen hero to plain,
The fairist or the freshest younge flower
' That ever I saw, mothought, before that Loiu ,
| Foi which sudden abate, «inon astart,
J The blood of all my body to iny hoait

And though I stood abasit tho a lite,
No wonder was , for why 'J my wittis all
Were so overcome with ploasanoe and delight,
Only through letfcmg ot my eyeu fall,
That suddenly my heart became her thiolL,
For ever of froo will, — for of menace
There was no token in her sweete face

And in my head I drew right hastily,
And eftosoons I leant it out again,
And saw her walk that very womanly,
With no wight mo1, but only women twain
Then <*an I study in myself, and sayn,
" Ah, sweet ' are yo a worldly oreatuie,
Or heavenly thing in likeness of natuie 6

Or are ye god Cupidis own princess,

And coimn are to loose mo out of bond *

Or euro ye very Ntttuw tin* qo&Je^s,

That JiawdepatntedwitJi youi Iteawnlif 7?//,<*7,

This garden full nfjlnm&s a* they stand <*

What shall I think, alas ' what reverence

Shall I mister unto your excellence p

If yo a goddess be, and that ye like

To do me pain, I miy it not astart

If ye bo waildly wight that doth me sike,

Why list God make you so, my dearetat teart,

To do a seely prisonei this smart,

That loves you all, and wot of nought but wo °

And therefore mercy, swcot ' sin* it is so " v

Of her array the form if I *J*ft11 write.
Towards her golden hair and rich attire,
In fretwiso oouohit with pearlis white
And great bolas learning as tho fire,
With mony ano emoraut and fair sapphire
And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue
Of plumis parted red, and white, and blue

Full of quaking- spangis bright as gold,
Forged of shape like to the amorets,
So new, so fresh, so pleasant to behold,
The plumis oke like to the flower jonets ,
And other of shape like to the flower jonets ,

And above all this, there was, well I wot,
enough to make a world to doat

About her neok, white as the fire
A goodly chain of small orfevory,
Whereby there hung a ruby, without fsal,
Like to one heart shapen verily,
That as a spark of low, so wantonly
Seemed burning upon her white throat,
Now if there was good party, God it wot

And foi to walk that fresh May's morrow,
Ane hook she had upon her tissue white,
That goodlier had not been scon to-forow,
As I suppose , and girt she was ahte,
Thus halflings loose for haste, to such deligh"
It was to see her youth in groodlihedo,
That for rudeness to speak thereof I diead.

In her was youth, beauty, with humble apori,
Bounty, riches, and womanly feature,
God hotter wot than my pen can report •
Wisdom, largess, estate, and cunning susi,
In eveiy point so guided her measure,
la word, in deed, in shape, in countenance,
That nature might no more her child avance 1

* * * *

And when she walked had a little thraw
"Under the sweete greene boughis bent,
Her fan fie ah face, as white as any snaw,
She turned has, and furth her wayis went ,
But tho began mine aches and torment,
To see her part and follow I na might ;
Methought the day was turned into night.
Jt*i,ies I of Senile ad — ALovt 1420.

44— THE EETDEN" OF DAVID H FEOH
CAPTIVITY

Yet in prison was King Davy "
And when a long frnrm WAS gane by,
Fiao prison and perpleutie
To Berwick Castle brought was he,
With the Eail of Northamptoun,
For to treat there of his ransoun
Some lords of Scotland come there,
And als prelates, that wisest were.
Four days or five there treated they,
But they accorded by nae way ,
For Kngllnh folk all angry were,
And ay spak rudely mair and mair,
While at the last the Scots party,
That died their faes' feliony,
All privily went hame then? way ,
At that tune there nae mair did they.
The king to London then was had,
That there a 1a,-"g tamo after bade

After syne, with mediatioun
Of messengers, of his ransoun.
Was treated, while a set day
Till Berwick him again brought they.
And there was treated sae, that he
Should of prison delivered be,
And freely till his lands found,
To pay ane hundred thousand pound

ANDHBW WYXTOTTN ]

INTERVIEW OF ST SEEF

SECOND PEBIOD —

O£ silver, mial fourteen yoar
And [whole] the payment [payit] were,
To make sae long trace tool: the;-,
And affirmed -with seal and fay
Great hostage there leved he.
That on their awn dispense should bo
Therefoie, while they hostage were,
Expense but number made they there
The king was then delivered free,
And held his way till his countne.
With him of English brought he none,
Without a chamber-boy aline

The whether, upon the mom, when ho
Should wend till his counsel privy,
The folk, as they were wont to do,
Pressed right rudely in thereto
But he right suddenly can arrace
Out of a macer's hand a mace,
And said rudely, ' How do we now »•
Stand still, or the proudest of you
Shall on the head have with this mace ! "
Then there was nane in all this place,
But all they gave him room in hy ,
Durst nane piess further that weie by ,
His council door might open stand,
That nane dui&t till it be pres&and

Eadure in prince is a gude thing ;
For, but raduie, all governing
Shall all tune but despised be
And where that men may radure see,
They shall dread to trespass,, and sae
Peaceable a king hib land may ma*
Thus radure dred that gart him be
Of Ingland but a page brought he,
And by hia sturdy 'ginning
He gart them all have sic dreading,
That theie was nane, durst nigh him near,
But wha by name that called weie
He led with raduie sae his land,
In all time that he was regnand,
That nane duist well withstand his will,
All winning bowsome to be Mm till

A,iJ,ci< 7r»/j»*n»'ii —Abovt 1430.

45 — INTEE7IEW OP ST SEEF WITH
SATHANAS

While St. Serf, xntil a stead,

Lay after TnafrmB in his bed,

The devil came, in foul intent

For til found Tnm with argument,

And said, " St Serf, by thy weik

I ken thou art a cunning clerk."

St Serf said, < Gif I sae be,

froul wretch, what is that for thee ? "

The devil said, " This question

I iMjk in our collati6n—

Say where was God, wit ye oucht,

Before that heaven and erd was wroucht ? "

St Serf said, " In TnmaftlP steadier

His Godhead hampered never was "

The devil then askit, " What cause ho had

/o make the creatures that he made ? "

To that Sfc Serf answered there,

6fc Of creatures made he was maker

A maker mioht ho never be,

But gif oreatuies made had he "

The devil askit him, " Why GoJ of nouchfc

His werkis all full glide had wroucht "

St Serf answeied, tk That Goddia will

Was never to make hia werkis ill,

And as envious he had been seen,

Gif nought but he full gude had boon "

St Seif the <le\il askit than,

'* Where God made A<lam, the fir&t man ''"

Cw In Ebron Adam foiniit was,"

St Serf said And till him Satliouai,

" Wheio was he, oft that, for hib vice,

He was put out of Paiaxliae p"

St Serf said, " Wheie he was made "

The devil a&kit, " How lang he bade

In Paiadihe, after hia sin "

1 Seven houis," Serf said, * bade he therein "

" When was Eve made •* " said Sathanaw

fc In Paradise," Serf said, *b she was." * *

The devil askit, " Why that yo

Men, are quite delivered froo,

Through Chiefs passion precious boucht,

And we devils say aio nouchc 5"

St Serf said, " For that ye

Fell through vonr awn iniquity ,

And through ourtselves we never fell,

But through your fellon false counsMl " * *

Then *aw the devil that ho could noucht,

With all the wiles that he wrought,

Overcome St Seif He &aid than

He kenned him for a wiae man

Forthy there he gave Him quit,

For he wan at him na profit

St Serf said, fc Thou wretch, gao

Frae this stead, and 'noy nae moo

Into this fetead, I bid ye "

Suddenly then passed he ,

Fiae that stead he held his way,

And ne\er was seen there to thid day

—About 1430

46 —ADVENTURE OF WALLACE WHILE
FISHING IN IRVINE WATER

So on a tune ho dosoxed to play
In Apenl the three-and-twenty day,
Till Irvine water fish to tak he went,
Sic fantasy fell in his intent
To lead his not a child f urth with him yodo,
But he, or noon, was in a fellon dread
His swerd ho left, so did he never again ;
It did him gude, suppose he suffered pain
Of that labour as than he was not she,
Happy he was, took fish abundantly
Or of the day ten hours o'er couth patw
Eidand there came, near by where Wallace was,
The Lord Percy, was captain than of Ayr ,
Frae then* he turned, and couth to Glasgow faro.
Part of the court had Wallace, labour seen,
Till him rate five, clad into ganand green,

From 1400«o 1558]

THE DEATH OF WALLACE

[BLIND BARRY

And said soon, " Scot, Martin's fish we wald

have'"

Wallace meekly agam answer "him gave
" It were reason, methmk, ye sTionld liave part,
Waith should be dealt, in all place, with free

heart"

He bade fag child, " Give them of ourwaithing *'
The Sonthron said, " As now of thy dealing
We will not tak , thou wald give us o'er small."
He lighted down and frae the child took alL
Wallace said then, " Gentlemen gif ye be,
Leave us some part, we pray for charity
Ane aged knight serves our lady to-day ,
Gnde fnend, leave part, and tak not all away "
"Thou shall have leave to fish, andtakthee

mae,

A]1 this forsooth phaU in our flitting gae
We serve a lord , this fish fiTiall -fall him gang."
Wallace answered, said, "Thou art un the

wrang"
" Wham fchous thon, Scot ? mfariih. thon 'serves

a blaw "

Till fa™ he ran, and out a swerd can draw
William was wae he had nae wappms there
But the poutstaff, the whilk in hand he bare.
Wallace with it fast on the cheek him took,
With sae gude will, while of his feet he shook
The swerd flew frae him a for-breid on the land
Wallace was glad, and hint it soon in hand ,
And with the swerd awkward he fa™ gave
Under the hat, his craig in sunder drave
By that the lave lighted about Wallace.
He had no help, only but God's grace
On either side full fast on fam they dang,
Great peril was gif they had lasted lang
Upon the head in great ire he strak ane ;
The shearand swerd glade to the collar bane
Ane other on the arm he hit so hardily,
While hand and swerd baith in the field can he
The tether twa fled to their horse again ,
He stiokit Tirm was last upon the plain
Three slew he there, twa fled with all theax

might

After their lord ; but he was out of sight,
Takand the muir, or he and they couth twine
Till ham they rade anon, or they wald blan,
And cryit, " Lord, abide , your men ate mar-
tyred down

Bight cruelly, here in this false region
Five of our court here at the water bade,
Fish for to bring, though it nae profit made
We are scaped, but in field slain are three "
The lord speint, " How mony might they be ?"
" We saw but ane that has disoomfist us all "
Then leugh he loud, and said. " Foul mot you

fall'

Sin* ane you all has put to confusion.
Wha ypflTps it maist the devil of hell fam

drown1

This day for me, in faith, he bees not sought."
When Wallace thus this worthy wark had

wrought,
Their horse he took, and gear that left was

there,
Gave ower that craft, he yede to fish nae

Went till his erne and tald him of this deed,
And he for woe well near worthit to weid,
And said, " Son, thir tidings sits me sore,
And, be it known, thon may tak scaith there-
fore"

" Uncle," he said, " I will no longer bide,
Thir southland horse let see gif I can ride "
Then but a child, him service for to mak,
His erne's sons he wald not with him tak
This gude knight said, " Dear con am, pray I

thee,
When thon wants gude, come fetch eneuoh

frae me."

Silver and gold he gart on fa™ give,
Wallace inclines, and gudely took his leave.

Blind Harry —About 1460

47— THE DEATH OF WALLACE.

On Wednesday the false Southron furi*

brooht

To martyr *h™\ as they before had wrooht
Of men in arms led him a full great rout.
With a bauld sprite goid Wallace blent about „
A pnest he asked, for God that died on tree
King Edward then commanded his clergy,
And said, " I charge you, upon loss of life,
Nane be sae bauld yon tyrant for to shrive
jjfe has reigned long in contrar my highness."
A blyth bishop soon, present in that place ;
Of Canterbury he then was righteous lord ,
Again* the king he made tVa ncht record,
And said, ( Myself shall hear his confession,
If I have micht in contrar of thy crown
An thou through force will stop me of this

thing,

I vow to God, who is my righteous king,
That all England I gfra-11 her interdite,
And make it known thou art a heretic
The sacrament of kirk I RbaH Inijn give :
Syne take thy choice, to starve or let fa*™ live.
It were manr weil, in worship of thy crown,
To keep so ane in life in thy bandoun,
Than all the laud and good that thou hast

reived,

But cowardice thee ay fra honour drerved
Thou has thy life rougin in wrangeous deed ,
That shall be seen on thee or on thy seed "
The king gart charge they should the bishop

ta,
But sad lords counseUit to let Trim ga

' gg-jfl that his desire was richt.

To Wallace then he ralat in their sicht
And sadly heard his confession till ano end
Humbly to God his sprite he there commend
Lowly fa-m served with hearty devotion
Upon faa knees and said ane onson * *
A psalter-book Wallace had on him ever
Fra his ohildheid — fra it wald nocht dissever;
Better he trowit in wyage for to speed
But then he was dispalyed of his weed.
This grace he asked at Lord Clifford, that

knioht,
To let him have his psalter-book in aicht.

ROBERT EENBYSOXE ]

BOBENS AJtfD MAKYNE

PBBIOD —

He gart a pnest it open before him hold,
While they till him had done all that they wald,
Stedfast he lead for ought they did him there,
Feil Southrons said that Wallace felt na sair
Ghud devotion, sae, was his beginning,
Conterned therewith, and fair was his ending
While speech and sprite at aids all can fare
To lasting bliss, we trow, for evermair

Slmd Harry —About 1460

48.— EOBENE AND MATTYNB,

A. BALLAD

Eobene sat on gad grene hill,

Keipand a flock of fie •

Mirry Makyne said him tall,

Eobene thon rew on me .

I half th& luvit, lowd and stall

This yieris two or thr& , .

My dole in dern bot gif thou dill,

Doubtless bot dreid I die

ii.

He Eobene answent, be the rude,
Nothing of luf e I knaw ,
Bot keipis my soheip imrhr yone wad,
Lo quhair they raik on raw.
Quhat hflfl mamt the in thy mude,
Makyne to me thow schaw ?
Or what is luve, or to be lu'ed,
Faon wald I leir that law

in.

She At luvis leir gif thow will leir,
Take thair an A, B, C,
Be kind, courtas, and fair of feir,
Wyse, hardy, and fre.
S& that no danger do th& deir,
Quhat dule in dern thow dne,
Preiss th& with pone at all poweir,
Be patient, and pievie

IV

He Eobene answent her agone,
I wait not quhat is luve,
But I Tmif marvell, in certaine,
Quhat makifi thfc this wanruf e
The weddir is fair, and I am f ano,
My soheip gois Tiai.ll aboif,
ATI \VIQ wald play us in this plane
They wald us baith reproif .

Eobene take tent unto my tale,

And wirk all as I iezd,

And thow sail frftnf my hart all hailo

l<HTg and my maidenheid

Sen God sendis bute for baill,

And for Ty>iypTnT|ff romeid.

I dern with the, but gif I d.a.1.11,

Doubtless I am be fc deid.

Makyne, to morno thin ilka tyde,
And ye will meit mo heir ,
Peradventure my scheip may gang be-

He

Qahill we haif liggit full neir,
Bot maugre Tmif I, an I byde,
Era they begin to steir,
Qohat lyis on hairt I will nooht hyd,
Makyne then nak gud oheir.

VII

She Eobene thou reivis me roif and refct,

I luve but th& allone,
Hi; Makyne adew ' the sone gois west,

The day is neirhand gone.
She Eobene, in dule I am so drest,

That luve will be my bone
He Ga luve, Makyne, quhair evix thou litrfc,

For leman I lue none

VIII.

She Eobene, I stand in sic a style,

I sioht, and that full Hair.
He. Makyne, I haif bene heir this quhile,

At home God gif I wair.
She. My hmny Eobene, talk ane quhyle ,

Gif thou wilt do na mair.
He Makyno, Bum uther man begyle ,

For hamewart I will fair

Eobene on his wayis wont,
As licht as leif of tre
Makyne murnit in her intent,
And trow'd him nevir to s&,
Eobene brayd attour the bent,
Than Makyne oryit on hie,
Now ma thow bing, for I am schont,
Quhat alis luf e with me

M ikyne went hame withouttin faill,
Full werry oftir couth weip,
Than Eobene in a full tair doill,
Assembkt all his ncheip
Be that sum porte of Makyno'a ail,
Ourthrow his hairt oowd oreip,
He followit hir fast than
And till hir tuke gudo koep

XI.

Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyno,

A word for ony thing ,

For all my luve it shall bo thine,

Withouttm departing

All thy hant for till have myne,

Is all my cvnvatmg,

My soheip, to morne, quhyle hounttnyne

Will need of no kepm'g-

XII

For of my pane thow made it play,
And all in vain I spend,
As thow hes done, sa sail I say,
MuraG on, I think to mond.

Fiom 1400 to 1568 ] DINNEB

BY THE TOWN MOUSE [E. EBNBYSONE.

xv.

He. Makyne the howp of all my heill,
My hairt on the is sett
And evir mair to the be leill,
Quhile I may leif , but lett
Never to f aiJl, as utheris f aill,
Quhat grace that evir I got

She. Bobene, with the I mil not dedl,
Adew ! for thus we mett.

XVI.

Makyne went home blythe aneuche,
Attoure the holtis hair ;
Eobene murnit, and Makyne leuch,
Scho sang, he sichit sair
And so left him baith wo and wrench,
In dolour and in cair,
Kepand his turd under a henoh,
Among the holtis Hair

Bole/t Hem ysowe — About 1490.

49 — DINNEB GIVEN BY THE TOWN"
MOUSE TO THE COUNTBY MOUSE.

** * * their harboury was tane
Tntill a spence, where victual was plenty,
Baith cheese and butter on lang shelves ncht

hie,

With fish and fle&h enough baith fresh and salt,
And pockis full of groats, baith meal and malt

After, when they dispo&it were to dine,
Withouten grace they wuish and went to meat,
On every dish that cookmen can divine,
Mutton and beef stricken out in telyies gnt ;
Ane lordis fare thus can they counterfeit,
Except ane things—they drank the water clear
Instead of wine, but yet they made gude cheer

With blyth upcast and merry countenance
The elder sister then spier' d at her guest,
Gif that sho thonoht by reason difference
Betwixt that ohalmer and her sairy nest.
" Yea, dame," quoth sho, " but how lang will

thislastP"

" For evermair, I wait, and lunger too ; "
" Gif that be true, ye are at ease," quoth sho

To elk the cheer, in plenty forth theybroucht

A plate of groatis and a dinh of meal,

A tkreif of cakes, I trow sho spared them

nouoht,

Abundantly about her for to deal
Fnrmage full fine sho brouoht instead of jeil,
A white candle out of a coffer staw,
Instead of spice, to creish their teeth witha'

Thus made they merry, while they mioht nae

mair,

An Haft Yule, haal » " they cryit up on hie ,
But after joy affcentunes comes care,
And trouble after gnt prosperity.
Thus as they sat in all their solity,
The Spenser fta.™ with keyis in IHR hand,
Opened the door, and them at dinner fand.

They tamed not to wash, as I suppose,
But on to goe, wha mioht the foremost win ,
The burge&s had a hole and in sho goes,
Her sister had nae place to hide her in ;
To see that silly mouse it was great sin,
Sae desolate and wild of all gude rede,
For very fear sho fell in swoon, near dead.

Then as God wald it fell in happv case,
The Spenser had nae leisure for to bide,
Nowther to force, to seek, nor scare, nor chase.
But on he went and cast the door up-wide.
This burgess mouse his passage weel has spied.
Out of her hole sho cam and cried on hie,
" How, fair sister, cry peep, where'er thou be."

The rural mouse lay flattings on the ground,
And for the dad sho was full dreadand,
For till her heart stroke mony waeful stound,
As m a fever trembling- foot and hand ;
And when her sister in sic plight her fand,
For very pity sho began to greet,
Syne comf oit gave, with words as honey sweet.

" Why lie ye thus ? Rise up, my sister dear,
Come to your meat, this peril is o'erpast."
The other answered with a heavy cheer,
I may nought eat, sae sair I am aghast*
Lever I had this forty dayis fast,
With, water kail, and green beans and peas.
Then all your feast with this dread and

With fair 'treaty, yet gart she her rise ;
To board they went, and on together sat.
But scantly had they drunken anes 01 twice,
When in cam Gib Hunter, our jolly cat,
And bade God speed The burgess up then

gat.

And till her hole she fled as fire of fknt ,
Bawdrons the other by the back has hent.

Fme foot to foot he cast her to and rrae,
While up, while down, as cant as only kid,
While wald he let her run under the strae
While wald he wink and play with her buik-

hid;

Thus to the silly mouse great harm he did ;
While at the last, through fair fortune and

hap,
Betwixt the dresser and the wall she crap.

Syne up in haste behind the paneling,
Sae hie sho clam, that Gilbert might not gether,
And by the cluiks craftily can Hug,
Till he was gone, her cheer was all the better •
Syne down sho lap, when there was nane to
let her ;

" Fareweel sister, here I thy feast defy

" Thy mangery is minget all with care,

Thy guise is gude, thy gane-full sour as gall ,

The fashion of thy fens is but fair,

So shall thou find hereafterward may fall

I thank yon curtain, and yon parpane wall,

Of my defence now frae yon cruel beast

Almighty God, keep me frae sic a feast ! 4*

EODEBT HENBTSONB ] THE GARMENT OF GOOD LADIES. [SECOND PERIOD —

"Were I into the place that I cam frae,
For weel nor wae I should ne'er come again "
With that sho took her leave, and forth can

gae,
While through the corn, while through the

plain
When she was fnrth and free she was right

fain,

.And merrily Imkit nnto the muir,
J oannot tell how afteiward sho fore.

But I heard syne she passit to her den,
As warm as woo', suppose it was not grit,
Foil beinly stuffit was baith butt and ben,
With peas and nuts, and beans, and rye and

wheat;

Whene'er sho liked, sho had enough of meat,
In quiet and ease, withonten [any] dread,
But till her sister's feast nae marr sho gaed.

From ike Moral.

Blissed be simple life, withouten dreid ,
Blissed be sober feast in quiete* ,
Wha has eneuch of no more has he neid,
Though it be little into quantity
Grit abundance, and blind prosperity.
Oft tirpiq make ane evil conclusion ,
The sweetest life, therrfor, in this country,
Is of sickerness, with small possession

Eobert Henrysone — About 1490

50.— THE GAJBMENT OF GOOD LADIES

Would my good lady love me best,

And work after my will,
I should a garment goodliest

Gar make her body ialL

Of high honour should be her hood,

Upon her head to wear,
Garmsh'd with governance, so good

Na deeming should her deir.

Her sark should be her body next,

Of chastity so white •
With shame and dread together mizt,

The same should be perfyte.

Her kirtle should be of clean Constance,

Lacit with lesum love ;
The xnailies of continuance,

Foi never to remove.

Her gown should be of goodlmess,

Well ribbon'd with renown ;
PnrfilTd with pleasure in ilk place,

Forxit with fine fashioun.

Her belt should be of benignity,

About her middle meet ,
Her mantle of humility,

To thole both wind and weit.

Her hat should be of fair having,

And her tippet of truth ,
Her patelet of good pausing,

Her hals-ribbon of ruth.

Her sleeves should be of osporance,

To keep her fra despair
Her glovis of good governance,

To hide her fingers fair

Her shoen should be of sickerness,

In sign that she not slide ,
Her hose of honesty, I guess?

I should for her provide.

Would she put on this garment gay,

I durst swear by my scill,
That she wore never green nor gray

That set her half so weel.

Robert Hcwrysorw — About 1100.

51.— -THE lOTFTRTiTJi AND NIGHTINGALE-

In May, as that Aurora did upspring,
With crystal een chasing the cluddos sablo,
I heard a Merle with merry notis sing
A sang of love, with voice right comfortable,
A-gpym* the orient beamis, amiable*
Upon a blissful branch of laurel green ;
This was her sentence, sweet and delectablo,
A lusty life m Lovis service been

Under ihis branch ran down a nver bright,
Of balmy liquor, crystalline of hue,
A-gam* the heavenly azure skyis light.
Where did upon the tother side pursue
A Nightingale, with sugared notis now,
Whose angel feathers as the peacock shone ;
This was her song, and of a sentence true,
AH love is lost but upon God alone.

With notis glad, and glorious harmony,
This joyful merle, so salust she the day,
While rung the woodis of her melody,
Saying, Awake, ye lovers of this May ,
Lo, fresh Flora has flourished every spray,
As nature has her taught, the noble queen,
The field been clothit in a new array ,
A lusty life in Lovis service been.

Ne'er sweeter noise was heard with living man,
Na made this merry gentle nightingale ;
Her sound went with the river as it ran,
Out through the fresh and flourished lusty

vale,

O Merle ' quoth she, 0 fool ' stint of thy talc,
For in thy song good sentence is there none,
For both is tint, the tune and the travail
Of every love but upon God alone,

Cease, quoth the Merle, thy preaching, Night-
ingale

Shall folk their youth spend into holiness ?
Of young sanotfs, grows auld femdfs, but table ,
I've, hypocrite, in yeins tenderness,
Again' the law of kind thou goes express,
That croolat age makes one with youth serene,
Whom nature of conditions made diverse .
A lusty life in Lovis service been.

Prom 1400 to 1568 J

NO TEEASUEE WITHOUT GLADNESS -[WILLIAM

The Nightingale said, Fool, remember thee,
That both in youth and eild, and every hour,
The love of God most dear to man suld be ;
That him, of nought, wrought like his own

figour,

And died Tmyigftlfj fro* dead "hiir to succour ,
O, whether was kythit there trae love or none 9
He is most true and steadfast paramour,
And love is lost but upon fa™ alone.

The Merle said, Why put God so great beauty
In ladies, with sic womanly having,
But gif he would that they suld lovit be °
To love eke nature gave them inclining,
And He of nature that workor was and king,
Would nothing frustir put, nor let be seen,
Into his creature of his own making ,
A lusty life in Lovis service been

The Nightingale said, Not to that behoof
Put God sic beauty in a lady's face,
That she suld have the thank therefor or lure,
But He, the worker, that put in her sic grace ; j
Of beauty, bounty, nches, time, or space,
And eveiy gudeness that been to come or gone
The jJiaiTilr redounds to hryn fp every place
All love is lost, but upon God alono

O Nightingale f it were a story nice,
That love suld not depend on charity ,
And, gif that virtue contrar be to vice,
Then love maun be a virtue, as thinks me ,
For, aye, to love envy maun contrar1 be
God bade eke love thy neighboor fro the

And who than ladies sweeter neighbours be *
A lusty life in Lovis service been.

The Nightingale said, Bird, why does thou

rave?

Man may take in his lady sic delight,
TTim to forget that her sic virtue gave,
And for his heaven receive her colour white ,
Her golden tre&sit hains redomite,
Like to Apollo's beamis tho they shone,
Suld not him bhnd fro' love that is perfite ,
All love is lost bat upon God alone

The Merle said, Love is cause of honour aye,
Love mafciR cowards manhood to purchase,
Love Tcpp-Teta knichtis hardy at essay,
Love Tnn.ViH wretches full of largeness,
Love nmkis sweir folks fall of business,
Love nmTns sluggards fresh and well be seen,
Love changes vice in virtuous nobleness ,
A lusty life in Lovis service been.

The Nightingale said, "True is the contrary ;
Sic frustas love it bhndis men so far,
Into then* minds it Tr^lna them to vary ,
In false vain-glory they so drunken are,
Then: wit is went, of woe they ore not waur,
While that all worship away be fro' them

gone,
Fame, goods, and strength; wherefore well

say I daur,
All love is lost but upon God alone.

Then said the Merle, Mine error I confess :
This frustis love is all but vanity .
Blind ignorance me gave sic hardiness,
To argue so again' the verity ,
Wherefore I counsel every man that he
With love not in the femdis net be tono,
But love the love that did for his love die *
ALL love is lost but upon God alone

Then sang they both with voices loud and

clear,
The Merle sang, Man, love God that has the*

wrought
The Nightingale sang, TVTnynj love the Lord

most dear,

That thee and all this world mode of nought.
The Merle said, Love him that thy love has

sought
Fro' heaven to earth, and here took flesh, and

bone.
The Nightingale sang, And with his dead thee

bought :
All love is lost, but upon him alone.

Then new thir birdis o'er the boughis sheon,
Singing of love among the leavis «r^q.n ;
Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis

grem,

Both sleeping, waking, in rest and in travail
Me to recomfort mosat it does avail,
Again for love, when love I can find none,
To think how sung this Merle and Nightin-
gale,
All love is lost but upon God alono.

William Dviibar— About 1503.

52.— THE VANITY OF EAETHLT
THINGS

This wavering world's wretchedness
The failing and fruitless business,
The misspent tune, the service vain,

For to consider is ane pom.

The sliding joy, the gladness short,
The feigned love, the false comfort,
The sweir abade, the slightful train,

For to consider is ano pain.

The suggaied mouths, with minds therefea,
The figured speech, with faces tway , ^ j

The pleasing tongues, with hearts unplain*
For to consider is ane pain.

Willwm Piwi&ar. — About 1505. •

53 —NO TEEASUEE WITHOUT GLAD-
NESS.

BE merry, Tnn.ii, and tab nought far in mynd
The wavering of this wretched world of

sorrow,
To God be humble, to thy friend be kind,

WILLIAM DUNBAR]

OF DISCRETION IN GIVING.

[SECOND PERIOD —

And with thy neighbours gladly lend and
"borrow ,

His chance to-night it may be thine to-
morrow
Be blythe in heart for ony aventure ,

For with wysane it hath been said af orrow,

Without gladness availed no treasure

Hak the gn.de cheer of it that God thee sends ,
For warld's wrack but weilfare nought
avails,

Na gude is thine, save only but thou spends —
Remenant all, thou bnukis but with bails
Seek to solace when sadness thee assails,

In dolour lang thy life may not endure ,
Wherefore of comfort set up all thy sail,

Without gladness availf s no treasure

Follow on pity ; flee trouble and debate ,
With famous f olkfo hold thy company

Be charitable and humble in thine estate,
For wardly honour lestis but a cry
For trouble in earth take no melancholy ;

Be rich in patience, if thou in goods be poor
Who livfs merry he lives mightily ,

Without gladness availls no treasure

William Dztutar — About 1505

54 —OF DISCRETION IN GIVING

To speak of gifts and aJmos deeds ,

Some gives for mei.it, and some for moods ,

Some wardly honour to uphie ,
Some gives to them that nothing needs ,

In Giving sould Discretion be

Somo gives for pride and glory vain ,
Some gives with grudging and with pain ,

Some gives on piattiok for supplie ,
Some gives for twice as gude again

In Giving sould Discretion be

Some gives for thank, and some for threat ,
Some gives money, and some gives meat ,

Some givis wordis fair and she ,
And gifts fra some may na man treit

In Giving sould Discretion be

Some is for gift sae lang required,
While that the craver be so tired,

That ere the gift delivered be,
The thank is frustrate and expired ,

In Giving sould Discretion be.

Some gives so little full wretchedly,
That all his gifts are not set by,

And for a hood-pick halden is he,
That all the warld ones on him, Fye »

In Giving sould Discretion be.

Some in his giving is so large.
That all o'erladen is his barge;

Then vice and prodigahtie,
There of his honour does discharge

In Giving sould Discretion be.

Some fco the rich gives his gear,
That might his giftis wool forbear ,

And, though the pool ioi fault sould dio,
His cry not enters in his oar

In Giving sould Discretion l>o

Some gives to strangers w*th faces now9
That yesterday fra llandorn flow ;

And to auld servants list not woo,
Were they never ot ROO groat virtue :

In Giving- flould Dibcrotion be.

Some gives to them can ask and ploinyio,
Some gives to them can flatter and foigme ;

Some gives to men of honowtio,
And halds all janglors at disdonyjo •

In Giving sould Discretion bo

Some gottifl gifts and rich arrays,
To swear all that his master sayw,

Though all the controir wocl kuaws ho ;
Are mony HLC now in thir days

In Giving sould Dworutiou bo

Some gives to gndo mon for their thoww •
Some gives to trumpourH and to shrowH ;

Some gives to knaw hi-i authentic,
But in their office gndo f'ind in few IH ;

In Giving sould Discretion bo.

Some givis parochmefl full wide,
Barks of St Bernard and St JBndo,

The people to teach ami to o'ornco,
Though he nao wit has thorn to guido :

In Giving fioulcl Diwurotion bo

WtllittM Uvu'irtr—Altoui 1505.

55 — OF DISCRETION IN TAKING.

After Giving I hpoak of Tulun<*,
But httlo of ony grade forHa.kin# ;

Some takes o'er little authentic,
And some o'er nucklo, and that in glaiking

In Taking sould DiHorotion bo.

The clcikH takes benefices with brawlH,
Somo of Sb Peter and Homo ot Ht Paul's ;

Tak ho the rcntp, no euro IUIH ho,
Suppose the devil tuk ull thoir Haulw

In Taking soald DiHCTrstion bo

Barons takr« fia the lotJtiiits puir
All frnit Ihati i»iow',< on Iho hir,

In moilB »md gcry^n'* raiiut o or liio ;
And garH thorn bo£ fra, door to door

In Taking fiouM DiwcTotion bo

Some morchaudfl taks ii'iloosomo wino,
Whilk maks their packs oft timo full thiu,

By thoir succession tw yo may POO,
That ill-won gear 'riches not the kin •

In Taking sould Diwretion bo

Some toks othor momus tacks,
And on the puir oppression maks,

And never remembers that ho maun dio,
Till that the gallows gars him rax -

In Taking sould Discretion be.

JFVowl400/nl55S]

MORNING IN MAY.

DOUGLAS

Some taks by sea, and some by land,
And never fra taking can hold their hand.

Till he be tyit up to ano tree ,
And syne they gar him understand,

In Taking sould Discretion be

Some wald tak all his neighbour's gear ,
Had he of man as little fear

As he has dread that God him see ;
To tak then sould he never forbear :

Tn Taking sould Discretion be

Some wald tak all this warld on breid ,
And yet not satisfied of their need,

Through heart unsatiable and greedie •
Some wald tak little, and can not ppeed :

In Taking so-old Discretion be

Great men for taking and oppression.
Are set full famous at the Session

And pur takers are hangit hie,
Shawit for ever, and then- succession

In Taking sould Discretion be

William DMibcur — About 1505.

56— THE SHIPWRECK OP THE CARA-
VEL OF CEACE.

PART III 8TA2TCA Y33

As we bono on the high hilU situate.

"Look down," quoth she, "conceive in what

estate

Thy wretched world thou may roneader no\r ' '
At her command, with neikk dread God

wait,

Out oure the hill sae hideoup, lug-b, and strait
I blent adown, and felt my body grow —
This brukU earth, sae little till allow,
Methought I saw burn in a fiery rage
Of stormy sea whilk might nae manner

'suage

VIII

That terrible tempest's hideous wallis huge
Were maist grislie for to behald or judge,
Where neither rest nor quiet might appeal ,
There was a perilous place folk for to lodge,
There was nae help, support, nor yet refuge
Innumerable folk I saw flotteiand in fear,
Whilk perished on the weltering wallis weir
And secondly I saw a lustie barge
Onreset with seas and many a stormy charge

This goodly CarweU, toildit trout on raw.
With blanched sad, milk-white as ony snaw,
Sight souer, tight, and wonder strongly

beildit,

Was on the baardin wallis quite o'erthraw
Oontrariously the blusterous winds did blaw
In bubbis thick, that nae ship's sail might

wield it.
Now sank she low, now high to heaven np-

heHdit;

At every part sae (the) sea, windis draif,
While on ane sand the ship did burst and
claif.

It was a piteous thing, — «.lftiV3 alaik '
To hear the doleful cry when that she straik ,
Maist lamentable the perished folk to see1
Sae fazmst, drowkit, mait, forwrought, and

walk,
Some on ane plank of fir-tree, and some of

aik,

Some hang upon a taJdll, some on ane tree ;
Some frae their grAp soon washen by the sea ,
Part drownit, part to the rock fleit or swam
On raips or bmrds, syne up the hill they clam

XI

Tho at my nymph briefly I did enquire.
What signified that fearful wonders sen* ,
| '* Ton multitude," said she, " of people

drownit,

Are faithless folk, whilkis, while they are hero,
Misknawis God, and follows their pleseir,
Wherefore they shall an endless fire be bnnt,
Yon lusty ship thou sees perished and tint,
In whom yon people made ane perilous race,
SLo hecLr the CarweU of the state of Grace "

Ye bene all born the son« of ire, I guc«s,
Syne through bapt>m get? grace and faith-
fulness ,

Then in yon CarweU snrely ye remain,
Oft stormested with this waild's bruckleness,
Wliile that ye fall in sin and wretchedness

paan.

Then ship-broke shall ye drown in endless
Except by faith ye find the plank again,
By Christ working good works, I understand ,
Remain therewith, thir 8~ha.11 you bring to
land.

Qawain Douglas. — About 151C

57.— MORNING IN MAY.

I As fresh Aurore, to mighty Tithon Espouse,
Ished of her saffron bed and ivor house,
In cram'sy clad and grained violate,
With sanguine cape, and selvage purp uaie,
TJnshet the windows of her large hall,
Spread all with roses, and full of balm royal,
And eke the heavenly porfas chrystalLnu
Unwarps braid, the warld tall illumme ,
The twinkling streamers of the orient
Shed purpour spramgs, with gold and azure

meni

Ecus, the steed, with ruby harness red,
Above the seas Lffas forth his head,
Of colour sore, and somedeal brown as berry,
For to ahchten and glad our emispery ,
The flame out-bureten at the neisthirK
So fast Phaeton with the whip him whirls. * *

GAWAIN DOUGLAS ]

MOENDTG IN 1CAY

[SECOND FEUTOD —

While shortly, with the bleezand torch of day,
Abulyit in his lemand fresh array,
Fnrth of his palace royal ishit Phoebus,
With golden crown and -visage glorious,
Crisp hairs, bncht as chrysolite or topaz ,
For whase hue micht nane behald his face* * *
The aunate vanes of his throne eovetane
With glitterand glance o'erspread the oceane ;
The large* fludes, lemand all of licht,
But with ane blink of his supernal sicht.
For to behald, it was ane glore to see
The stabled windis, and the calmed sea,
The soft; season, the firmament serene,
The loune illuminate air and firth axnene * *
And lusty Flora did her bloomis spread
Under the feet of Phoebus' sulyart-steed ,
The swarded soil embrode with selcouth hues,
Wood and forest, obnumbrate with bewa * *
Towers, turrets, Inmala, and pinnacles hie,
Of kirks, castles, and ilk fair citie,
Stude painted, every fane, phiol, and stage,
Upon the plain ground by their awn umbrage.
Of Eolus* north blasts havand no dreid,
The soil spread her braid bosom on-breid ,
The corn-crops and the beir new-braird
With gladsome garment revesting the yerd. *
The prai besprent with springand sprouts

dispers

For caller humours on the dewy mchfc
Bendermg some place the gerse-piles their

lioht;

As far as cattle the long summer's day
Had in their pasture eat and nip away ,
And blissful blossoms in the bloomed yerd,
Submits their heids to the young sun's safe-
guard.

Ivy leaves rank o'erspread the barmkin wall ,
The bloomed hawthorn clad his pikis all ,
Forth of fresh bourgeons the wine grapes

ying

Bndland the trellis did on twisfas frtng ;
The loukit buttons on the gemmed trees
O'erspreadand leaves of nature' s tapestries ,
Soft grassy verdure after balmy shouirs,
On curland stalkis smiland to then flouirs •* *
The daisy did on-breid her crownal small,
And every flouer unlappit in the dale. * *
Sere dowms small on dentition sprang-,
The young green bloomed strawberry leaves

ft.7nfl.npp t

Jimp jeryfiouirs thereon leaves unbhet,
Fresh primrose and the purpour violet ; * *
Heavenly lilies, with locfcerand toppis white,
Opened and shew their orestis redemite * *
Ane paradise it seemed to draw near
Thir galyard gardens and each green herbere
Maist amiable wax the emeraut meads ;
Swarmis souohis through out the respand

reeds.

Over the lochis and the fludis gray,
Searohand by kmd ane place where they should

lay.

FhoBbus' red fowl, his cural crest can steer,
.Oft streikand forth his heckle, orawand deer
Amid the wortis and the rutis gent
Plokand his meat in alleys where he went,

His wivis Toppa and Partolot him by —
A bird all-tune that haunfas bigamy
The painted powne paoand with plumes gym,
Kest up his tail ane proud plesand wheol-nm,
Ishrouded in his feathering bright and sheen,
Shapand the prent of Argus' hundred eon

ATnn.T>gr the bOWlS of the olive twists,

Sere small fowls, workand crafty nests,
Endlang- the hedges thick, and on rank aikfl
Hk bird rejoicand with their mirthful mokes.
In corners and clear fenestres of glass,
Full busily Arachne weavand was,
To knit her nettis and her wobbis slie,
Therewith to catch the little midge or file.
So dusty powder upstours in every stroot,
While corky gaspit for the fervent heat
Under the bowis bene in lufely vales,
Within fermance and parkis close of pales,
The busteous buckis rakis f urth on raw,
Herdis of hertis through the thick wood-shaw
The young fawns followand the dun daes,
Kids, skippand through, runms after raes.
In leisure and on leyis, little lambs
Full tait and trig socht bletand to their flfrTng
On salt streams wolk Dorida and Thetis,
By nnnand strandis, Nymphis and NoiadiS,
Sic as we clepe wenches and damysels,
In gbEi&y graves wanderand by spring wells *
Of bloomed branches and flowers white and

red,

Plettand their lusty chaplets for their head
Some sang nng-songes, dances, leids, and

rounds.

With voices shrill, while all the dale resounds
Whereso they walk into their caroling,
For amorous lays does all the rockis ring.
Ane sang, " The ship sails over the salt faom,
wVLl bring the mei chants and my leman hame "
Some other sings, " I will be blythe and Uoht,
My heart is lent upon so goodly wicht '*
And thoughtful lovers roums to and fro,
To leis their pain, and plein their jolly woe
After their guise, now smgand, now in sorrow,
With %hearhs pensive the lang- summer's mor-
row

Some ballads list indite of his I-vi;y ;
Some Iwis m hope , and some all uttoily
Despamt is, and sae quite out of qracc,
His purgatory he finds m every place * *
Dame Nature's menstrals, on that other part
Their blissfull lay intoning every art, * *
And all small f owlis singis on the spray,
Welcome the lord of licht, and lampo of day,
Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green,
Welcome qmckener of flounst flouirs sheen,
Welcome support of every rute and vein,
Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain,
Welcome the birdis beild upon the brier,
Welcome master and ruler of the year,
Welcome weelfare of husbands at the plewfl,
Welcome repairer of woods, trees, and bewa,
Welcome depainter of the bloomit meads,
Welcome the life of every thing that spreads,
Welcome storer of all kind bestial,
Welcome be thy bncht beamis gladdand all * *
QOAOOMI Douglas — About 1510.

From 1400 to 1558 ] DESCEEPTION OF SQUYEE MELDEUM. [Sia DAVID LYNDSAY

58 --GEIEVANCES OP A SCOTTISH PEA-
SANT OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTUEY.

Pauper

MY father was an auld iimn and ane hoar,
And was of age four score (of) years or more
And Maid, my mother, was four score and

fifteen,

And with, my labour I did them baith sustene
We had ane meir that oarryit salt and coal,
And ever ilk year she brought us fr^-Tue one

foal.

We had three ky, that was baith fat and fair,
None tidier into the toun of Ayr
My father was sae waik of bluid and bane
That he deit, wherefbre my mother made

great mane;

Then she deit within ane day or two,
And there began my poverty and wo
Our gude grey meir was baitand on the field,
And our land's laird took her for his heryield
The vicar took the best cow by the held
Incontinent, when my father was deid
And when the vicar heard tell how that my

mother

Was deid, fra hand, he took till him the other
Then Meg, my wife, did mnrn baith even and

morrow,

Till at the last she deit for veno sorrow ,
And when the vicar heard tell my wife was

deid,

The thrid cow he oleiket by the head
Their upmost clais, that was of raploch grey,
The vicar garb his clork bear them away
When all was gane, I micht ™n> 71^ debeat,
But with my bairns passed for till beg my

meat

Now have I tauld you the black verifae,
How I am broohtinto this misery

Diligence.

How did the parson? was he not thy gride
freend?

Paitpei

he curst me for my tiend

And holds me yet under that same process,
That gart me want the sacrament at Pasche.
In gude faith, Sir, thocht he wad cut my

throat,

I have nae gear except ane English groat,
Whilk I purpose to give ane man of law.

Diligence.

Thou art the daftest Me that e'er I saw
Trows thou, man, by the law to get remold
Of men of kirk ? Na, nocht till thou be deid

Pawper.

*3ir, by what law, tell me, wherefore or why ?
That ane vicar should tab fra me three ky ^

Diligence

They have nae law excepting consuetude,
Whdk law to them is sufficient and crude.

Pauper.

Ane consuetude aganes the common weil,
Should be nae law, I think, by sweet Saoct

GeilL

Whaur will ye find that law, tell gif ye can,
To tak three ky fra ane puir husband man ?
Ane for my father, and for my wife ane other,
An the thrid cow he took for Maid, my

Diligence.

It is their law , all that they have in use,
Thocht it be cow, sow, ganer, gryce, or guse.

Pauper

Sn I wad spexr at you ane question ,
Behald some prelates of this region —

Diligence.
Hald thy tongue, man, it seoms that thou

were mangit

Speak thou of priests, but doubt, thou will be
hangit

BIT David Lyndsay — About 1520

59 —THE EXACTIONS AND DELAY OF
THE LAW

Pauper

I lent my gossop my meir to fetch hame cools,
And he her dioun'd into the querrel holes
And I ran to the consistory for to plenye*,
And there I happened among one greedy

They gave me first ane- thing they call ci-

Within aucht days I gat but libellandum ;
Within one month I gat ad opponendum ;
In ane half year I gat inter loquenclum ;
An syne I gat — how call ye it? — ad repli-

cmidum ;
But, I could never ane word yet understand

him.

An then, they gart me cost out monyplocks,
And gart me pay for four and twenty acts ,
But or they came half gate to conclvdendvm,
The fient a plack was left for to defend him.
Thus they postponed me twa year, with their

tram,

Syne, Jiodie ad octo, bode me come again.
An then thir rooks they roupit wonder fast,
For sentence silver they oryit at the last
Of pronunciandum they mode me wonder

fain ;
But I gat ne'er my gude grey men: again

Su David Lyndsay. — About 1520.

60 — DESCBIPTION OF SQUYBE MEL-
DEUM

He was bot twiniae yeins of age,
Quahen he began his vassalage
Proporidonat weiH, of mid stature :
Feirie and wicht and micht endure

SIB DAVID LYNDSAY ]

MELDBUM'S DUEL

[SBCONJ> PERIOD. —

Owrset with travell both mcht and day,
Bicht hardie baith an ermat and play
Blyith in countenance, noht fair of face,
And stude weill ay in his ladies grace
For he was wondir amiabill,
And ni all deidis honourabill ,
And ay his honour did advance,
In Ingland first and syne in France
And thaie his manheid did assail
Under the kingis great admirall,
Qnhen the greit navy of Scotland
Passit to the sea againis Ingland

&r Dcwzii Lyndsay — About 1520

61 — MELDRTOTS DUEL "WITH THE
ENGUSH CHAMPION TALBAIiT.

Then clanouns and trumpets blow.
And weiriours many hither drew ,
On eviry side come mony man
To behald wha the battel wan
The field was in the meadow green,
Qohare everie man micht weil be seen
The heraldis put tham sa in order,
That na m»ni pa«<t within the border,
Nor preissit to com within the green,
Bot heraldis and tho campiouns keen ;
The order and the circumstance
Wer lang to put in remembrance
Qnhen thir twa nobillmen of weir
Wer weill aoooutent in their geir,
And in thair handis strong burdounis,
Than trumpete* blew and olanounis,
And heraldis cryit hie on hicht,
Now let thame go — God shaw the ncht
# # * *• *

Than trumpettia blew triumphantly,
And thay twa campiouns eagerlio,
They spurrit their hors with speiron breist,
Pertly to prief their pith they preist.
That round nut-room was at utterance,
Bot Talbart's hors with one mischance
H r outtent, and to run was laith ,
Qnharof Talbart was wonder wraith
The Squyer forth his nnk he ran,
Commendit weill with every man,
And him, disoharget of his speir
Honesthe, like ane man of weir
* * * * w

* The trenchour of the Squyreis spoir
' Stak sin]! into Sir Talbart's geir ,
•* Than everie man into that steid
t Did all beleve that he was dede
*JThe Squyer lap ncht haaatilhe
ITrom his coursour delivoilie,
A\d to Sir Talbart made support,
And humfllie did "him comfort
Wh&n Talbart saw into his sohield
ATM*: otter in ane silver field,
This* race, said he, I sair may row,
For I see weilL my dreame was true ,
Metfhocht yon otter gart me bleid,
And-bnir me backward from my sted ,
But "heir I vow to God soverane,
That I sail never just agane

And sweithe to the Squiyre said,
Thou knawis the oumung that we made,
Quhilk of us twa suld tyne tho field,
He suld baith hors and armour yield
Till fa™ that wan, quhairf ore I will
My hors and harness geve the* till.
Then said the Squyer, oourteouslie,
Brother, I thank you harfcf ullie ;
Of you, forsooth, nothing I crave,
For I have gotten that I would have

Svr Dawd Lyitdsay. — About 1520.

62 —CHRIST COMING TO JUDGMENT.

As fireflauoht hastily glancing,

Descend shall the maist heavenly Xing.

As Phoebus in the orient

Lightens in haste the Occident,

Sae pleasandly he shall appear

ATnp.Tig the heavenly cluddis clear.

With great pow&r and majesty,

Above the country of Judie ,

As clerkis doth conclude in haill,

Direct above the lusty vale

Of Josaphat and Mount Olivet

All prophecy there flh.n,n complete

The angelti of the orders nine

Environ shall that throne Divmo "

With heavenly consolation,

'M'qjr^'ing Tn^fl ministration

In his presence there shall be borne

The signs of cross and crown of thorn,

Pillar, -"fl^gj soourgis, and spear,

With evenlk thing that did him deir,

The tame of Trtg grim passion 7

And, for our consolation,

Appear Bha.11, in his hands and foot

And in his side, the print complete

Of his five woundis precious,

Shining like rubies radious.

Skr Dawd Lyntlsay — About 1520.

63 —TO MISTRESS MAEGAEET HUSSEY.

Merry Margaret,

Aa midsummer flower

Gentle as falcon,

Or hawk of the tower ,

With solace and gladness,

Much mirth and no madness

All good and no badness ,

So joyously,

So maidenly,

So womanly,

Her demeaning,

In everything,

Far, far passing

That I con indite,

Or suffice to write,

Of merry Margaret,

As midsummer flower,

Gentle as falcon

Or hawk of the tower ,

J?Vw»i 1400 to 1558 J

NO AGE CONTENT.

[HOWARD, E

As patient and as still,

And as full of goodwill,

As fair Isiphil,

Coliander

Sweet Pomander,

Good. Cassander ;

Stedfast of thought

Well made, well wrought

Far may be sought,

Ere you can find

So courteous* so kind,

As merry Margaret,

This midsummer flowery

Gentle as falcon,

Or hawk of the tower.

John Skeltoa —About 1520.

64.— IMPRISONED IN WINDSOR, HE BE-
COXJNTETH HIS PLEASURE THMK.T3
PASSED.

So cruel prison how could betide, alas '
As proud Windsor P Where I in lust and joy,
With a king's son. my childish years did pass,
In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy ;
Where each sweet place returns a taste fall sour
The large green courts, where we were wont to

rove,

With eyes upcast unto the maiden's tower,
And easy sighs, such as folk draw in love
The stately seats the ladies bright of hue,
The dances short, long tales of great delight ,
With words and looks that tigers could but rue,
When each of us did plead the other's right
The palm play, where desported for the game,
With dazed eyes oft we, by gleams of love,
Have miss'd the ball, and got sight of our dame,
To bait her eyes, which kept the leads above
The gravelTd ground, with sleeves tied on the

helm,
On foaming horse with swords and friendly

With cheer as though one should anotherwhelm,
Where we have fought, and chased oft with

darts.

With silver drops the meads yet spread forruth ;
In active games of nimbloness and strength,
Where we did strain, trained with swarms of

youth,

Our tender limbs that yet shot up in length
The secret groves, which oft we made resound
Of pleasant plaint, and of our ladies* praise ,
Beoording oft what grace each one had found,
What hope of speed, what dread of long delays
The wild forest, the clothed holts with green ,
With reins avail' d, and swift /breathed horse,
With cry of hounds, and merry blasts between,
Where we did chase the fearful hart of force.
The void walls eke that harbour'd us each

night:

Wherewith, alas ! revive within my breast
The sweet accord, such sleeps as yet delight ,
The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest ;

The secret thoughts, imparted with such trust ;
The wanton talk, the divers change of play ,
The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just,
Wherewith we past the winter nights away
And with this thought the blood forsakes the

face;

The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue
The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas '
TJpsupped have, thus I my plaint renew :
0 place of bliss ! renewer of my woes I
Give me account, where is my noble fere P
Whom in thy walls thou didst each night

enclose;

To other lief but imto me most dear.
Echo, alas ! that doth my sorrow rue,
Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint.
Thus I alone, where all my freedom grew,
In prison pine, with bondage and restraint
And with remembrance of the greater grief,
To banish the less, I find my chief relief.

Howard, Ecurl of Surrey. — About 1535.

65 — NO AGE CONTENT W1TJ± HIS
OWN ESTATE.

Laid in my quiet bed,

In study as I weie,
I saw within my troubled head,

A heap of thoughts appear.

And every thought did show

So lively in mine eyes,
That now I sighed, and then I smiled,

A? cause of thoughts did nse.

I saw the little boy,

In thought how oft that he

Did wish of God, to scape the rod,
A tall young man to be*

The young man eke that feels

, TT-ia bones with pains opprest,
How he would be a nch old man,
To live and lie at rest .

The rich old man that sees

TTTa end draw on so sore,
How he would be a boy again,

To live so much the more

Whereat full oft I smiled,
To see how all these three,

From boy to man, from man to boy,
Would chop and change degree .

And wflgi-ng thus, I think,

The case is very strange,
That man from wealth, to live in woe,

Doth ever seek to change.

Thus thoughtful as I lay,

I saw my withered skin,
How it doth show my dented thews.

The flesh was worn so thin ;

HOWABD, E. os1 SUBHET ] TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE.

[SECOND PERIOD —

And eke my toothless chaps,

The gates of my right way,
That opes and shuts as I do speak,

Do thus unto me say

The white and hoansh hairs,

The messengers of age,
That show, like lines of true belief,

That this bf e doth assuage ;

Bids thee lay hand, and feel

Them ha-Tigi»g on my chin.
The which do write two ages past,

The third now coming in.

Hang up, therefore, the bit

Of thy young wanton time ,
And thou that therein beaten art,

The happiest life define

Whereat I sighed, and said,

Farewell my wonted joy,
Truss up thy pack, and trudge from me,

To every little boy ,

Aad tell them thus from me,

Their tune most happy is,
If to their time they reason hod,

To know the truth of this

Howard, Earl of Surrey — About 1535

66— THE MEANS, TO ATTAIN HAPPY
LIFE

Mp-Ttmlj the things that do attain
The happy life, be these, I find,

The riches left, not got with pain ,
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind,

The equal friend , no grudge, no strife.
No charge of rule, nor governance ;

Without disease, the healthful life ,
The household of continuance :

The mean diet, no delicate fare ;

True wisdom joined with simpleness ,
The night discharged of all care ,

Where wine the wit may not oppress

The faithful wife, without debate ,
Such sleeps as may beguile the night ,

Contented with thine own estate,
Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.

flbi>a?(Z, Jfa} i of Sumy. — Abo"t 1535

67— DESCRIPTION OF SPRING.

The soote season, that bud and bloom forth

brings,

With green hath clod the Mil, and eke the vale,
The nightingale with feathers new she sings ,
The turtle to her moke hath told her tale
Summer is come, for every spray now springs
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ,
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ,
The fishes fleet with new repaired scale *

The adder all her slough away she flings ,
The swift swallow puraueth the flies small ,
The busy bee her honey now she mings ,
Winter is worn that was the flower's bale
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.
JSfa/l of Swr3y — About 1535.

68 — HOW EACH THING, SAVE THE
LOVER, IN SPRING RE7TVETH TO
PLEASURE

When Windsor walls sustain'd my wearied arm;
My hand my chin, to ease my restless head ,
The pleasant plot revested green with worm ,
The blossom' d boughs with lusty ver yspread ;
The flower'd meads, the wedded birds so late
Mine eyes discover , and to my mind resort
The jolly woes, the hateless short debate,
The rakehell life that longs to love's disport
Wherewith, alas ' the heavy charge of oare
Heap'd in my breast, breaks forth against my

will

In smoky sighs that overcast the air
My vapour' d eye such dreary tears distil,
The tender green they quicken where they fall ;
And J half bend to throw me down withal

Howard,, Sari of 8wrrey — About 1535.

69— DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF
HIS LOUE GERALDINE.

From Taskane came my ladies worthy race .
Faire Florence was sometime her aunoient

The western yle, whose ple^ant shore doth face
Wilde Cambers cliis, did gyve her liuely

heate

Fostrod she was with milke of Irish brest ;
Her sire, an Erie , her dame of princes blood ,
Fn-n toider yeres, in Bntaia sho doth robt
With k T£63 childe, where she tasteth costly

fool

Ho^-silon did first present her to mine yien ,
Bright is her hewe, and Geraldine she night ,
Hampton me taught to wisho hor first for

mine
And Windaor, alas, doth chaso mo from her

sight

Hor beauty of land, her vertuos from abouo ,

Happy is he, that can obtaine her loue '
Eat I of Murray — About 1535.

70— A VOW TO LOUE

Set me whereas the sunne doth parohe the

grene,

Or where his beames do not dissolve the yse i
In temperate heate where he is felt and sene :
In presence Drest of -oeople madde or wise ;

JVo/n 1400 to 1558]

THE LOVER'S LUTE

[SiB THOMAS WTAT.

Set me la hye, or yet in low degree ,
In longest night, or in the shortest daye .
In dearest skie, or where doudes thickest be ,
In lusty youth, or when my heeres are graye .
Set me in heauen, in earth, or els in hell,
In hyll or dale, or in the f ommg flood,
Thrall, or at large, aline whereso I dwell,
Sicke or in health, in euiU fame or good .
Hers will I be, and onely with this thought
Content my self, although my ohaunce be
nought

Howard, Sari of Bur fey — About 1535

71 —A LOVEB'S COMPLAINT.

I never sawe my Ladye laye apart,

Her cornet blacke, in colde nor yet in heate.

Sith fyrst she knew my grief e was growen so

greate,

Whiche other fansies driueth from my hart
That to my self I do the thought reserae,
The which unwares did wound my woeful

brest,

But on her face mine eyes mought neuer rest
Yet ama she knew I did her loue and seme,
Her golden tresses oladde alway with blacke ,
Her smylmg lokes that hid thus euermore,
And that restrames whiohe I desire so sore
So dothe thys cornet gouerne me alacke ;
In somer, sunne in winters breathe, a froste
Wherby the light of her faare lokes I lost
Howard, Sari of Swrey. — About 1585

72 —THE LOVEB COMPLATNETH OF
THE TTNEGNDNESS OF HIS LOVE

My lute, awake ' perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun ,
' For when this song is sung and past,
My lute be still, for I have done.

As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon •
Should we then sing, or sigh, or moan P
No. no, my lute ' for I have done

The rooks do not so cruelly
Bepulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affection ;
So that I am past remedy ,
Whereby my lute and I have done.

Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts, thorough Love's shot,
By whom, unkind ' thou hast them won
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.

Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain,
That mak'st but game of earnest payne.
Think not alone under the sun,
Unqmt the cause thy lovers plaine,
Although my lute and I have done.

May chance thee lye withred and old,
In winter nights that are so cold,
Playning in vain unto the moon ,
Thy wishes then dare not be told ,
Care then who list ! for I have done.

And then may chaunce thee to repent
The tune that thou hast lost and spent,
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon ;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent.
And wish and want, as I have done

Now cease, my lute ! this is the last
Labour that thou and I «Ti».n waste,
And ended is that I begun ;
Now is this song both sung and past ;
My lute f be stall, for I have done

if if Thomas Wyat—Alout 1535.

73— THE LOVEB'S LUTE CANNOT BE
BLAMED, THOUGH IT SING OF HIS
LADTS UNKINDNESS

Blame not my Late ' for he must sound

Of this or that as hketh me,
For lack of wit the Lute is bound

To give such tunes as pleaseth me ;
Though my songs be somewhat strange,
And speak such words as touch my change?
Blame not my Lute I

My Lute, alas ' doth not offend,

Though that per force he must agree
To sound such tunes as I intend,

To sing to them that heareth me ,
Then though my songs be somewhat plain,
And toucheth some that use to feign,

Blame not my Lute '
My Lute and strings may not deny,

But as I strike they must obey ;
Break not them then so wrongfully,

But wreak thyself some other way ;
And though the songs which I indite,
Do quit thy change with rightful spite,

Blame not my Lute !

Spite asketh spite, and changing change,
And falaed faith, must needs be known ;

The faults so great, the case so strange ;
Of right it must abroad be blown .

Then since that by thine own desert

My songs do tell how true thon art,

Blame not my Lute '

Blame but thyself that hast misdone,
And well deserved to have blame ;

Change thou thy way, so evil begone,
And then my Lute *h*X\ sound that same ,

But if till then my fingers play,

By thy desert their wonted way,

Blame not my Lute !

SIB THOMAS WYAT ] THE RE-CURED LOVER EXULTETH [SECOND PERIOD. —

Farewell ' unknown , for though thou break
My stnngs in spite with great disdain,

Tet have I found out for thy sake,
Strings for to string my Lute again .

And if perchance this silly rhyme,

Do make thee blush at any tune,

Blame not my Lute '

Sir TJiomas Wyat — About 1535

74 — THE RE-CURED LOVEB EXULTETH
IN HIS FREEDOM, AND VOWETH TO
' FREE UNTIL DEATH.

I am as I am, and so will I be ;
Bub how that I am none knoweth truly.
Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free,
I am as I am, and so will I be.

I lead my hf e indifferently ,
I mean nothing but honesty ;
And. though folks judge full diversely,
I am as I am, and so will I die.

I do not rejoice, nor yet complain,
Both mirth and sadness I do refrain,
And use the means since folks will feign ;
Yet I am as I am, be it pleasant or pain

Divers do judge as they do trow,
Some of pleasure and some of woe,
Tet for all that nothing they know ,
But I am as I am, wheresoever I go

But BUK- jidgers do thus decay,
Let every man, his judgment say ;
I will it take in sport and play,
For I am as I am, whosoever say nay,

Who judgeth well, well God them send ;
Who judgeth. evil, God them amend ;
To judge the best therefore intend,
For I am as I am, and so will I end.

Yet some there be that take delight,
To judge folk's thought for envy and spite ;
But whether they judge me wrong or right,
I am as I am, and so do I write

Praying you all that this do read,
To trust it as you do your creed ,
And not to tTrnilr I change my weed,
For I am as I am, however I speed.

But how that is I leave to you ,
Judge as ye list, false or true,
Ye know no more ffray afore ye knew,
Yet I am as I am, whatever ensue.

And from this mind I will not flee,
But to you all that misjudge me,
I do protest, as ye mcy see,
That I am as I am, and so will be.

Sir Tkoma* Wyrt.— About 1535

75 —THAT PLEASURE IS MIXED WITH
EVERY PAIN

Venomous thorns that are so sharp and keen
Bear flowers, we see, full fresh and fair of
hue,

Poison is also put in medicine,

And unto man his health doth oft renew.

The fixe that all things eke oonsumeth clean,
May hurt and heal then if that this be
true,

I trust some tune my harm may be my health,

Since every woe is joined with some wealth

Bvr Thouias Wyat. — About 1535

76 —A DESCRIPTION OF STTOH A ONE
AS HE WOULD LOVE

A face that should content me wondrous well,
Should not be fair, but lovely to behold
With gladsome cheer, all grief for to ezpell ;
With sober looks so would I that it should
Speak without words, such words as none can

tell,

The tress also should bo of crisped gold
With wit and these, might ohanco I might be

tied,
And kjit again with knot that should not slide*

Sir Tliomas Wyat — About 1585.

77 — AN EARNEST SUIT TO HIS UNKIND
MISTRESS NOT TO FORSAKE TTTM".

And wilt thou leave mo thus P
Say nay ' say nay ' for shame f
To save theo from the blame
Of all my grief and grame
And wilt thou leave mo thufl p
Say nay ' say nay '

And wilt thou leave mo thus ?
That hath lov'd thee so long P
In wealth and woe among
And is thy heart so strong-
As for to leave mo thus ?
Say nay ' say nay '

And wilt thou leave me tlyus P
That hath given thco my heart,
Never for to depart,
Neither for pcun nor wnurt,
And wilt thou leave mo thus P
Say nay ' say nay '

And wilt thou leave mo thus \f
And have no more pity
Of fa™ that loveth theo ,
Alas ' thy cruelty '
And wilt thou leave me thus P
T ' say nay '

Sir Thomas Wyat.— About 1535.

From 1400 to 1558 ] INTRODUCTION TO BOOK OF HUSBANDRY. [THOMAS TTTSSHB.

78 —TO BIS MISTBESS.

Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I hare meant ;
My great travail so gladly spent,
Forget not yet !

Forget not yet when first began
The weary life, ye know since whan,
The suit, the sernee,, none tell can ,
Forget not yet !

Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wiong, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in delays,
Forget not yet '

Forget not '—Oh ' forget not this,
How long ayo hath been, and is
The mind that never meant amiss,
Forget not yet '

Forget not then thine own approved,
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved,
Forget not this '

/Sh/' Tliomas Wyat —Alovt 1535

79 — HE LAMENTETH THAT HE TTAr>
EYBR CAUSE TO DOUBT HIS LADTS
FAITH

Deem as ye hht upon good cause,
I may or th-|T>k' of this or that ,
But what or why myself best knows,
Wheieby I think and fo«ur not
But thereunto I may well think
The doubtful sentence of thin clause ,
I would it were not as I think ,
I would I thought it were not

For if I thought it were not so,
Though it woie so, it gnev'd me not ;
Unto my thought it were aa th/>
I hearkened though I hear not
At that I see I cannot wink,
Nor from my thought so let it go
I would it were not as I •*ft*r>Tr ,
I would I thought it were not.

Lo ' how my thought might make me free,
Of that perchance it needs not •
Perchance none doubt the dread I see ,
I ahrynlr at that I bear not
But in my heart this word shall sink,
Until the proof may better be
I would it were not as I think ,
I would I thought it were not

If it be not, shew no cause why
I should so think, then rare I not ,
For I shall BO myself apply
To be that I appear not.
That is, as one that shall not shrink
To be your own until I die ,
And if that be not as I think,
Likewise to tib-mlr it is not.

SwTJiomas Wyat—, About 1535

80.— -OHABACTEBISTIC OF AN"
ENGUSHMAN.

I am an Englishman, and naked I stand here,
Musing m my mind what garment I «fa»ll

wear,
For now I will wear this, and now I will wear

that,

Now I will wear I cannot tell what
All new fashions be pleasant to me,
I will have them whether I thrive or thee •
Now I am a fisher, all men on me look
What should I do but set cock on the hoop P
What do I care if all the world me fail,
I will have a garment reach to my tail
Then I am a minion, for I wear the new guise,
The next year after I hope to be wise — ,
Not only in wearing my gorgeous array,
For I will go to leaimng a whole summer's

day;

I will learn T-a.-frX Hebrew, Greek, and French,
And I wQl learn Dutch sitting on my bench.
I do fear no man, each man f eareth me ;
I overcome my adversaries by land and by sea:
I had no peer if to myself I were true ;
Because I am not so, diverse times do I rue :
Yet I lack nothing, I have all things at will,
If I were wise and would hold myself still,
And meddle with no matters but to me per-

But ever to be true to God and my "Hng
But I have such matters rolling- in my pate,
That I will and do— I cannot tell what
No man shall let me, but I will have my mind,
And to father, mother, and friend, I'll be

I will follow mine own mind and wnf* old

trade
Who shall let me p The devil's nails are un-

pared.

Yet above all things new fashions I love well,
And to wear them my thrift I wOl sell
In all this world I shall have but a time
Hold the cup, good fellow, here is thine and

mine1

Andrew Sourd — About 1537

81 —AN INTRODUCTION TO THE BOOK
OF HUSBANDRY

CHAP. IV

Good husbandmen must moil and toil,

To lay to live, by laboured field .
Their wives, at home, must keep such coil,
As their hke acts may profit yield
For well they know,
As shaft from bow,
Or chalk from snow,
A good round rent their lords they give,
And must keep touch in all their pay ,
With credit crackt, else for to live,
Or trust to legs, and run away.

TTTSSBB ]

A PEEFACE.

[SECOND PERIOD —

Though fence, well kept, is one good point,
And tilth well done, in season due ,

9, To hold that thmo is lawfully,
For stoutness, or for flattery.

Yet needing salve, IB time t'anornt,
Is all in all, and needfull true
As for the rest,

10. To wed good wife for company,
And live in wedlock honestly.
11. To furnish house with honflholdry.

Thus foynlr I best,

And make provision skilfully

As fnend doth guest,

12. To join to wife good family,

With hand in hand to lead thee forth,

And none to keep for bravery

To Ceres camp, there to behold

13. To suffer none live idely,

A thousand things, as richly worth,

For fear of idle knavery.

AJS any pearl is worthy gold.

14. To courage wife in huswif ery,

Thomas Tuss&r. — About 1557.

And use well doers gentry.
15. To keep no more but needfully.

And count excess unsavoury

•

16. To raise betimes the lubberly,

$2.— A PREFACE TO THE BUYER OF
HIS BOOK ON HUSBANDRY.

Both snortong Hob and Maryery.
17. To walk thy pastures usually,
To spy ill neighbour's subtilty.

CHAP V.

18. To hate revengement hastily,

What lookest thou herein to have *
Fine verses thy fancy to please *
Of many my betters that crave .
Look nothing but rudeness m these.

For losing love and amity
19. To love thy neighbour, neighbourly,
And shew him no discourtesy.
20. To answer stranger civilly,
i But shew him not thy secresy.

What other ffi'wg lookest thou then ?
Grave sentences many to find ?
Such, poets have, twenty and ten,
Yea thousands contenting1 thy WITH?.

21. To use no man deceitfully,
To offer no TPflrx villainy.
22. To learn how foe to pacify,
But trust him not too hastily

23. To keep thy touch substantially,

Wliat look ye, I pray you shew what ?

And m thy word use constancy.

Terms painted with rhetorick fine i

24* To make thy bonds advisedly,

Good husbandry seeketh not that,

And come not bound through suerty.

Nor is't any meaning of mine

25. To meddle not with usury,

What lookest thou, speak at the last ?
Good lessons for thee and thy wife P
Then keep them in memory fast,
To help as a comfort to life.

Nor lend thy money foolishly.
26. To hate to live in infamy,
Through craft, and living shjftagly.
27. To shun, all kind of treachery,
For treason endeth, horribly.

• What look ye for more in my book ?

28 To learn to shun ill company,

Points needfull and meet to be known ?

And such as live dishonestly.

Then daily be suer to look,

29 To banish house of blasphemy,

To save to be suer thine own.

Lest crosses cross, unluckily

Thomas Tusser— About 1Z87.

00. To stop mischance through policy
For chancing too unhappily

31. To bear thy crosses, patiently,

~"

For worldly things are slippery.

83.— THE LADDER TO THRIFT.

32 To lay to keep from misery,
Age coming on, so creeprngly.

fear A TO TV

33. To pray to God, continually,

\ir\n r J_i*

1. To take thy calling thankfully,
And shun the path to beggary
2. To grudge in youth no drudgery,

For aid against thine enemy
34. To spend thy Sabbath holily.
And help the needy poverty
35. To live in conscience quietly,

To come by knowledge perfectly.
8. To count no travel! slavery,
. That brings in penny saverty.

And keep thyself from malady.
36 To ease thy sickness speedily,
Ere help be past recovery.

^To f ollow profit, earnestly,
J But meddle not with pilf ery.
*5. To get by honest pradasy,

37. To seek to God for remedy,
For witches prove unluckily.

And keep thy gettings covertly.
6. To lash not out, too lashingly,

These be the steps, nnfeignedly,
To climb to thrift by husbandry.

For fear of pinching penury.

7 To get good plot, to occupy,

These steps both reach, and teach thee shall,

And store and use it, husbandly.

To come by thrift, to shift withalL

8. To shew to landlord courtesy,

And keep thy covenants orderly

Thomas Tuss&r— About 1557

From 1400 to 1558 ]

GOOD HUSBANDLY LESSONS.

[THOMAS TUSSEB

84,— DIRECTIONS FOB CULTIVATING A
HOP-GARDEN.

Whom fanoy persuadeth, among other crops,
To liave for his spending sufficient of hops,
Must willingly follow, of choices to choose,
Such lessons approved, as skilful do use

Ground gravelly, sandy, and mixed with clay,
Is naughty for hops, any manner of way.
Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone,
For dryneas and barrenness let it alone

Choose soil for the hop of the rottenest mould,
Well dunged and wrought, as a garden-plot

should ,

Not far from the water, but not overflown,
This lesson, well noted, is meet to be known

The sun in the south, or else southly and

west,

Is joy to the hop, as a welcomed guest ;
13 ut wmd in the north, or else northerly

east,
To the hop is as ill as a fay in a feast.

Meet plot for a hop-yaid, once found as is told,
Make thereof account, as of jewel of gold ,
Now dig it, and leave it, the sun for to burn,
And afterwards fence it, to seive for that turn.

The hop for hw profit I thus do exalt,
It strongtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt,
And being well brewed, long kept it will last,
• And drawing abide — if yo draw not too fast

Tusse,-.— About 15&7.

85,— HOUSEWIFERY PHYSIC.

Oood huswife provides, ere a sickness do come,
Of sundry good things in her house to have

some

Oood aqua, composite, and vinegar tart,
J&ose-water, and treacle, to comfort thine

hoart

Cold herbs in her garden, for agues that burn,
That over-strong heat to good temper may

turn

"White endive, and succory, with spinach enow;
ALL such with good pot-herbs, should follow

the plough

Get water of fumitory, liver to cool,
And others the like, or else lie like a fool.
Conserves of barbory, quinces, and such,
With sirops, that easeth the sickly so much
Ask Medicub' counsel, ere medicine ye take,
And honour that man for necessity's sake
Though thousands hate physic, because of the

cost,
Yet thousands it helpeth, that else should be

lost
Good broth, and good keeping, do much now

and than

Good diet, with wisdom, best oomforteth man
In health, to be sturxng shall profit thee best,
In sickness, hate trouble , seek quiet and rest.

Remember thy soul ; let no fancy prevail ;
Make ready to God-ward; let faith never quail:
The sooner thyself thou submittest to God,
The sooner he ceasethto scourge with his rod.

Thomas Tusser.— About 1557.

86— GOOD HUSBANDLY LESSONS,

Worthy to be followed of such as would thnve.

CHAP. x.

1. God sendeth and giveth, both mouth and

the meat,

And blesseth us all with his benefits great:
Then serve we the God, who so richly doth

give,
Shew love to our neighbours, and lay for

to live

2 As bud, by appearing, betok'neth the

spring,
And leaf, by her falling, the contrary

thing,

So youth bids us labour, to get as we can,
For age is a burden to labouring Tn«.-n_

3 A competent living, and honestly had,
Makes such as are godly, both thankful

and glad .

Life, never contented, with honest estate,
Lamented is oft, and repented too late.

4 Count never weU gotten, what naughty is

got,

Nor well to account of, which honest is not •
Look long not to prosper, that weighest

not this,
Lest prospering faileth, and all go amiss.

5. True wedlock is best, for avoiding of sin ;
The bed uudefiled, much honour doth win.
Though love be in choosing, far better

•Khan gold,

Let love come with somewhat, the better
to hold.

6 Where couples agree not, is rancour and

strife,
Where such be together, is seldom good

life,

Whore couples in wedlock do lovely agree,
There f oison remameth, if wisdom there be.

7 Who looketh to marry, must lay to keep

house,
For love may not alway be playing with.

douse*
If children increase, and no stay of tlime

own,
What afterward follows is soon to be

known.

8. Onoe charged with children, or likely to

bo,

Give over to sojourn, that thmkest to
thee ; 5

TSOJIAS TUSSBB ]

GOOD HUSBANDLY LESSONS.

[SECOND PHBIOD —

Lest grudging of hostess, and craving of

nurse,
Be costly and noisome to thee and thy

purse.

D Good husbands that loveth good houses to

keep,

Are oftentimes careful when others do sleep
To spend as they may, or to stop at the

first,
For running in danger, or fear of the worst

10. Go count with thy coffers, when harvest

is in,

Which way for thy profit to save or to win
Of t'one or them both, if a savour we smell,
House-keeping is godly, wherever we dwell

11. Son, ilniTik not ihy money, purse bottom

to burn,
But keep it for profit, to serve thine own

turn •

A fool and his money be soon at debate,
Which after, with sorrow, repents him too

late.

12 Good bargain adoing, make pnvybnt few,
In selling', refrain not, abroad it to shew :
In making, make haste, and away to thy

pouch,
In selling, no haste, if ye dare it avouch

13. Good landlord, who findeth, is blessed of

God,—
A cumbersome landlord is husbandman's

rod;

He noyeth, destroyeth, and all to this drift,
To strip his poor tenant of farm and of

thrift

14 Bent-corn, whoso payeth, (as worldlings

would have,

So much for an acre) must live like a slave ;
Bent-aorn to be paid, for areas' liable rent,
At reasonable prices, is not to lament.

15. Once placed for profit, look never for ease,
Except ye beware of such michers as

these,—
Unthriftiness, Slothfulness, Careless and

Rash,
That thrusteth thee headlong, to run in

the lash.

16. Make Money thy drudge, for to follow thy

work,
Make Wisdom comptroller, and Order thy

clerk

Provision cater, and Skill to be cook,
Make Steward of all, pen, ink, and thy

book.

17. Make hunger thy sauce, as a med'cme for

health,
Make thirst to be butler, as physio for

wealth:

Make eye to be usher, good usage to have,
Make bolt to be porter, to keep out a knave.

18. Make husbandry bailiff, abroad to provide,
Make huswif ery daily, at home for to guide
Make coffer, fast locked, thy treasuie to

keep,
Make house to be suer, the safer to sloop

19. Make bandog thy sooutwatch, to bark at

a thief,

Make courage for life, to be capitain chief
Make trap-door thy bulwark, make bell to

bo gin,
Make gunstone and arrow, show who is

within.

20. The credit of master, to brothel his man,
And also of mistress, to minikin Nan,

Be causers of opening a number of gups
That letteth in mischief, and many mishaps.

21. Good husband he trudgoth to bring in tho

gams,
Good huswife she drudgcth, refusing no

pains.
Though husband at home, bo to count, yo

wot what,
Yet huswife, within, is as ncodful as that

22 What helpeth in stoio, to havo novor t-o

much,
Half lost by ill usage, ill huswives toul

such?

So, twenty load bushos, cut down at a oln.p,
Such heed may be taken, shall btop but *s,
, gap

23. A retcheless servant, a rmtress that

scowls,
A ravening mastiff, and hogs that cat

fowls,
A giddy brain master, and fctroyall his

knave,
Brings inhng to ruin, and ihiift to her

grave

24 With some upon Sundays, their tables do

reek,
And half the week after, thoir dinner, i <lo

seek,

Not often exceeding, but always enough.
Is husbandly fare, and tho guide of tLo

plough.

25. Each day to be feaatod, what husbandry

worse,
Each day for to feast, is as ill for tho

purse,
Yet measurely feasting, with neighbours

among,
Shall make thoe beloved, and live tho moro

long.

26. Things husbandly handsome, lot workman

contrive,
But build not for glory, that thinkowt to

•thrive;

Who fondly in doing, oonsumeth hifl stock,
In the end for his folly, doth got but a

mock

From 1400 to 1568 ]

GOOD HUSBANDLY LESSONS

[THOMAS TUSSEB

27 Spend none but your own, howsoever ye

spend,
For bribing and sMffrmg have seldom good

end
In substance although ye hare never so

muoh,
Delight not in parasites, harlots, and such.

28. Be suerty seldom, (but never for muoh)
For fear of purse, pennyless, Tiffingrng by

suoh;

Or Scarborow warning, as all I believe.
When, (Sir, I arrest ye ') gets hold of thy

sleeve

29. Use (legem pone) to pay at thy day,
But use not (oremvs) for often delay
Yet (j^cesta qwesumus) out of a grate,
Of all other collects, the lender doth hate.

30 Be pinched by lending, for kiffe nor for

km,

Nor also by spending, by such as come in ;
Nor put to thine hand, betwixt bark and

the tree,
Lest through thine own folly, so pinched

thou be,

31. As lending to neighbour, in time of his
need,

Wins love of thy neighbour, and credit
doth breed,

So never to crave, but to live of thine
own,

Brings comforts a thousand, to many un-
known.

32 Who living but lends ? and be lent to they

must
Else buying and selling must lie in the

dust
But shameless and crafty that desperate

are,
Make many, full honest, the worser to fare.

33. At some tune to borrow, account it no

shame,
If justly thou keepest thy touch for the

same*
Who quick be to borrow, and slow be to

'pay,

Their credit is naught, go they never so
gay.

34 By «>nffc™g and borrowing, who so as

lives,

Not well to be thought on, occasion gives :
Then lay to live wanly, and wisely to

For prodigall livers have seldom good end.
Some spareth too late, and a number with

The fool at the bottom, the wise at the

bnm:
Who careth, nor spareth, tall spent he

hath all,
Of bobbing, not robbing, be fearful he shall.

36 Where wealthiness noweth, no friendship

can lack,
Whom poverty pmcheth, hath freedom as

slack

Then happy is he, by example that can
Take heed by the fall, of a misohieved man

37. Who breaketh his credit, or craoketh it

twice,

Trust such with a suerty, if ye be wiso
Or if he be angry, for asking thy due,
Once even, to him afterward, lend not anew.

38. Account it well sold, that is justly well

paid,
And count it well bought, that IB never

denaid;
But yet here is t'one, here is t'other doth

best,
For buyer and seller, for quiet and rest

39. Leave princes' affaires, undescanted on,
And tend to saeh doings as stands thee

upon •
Fear God, and offend not the prince, nor

his laws,
And keep thyself out of the magistrate's

claws.

40. As interest, or usury playeth the devil,
So hil-back and fil-belly biteth as evil
Pat dicing among them, and docking the

dell,
And by and by after, of beggary smell

41. Once weekly, remember thy charges to

cast,
Once monthly, see how thy expences may

last:

If quarter declareth too much to be spent.
For fear of ill year, take advice of thy

rent.

42. Who orderly ent'reth his payments in

book,

May orderly find them again, (if he look )
And he that intendeth, but once for to

pay,
Shall find this m doing, -the quietest way

43. In .dealing uprightly, this counsel I teach.
First reckon, then write, ere to pursse ye

do reach *
Then pay and dispatch him, as soon as ye

can,
For ling* rang is hmderance, to many a man.

44. Have weights, I advise thee, for silver and

gold,

For some be in knavery, now a-days bold ;
And for to be suer, good money to pay,
Receive that is current, as near as ye may.

45. Delight not, for pleasure, two houses to

keep,
Lest charge, without measure, upon thee

do creep,

And Janknn and Jenylm cozen thee so,
To make thee repent it, ere yew about go.

THOJIAS TUSSBB ]

GOOD HUSBANDLY LESSONS.

[ SECOND PBBIOD.—-

45. The atone that is rolling-, can gather no

moss,

Who often removeth is suer of loss •
The noh it compelleth, to pay for his

pnde,
The poor it undoeth, on every side

47 The eye of the master enrioheth the hutch,
The eye of the mistress availeth as much ,
Which eye, if it govern, with reason and

skill,
Hath servant and service, at pleasure and

will

48. Who seeketh revengemeat of every wrong,
In quiet nor safety, oontinueth long

So he that of wilfulness, tneth the law,
Shall strive for a coxcomb, and thrive as
a daw.

49. To hunters and hawkers take heed what

ye say,
Mild answer with courtesy, drives them

away;

So where a man's better will open a gap,
Besist not with rudeness, for fear of mis-
hap

50. A man la this world, for a churl that is

known,

Shall hardly in quiet, keep that is his own.
Where lowly, and such as of courtesy

smells,
Finds favour and friendship, wherever he

dwells.

51 Keep truly thy Sabbath, the better to

speed,
Keep servant from gadding, but when it

Keep fish-day and fasting-day, as they do

fall,
What custom thou keepest, let others

keep all

52 Though some in theii tithing be slack or

too bold,
Be thou unto Godward, not that way too

cold
Evil conscience grudgeth, and yet we do

see,
111 tithers, ill thrivers most commonly be.

53. Pay weekly thy workman, his houshold

to feed,
Pay quarterly servants, to buy as they

need
Give garment to such as deserve, and no

mo,
Lest thou and thy wife, without garment

do go.

54 Beware rosfcabifoa,— slothful to work,
Purlomers and filchers, that loveth to

lurk:
Away with such lubbers, so loth to take

pain,
That rolls in essences, but never no gain.

55. Good wife and good children are worthy

to eat, ,

Good servant, good labourer, earneth their J

meat ,
Good fellow, good neighbour, that fellowly

guest,
With hearfale welcome, should have of the

best

56. Depart not with all that thou hast to thy

child,

Much less unto other, for being beguil'd
Lest if thou wouldst gladly possess it

again,
Look, for to come by it, thou wottest not

when

57. The greatest preferment that child wo can

give
Is learning and nurture, to train him to

live,
Which whoso it wanteth, though left as a

squire,
Consumeth to nothing, as block in the firo

58. When God hath soblest thee, as able to hro,
And thou hast to rest thee, and able to

give;

Lament thy offences, serve God for amends,
Make soul to be ready, when God for it

sends.

59 Send fruits of thy faith to heaven, aforo-

hand,
For mercy here doing, God blessoth thy

land;
He maketh thy store with his blessing to

swim,
And after, thy soul to be blessed with him

60. Some lay to get riches, by sea and by land,
And vent'reth. his life, in his enemies hand.
And setteth his soul upon six or on seven,
Not caring nor foanng, for hell nor for

heaven.

61. Some pinoheth and spareth, and pinotli

his life,

To coffer up bags, for to leave to hu» wife ,
And she (when ho dieth) sets open the

chest,
For such as can soothe her, and all away

wrest.

62 Good husband preventing the frailness of

some,
Takes part of God's benefits, as they do

come
And leveth to wife and his children tho

rest,
Each one his own part, as he thinketh it

best.

63. These lessons approved, if wisely ye note,
May save and advantage ye, many a

groat,

Which if ye con follow, occasion found,
Then every lesson may save ye a pound
Ttomas Tiwcr — About 1557.

From 1400 to 1558 ] POSIES FOB THINE OWN BEP-CHAMBEB. [THOMAS TassEB.

87 —THE WINDS.
CHAP xni.

North winds send hail, South winds bring

rain,
East -winds we bewail, West winds blow

North-east is too cold, South-east not too

warm,
North-west is too bold, South-west doth no

harm

The North is a noyer to grass of all suites,
The East a destroyer to herb and all frmts ;
The South, with hia showers, refresheth the

corn,
The West, to all flowers, may not be for-

borne

The West, as a father, all goodness doth

bring,

The East, a forbearer no manner of tfr^g
The South, as unkind, draweth sickness too

The North, as a friend, maketh all again
dear

With temperate wind, we be blessed of God,
With tempest we find, we are beat -with his

rod

All power, we know, to remain in his hand,
How ever wind blow, by sea or by land.

Though winds do rage, as winds were

wood,

And cause spring tides to raise great flood,
And lofty ships leave anchor in mud
Bereaving many of life, and of blood ;
Yet true it is, as cow chews cud,
And trees, at spring, do yield forth bud,
Except wind stands, as never it stood,
It is an ill wind turns none to good

Thomas Tusscr.— About 1557.

88.— A CHRISTMAS CABOL.

CHAP.

1 Was not Christ our Saviour,
Sent to us fro God above ?
Not for our good behaviour,
But only of his mercy and love.
If this be true, as true it is,

Truly in deed

Great thanks to God to yield for this,
Then had we need

2 This did our God, for very troth,
To tram to him the soul of man,
And justly to perform his oath,
To Sarah and to Abram than

That through his seed all nations should

Most blessed be
AQ in due time, perform he would,

As now we see.

3. Which wondrously is brought to pass,
And in our sight already done,
By sending, as his promise was,
(To comfort us) his only Son,
Even Christ, I mean, that virgin's child,

In Bethlem born,
That lamb of God, that prophet mild,

With crowned thorn.

4 Such was his love to save us all,
From dangers of the curse of God,
That we stood m by Adam's fall,
And by our own deserved rod,
That through his blood and holy name

Who so believes,
And fly from grrij and abhors the same,

Free mercy he gives

5. For these glad news this feast doth bring,
To God the Son and Hoty Ghost,
Let man give thanks, rejoice and sing,
From world to world, from coast to coast,
For all good gifts so many ways,

That God doth send,
Let us in Christ give God the praise,

TH1 life BfrflTl end

At Christmas be merry, and thankful witholl,
And feast thy poor neighbours, the great with

the small, *

Tea all the year long, to the poor let us give,
God's blessing to follow us, whiles we do live

Tlwmas Tusser —About 1557

89.— POSIES FOB THINE OWN BED-
CHAMBER.,

1. What wisdom more, what better He, than

pleaseth God to send,
What worldly goods, what longer use, than
pleaseth God to lend?

2 What better fare, than well content, agree-

ing with thy wealth, ,
What better guest than trusty fnend, in
sickness and in health ?

3. What better bed than conscience good, to

pass the night with sleep,
What better work, than daily care, fiom
sin thyself to keep ?

4. What better thought, •ifrn.'n ^Tn-nV on God,

and doily Tnm to serve,
What better gift than to the poor, that
ready be to starve?

5. What greater praise of God and man, than

mercy for to show,

"Who merciless, shall mercy find, that mercy
shews to few ?

6. What worse despair, than loth to die, for

fear to go to hell ?

What greater faith than trust in God,
through Chnst in heaven to dwell p

Tlwmt* Tusser —About 1657.

B. EDWARDS ] AMANTITJM IR*i AMORIS REDINTEGRATIO BST [SECOND PBBIOD —

90.— PBINCIPAL POINTS OF RELIGION

1 To pray to God continually,

2 To learn to know nun rightfully,

3 To honour God in Trinity,
The Trinity in Unity,
The Father in his majesty,
The Son in his humanity,
The Holy Ghost's benignity,
Three persons, one in Deity.

4. To serve fa™ always, hoHy,

5 To ask him all thing needfully,

6 To praise him in all company,

7 To love him alway, heartily,

8. To dread fa™ alway ohnstianly,
0 To ask him mercy, penitently,

10 To trust him alway, faithfully,

11 To obey him, alway, willingly,

12 To abide hun alway, patiently,

13 To thank him alway, thankfully,

14 To live here alway, virtuously,

15 To use thy neighbour, honestly,

16. To look for death stall, presently,

17. To help the poor, in misery,

18 To hope for Heaven's felicity,

19 To have faith, hope, and charity,
20. To count this hfe but vanity,

Be points of Christianity.

TJiomas Tusse? — About 1557.

91.— AKAKTIUM TM AMORIS EEDEST-
TEGRATIO EST.

In going to my naked bed, as one that would

have slept,
I heard a wife sing to her child, that long

before had wept
She sighed sore, and sang full sweet, to bung

the babe to rest
That would not cease, but cried still, in

sucking at her breast.
She was full weary of her watch, and grieved

with her child,
She rocked it, and rated it, until on her it

smil'd ;
Then did she say, " Now have I found the

proverb true to prove.
The falling out of faithful friends renewing

is of love "

Then took I paper, pen, and ink, this proverb

for to write,
In register for to remain of such a worthy

wight.
As she proceeded thus in song unto her little

brat,
Much matter utter' d she of weight in place

whereas she sat ,
And proved plain, there was no beast, nor

creature bearing life,
Could well be known to live in love without

disc&rd and strife .

Then kissed she her little babe, and aware by

God above,
" The falling out of faithful fuends renewing

is of love."

"I marvel much, pardie," quoth she, " for to

behold the rout,
To see ™*") woman, boy, and beast, to tons

the world about ,
Some kneel, some crouch, some beck, some

check, and some can smoothly smile,
And some embrace others in arms, and there

think many a wile
Some stand aloof at cap and knee, some

humble, and some stout,
Yet are they never friends indeed until they

once fall out,"
Thus ended she her song, and said, before

she did remove,
" The falling out of faithful friends renewing

is of love."

Riclicvrd Edwards — About 1557.

92— THE LOVER REQTTESTETH SOME
FRIENDLY COMFORT, AFFIRMING
HIS CONSTANCY.

The mountains high, whose lofty tops do meet

the haughty sky ;
The craggy rook, that to the sea free passage

doth deny ,
The aged oak, that doth resist the force of

blustnng blast ,
The pleasant herb, that everywhere a pleasant

smell doth cast T
The lion's force, whose courage stout declares

a prince-like might ,
The eagle, that for worthiness is born of kinga

in fight

# * * # # x *

Then these, I say, and thousands more, by

tract of tune decay,
And, like to time, do quite consume, and fado

from form to clay ,
But my true heart and service vow'd shoJl lost

time out of TTHTio
And still remain as thine by doom, as CupM

hath assigned ,
My faith, lo here ' I vow to theo, my troth

thou know'st too well ,
My goods, my fnends, my life, is thmc , what

need I more to tell •*
I am not mine, but thine , I vow thy lionts I

will obey,
And serve thee as a servant ought, in pleasing

if I may,
And sith I have no flying wings, to servo thoo

as I wish,
Ne fins to cut the silver streams, as doth the

gliding fish;
"Wherefore leave now forgetfulness, and send

again to me,
And strain thy azure veins to write, that I

may greeting see

Ircm 1400 to 1558 ] THE LOVE THAT IS REQUITED WITH DISDAIN. [W. HUNNIS.

And thus farewell1 more dear to me than

chief est friend I have,
Whose love in heart I mind to shrine, till Death.

his fee do crave

RicJiwd Edwards — About 1557.

93 —THE LOVE THAT IS BEQUTTED
WITH DISDAIN.

In search of things that secret are my mated

muse began,
What it might be molested most the head and

mind of ir»p-Ti ,
The bending brow of prince's face, to wrath

that doth attend,
Or want of parents, wife, or child, or loss of

faithful f nend ,
The roaimg of the cannon shot, that makes

the piece to shake,
Or terror, such as mighty Jove from heaven

above can make .
All these, in fine, may not compare, expeiience

so doth prove,
Unto the torments, sharp and strange, of snch

as be in love
Love looks aloft, and loughs to scorn all such

as griefs annoy,
The more extieme their passions be, tho gi eater

is his 30y ;
Thus Love, as victor of the field, tuiunphs

above the rest,
And joys to see his subjects lie with living

death in breast ,
But dire Disdain lets drive a shaft, and galls

this bragging fool,
He plucks his plumes, unbends his bow, and

sets him new to school ,
Whereby this boy that bragged late, as con-
queror over all,
2^ow yields "MitnaAlf unto Disdain, "hia vassal

and toft thrall

William HWMMS — About 1557

94 —THE NUT-BBOWN MAID

He. It standeth so , a deed is do',

Whereof great harm shall grow
My destiny is for to die

A shameful death, I trow ,
Or else to nee the one must be,

None other way I know,
But to withdraw as an outlaw,

And take me to my bow.
Wherefore adieu, my own heart true '

None other rede I can ,
For I must to the green wood go,

Alone, a banished

0 Lord, what is this world's bli&s,
That ohangeth as the moon '

My Summer's day in lusty May
Is uaxked before the noon.

1 heat you say, Farewell Nay, nay,
We depart not so soon.

He,

Why say ye so ? whither will ye go ?

Alas ' what have ye done f
All my welfare to eoirow and care

Should change if ye were gone ,
For in my mind, of all mankind

I love but you alone.

I can believe, it shall yon grieve,

And somewhat you distrain :
But afterward, your parnes hard

Within a day or twain
Shall soon aslake , and ye shall take

Comfort to you again
Whyshouldye ought, fortomakethought?

Your labour were in vain.
And thus I do, and pray to you,
_ As heartily as I can ;
I'or I must to the green wood go,

Alone, a banished T

She Now sith that ye have showed to me

The secret of your mind,
I shall be plain to you again,

Like as ye ^baH me find.
Sith it is BO that ye will go,

I will not live behind ,
Shall never be said, the Nut-brown Maid

Was to her love unkind .
Make you ready, for so am I,

Although it weio anon ;
Foi in my mind, of all mankind

I love but you alone

Jfc I counsel you, lemember how

It is no maiden's law
Nothing to doubt, but to run out

To wood with an outlaw ;
For ye must there in your hand bear

A bow, ready to draw ;
And as a thief, thus must you live,

Ever m dread and awe.
Whereby to you great harm might grow.

Yet had I lever than,
That I had to the green wood go,

Alone, a banished rns-iit

She. I think not nay, but, as ye say,

It is no maiden's lore
But love may make me lor your sake,

As I have said before,
To come on foot, to hunt and shoot

To get us meat in store ,
For so that I your company

May have, I ask no more
From which to part it makes my heart

As cold as any stone ,
For, in my mind, of all manlond

I love but you alone

He. Yet take good heed, for ever I dread

That ye could not sustain
The thorny ways, the deep vall&ys,

The snow, the frost, the ram,
The cold, the heat , for, dry or wcet,

We must lodge on the plain ;
And us above, none other roof

But a brake bush or twain .

ANONYMOUS J

THZ; Nui'-BBOWK' MATT).

[SECOND PEBIOD —

Which soon should grieve you, I beliovo,

And ye would gladly than
That I had to the green wood go,

Alone, a banished man.

S7ie Sith I have here been parfanfcr

With you of joy and bliss,
I must also part of your wo

Endure, as reason is
Tet I am sure of one pleasure,

And, shortly, it is this,
That, where ye be, me seemeth, pardie,

I could not fare amiss.
"Without more speech, I you beseech

That y© were soon agone,
3Tor, to my mind, of all mankind

I love but you alone

He If ye go thither, ye must consider,

When ye have list to dine,
There shall no meat be for you gete,

Nor dnnk, beer, ale, nor wine,
No sheetes clean, to lie between,

Made of thread and twine ;
None other house but leaves and boughs,

To cover your head and mine
Oh mine heart sweet, this evil diet,

Should make you. pale and wan ;
Wherefore I will to the green wood go,

Alone* a» banished Tftfl-T

She Among the wild deer, such an archer,

As men say that ye be,
Te may not fail of good vittail,

Where is so great plenfae.
And water clear of the nv6r,

Shall be full sweet to me.
With which in heal I a~hfl.11 right weel

Endure, as ye shall see ,
And ere we go, a bed or two

I can provide anone ,
"For, in my mind, of all mankind

I love but you alone.

Se £o yet before, ye must do more,

If ye will go with me ;
As cut your hair up by your ear,

Your kirtle to the knee ,
With bow in hand, for to withstand

Your enemies, if need be ,
And this same night, before day-light,

To wood-ward will I flee
If that ye will all this fulfill,

Do't shortly as ye can
Else will I to the green wood go,

Alone, a banished

81ie. I shall, as now, do more for you,

Than 'longeth to womanheed,
To short my hair, a bow to bear,

To shoot in tune of need.
Oh, my sweet mother, before all other

For you I have most dread ,
"But now adieu ' I must ensue

Where fortune doth me lead.
All this make ye •, Now let us flee ;

Tor, in my mmd, of all manlond
I love but you alone

lie. Nay, nay, not so , ye shall not go,

And I shall tell you why -
Your appetite is to be light

Of love, I weel espy
For like as ye have said to mo,

In like wise, hardily,
Ye would answer whoever it wore,

In way of company
It is said of old, soon hot, soon oold ;

And so is a woman,
Wherefore I to the wood will go,

Alone, a banished man

tilie If ye take heed, it is no neod

Such words to say by me ,
For oft ye prayed and me assayed,

Ere I loved you, pardie
And though that I, of ancestry,

A baron's daughter be,
Yet have you proved how I you loved,

A squire of low dogioo ;
And ever shall, whatso befal ;

To die therefore anon ,
For, in my mind, of all mankind

I love but you alone
He. A baron's child to be beguiled,

It were a cursed deed '
To be f ellaw with an outlaw,

Almighty God f oibid '
It better wero, the poor squier

Alone to forest yedo,
Than I should say, another day,

That, by my cursed deed,
We were betrayed- wherefore, good maid,

The best rede that I can,
Is, that I to the green wood go,

Alone, .a banished man.

She. Whatever befall, I never shall,

Of thys thing you upbraid ,
But, if ye go, and leave me so,

Then have ye me betrayed
Bemember weel, how that you deal ;

For if ye, as ye said,
Be so unkind to leave behind,

Your love, the Nut-Brown Maid,
Trust me truly, that I gftp-11 die

Soon after ye be gone ,
For, in my mind, of all mankind

I love but you alone

He. If that ye went, yo should repent ;

For in the forest now
I have purveyed me of a maid,

Whom I love more than you;
Another fairer than ever ye wero,

I dare it weel avow,
And of you both each should be wroth

With other, as I trow
It were mine case to live in peace ;

So will I, if I can ,
Wherefore I to the wood will go,

Alone, a banished man.

She. Though m. the wood I understood

Ye had a paramour,
All this may not remove my thought,
But that I will be your.

Jft oil 1400*0 1558]

KING ARTHUR'S DEATH.

[ANOHTYMOTJS.

And she pfr«.n find me eoffc and kind

And courteous every hour ,
Glad to fulfill all that she mil

Command me to my power.
For had ye, lo, an hundred mo,

Of them I would be one;
For, in my mind, of all mankind

I love but you alone.

He. Mine own dear love, I see thee prove

That ye be Vmd and true ,
Of maid and wife, in aE my life,

The best that ever I knew.
Be merry and glad ; no more be sad ;

The case is changed now ,
For it were ruth, that, for your truth,

Te should have oause to rue.
Bo not dismayed , whatever I said

To you, when I began ,
I will not to the greenwood go,

I am no banished man,

She. Those tidings bo more glad to me,

Than to bo made a queen,
If I were suie they would enduro •

But it is often seen,
"When men will break promise, they speak

The wordos on the spleen
Ye shape some wale me to beguile,

And steal from mo, I wcon
Than were the case worse than it was,

And I moie woe-bogone
For, in my mind, of all mankind

I love but you alone.

Ho. Ye shall not need further to dread :

I will not disparage,
You (God defend ') sith yo descend

Of &o great a lineage
Now understand , to Westmoreland,

Which is Tnme heritage,
I will you bring , and with a rmg,

By way of marriage,
I will you take, and lady make,

As shortly as I can
Thus have you won an erly's son,

And not a banished man.

Anonymous — About 1502.

95 —KING ARTHUR'S DEATH.

On Trinity Monday in the morn,
This sore battaylo was doomo'l to be ;

Whoro many a knight cned, " Well-awayo !"
Alack, it was the more pity

Ere the first crowing of the cock,

When as the king in his bod lay,
He thought Sir Gawaine to him camo,

And there to him these words did say .
" Now, as ye are mine uncle dear,

And as you prize your life, this day
0 meet not with your foo in fight ,

Put off the battayle, if ye may ,

For Sir Launcelot is now in France,
And with him many a hardy knight,

Who will withm this month be back,
And will assist ye in tho fight."

The king then called his nobles all,
Before the breaking of the day ;

And told them how Sir Gawaine came
And there to him these words did say.

His nobles all this counsel gave,
That, early in the morning, he
Should send away an herald at arms
i To ask a parley fair and free.

1 Then twelve good knights King Arthur chose,
| The best of all that with him were,
, To parley with the foe in field,
I And make with "hrm agreement fair.
1 The Tri-ng he charged all his host,
I In readiness there for to be .
But no Tna.ii should no weapon stir,
Unless a sword drawn they should see.

And Mordred on the other part,
Twelve of his knights did likewise bring ;

The best of all his eompanjr,
To hold the pailey with the king.

Sir Mordrod also charged his host,

In readiness there for to be ;
But no Tnan should no weapon stir,

But if a sword drawn they should see.

For he durst not his uncle trust,
Nor he his nephew, sooth to tell

Alack ' it was a woeful ca«e,
As e'er in Chnstentie befeL

But when they were together met,
And both to fair accordance brought ;

And a. month's league between them set,
Before the battayle should be fought ;

An adder crept forth of a bush,

Stung one o' the king's knights on the knee*
Alack ' it was a woeful chance,

As ever was in Chnstentie.
When the knight found l»«t wounded sore.

And saw the wild-worm hanging there,
His sword he from his scabbard drew ,

A piteous case as ye shall hear

For when the two hosts saw the sword,

They joined battayle instantly
Till of so many noble knights,

On one side there were left but three.

For all were slain that durst abide,
And but some few that fled away :

Ay me ' it was a bloody field,
As e'er was fought on summer's day.

Upon King Arthur's own party,

Only himself escaped there,
And Lukyn, Duko of Gloster, free,

And the king's butler, Bedevere.

And when the Trrng beheld his knights,
All dead and scattered on tho mould ;

The tears fast trickled down his f aco .
That manly face in fight so bold.

AlTONYMLOUS ]

KING ABTHUB'S DEATH

[SECOND PBBIOD.

' Now rost ye all, brave knights," he said,
'" So true and faithful to your trust ;

And must ye then, ye valiant hearts,
Be left to moulder into dust °

*• Most loyal have ye been to mo,
i Most true and faithful unto death

t And, oh ' to raise ye up again,
i How freely could I yield my breath T

I *• But see the traitor's yet alive,

Lo, where he stalks among the dead '
• Now bitterly he shall abye,
I And vengeance fall upon his head "

•• Oh, stay, my liege," then said the duke,
u O stay for love and ohantie ,

Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meet your foe, if it may be

*" O, stay me not, thou worthy wight,
This debt my loyal knights I owo

Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe "

Then straight he grasped his trusty spear,
And on his horse then mounted he :

As his butler holpe him to his horse,
His bowels gushed to his knee.

6 Alas ' " then said the noble king,

'• That I should live this sight to see ' t
To see this good knight here be slam,

All for his love xo. helping me r "
He put his speai into his rest,

And to Sir Mordred loud gan cry —
" How set thyself upon thy guard,

For, traitor, now thy death is nigh "

Sir Mordied lifted up his sword,
And fierce to meet the Tn-ng ran he

The Trmg his spear he through him thrust ;
A fathom thoiow his bodie

When Mordred felt the stroke of death,
And found that he was wounded so ;

He thrust himself upon the spear,
And struck the king a deadly blow

Then grimly died Sir Mordered,

Presently upon that tree ,
And bloody streams ran from the Lin j

Ere to the duke returned he

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake, —
u Sir knight, thou hast been faithf L! teed,

Now take my sword Excahbar,
That hangs &o freely by my side

" O take my «rword Bxcalibar,

And there into the nver throw
For here, henceforth, beneath this tree

All use of weapons I forego

'" And fare thee well, thou trusty sword,
A better ne'er had valiant knight,

"With thee full offc, and many a day,
Ha\e I withstood my foe in fight.

£k With this good falchion in my hand,
Oft have I leaped tho bloody field •

But now the fatal hour id come,
That never more I may theo wield."

The duke to the river side he went,
And there his own swoid in threw he ,

But he kept back Excabbar,
He kept it back in pnvitio

For all of Cologne was the blade ,
And all the hilt of precious stone ,

" And ever alack ' " then said the knight,
Sk Must such a sword away be thrown p "

Then back he came unto the king,

"Who said, " Sir Lukyn, what did you see ?"
6 Nothing, my liege, save that the wind

Blew o'er the waters fate and free "

' 0 go again," then said the king,

" 0 good Sii Lukyn go again ,
Into the nver throw my sword,

Nor keep me lingering here in pain."

The duke then to the nver wont,
And the kmg's scabbaid in throw ho ,

But he kept back Excalibar,
And hid it underneath a tiee.

Then back he came to tell the king,

Who said, " Sir Lnkyn, saw yo aught ? "

tk Nothing, my liege, save that the wind
Now with the angry waters fought "

" O Lukyn, Lukyn," said the king,
" Twice hast thou dealt deceitfully ,

Alack, whom may we evei trust,
When such a knight so false can bo ?

" Say, would&t thou have thy master dead,
All for a sword that wins thine eyo '*

Now go again, and throw it in, •
Oi here the one of us shall die "

The duke, all shent with this robuko,

No answer made unto the long,
But to the nver took the sword,

And threw it far as ho could fling

A hand and an arm did meet tho sword,
And flourished three times in the air ,

Then sunk beneath the running stream,
And of the duke was seen nao rnair

All sore astoni&hed stood tho duke ,
He stood as frtill, as &tdl mote bo

Then hastened back to tell the fa-ng ,
But ho was gone from under tho troe.

But to what place he could not toll,

For nevei after ho did him &pyo ,
BUT; he saw a barge go from the land,

And he heaid ladios howl and cry

And whether tho H"g was there, or not,

He never knew, noi over colde ,
For fiom that &ad and direful dav,

Ho novci more was poon on mould

— About 1560.

THE THIED PEEIOD,

FKOM 1558 TO 1649.

rpHIS penod has been termed the glorious age of English literature. The greatest names
A -will be found in dusters, whether it be in poetry, or philosophy, or politics , Shakspere,
Bacon, Spenser, Sydney, Hooker, Taylor, Barrow, Raleigh, Napier, and Hobbes, and
many others adorn its annals In all probability the Reformation tended, with other causes,
to produce this Through printing, the treasures of Greece and Rome were laid open to the
public Then came translations from many of the highest works of Spam and Italy. Tasso
was tzanslated by Fairfax ; Anosto by Harrington , Homer and Hesiod by Chapman Boccaccio,
Petrarch, Dante, Axeinno, Machiavel, Casiaghone, all were opened up to the English, reader m
his own tongue. Sir Thomas North's translation of Plutarch did much to give incidents and
facts to the dramatic writers, who used them freely, but, above all, the Bible, for the first
time placed within the power of the poorest to read, was doubtless the greatest means of
quickening- the hearts and intellects of the great and glorious writers of the age. Hazlitt, in
one of his own eloquent passages, says : —

" The translation of the Bible was the chief engine in the great work. It threw x>pen, by
a secret spring, the rich treasures of religion and morality, which had been there locked up
as in a shime. It revealed the visions of the prophets, and conveyed the lessons of inspired
teachers (such they were thought) to the meanest of the people It gave them a common
interest in the common cause Their hearts burned within them as they read It gave a
mind to the people by giving them common subjects of thought and feeling. It cemented
then, union of character and sentiment it created endless diversity and collision of opinion.
They found objects to employ their faculties, and a motive in the magnitude of the con-
sequences attaching to them, to exert the utmost eagerness in the pursuit of truth, and the
most fla-Tng intrepidity in maintaining ifc. Religious controversy sharpens the understanding
by the subtlety and remoteness ef the topics it discusses, and braces the will by their infinite
importance We perceive in the history of this penod a nervous masculine intellect. No
levity, no feebleness, no indifference , or if there were, it is a relaxation from the intense
anxiety which gives a tone to its general character But there is a gravity approaching to
piety; a seriousness of impression, a conscientious severity of argument, an habitual fervour
and enthusiasm in their mode of handling almost every subject The debates of the school-
men were sharp and subtle enough ; but they wanted interest and grandeur, and were besides
confined to a few they did not affect the general mass of the community. But the Bible was
thrown open to all ranks and conditions, ' to run and read,' with its wonderful table of con-
tents from Genesis to the Revelations. Every village in England would present the scene so
well descnbed in Burns' s ' Cotter's Saturday Night.' I cannot think that all this variety and
knowledge could be thrown in all at once upon the mind of a people and not make some im-
pression upon it, the traces of which might be discerned in the manners and literature of the
age. For to leave more disputable points, and take only the historical parts of the Old
Testament, or the moral sentiments of the New, there is nothing like them in the power of
exciting awe and admiration or of riveting sympathy. We see what Milton has made of the
account of the 'Creation,' from the manner in which he has treated it, imbued and im-
pregnated with the spirit of the time of which we speak Or what is there equal (in that
romantic interest and patriarchal simplicity which goes to the heart of a country and rouses it,
*w it were, from its lours and wildernesses) equal to the story of Joseph and his Brethren, of
Rachel and Laban, of Jacob's dream, of Ruth and Boaz, the descriptions in the book of Job,
the deliverance of the Jews out of Egypt, or the account of their captivity and return from
Babylon p There is in all these parts of the Scripture, and numberless more of the same kind,
to pass over the Orphic hymns of David, the prophetic denunciations of Isaiah, or the
gorgeous visions of Ezekiel, an originality, a vastness of conception, a depth and tenderness
of feeling, and a touching simplicity in the mode of narration, which he who does not feel,
need be made of no ' penetrable stuff.' There is something in the character of Christ too,
(leaving religious faith quite out of the question), of more sweetness and majesty, and more
likely to work a change in the mind of man, by the contemplation of its idea alone, than any
to be found in history, whether actual or feigned. This character is that of a sublime

THE THIRD PEEIOD — FROM 1558—1649.

humanity, such as was never seen on earth before, nor since This shone manifestly "both in
his words and actions We see it in his washing the Disciples' feet the night before His death,
that unspeakable instance of humility and love, above all art, all meanness, and all pnde, and
in the leave He took of them on that occasion : * My peace I give unto you, that peace which
the world cannot give, give I unto you , " and in His last commandment, that ' they should
love one another.' Who can read the account of His behaviour on the cross, when turning to
his mother, He said, * Woman, behold thy son , ' and to the disciple John, 6 Behold thy
mother,' and 'from that hour that disciple took her to his own home,' without having his
heart smote within TV»TH ? We see it in His treatment of the woman taken in adultery, and in
His excuse for the woman who poured precious ointment on His garment as an offering of
devotion and love, which is here all in all His religion was the religion of the heart. We
see it in His discourse with the Disciples as they walked together towards Emmaus, when
their hearts burned within, them , in His sermon from the mount, in His parable of the Good
Samaritan, and in that of the Prodigal Son — in every act and word of His life, a grace, a
mildness, a dignity and love, a patience and wisdom worthy of the Son of God His whole
life and being were imbued, steeped in this word, chanty , it was the spring, the well-head
from which every thought and feeling gushed into act , and it was this that breathed a mild
glory from His face m that last agony upon the cross, when the meek Saviour bowed His head
and died, praying for TTig enemies. He was the first true teacher of morality , for He alone
conceived the idea of a pure humanity He redeemed man from the worship of that idol, self ;
and instructed him, by precept and example, to love his neighbour as himself, to forgive our
enemies, to do good to those that curse us and despitefully use us He taught the love of
good for the sake of good, without regard to personal or sinister views, and made the affections
of the heart the sole seat of morality, instead of the pride of the understanding or the
sternness of the will. In answering the question, ' Who is our neighbour ? ' as one who
stands in need of our assistance, and whose wounds we can bind up, He has done more to
humanize the thoughts and tame the unruly passions, than all who have tried to reform and
benefit mankind. The very idea of abstract benevolence, of the desire to do good because
another wants our services, and of regarding the human race as one family, the offspring of
one common parent, is hardly to be found in any other code or system It was to the Jews a
stumbling-Hook, and to the Greeks f oohshness. The Greeks and Romans never thought of
considering others ; but as they were Greeks or Romans, as they were bound to them by
certain positive ties ; or, on the other hand, as separated from them by fiercer antipathies.
Their virtues were the virtues of political machines ; their vices were the vices of demons,
ready to inflict or to enduie pain with obdurate and remorseless inflexibility of purpose. But
in the Christian religion ' we perceive a softness coming over the heart of a nation, and tho
iron scales that fence and harden it, melt and drop off ' It becomes malleable, capable of
pity, of forgiveness, of relaxing in its claims, and remitting its power We strike it, and it
does not hurt us it is not steel or marble, but flesh and blood, clay tempered with tears, and
( soft as sinews of the new-born babe ' The gospel was first preached to tho poor, for it
consulted their wants and interests, not its own pride and arrogance It first promulgated
the equality of mankind in the community of duties and benefits. It denounced the iniquities
of the chief Priests and Pharisees, and declared itself at variance with principalities and
powers, for it sympathizes not with the oppressor, but the oppressed. It firJt abolished
slavery, for it did not consider the power of the will to inflict injury, as clothing it with a
right to do so. Its law is good, not power It at the same tune tended to wean the mind from
the grossness of sense, and a particle of its divine flame was lent to brighten and purify the
lamp of love ' "

There have been persons who, being sceptics as to the divine mission of Christ, havo
taken an unaccountable prejudice to TTia doctrines, and have been disposed to deny the merit
of His character, but this was not the feeling of the groat men in tho age of Elizabeth
(whatever might be their belief), one of whom says of HTTP, with a boldness equal to
its piety —

" The best of men

That e'er wore earth about him, was a sufferer ;
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit ;
The first true gentleman that ever breathed."

This was old honest Decker, and the lines ought to embalm his memory to every ono who
hag a sense either of religion, or philosophy, or true genius Nor can I help thinking that we
may discern the traces of the influence exerted by religious faith in the spirit of tho poetry of
the age of Elizabeth, in the means of exciting terror and pity, in the delineation of the
passions of grief, remorse, love, sympathy, the sense of shame, in the fond desires, tho longings
after immortality, in the heaven of hope, and the abyss of despair it lays open to us.

The literature of thib age then, I would say, was strongly influenced (among other
causes) firsts by the spirit of Chnstianity, and secondly, by the spirit of Protestantism.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

THOMAS SACKVILLE

Thomas SaokviILe, Earl of Dorset, born
1536, died 1608, was distinguished both by
high official position, Lord High Treasurer of
England, and poetical eminence He was one
of the commissioners who tried Mary Queen
of Scots, and it was he who was deputed to
announce her sentence to that much-to-be
pitied lady When a student at the Inner
Temple he wrote a tragedy, "Gorboduc,"
which was performed by the students in a
Christmas entertainment and afterwards
before Queen Elizabeth at "Whitehall, in
1561 He contributed the Induction and
Legend of the Duke of Buckingham to the
"Mirror of Magistrates" Campbell says,
" He cained taste and elegance even into his
formal political functions, and for his
eloquence was styled the bell of the Star
Chamber As a poet, his attempt to unite
allegory with heroic narrative and his giving
our language its earliest regular tragedy,
evince the views and enterpiise of no or-
dinary mind; but, though the induction to
the ' Mirror for Magistrates ' displays some
potent sketches, it bears the complexion of
a saturnine genius, and resembles a bold and
gloomy landscape on which the sun never
shines. As to ' Gorboduo,' it is a piece of
monotonous recitals, and cold and heavy
accumulation of incidents As an imitation
of classical tragedy it is peculiarly unfortu-
nate, in being without oven the unities of
place and time, to circumscribe its dulness "
Sir Philip Sydney, in his " Defence of Poesie,"
speaks, however, in much more favourable
strains. "'Gorboduc' is full of stately
speeches and well-sounding phrases, clyming
to the height of Seneca his style, and as full
of notable morahtie, which it doth most
delightfully teach and RO obtayne the very
end of poosie " , and Warton referring to the
" Complaint " of Henry Duke of Buckingham
says, it is written "with a force and even
elegance of expression, a copiousness of
phraseology, and an exactness of versification,
not to be found in any other part ot the
collection." See Warton's "Hist of Eng.
Poetry , " Hor Walpole's u Royal and Noble
Authors " , Cottuas's " Peerage " by Erydges

JOHN HARRINGTON.

John Harrington, born 1534, died 1582.
He was imprisoned by Queen Mary for his
suspected 'attachment to Queen Elizabeth, by
whom he was afterwards rewarded with a
grant of lands He wrote but little, but that
little causes us to regret that he did not write
more "His love verses," says Campbell,
"• have an elegance and teiseness more modern,
by an hundred years, than those of his con-
temporaries " Hallam adds, " they are as
polished as any written at the close of the
Queen's reign." See"Nug» Antiques",
EUis's " Specimens " ; Hallam's e' Lit. Hist,
of Europe "

GEORGE GASCOIGNE.

George Gascoigne, born 1537, died 1577,
after studying for some tune at Cambridge,
removed to Gray's Inn, which he left for the
army, and served in Holland, where he re-
ceived a captain's commission from the
Prance of Orange Returning- to England, he
became a courtier, and contributed to the
festivities which enlivened the business of
statesmen and the progress of the queen.
The name of the princely pleasures of " Keml-
worth Castle," one of Gascoigne's masques,
will lemind many of our readers of Amy
Robsart and Sir Richard Varney, of the
ambitious Earl and his imperious mistress
Among Gascoigne's best-known pieces are
"The Glasse of Government, a Tragicall
Comedie, Lon , 1575 " , " The Steole Glas, a
Satyre, 1576 " 5 " A Delicate Diet for dainfae
mouthde Droonkaids, wherein the fowlo
abuse of common carousing and quaffing with
hearbe draughtes is honestly admonished,
1576", "The Droome of Doomes Day;
wherein the frailties and miseries of man's
life are lively portrayed and learnedly set
forth, 1586 " ; " The Comedie of Supposes,
and the Tragedie of Jocasta, in the collective
edition of his whole wooikes, 1587." Warton
says, that the comedy of " Supposes " was
the first comedy written in English prose,
and Di Fanner in his Essay on Shakspere
says that the latter boirowed part of the

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[THIRD PERIOD —

plot and of the phraseology of this play, and
transferred it into his " Taming of the Shrew "
This was the opinion of Chalmers, Warton, and
Gifford Phillips in his " Theat Poet " says,
that the poetical works of Gasooigne have
been thought worthy to be quoted among the
chief of that time, and Sir S E. Brydges in
his edition of Phillipb's book says, " Prom
•what I have seen of his works, his fancy
seems to have been sparkling and elegant,
and he always wzites with the powers of a
poet " Hallam deems his minor poems, es-
pecially one called " The Anaigirment of a
Lover," as having much spirit and gaiety
Headley, in his " Select Beauties of Ancient
English Poetoy," speaks of him as a wiitei
whose mind, though it exhibits few marks of
strength, is not destitute of delicacy , he is
smooth, sentimental, and haimomous See Alli-
bone's " Cnt. Diet, of Eng Lit " , " Athen.
Oxon " ; Whetstone's " Eemembrance of Gas-
coigne"; "Censura Literana"; Eitsons
'•Bibl Poetica", Watts's "Bibl. Brit.";
Chalmers's " British Poets."

SIR PHILIP SYDNEY

Sir Philip Sydney was born at Penhurst, in
Kent, in 1554. He was a chivalrous English
soldier and poet In his fifteenth year he was
sent to Christ Church, Oxford, and at the age
of seventeen he went on his travels He was
in Pans during the massacre of St Bartho-
lomew, and was obliged to take lefuge in the
abode of Sir Francis Walsmgham, the English
ambassador. After visiting various cities in
Hungary, Italy, and Germany, he in 1575
returned to England, and in the following
year Queen Elizabeth appointed Tii-m ambas-
sador to the Emperor Eudolph, at whose
court he contracted an intimacy with the
famous Don John of Austria On account of
his declaring his sentiments freely against .the
queen's marriage with the Duke of Anjou, in
1530, in his remonstrance to Her majesty, he
retired from court, and m his retieat wiote
his celebrated romance "Arcadia," and his
" Defence of Poesie." In 1582 he received
the honoui of knighthood, and in 1585 was
appointed governor of Flushing, and general
of the troops sent to the assistance of the
United Provinces. About this tune his repu-
tation for wisdom and valour stood so high,
that he was thought a fit person to be a can-
didate for the crown of Poland; but the
queen would not consent to the loss of " the
jewel of her dominions " In September, 1586,
Sir Philip displayed extraordinary bravery at
the battle of Zntphen, but received a mortal
wound in the thigh as he was mounting his
third horse, having had two «1*"y> under him
His conduct whilst leaving the battle-field
illustrates his noble character "In which
sad progress," says his biographer, Lord
Brook, " passing along by the rest of the army

wheie his uncle the general, the Eail of Lei-
cester, was, and being thiisty with excess of
bleeding, he called for some dnnk, which
was presently biought Trim , but as he was
putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a
poor soldier earned along, who had eaten his
last at the same feast, ghastly casting up his
eyes at the bottle, which, Sir Phihp perceiving,
took it from his hoad before he drank and
delivered it to the poor man with these words,
( Thy necessity is yst greater than mmo ' "
This wound proved fatal twenty-five days
afterwards. His body was brought home and
buiied m St. Paul's Cathedral In addition
to the works already mentioned, Sir Philip
wrote sonnets, " Ourama," a poem, and seveial
other pieces — (Beeton's Diet Uwi? ersal Bioy )
Campbell speaks in the following terms of
our poet — " The contemporaries of Sydney
knew the man, and foreigners, no loss than
his own countrymen, seem to have felt from
his personal influence and conversation, an
homage for him, that could only be paid to a
commanding intellect guiding the principles
of a noble heart The variety of his ambition,
perhaps, unfavourably divided tho force of
his genius, feeling that he could take dif-
ferent paths to reputation, ho did not confine
himself to one, but was successively occupied
in the punctilious duties of a courtier, tho
studies and pursuits of a scholar and traveller,
and in the hfe of a soldier, of which tho chi-
valrous accomplishments could not be learnt
without diligence and fatigue All his ex-
cellence in those pursuits, and all the cele-
brity that would have placed fr«n among tho
competitors for a crown, was gained in a lifo
of thirty-two years. His sagacity and inde-
pendence are recorded in the advico winch he
gave to his own sovereign In the quairol
with Lord Oxford, he opposed tho rights of an
English commoner to tho piejudicos of ans-
tociacy and of royalty itself At homo ho
was the patron of literatuie All England
wore mourning for his death. Perhaps tho
well-known anecdote of his generosity to tho
dying soldier speaks more powerfully to tho
heart than the whole volumes of olocpios, in
Hebrew, Greek and Latin, that wore pub-
lished at his death by the Umver&utiGH "

ROBEBT SOUTHWELL

Robert Southwell, born 1500, died 1595.
He was descended fiom an ancient family in
Norfolk, but educated at tho English college
in Douay, after which ho became a Joffuit at
Borne He was appointed piefeot of studios
there in 1585, but soon afterwards he was
sent as a missionary to England. The
Countess of Arundel, who appointed him her
chaplain, proved a generous and faithful fnond.
He resided much with her In July, 1592, he
was apprehended as being implicated in secret

1558io 1649]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

conspiracies against the government. Ho was
kept in prison nearly three yeais, and was
during that period often subjected to the
torture of the rack He thus suffered no less
than ten times He acknowledged that he was
a pnost and a Jesuit, that he come to England
to preach the Catholic religion, and that for
this he was ready to lay down his life , but he
would never admit any knowledge of the con-
spiracies Ho was at last brought to trial at
the King's Bench, condemned and executed
according to the barbarous custom of the
period, the next day, at Tybuin In the 67th
volume of the "Gentleman's Magazine" there
is given a list of his wiitmgs and a sketch of
his Life Eobeit Aiw Willmott says " One
of the least known, though certainly not the
least deserving wiiters of the age of Elizabeth,
was Eobert Southwell Hi-a poetical compo-
sitions do not entitle him to an elevated rank
either by their fancy 01 their power, yet they
contain many thoughts that often * he too deep
for tooiR,' and as * a waibler of poetic prose '
ho will be found to have few rivals , of all
our early poets, Southwell recalls most freshly
the manner of Goldsmith , not that he ever
opened the same vein of pleasantly, or
acquired the ait of making a histoiy of
animals as amusing as a Persian tale , tho
resemblance is t® be traced in the naturalness
of the sentiment, the propriety of the expres-
sion, and the easy harmony of the verse"
In his own times Southwell's works were very
popular

SIR WALTER RALEIGH

Sir Walter Raleigh was born at Hayes,
Devonshire, in 1552 In 15G8 he was sent to
One! College, Oxford, where " he was woithily
esteemed a proficient in oratory and philo-
sophy," but did not long remain He entered
the troop of gentlemen volunteeis who went
to the assistance of the Plotostants of France,
and in which he remained five or six years
He subsequently joined the expedition of
General Noms in tho Netherlands, in aid of
tho Pimce of Oiange Soon after his return,
ho engaged with his biother-m-law, Sir
Humphrey Gilbeit, in a voyage to America,
•w hence they returned m 1570 The next yeai
he was in Ireland, and distinguished himself
against the rebels of Munster On his return
to England, he gamed the favour of Queen
Elizabeth by a romantic piece of gallantly
Her Majesty, while taking a walk, stopped at
a muddy place, hesitating- whether to proceed
or not , on which Raleigh took off his new
plush cloak, and spread it on the ground
The queen trod gently over the foot-cloth and
soon lewarded the sacrifice of a cloak In
1584 he fitted out a squadron and endeavoaied
to establish the colony, named in honour of
Elizabeth, Virginia After spending .£40,000,

he abandoned the attempt to a mercantile
corporation. The expedition brought home
the tobacco-plant and tho potato. Sir Walter
bore a distinguished poit in the defeat of the
Spanish Armada in 1588. In 1595 he sailed
to Guiana and destroyed the capital of
Tnnidad. He was one of those who brought
about the fall of Essex, and remained in the
favour of the queen till her death. In the
succeeding reign his fortunes changed He
was stripped of his piefeiments, tried and
condemned for high tieason, on a charge the
most frivolous and without the least evidence
He remained in the Tower thiiteen years,
during which he wrote several works on
various subjects of great importance, the best
of which was the '" History of the World,"
which was published m 1614. The year
following he was released, m consequence of
the nattering account which he had given of
some nch mines in Guiana On gaming life
liberty, he sailed to that country, in search of
those pretended mines, instead of discovering
which, he burnt the Spanish town of St.
Thomas, and returned to England, where on
the complaint of Gondomar, the Spanish
ambassador, he was apprehended, and, in a
most unprecedented manner, beheaded at
Westminster, 1618, on his former sentence.
His woiks aie historical, philosophical, poet-
ical and political As an author, Hume
declares him to be the "be-st model of our
ancient style , " and Hollam speaks of 1™n as
"less pedantic than most of his contemporaries,
seldom low, and never affected "

NICHOLAS BRETON.

Nicholas Breton, born 1555, died 1624 He
is supposed to have been of a Staffordshire
family. He published a number of poetical
pieces Sir Egerton Brydges writes " The
ballad of PhilUda and Condon, reprinted by
Peicy, is a delicious little poem, and if we
are to judge from this specimen, his poetical
povv ers — for surely he must have had the powers
of a poet — weie distinguished by simplicity, at
once easy and elegant " "Nicholas Bieton,"
says Phillips, in his " Theatrum Poetarum, } "• a
wiiter of pastorals, sonnets, canzons and
madrigals, in which kind of wi*tmg he keeps
company with seveial othei contemporary
emulators of Spenser and Sir Philip Sydney in
a published collection of selected odes of the
chief pastoral sonnetteers, &e of that age "
" Hishappiebt vein," icmoiks Campbell, "isin
little pastoral pieces " — SeeRitson's c Bibho
Poetica", Lowndes's "Brit Bibliographer,"
Bonn's edit.

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Christopher Marlowe was born about the
year 1565. He studied at Cambridge, and

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[THIED PBBIOD —

1 took the M A. degree in 1587 He became a
writer for the stage and probably an actor
His life was disgraceful At the early age of
thirty he was kdled in a disreputable quarrel,
his own sword being turned against him in a
house of ill-fame. He translated several of
the classics. He also wrote ^ Dr Faustus " ;
" Edward the Second " ; " The Jew of Malta " ;
" Tamberlaine the Great"; "Lust's Domi-
nion " , " Dido, Queen of Carthage " ; and the
" Massacre at Paris " They convey abund-
ant proof of the great power their author
possessed of drawing characters more than
human m their intense malignity and terrible
depth of villany The bishops ordered his
translations of " Ovid's Love Elegies " to be
burnt in public for their licentiousness, although
Campbell justly adds, that if all the licentious
poems of that period had been included in the
martyrdom, Shakspere's tk Venus and Adonis "
would have hardly escaped — See Beeton's
" Diet. Unir Biog " ; Campbell's " Specimens
of the Bntish Poets "

JOSHUA SYLVESTEB

Joshua Sylvester, born 1563, died in Holland
1613 Ho was a merchant adventurer, and
was in great favour with Queen Elizabeth and
King James. Prince Henry, son of the latter
monarch, appointed him his poet pensioner
He wrote several poems, and translated into
English verse, Du Bartas's " Divine Weeks
and Works," and some pieces from Fracas-
tarj.ua He was called by his contemporaries,
Silver-tongued — Beeton's " Diet. Umv.
Biog " , Campbell's " Specimens "

BICHABD BABNFIELD

Richard Barnfield was born in 1574, and
entered at Brasonose College, Oxford, m 1589.
He wrote "The Affectionate Shepherd",
"The Encomium of Lady Pecuma, or the
Praise of Money " , Cb The Complaint of Poetne
for the Death of Liberalise " ; " The Combat
between Conscience and Coveteousnes^ in the
Minds of Men", and "Poems in divers
Humours " In what year he died is unknown
— See Boss's «• Biog Diet " ; Ellis' s " Speci-
mens " , Bitson's " Bib Poet. " ; Warton's
'•Hist of Eng Poetry ", Alhbone's '"Cnt.
Diet, of Eng Lit."

THOMAS WATSON

Thomas Watson, born 1560, died about
1592 He was a native of London, and
studied the common law Stevens preferred
hia sonnets to Shakspere's , but Campbell
wittily remarks, "Watson's sonnets are all

of eighteen lanes; and perhaps in their
superfluity of four, Stevens thought their
excellence to consist, for as ho loved qiumtity
in Shakspere, he would like "bulk in another."
— Campbell's Specimens

EDMUND SPENSER

This eminent poet was born in 1553, and
educated at Pembroke College, Cambridge,
where he took his degree, but not obtaining
his fellowship, he quitted the university
His earliest poem was the "Shepherd's
Calendar," first published in 1579, which
he dedicated to Sir Philip Sydney, who
became his patron, and introduced him at
court In 1580 he was appointed by the
Earl of Leicester, Secretary to Lord Groy,
Viceroy of Ireland, and obtained a grant of
lands at Kilcolmain, in the county of Cork,
where he built a house, and finished his
celebrated poem, "The Faerie Queen" In
the rebellion begun by the Earl of Tyrone,
his house was fired, and one of his children
perished in the conflagration , upon which he
retired to London He died in 1509, and wan
bunod near Chaucer in Westminster Abbey
Pope says "There is something in Spenser
which pleases us as strongly in one's old ago
as it did in one's youth I read the * Faerie
Queen * when I was about twelve with a vast
deal of delight, " and Piofessor Craik, in his
admirable (* Sketches of Literature and Learn-
ing in England," observes " Without calling
Spenser the greatest of all poets, wo may still
say that his poetry is the most poetical of all
poetry " — See Beeton's " Diet Umv Biog " ,
Campbell's "Specimens" , Chambors's "Cyolo.
English Lit " vol i

SAMUEL DANIEL

Samuel Daniel was born at Tauuton,
Somersetshire in 1562 He was educated at
Magdalen Hall, Oxford, and was subsequently
tutor to the celebrated Anne Clifford, daughter
of George, Earl of Cumberland, and afterwards
Countess of Pembroke Wo know little of
his history He resided for some yearq, it
seems, in a small house in the parish of St
Luke, London, associated with Shakspeare,
Marlowe, Chapman and others, and towards
the close of his life, retired to a farm at
Becbngton, near Philips-Norton, in Somerset-
shire He wrote a number of works. Drum-
mond says of him, " for sweetness and rhyming,
second to none," and Bolton remarks of his
writings that they " oontame somewhat a fiat,
yet withal a very pure and copious English,
and words as warrantable as any man's, and
fitter perhaps for prose than measure "
Gabriel Haivey admires Daniel for his efforts

From 1558 to 1649 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

to enrich and improve his native tongue.
Langboine, in his " Dramatic Poets," speaks
of "him as " one whose memory will ever be
fresh in iho minds of those who favour history
or poetry " Fuller, in his " Worthies," calls
him " an exquisite poet " Headley says, " ho
has BTnll in the pathetic, and his pages are
disgraced with neither pedantry nor conceit,"
in which opinion he is confirmed by the
illustrious author of the " Introduction to the
Literature of Europe," who writes, "It is
the chief praise of Daniel, and must have
contiibuted to what popularity he enjoyed in
his own age, that his English is enmently
pure, free from affectation, archaism, and
from pedantic innovation, with very little that
is now obsolete " — See Allibone's " Cnt Diet,
of Eng Lit " ; Chambers' s " Cyd " vol i ;
Campbell's " Specimens " , Brake's ^ Shak-
spere and his Times."

MICHAEL BBAYTON

Michael Brayton is said to have been bom
at Hartshill, Warwickshire, in 1653 He
studied some time at Oxford, and was in-
debted to Sir Henry Goodeve, the Countess
of Bedford, and Sir Walter Aston To the
hospitality of tho last-mentioned patron he
refers, whon complaining of his want of suc-
cess in gaming the smiles of the court, upon
the accession of James I "All my long-
nounshed hopes (wore) even buried alive
before my face , so tmceitain in this woild
be tho end of our dearest endeavours ' And
whatever is herein (the <kPoly-01bion") that
tastos of a free spmt, I thankfully confess
to proceed from the continued bounty of my
truly noble friend, Sir Walter Aston , which
hath given me the best of those hours, whose
leisure hath effected this which now I pub-
lish ; " and again :

" Trent, by Tbcall graced, the Astons'

ancient seat,
Which oft the Muse hath found her safe

and sweet retreat "

The Earl of Borset proved as kind to his
age as Sir Walter Aston had to his earlier
years, and under the roof of this generous
nobleman he spent his declining days in re-
pose and comfort, beloved by his associates
and admired by his countrymen at large In
1613 appealed the first of his principal work,
the "Poly-Olbion," containing eighteen songs,
this he reprinted in 1022 with the addition of
twelve songs, making thirty in the whole, or
thirty thousand lines, written in Alexandrian
couplets' He wrote the "Shepherd's Gar-
land" , the " Barrens' Warres" , " England's
Heroical Epistles " , the " Bownfall of Bobert
of Normandy", " Holy Himnes " , "Nym-
phidia", the " Court of Fayno " , "Elegies" ,

and other works. It is said of the " Nym-
phidia," that it " con never become obsolete
until the spirit of true poetry shall have lost
its charms " Burton, the antiquary of Leices-
tershire, considers that the name alone of
Brayton exalted the poetical eminence of
England to an equality with Italy itself
Bishop Nicolson, in his English " Hist Lib ,"
commends the accuracy of the "Poly-Olbion " -
" It affords a much truer account of *Ty« king-
dom, and the dominion of Wales, than could
well be expected fiom the pen of a poet."
This work is, indeed, a most singular perform-
ance Imagine a poet gravely proposing as
the subject of his muse, a chorographical de-
scription of all the tracts, livers, mountains,
forests, and other paits of the renowned isle
of Great Britain, with intermixture of the
most remarkable stones, antiquities, wonders,
&c , of the same Headley remarks, that " his
" Poly-Olbion ' is one of the most singnlor
works this country has produced, and seems
to me eminently original The information
contained in it is in general so accurate, that he
is quoted as an authority by Hearne and
Wood His perpetual allusions to obsolete
traditions, remote events, remarkable facts
and personages, together with his curious
genealogies of nvers, and his taste for natural
histoiy, have contributed to render his work
very valuable to the antiquary " — See Allibono's
'• Cut Bict Eng Lit " , Hallam's *' Introduc
to Lit His ", Brydges* " Imaginative Biog." ,
Bisraeli's fcfi Amemtiesof Lit." , Brake's " Shak-
spere and his Times "

EDWABB FAIRFAX, BB.

Edward Fairfax, B B , was the second son
of Sir Thomas Fairfax, of Benton, in York-
shire, and passed his days in lettered ease at
his seat at Fuyistone. He wrote a poetical
history of Edwoid the Block Prince, twelve
eclogues, a " Biscourse of Witchcraft," some
letters against the Church of Borne, and a
translation of Tasso's "Recovery of Jeru-
salem." Few tianslators have been honoured
with commendations from so many distin-
guished authorities The names of King
James, KVng Chailes, Bryden, Waller, Collins,
Milton, Hume, Charles Lamb, by no means
exhaust the list Its ease, elegance, and
exactness, for the age in which it was trans-
lated, is surprising — See AUibone's "Cnt
Diet Eng Lit", Dryden's preface to his
" Fables " , Hume's " History of England " ;
"London Quarterly Beview"; Phillips's
" Theat. Poet "

SIB JOHN HABBINGTON.

Sir John Hainngton, born 1561, died 1612.
He was the son of John Harrington, the poet

C

BIOG-BAPHICAL NOTICES.

[THIRD PEKIOD —

we have already noticed, and was a great
favourite with las godmother, Queen Elizabeth,
although temporarily banished from court for
•writing1 a witty work upon an objectionable
tihome, entitled " The Metamorphosis of Ajax "
Lon 1596, 8vo A hcenoe was refused for
printing this work, yet it nevertheless went
through three impressions Sir John also
published " Orlando Furioso," translated into
English verse, which was the first version of
Ariosto in our language The first fifty stanzas
of Book Tnmr. were translated by Francis
Harrington, Sir John's youngest brother
Ellis says of this work, " that although much
admued at the time, it is now found to be
inaccurate and feeble ," yet, notwithstanding
this, Walton remarks, that "it emiohed our
poetry by a communication of new stones of
fiction and imagination, both of the romantic
and comic species of Gothic machinery and
familiar manners " Campbell speaks m higher
terms " The tianslation of the * Jerusalem *
was published when he was a young man, was
inscribed to Queen Elizabeth, and forms one
of the glones of her leign " Sir John pub-
lished a number of froiks, among ^ hich was
the " Nugse Antiques," being a miscellaneous
collection of oiigmaJ papers in prose and
verse, of the times of Henry THE , Edward
YI , Mary, Elizabeth, and James, by Sir J H
and others who lived in those times. These
volumes should be in the library of every
histoncal student " Sir John Harrington
appears to have been a gentleman of great
pleasantry and humour , his fortune was easy,
the court his element, and wit, not his busi-
ness, but <liversion " — See Campbell's " Speci-
mens", AUibone's "Cnt Diet Eng Lit " ;
Hallam's * Lit Hist of Euiope " , " Censura
Literana", Cooper's "Muses' Library," p
297, Bishop Nioolson's "English Hist Lib.",
Park's Advert to his edition of "Nugsa
Antiques "

FULKE GREVILLE.

Fulke Greville, Loid Brooke, born 1554,
died 1628, was the son of Sir Fulke Greville,
of Beauchamp Court, in Waiwickshire He
entered at Trinity College, Cambridge, and
afterwards completed his studies at Oxford
After attaining distinction at court, and being
honoured by a seat at the Privy Council, he
was assassinated by one of his domestics,
named Ealph Heywood He ordered the fol-
lowing inscription to be placed on his own
grave " Servant to Queen Elizabeth, Coun-
cillor to King James, and friend to Sir Philip
Sydney" He wrote a variety of works,
among which are- "A Treatise of Human
Learning," in fifteen stanzas; " An Inquisition
upon Fame and Honour," in eighty-six stan-
zas, the "lafe of the renowned Sir Philip
Sydney"; "Alaham," a tragedy; "Musta-
pha," a tragedy, a "Letter of Travel!."

Richard Baxter, the celebrated nonconformist,
speaks highly of one of hi* works Hallam
in his "Liteiaiy Hiatoiy of Europe," says
" Lord Brooke's poetiy is chiefly woith notice
as on indication of that thinking spurt upon
political science, which was to pioduce the
riper speculation of Hobbes and Hailing ton
and Locke" — See Walpolo's "Royal and
Noble Authors", Langbome's "Dramatical
Poets " , Baxter's " Poetical Fragments " ,
Chailes Lamb , Hazlitt's " Table Talk of
Persons one would wish to have seen " ,
AUibone's " Cnt Diet Eng Lit " , Camp-
bell's "Specimens"

SIB HENRY WOTTON.

Sir Henry Wotton, born at Bocton-Mal-
herbe, in Kent, in 1568 Foreseeing tho fall
of Essex, to whom he was secretary, ho left
the kingdom, but returned on the accession of
James, and was appointed ambassador to tho
court of Venice. Towaids the close of his
Me, he took deacon's orders, and was nomi-
nated Provost of Eton Ho wrote tho " Ele-
ments of Architecture" , "Parallel between
the Earl of Essex and the Duke of Bucking-
ham " , " Characters of some Kings of Eng-
land"; "Essay on Education", and "Poems,"
punted in the B.eliquce Wottonionoj, by good
old Isaac Walton He died in 1630 If the
reader has not seen the "Life of Wotton,"
by Walton, let him by all means got it , a
greater treat is not in the whole language of
biography than this life by tho quaint and
delightful angler — See Campbell's "Speci-
mens", Beeton's "Diet TJmv Biog " ,
Chambers's " Cyc Eng Lit "

HENRY CONSTABLE

Henry Constable was educated at Oxford,
but took his B A degiee at St John's College,
Caxnbiidge, in 1579. He published " Diana,
or the Excellent Conceitful Sonnets of H C ,
&c ," in 1584 Ellis thinks he was bom in
1568, but it is quite uncertain, as also IH tho
time of his death, Dr Birch, in his " Me-
moirs of Queen Elizabeth," supposes that ho
-was the some Henry Constable who, for his
zeal ra the Catholic religion, was long obliged
to live in a state o± banishment Ho returned
to England, however, about the beginning of
James's reign — See Edmund Bolton's " Hy-
percntica " , Ellis' s " Specimens " , Malone's
"Shakspere," x 74, Todd's "Miltou", War-
ton's " Engkah Poetry " ; Campbell's " Speci-
mens " , AUibone's " Cnt Diet. Eng. Lit."

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE

William Shakspero, born 1564, died 1616.
The neglect of Shakspere by his countrymen,

1538 *o 1649 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

immediately after his own age, or rather the
little attention then paid to the personal
history of poets, has left to the anxious curi-
osity of modern admiration slight materials
for the construction of his biography. Official
documents, tiadition, and scattered notices in
various writers, have been carefully gleaned to
procure a few meagre facts from which we
may trace the great poet's Irving caieer He
was born at Stratford-on-Avon, in Warwick-
shire, in April, 1564 His father, a wool-
comber or glover, seems to have been de-
scended from a family of yeomen settled at
Smtterfield, neai "Warwick, and, marrying a
rustic heiress, Mary Arden (who inherited a
farm of some value), he went to Stratford to
leside aa a tradesman. He became high-
bailiff of the town, and possessed seveial
houses in Stratfoid; but his circumstances
declined It is conjectured that a short course
in the Stratford grammar-school was all the
regular education Shakspere ever received
The necessity of assistance in his business
forced his father to withdraw l™ early from
school The traditionary anecdotes of his
youth indicate anything but the earnest
student anxiously expanding the rudimentary
acquirements received from a village peda-
gogue , and yet the question of his learning
has employed the elaborate, and often sar-
castic and angry eiudition of hostile critics
But Shakspere's "wit" was *Lmade ot
Atalanta's heels " an hour of a mind like his
could extiact the honoy, the acquisition of
which employed the days and nights of less
vigorous intellects If we cannot believe, in
all its circumstances, the traditionary tale of
the deei -stealing in Ohorlecote Park, the
angry vengeance of Sir Thomas Lucy, and
the forced flight of the poet from his native
place, we can yet discern in the compelled
hurry of his marriage, that the ardour of his
temperament had involved him in irregularities
and imprudences He married, at the age of
eighteen, Anne Hathaway, a young woman
seven years older than himself, the daughter
of a *" substantial yeoman" in the neighboui-
hood Thiee or four years after his marriage
he removed to London, having possibly per-
ceived the incipient tendencies of his genius
dining the occasional visits of themetiopolitan
players to Stiatford In London we soon find
the poet in comparative opulence He rapidly
acquired a largo property in more than one
theatre The order in which he produced his
dramatic compositions has been a subject of
keen inquiry , but the minute reseaiches of
editors elicit few satisfactory results In
whatever order his dramas were produced, he
soon vindicated tho immense superiority of
his genius by universal popularity He was
the companion of the nobles and the wits of
the time, and a favourite of Elizabeth herself,
at whose request some of his pieces were
written The wealth which his genius re-
alized enabled him, comparatively early in

life, to retire from his professional career
He had purchased an estate in the vicinity of
his native town ; but his tranquil retirement
was of no long duration : he enjoyed it only
four years. He died April 23rd (St George's
day), 1616, and was boned " on the north side
of the chancel in. the great church of Strat-
ford." His bust is placed in the wall over his
grave • on the stone beneath is the following
epitaph : —

" Good friend, for Jesus' sake, forbear
To dig the dust inclosed here.
Blest be the man that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones "

His only son had died early , all the children
of his married daughters died without issue.

The works of Shakspeie consist of thirty-
seven plays, tragedies, comedies, and histories;
the poems Sfc Venus and Adonis," and "Tai-
quan and Lucrece," with a collection of sonnets
Of the thirty-seven plays, "Titus Andromcus,"
" Pencles," and e( Henry VI ," with portions
of some others, have been doubted by critics
to be authentically Shakspere'b; and some
have claimed for him other authorless pieces
of the period The total want of care to pre-
serve and to authenticate the pi eductions of
his genius before his death, has been supposed
to indicate the poet's perfect indifference to
fame

The worship with which Shakspero is>
universally regaided in this country disposes
us to love him on trust The estimation of
his contemporaries* and iivals pioves fa™ not
undeserving of this regard The "gentle
Shakspere" was universally beloved. Gif-
f ord has extracted the gall even from expres-
sions that were esteemed as the sarcasm of
Ben Jonson's surly ingiatitude

The subject of Shakspere's dramatic and
poetical character is so vast, that it would be
idle here to attempt its analysis The variety
of its attributes has, as might have been ex-
pected, drawn both censure and applause from
different tastes and ages. Voltaiie could see
in " Hamlet " only the work of a " diunken
savage " The mechanical pedantry of Eymer
sees in "Othello" only *• a bloody faice"
" a tragedy of a pocket-handkeichief " "We
shall quote the celebiated passage of Dryden,
eulogized by Johnson as c a perpetual model
of encomiastic cuticism; exact without mi-
nuteness, and lofty without exaggeration" . —
"He (Shakspere) was the man, who of all
modern, and, perhaps, ancient poets, had the
largest and most comprehensive soul. All the
images of nature were still present to him,
1 and he diew them, not laboriously, but luckily
When he descnbes anything, you more than
see it, you f eel it too Those who accuse him
to have wanted learning give him the greater
commendation . he was natuially learned ; ho
needed not the spectacles of books to lead
nature; he looked inwards and found hor
thoie. I cannot say he is everywhere alike ,

BIOGKRAPHICAL NOTICES

[THIBD PERIOD —

-were he so, I should do him injury to compare
him with the greatest of mankind. He is
many tames flat, insipid , his comic wit de-
generating into clinches, his serious into bom-
bast But he is always great, when great
occasion is presented to him , no Tnan can say
he ever had a fit subject for his wit, and did
not then raise himself as high above the rest
of poets —

Quantum lenta solent inter viburna cupressi."

This "epitome of excellence," as Johnson
terms the above criticism, must constitute
our sole tribute to Shakspeie's merits
The voluminous admiration of more modem
tunes does not contain a very great deal more
thanis compressed into the vigour of Dryden's
remarks We would simply invite attention
to the higher views of the philosophy of
Shafcspere's literatuie, suggested by the
fine imagination of Coleridge Poets have
always been Shakspeie's best critics.

See the "Poetry and Poets of Britain," by
Daniel Scrymg-eour, pp S3 — 85 , Chambeis's
" Cyo Eng Lit ," vol i , Beeton's " Diet.
TJmv Biog"

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHEE

Beaumont and Fletcher, born 1586, died
1616 , born 1576, died 1G25 Those names,
united by friendship and confederate genius,
ought not to be disjoined Francis Beau-
mont was the son of Judge Beaumont of the
Common Pleas, and was born at Giace-Dieu,
in Leicestershire, in 1536 He studied at
Oxford, and passed fiom thence to the Inner
Temple , but his application to the law cannot
be supposed to have been intense, as his fiist
play, in conjunction with Fletcher, was acted
in his twenty-first year, and the shoit re-
mainder of his life was devoted to the diama
He married Ursula, daughter and co-hen ess
of Sir Hemy Isley, of Kent, by whom he had
two daughters one of whom was alive, at a
great age, in the year 1700. He died in 1616,
and was buned at the entrance of St Bene-
dict's chapel, near the Earl of Middlesex's
monument, in the collegiate church of St
Peter, Westminster. As a lyrical poet,
F. Beaumont would be entitled to some
remembrance, independent of his niche in
the drama

JohnFletclierwasthesonof Dr E Fletcher,
bishop of LonJon • he was born, probably, in the
metropolis, in 1576, and was admitted a pen-
sioner of Bennet College about the age of
fifteen* His tune and piogreas at the univer-
sity have not been traced, and only a few
anecdotes have been gleaned about the manner
of his life and death Before the mainago
of Beaumont, we aro told by Aubrey, that
Fletcher and he lived together in London,
near the Bankside, not far from the theatio,

had one * •* * in the same house botwoon
them, the same clothes, cloak, &o. Fletcher
died in the great plague of 1625 A fnend
had invited him to the country, and ho un-
fortunately stayed in town to get a suit of
clothes for the visit, during which time ho
caught the fatal infection He was interred
in St Saviour's, Southwark, where his grave,
like that of Beaumont's in Westminster, is
without an inscription

Fletcher survived his dramatic associate
ten yeais , so that their share in the drama
that passes by their joint names was far from
equal in quantity, Fletcher having written
between tlnrty and foity after tiho death of
his companion Tio^octmg those which ap-
peared in their common lifetime, the general
account is, that Fletoher chiefly supplied tho
fancy and invention of their pieces, and that
Beaumont, though he was the youngor, dic-
tated tho coolei touches of tasto and accuracy
This tiadition is supported, or rather exagge-
rated, in the verses of Cartwiightto Fletcher,
in which he says,

" Beaumont was fain
To bid thoo be more dull, that's wi^te

again,
And bate pome of thy fire which from thoo

came
In a clear, bright, full, but too largo a

flame "

3Ianyver&es to tho same effect might bo
quoted, but this tradition, so derogatory to
Beaumont's genius, is contradicted by other
testimonies of lather an eailior date, and
coming from writers who must have known
the great dramatists themselves much bettor
than Caitwnght Bon Jonson Hpookfl of
Beaumont's originality with tho emphasis
peculiar to the expression of all lus opinions;
and Earle, the intimate fnond of Beaumont,
ascubod to trim, while Fletcher was still alive,
the exclusive claim to thoso three distinguished
plays, the "Maid's Tragedy," " Phila&tor,"
and "King and No King-3', a statement
which Fletchei's fiiends wore likely to havo
contradicted, if it had boon untrue If Beau-
mont had the solo 01 chief merit of thopo*
pieces, he could not have been what Cartwnght
would have us believe, tho more prunor of
Fletcher's luxuriances , an a&sossor, who made
him write again and moro dully Indeed,
with reverence to their memories, nothing that
they have left us has much tho appearance
of being twico wntton ; and whatever their
amiable editoi, Mr Seward, may say about
the correctness of their plots, tho manage-
ment of their stones would load us to feuapoct,
that neither of the duumvirate troubled them-
selves much about correctness Thoir charm
is vigour and variety , their defects, a coarse-
ness and grotesqueness that betray no emmrr-
spoction Theie is BO much more hai <liho<>d
than discretion in the arrangement of ihoir
scenes, that if Beaumont's taste and judgment

From 1558 to 1649 ]

BIOGEAPEICAL NOTICES.

liad tho disposal of them, lie fully pioved him-
self the junior partner. But it is not pro-
bable that their departments were so divided
Still, however, the scanty lights that enable
us to guoss at what they lespectively wiote,
seem to warrant that distinction in the oast
of their genius which is made in the poet's
allusion to

"Fletcher's keen treble, and deep Beau-
mont's base."

Beaumont was the deeper scholar Fletcher
is said to have been moie a man of the would,
Beaumont's vein was more pathetic and
solemn, but ho was not without humour,
for the mock-heroic scenes, that are excellent
in some of then plays, aio universally as-
cribed to him Fletcher's muse, except where
she sleeps in pastorals, seems to have been a
nvmph of boundless unblushing pleasantly
Fletchei's admiicrs warmly complimented his
originality at the expense of Beaumont, on
tho stiength of his supenoi gaiety, as if gay
thoughts must necessarily be more oiigmol
than senous ones, or depth of sensibility be
allied to shallowness of invention We aie
told also, that Beaumont's taste leant to the
hard and abstract school of Jonson, while his
coadjutor followed the wilder graces of Shak-
sporo But if Earle can bo ci edited for
Beaumont's having written " Philaster," we
shall discover him in that tragedy to be the
very opposite of an abstract painter of choiac-
ter , it has the spnit of individual life The
piece o-vves much less to ait than it loses by
negligence Its foims and passions arc those
ot romance, and its giacos, evidently imitated
irom Shakspere, want only the fillet and
zone of art to consummate their beauty.

On the whole, while it is generally allowed
that Fletcher was the gayer, and Beaumont
tho gravoi genius of then? amusing theatre, it
is unnecessary to depreciate either, for they
weie both onginal and creative , or to draw
invidious compaiisons between men, who,
themselves, disdained to be iivola

See Campbell's "Specimens", Fuller's
"Worthies", Cunningham's "Biog Hist of
Eng", Schlegel's " Dramatic Literature ",
- General Biog Diet", " Loid Macaulay " ,
Shaw's "Outhnos of English Literatuie";
Spolding's " Hist "

SIB JOHN DAVEES

Sir John Davies, born 1570, died 1G26
He was a native of Wiltshire, educated at
Queen's College, Oxford, and aftei wards
studied law In 1603, he was sent as Soli-
citor-General to Ireland, soon rose to bo
Attorney-General, and subsequently was ap-
pointed one of uho Judges of Assize. In 1607
he was knighted, and after filling several
offices wibh groat credit, ho was in 162C ap-

pointed Lord Chief Justice of England, but
died suddenly, before the ceremony of settle-
ment or installation could be performed.
Campbell says that Sir John was expelled
from the Temple for beating Eichard Martin,
who was afterwards Recorder of London Hig
"Poeme of Dauncing," which he wrote in
fifteen days, appeared in 1506, and, curious
enough, with a dedicatory sonnet "To his
very Friend, Ma. Eich Martin." In 1599,
although the dedication to Queen Elizabeth
bears date 1502, appeared his "NosceTeip-
sum . this Oiacle expounded in two Elegies ,
1st Of Human Knowledge 2nd Of the Soul
of MflfTi and the Immortality thereof " Eichard
Baxter calls it "an excellent Poem, in open-
ing the nature, faculties, and certain immor-
tality of man's soul/' and Hallam says,
" Perhaps no language con produce a poem,
extending to so great a length, of more con-
densation of thought, 01 in which fewer lan-
guid verses will be found "

" Sir John Davies and Sir William Dave-
nant,'1 writes Southey, " avoiding equally the
opposite faults of too artificial and too careless
a style, wrote in numbeis, which for precision
and clearness, and felicity and strength, have
never been surpassed "

He published a number of law books, among
which ore 6* Eeports of Cases in the Law in
the King's Courts in Ireland," 2 Jac 1 , 10
Jac I, 1604-12, with a learned preface.
These weie the first leportsof Iiish judgments
which had ever been mode public during the
400 years that the laws of England had existed
in that kingdom « An Abridgement of Coke's
Eeports " The gieat Earl of Chatham, Bishop
Nicolson, and other eminent men, speak in the
highest terms of Sir John Indeed, in versa-
tility of talent, brilliancy of imagination,
political wisdom, and literary taste, he has
been equalled but by few Englishmen — See
Campbell's "Specimens", Alhbone's "Crit.
Diet Eng Lit " ; " Athen Oxon " , Johnson
and Chalmers's "English Poets"; Marvin's
"Legal Bibl '; Wallaces ''Beporters ',
"Betrosp Eeview," vol xliv, 1822

JOHX DOXNE D D

John Donne, DD, born 1573, died 1631.
The life of Donno is more interesting than
his poetry He was descended fiom an an-
cient family , his mother was related to Sir
Thomas More, and to Heywood, the epigram-
matist. A prodigy of youthful learning, he
was enteied ot Hart Hall, now Hertford
College, at the unprecedented age of eleven
he studied afterwaids with an extraordinary
thirst for general knowledge, and seems to
have consumed a considerable patrimony on
his education and travels Having accom-
panied the Earl of Essex in his expedition to
Cadiz, he purposed to have set out on an

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[THIRD PERIOD —

extensive course of travels, and to have visited
the holy sepulchre at Jerusalem Though
compelled to give up his design by the in-
superable dangers and difficulties of the
journey, he did not como home till his mind
had been stoied with an extensive knowledge
of foreign languages and manners, by a resi-
dence in the south of Europe On his return
to England, the Lord Chancellor EUesmere
made fa™ his secretary, and took him to his
house. There he formed a mutual attachment
to the niece of Lady EUesmere, and without
the means or piospect of support, the lovers
thought proper to marry. The lady's father,
Sir George More, on the declaration of this
step, was so transported with rage, that he
insisted on the chancellor's driving Donne
from his protection, and even got him im-
prisoned, together with the witnesses of the
marriage. He was soon released from prison,
but the chancellor would not again take him
into his service , and the brutal father-in-law
would not support the unfoitunate pair In
their distress, however, they were sheltered
by Sir Fiancis Wolloy, a son of Lady Elles-
mere by a. formei marriage, with whom they
resided for seveial years, and were treated
with a kindness that mitigated their sense of

Bonne had been bred a Catholic, but on
mature reflection had made a conscientious
renunciation of that faith One of his warm
friends, Dr. Morton, afterwards bishop of
Durham, wished to have provided for him, by
generously suriendermg one of his benefices
he therefore pressed him to take holy orders,
and to return to him the third day with his
answer to the proposal. "At hearing of
this," says his biographer, "Mi. Donne's
faint breath and peiplexed countenance gave
visible testimony of an inward conflict He
did not, however, leturn his answer till the
third clay, when, with fervid thanks, he
declined the offer, telling the bishop that
there were some eirois of his life which,
though long repented of, and pardoned, as he
trusted, by God, might yet be not forgotten
by some men, and which might cast a dishonour
on the sacred office " We are not told what
those irregularities were , but the conscience
which could dictate such an answer was not
likely to require great offences for a stumbling-
block. This occurred in the poet's thirty-
fourth year

After the death of Sir P Wolley, his next
protector was Sir Robert Drury, whom he
accompanied on an embassy to France TTia
wife, with an attachment as romantic as
poet could wish for, had formed the design of
accompanying him, as a page It was on this
occasion, and to dissuade her from the design,
that he addressed to her the verses beginning,
'•By our first strange and fatal intemew"
Isaak Walton relates, with great simplicity,
how the poet, one evening, as he sat alone
in his chamber in Paris, saw the vision, of his

beloved wife appear to him with a dead infant
in her arms, a story which wants only cre-
dibility to be interesting He had at last the
good fortune to attract the regard of King
James , and, at his majesty's instance, as ho
might now consider that he had outlived the
remembrance of his former follies, he was
persuaded to become a clergyman In this
capacity he was successively appointed chap-
lain to the king, lecturer of Lincoln's Inn,
vicar of St. Dunstan's, Fleet Street, and
Dean of St. Paul's. His death, at a late ago,
was occasioned by consumption Ho was
buiied in St Paul's, wheie his figure yet
lemoins in the vault of St. Faith's, carved
from a painting for which ho sat a few days
before his death, dressed in his winding-sheet
— See Campbell' s " Specimens ' ' , Sorymgoour's
"Poetry and Poets of Britain", "London
Quarterly Review," lix 6, 1837 , Isaak Wal-
ton's "Life of Donne", Walton's "Life,"
by Zouch , Drake's " Shakspeie and his
Times"; "Rotros. Rev," vm 31, 1823,
Allibone's " Cnt Diet. Eng Lit "

BEN JONSON".

Ben Jonson, born 1574, died 1037. Benja-
min, or, according to his own abbreviation of
signature, Ben Jonson, was born in West-
minster His family is said to havo been
originally from Annandale. Losing his father,
a preacher in Westminster, before his buth,
the benevolence of a friend placed him at
Westminster School, where he attracted tho
notice of the celebrated Camdon, at that
penod second master in that establishment.
Hi a mother having married a bricklayer, Bon
was taken fiom school and made to work at
his stepfather's business From this disagree-
able occupation he escaped by enlisting into
the army He served one campaign in tho
Low Countries, and on his return ho is said
to have been a short time at St John's
College, Cambridge , but this wants confirma-
tion He took to the stage, fought a duel
with a brother actor, whom ho killed, and
was thrown into prison In prison ho became
a convert to the Roman Catholic religion,
which he professed for a number of years
afterwards

On his release he resumed his efforts to
piocnre a subsistence from a connection with
the theatres. Slender as wore his resources
and prospeots, at the ago of twenty ho
mamed , and pursued with indomitable por-
seveiouce, under great disadvantages, those
studies which ultimately rendered him ono of
tho most learned men of his time Although
his talents procured him notice and distinction,
his circumstances continued still straitened.
Gifford disproves satisfactorily the frequently
alleged generous patronage of Jonson, in hit*

Prom 1558 to 1649.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES,

necessity, by Shakspere, and, equally satis-
factorily, the alleged ingratitude and malignity
of Jonson. His early efforts, as was the
custom of the tune, were made rn joint works
with Marston, Decker, and others His first
acknowledged piece that has descended to us
is " Every Man in his Humour " Its success,
if not materially improving his finances,
prodigiously increased his reputation A
lapid successor! of pieces of great excellence
placed Iron in the fiist rank of dramatic
writers. Fairer prospects of emolument
opened to him on the accession of James I.
Prom that period he almost abandoned the
stage, and employed himself in the production
of his senes of beautiful masques for the
amusement of the Couit and of the nobility
This species of writing- Jon^on may claim the
credit of having bi ought to perfection, and
it may almost be said to have died with

"him

It was during these happier yoais that he
aciiuiied those habits of conviviality to which
his enemies have given a less gentle name.
His company was courted by all the talent
of the time, and the suppeis of the "Mer-
maid" are mentioned with enthusiasm by
those who had enjoj ed their keen encounters
of contending wits Much of the obloquy
against Jonson has oilmen from a result of a
journey he undeitook to Scotland in 1618
He had visited the poet Diummond of Haw-
thoinden Druminond's notes of their conver-
&ations weie published partially, under the
sanction of hib son, in 1711, long after his
own and Jon«on's death They contained
&trictuie&, leckoned to bo malignant, on many
of Jonson' s contemporaries and on some of
his patrons Jonson' s biographor, Gifford,
falls furiously on Drummond for the treachery
implied in the noting down of confidential
conversations, as these have been the founda-
tion of aspersions of the worst land on
Jonson' s character

The death of James deprived Jonson of a
kind and indulgent patron He had succeeded
Daniel in the hitherto honoraiy office of
laureate, and received for it a sTna.11 pension ;
but ho was neglected by Charles I , and the
concluding years of his life wore spent tinder
the piesture of poverty and di&oaso, duiing
which, however, his indefatigable pon was
seldom unemployed He died in 1637, and
was buned in Westminster Abbey The
flagstone over his grave was inscribed by
some familiar friend with the words " Oh,
rare Ben Jonson "

Gifford heroically defends Jonson from the
calumnies heaped on his memory, especially
by the commentators of Shakspere, and
vindicates for his author the possession of
qualities that commanded the affection and
respect of the fir&t men of the time, and
caused his death to bo felt as a public loss.
He seems to have been a man of strong and
independent character ; somewhat rough and

arrogant in manner, but liberal and kind-
hearted in temper, with the fra.Ti1m.ess and
bluntness of a true Englishman. His works
display a veneration for all that is high-
minded and virtuous; his learning is so
prodigious that his commentators pant with
difficulty after his footsteps He has not
been popular since his own age; Gifford
assigns for this various reasons —See vol. i
p 135, et seq His characters want indivi-
duality, and illustrate humours" rather
than minds His wit is brilliant, "but does
not make the heart laugh " His two trage-
dies, ' Sejanus" and '"Catiline," lofty, ornate,
and coirect in the costume of Roman manners,
aie fngid and passionless " In the plots of
his comedies he is deserving of undisputed
praise " Aristophanes, Teience, and Plautus
are his models At the head of his comedies
in leputation stand

"The Fox, the Alchemist, and Silent Woman,
Done by Ben Jonson, and outdone by no

TTig language is nervous and masculine , "e per-
haps," says Dryden, "he did a httle too
much Romanize our tongue " "FTig masques
abound m passages of the most airy and
animated beauty

Leigh Hunt in his CkMen, Women, and
Books," «*ays, SI do not think that his
poetical ments are yet propeily appieciated
I cannot consent that the palm of humour
alone shall be given to "him while in wit,
feeling, pathos, and poetical diction he is to
be sunk fathoms below Fletcher and Massm-
ger. In the last particular I tfr-mV that he
excels them both and, indeed, all his contem-
poianes except Shakspeare " SeeSerymgeour's
"Poetry and Poets of Biitain" , Schlegel's
"Dramat. Art and lit", Hazktt's "Lect
on the English Comic Writers " , Disraeli's
"Amenities of Literature", the "Humours
of Jonson", Austin and Ralph's "Lives of
the Poets-Laureate", Mary Russell Mitford'a
" Recollections of a Literary Life "

JOSEPH HALL, DD.

Joseph Hall, D D , bom 1574,, died 1656,
one of the most eminent English divines and
scholars, was a native of Ashby-de-la-Zouch,
and educated at Emanuel College, Cambridge,
where, for a short tune, he read the Rhetoric
Lecture in the Schools. He became Rector
of Halstead, was subsequently presented by
Lord Denny to Waltham Holy Cross, and next
made a Prebendary of the Collegiate Church of
Wolverhampton In 1618 he was sent to the
Synod of Doit, was mode Bishop of Exeter
in 1627, and translated to Norwich in 16-41.
On the occurrence of the rebellion, after
suffering imprisonment and enduring various

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[THIBD PERIOD. — •

other hardships,he was sequestered and reduced
to great poverty He retired to Higham,
near Norwich, where he spent the rest of his
days on a straitened income, but in the active
discharge of ministerial duty As a man of
profound learning1, fervent piety, and practical
pliilanthiopy his name should be had in ever-
lasting lemeinbrance He was distinguished
as a poet and as a prose wiiter, and wrote many
sermons, controversial tracts against Roman-
ism, and othei theological treatises. The Eev.
John Wnitef oote, in his funeral sermon, says
"He was noted for a singular wit from his
youth , a most acute ihetoncion and an ele-
gant poet He understood many tongues,
and in the rhetorick of his own he was second
to none that lived in his time " See AHi-
bone's "Cnt Diet Eng Lit " , "Selections of
Hall's Works," by Eev Josiah Pratt, 1808 ,
Orme's "Bibl Bib ", Dibdin's "Lit Comp " ,
Bickersteth's " Christian Student " , Hallam's
" Lit Hist of Europe " , Fuller's " "Worthies
of Leicesteishure " ; Eev Chas Bndges's
"Memou of Miss M J Giaham" , Campbell's
" Specimens "

EICHAED COEBET

This witty and good-natured bishop was born
in 1582 He was the son of a gardener, who,
however, had the honour to be known to and
sung by Ben Jonson He was educated at
Westminster and Oxford , and having leceived
orders, was mode successively Bishop of Ox-
ford and of Noi wich He was a mos L facetious
and rather too convivial person , and a collec-
tion oi anecdotes about him might be made,
little mfenoi, in point of wit and coarseness,
to that famous one, once so popular in Scot-
land, relating to the sayings and doings of
George Buchanan. He is said, on one occa-
sion, to have aided an unfortunate ballad-
singer in his professional duty by arraying
himself in his leathem jacket and vending
the stock, being possessed of a fine presence
and a clear, full, imging voice Occasionally
doffing his clerical costume, he adjourned
with his chaplain, Dr Lushington, to the
wme-cellai, where care and ceremony were
both speedily drowned, the one of the pair
exclaiming, "Here's to thee, Lushington,"
and the other, "Here's to thee, Corbet"
Men winked at these irregularities, probably
on the principle mentioned by Scott, in refer-
ence to Prior Aymer, in "Ivanhoe," — "If
Piior Aymer rode hard in the chase, or re-
mained lato at the banquet, men only shrugged
up their shoulders by recollecting that the
same irregularities were piactised by many of
his brethren, who had no redeeming qualities
whatsoever to atone for them " Corbet, on
the other hand, was a kind as well as a con-
vivial— a warm-hearted as well as an eccentric
man. He was tolerant to the Puritans and
sectaries , his attention to his duties was re-

spectable, his talents were of a high order,
an*d he had in him a vein of genius of no
ordinary kind He died in 1635, but his
poems were not published till 1647 They are
of various merit, and treat of vaiious subjects
In his "Journey to France," you see the
humourist, who, on one occasion, whon the
country people weio flocking to be confirmed,
cried, ' Bear off, there, or I'll confirm ye with
my staff " In his lines to his Ron Vincent,
we see, notwithstanding all hia foibles, the
good man, and in hih "Faiowell to the
Fames," the fine and fanciful poet. See
Gilfillan's "Memous of the Lesa Known
Biitiah Poets", Aubrey's "Letters";
"lafe," byGilchrist, "Athen Oxon "

DE. HENEY KINO

Dr Henry King, born 1592, died 16G9.
He was chaplain to James I and Bishop of
Chichester His poems, elegies, paradoxes,
and sonnets have a neatness, ologanco, and
even a tenderness v, hicli entitle them to more
attention than they now obtain To this
testimony of Potei Cunningham, Eobort
Chambers says, " His language and imagery
aie chaste and refined " See Campbell's
" Specimens " , Chambeid'b " Cycl
Lit." vol i 118

DE. WILDE

Dr. Wilde was a dissenting minister
We know not the dates of his birth and death
He wrote "Iter BoreaJo" a poom, and a
comedy, entitled e* The Benefice "

THOMAS CAEEW

This delectable vor«.inei way born in 1589,
in Gloucostershue, fiom an old family in
which he sprung- He vas educated at Corpus
Chiisti College, Oxtord, but noithor matricu-
lated nor took a dogioe, Aftor finishing his
travels, he returned to England, and became
soon highly distinguished, in the Court of
Chailes I., for his manners, accomplishments,
and wit He was appointed Gentleman of Iho
Privy Chamber and Sewoi in Ordinary to the
King. Ho spent the lest of his life as a gay
and gallant courtier , and in tho intervals of
pleasure produced some light but exquisite
poetry He is said, ere his death, which took
place in 1639, to have become very devout,
and bitterly to hurv e deplored the licentious-
ness of some of his versos

Indelicate choice of subject IB often, in
Carew, combined with groat delicacy of execu-
tion. No one touches dangerous themes with

From 1558 to 1649 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

so light and glove-guardod a hand. His pieces
aro all fugitive, but they suggest great possi-
bilities, which his mode of life and his prema-
ture romoTal did not permit to be realized
Had ho, at an earlier period, renounced, like
George Herbert, " the painted pleasures of a
court," and, hke Prospero, dedicated himself
to "closeness," with his marvellous facility
of verse, his laboured levity of style, and his
nice exuberance of fancy, ho might have pro-
duced some woik of Horatian merit and
classic permanence See Gilfillan's " Speci-
mens and Memoirs of the Less-known British
Poets " , " Athen Oson " , Lloyd's " Wor-
thies", Langbame's "Diamatick Poetry";
"Bishop Percy", Eeadley's "Beauties of
Ancient English Poetry", also Hallam's
" Intioduction to Literaiy History "

GEORGE "WITHER.

George Withei, born 1588, died 1667, was
a voluminous author, in the midhtof disasters
and suffeiings that would have damped the
spirit of any but the most adventurous and
untiring enthusiast Some of his happiest
strains were composed in pnson his limbs
weie incarcerated within stono walls and iron
bais, but his fancy was among the hills and
plains, with shepherds hunting, or loiteiing
with. Poosy, by rustling boughs and murrain-
ing spiings There is a fre&hness and natural
vivacity in the poetiy of Wither, that render
hib oaily works a "perpetual feast" We
cannot say that it is a feast " where no ciude
surfeit reigns," for he is often harsh, obscure,
and affected , but he has an endless diversity
of style and subjects, and true poetical feeling
and expression Wither was a native of
Hampshire, and received his education at
Magdalen College, Oxford. He first appeared
as an author in the year 1613, when he pub-
lished a satire, entitled "Abuses Stnpt and
Whipt " For this he was thrown into the
Marshalsea, where he composed his fine poem,
"The Shepheids' Hunting" When the
abuses satinsed by the poet had accumulated
and brought on the civil war, Wither took the
popular side, and sold his paternal estate to
raioo a troop of hor&e for the parliament
He rose to the rank of a major, and in 1642
was made governor of Fainham Castle, after-
wards held by Denham Wither was accused
of deserting his appointment, and the castle
was ceded the same year to Sir "William
Waller During the struggles of that period,
tho poet was made prisoner by the royalists,
and stood in danger of capital punishment,
when Denham interfered for his brother bard,
alleging, that as long as Wither lived, he
(Denham) would not be considered the worst
poet in England The joke was a good one,
if it saved Wither* s life , but Geoige was not
f lightened fiom the perilous contentions of
the tunes He was afterwards one of Crom-

well's majors-general, and kept watch and
ward over the royalists of Surrey. Piom the
sequestiated estates of these gentlemen,
Wither obtained a considerable fortune , but
the Restoiahon caine, and he was stnpt of
all his possessions He remonstrated loudly
and angrily, his remonstrances were voted
libels, and the unlucky poet was again thrown
into pnson He published various treatises,
satires, and poems, during this period, though
he was treated with great ngour. He was
released, under bond for good behaviour, in
1663, and suivived nearly four years after-
wards, dying in London on the 2nd of May
1667

Withers fame as a poet is derived chiefly
from his early productions, written before he
had imbibed the sectarian gloom of the Pu-
ritans, or become embi oiled in the struggles
of the civil war A collection of his poems
was published by himself in 1622, with the
title, "Mistress of Philaiete , ' his " Shep-
heids' Hunting," being certain Eclogues
written, duiing the time of the author' *» im-
prisonment in the Marshalsea appeared in
1633 His h Collection of Emblems, Ancient
and Modem. Quickened with Metrical Illus-
trations,5' made their appearance in 1635 His
satirical and controversial works weie nume-
rous, but are now forgotten. Some authors
of our own day (Mi Southey in particular)
have helped to popularise Wiuhei, by freqnem;
quotation and eulogy , but Mr Ellis, in his
6 Specimens of Early English Poets," was the
fiistto point out Skthat playful fancy, pure
taste, and artless delicacy of sentiment, which
distinguish the poetry of h\g early youth "'
His poem on Christmas affords a lively picture
of the manneis of the times. His •• Address
to Poetry," the sole yet cheering- companion
of his prison solitude, is worthy of the theme,
and superior to most of the effusions of that
period. The pleasure with which he recounts
the various charms and the " divine skill " of
"hia Muse, that had derived nourishment and
delight from the "meanest objects" of ex-
ternal nature — a daisy, a bush, or a tiee , and
which, when these picturesque and beloved
scenes of the country weie denied him, could
gladden even the vaults and shades of a
pnson, is one of the richest offerings that has
yet been made to the pure and hallowed shrine
of poesy The superiority of intellectual
pursuits over the gratifications of sense, and
all the malice of fortune, has never been more
touchingly or finely illustrated See Cham-
bers's "Cycl Engl Lit " vol i. 125, Camp-
bell's " Specimens " . E A WiUmott s " Lives
of the Sacred Poets," a delightful work.

WILLIAM BROWNE.

William Browne, born 1590, died 1645 He
was a native of Tavistock, in Devonshire, and

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[THIRD PEJRIOD —

educated at Exeter College, Oxford, about the
beginning1 of the reign of James I He wrote
"Britannia's Pastoialls", "The Shepherd's
Pipe " , and other poems His poetiy was
very popular in his own day, but fell after-
waids into neglect Tet Thomas Miller, one
of the most delicious writers on oountiy
scenes of the present day, says, " He carries
with *"T» the true aioma of old forests , his
lines are mottled with, mosses, and there is a
gnarled ruggedness upon the stems of his
trees. His wateis have a wot look and
splashing sound about them, and you feel the
fresh air play around you while you lead
His birds are the free denizens of the fields,
and they send their songs so life-like thiough
the covert, that their music rings upon the
ear, and you are earned away with his sweet
pipings" See Allibone's "Cnt. Diet Eng.
Lit ", "London Monthly Rov," 1772, Sir
Egerton Brydges's ed. of Browne's " Poems "

FRANCIS QT7AELES

Francis Quailes, born 1592, died 1644
His writings are more like those of a divine,
or contemplative lecluse, than of a busy man
of the world, who held various public situa-
tions, and died at the age of fifty-two Quarles
was a native of Essex, educated at Cambridge,
and afterwards a student of Lincoln's Inn
He was successively cup-bearer to Elizabeth,
Queen of Bohemia, secretaiy to Aiohbishop
TIsher, and chronologer to the city of London
He espoused the cause of Charles I , and was
so harassed by the opposite paity, who in-
jured his property, and plundered Trnn of his
books and rare manuscripts, that his death was
attributed to the affliction and ill-health
caused by these disasters Notwithstanding
his loyalty, the woiks of Quarles have a
tinge of Puritanism and ascetic piety that
might have mollified the rage of his perse-
cutors His poems consist of various pieces
— k Job Militant " , " Sion's Elegies " , « The
History of Queen Esther", "Argalus and
Parthema" , "The Morning Muse " , " The
Feast of Worms", and "The Divine Em-
blems " The latter were published in 1645,
and were so popular, that Phillips, Milton's
nephew, styles Quarles "the darling of our
plebeian judgments" The eulogmm still
holds good to some extent, for the Divine
Emblems, with their quaint and grotesque
illustrations, aie still found in the cottages of
our peasants After the Restoration, when
everything sacied and seiious was either ne-
glected or made tho subject of nbald jests,
Quarles seems to have been entirely lost to
the pubho Even Pope, who, had he read
him, must have relished his lively fancy and
poetical expression, notices only his bathos
and absurdity The better and more tolerant
taste of modern times has admitted the
divine emblemist into the Ck laurelled frater-

nity of poets," where, if he does not occupy
a conspicuous place, he is at least sure of his
due measure of homage and attention Em-
blems, or the union of the graphic and poetic
arts, to inculcate lessons of morality and
religion, hod been tried with success by
Peacham and Withei Quarlos, howovor,
made Herman Hugo, a Jesuit, his model, and
fiom tho "Pia Desidena " of this author
copied a gieat part of his prints and mottoes
His style is that of his age — studded with
conceits, often extravagant in conception, and
piesentmg the most outre and udiculous
combinations Theie is strength, however,
amidst his contortions, and true wit mixed
up with the false His epigrammatic point,
uniting wit and devotion, has boon consideiocl
the precursor of Young's " Night Thoughts "
The fastidious and elegant taste of Campbell
evidently influenced him in giving judgment on
Quarles, and although theio is much truth in
what he says, still he treats unjustly the vanous
good qualities of this poet See Chambors's
k* Cyol Eng Lit " i 129 , Campbell's " Speci-
mens"; R A Willmott's vtLivos of tho
Sacred Poets " , " Retrosp Rev." v 180.

RICHARD CRASHAW.

Richard Crashaw, born 1615 (?), died 1C5<X
His father was a preacher at the Templo
Church in London The time of the poet's
birth is uncertain In 1637 he is found in
possession of a fellowship in Cambudgo, fiom
which he was ejected by tho Porhamentaiy
army for non-compliance with the covenant.
He went to France, and became a Roman
Catholic By tho patronage of the exiled
English queen, Henrietta Maiia, he obtained
an ecclesiastical situation in Italy, and
became a canon of the Church of Lorotto,
wheio he died

Ciashaw's poetry is of a fervid religious
character Ho " foimod his stylo on the most
quaint and conceited school of Italian poetry,
that of Marmo " (Campbell), whoso kt Sospotto
d'Herode " he partly translated It is chiefly
in translation that the strength of Ciafhaw is
visible His pieces are never tedious, but full
of the strained and exaggerated conceits of
the school of Donne , ho had a rich warm
fancy, and a delicate oar for music. The-
Roman Catholic cast of his religious pootry
may have contributed to its neglect in tins
country See Scrymgeour's " Pootry and
Poets of Britain", Allibono's "Crit Diet.
Eng Lit ", Dr Johnson's ''Life of Cowloy" ;
Elhs's "Specimens", Campbell's 4t Speci-
mens "

GEORGE HERBERT.
George Herbert, born 1593, died 1632, was
a descendant of the Earls of Pembroke, and a

From 1558 to 1649 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL

younger brother of Lord Herbert of Cher-
bury He was born at Montgomery Castle in
Wales, educated at Westminster Softool, and
there elected to Trinity College, Cambiidge,
of which he was elected fellow , University
Orator 1619 , 'took holy ordeis and was made
Prebendary of Layton Ecclesia, in the diocese
of Lincoln, by Aiohbishop Williams , and in
1630 was presented by Charles I to the living
of "Bemerton For the deeply interesting
account of this good man's life our readeis
must turn to the charming pages of Izaak Wal-
ton. He published several works in prose and
poetry ; one of the best is " The Temple, Sacied
Poems and Private Ejaculations " Within a
few weeks of its issue fiom the pie&s, twenty
thousand copies weio sold The " Priest to the
Temple, or the Country Poison , his Chaiacter
and Rule of Holy Life" is much admued
Colendge thus speaks of oui poet " Having
mentioned the name of Herbeit, that model
of a man, a gentleman, and a clergyman, let
me add, that the qnaintness of some of las
thoughts — not his diction, than which nothing
can be moio pure, manly, and unaffected, has
blinded modern readeis to the geneial merits
of his poems, which are foi the most part ex-
quisite in their kind " Cowper, in his melan-
choly, when neither nature nor the classics
had any charms for him, found pleasure in
reading Herbert He says, " At length I met
with Herbert's Poems, ondgothic and uncouth
as they were, I yet found in them a strain of
piety which I could not but admire This was
the only author I had any delight in loading.
I pored over him all day loug, and though I
found not here what I might have found — a
cure for my malady — yet it never soemed so
much alleviated as while I was reading lum. "
There is an exquisite sketch of Herbert's life
and critique on his poems in Grlfillan's " In-
troduction to the Poet's Works " See Preface
to " Srlex Scmtillans, or Sacred Poems and
Private Ejaculations", Baiter's "Poetical
Fragments " , R A Willmott's " Lives of
the Sacred PoeLs", AJlibone's "Cnt Diet
Eng Lit."

GILES FLETCHER

Giles Fletcher, bora 1588, died 1C23 Ho
was the younger bi other of Phmeas, and died
twenty-throe ycois before him He was a
cousin of Fletcher tho dramatist, and the son
of Dr Gilo* Fletcher, who was employed in
many important missions rntheicrgnof Queen
Elizabeth, and, among others, negotiated a
commercial treaty with Russia greatly rn the
favour of his own country Giles is supposed to
have been born in 1588 He studied at Cam-
bridge , published his noble poem, " Christ's
Victory and Trrumph," in 1610, when he was
twenty- three years of ago, was appointed to
the living of Alderston, rn Suffolk* where he

died, in 1623, at the eaily age of thirty-five,
" equally loved," says old Wood, "of the
Muses and the Graces."

The poem, in four cantos, entitled " Christ's
Victory and Triumph," is one of almost
Miltonrc magnificence Wrth a wing as easy
as it is strong, he soars to heaven, and nils
the austere mouth of Justice and the golden
lips of Mercy with language worthy of both
He then stoops down on the Wilderness of
the Temptation, and points the Saviour and
Satan in colours admirably contrasted, and
which in their brightness and blackness can
never decay. Nor does he fear, in fine, to
pierce the gloom of Calvary, and to mmgla
his note with the harps of angels, saluting
the Redeemer, as He sprang fiom the grave,
with the song, ' Ho is n?en, He is ii&en —
and shall die no more." The style is steeped
in Spenser — equally mellifluous, figurative,
and majestic In allegory the author of the
' Fairy Queen" is hardly superior, and in
the enthusiasm of devotion Fletcher surpasses
him far From the great light thus early
kindled and early quenched, Milton did not
disdain to draw with his "golden urn"
4 Paiadise Regained " owes much more than
the suggestion of its subject to e Christ's
Victory," and is it too much to say that,
Lad Fletcher lived, he might have shone
in the same constellation with the bard
of the "Paradise Lost"* The plan of our
"* Specimens" permits only a few extracts.
Let those who wish more, along with a
lengthened and glowing tribute to the author's
genius, consult Blncktcowl for November,
1S35. The reading of a single sentence will
convince them that the author of the paper
TV as Christopher North — (GrlfiHan s Sjtecinieas
i ithlleiti of tlicLesS'LiownSiititiliPoetSy^ol r.
l&o) Antony Wood tell us that Giles was
«k equally beloved of the Muses and the Graces "
Seo Headley's "Beauties Ano. Eng Poet";
Campbell's "Specimens", Hallam's '* In-
troduction to Lit of Europe", Alhbone

PHINEAS FLETCHER.

We have already spoken of Giles Fletcher,
the brother of Phmeas Of Phmeas we know
nothing except that he was born in 158-4,
educated at Eton and Cambiidge, became
Rector at Hrlgav, m Norfolk, where he re-
mained for twenty-nine years, stiivrvrng his
bi other, that he wrote an account of the
forndeis and learned men of his university,
that rn 1G33 he published " The Purple
Intend " , and that in 1650 ho died

His " Purple Island" (with which we fiift
became acquainted in tho writings of James
Eervey, author of the " Meditations" who
was its fervent admirer) is a cunous complex,
and highly ingenious allegory, forming an

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES

[THIBD PEBIOD. —

oLiboiate pictore of Ifaw, in his body and soul ,
and for subtlety and infinite flexibility, both of
fancy and veise, deserves great praise, although
it cannot for a moment bo compared with
his brother's c Christ's Victory and Tiiumph,"
either in mberest of subject or in splendour of
genius — (Gilfillan's Specimens of Less-lnou*
BfdiJi Piteta, vol i 315 ) The great Milton
is said to have ingenuously confessed that he
owed hi-a immoital work of "Paradise Lost"
to Mr Fletcher's '• Locusts " See " Retrosp.
Rev" n 342, 120, Headley, Hallam, Pref
to Eev. J Sterling's Poems , Warton,

WTT.T.TAM EABINGTON

William Habington, born 1605, died 1654
This amiable man and irreproachable poet
was born at Hmdhp, in Worcestershire, on
the 5th of November, 1605, — a most memor-
able day in the history of the Habington
family , for they were Papists The discovoiy
of the gunpowder plot is believed to have
come from his mother, and his father, who
had been six years imprisoned for his supposed
concern m Babington's conspiracy, was con-
demned to die for concealing some of the gun-
powder traitoi s in his house. Whether or not
he had actually been so far implicated in their
legal guilt is not certain, but he owed his
pardon to the intercession of his brothor-in-
Liw, Lord Morley

They were a wealthy family. William was
educated in the Jesuit College at St Omei,
and afterwards at Pans, in the hope that he
might enter into that society. But he pre-
ferred a wiser, and better, and happier course
of life , and letornmg to his own country,
married Lucy, daughter of William Herbert,
first Lord Powis, the Castara of his poems
He died when he had just completed his
fortieth yeni, and was buried in the family
vault at Hindhp The poems were introduced,
for the first time, into a general collection, by
Mr Chalmers, most properly. He appears
in them to have thoroughly deserved the
happiness which during his short life he
enjoyed — (Southey's Bnt. Poet 975) The
Laureate was mistaken in saying *" fortieth
year " it was in his forty-ninth year that
Habington died See Gilfillan's "Spec
with Mem of Loss-known Bnt Poets' , Alh-
bone's"Cnt Diet Eng Lit"; "Cens Lit"
vni 227-233, also pp 387-396, Headley's
<hAno Eng Poet"

SIR JOHN STrOTTT.TNG.

Sir John Suckling, born 1608, died 1641
This poet, who gives levity its gayest ex-
pression, was the son of the comptroller of
the household to Charles I. Langbame tells

us that he spoke Latin at five years of age ;
but with what correctness or fluency we are
not informed His versatile mind certainly
aoquued many accomplishments, and filled a
&hort life with many pursuits, for he was a
tiavellei, a soldier, a lyiic and c&amatic poet,
and a musician After serving a campaign
under Gu&tavu-* Adolphus, he leturned to
England, wa,s tavouied by Chailos I , and
wrote some pieces, which woio exhibited for
the amusement of the couit w*th sumptuous
splendour When the civil wars broke out he
expended ,£1200 on the equipment of a regi-
ment foi the king, which was distinguished,
however, only by its finery and cowardice A
brother poet crowned his di&giace with a
ludicrous song The event is said to have
affected him deeply with shame , but he did
not live long to experience that most incurable
of the heart's diseases Having loaint that
his servant had robbed h*m, ho diew on his
boots in great haste , a ru&ty nail, that was
concealed in one of them, pieiced his heel, and
pioduced a mortification, of which he died
His poems, his five plays, together with his
letters, speeches, and tracts, have been col-
lected into one volazne — (Campbell's
.IS, p 181 )

JOHN CHALKHILL.

John Chalkhill is a name prefixed by Izaak
Walton to a woik published by him in 1683,
entitled " Thealma and Clea.rcb.us a Pastoral
Histoiy in Smooth and Easie Veise " Some
have supposed the work wiitten by the genial
angler himself, but this can scarcely be,
when he describes Chalkhill as a man in his
time " generally known and as well beloved ,
for he was humble and obliging in his
behaviour , a gentleman, a scholar, very in-
nocent and prudent , and indeed his whole
life was useful, quiet, and viituous " The
" Lond Betrosp Eev ," 1821, pronounces
''the versification extremely sweet and
equable Occasionally harsh lines and un-
licensed rhymes occur , but they arc only
exceptions to the general stylo of the poom —
the errors of haste or negligence " GilfiUan
writes in his highest stylo of eloquence about
this poem — " Thealma and Clearchus " may
be called the "Arcadia" in rhyme It re-
sembles that woik of Sir Philip Sidney, not
only in subject, but in execution Its plot is
doik and puzzling, its descnptions are noh to
luxuriance, its narrative is tedious, and its
characters are mere shadows But although
a dieam, it is a dream of genius, and brings
beautifully before our imagination that early
period in the woild's history, m which poets
and painteis have taught us to believe, when
the heavens were nearer, the slaes clearer,
the fat of the eaith ncher, the foam of the sea
blighter, than m our degenerate days , — when

From 1558 to 1649 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

shepherds, reposing under broad, umbrageous
oaks, saw, or thought they saw, in the groves
the shadows of angels, and on the mountain-
summits the descending footsteps of God.
Chalkhill resembles, of all our modem poets,
perhaps Shelley most, in the ideality of his
conception, the enthusiasm of his spirit, and
the unmitigated gorgeousness of his imagi-
nation.

"WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.

William Cartwiight, born 1611, died 1643.
He was a native of Noithway, Gloucestershire,
educated at TVestmuibtor, and Christchurch,
Oxfoid He was ordained in 1638 In 1643
he was chosen Proctor of the University of
Oxford and Reader in Metaphysics, and died
the same year of malignant fever He -wrote
" The Royal Slave," a Tragi-Comedy , " Tragi-
Comedios, with other Poems"; "Poemata
Grseca et Latma", and other pieces Cart-
wright was held in high estimation by his
contemporaries Dr. Fell, Bishop of Oxford,
says " Cartwiight is the utmost man can
come to " JBen Jonson wxites " My son
Cartwnght writes like a man" Anthony
"Wood declares, that " he was another Tully
and Virgil, as being most excellent for oiatory
and poetry " Gerard Laucbcuno confiims all
this eulogium by ' k Ke was oxtremelv remaik-
ablo both for his outward and inward endow-
ments, his body being as kmdsome as his
soul He was an excellent oiator, and yet an
admirable poet — a quality which Cicero, with
all his pains, could not attain to " The king,
who was at Oxford when he died, went in
mourning for him Gilfillan says " Ono is
reminded of the description given of Jeremy
Taylor, who, when he first began to preach,
by his young and flond beauty, and his sub-
lime and raised discourses, made men take
fa™ for an angel newly descended from the
chmes of Paradise " See Allibone's " Cnt
Diet. Eng. lat,"

ROBERT HERRICK.

Robert Hernck, born 1591, died 1662 («»). He
is said to have been descended from Erie, a
Danish chief who lived in the time of Alfred
the Great He was born in Cheapside,
London, studied at Cambridge, presented to
the living of Dean Prior, Devonshire, in 1629,
was deprived by Ciomwell in 1618, and re-
instated in his living by Charles n in 1660
At the age of fifty-six he published his '* Noble
Numbers, or Pious Pieces," and soon after his
"Hespendes, or "Works both Human and
Divine, of Robert Hernck, Esq ," his minis-
terial prefix being now l*id aside. Many of

these poems were very licentious; but under-
neath all there can be discerned a higher
natuio, which, had it fallen on different times,
might have gained the love and respect of all
good men Golfillan calls him " a bird with
taopical plumage and norland sweetness of
song." Drake, in his " Literary Hours," did
muoh towards reviving the poems of Hernck,
which had all but sunk into oblivion. Yet
even he, with all his admiration, had to speak
in strong language of the nuclei loal and im-
moial nature of many poems. So injudiciously
are the contents of his volume disposed, and
so totally divested of order and propnety, that
it would almost seem the poet wished to pollute
and bury his best effusions in a mass of non-
sense and obscenity AHibone says, " Henick
is a most exquisite poet, "but unfortunately
delighted with the wanderings of a libertine
muse." Mary Russell Mitford, in her charm-
ing u Recollections of a Literary Life," tells us
that 'k his real delight was among fioweis and
bees, and nymphs and cupids ; and certainly
these graceful subjects were never handled
more gracefully." Campbell says, whilst ad-
mitting, as every one must, the sad licentious-
ness ot Hernck, that " where the ore is pure,
it is of high value " In the forty-fifth volume
of BlocLi^ootTs Magazine the wnter re-
marks that our poet displays considerable
facility of simple diction and considerable
variety of lyiical versification He is suc-
cessful in imitating the spnghtliness of Ana-
creontic gaiety and the lucid neatness of the
ancient anthologists " And the " London
Retrospective Review," v. 156-180, adds, " his
poems resemble a luxuriant meadow, full of
king-cups and wild flowers, or a July firma-
ment, sparkling with a myriad stars. But let
our poet in his more thoughtful moments
speak-

" For these my unbaptazed rhvmcs —
TVnt in my wild unhallowed times, —
For every sentence, clause, and word,
That *s not inlaid with thee, 0 Lord »
Forgive me, God, and blot each hue
Out of my book that is not thine.
But if 'mongst all thou findest one
Worthy thy benediction,
That one of all the rest shall be
The glory of my work and me **

Peace be to his ashes !

RICHARD LOVELACE.

Richard Lovelace, born 1618, died 1658.
Grilfillan, in an admirable article on this
wnter, says : " This unlucky cavalier and
baid was born m 1618 He was the son of
Sir William Lovelace, of "Woolwich, in Kent
He was educated, some say at Oxfoid, and
others at Cambndge — took a master's degree,

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[THIRD PERIOD. —

and was afterwards presented at Comt An-
thony Wood thus descubes his peisonal
appearance at the age of sixteen — - He was
the most amiable and beautiful person that
eye ever beheld — a person also of innate
modesty, virtue, and courtly deportment,
which made him then, but especially after
when he letired to the great city, much
admired and adored by the fan sex ' Soon
after this, he was chosen by the county of
Kent to deliver a petition from the inhabi-
tants to the House of Commons, praying them
to lestore the king to his rights, and to settle
the government Such offence was given by
this to the Long Parliament, that Lovelace
was thrown into prison, and only liberated on
heavy bail His paternal estate, which
amounted to <£500*a-year, was soon exhausted
in his efforts to promote the royal cause In
1646, he formed a regiment for the service of
the King of Fiance, became its colonel, and
was wounded at Dunkirk. Ere leaving Eng-
land, he had formed a strong attachment to
a Miss Lucy Sacheverell, and had written
much poetry in her praise, designating her as
Lux-Casta Unfortunately, hearing a leport
that Lovelace had died at Dunkirk of his
wounds, she married another, so that, on his
return home in 1648, he met a deep disap-
pointment , and to complete his misery, the
ruling powers cast Tnm again into prison,
where he lay till the death of Charles lake
some other men of genius, he beguiled his
confinement by liteiary employment , and in
1G49, he published a book under the title of
* Lucasta,' consisting of odes, sonnets, songs,
and miscellaneous poems, most of which had
been previously composed After the execu-
tion of the king, he was liberated, but his
funds were exhausted, his heart broken, and
his constitution probably injuied He gra-
dually sunk , and Wood says that ho became
Tery poor in body and purse, was the object
of chanty, 'went in ragged clothes, and
mostly lodged in obscure and dirty places '
Aln.3 for the Adonis of sixteen, the beloved of
Lucasta, and the envied of all ' Some have
doubted these stones about his extreme
poverty ; and one of his biographers asseits,
-that his daughter and sole heir (but who,
pray, was his wife and her mother *) married
the son of Lord Chief Justice Coke, and
brought to her husband the estates of her
father at Kingsdown, in Kent Aubiey, how-
ever, corroborates the statements of Wood ;
and, at all events, Lovelace seems to have
died, in 1658, in a wretched alley near Shoe
Lane

There is not much to be said about his
poetry It may be compared to his person —
beautiful, but dressed in a stiff mode We do
not, in every point, homologate the opinion^
of Prynne, as to the ' tmlovelineas of love-
locks ; * but we do certainly look with a
mixture of contempt and pity on the self-
imposed trammels of affectation in style and .

manner which bound many of the poets of
that penod The wits of Charles II woio
more disgustingly licentious but their very
carelessness saved them from the conceits of
their predecessois , and, while lowering the
tone of morality, they laised unwittingly the
standard of taste Some of the songs of
Lovelace, however, such as * To Althoa, from
Prison,' are exquisitely simple, as well as
pure. Sir Egerton Brydgos has found out
that Byron, in one of his bepraised para-
doxical beauties, either copied, or coincided
with, our poet In the 'Bude of Abydos,'
he says of Zuleika —

' The mind, the music breathing from her
face'

Lovelace had, long before, in the song of
'Orpheus Mourning for his Wife,' employed
the words —

f Oh, could you view the melody

Of every grace,
And music of her face,

You'd drop a tear ,
Seeing more harmony

In her bright eye
Than now you hoar '

While many have praisod, others have
called this idea nonsense, although, if wo
aie peimitted to speak of the harmony of the
tones of a cloud, why not of tho harmony pio-
duoed by the consenting lines of a counte-
nance, where every grace melts into anothei,
and the vaiious features and expressions fluc-
tuate into a fine whole p Whatever, whether
it be the beauty of the human face, or the
quiet lustre of statuary, 01 the mild glory of
moonlight, gives the effect of music, and, like
that divine art,

' Pours on mortals a beautiful disdain,'

may surely become music's metaphor and
poetic analogy "

To this beautiful cntiquo wo may add the
words of Thomas B Shaw, who &ays —
"Some of his most ohaiming lyrics wore
•written in piison, and the beautiful linoa
to Althea, composed when tho author was
closely confined in tho Grate-house at West-
minster, remind us of the caged bird, which
learns its sweetest and most plaintive notes,
when deprived of its woodiand liberty "

THOMAS EAOT)OLPH

Thomas Bandolph, bom 1605, died 1C34
He was born near Daventry , was a scholar
and poet. His pieoes are worthy of better
treatment than they have received Through
excess, he died at the age of twenty-nine
His chief plays were : " The Muses' Looking-

JVom 1558 to 1649.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

Glass," and e The Jealous Lovers " Camp-
bell says- "His execution is vigoious j his
ideal characters are at once distinct and
various, and compact with the expression
which he purposes to give them "

"WILLIAM DRUMMOXD.

William Drummond, born 1585, died 1649
Diummond, the first Scotch poet who wrote
well m English, was born at Hawthornden
(Southey), near Edinburgh. His father. Sir
John Drummond, held a situation about the
person of Jamos YI The poet, in his youth,
studied law, but relinquishing that profession,
ho rotiied to a life of case and literature on
his th delightful " patmnomal estate. His
happiness was suddenly intoirupted by the
death of a lady to whom he was betrothed ,
ho spent soveial years in seeking by travel a
lefuge from his soriow Ho manied, late in
life, Elizabeth Logan, attracted to her, it is
said, by her resemblance to his first love
He was warmly attached to Chailes I gnef
for the king's death, it is alleged, shortened
his Me

Drummond's works consist of sonnets,
madrigals, and religious and occasional
poems , among the latter is the ludioious
Latin doggiel " Polemo-Middxaia " His son-
nets are ebtunatod by Hazhtt as the finest in
the language, and approaching nearest to the
Italian model Drummond's fancy is luxu-
riant, but tinctured with frigid conceits His
versification is flowing and harmonious. Even
Ben Jonson's arrogance condescended to
" envy " the author of " The Forth Feasting "
He is the writer of a f oigotten history of the
Jameses

THOMAS MAT

Thomas May, born 1595, died 1650. Camp-
bell, in his "Specimens," writes " Thomas
May, whom Dr Johnson has pronounced the
be*t Latin poet of England, was the son of
Sir Thomas May, of Mayfield, in Sussex
During the eailier part of his public life he
was encouraged at the court of Charles I , in-
scribed several poems to his majesty, as well
-as wrote them at his injunction, and received
from Charles the appellation of ' his poet '
During this connection with loyalty, he wrote
his five dramas, translated the Georgics and
Fharsaha, continued the latter in English as
well as Latin, and, by fr?g imitation of Luoan,
acquired the reputation of a modern classic in
foreign countries It were much to be wished,
that on siding with the Parliament in the civil
wars, he had left a valedictory testimony of
regret for the necessity of opposing, on public

grounds, a monarch who had been personally
kind to him. The change was stigmatized as
ungrateful , and it was both soidid and un-
grateful, if the account given by his enemies
can be relied on, that it was owing to the
king's refusal of the laureateship, or of a
pension — for the story is told in different
ways All that can be suggested in May's
behalf is, that no complimentary dedications
could pledge his principles on a great question
of public justice, and that the motives of an
action are seldom traced with scrupulous
tiuth, \ihere it is the bios of the narrator
to degrade the action itself Clarendon, the
most respectable of his accusers, is exactly in
this situation. Ho begins by praising Mg epio
poetry as among the best in our language, and
inconsistently concludes by pronouncing that
May deserves to be forgotten

6 The Parliament, from whatever motive he
embraced their cause, appointed him their
sccietary and historiographer. In this capa-
city he wrote his Breviary, which "Warburton
lionounces * a j'ust composition according to
the rules of history.' It breaks off, much to
the loss of the history of that time, just at
the penod of the Self-denying Ordinance
Soon after this publication he went to bed
one night in apparent health, having drp-^V
freely, and was iound dead in the morning.
His death was ascribed to his nightcap being
tied too tightly under his chin Andiew
Marvel imputes it to the cheeiful bottle
Token together, they were no bad receipt
for suffocation The vampire revenge of his
enemies in digging him up from his grave, is
an event too notorious in the histoiy of the
Restoration. Thoy gave Ir'Tft honourable com-
pany in this sacrilege, namely, that of Blake.

" He has ventured mnonative poetry on a.
similar difficulty to that Shokspere encoun-
teicd in the historical drama, but it is un-
necessary to show with how much less success.
Even in that department, he has scarcely
equalled Daniel or Drayton "

SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE

Sir Richaid Fanshawe, born 1607, died
1666 He was the bi other of Loid Fan-
shawe, and secretary to Pnnce Rupert
appointed ambassador to the court of Spain
by Charles IL, and died at Madrid in 1606
He translated Comoens' ** Lusiad," and the
" Pastor Fido " of Guanm. He wrote many
smaller poems His song, " The Saints' En-
couragement," 1643, is full of clever satire,
and all his verse is forcible, with heie and
there a touch of the true poet's beauty —
(Shaw's "Hist Eng Lit ," p 187) "He
holds," says Gilfillan, "altogether a respect-
able, if not a very high place, among our
early translators and minor poets."

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[THIRD PKPTOP —

SIB WILLIAM DAVENANT.

Sir "William Davenant, bom 1605, died
1663 By far the best critique on the works
of this poet, together with sketch of his life,
as by Campbell, who wiites " Davenant' s
personal history is sufficiently curious, without
attaching1 importance to the insinuation of
"Wood, so gravely taken up by Mr Malone,
that he was the son of Shaksperc He was
the son of a vintner at Oxford, at whose
house the immoital poet is said to have
frequently lodged Having risen to notice
by his tragedy of e Albovme,' he wrote masques
for the court of Charles I, and was made
governor of the king and queen's company of
actors in Drury Lane In the civil wars, we
find thQ theatiic manager quickly transmuted
into a lieutenant-general of ordnance, knighted
for his services at the siege of Glonco'ster, and
afterwards negotiating between the king and
his advisers at Fans Theie he began his
poem of ( Oondibert,' which he laid aside
for a time for the scheme of carrying a colony
from France to Virginia , but his vessel was
seized by one of the parliament ships, he was
thrown into prison, and owed his life to
friendly interference, it is said to that of
Milton, whose friendship he returned in kind
On being liberated, his ardent activity was
shown in attempting to restore theatrical
amusements in the very teeth of bigotry
and puiitanism, and he actually succeeded feo
far as to open a theatre in the Chartei-honse
Yard At the ^Restoration, ho iec»eived the
patent of the Duke's Theatre, in Lincoln's
Inn, which he held till his death

*• "Gondibert* has divided the critics It is
undeniable, on the one hand, that he showed
a high and independent conception of epic
poetry, in wishing to emancipate it from the
slavery of ancient authority, and to establish
its interest in the dignity of human nature,
without incredible and stale machinery His
subject was well chosen from modern romantic
story, and he strove to give it the close and
compact symmetry of the drama Ingenious
and witty images, and majestic sentiments,
are thickly scattered over the poem But
Gondibert, who is so formally described, has
certainly more of the cold and abstract air of
an historical, than of a poetical portrait, and,
unfortunately, the beauties of the poom are
those of elegy and epigram, more frhivn of
heroic fiction. It wants the charm of free and
forcible narration ; the life-pulse of interest is
incessantly stopped by solemn pauses of re-
flection, and the story works its way through
an intricacy of superfluous fancies, some beau-
tiful and otheis conceited , but all, as they are
united, tending to divert the interest, like a
multitude of weeds upon a stream, that en-
tangle its course while they seem to adorn it "

See "Athen Oxon.", Knox's "Essays ",
Bishop Surd's "Crit. Com. Notes and
Dissert " in 138—144 , Biog and Sketches
prefixed to Headley's Collect , voL i

JOHN HALL.

John Hall, born 1627, died 1656 Ho was
born at Durham, and educated at St. John's,
Cambridge In 1646 he published a volume
of Poems , he practised at the bar, and died in
his twenty-ninth year.

THOMAS 3STABBES

Thomas Nabbes, born (unknown), died 1649
He wrote in the reign of Charles I ; was
secretary to some noble or prelate, near
Woicostei . The chief of his dramatic pieces
were, for none are extant, "Microcosmus " ,
" Spring's Glory", "Bride", " Charles I ,"
a tragedy; " Swetman," a comedy He wrote
also a continuation of Knolles's " History of
the Traks " He had also a share in tho col-
lection called "Fancy's Theatre," with Tat-
ham, Richard Brome, and otheis — Seo Shaw's
"Hist English Hist." , Campbell's
Bnt. Poets."

JOHN CLEVELAND.

John Cleveland, born 1613, died 1658 Ho
was the son of a Leicestershire clergyman,
and greatly distinguished himself, on the aide
of the king, duimg the civil war, both as
soldier and poet He was educated at Chii&t's
College and St John's College, Cambudge
In 1647 he published a satire on the Scotch ,
was imprisoned in 1655, released by Cromwell,
but soon afterwards died Some of his
writings, though conceited, contain true-
poetry Butler is said to have borrowed
greatly fiom him in his " Hudibras " — (Shaw's
" Hist Eng Lit ") Fuller, in his " Wbithies
of Loicesteishiro," writes of Tn™ as " a general
artist, pure Latmist, exquisite orator, and,
which was his master-piece, eminent poot "
His epithets were pregnant with metaphors,
carrying in them a difficult plainness , difficult
at hearing, plain at tho consideration thereof
His lofty fancy may seem to stride from tho
top of one mountain to the top of another, so
making to itself a constant levol champaign of
continued elevations "

JAMES SHTBLET

James Shirley, born 1596, died 1666. James
Shirley was born in London. Ho was educated
at Cambridge, whore ho took the dogroe of
A M , and had a curacy for some time at or
nearSt Albans, but embracing popery, became
a schoolmaster (1623) in that town Leaving
this employment, he settled in London an a
dramatic writer, and between the yoara 1625

IGiO]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

and 16C6 published thirty-nine plays In the
civil wais he followed hi3 patron, the Earl of
Itfewcastlo, to the field , but on the decline of
the loyal canse, returned to London, and, as
the theatres were now shut, kept a school in
"Whitef liars, where he educated many eminent
characters At the reopening of the theaties
ho must have been too old to hare renewed
his dramatic labours , and what benefit the
Restoration brought him as a royahst, we are
not mfoimed. Both he and his wife died on
the same day, immediately after the great fire
of London, by which they had been driven out
of their house and piobably owed their deaths
to their losses and teiror on that occasion

ALEXANDER BROME

Alexander Erome, born 1620 <lie-l Io66
He was an attorney in the Loid Mayor's:
Court and a poet He contributed gieatly to
the promotion of the Restoration by the
seventy and ridicule With which he treated
the Roundheadb in the day of their povver
He had also a share in the translation of
Horace, with Fansliawe, Holiday, Cowloy,
and others, and published a single comedy,
6 The Cunning- Lovers" which was acted in
1651, at the private house in Druiv Camp-
bell says - " Thoie H a playful vauetv m his
metre, that piobably had a, bettoi effect an
song than in loading- His thoughts on love
and the bottle have at least the went of being
decently jovial, though he airays the trite
rrofuments of convivial invitation in few
original images " It seems that Brome had
intended to translate Lucretius. Izaak
"Walton commends him highly

CATHERINE PHILLIPS

Katherine Phillips, born 1631, died 1664
Very little is known, remarks Gilfillan in his
*' Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known
Bntish Poets," of the life of this lady-poet
She was boin in 1681 Her maiden name was
Fowler She mairied James Phillips, Esq,
of the Pi 101 y of Cardigan. Her poems, pub-
lished under the name of " Onnda," were
Tory popular in her lifetime, although it was
said they were published without her consent
She translated two of the tragedies of Cor-
neillo, and left a volume of letters to Sir
Charles Cotterell These, howevoi, did not
appear till after her death She died of
small-pox — then a deadly disease — in 1664
She seems to have been a favourite alike with
the wits and the divines of her age. Jeremy
Taylor addres&ed to her his " Measures and
Offices of Fiiendship , " Dryden praised her ,
and Flatman and Cowley, besides imitating

her poems while she was living1, paid rhymed
tributes to her memory when dead. Her
verses are never commonplace, and always
sensible, if they hardly attain to the measure
and the stature of lofty poetry.

ALEXANDER SCOT.

Alexander Scot nourished about the year
1562 He wrote several short satires and some
miscellaneous poems, the prevailing amatory
character of which caused frim to be called
the Scottish Anacreon, though there are many
points wanting to complete his lesemblonce
to tho Teian bard — Chambers' s "Cyo Eng.
Lit," vcL i 154; Shaw's '-Hist Eng Lit."

SIS RICHARD MAITLA3TX

Sir Richard Maitland, born 1496, died 1586,
is more celebrated as a collector of poems
than as an original poet There is however
muc\ good taste displayed in Ms own pro-
ductions

ALEXANDER MONTGOMERY.

Alesandci Montgomery was the author of
an allegorical poem called " The Cherry and
the Sloe," published in 1597, which long
continued a favourite, and the metre of which
was adopted by Burns — Shaw's * Hist. Eng
Lit"

ALEXANDER HUME.

The tune and place of his birth are un-
known He was a clergyman, and published,
in 1589, a volume of hymns or sacred songs ,
he died in 1609

JAMES VI

King James VI published, in 1584, a volume
of poetry, "Essays of a Prentice in the
Divine Art of Poesie. with the rewks and
cautelis to be puisued and avoided."

EARL OF ANCRUM.

Earl of Ancrum, bora 1578, died 1654
Wrote some sonnets of considerable merit.

EARL OF STERLINGS

Earl of Stirling, born 1580, died 1640,
published, in 1637, *• Recreations with, the

7

BIOGEAPHICAL NOTICES

[THIRD PERIOD —

Muses," of -which says Campbell, "there is
elegance of expression in a few of his shorter
pieces.'*

THOMAS INGELAND.

Scarcely anything is known of this author,
excepting that he wrote "A Preiae and
Mene New Enterlude, entitled the Dis-
obedient Child."

NICHOLAS TJDALL.

Nicholas TJdall wrote the earliest comedy
m the English language, **Ealph Royster
Doyster," which -was acted in 1551 He for
a long time executed the duties of Master of
Eton College.

JOHN HEYWOOD.

John Heywood was a man of considerable
attainments, but who seemed to have per-
formed the duties of jester at the court of
Henry VUL

JOHN STILL.

John Still, born 1543, died 1607. He was
master of St. John's and Tiimty Colleges,
Cambridge, and became afterwards bishop of
Bath and Wells. He wrote " (Jammer Gur-
•fcon's Needle," which seems to have been the
second earliest regular comedy published in
our language The whole intrigue consists in
the search instituted after this unfortunate
little implement, which is at last discovered
by Hodge himself, on suddenly sitting down
in the garment which Gammer Gorton had
been repairing The play is included
in Dodaley's collection — See Campbell's
"Specimens", Shaw's "Hist. Eng Lit."

JOHN LYLT.

John 3#Ly Was born in Kent iu 1554, and
produced nine plays between the years 1579
and 1GOO They were mostly written for
court entertainments, and performed by the
scholars of St Paul's. He was educated at
Oxford, and many of his plays are on my-
thological subjects, as « Sappho and Phaon"
"Endymion," the "Maid's Metamorphosis/'
&c. His style is affected and unnatural, yet
like his own Niobe, in the " Metamorphosis,"
'•oftentimes he had sweet thoughts, some-
times hard conceits , betwixt both a kind of
yielding" By his « Euphues," or the

tomy of Wit," Lyly exorcised apoweiful though
injurious influence on the fashionable hteiature
of his day, in prose composition as well as in
discourse His plays weie not important
enough to found a school Hazlitt was a
warm admirer of Lyly's "Endymion," but
evidently, from the feelings and sentimonts
it awakened, rather than tho poetry "I
know few things more perfect in characteristic
painting," he remarks, " than the exclamation
of the Phrygian shepherds, who, afioid of
betraying the seciet of Midas' s oais, fancy
that 'the very roeds bow down, as though
they listened to their talk , ' nor more affect-
ing in sentiment, than the apostrophe ad-
dressed by his friend Eumenides to Endyimon,
on waking from his long sleep e Behold tho
twig to which thou laidest down, thy head is
now become a tree ' " There are finer things
in the Metamorphosis, as where tho prince
laments Eurymene lost in the woods —

" Adorned with the presence of my love,
The woods I fear such secret power ahfrH

prove,

As they'll shut up each path, hade every way,
Because they still would havo her go afetray,
And in that place would always have hor

seen,

Only because they would be ever e^eon,
And keep the winged choristers still there,
To banish winter clean out of the year."

Or the song of the fames—

" By the moon we sport and play,
With the night begins our day
As we dance the dew doth fall ,
Tiip it, little urchins all,
Lightly as the little bee,
Two by two, and three by three,
And about go we, and about go we "

The gemus of Lyly was essentially lyrical.
The songs in his plays seem to flow fioely
from nature.

GEORGE PEELE.

George Peele, like Lyly, had received a
hberal education at Oxford. He was one of
Shakspere's fellow-actors and follow-sharo-
holders in the Blackfnars Theatre Ho was
also employed by the city of London in com-
posing and preparing those spectacles and
shows which formed so groat a portion of
ancient civic festivity His eailiost work,
" The Arraignment of Pans," was printed
anonymously in 1584. His moat celebrated
dramatic works were the "David and Both-
sabe," and "Absalom," in which there is groat
richness and beauty of language and occa-
sional indications of a high ordor of pathetic
ajia elevated emotion ; but his versification,
though sweet, has little variety, and the
Juxanons and sensuous descriptions in

From 1588 to 1649 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

Poelo most delighted are so numerous, that
they "become rather tiresome in the end It
should be remarked that tTpa poet was the
fiibt to givo an example of the peculiar kind
of historical play in which Shakspere was
afterwards so consummate a master Hia
" Edward I. " is, though monotonous, decla-
matory, and stiff, in some sense the fore-
runner of such works as " Richard II ,"
"Richard HE," or "Henry Y " — Shaw's
" Hist Eng. Lit " p 130. See Chambers's
" Cyc. Eng Lit ," vol i , Campbell's «• Spec.
Bnt Poets"

THOMAS NASH AND ROBERT GREENE

"Both were Cambridge men, both shaip,
and I fear," says Shaw, in his valuable
" History of English Literature," " mercenary
satirists, and both alike in the profligacy of
their lives and the misery of their deaths,
though they may have eked out then: income
by occasionally writing for the stage, were in
reality rather pasqumaders and pamphleteers
than diamatists — condottien of the press,
shamelebsly advertising the services of their
ready and biting pen to any person or any
cause that would pay them. They were both
unquestionably men of lare powers, Nash pro-
bably the better man and the abler writer of
the two Nash is famous for the bitter con-
troversy with the learned Gabnel Harvey,
whom he has caiicatured and attacked in
numeious pamphlets, in a manner equally
humorous and severe He was concerned with
other dramatists in the production of a piece
entitled * Summer' b Last Will and Testament/
and in a satirical comedy, ' The Isle of Dogs/
which drew down upon T^m the anger of the
Government, for wo know that he was im-
prisoned for some tune in consequence

' Greene was, like Nash, the author of a
multitude of tracts and pamphlets on the most
miscellaneous subjects Sometimes they were
tales, often translated or expanded iroxn the
Italian novelists , sometimes amusing1 exposures
of the various arts of coney-catching t which
means cheating and swindling, practised at
that time in London, and in which, it is feared,
Greene was peisonally not unversed; some-
times moral confessions, like Nash's 6 Pierce
Pennilesse, his Supplication to the Devil,' or
Greene's 'Groat worth of Wit,1 purpoituig
to be a warning to others against the conse-
quences of unbi idled passion Some of these
confessions are exceedingly pathetic, and would
be more so could the reader divest himself of
a lurking suspicion that the whole is often a
mere trick to catch a penny. The popularity
of these tiacts, we know, was very great
The only dramatic work we need specify of
Greene's was ' George-a-Green,' the legend of
an old English popular heio, recounted with
much vivacity and humour." — See Alhbone's

e Crit Diet Eng Lit " , Chambers's " Ore
Eng Lit " , Campbell's '• Specimens " , "Wood' -a
" Fasti Oxon " ; Haslewood's " Censura Lite-
rana,"u 2SS-300 , Beloe's "Aneo of Lib and
Scarce Books " . '• Drake's Shakspere and his
Times", J Payne Collier's * Hist, of Enq-
Dram. Poets," 112 153-154 , Professor Tieck's
Preface to his " Shakspere's Voischule " ,
Hallam's "Lit. Hist, of Europe," 11 170,
" Butish Bibliographer " , Dibdin's '• Lib
Comp"; Lowndes's "Bibl Man.", Dunloi>'&
" Hist, of Fiction "

THOMAS LODGE

Thomas Lodge, born 1556, died 1625 ('\
a physician and dramatic poet , he was
born in Lincolnshire, educated at Trinity Col-
lege, Oxford, and first appeared as an author
in 1580 Ten of Lodge's poems are contained
in the English " Helicon," published in 16004
To his poem entitled "Rosalynde Eupheus
Golden Legacie ** Shakspere was indebted for
the plot and incidents of his drama ** As You,
lake It " He is described by Collier as second
to Kyd in vigour and boldnets of conception ,
but as a drawer of character, &o essential a
pait of dramatic poetry, he unquestionably
has the advantage His principal work is
a tragedy entitled " The Hounds of Civil
"War, lively set forth in the two Tragedies
of Maims and Sylla " He also composed, in
conjunction with Greene, ' A Lookrng-GlafeS
for London and England," the object ot which
is a defence of the stage against the Puritanical
party. — See Shaw's u Hist Eng. lit "

THOMAS DEKKER

Thomas Dekker was a very industrious
author, he was connected with Jonson in
wilting for the Lord Admiral's theatre, con-
ducted by Henslowe , but Ben and he became
bitter enemies, and the former, in his
" Poetaster," performed m 1601, has satnized
Dekker nnder the character of Cnspmus,
representing himself as Horace Dekker
replied by another drama, " Satiromastix , or,
the Untrussmg the Humorous Poot" The
poetic diction of Dekker is choice and elegant,
but he often wanders into absurdity He is
supposed to have died about tibe year 1638
His life seems to have been spent in irregu-
larity and poverty According to Oldys, he
was three years m the King's Bench In one
of his own beautiful linos he says

u"We ne'er are angels till our passions die "

But the old dramatists lived in a world of
passion and revelry, -want and despair —

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[THIRD PEBIOD.—

(Chambers's " Cyclo English Lit " vol 11 21 )
He published the " Gull's Horn Book," of
which a new edition was published m 1812,
Bristol, 4to, edited by Dr Nott Drake says
of this work, " His ' Gul's Home Booke, 01
Fashions to please all Sorts of Gals,' first
printed in 1609, exhibits a very cuiious, mi-
nute, and interesting picture of the rnaimeis
and habits of the middle class of society " —
See Lowndes's " Bibl Man " ; Warton's " Hist
Eng Poetiy" ewBibl Anglo-Poet " , Collier's
" Hist of Eng Dramatic Poeta "

HENET CHETTLE.

He was a dramatic wiiter of the age of
Elizabeth He wrote the tragedy of
" Hoffman, or aKevenge for a Fathei," 1631 ,
and was concerned, more or less, accoidmg to
* Henslowe's Diary," in the production of
thirty-eight plays, only four of which have
been punted, and have come down to us —
See Alhbone's "Crit Diet Eng Lit",
Collier's "Hist, ol English Dramatic Poetry " ,
Shaw's '' Hist Eng Lit "

WILLIAM HAUGHTON

William Haughton was the author of a
number of dramatic pieces, of which the
comedy of " Englishmen for my Money*' is
one of the best known He wrote the comedy
of " Patient Gnssill," in which he was
assisted by Chettle and Dekker — See <k Biog
Dramat " : AUibone's " Crit. Diet. Eng
Lit"

DABBIDGECOUET BELCHIER

Dabridgecourt Belchier was admitted at
Corpus Christi Collegej Cambridge, in 1508 ,
removed to Christohurch, Oxford, where he
took his B A in 1600 He translated into
English " Hans Beerport, his Risible Comedy
of See me and See me Not," 1618, Wood
ascribes some other pieces to h™ — See
Alhbone's "Cnt. Diet. Eng Lit.", Camp-
bell's " Specimens '*

JOHN WEBSTER.

John Webster, the "noble-minded," as
HazLtt designates him, lived and died about
the same tune as Dekker, with whom he
wrote in the conjunct authorship then so
common His original dramas are the
u Duchess of Molfy," " Guise, or the Massacre

of France," the " Devil's Law Case," " Appiuc
and Virginia," and tho "White Devil, Ot1
Vittoria Coiombona'' Webster, it has
been said, was cleik of St Andrew's church,
Holborn, but Mr. Dyco, his editor and bio-
giaphei, searched the icgisters of the parish
for his name without success The " White
Devil" and the "Duchebs of Malfiy" have
divided tho opinions of critics as to their
relative merits. They aie both poweiful
dramas, though filled with " supeinumorary
horrors " The fonnei was not succe^'-ful on
the stage, and the author published it with a
dedication, in which he states, that " mo^t oC
tho people that come to the play-honee 10-
semble those ignoiant assos who, visiting
stationeis' shops, their use is not to inquire
for good books, but new books " He was
accused, like Jonson, of being a slow writer,
but he consoles himself with the example of
Eunpides, and confesses that he did not
'write with a goose quill winged with two
feathois lu this slighted play there are
some exquisite touches of pathos and natural
feeling The grief of a gioup of mourners
over a dead body is thus described —

" I found them winding of Marcollo's coise,
And theie in such a solemn melody,
'Tween doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies,
Such as old grondames watching by the dead
Were wont to outwear the night with , that,

believe me,

I had no eyes to guide me forth tho room,
They were so o'erchargeJ. with -water "

The funeral dirge for Maicello, sung by his
mother, possesses, says Charles Lamb, "that
intenseness of feeling which seems to resolve
itself into the elements which .it contem-
plates" —

" Call for the robin redbreast and tho wron,

Since o'er shady groves they hover,

And with leaves and flowers do cover

The friendless bodies of unbuned men

Call unto his funeial dole,

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,

To raise him hillocks that shall keen him

warm,
And, when gay tomb? are lobb'd, sustain no

haim,
But keep the wolf Tar thence, that's foe to *

men,
For with his nails he'll dig thorn up again "

The following couplet has been admired —

"Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright ,
But look'd to near, have neither heat nor
light."

The " Duchess of Malfy " abounds more in
the temble graces It turns on the mortal
offence which tho lady gives to her two proud
brothers, Ferdinand, Duke of Calabria, and a
cardinal, by indulging in a generous though
infatuated passion for Antonio, her steward.

JFVo.ii 1558 to 1649 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

S, vol i pp 211, 212 ) Shaw says,
" But perhaps the most powerful and original
genius among the Shakapenan dramatists of
the second order is John Webster. His
terrible and funereal Muse on ' Death , ' his
wild imagination revelled in images and
sentiments which bieathe, as it were, the
odonr of tho charael • his plays are full of
pictures recalling w*th fantastic variety all
associations of tho weakness and futility of
human hopes and interests, and dark question-
ings of our future destinies His literary
physiognomy has something of that dark,
bitter, and woeful expression which makes us
thrill in the portraits of Dante In selecting
such revolting themes as abounded in the
black annals of mediaeval Italy, Webster
followed the peculiar bent of his great and
morbid genius , in the tieatment of these
subjects, we find a fetrange mixture of the
horrible with the pathetic In his language
there is an extraoidmary union of complexity
and simplicity he loves to draw his illustra-
tions not only from skulls and graves and
epitaphs, * but also from the most attractive
and picturesque objects in nature,' and his
occasional intermingling of the deepest and
most innocent emotion of the most exquisite
touches of natural beauty produces the effect
of the daisy springing up amid tho festering
mould of the graveyard "

THOMAS MEDDLETON

Thomas Hiddloton is admired for a wild
and fantastic fancy, which delights in por-
traying scenes of witchcraft and supernatural
agency — such is the correct estimate of Shaw,
in his excellent work, the "Hist, of Eng
Lit."

JOHN FORD,

John Ford, born 1586, died 1640 (?). " He
was born of a respectable family in Devon-
shire , was bred to the law, and entered of
the Middle Temple at the age of seventeen.
At the age of twenty he published a poem,
entitled e Fame's Memorial,1 m honour of the
deceased Earl of Devonshire , and from the
dedication of that piece it appears that he
chiefly subsisted upon his prof essional labours,
making- poetry the solace of his leisure hours.
AH his plays were published between the years
1629 and 1639 , but before the former period
he had for some time been known as a dra-
matic writer, his works having been printed a
considerable time after their appearance on
the stage , and, according to the custom of
the age, had been associated in several works
with other composers "With Dekker he
•joined in dramatising a story, which reflects

more disgrace upon the age than all its genius
could redeem, namely, the fate of Mother
Sawyer, the Witch of Edmonton, an aged
woman, who had been recently the victim ot
legal and superstitious murder —

' Nil adeo f oedum quod non exocta votustas
Edident '

The time of his death is unknown." —
(Campbell's Specimens, p ICC ) See Shaw's
"Hist Eng Lit ", Professor Spalding's
"Hist Eng. Lit", Weber's cd of Fold's
Woiks , Lord Jeffrey's aiticle ' Edin
Eev," x 275,304, John Gifford, "Quart
Rev,"' vi 462-487, Lamb's '• Specimens of
Eng Dram. Poets "

PHILIP IvIASSINGEB.

" Of the personal history of Philip Mas&mger
little is known Thjs excellent poet was born
in 1584, and died, apparently very poor, in
1640 His birth was that of a gentleman, nib
education good, and even learned ; for though
his stay in the University of Oxford, which
he entered in 1602, was not longer than two
years, his works prove, by the rmform
elegance and refined dignity of their diction, j
and by the peculiar fondness with which he '
dwells on classical allusions, that he was in-
timately penetrated with the finest essence of i
the great classical writers of antiquity His '
theatrical life, extending from 1004 to his j
death, appears to have been an uninterrupted
succession of struggle, disappointment, and
distress , and we possess one touching docu-
ment, proving how deep and general was that
distress in the dramatic profession of the
time It is a letter wiitten to Henslowe, the
manager of the Globe Theatre, in the joint
names of Massmger, Field, and Daborne, all
poets of considerable popularity, imploring
the loan of an insignificant sum to liberate
them from a debtors' prison Like most of
his fellow-dramatists, Massingor irequently
wrote in partnership with other playwrights,
the names of Dekker, Field Uowley5 Middle-
ton, and others, being often foand in conjunc-
tion with his Wo possess tho titles of about
thirty-seven plays, either entirely or partially
written by Massmger, of which number, how-
ever, only eighteen are now extant, the re-
mainder having been lost or destroved These
works are tragedies, comedies, and romantic
dramas, partaking of both characters Tho
finest of them are the following the c Fatal
Dowry', the 'Unnatural Combat', the
'Boman Actor/ and the 'Duke of Milan,'
in the first category the ' Bondman/ the
'Moid of Honour/ and the 'Picture/ in
the third; said the 'Old Law/ and sANew
Way to Pay Old Debts/ in the second. The
qualities which distinguish *Hhtg noble writer

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[THIRD PERIOD.—-

are, an extraordinary dignity and elevation,
of moral sentiment, a singular power of de-
lineating the sorrows of pure and lofty mm da
exposed to unmented suffering, cast down but
not huimliated by misfoitune In these lofty
delineations, it !•» impossible not to trace the
reflexion of Mas-singer's own high but melan-
choly spnit Female purity and devotion he
has painted with great skill ; and his plays
exhibit many scenes in. which he has ventured
to bound the mysteries of the deepest passions,
as in the * Fatal Dowry ' and the ' Duke of
Milan/ the subiect of the latter having some
resemblance with the temble story of e Ma-
riamne ' It was unfortunately indispensable,
in order to please the mixed audiences of those
days, that comic and farcical scenes should be
introduced in every piece , and foi comedy
and pleasantry Massinger had no aptitude
This portion, of his works is in every case con-
temptible foi stupid buffooneiy, as well as
o'lious for loathsome indecency , and the
coarseness and obscenity of such passages
forms so painful a contrast with the general
elegance and pmity of Massmger's tone and
language, that TVO aie diiven to the suppo-
sition of ILLS having had recourse to other
hands to supply this obnoxious matter in.
obedience to the popular taste Massmger's
style and veisification are singulaily sweet
and noble Ho writer of that day is so free
fiom archaisms and obscurities , and perhaps
there is none in whom more constantly appears
all the force, harmony, and dignity, of which
the English language is susceptible From
many passages we may draw the conclusion,
that Massmger was a fervent Catholic The
* Virgin Martyr' is indeed a Catholic mystery ;
and in many plays — as, foi example, the ' Be-
negado ' — lie has attributed to Eomamst con-
fessors, and even to the then unpopular Jesuits,
the most amiable and Christian virtues If we
desire to characterize Massmger in one sen-
tence, we may say that dignity, tenderness,
and grace, are the qualities in which he excels "
(Shaw's " Hist of Eng Lit ," pp. 170, 171 )—
See Campbell's " Cyc Eng Lit ," vol. i.

JOHN MABSTON,

Very little is known of this poet In 1598
he published " Certayne Satires," and in 1599,
the " Scouige of Villany " He produced also
some comedies Dr Angus considers the
"Satires" decidedly inferior to Hall's, and
very poor — " Handbook of English Lit ,"
155.

THOMAS GOFFE

Thomas Goffe, born 1592, died 1627. "This
writer," says Campbell, "left four or nve
diamatic pieces, of very ordinary merit He

was bred at Christ Chuich, Oxford Ho hold
the living of East Clandon, in Surrey, but un-
fortunately succeeded not only to the living,
but to the widow of his predecessoi, who, being
a Santippe, contributed, according to Lang-
bame, to shorten his days by tho fc violence of
her provolvng tony ue ' He had the reputation
of an eloquent preacher, and some of his
sermons appeared in punt,"

THOMAS HEYWOOD

The date of birth and death unknown.
This poet exhibits a giaceful fancy, and one
of his plays, " A Woman killed with Kind-
ness," is among the most touching of this
period. — Shaw's " Hist Eng Lit."

GEORGE SANDYS

George Sandys, born 1577, died 164.3 A
traveller and poet He was the youngest
son of the Archbishop of York His tw Tiavols
in the East," and his translation of Ovid'o
" Metamorphoses," wore very popular Pio-
fossor Spalding says that these translations
"are poetically pleasing, and they have a
merit m diction and versification which has
beenacknowledged thankfully by later writers "
— See E Aris Willmott's " Lives oi the
Sacred Poets," i

SIDNEY GODOLPEIN

Sidney Godolphm, born 1610, died 1642.
He was a native of Cornwall, and tho brothoi
of the treasurer Godolphm, and flemished o,rul
perished in the Civil wars Loid Claiondon
praised him highly. He wrote noveral
oiigmal poems and translations of tho " Lives
of Dido and tineas," from Virgil, 1JJ5H —
Campbell's bt Specimens '% Hobbos' a " Levia-
than."

WILLIAM WAENEK

William Warner, born 1558, died 1609, TVO-H
a native of Oxfordshire, an attorney of the
Common Pleas, and the author of "Albion's
England." This poem, published in 1580, is
a history of England from the Deluge to the
reign of James I It supplanted in popular
favour tho " Mirror for Magistrates " The
style of the work was much admired in its
day, and Meres, in his " Wit's Treasury,"
says, that by Warner's pen the English tongue
was "mightily enriched and gorgeously in-
vested in raie ornaments and resplendent
habiliments " Tho talcs arc chiefly of a
merry oast, and many of them indecent.

From 1558 to 1649 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

GEORGE CHAPMAN

George Chapman, born 1557, died 1634,
a native of Hitching Hill, in the county of
Hertfoid, and studied at Oxford Fiom
thence he repaired to London, and became
the fiiend of Shakspere, Spenser, Daniel,
Marlowe, and other contemporary men of
genius He was patronised by Pimce Henry,
and Carr, Earl of Somerset The death of
the one, and the disgrace of the other, must
have injured his prospects , but he is supposed
to have had some place at court, either under
TTmg James or his consort Anne He lived
to an advanced age , and, according to "Wood,
was a person of reverend aspect, religious, and
temperate. Imgo Jones, with whom he lived
on terms of intiraato friendship, planned and
erected a monument to his memory over
his burial-place, on the south side of St
Giles's church in the fields , but it was
unfortunately destioyed with the ancient
church

Chapman seems to have been a favounto of
his own times , and in a subsequent age, his
version of Homer excited the raptures of
Waller, and was diligently consulted by Pope.
The latter speaks of its daring- fiie, though he
owns that it is clouded by f u&tian Webster,
his fellow diamatist, praises his "full and
heightened style," a character which he does
not deserve in any favourable sense , for his
diction is chiefly marked by baibarous rugged-
ness, false elevation, and extiavagant meta-
phor. The drama owes him very little , his
" Bussy D'Ambois " is a piece of fug-id atio-
•city, and in the " Widow's Tears," where his
heroine Cynthia falls in love with a sentinel
guarding the corpse of her husband, whom
she was bitterly lamenting, he has dramatised
one of the most puerile and disgusting legends
ever fabricated for the disparagement of
female constancy See Campbell's " Speci-
mens," p 130; Allibone's " Cnt Diet Eng.
Lit"; Warton's "Hist Eng Poetry";
Langbaine's " Dramat Poets."

RICHARD ALLISON.

Scarcely anything is known of this writer.
He published, rn 1590, " A Plaine Confutation
of a Treatise of Biowmsm, entitled, A
Description of tho Visible Church" *'An
Houre's Recreation in Musioke, apt for In-
struments and Voyces," appeared in 1606

ROBERT BURTON.

Robert Burton, born 1576, died 1640 " In
every nation," says Shaw, "there may be
found a small number of writers who, in their

life, in the objects of their studies, and m the
form and manner of their productions, bear a
peculiar stamp of eccentricity. "No country
has been more prolific in such exceptional in-
dividualities "fchflnn England, and no age than
the sixteenth century There cannot be a
more striking example of this small but
curious class than old Robert Burton, whose
life and writings are equally odd. His
personal history was that of a retired and
laborious scholar, and his principal work, the
' Anatomy of Melancholy,' is a strange com-
bination of the most extensive and out-of-the-
way leading, with just observation and a,
pecuhai kind of grave saturnine humour The
object of the writer was to give a complete
monograph of Melancholy, and to point out
its causes, its symptoms, its treatment, and
its cure but the descriptions given of the
various phases of the disease are written in
so cunous and pedantic a stjle, accompanied
with such an infinity of quaint observation,
and illustrated by such a mass of quotations
from a crowd of authois, principally the
medical writers of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries, of whom not one reader in a thoa-
sand in the present day has ever heard, that
the ' Anatomy ' possesses a charm which no
one can resist who has once fallen under its
fascination.

" The enormous amount of curious
quotation with which Burton has incrusted
every paragraph and almost every line of his
work has rendered fa™ the favourite study of
those who wish to appear learned at a small
expense , and his pages have served as a,
quarry from which a multitude of authors
have borrowed, and often without acknow-
ledgement, much, of their materials, as tho
great Roman feudal families plundered tho
Coliseum to construct their frowning fortress
palaces

" The greater part of Burton's la.
borious life was passed in the University of
Oxford, where he died, not without suspicion
of having hastened his own end, in order that
it might exactly correspond with the astrolo-
gical predictions which he is said, being a firm
believer in that science, to have drawn from
his own horoscope He is related to hate
been himself a victim to that melancholy
which he has so minutely described, and his
tomb bears the astrological scheme of his owu
nativity, and an inscription eminently charac-
teristic of the man ' Hie jacet Democntus
junior, GUI vitam dedit et mortem Melan-
cholia' "— (Hist, of Eng Int., p. 106, 107)
Prefixed to the "Anatomy" is a poem of
twelve stanzas on Melancholy, feom which
Milton borrowed some of the imagery of
n Penseroso ; and Dr Femar, of Manchester,
created some sensation in 1798, by showing
that Sterne had copied passages verbatim,
without acknowledgement — Dr Angus's
" Handbook of Eng lit. " , Allibone's " Cnt.
Diet. Eng. Lit."

BIOGEAPHICAL NOTICES.

NATHANIEL FIELD
Nathaniel Field, in the reigns of James I
and Charles I, wrote "A Woman is a
Weathercock," 1612 , " Amends for Ladies,"
1618. Shaw's " Hist. Eng Lit "

WILLIAM ALEXANDEE.

William Alexander, Earl o£ Sterline, born
1580, died 1640. "William Alexander, of
Menstrie, travelled on the Continent as tutor
to the Earl of Aigyll, and after his return
to his native country (Scotland), having in
vain solicited a mistress, whom he celebrates
in his poetry by the name of Aurora, he
married the daughter of Sir William Erskmo
Having- repaired to the couit of James I , he
obtained the notice of the monarch, was ap-
pointed gentleman usher to Prince Charles,
and was knighted by James Both of those
sovereigns patronized his scheme for colonizing
Nova Scotia, of which the latter made him
lord-lieutenant Charles I created him Earl
of Sterline in 1633, and for ten years he held
the office of secretary of state for Scotland,
with the praise of moderation, in tunes that
were rendered peculiarly trying by the
struggles of Laud against the Scottish Pres-
byterians. He wrote some very heavy
tragedies ; but there is elegance of expression
in a few of his shorter pieces " — (CwnpbelTs
Specimens, p 158 ) Walpole says of this
author, that he was greatly superior to the
style of his age Pinkeiton calls "The
Parssnesis " a noble poem Dr Drake, refer-
ing to his tragedies, states that although
these pieces are not calculated for the stage,
still they include some admirable lessons for
sovereign power, and several choruses written
with no small sharo of poetic vigour I>r
Anderson considers his "Paranesis" and
"Aurora" almost classical performances, and
well meriting publication — AUibone's *e Cnt
Dice Eng Lit. " , Chambers' s Cfc Cyc "
Lit."

THOMAS STOBEB

Thomas Storer died 1604 The birth of this
poet is unknown We, however, find him
elected a student of Chnstohurch, Oxford, in
1587 Wood says he was the son of John
Storer, a Londoner, and that he died in the
metropolis He wrote the " History of Car-
drnal Wolsey," and several pastoral pieces in
'• England's Helicon." See Campbell's " Spe-
cimens.**

CHARLES FITZGEFFBEY
All we know is given by Campbell, who says
he was rector of St Dominic, Cornwall, and
died in 1636.

JOHN DOWLAND.

John Dowland, died 1615. An English
musician, published several musical treatises,
amongst which was a translation of Ormfaha-
pharous's " Miciologus , or, Art of Singing,"
fol 1609, Alhbone's " Cnt. Diet Eng Lit "

EDWARD VEEE, EAIiL OF OXFOED.

Edward Vero, Earl of Oxford, born 15H4,
died 1604, the author of some vev&efj in tlio
" Paradise of Dainty Devices " Ho sit o,s
Great Chamberlain of England upon the fciial
of Mary Queen of Scots. Tho following fiom
Disraeli is of inteiest —

"It is an odd circumstance in literary re-
search that I am enabled to correct a story
which was written about 1680 Tho l Aubicy
Papers,' recently published with singular
faithfulness, retaining oil their peculiarities
even to the grosse-.t enorq, were memoranda
for the use of Anthony Wood's great work.
But besido these, the Oxf ord antiquary had a
vciy extensive literary correspondence, an»l
it is known, that when speechless and dymsr
he evinced the fortitude to call in two fucntU
to destroy a vast multitude of papers about
two bushels full were ordered for tho fiics
lighted for the occasion ; and, ' as ho was ex-
piring, he expressed both his knowledge and
approbation of what was done, by throwing
out his hands.' These two bushels full weio
not, however, all his papeis , his more private
ones he had ordered not to bo opened for
seven years I suspect also, that a great
number of letters were not buint on this
occasion , for I have discovered a manuscript
written about 1720 to 1*730, and which, tho
writer tells us, consists of c Excerpts out of
Anthony Wood's papers ' It is closely
written, and contains many carious facts not
to be found elsewhere Those papois of
Anthony Wood probably still exist in tho
Ashmolean Museum should they have
perished, in that case this solitary nianusciipt
will be the solo rocoid of many inteicsting
particulars

"By these I correct a little story which
may be found in tho e Aubrey Papers,' vol.
ui 395 It is an account of one Nicholas
Hill, a man of groat learning, and in the high
confidence of a remarkable and munificent
Earl of Oxford, travelling with him abroad.
I transcribe the punted Aubrey account.

" * In his travels with his lord (I forgot
whether Italy or Germany, but I think tho
former), a poor man begged hi™ to give him
a penny " A ponny ' " said Mr Hill , " what
dost say to ten pounds P" — "Ah ' ten
pounds," said the beggar ; " that would make
a man happy" Mr. TTill gave him im-
mediately ten pounds, and putt it downo upon
account — " Item, to a "beggar ton pounds to

From 1558 to 1649.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

make Jinn 7wppy ' ' " The point of this story
has been maired in the telling- it was drawn
up from the following letter by Aubicy to
A. Wood, dated July 15, 1689. ' A poor man
asked Mr Hill, his lordship's steward, once to
give Trim sixpence, or & shilling, for an alms
" What dost say if I give thee ton pounds * "
— " Ten poundto ' tlwri would male a inati of
me ' " Hill gave it him, and put down in his
account, " Item, d810 for making a man"
which his loidship inqumng about for the
oddnoss of the expression, not only allowed,
but was pleased with it '

"This philosophical humourist was the
steward of Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, in
the reign of Elizabeth This peer was a
person of elegant accomplishments , and Lord
Orford, in his * Noble Authois,' has given a
higher chaiacter of hiir\ than perhaps he may
deserve. He was of the highest rank, in
great favour with the queen, and, in the style
of the day, when all our fashions and our
poetiy wore moulding themselves on the
Italian model, he was the 6 Mm our of Tus-
camsmo , ' and, in a woid, this coxcombical
peer, after seven years' residence in Florence,
returned highly « Itahanated ' The ludicrous
motive of this percgimation is given in the
present manuscript account Haughty of
his descent and alliance, imtable -with effe-
minate delicacy and personal vanity, a Little
circumstance almost too minute to be recoided,
inflicted such an iniuiy on his pude, that in
his mind it icquiied yeais of absence from the
court of England eio it could be forgotten
Once making a low obeisance to the queen,
befoie the whole couit, this stately and in-
flated peer suffered a mischance, which has
happened, it is said, on a like occasion — it
was * light as air ' ' But this accident so
sensibly huit his mawkish delicacy, and so
humbled his anstociatic dignity, that he
could not raise his eyes on his loyal mistress
He resolved from that day to * bo a banibhed
man,' and resided for seven years in Italy,
living in moie grandeur at Florence than the
Grand Duke of Tuscany Ho spent in those
years forty thousand pounds On his return
he presented the queon with embroidered
gloves and perfumes, then for the first time
introduced into England, as Stowe has noticed
Fart of the piesonts soem to have some
reference to the Earl's foimcr mischance
The queen leceived thorn giauou&ly, and was
even painted wearing those gloves ; but my
authority states, ^that the masculine sense of
Elizabeth could 'not abstain from congratu-
lating the noble coxcomb , perceiving, she
said, that at length my lord had forgot the
mentioning the little mischance of seven, years
ago'

" This peer's munificence abioad was indeed
the talk of Europe , but the secret motive of
this was as wicked as that of his tiavcls had
been ridiculous This Earl of Oxfoid had
married the daughter of Lord Buileigh, and

when this great statesman would not consent
to save the life of the Duke of Norfolk, tho
fnend of this earl, he swore to revenge lrm-
self on the countess, out of hatied to his
father-in-law. He not only for&ook her, but
studisd every means to waste that great in-
heritance which had descended to him from
his ancestois Secret history often startles
us with unexpected discoveries the personal
affectations of this earl induced him to quit *
court, where he stood in the highest favour,
to domesticate himself abroad ; and a family
2'tijne was the secret motive of that splendid
prodigality which, at Florence, could throw
into shade the court of Tuscany itself "

SIR THOMAS OVERBURY

tk Sir Thomas Overbury was born in 1581,.
and perished in the Tower of London, 1613,.
by a fate that is too well known. The com-
passion of the public for a man of worth,.
*• whose spirit still walked uurevenged amongst
them,' together with the contrast of his ideal
wife with the Countess of Essex, who was his
murderess, attached an interest and popularity
to his poem, and made it pass through sixteen
editions bofoie the year 1653. His 'Cha-
racters, or Witty Descriptions of the Properties
ot sundry Person*/ is a work of considerable
men- , but unfoitunately his prose, as well as
his verse, has a dryness and quamtness that
Seem to oppress the natural movement of his
thoughts As a poet, he has few imposing
attractions his beauties must be fetched by
repeated peinsal They are those of solid
reflection, pieJominatrag over, but not extin-
guishing, sensibility , and there is danger of
the reader neglecting, under the coldness and
raggednecs ot his manner, the- manly but un-
ostentatious moral feeling- that is conveyed in
his maxims, which, are sterling and liberal, if
we can only pardon a few obsolete ideas on
female education." — (Campbell's Specimens,
p *74 ) How charming is the following de-
scription by Overbury —

" A fair and happy milkmaid is a country
wench, that is so far from making herself
beautiful by art, that one look of hers is able
to put all face-physic out of countenance
She knows a fair look is but a dumb orator to
commend virtue , therefore minds it not. All
her excellencies stand in her so silently, as if
they had stolen upon her without her know-
ledge Tho linrag of her apparel, which is
herself, is far better than outsidea of tissue ;
for though she bo not arrayed in the ppoil of
the silkworm, she is decked in innocence, — a
far better wearing She doth not, with lying
long in bed, spoil both her complexion and
conditions Nature hath taught her, too, im-
modeiate sleep is rust to the soul , she rises
therefore with Chanticlere, her dame's cock,
and at night makes the lambs her curfew. In

BIOGRAPHICAL HOTICES.

[THIBD

milking1 a oow, and straining the teats through
her fingers, it seems that so sweet a milk-
piess makes the milk whiter or sweetei , for
never oame almond-glore or aiomatic oint-
ment on her palm to taint it The golden
ears of corn fall and kiss her feet when she
reaps them, as if they wished to be bound
ami led prisoners by the same hand that felled
them Her breath is her own, whioh scents
all the year long of June, like a new made
haycock She makes her hand hard with
labour, and her heart soft with pity , and
when winter evenings fall early, sitting at her
men y wheel, she sings defiance to the giddy
wheel of fortune She doth all things with
so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will not
suffer her to do ill, being her mind is to do
well She bestows her year's wages at next
fair, and in choosing her garments, counts no
bravery in tho woild like decency The
garden and beehive aie all her own physic
and surgery, and she lives the longer foi it
She dares go alone and unfold sheep in the
night, and fears no manner of ill, because she
means none , yet, to say tiuth, f.he is never
alone, but is still accompanied with old songs,
honest thoughts, and prayers, but short ones ,
yet they have their efficacy, in that they aie
not palled with ensuing idle cogitations
Lastly, her dreams are so chaste, that she
dare toll them - only a Friday* s dream is all
her superstition , that she conceals for fear of
anger. Thus lives she, and all her care is,
she may die in the spring-time to have store
of flowers stuck upon her winding-sheet "

RICHARD NICCOLS

Richard Niccols, born 1584 Ho contributed
to the " Mirror for Magistrates," which was
earned on by Churchyard, Drayton, and others.
He wrote the "Cuckoo," in imitation of
Drayton's " Owl," and a drama. " The
Twynnes' Tragedy" Wood says he was a
Londoner, that he studied at Oxford, and
obtained some congenial employment Camp-
bell's "Specimens"

FRANCIS DAVISON

Francis Davison, son of William Davison,
an eminent statesman in tho timo of Elizabeth
He wioto several pieces in the " Poetical
Rhapsody " This collection contains poems by
Walter Davison, Sir John Davios, Sir Philip
Sydney, Sir Waltei Raleigh, the Countess of
Pembroke, Spencer, Sii H Walton, Bonne,
Greene, and otheis " How say you, reader ?
Is not tho above a glorious pageant of poots ?
DOGS not the meie enumeration of thorn begot
in thoe a longing to explore tho pac^os which
contain their bright thoughts aiid tuneful
lanes P"— See Allibono's " Cnt Diet. Eng.
Lit."; Campbell's " Specimens "

SIMON WASTALL

Born in Westmoreland about 15 CO , died
about 1630.

THIED PERIOD,

F* 01,1 1553 to 1&9.

96 —THE INDUCTION TO THE COM-
PLAINT OF HENET, DUKE OF BUCK-
INGHAM

The wiathfull wintei piochmge on a pace,
"With blustimg blastos had al Tinned the treen,
And olde Satuinus with his frosty lace
With chilling colde had peai&t the tender

green.

The mantels rent, wherein enwrapped been
The gladsom gioves that nowe layo over-

fchiowen,
The tapets torne, and every* blome down

blowen

The soyle that er^t so seemly was to seen,
Was all despoyled oi ho; beauties hewe ,
And soot fre&he flowois (v.heie with the som-

niers queen
Had dad the earth) now Boiea^ Wastes downe

blowo
And 6mall fowles flocking1, in their song did

icwe
The >7intois wiath, whci with eche thing de-

faste
In woful wise bewayled the sommer past

Hawthorno had lo&t his motley lyverye
The naked twigges were &hrv ering all for colde ;
And dropping downe the teares abundantly ;
Eche thing (me thought) with wepmg eye me

tolde

The oruell season, bidding me witholdo
My self e within, f 01 1 was gotten out
Into the toldos wheieas I walkte about.

When loe the night with mistie mantels spied,
Can darko the daye, and dun the azuie skyes,
And Yonus in her message Hermes bped
To bluddy Mais, to wyl him not to ry&e,
Whilo sho her selfe approcht in &peedy wise ,
And Yirgo hidmg her di*<damful brost
Witli Theti^ now had layd hoi dow:io to rest.

Whiles Scoipio dreading Sagittaims dait,
Whofao bowe prett bent in sight, the stimg

had &lypt,

Downe slyd into the ocean flud apaito,
The Bearo that in the Iryshe seas had dipt
His gnesly feeto, with speede from thonce he

whypt ,

For Thetis hasting fiom the Yugines bed
Puisued the Bear, that car she came was fled.

And Phseton nowe ncaro reaching to his raco
With glistenng1 beanies, golJ streazayage

wheie they bent

Was prest to enter m his resting place
Ciythius that in the carte fyiste went
Had oven now attaynde his journeys stent
And fast declining hid away bus? head.
While Titan couched Tmn in his purple bed

And pale Cinthea with her borrowed light
Beginning to supply hei brotheis place,
Was past the noonsteede syre degrees in sight,
When sparkling stores amyd the heavens face
With twinkling light sheen on the earth apace,
That whyle they bi ought about the mghtes

chare
The darke had dimmed the da^ ear I was ware

And screwing I to see the sommer fiowers
The livly gieene, the lusty leas forloine.
The stuidy trees so shattered with tie -hov, ers,
The fields so fade that noonsht so beioine
It taught me wel all earthly thinges be bomo
To dye the death, foi nought long fame may

lost;
Tho sommers beauty yeeldes to winters bki*i

Then looking upwaid to the heavens learner
With mghtes starres tbok powdred eveiy

where,
Which erst so glistened with the

streames
That chearefull Phebus spread downe

his sphere,

BehoMrng darke oppressing day so neare .
The sodayne sight reduced to my mmde
The sundry cnaunges that m earth we fyntlj

That musing on this worldly wealth in thought.
Which comes and goes more faster than we *-ee
The flyckenng flame that with the fyei ia

wrought,

My busie mmdo presented unto me
Such fall of pieros as m this realme had bo
That ofte I wisht some would their woes Cc-

scryve,
To waine the icst whom fortune left alive

And fetrayi foith stalking with redoubled pace
For that'l sawe the night diewo on so fa&i.
In blacko all clad there foil before my face
A piteous wight, -whoia woe had ol f orwaato,

SACKVILLB ]

ALLEGORICAL TSUSONAGES

[THIRD PERIOD. —

Furth froji hor lyen tlio cnstall tearea out-

l»rast,
Ai±<l syghjig sore her harwVa bho wrong and

folde,
Taie al lier heare, that luth was to beholde.

Her body small forwithoied and foiespcnt,
As is the stalk that sominers drought opprest ,
Her wealked face wibh woful toares besprent,
Her colour pale, and (as ib seoind her best)
In woe and playnt reposed was hor zest
And as the stone that droppos of water weares ;
So dented wher her chookos with fall o£ teares.

Her iyes swollen with flowing stroamos afloto,
Wherewith her lookes tluowen up full ]>

teouslie,

Her forccles handes tog-ether ofte she smote,
With doleful shrikes, that echoed in the skye
Whose playnt such sighes dyd strayt accom-
pany,

That in my doomo was never man did see
A wight but half e so woo bogon as she

TJiowos Saclcille, Earl of Do, set— About 15G3

97— ALLEGORICAL PEBSOKAGES DE-
SCRIBED IN

And first, within the porch and jaws o£ holl,
Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent
With tears , and to herself oft would she tell
Her wretchedness, and, cursing, never stent
To sob and sigh, but ever thus lament
With thoughtful care , as she that, all in vain,
Would wear and waste continually in pain

| Her eyes unstedfast, rolling here and theie,
Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance

brought,

So was her mind continually in fear,
Tost and toimented with the tedious thought
Of those clelxssted ciunes which she had

wrought ,
With dreadful cheer, and looks thrown to the

&ky,

Wishing for death, and yet &ho could not die.

Next, «aw we Dread, all trombhng how he

ehoolr,

With foot uncertain, prefer' d hero and there ,
Benumb'd with speech, and, with a ghastly

look,

Searched every place, all pale and dead for fear,
His cap borne up with staring of his hair ,
*Stoin*d and amazed at hi& own shade for dread,
And fearing greater dangers than was need.

And, next, within the entry of this lake,

j Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire ,

; Devising- means how she may vengeance take ,

1 Never in rest, 'fall she have her desuo ,

I But frets within so far forth with the fire

I Of wreaking flames, that now, determines she

j To die by death, or Veng'd by death to bo.

When foil Eovengo, w.th blooJy foulpiotenco,
Had ^how'd hcrsolt, as next in order bot,
With tiembling limbs wo softly parted thence,
'Till m our eyes another sight we mot ,
When fro my heait ft bigh foithwith I fot,
Ruing, alas, upon the wooful plight
Of Mi^eiy, that next appeal 'd in hight

His face was lean, and Pome-doil pin'd away,
And eke his hands consumed to the bone ,
But, what his body T\ as, I cannot sav,
For on his caroase laiment had ho nono,
S.ivo clouts and patches pieced ono by one ,
With staff m hand, and sciip on feliouldeis cast.
His clnef defence again&t the winter's blast

His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tioo,
Unless sometime &omo crumbs fell to his

shaio,

Which in his wallet long, God wot, Ircpt ho,
As on the which full damt'ly would ho faro ,
His dnnk, the running stieam, his cup, the bai o
Of his palm closed, his bod, the hard cold

ground
To this poor life was Misery ybound,

Whose wretched state when wo had well bo-
held,

With tender ruth on him, and on his f oors,
In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we

held;

And, by and by, another shape appears
Of greedy Caie, still biushuicf up the briers ;
His knuckles knob'd, his flesh, deep dinted m,
With tawed hands, and hold ytonuod sk™

The morrow grey no sooner hath begun
To spread his light e'en pooping in oar eyes,
But he is up, and to his work yrun ,
But let the night's black misty mantles use,
And with foul dark never so much disguise
The fair bright day, yet eoasoth ho no while,
But hath his candles to prolong his toil

By Inm lay heavy Sleep, tho cousin of Death,
Plat on the ground, and still as any Rtone,
A very coip«se, save yielding foith a breath ,
Small keep took he, whom f oitune frowned OIL,
Or whom fiho lifted up into the throne
Of high renown, but, as a living death,
So dead alive, of life he drew the breath :

Tho body's rest, the quiet of tho heart,
The travel's ease, tho .still night's foor was ho,
And of our life in earth the bettor part ,
Bicver of sight, and yet in whom wo HOC
Things oft that [tydo] and oft that never bo ;
Without respect, ostoom[ing] equally
King Croasus' pomp and Irus' poverty.

And next in order sad, Old- Age we found ,
His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind ,
With drooping cheer still ponng on the

ground,

As on the place where nature !bm assigned
To rest, when that the sisters had untwm'd

From 1558 to 1649 ] ALTVF1OOBJCAL PEBSCXSAGES DESCBIBED [TnoaiAS SACKVILLE.

His vital thread, and ended with their knife
The fleeting1 couise of fast declining life

There heard we him -with broke and hollow
plaint

Bue with himself his end approaching fast,

And. all for nought his wretched mind tor-
ment

"With sweet remembrance of his pleasures
past

And fresh delights of lusty youth foiewaste

Eocounting which, how would ha sob and
shriek,

And to bo young again of Jove beceok '

Bui, an the cruel fate5* so fixed }>e
That time foiepast cannot letmn ag&m,
This one lequest of Jove yet piayou he —
That, in such withei'd plight, and wretched

pain,

As eld, accompany' d with hei loath-erne train,
Had brought on him, all woie it voe and grief
Ho might a while yet linger forth hio life,

And not so soon descend into the pit ,
Wheie Death, when he the nioital coipse hath

slain,

With reckless hand in grave doth cover it
Thereafter never to enjoy again
The gladsome light, but, in the ground ylain.
In depth of daikness waste and wear to

nought,
As ho had ne'er into the world been brought

But who had seen him sobbing1 how ho stood
Unto himself, and how he would bemoan
His youth forepast — as though it wioaght him

good

To talk of youth, all were his youth fore-
gone—
He would have mused, and marvel d much

whereon

This wretched Age should life desue so fain.
And knows full well life doth but length his
pain

Crook-back' d he was, tooth-shaken, and bleai-

eyed,
Went on three feet, and sometime ciept on

four,

With old lame bones, that rattled by his side ,
His scalp all pil'd, and he with eld f orelore,
His wither' d fist still knocking at death's

dooi,
Fumbling, and driveling, as he draws his

breath ,
For bnef , the shape and messenger of Death.

And fast by Trim pale Malady was placed
Sore sick in bed, her colour all foiegone ,
Bereft of stomach, savour, and of taste,
Ne could she brook no meat but broths alone ,
Her breath corrupt , her keepers every one
Abhorring her , her sickness past recuie,
Detesting physic, and all physic's oure

But, oh, the doleful sight that then we see '
Wo tuin'd our look, and on the other side
A gnsly shape of Famine mought we see
"With £ieedy looks, and gaping mouth, that

cued
And rcar'd foi meat, as she should theie have

cLc.l,

Her body tlim and baie as any bone,
"Whereto was left nought but the case alone.

And that, alas, was gnawen every where.
All full of holes ; that I ne mought retrain
From tears, to see how she her aims could

tear

And with her teeth gnash on the bones in vain,
When, all for nought, she fain would so sustain
Hei starven coipse, that rathei ceem' da shade
Than any substance of a creatuie made

Great was her force, whom stone-wall could

not stay

Her teaiing nails snatching at all she saw ,
"With gaping jaws, that by no means ymay
Be satisfy'd fiom hunger of her maw,
But eats herself as she that hath no law ,
Gnawing, alas I her carcase all in vain,
"Where you may count each sinew, bone, and

On her while we thus firmly fix'd our eyes,
That bled for ruth of such a dreary sight,
Lo, suddenly she fehuek'd in so huge wise
As made hell gates to shivei with the xmght ,
"Wherewith, a dart we saw, how it did light
Ihgkt on her bieast, and, theiewithal, pale

Death
Enthnhng it, to neve her of her breath .

And, by and by, a dumb dead corpse we saw,
Heavy, and cold, the shape of Death aught,
That daunts all earthly creatures to his law,
Against whose foico in vain it is to fight ,
Ne peers, ne princes, nor no mortal wight,
No towns, ne realms, cities, ne strongest

tower,
But all, poiforce, must yield unto his power

His dart, anon, out of the corpse ho took,
And in his hand (a dreadful sight to &ee)
With great triumph effcsoons the same he

shook,

That most of all my fears afrrayed me ,
Hih body dight with nought but bones, pardy ,
The naked shape of man theie saw I plain.,
All save the flesh, the smew, and the vein

Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad,
With visage gram, stern look, and blackly

hued

In his light hand a naked sword he had,
That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued ,
And in his left (that kings and kingdoms

rued)

Famine and fire he held, and therewithal
He razed towns, and threw down towers and

aH

THOMAS SAOKVILLH ] THE AUIJAIONMENT OF A LOVER

Lo flack'd, and icalins (that \vluloin
flower M

Tn honour, qlory, and rule, abo-v o the rest)
Ho overwhelm'd, and till then famo dovoiu'd,
ConRum'd, dowtioy'd, wasted, and never ceaH\l,
'Till he thoii voalth, thoir 11*11110, and all op-
press1^!
Hw fitco foiohowM with wounds , and by IIIH

hide

Thoro hung hin targo, with ganhos deep and
wido

r,S —HENRY DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM

IN THE INFERNAL ItKOIONS
Then first camo Honry Duke of Buckingham,
HIM cloak of black all piled, and quite forlorn,
Wringing his haiidn, and Fortune oft doth

blame.

Which of a duko had mado linn now her HCOHI ,
With ghastly lookw, as one m manner lorn,
Oft spread IIIH arniM, stretched JiandH ho joins

a«t fast,
With rueful ehoor, and vapoured eyon upcast

HIH cloak ho rent, Ins manly broant ho boat ,
HIM hair all torn, about tho place it lorn
My heart so molt to ftoo hiH grief HO groat.
As f oolingly, mothought, it dropped away
His eyeB they whirled about withouton stay
With stormy Highs tho placo did HO complain,
As if hia heart at oooh had burst in twain.

Thiico he began to toll his doleful tale,

And thrice tho aighrt did awallow up his voice ,

At each of which ho shrieked HO withal,

As though tho heavens lyvod with tho noino ;

Till at the last, recovering of his voice,

Supping tho toarn that all lus bioast boniinod,

On cruel Fortune, woopmg thus ho plained

99.— SONNET MADR ON ISA13ELLA
MARJCHAM,

Wlieu T ft i at tlmmthl- tier /"«//, rr« *,hr ^fum! u
the Pr/wrss's wiinltHfii in ///>/v/7v tttfnr, an
tailed to thwnt at, tlm ftntit-ynnli,

Whence comes my love ? Oh, heart,
It was from cheeks that shainod the rose,
From hprt that Hpoil tho mby'n praise,
From oyoH that mock tho diamond's blosso
Wlienco comes my woo ** an freely own ,
Ah mo f 'twas from a heart like stone.

Tho blushing check spoakw modest mind,
Tho hpw befitting wordn most kind,
The eye does tempt to IOVG'K d<»suo,
And RoomH to way 'tin (Jupid'H fire ,
Yet all ao fair but Hpeak my SKUUI,
Sith nought cloth aay the heart of stow*.

kind i

Why UinM, my IOM», ^

ftwCC't OVO, hW<M'i lip,

Yot not a hc.iit to saw

Oli, Vt»nus iitk*1 tliy i"i

Make not so fair to ciinsM otir moan,

Or inaku a Ji'.Mi'i tliaf1. like <mi o\v,'

my pain ,

100— \TiOL\SKS ON A MOOT STON'Y-
UKAJi'MO MAIJJKN,

IP/to «//('- wm7»/ fa ij it tit* ffn> MM'1 Kut'rlit*

Why didnt tliou raiso sncli vvooful wall,
An(l wasto in buny loam thy <la4vs f
'Causo slio that wont t<> flout and nwl,
At last ga\e proof of woman's \\ayM ,
Sho did, in Hooth, dinplay the hiMrt
That might have \v ronght thee grt«ai cr - nuirt.

n.

Wliy, thank her thfii, n*»t W»H p or 'noun ;
Lot othorrt giitiid their awvloii* hoarf .
And praiho thn d.iy that thnH n»i<!o kurmu
Tho faithlosH hol«l on woiuan'H nrt ,
Tlieir lipH can «lo/o an<l gain nivih root,
That gcntlo youth hatli liopo of fmit,

in

But, eio tho blowwoni i'a,ir doth IIH<»,
To shoot itw Hwoottifss oYr ili«» <,iil<»,
Creopoth disdain in oankor-wi <>,
And clnllniR scorn the fruit <l'tth Ma t*
Tluuo is no hope of ;U1 our ^»i! ;
Thoio is no fruit iroiu Hiwh ,t - oil.

r.

Give o'er thy planii, th<> dancer's o'er ,
Sho miqlit have pojsotiM all thy life ,
8uch waywanl mint! had bred then inoro
Of Morrow hiul sh(^ pn>v<Ml Ihy -\\iie ,
Ix?avo hor to nu>ot all hopelesj, HMMM!,
And l>los,4 thyself that HO art iree.l.

No youth shall nun sueb OHM in win,
UmnarkM by sill thn shinm*? i'.iir,
Savo for hor piido «ind s* orn, iiiicli • in
As heart oi lo\o <*aii never bear,
fjikn leafleH,4 plant in bl,i',t,ed nhiule,
So llv(»th i-ho — a bairen nuid.

l AltUAKiNlvrKMTOF A LOVKH.,

At Ilt'iintii\ l»ar as F di<I wtand,
\Vhon /'W/s/1 NttiijH'i I aiiciiHMl ni<»,
<icorgn,<niothUii' jntlfti, hohi up ill., Ij,:;,«r
Thou art arruitfu'fl of Flattery •,

GOOD MOEEOW.

[GEonau GASCOIGNB

Toll, therefore, liow will thou bo tnotl,
Whoso judgment thou wilt haio «ibido ?

My lord, qnotl I, this lady tore,
Whom I eHtoom abovo tho rewt,
Doth Lnow my guilt, if any wore ;
Whorof oro hor doom doth ploaHO mo boat
Lot hor bo judge and juror both,
To try mo grnlilortH by mine oath

Qnoth licmtttji No, it fittoth not
A pnnco hoiKolf to judge tho cause ;
Will id oui justice, well ye wot,
Appointed to discuss our laws ,
If you will guiltloHH acorn to go,
God and your country quit you so

Thou Ci ft ft tho mcr cull'd a quest,
Of whom wan PtiMutwl forcmoht tore ;
A pack of pickUiaukq woio tho rent,
Whitth Citmo falflo witnesH for to boar ,
Tho jury micli, the jud^o unjunt,
Sentence wiw wia<l, lk I should bo truss'd."

.rm/iw*, the arrioler, botmd mo fast,
To hoar Iho voidict ot tho bill ,
Uoorgo, cjuoth tho judRe, now thou art oaoft,
Thou must fto hoimo to Heawi Hdl,
And there bo lutug'd. all but tho head ,
Uod rcwt thy HOU! whim thou art dead I

Down foil I Ikon upon my knoo,
All ilcbti bofoio (kitiK* lltttuhi''* iiico,
Aud mod, Good Lady, pardon mo f
WJio b«ro appeal unto yoni £>uioo;
You know il 1 hav(» l»ooit imtruo,
It want in too mu<;h piJUHmg- yon

Arid though tliiH Jncl^o doth mako Rnfthhaflio
To Hhod with hliaino my tjrultlosK blood,
Vot 3<rl your pity Brut bo placed
To navo tho inaii that tnoaiit you good ;
Ho Hhall you Hhow .y«urst»lC a Qnoon,
And X may bo youi

(jnoth MtviHtii, Well ,
What thou doKii woau liuucoCorth to bo ;
Althoii^h thy faults deserve no IORH
Than JuHtico lioro hath judpod thoo ;
Wilt thou bo bouud to ntiut all strife,
And bo tmo priHunor all thy Iifo r1

You, madam, quoth I, tluit I Hhall ;

Lo, AYuM and 7V*'/ A my Hurotic'H

Why thmij <|iu>-fcli «Tu», <somo when I call,

t aHk no brttor warrantiHo

TlxtiH tun 1 l><><{)<tifh t)ouudon thrull^

At lior oommaitd when nho dotlt call.

— AbMd 1575

• 102 — SWTPTNEfiiS OF TIME.

Tho hoavonK on high jHTpotually do movo ,
I»y nnimtoH uu^ul tlio hour doth Htcal away,
liy honrw tho daya, 1 >y dayn tlio moutlifl ronio\ o,
Awl then by mcmtliH tho yoarn as fast dncuiy ,
V«lu, VuRil'K vorHO and 'Cully 'H truth do Hay,

That Timo flioth, and novor claps hor wings ;
But rules on oloudn, and foiward ntill Bho

' OMcoitjitt\ — Alwnt 1575,

103 —THE VANITY OP THE BEAUTIFUL.

They course tho plosa, and lot it toko no rest ,
They posn and qpy who gazeth on thoir face ,
They darkly aHk whose beauty seometh befffc ;
They hark and mark who markoth most their

gyiaco,

They Htay their Ktopn, and stalk a stately pace ;
They jealous aio of every sight they see ,
They strive to «3€cm, but novor care to bo.

What grudge and grief our joys may toon sup-
press,

To see our hairs, whioh yellow wore as gold,
Now grey aa glass , to feel and find thorn less ;
To ftcrapo tho bald skull whioh was wont to

hold

Our lovely lockflwith cnrlrng FttickB coutroul'd ,
To look in glass, and spy Sir Wrinkle's cluur
Sot faut on fronts which orftt wore sleek and
fair.

* A ( * 3t

104.— GOOD MOKOOW

You thai haue Rpont tho talent uight>

In sloopo and qniot lOHt,

A ud loyo to HOC tho choorofull lyght

ITiat ryHoth in tho BaHt

Now cloaao your voyce, now ohoro your hart,

Oomo hfJLixj mo nowo to Rmg

Kcho willing wight come bearo a part,

To prayno tho hoauonly King

And you whomo core in prtaon kcopoa,
Or wckoucrt doth KnpproRflO,
Or Hocrot ROIOWO broakcfl your sloopofi,
Or dolourH doe chatioshe
Vot beare a part in doll nil wiao,
Yoa thinko it good aooordo,
And acceptable Rocrifico,
Eche hpnto to pray^o tho Lordo

Tho dreadful! night
Had ouor spread tho lu?ht^
And slu^^ihli ttlcopG with
ILul ouor pros! onr might
A ^ I:is HO wherin you may Ixiholdo,
Echo Ktornio that stopos our broath,
Our bed tho grano, our clothon lyko moldo,
And sloopo Lko dieadiull death.

Y<»t as thiw deadly night did lowte,
But for a little Hpace,
And lipnueuly davo nowo niftht it> past,
Doth Hhowo hiH pleanatint iaco

GEOBQB GASCOIONB ]

GOOD NIGHT.

So muM; wo hope to soo Gods twv,

At laat in hoauon on hio,

Whon wo hauo chan»'d Lhirf mort ill

For Immorl,ilitio

And of such happcs and Loauonly loyon,

As then wo hopo to holdo,

All oaithly nigiitorf and woil lly toyort,

Arc tokens to boholdo

Tlio dayo is liku the da.yo of donuie,

Tlio Mimuo, tlio Sonno of man,

The skyoft tlio hoaucmn, tlio earth tlio touibo

Whoroui wo rorft till than

Tho Eainbowo bondiii7 in tho slcyo,
Bodockto with nundryo IIOWGH,
• Is bkc tho aoato of God on hyo,
And Hoomos to toll those no wo A
That as thoroby ho pionusod,
To drowno tho world no moio,
So by tho bloud which Christ liatli ahead,
He will our holth roatoi ^

Tho mistio oloudoM that full t:o>uti'"A
And ouoicant tho slzjoH,
Are liko to troubles of our timo,
Wluoh do bnfc dymmo onr OV«M
But an auoho dowtw aro drvud vp qnit',.,
"Whon PhoobuH flhoworf IUH faoo,
So are &uoh fa-nsioa put to ihjjhto,
Wlioro God doth guido by graoo.

Tho earyon Oowo, that lothwomo beast,

Which cryoa agaynht tho rnvno,

Both for hir howe and for tho ioit,

The Doiiill roMombloth pUviut

And as with I»OTIIUH wo kill tho ciowc,

For flpoylmg onr xolooto,

Tlio j5uuill ao must wo ouorthrowc,

"With gon^hoto of bdoolo

Tho little byidos which 81115
Aro liko the anR(Jloa voy«o,
Whu'h roudoi (iod his pr,iysos moote,
And toacho VH to loioyco
And as tlioy moi-o owtocnio that inyitli,
Tliau dread tho mqhtH ano> ,
So muoh we doonio onr <UjH on o.'ith,
But hell to hoauouly io^o.

TTiito which Joyos for to attnjr uo
God graunt TS nil bin graco,
And Hondo VM afk*r worldly payno,
In heauon ID hauo a ]>laco
Wlioro weo inayo hiall oniojo that li«,l»l,
Which neucr pluill decayo *
Lordo, for lliy mercy lon<l VR unyht,
To woo that loyfull <layo.

lltnnl iH)t$ *,ti)nnt
Geuryt; GascuHjtn — Afawf

105.— GOOD NTGIET

Wlion thou hast spout tho lingrmq day in

ploasjuro and delight,
Or after toylo and wearie wayo, dost woke to

rest ab mghto

Unto thy pajiio-t o»* ]»UMhiuos past, add*} thn

one labour >t»l,,
Eio ploopo closo ^p 1 113110 o\n to i,i ,t, *lo iu»t

thy Uodfra^»t,
But Koiuvho within ihv ti'c-rot ibou' hi ,, whai

And if thon find aiuiiio in oii'jlii, lo (j<,d fm*

moroy oiill
Yea though Ihoa f'lnl iicthni'? anu,*i<», \»Jin*l'

tiiou tnnst c.il to Ji'iinl,
Yet otu'i in<»ro riii>w»mb<>r ilii*, th«*r«> i^ lh<»

moit* bcln ml
And Lhuiku how* \w\\ ijo cuoi it 1»<», Uini. ilioit

hint spont tli*» di,\«i,
Jt <MUIO <»f ({oil, am I not of tlioo, t.«> i.n <hniri

tl«V \\i>vo
Thu-. if thou irio thy «l.tjl> tloc.lo , ati'!

]>l(t.biino in this i»,L;rius
Thy hf<» hli.ill cliM ,(>> thy conn* from \VIMM! ,

aixl tliino whal bo ib<« ^aino
13ut if thy iiini'ull t.lu'VJii ili«J <»>(», will UMil.T

fur to witiko,
fJor<>io tliy wailiii'? \\ill may tr4v«», ]m\\ f,ir t'«.\

^'nilo i»ay*» hinl.o,
Jn'W^in* and wnk«», Jnr <'l«.o l)r» lit il, \vhi"li j oft.

and Huoth is IIIJM|I»,
M'v,/ hoaiKi uu»n» li.uiu \*i»» ihj l«»a«l, than

})lowoH of oumu' i bhulo
Thus if thin {tamo pr«MMint ihmc <»iw, in bc*l

aw Lliou doost, I;,«s
"Perhaps it idubll not <*od disi»l«»n '«», to iaii1?

thin soberly ;
I see that i.li>epo M lant nio here, to cu1 o n»/

wi»«w\vo bones,
At death aL ]<i',to ,\\n\,\[ olvo nptincrt1, 1o <M o

my Ki^nitnih up'opc,,
]\ly (Uiyly Kpoiti'M, my iwinch full fo»l, ht IK*

("itisilo my <bv>ii',M' <»yc,

lif«j ui quiet loci, ini"lil. ran 'i» TH.V
to <h<i

strotchmcr arnuM, tho
iKsh T to bed ward vno,
Aro patioiiips oi i,ho ]>au<>H of

lifo will mo ii»*iiH>
And of my IH.M! echo 'iiiudryit |»«rl m

dtifch lo.ttMiiblo,
Tho hiidry hh«]n^ of <K>fh, ult<M» d:nt. * l.-il

make i»iy flosh to trol>Jo
Ikly boil it soll'o IM Id o th<» »raiM«, my \ h"t to ,

tho nviiiflinvf t-ho<«|<«,
My olothori thn inoultl \\hich 1 nm« i, hauo, t,»

COIMT mo HKn.t iiicoln
Tho Imti^ry ilojn \\hi«»li fn ,l»n ho fro- ho, In

•v\ornitM I fiuieopnro,
Wnoh ,'MooiIiI.i {hall ',]iaw my flo/ho, Jin-i

loauo the IKIUC t fjil ban1
11i<» waging < '(X'l; thai, <«arly c:ro\\i*ti to wo.ii"

.
Puts m my immlo tlio trumjm ih,d

l»>foro Hit) Jailor day
And as 1 rise vp hwlily,

4,

«<> hopo Itorwo ioyfully, t<> Jnd^omcntat t!u»

ItlHt.

ThiiH \v^ll I wakes tluiH \vyll I
wyll I hopo to ryw,

o,u liftO to 1049.]

BE PROFUNim

Thus wyll I neither waile nor woopo, but sing

in godly wy«o
My bonoa hhall in thin bo<l rcmaino, my toule

in (Jlod shall trust,
I»y wkomo 1 hope to ryse agamo from death

and earthly dust

— Amount 15"75.

106 — DB PROFTODIS.

depth of doolo whoicin my sotdo doth

dwell,
From hoauy lioart which haibours in my

brost,
From troubled ttprlto which sildomo takoth

rest
From hope of Tioanon,homdioadoof darke'somo

holl

O giaoiouH God, to thoo I cryo and yell
My God, iny Lordo, my lonely Lordo aloano,
To thoo I call, to thoo I mako my moano.
And thon (good God) vouchsafe in grco to

take,

ThiH woof ull
Whorom I laint,
Oh hoaro mo thou for tliy great mercies sako.

Oh bondo thmo euros attontiuely to hoaro,
Oli tnrnn thino oyoq, behold mo how I waylo,
Oh hcMukon Lord, gmo oai« foi mino anaile,
O raarko in Tinndo tho biirdoiiH that I boaro
S<w howo I mnko in HorrowoH enoryo whoio.
Itolioldo and woo what dollorw T endure,
OHIO core and nmrku what plaintos I put in

vrc.

"Hondo wylhug oaro and pittio thorowithall,
My waylmp; voyco,
Which hath no ohoyco,
Jiut ouomioro vpon thy uamo to call.

If thon good Lordo whouldoHt tako thy rod

jn haiido,

Tf thoti rojyard what wuinoH aro daylyo done,
If them tako IxoJdo whoro woo oui woikos

bog-one,

Tf thou doorco in JmlgoTuaut for to stando,
And bo oxtroamo to HOC our BCTIHOH skando,
If thou tako noto of onory tlunff amyKso,
And wryto in rowloH howo fraylo onr nature is,
O ^loryouH God, <) kmg, 0 Prince of power,
What mortall wijyht,
Mayo thon hauo Jip^ht,
To fcolo Uiy frowuo, if thou hano lyst to

lowror1

But thou art good, and haRt of morcyo

ntoro,

Tliou not dolyfchHt to HOO a Hinuor fall,
Thon licuurkncmt firflt, boforo wo como to call.
Thino rwiroH ai^o fiet wydo opon ouonnoro,
Uoforo wo knocko thou commoHt to tho doore,
Thou art moro pront to hoaro a sinner orye,
UTion ho in quioko to climbo to thoo on hye.

OChy mighty namo boo praysod thon alwayo,
Lot fayth and foaro,
True witnewso boar©,

Howe fast they stand which on thy mercy
stayo.

I looko for thoo (my louolyo Lord) thoroforo,
For theo I wayto, for thoo I tarrye styll,
Myno eyes doo long to gazo on thee my fyll
For thoo I watche, ±or thoe I prye and pore
My Sotdo for theo attendeth ouermore.
My Soulo doth thyrst to take of theo a tasto,
My Soulo desires with thee for to boo plaate.
And to thy worde (which can no man dooeyuo)
Myno onely trust,
My loue and lust,
In confidence continuallyo shall cloaue.

Boforo tho broako or dawning of tho dayo,
Boforo tho lyght bo 6,00110 in loftyo Skyes,
Boforo the Sunno appoaio in pleasaunt wyse,
Boforo tho watoho (before tho watoho I sayo)
Bofore tho waide that waytes therefore

alwayo
My fitoule, my ROUBO, my socreoto thought, my

spnto,

My wyll, my wishe, my icye, and my delight
Vnto the Lord that sittoa in heauen on
With hastye wing,
From mo dooth fling,
And stryueth styll, vnto tho Lorde to flyo.

O Isiaoll, 0 housholdo of tho Lordo,
0 Abrahams Bratto^, O bioodo ol blessed

soodo,

{ O choRon nhoopo that louo tho Lorde in deedo
I O hungiyo hoartos, feedo fetyll vpon his
I wordo,

And put your trust in him with one acoordo.
For ho hath moioye ouormoro at hando,
His fountainos flowo, his spnngos do nouer

Btando.

And plontoonslyo hee loueth to redeeme,
Such Kinnors all,
As on him call,
And faithfully his mercies mowt esteome.

Hee wyll rodoome our deadly drowprng

state,
Ho wyll bring home the sheepo that goe

astrayo,

Ho wyll helpo them that hope in him alwayo .
Ho wyll appoaso our diwcorde and debate,
Ho wyll soone saue, though woropont vs lato
Ho wyll bo ours if we contmowo his,
Ho wyli bring bale to ioye and perfect blisso,
He wyll redoemo tho flocke of his eleote,
From all that is,
Or was amiSBO,
Sinco Abrahams heyres dyd first his Lawos

roioct.

A'ifdr or ueuer.

Gascoigne — About 1575

SIM PHILIP KiDNm

SONNET8

ioy —SONNETS

Because I ofb in dark abstraeted guise
Seem most alone in tjioatcst company,
With dearth ot words, or answorw quite awry
To thorn that would make speech oi speech

anno,

They doom, and of thoir doom tho rumom flies,
That poiHon foul of bubbling Pndo doth lie
So in my swelling- bieast, that only I
Fawn on myaolt, and others do dowpiso.
Yot Pndo, I think, doth not my soul pORsows,
Wliich looks too oft in bin unflattonniy glowi ,
But one worno fault Ambition I confons,
That makes ino oft my "best fnondw o-verpasH,
UnHoon, iinhoaid, wlulc thought to hii>hoHt

place

Beudw all IUH j>owerH, ovon unto Stella's crraoQ
tin Wnlvjt Sufaey — About 1582

With Jiow sail Htopw, 0 Moon ' thou

How Hileutly, and with how wan a face '
What may it bo, tbit oven m heavenly place
That Inwy Archor IIIK nhorp arroww tnoH ?
Sure, if thu.1 long with lovo acquainted oyort
Can iiidffp ot lovo, thou fool^t a lover's oawo ,
I load it in thy looks, thy languwh'd grace
To mo thai loci tho like thy ntato doHCtios
Then, oroii of f ollowHlup, 0 Moon, toll mo,
Is constant lovo doom'd there but want of

WltP

Are beautiOH there a« proud aa hero they bo ?
Do tho.v above lovo to bo lov'd, and yet
Those IOVOXH wcom whom that lovo doth

POHSOSH F

Do they caJl virtue thnro ungratofulnosH ?

Ha IWw fiulwy —About 1D82.

Oomo, Slooi), 0 Sloop, the certain knot of

ptwe,

Tho baitui" i)l,wjc of wit, tho bahn of woe,
Tho poor tiian'H wealth, the priHonor'H roloaHo,
'Clio nuhfforottt ju(h?o botwoon thohi«h and low
With Hlitold of proof shield nio from out tho

Of tliow) fierce dartb, Dosp.ur at me doth

throw;

0 make in mo thone civil warn to coaso
\ will «;ood tributo pay, if thou do HO
Tukothou of mo wmoothpillown, Hwootcwtbed;
A cluuubov, deaf to IIOIKO, and blind to light ,
A rosy #u,rl.u>rl, and r, weary IH»IM!.
Aiid if 1ho,io things, sis being thine by n»ht,
Move not thy heavy i^rutio, tliou Hhalib ui 1110
Livelier than olHowhore Stella1 h muuto H(»O.

Hn r!nli)> Kulney.—Ahiut ir>82.

Having tlim day my IIOTHO, my hand, my lance
Otudod so well, that I obtain1 A the prize,
Both by tho judgment of the "Kn«hnh cyon,
And oi «omo sent fiom that nweot enemy

Franco ;
Horscmou. iny skill in, hoiaamanahip axlvanco ;

,ip-

Townfolks my Htren<^th , A d.imt -T j

pllOH

Hw prawo to hleit^ht which from #ood use

doth riwo ,

Some lucky wit« impute it bnt to clianc" ,
Others, booatwe of both wdo-i I do t'iko
My blood iiom thorn who clul <»M'<»1 in HUM,
Think nature ino a itutu of utrii did mAc
How ta,r thoy shot awry ' the tiuo <',uiti» is,
StelblookM on, an<l from lici ]u*a\<Mih l.tcc
Sent forth tho buamn which nuulo so fair my

race

In martial sports T had mv oinmini*1 truwl,
And jet to broak moro hiiivoH <lid 1110 fublivi « ,
While with tho ix»ople*H HhnutH, I mu«l eonfe-.-,,
Youth, luck, and putwe, even HUM m.\ \ein i

with prido

WluaiOupid, having m(» (his nlave) descned
In Marrt's liveiy, prancing iti i.ho pros,-,,
"What now, Sir Fool,11 Haul be, " I would no

lOHH

Look hero, T way " I look'd, and Ktolla rfpiwl,
Who hard by made a window send forth li'-fht,
My heart thou quaked, then dax/li^l \ver<» tuiuc

One luind foitfot to nil(S Ih1 other to f

Nor triimiKit'H Hound I heanl, nor frn-ndly

criOK ,

My ioo camo on, and beat tho air for me,
Till that herbluhh taiu»ht mo my uluuuo tos<«e,
if/«n/.— A1wf IRHB.

Of nil the kui«ri that ovor hero <lid

Edward named Fouith ait iirnt in prui,i<> I

name ,

Not toi hiH fair outside, nor vvnlMinod bnun,
Althon^h ICHH ^iftH imp fotitlieih oit on Ku
Nor that ho eould, ,vum<,MViHe,

finnie

HIM Mro'ri wtoitgi', jom'd with .ikm^l«nn\-,i»,un,
And, j,iiin'd by MarM, could yet «i.i<l Mai . no

tUillUS

That JJtiliWioo woi'jjhM wltat Kwonl <liM Ute

obiiuu

Noi that ln» nwde tho PJower-de-lin-e -oi'r.nil,
Tliouqh Htront>ly hodi'M of hloody Ijion1 jaw1.,
That witty Ijowis to him JL tribute paid,
Nor HUH, noi ilmi, nor any such * tMullc.iu^e
1 Jut only for this worthy lktu<>ut ilur-i j'i«»\«.
To loso hiH 01 own, rather than f.iil hi,. lo\<>

Hit I'hilut Knlmii.. >\ln,»! IfiSL*

<) linpp\ 'I'liunuw, tliat didst my tffa'IU bear1
I Haw thoo with lull many a ».»iilin«tf line
TTjiou thy ch(w«rful iiwo joy'H livery w^ai1,
"VMulo thoHO iair planetm on Uiy t'treiutn did

Hhmo

Tho boat for joy eould not to.<lanee forbear,
Wliilo wanton winds, with beauiieH HO divine
ltavwli'4, htaid n«*i,, till in li(*r golden luiir
Tlioy did tlu'iimtlvoH f(> Hwectesi prinon)

From 155S*ol019]

THE IMAGE OF DEATH.

UTHWELL.

And f jon those CEol's youth thoro would thoir

stay

Have mado , but, forced by Nature still to fly,
First did with puffing loss those locks display
Sho, so dishevelTd, blush'd From window I,
With sight thereof, cned out, " 0 fair dis-
grace,
Lot Honour's self to thee grant highest place "

8w Philip Sidney —About 1582.

108— LOVE'S SERVILE LOT

Love mistress is of many minds,
Yot few know whom they serve ,
They reckon loa*t how little hopo
Theii service doth deserve

The will she robboth from the wit,
The sense from reason's loio ,
Sho is delightful m the rind,
Conuptod in the core

i \ f \

May never was the month of love ;
For May ih full of flowers ,
But rather April, wot by kind ,
Foi lovo ih full of showers.

With soothing words mthioUod souk
Sho chains in soivilo bauds '
Hor eye in Hilonoo hath a speech
Which oyo best undoi stands

Her little sweet hath mow SOUVH,
Shoit hap, immortal harms ,
Hoi loving looks aio xmndoruiq doits,
Hor songs bowilchmg cliarms

Like wmtor rose, and Minnnoi ice,
Hoi joyn aio still untimely ,
Before her hopo, boluud romorbo,
Fair firrii, in lino uiiHoamly

Plough not tho Hoan, HOW not the Hands,
Loavo off your i<Uo pain ,
Stick other mistroHfc for your minds,
Love's Morvico IH in vain

(• Hrwllm cti — About 1587

109 —LOOK HOME

Retired thoughts enjoy thoir own delights,
An beauty doth in self -beholding oyo
Man's mind a mirror IH of heavenly sights,
A brief whorom till iniiacrioH summed lie ,
Of fairest forms, and sweetest shapes the

storo,
Most graceful all, yot thought may grace

them more.

Tho mind a croaturo is, yot can create.
To nature's patterns adding higher skill
Of finest works , wit better could tho state,
If force of wit had equal powoi of will
Dovibo of man m working hath no end ;
What thought can think, auothoi thought
can nioud

and

Man's soul of endless beauties imago is,
Drawn by the work of oudlesa skill

might

This skilful might gavo many sparks
And, to diacein this bliss, a native light,
To frame God's image as his worth re(j.iurp<l ,
HIH might, his skill, his word and will con-

spired

All that ho had, his imago should present ;
All that it should present, ho could aflbid ;
To that ho could afford tas will was bout ,
His will w«is followed with performing word.
Lot this suffice, by this conceive tho rest,
Ho should, he could, ho would, ho did tho best

—Alniit 1587.

no— TIMES GO BY TURNS

The loppud troo in time may grow again,
Most naked plants renew both fruit and

flower,

Tho sorriest wight may find release of pain,
Tho driest soil suck in some moisteningshown ,
Time goes by turns, and chances change by

com so,
From foul to fair, fiom better hap to worse

Tho sea of Fortune doth not ever flow ;
Sho diaws her favours to tho lowest ebb ,
Her tides have o<ituil times to come and go ,
Her loom doth weave the fine mid coarsest

web

No joy so great but runneth to an end,
No hap so hard but may in tune amend

ftuuthwcll— About 1587

III —THE IMAGE OF DEATH.

Before my face tho picture hangs,
That daily should jrat mo in mind

Of thoso cold names and bitter pangs
That shortly I am hko to find ,

Bnt yot, alas ' full little I

Do think horoon, thai I must die

I often look upon a f aco

Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thin ,
I often view the hollow place

Whore eyes and noso had homotimo boon ,
I see the bonoK aoro&H tluit lie,
Tot littlo tlnnk tluxt I munt die

I road tho label underneath,
That tolloth mo whereto I must ;

I soo the sentence too, that saith,

" Remember, man, thou art but dust "

But yot, aids ' how seldom I

Do think, indeed, that I must die I

Continually at my bod'H head

A hoarse doth hang, which doth mo tell
That I ore morning may bo doad,

Though now I fool myself full well •
But yot, alas ' for all tins, I
Have littlo nund that I uiUHt dio '

8*

NICHOLAS BHETON ]

A SWEET PASTORAL

[ THIRD FBIAIOD-

It as Phillis fair and blight,
Sho that is tho Huophord'n joy,
She that Vonus (lid dospitc,
And did blind hor httlo boy

This is HUG, tlio wine, tho rich,
That tho woild dowron to HOO ,
Thin is tjMt, //?wj, tho which
TJiore la none but only who

Who would not this face admire p
Who would not thw saint adoro p
Who would not thia sight doauo,
Though ho thought to HOO no more ?

O fair eyes, yot lot mo ROO

Ono good look, and I am gone

Look on ine, Tor I am ho,

Thy poor Hilly Condon

Thou that art the shepherd' H queeu,

Look upon thy silly swain ,

By thy comf oit have boon woen

Dead men brought to life again

tt. Breton —Alxtiit HBO.

118— A SWEET PASTORAL.

Good Muso, rock mo ahloop
With somo Hwoot harmony ,
The woary oyo is not to kotrp
Thy wary company.

Swoot lovo, bogono awhilo,
Thou know*Ht my heaviness ;
Beauty it* born but to bogoilo
My heart of happuiowH

See how my httlo flock

That lovod to food on high,

Do headlong tumble down the rock,

And in the valley dio

Tho bushes and tho troos,
That woic so fronh and gicen,
Do all their dainty colour looae,
And not a loaf IH soon

Sweet Philomel, tho bird
That hath tho heavenly throat,
Doth now, alas ' not onco afford
Recording of a note

Tho flowers havo had a frost,
Each horb hath lust hor Kavcmr,
And Phillida tho fair hath lost
Tho comfoit of her favonr

Now all thoso carof nl mght«
So kill mo in conceit,
That how to hopo upon dchghtu,
la but a moio deceit

And, therefore, my swoet Muso,
Thou know'nt what help IH bout,
Do now thy heavenly cunning use,
To sot my heart at rout

And in a dream bewray
What fate shall bo my fnond,
Whether my bio shaJl Htill decay,
Or when my sorrow ond

Nicholcus Breton. — Alout 1C20,

119— THE SOUL'S

Go, Honl, tho body's guest,
Upon a thonklohrt oiioutl '

Foai not to touch tho bout,
Tho tiuth HluU 1)0 thy waiiant :

CfO, H11MJO I lUM'drt tllllnl <lu»,

And «ivo tho \votld the lu»

Go, toll tho oouit

And HhuiOH like rott<»n \vood ,
G<>, toll tho chinch it shown
What'H good, and doth no good
It chinch and comt roph,
Then givo thoni both tho he

Tull potc'iitatos, they Irvo

Ac,tin<jf by othorn noWoiw,
Not lov'd unloHM th(\v give,

Not Htroncr but by tlu»ir fctctionK.
If potcntatort roply,
Give potentates tho Ho

Toll men of high condition
That lulo aftaiiK of stttt<»,
Thoir pur]>oso IK ambition,
Thou practice* only hato.
An<l if they onco reply,
Then givo them all tho lie.

Toll thorn that bravo it most,

Tlioy bog for more by ^ponding,
Who in thoir greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending
And it they niako roply,
rPhon give them all tho ho

Toll zoal it lacks dovotion,

Toll lovo it is bub lust,
Toll timo it is but motion,
Tell flesh it is but dust ,
And wihh thorn not reply,
For tliou mutft qivo tho ho.

Toll .igo it daily >vastotli,

Toll honour how it altorn,
T<»11 hojiuty how who blastoth,
Toll iiwoui how hlio ialtor...
An<l as tlioy Hliall roply,
Uivo ovoiy OIK» th«> Jio,

Toll wit how much it wi angles

tu ticklo points of
Toll VfUdo
HorHolf in
And when they do icply,
.Straight »ivo thorn both Hie lie-

Toll i>li\m<5 of hor ItoldnoHH,
rr<»ll skill it is pretension,
Toll charity oi cf)ldn<»HH,
Toll law it is oontontion.
And aH tlioy do reply,
Ho give thorn still llu» lie-

Toll fortune of hor

Toll naturo ol dcouy,
Toll inendHluj)

Tell jiiKiieo of delay.
And if thoy will roply,
Thou givo them tUl the lie.

Fnun 155Sfo I(WO.] THE NYMPHS TO THEIR MAY QUEEN [TnoinAa WATSON

Toll arts they have no soundness,

Dut vary by esteeming ,
Toll schools they want profoundnohtf,
And stand too much on Rooming
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools tho lie.

Toll faith, it's flod tho city,

Toll how tho country orroth,
Tell, manhood shakos off pity,
Toll, virtue least proforroth.
And if they do reply,
Sparo not to give the lie.

So when thou. hast, as I

Commanded thoo, dono "blabbing .
Although to givo tho ho

UOSOIVOB no loss than ^tabbing ;
Yot stab at thoo who will,
No stab tho soul can kill

iv — About 1G10.

120— TO RELIGION.

n, O thou life of life,
How worldling, that piofane thoo rife,
Oan wiowt thoo to thoir appetites '
I low prmcort, who thy power don3r,
Protend thoo for HKJIV tyranny,
And pooplo foi thuii false delights '

UiwliT thy sacrpd lumiu, all ovor,

Tho vicioiiH all thon VICOH covor ,

Tho uiHolcint thou msolojujo,

TIu» proud thmr prido, tlio ialw their fraud,

Tho thief IUH Ihoft, hor filth tho bawd,

Tho impudent Uioir impudence.

Ambition under thoo aspnos,
And Avarico under tlioo
Sloth mulor thoo hor OIIHO oHHtunvH,
Lux uudor thco all ovoxflowt-,
Wrath undor tho« <mtniftcw)UH grows,
All ovil undor thoo

lt(kbf»ion, ornt HO vonoral>lo,
"What art thou now but uiado a fable,
A holy mask on Folly 'H brow,
Whore under UOH DiHwimulation,
Lmod with all abomination
fcJaorod Rohs^on, whoro art thou **

Kot iu tlio chnrfth with Wimony,

Not on Uio liouoh with Hribory,

Not in tho coiut with Muoluavol,

Noi m ilio city with doc-oits,

Nor in tho country with dobaton ;

For what hath Hoavou to do with Holl ?

r — Abend 1610.

131.— ADDRESS TO THE NIC^HTINUALE

As it ioll upon a day,
In tho jnorry month ol May,
Sitting m a pleasant shade
Which a gzovo of myrtles made ;

Bcostrt did leap, and birds did aiug,

Trees did grow, and plants did ypring ;

Everything did banish moan,

Save tho nightingale alone

She, poor bird, as all forlorn,

Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn ,

And there sung tho doloiuU'mt ditty,

That to hoai it was groat pity

Fio, fio, fio, now would she cry ,

Tom, toru, by and by ,

That, to hear hor so complain,

Scarce I could fiom tears refrain ,

For hor giiofs, so lively shown,

Made mo think upon mine own

Ah ' (thought I) tlion mouin'st in vain ,

None takes pity on thy pain

flensoloHH tices, they rannot hoar thee,

Ituthlows boais tho> will not chooi thoe

King* Pandion ho IM dead ,

All thy friends are lapp'd in load ,

All thy fellow-birds do sing,

Caroloss of thy sorrowing '

Whilst as fickle Fortune smiTd,

Thou and I wore both begrnPd

Evoiy one that flatters theo

IH no friend in misery

Words are easy, like tho wind ;

Faithful friends aro liard to find

Every man will bo thy fnend

Whilst thon hast wheiowith to spend .

Uut, if Htoio of CTO^vliS bo scant,

No man will nnpply thy want

li that one bo piodiKi'J,

JJountifid tlioy will him call ,

And with huch-hko flattering,

tfc Pity but ho wore a kmg "

If he bo addict to vice,

Quickly hun they will entice ;

But if fortune once do frown,

Thon faiowoll his great renown.

They that fawn'd on hun before

Use his company no more

Ho that IH thy fnond indeed,

Ho will help thoe in thy need ;

If thou sorrow, ho will woop,

If thou wake ho cannot sloop

Thus, of every grief in heart

Ho with theo doth boar a part

Thoso are certain signs to know

Faitliful friend fiom flatten ing foo

d Dai ulu>1<\ — About 1610

122.— THE NYMPHS TO THEIR MAY

With fragrant flowers wo strew tlio way,

And mako this our chief holiday

For though this dime was blest oC yoro,

Yet was it never proud bofoio

O "beauteous (peon of t-ocond Troy,

Accept of our unfeigned joy

How tho air is sweeter than swoot balm,
And satyrs dance about tho palm ,

THOJIAS WATSON ]

SONNET.

[THIRD PEBEOD.—

Now earth with verduie newly flight,
Gives perfect siguH of hei dolight .
0 beauteous quean '

Now birds record now harmony,
And trees do whistle melody
And everything that natme bioeda
Doth clad itself in pleasant weodn

T7wma« Watson.— About 1590,

123.— SONNET.

Aotoaou lost, in middle of his sport,
Both shape and life for looking but awry
Diana was afraid hp would repozt
What secrets ho had seen in pasaing by
To toll the truth, the self-sumo hint have I,
By viewing her for whom I daily dio ,
I leoso my wonted shape, in that iny mind
Doth suffer wieok upon the atony rook
Of hor disdain, who, contrary to kind,
Does bear abreast more hard than any frtook ,
And former form of limbs is clr,iu«j;od quite
By oaros in love, and want of duo dolight
T loavo my lifo, in that each soorot thought
Which I ooncoivo thion»h wanton tond regard,
Doth mako me say that life availoth nought,
Whore service cannot have a duo reward
I dare not name the nymph that works my

Kmart,
Though love hath giaven hor name within my

heart

Thowns

124— UNA AND THE EEDCEOSS
KNIGHT

A gentle knijyht was pricking on the plain,
Yclod in mighty aiina and tulvor shield,
Wherom old dints of deep wounds did remain,
The cruel marku of many a Woody field ,
Tot arma till that tuno did lie novor \viol<l
HIH angry Htood did chule his loammur ]>it,
AH muoh disdaining to the ciub to jiold
Full jolly knight ho noem'd, and fair did sit,
AH one for knightly jouHtw and fierce encoun-
ters fit

And on hia broaat a bloody crows ho boro,
The dear lomombranco of ZUH dying- Lord,
For whoso awoot aako that glorioun badge he

woro,

And dead (as living) over him adored
Upon his shield the like was also scored,
For sovereign hope, which in hiw help ho had
Eight faithful true ho wan in deed and word ;
But of hit! cheer did neom too solemn had
Yet nothing did ho dread, bub over was ydiad

Upon a great adventure ho W«IH bound,
That greatest Gloiiana to him gave,
(That greatest glorious queen of fauy lond.)
To win. him worship, and her grace to have,

Which of aH earthly things ho mowt did <!ra.ve,
And ovoi as ho rodo his heart did yojwm
To prove his puwHance in battle bmvo
Upon his foe, and hw now foico to Icmrn ,
Upon hih foe, a dragon horrible and htorti.

A lovely lady rodo him fair bcwdo,
Upon a lowly a-w more white than Know ,
Yet she much wliilor, but tho Haino did hido
Under a veil that wimpled was tnll low,
And over all a black htolo sho <h<] bin ow,
As ono that inly inouru'd so was H!IO »Nui,
And heavy Hat upon hor pallioy Hlo\v ,
Scorned in heart Home luddon <MLO slu» luul,
And by hor m a lino a niiik-whit^ liitnb slt<^ tod

So pure and innocent, OH that name huub,
Sho 'wan in life and every vu tuou.s lor<\
And by doHcont liom royal hnojvjro carno
Of ancient kingH and quoonH, that hiwl of yoro
Their scoptros strotcht from oiwt to woHlorii

shore,

And all tho world in their HiibjVLion hold ;
Till that infcinol fiend with foul uproar
Forowastod all their land and tlumi o^poilM
Whom to avenge, who had this kuiiyht from

Behind hor fai away a dw:n f did U#,
That lazy Reom'd m bomar <3v<»r lust,
Or wearied with bearing ot hor ba»
Of neodmonts at IUH book TluiH tiH i»hny pant
Tho day with clouds wiw «ud«lou ovonwirtt,
And angry Jove an hidoouw Ktonn ol iaui
Did pour into his loman'h lap HO fju-ti,
That ovoiy wight to shroud it did unnHtrain,
And thiH fair oouplo oko to shroud tliouiholvun
woio fain

Enforced to Rook somo covert ni«Ii .•.<, luind,
A shady giovo not far away thoy hpi«d,
That promihod aid tho tempost to withsUnd ,
Whoao lofty tioos, yolad witU hummor'n prnlo,
Did nproad so broad, that IUUWUZI'M lijUt did

hido,

Nor piorcoablo with powor of nny Ht*ir
And all witlun woio pathw and jillpyn wuio,
With footing worn, and loading iiiwaid tar •
Faur harbour, that thorn sooniH, HO in i,li<»y

onioiod aio

And forth they paHH, with ploasiiro forwatd

led,

Joymg to hoar the lurtlw1 tiW(«it harmony,
Whi(ih therein nhroudod fiom tlio liIiinM»st

dread,

Soom'd in their Honir to worn Uu» on id wky
Muoh can thoy praiso tho IIWM HO wtraight

and high,

Tho sailing Pino, tho <J««lar proud and trill,
Tho vino-prop Elm, tho Popljw rwvcr dry,
Tho builder Oak, HO!<» Iving (if

Q Anpiu good for KluviM, tho

funoxal

Tho Laurel, mood of mighty mtnquororH
And pootH Hage, tho Fir that wonpoth still,
Hio Willow, worn of forlorn panuuoiiM,
Jho Yew obedient to tho boudor'n will,

TO THE^MAY QUEEN.

"0 beauteous Ouccn of Second Tioy '
Accept ol OUT "

\Poem 122,

From 1558 to 1649 1

UNA FOLLOWED BY THE LION.

[BDMUITD

The Birch foi shafts, tho Sallow for tho mill,
Tho Myrih sweet bleeding ui the bitter wound,
The warlike Beooh, the Ahh foi nothing ill,
Tho fruitful Olive, and tho Plantain round,
Tho carver Holme, the Maple seldom inward
Bound

Led with delight, they thus beguile tho way,
Until tho blustering storm is o\ orblown,
Whon, weening to return, whence they did

stray,
They cannot find that path which first was

shown,

But wander to and fio in ways miknown,
Fuithest from end then, when they noaront

ween,
That makes thom doubt their witrt bo not then

own

So many paths, so many turning soon,
That wliich of them to take, in divorw doubt

thoy boon

J£dunnnl Spftifcir — About, 1500

125 —UNA FOLLOWED BY THE LION
Nought is there under Heaven's wido hollow-

Tliat movQH more do 11 compassion of mind,
Than boauty brought Vunwoithy wrotuhud-

110HH,

Through envy's f»naron, or fortune's freaks

unkind
I, whether lately through hot bi/igUtnoHH

blind,

Or thioufth allegiance and fast fealty,
Which I do owe unto ail womankind,
Feel my heart pierced with HO groat agony,
When. Huch I HOO, that all for pity I could dio

And now it is impassioned HO deep,
For fairest Una's sake, of whom I sing,
Tliat my frail oyoH thuso linos with tears do

stoop,

To think how she through guileful haudolhng,
Though truo an touch, though daughter of a

king,

Though fair as over living wight was fair,
ITiough nor m word nor deed ill meriting,
IH from hor knight divorced in doHp«ur,
And hor duo love's derived to that vilo witch's

share,

Tot hlio, most faithful lady, all this wlulo
Fotrtakon, woeful, solitary maid,
Far horn all people's proaco, as izi eulo,
In wildornoHS and wastoful doHorts htrayM,
To souk lior knight, who, subtily botray'd
Through that late vision, which tho enchanter

wrought,

Had hoi abandon' d hho, of nought afraid,
Through woods and wastonoss wide him <laily

nought ,
Yot wished tidings none of him unto hoi

brought.

One day, nigh weaiy of tho irkfloino way,
From hei unhasty beast she did alight ,
And on the grass hor dainty limbs did lay
In seciet shadow, for fiom all men's sight;
From hor fair head hor fillet sho iindight,
And laid hei stole aside her angel's face,
As the great eye of heaven, shmod bright,
And made a sunshine in a shady place ;
Did never moital eye behold &uch heavenly
grace

It fortuned, out of tho thickest wood,
A ramping lion lushed suddenly,
Hunting toll gioody after savage blood ,
Soon as tho royal virgin he did &py,
With gaping mouth at hor ran greedily,
To have at once devour 'd hoi tender corse ,
But to tho prey when as he diew moro nigh,
His bloody lago assuaged with lemorso,
And, with tho sight amazed, forgot his furious
force

Instead thereof he kiss'd her weary foot,
And lick'd her My hands with fawning tongue,
As he her wronged innocence did weot
0 how can beauty master the most strong,
And simple truth subdue avenging wrong- '
Whose yielded pride and proud submission,
StJ.1 dreading death, when she had marked

long,

Hor heart 'gan melt in great compassion,
And drizzling tears did &hed for pure affection
44 Tho lion, lord of oveiy beast in field,"
Quoth she, uhis princely puissance doth

abate,

And mighty proud to humble weak does yield,
Forgetful of tho hungry rage which late
Him puck'd, in pity of my sad Obtato
But ho, my lion, and my noble lord,
How does ho find in cruel heart to hate
Her thai him loved, and ever most adored,
As the God of my life P why hath he me

abhon'd ? "
Kodoundmg teais did choke th' end of hor

plaint,
Which softly echoed from the neighbour

wood,

And, sad to BOO hor sorrowful constraint,
Tho kingly boast upon hor gazing stood ,
With pity calm'd, down fell his angiy mood
At last, in close heait shutting up hoi pain,
Arose the virgin, born of heavenly blood,
And to hei snowy paltioy got again,
To souk hor wtra>od champion, it aho might

attain

The lion would not leave hor desolate,
But with hor wont along, as a sttong guard
Of her chaste person, and a faithful mate
Of hor wad tionblos, and misfortunea hard
Still, when sho slept, ho kept both watch and

ward;

And, whon hhe waked, ho waited diligent,
With humble service to hor will prepared
From hor four eyes ho took commandouncnt,
And over by her looks conceived hor intent

Hywiser — Alnut; 154)0.

EDMUND SPENSEK ]

THE SQUIRE AND THE DOVE.

[TWTIfiD PlJKlOI) —

126— THE SQUIRE AND THE DOVE

Well Haid tho wifloman,nowprov\l two by thin,
Which to thiH gentle squiro did happen late ,
That tho displeasure of tho mighty is
Than do*bth ifcHolf more dread and de^porato
For nought tho bomo may calm, nor mitigate,
Till time tho tempest do thereof allay
With antforanco soft, winch rigour con abate,
And have tho stern remembrance wip'd away
Of bitter thoughtHj which deep therein in-
fixed lay

Like an it fell to thin unhappy boy,
Whoso tender heart tho fair Bclphoobo had
With ono wtorn look HO daunted, that no 3oy
In all his life, which afterwards ho lad,
He ever tasted , but with penance sod,
And ponsivo sorrow, pm\l and wore away,
Nor over laugh1 d nor once Hhow'd countenance

glad,

But always wept and wailed night and day,
As blu^todblossom, through heat, doth lanqtuHh

and decay ,

Till on a day (aH in ku wonted wi^o
His dolo ho mode) there chanced a tuitlo-dovo
To come, whore ho hw dolouin did do vine,
Tliat likewise late had lost hor doarowt love ,
Which loss hor made like panmou alno prove.
Who seeing his Had plight, hor tondor hetut
With door oompaHHion deeply did ommovo,
That sho gun moan hin undeserved smart,
And with hor doleful accent, boar with him a
part

Sho, sitting by him, as on ground ho lay,
Her mournful notes full pitoously did frame,
And thereof mode a lamentable lay,
»So sensibly compiler!, that in the wuno
Hun Roomod oit ho hoaid his own right name
With that, ho foith would pour HO plonteouH

tears,

And boat bin breast unworthy of Hiich blame,
And knock his ho*wl, and roud his ruined hans,
That could havo piurc'd tho hearts of tigers

and of boon*.

Thus long tluw gentle bird to hini did use,

Withouten dioad of j>oril to rtquur

Unto his wonuo , an<l with her mournful muso

Han to rocoinf art in hiH greatest cai e,

That much did ease his mourning mid misfaio •

And every day, for guerdon of her Hong,

Ho port of his small feast to hor vvouM Hluuo;

That, at tho lost, of all hin woo and wonir,

Companion sho became, and HO continued ion#

Upon a day, a» who him sato bonido,
By chance ho coitain minimonts fortli drow,
Which yot with him as rolion (lid abide
<>f all tho bounty which Jiolplwcbo throw
Ou him, while goodly grace Hho did him «how
Ainongnt tho lont, a jowol nch ho fonnd,
Tlitit was a ruby of right porfowt Jme,
SlmpM liko a heart, yot blooding of tho wound,
And \*nth u little goldon chain about it bound

The Homo ho took, and with a nbbou m*w
(In which hiH Lwly^H c'olouis w<»rc>) did bind
About tho turtle^ neck, tluit \\ith tho \K»W
Did greatly HoLtce IIIK eni^i loved itutul
All unawaioH tho bird, whon sho <l«I find
Horrfelf HO dcokM, hor niniblo WIUJ«H dihj>lay'd,
And flow away as h«htly JIH tho wind-
Wluch sudden a<i<udoiit him uuutli dmnayM,
And looking after long, did ituirk \\lu»h \\iiy

But, whon a< lout; ho lookod had in vain,
Yot H*IW hor forwind still to nirtko IH-I Ih^lit,
HIM woiiry oyo roturuM to bun iigain,
Tull of disooinfoit »md ilinquu't plight,
That both his jowol bo had lost so li'jht,
And eke hin doar coinpanuni of Ins care.
Hut that Hwoot binl dopartinu, flowlorth ri«;ht
Through the wid(» region oi' tho w.istofui sur,
Until nho came where woimcd IUH IJC'Iplurho
fair

Thcio fonnd sho hor (as ibon it did boti<lo)
Sitting in co\(»rl hluwUi of arbovK Kwt'dt,
After late wc«iry toil, winch who bad tii<*d
In savage duicc, to roHt OH H(k(iinM hor niooi,
Thoro who ulightniifr fi»ll boftno bor fc<ji,,
And i;an to IKJV, hor mournful plaint to make,
AH WiW hoi \vont tlnnkint? to lot hor wool
Tho groat tormenting griof, that for bor wtlco
Hor qontlo s<aiiro through hor dit-pk'itsuro did
pai take

Rho, lior beholding with at<<»nti\<> o\o,
At length did mark about hor purplo Jini^i
That precioiw .jewel, which nhcj foini<»rlv
I£a<l known right well, with oolourM nblxm

<lrcst ,

Therewith sho rowe in has1.«, swid hor oddrosi,
With rwwly huaid it to liuvo r<»ft away
But tho swift bml oboy'd not, hoi bohot.f,,
Hut swervM aside, and thoio .i«iuii dnl s1,'(> ,
Who follow'd IKT, and thouuhL apaiu Jt to

assay.

And ever whon she nigh approach'd, flic <lov<<
Would flit a little fonvurd, and then May
Till nho diow n<»ar, and ihon «i<rJim nmiovo;
Ho tempting hor Htill to pnihiid tlut proy,
And still irom hor oscajanif Hof t ituny -
Till tluti ,'tt lonyth, into that forest wulo
iSho drow hoi i«r, and led with » low dol«,j.
In the oinl, Him her unto tlint pl.wo did "'mdo,
WioioiiH that wfiful man u« laii'>iior(li(lalu<I<>.

Ho hoi bohohlim;., :,(, hi i !<>oi. down fell,
And kws'd th(i ground on \\hich hoi tolo dM

tread,
And wash'd tho - ,uuo with walor, which did

well
From his moist ojos, and like two j-lrounw

l)roceed ,

Yet spaku no word, whcioby she mMit aro.wl
What minter wight ho war, 01 what ho meant;
But as one dauntod with hor proHonco drc»tul,
Only low runful lookH unto lior Mint,
AH nioHHOiigorH oi his true meaning and intent.

From, 1558 to 1010 J FABLE OF THE OAK AND THE BEIAE [EDMUND

Yut nathemoio his moaning she arocl,
But wondoicd much at IIIH HO uncouth case ,
And by his poiwm's no'jict soomhhod
Well woou'd, th it ho luil been Homo man of

1)1000,

Before misfortune did his hpo dcfoco
That holm; inovod with ruth the thus bespake
Ah i woful man, what heaven's hard disgiauo,
Or \vrath of cruel wight on thoo ywrako,
Oi self-disliked life, doth thoo thus wrotohod
make ^

If heaven, thon nono may it redress or blamo,
Smco to his powoi wo all aro subject born
If wiathf ul wii^ht, tlicn foul robuko and shame
Bo theirs, illicit huivo HO cinol thco forlorn ,
But if through inward Gfiief, or wiliul HCOIA
Of lit o it bo, thoii bettor do aviso
For, ho whoso days in wilful woe aio worn,
Tho giaco ot Inn Onjator doth despise,
That will not use his gifts lor thankless nig-

Whon wo ho hoard her way, oftsoons ho brako
His sudden siloncc, which ho lontf ha<l pent,
And sighing inty (loop, hor thus bospako
Thon havo they all themselves aaramst mo bout ,
For heaven (hrst author of niy languishmont)
Envying niy too great folimty,
Di<l (jloKoly with a cmol one consent,
To cloud iny days 111 doleful miHoiy,
And inako ino loath this life, still longing for
to die

Nor any but youiHelf, O dearest chnad,
ILnih done thiH wrong , to wioak ou worthless

wit»ht
Your high disploaHiuo, through mindooinnigr

bied

That when your plous-mio JH to doom aright,
Yo may rodrortw, and nio rr^toro to light
"Which worry wordu hta imqlity heart did mate
With mild ro/arard, to KOU IIIH rueful plight,
That hor in-burnniu; wrath H!IO g&ti abate,
And lam received again to fonnor

127 —FABLE OF THE OAK AND THE
ISUIAIft.

Thorn giow itu agod troo on tho
A goodly Oii>k hotnctiiuo litwl it been,
"WitJi aimH full hLront? and largoly
Dili of thcjir loavi»H they woi e chwaray'd .
«Tlio body big and mighijly pight,
Tliorougiily tooled, (ind of wondroiiH height ,
Whilom luwl beun the kmf? of tho field,
And inoohol mawt to the hiiHband did yield,
And with MM nutrt lar<lod many HWIHO,
But now tho gray HIOHH marred hiH lino,
HIH baroci boughs wore beaten with htoiins,
HIH top waw bald, and wanted with womis,
HIM honour decay 'd, hit* branches sera.

Hard by kw side fjrow a bragging Bnore,
Which prondly thrust into th' element,
And seemed to tliroat tho firmament
It was embollmht with bloH^omn fail,
And thereto ayo wonted to repair
Tho fchophord s dtiughtorn to gather flowr ea,
To paint thou gailands with his colowroR,
And in hiK Bmall bushes used to shroud,
Tho sweet nightingale Hinging so loud,
Which mode this foohsh Buoro wot so bold,
That on A time ho cast him to scold,
And wneb tho good Oak, for ho was old

Why stands thoio (quofch ho) thou brutish

Noi for fruit nor for shadow servos thy fitock,
Sooht how fiosh my flowres been hpread,
Died in lily white and ormiBon rod,
With loaves onqiamod in luwty green
OolouiK moot to cloath a maiden qucon p
Thy wa«to bignosH but cumberH tho giound,
And dirks the beauty of my blossoms round
The mouldy moas, which thoo accloyeth
My cinnanioD wnoll too much annoyoth
Whoiofore soon I redo theo honco remove,
I QHt thou tho pnoo of my displeasure prove.
t '<> spake thi^ bold Brioro with great disdain,

1 itilo him anHwor'd the Oak again,

' ut yielded, with *>;Tiamo and giiof adaw'd,
Tliat of a -weed he was ovei-ciaw'd

It chanced aitci upon i day,
rjnxo liuHhaiul-inai^H soli to como that way,
Of custom to HUT v*tk\v hiH i>roiind,
And Jns trec^ ot hl.ato in compass round ,
ITitn when tlio spiteful Buoio luwl ospyod,
OauselenH complained, and lou<lly cryod
ITnto hw loid, htnimg up stoin stiifo ,

O my liejjfp Lord ' the ufod of my hfo,
Please you ponder >our wappliant'H plaint,
(\nisod of wrontf and cruel constiamt,
"\\ lii«h I your pooi vassal daily onduro ;
And but your goodness tho same recnro,
And like for desperate dole to die,
Through iolonouH force of mino enemy.

(.{really aghast with this piteous pica,

2 Inn rostod tho good man ou the lea,
Ahd bade tho Brioro m his plaint proceed
With painted words thon gran this proud

wood

(Ari most uson ambitious folk)
EliB coloured mmn with craft to oloke.

Ah, my Sovoioigu ' loid of creatures all,
Thou placer of plants both humble and tail,
Was not I plantod of Uitno own hand,
To bo tho piimroHG of all thy land,
With flow'imcf blossoms to finmish tho prime,
And scai lot bomcs in sommor-tinio '^
Hnw fulls it tlien that this faded Oak,
Whoso body in noro, whoho branches broke,
Whoso naked aims stretch unto tho fiio,
tint > such tyranny doth aspire,
Hmilnner with IIIH shade my lovely light,
A"d robbing mo of the sweet suu's sight '*
Bo boat his old bonghs my toudor bide,
That oft the blood spnngoth from wounds

wide*

EDMUND SPBNJBB 1

FROM THE EPITHALAMION.

[THIRD JPEBtOD —

Untimely my flowers foiood to fall,
That boon tho honour ot viir coronal ,
Anil otfc ho lots his canker-worms h»ht
Upon my branches, to work mo moio Hpight ,
And of his hoaiy look1* down doth oast,
W hoi o with my frosh flowrots boon dofast
For this, and many moi-o such outrage,
Craving your godly head to astnugo
Tho rancoious rigoui of his might ,
Nought ask I but only to hold my right,
Submitting mo to your good Huffoianco,
And praying to bo guarded from grievance.

To this this Oak oast him to reply
Well as ho couth , but his onomy
Had kindlod such coals of disploixsTira,
That tho pood man nould stay his loisino,
But homo him hasted with funous hoa,t,
Enoroasm!? his wrath \\ith many a throat ,
His harmful hatohot ho hont in hand,
(Alay I tliat it so ready should stand ')
And to tho field alone ho spoodoth,
(Ayo little holp to haim there noodoth)
Anger nonld let hun Hpoak to tho troo,
Enauiitor hw ra^o miitfit coolod bo,
But to tho root bent his sturdy stroke,
And made many wounds in the w.isto Oak
Tho axe's edge did oft turn a<*am,
AF> half unwilling to out tho grain,
Seemed the senseless iron did foar,
Or to wiong holy old did forbeai ,
For it had boon an ancient troo,
Saoiod with many a mystoiy,
And often crost with tho piio-itH1 crow, »
And often hallowed with holy-wator dew ,
But like fancies weron foolery,
And broughton thiH Oak to this misery ,
For nought might thoy quitton him Fiom decay,
For fiercely tho good man at him did lay
Tho block oft groaned under IUH blow,
And sighed to see his noai ovoi throw.
In fino, the stool hail pierced his pith,
Then down to tho ground ho fell forthwith
His wondrous weight made tho ground to

quake,
Th' earth shrunk undoi him, and soouiM to

flluko ,
There heth tho Oak pitied ot uono

Now stands tho Bnon» hko a Iwd alono,
PuiFd up with pndo and vain ploasjtuco
But all this glee hud no continuance ,
For oftsoons winter 'gan to appioach,
Tho blustering Boreas did encroach,
And boat upon the solitary Brioro,
For now no succour was seen liiiu near
Now 'eran ho repent his pudc too lo/fco,
For naked loft and disconsolate,
Tho biting frost nipt his stalk dead,
Tho watiy wot weighed down his head,
And hoap'd snow birrdnod him HO sore,
That now upright he can stand no moro ,
And bomg down is trod m tho chit
Of cattle, and brouzod, and sorely hurt
Such was th* ond of this ambitious Bnoro,
For scorning eld.

JSdvMtnd tipemcr. — About 1890

128— FROM THE EPITHALAMION.

Wake now, my love, awake , for it is timo ,
Tho rosy morn long smco l<iit Tithon'n b(»d,
All icady to hor silver coach to climb ,
And Ph<x3bus 't«ms to show his f>lntioiiH luuul
Hark ! now the choerftd birds do chiwit thoir

And carol of Love's praiso
Tho merry lark hoi matms sings aloft ,
The ihiush roplun , th<i mavis dos(*aui
Tho ouzel shrills , tho riuUldck waibl(»s soft ,
So qoodly all a#ron, with swoot oonsiMit,
To this day's moiTimnnt
Ah ' my dear love, why do yon slwp i hun lorn?,
When mentor won» thut you should now awake,
T* await the coming of your joyous mako,
And hearken to the* birds* lovo-loanicd w»nif,
Tho dewy loaves among f
For thoy of joy and ploasanoo t •> you sin^,
That all tho woods thorn answer arid tlnur
echo im^

My lovo IP* now awako oui of hor drwtm,
And lioi fair eyes hko stars that dimmed woiv
With daiksomo oloud, now show tlioir goodly

1)oams

Moro bright than Hosporns his h(»ad doth n«,u.
Oomo now, yo damsels, daughterw of iloli^hi,
Holp quickly hoi to divrht ,
But first come, yo fair Hours, which nort*

begot,

In Jove's swoot paradiso, of Day and Nujht ;
Wluch do tho seasons of tho year allot,
And all, that ovor m this woild is lair,
Do make and still repair ,
And yo throe handmaids of tho

Queen,

Tho which do still adorn lioi
Holp to adoni my boautifullost I
And, as yo her anay, still throw holwuon
Some graoos to bo soon ;
And, as ye use to Venus, to hor HUI&
Tho whil<»s tho woods shall axisw<«r, ami your

echo ring '

Now is my lovo nil roadv forth to <»omo •
Lot all tho 'viigii'H tliotitfori) woll await* j
And yo, fiosh Ixys, that tond upon hiu* jrroom,
Propaio yourselves, for ho is corning- htnitffht
Sot all your thingH in scomly ^ood army,
Fit for so )oyiul da>
Tho joyfuiTst day tiiat ovor sun did NOO.
Fair Kun ' show forth thy favonrahlo ray,
And lot thy lifoful heat not forvwit b<s
For fojtr of burning hor sunshiny faco,
JEot beauty to (hsgiacsi
<) fairest Pha»bus ' fathor of tho Muso '
If ovor I did honour thoo aright,
Or sing tho thing tliut might thy mind <l<>litfht,
Do not thy s<*r\ ant's simplo boon rofuso,
Jiut let this tla>, lot this ono day bo mmn ;
Tx)t all tho rost i>« tluno.
Then I thy sovereign praisos loud will sing,
Tliat all the wooiU shall auswor, and thoir
oriho ring.

From 1568 to 1649 ]

THE HOUSE OF BICHES.

[EDMUND SPENSER,

Lo ' where she comes along with portly pace,
Like Phoebe, from her chamber of tho cant,
Aiising forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in whito, that seems a virgin bent.
So well it her beseems, that ye would ween
Somo angel she had boon
Her long loose yellow locks, like golden wire,
Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers

atwoon,

Bo like a golden mantle her attire ,
And being crowned with a garland green,
Seem like some maiden queen
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold
So many gazois as on her do staie,
Upon the lowly ground affixed aio ;
Ne dare lift tip her countenance too bold,
But blush to hoai hor praisob sung t>o loud,
So far from being proud
Nathless do ye still loud her praihcs sing,
That all the woodb may answer, arid your echo

ring

Toll mo, ye merchants' daughters, did yo see
So fair a croatuio in your town boioj o ?
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adorn'd with beauty's grace, and virtue's

store,

Hor goodly eyes like sapphires fehmmg bright,
Hor forehead ivory white,
Hor checks like apples which tho sun hath

ruddcd,

Her hpH like cherries charming men to bite,
Hor bioast like to a bowl ot oioam uncrudded.
"Why stand ye still, yo virgins, in amaze,
Upon her so to gaze,
"Whiles yo forgot your former lay to sing,
To which tho woods did ajiswoi, and your echo

ring?

But if yo saw that which no oyos can see,
Tho inward boanty of her lively sp'nt,
Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree,
Much moro then would yo wonder at that

sight,

And stand astonished liko to those which icad
Medusa* B mazoful hood
Thero dwells sweet Love, and constant Chas-
tity,

Unspotted Faith, and comely Womanhood,
Regard of Honour, and mild Modonty ,
There Virtue roigiw as queen in royal throne,
And givotli laws alono,
Tho which the base affections do oboy,
And yield their services unto her will ,
No thought of things uncomely over may
Thereto approach to tempt hoi mind to ill
Had yo once Hoen those her celestial treasures,
And unrevoolod pleasures,
Then would ye wonder and her praises sing,
That all the woods would answer, and youi
echo ring

Open tho temple gates unto my love,
Open thorn wide that she may enter in,
And all the pouts adorn as doth behove,
And all tho pillars deck with garlands trim,

For to receive this saint with honour duo,
That comoth in to you

With trembling stops, and humble reverence,
She cometh in, before the Almighty's view
Of hor, ye virgins, learn obedience,
When so yo come into those holy places,
To humble your proud faces •
Bring her up to tho high altar, that she may
The sacred ceremonies there partake,
Tho which do endless matrimony make ,
And Jot the roanng organs loudly play
The praises ot tho Lord in lively notes ,
Tho whiles, with hollow throats,
The ohori&teifl the joyous anthem sing,
That all the woods may answer, and their echo
ring

Behold while she before tho altar stands,
Hearing tho hc&y pucst that to her spooks,
And blesyoth her with his two happy hands,
How the red roses flush up in her cheeks,
And the pure snow with goodly vermeil stain,
Like crimson dyed in grain ,
That even tho angels, which continually
About tho sacred altar do remain,
Forget their service and about her fly,
Oft peeping in her face, that seems moro fair,
Tho more they on it stare
But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governed with goodly modesty,
That suffers not a look to glance awry,
Which may lot in a little thought unsound •
Why blush you, love, to give to mo your hand,
Tho pledge of all our band ?
Sing, yo sweet angels, alleluya sing,
That all tho woods may answer, and your echo
ring,

Mdtnwid Spenser — About 1590.

129 —THE HOUSE OF ETCHES.

That house's form within was rude and strong,
lake an huge cave hewn out of rocky clift,
From whose rough vault th<* ragged breaches

Embossed with massy gold of glorious gift,
And with nch metal loaded every rift,
That heavy ruin they did scorn to throat ,
And over them Arachno high did litt
Her cunning web, and Rproad hor subtle not,
Enwrapped in foul smoke and clouds more
black than jet

Both roof, and floor, and walls, woro all of

gold,

But overgrown with duht and old decay,
And hid in darkness, that none could behold
The hue thereof for view of cheerful day
Did never in that house itself display,
But a faint shadow of uncertain light ,
Such as a lamp whose life does fade away ;
Or as the Moon, clothed with cloudy night,
Docs show to "him that walks in. fear and Bad

KowtJNi> SPENHMR]

THE MINJSTBY OF ANOJBL&

[Tin in;

lit all that room wan nothing to bo HOOIL
But hu«»o groat iron chostw, and oofforn strong,
All barrod with double bond*, fclut uouo could

woon

Thorn to onforeo by violence 01 i&rouif ,
On ovwy nido thoy placod \vorc along.
But all tlio "round with HkuUtt wa*» twattoml
And doad inou'n bouon, whioh round about

woro flancf ;
WhoHo IXVOK, it Hooinod, wlulottio thoro woro

whod,
And thoir \ilo oaroasow now loit unbuiiod.

TSdmwitl Hpwiot'i — Afanit 1500.

Hut O ' th' exceeding

130.— THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS

And IH tlioro caio in Hoavon P And is thoro

lovo {

In heavenly apiritH to thoHO creatures bano,
That may compassion of thoir evils move f
Thoro M — olno much moio wrotched woro tho

OOHO
Of mon than

giaoo

Of highoHt Ciod, that loves hid oroatums HO,
And all hin workw with morcy doth oiubrauo,
Thai blonHod angoltt ho Houds to and iro,
To Horvo to wicked man, to worvo hi-t wicjkod

foo'

How oft do they thoir Hilvoi bowers jcvivo
To como to Huccoar UR tluit nucctour want r
How offc do thoy with goldon piinonH.oUjavo
Tho flittmpr skioa, liko ftyinpr purmuvant,
A^auiHt foul fionclB to aid UK militant f
Itioy for tiw fight, they watch and dtily ward,
And thoir bright aquadrons round about UK

plant,

And all for lovo and nothing for roward
0 \vliy sliould hoavonly God to men liavo wuch

rogtird v

4hw/ 1500.

131: — PEINCB AKTIFUR'S ADDRESS TO
NIGHT

thou fowl mother of annoyance «od,
Swtor of "hoavy Dwth, and nnrso of \Vt«s,
Which wa« boffot m Hoavon, but for thy Kwl
And brutish Hhapo thrn«tdown to !JolIU>lou%
Whoro, by tho jrtim flood of CouytviK sln\v,
Thy dwollinf? IH in .ErobiiH* }>lac»k houses
(Black ErobiiH, tliy luwband, w tho foo
Of all tho prods,) whoro thou nnintunoin
Half of thy days doost loa<l 111 horror hidoom.

" Wtat had th' Eternal Makor nood ot thoo
Tho world in hiw continual oourno to koo)>,
That doost all tiling H dofaco, nor lottos!* HUO
Tho boauty of IUH work 'f Indood, in H!OC]>
Tho filothful body, that doth lovo to Htwp
HIH luHtloHK lmil)H, and drown IIIH biM<r mind,
Doth praifeo thoo oft, and oft from Stygiau

Calls thoo hw j»odd»»hH, HI hw <»noi blind,
And ^yioat damo Natui'M's haiulin;u<l olu«i'i.n f
kind

"But wi»Il I wot tli.it i^> an h(»»,\v
Thou ait th« root and niiinn of bittor «'.in« \
Brooder of now, ivnowor of old Hinarts ,
Tnstoad of roHt thou l<>n<Vst Milin^ tears ,

And droadful VIHIOU^, ia lb«» vvbirh
Tho droary nnat»<» of Had T loath
So fioiu tho wwtiy spirit thou d<»o«t dn\4»
and nu»n of hjippinoh" tii>pn\\\

6" Under thy muntlo I»hu5k th<»n» hiddon lid
Li^lit-Hluuiiviup: Theft, an<l tnuioiouH I tit out,
Abhorrod Ulocxlnhod, and vilo Felony,
Shauioful Doooit, and Ihui^r itumliioui,
Foul Hoi rot, aiul ok« holliwh l>n>armu»ni •
All thoHO 1 wot in thy protwdioii }«<s
And li<7ht do Blum, for foar of bonjtf Hitont ,
For liifht aliko IK loth'd <»f iKom aiul tliw ;
And all, that low<lno,ss lo\ o, do ha1<(3 tho
to HOO

" For Day dn4«ov«»r^ nil diHlkoiuknir ways,

And nliowoih <w\\ ilnii^ UH ti IH i

Tho pniUGH of liisyli <iod ho f«ui

And hw laijji1 bounty lightly doth

Day'rt doanwt obildion bo tho blo-isod tw»od

Wliidh BtirknosK hhall hiibduo uud Hoavou

win

Tmfcli irt Ins dau^hior , ho hor iirst ilnl brood,
Most wmrod vir^yin, without spot ol sin
Our lifo iw day , but doath with darkuo-t-t

doth bo^m"

tiihttvHtl ^»r;>,svv — A lmv f ir>{)0.

132— TUB GAltUKN OF A1>ONFS

Tlioro IH (Nintiniuil .-»priH^, nncl luirvoni llioio

Continual, both moothitf at ono tiiuo

For both tho bou^liH do lau'jfhuij? bln-i^ouiit

boar,
And with frosh colours doofc th<» vi tint on

pi mu»,

And oko at onot* tho hoa\T troc«s tlioy oliittb,
Wliidi wwim ix> labour uudor i.hoir tnut'w Uuul •
Tho whiio tho joyoiiH birds jnaKo thoir

s, ihoir
And tlunr truo I<IV*<H without. HiMpioum

in tho middo4 of that parudiso
Thoro stood a Htatoly mount, on whom round

top

A gloomy ftwivo of myrtU* troon di<l ri,s<«,
Whow) Hhady bought* shatpst(M>l did novrr lop,
Nor wicked DcuHtH thoir toudor Imdn did crop,
But, liko a Rirlotul, oompaHsod tho h(UKhi«,
And from thoir fruitful nidon swoot gum did

Tlut all tho ground, with prooiouw (low

Throw iortli inoHt <Uiinty odouru ami
Hwoot delight.

1558 fci

SONNETS.

[EDMUND SPELTSER

And in tho thickest covert of that shade
Thoro was a pleasant arbour, not by art
But o£ tlio tiooH* own inclination made,
Which knitting their rank branches part to

part,

With wanton ivy-twine entrailod athwart,
And eglantine and capritole among,
Fashioned above within their inmost part,
That neither Phcobus' beams could through

them throng,
Nor ^BoluH* sharp blast could work them any

wrong.

JSdmnwl fywsc* — Abm't 1500

133 —THE BOWER OF BLISS

Thoro tho most dainty paroduo on ground

Itself doth offoi to hiH sober oyo,

In which all pleasure plontcounly abound.

And none doo« othoiK happmoHh omy ,

Tho painted flowers, tho troos upshootmg high,

Tho daloH foi shade, the lulls for broatliing

ppaoo,

Tlie in omblmg groves, tho crystal running by ,
And that wluuh nil fair -w orks doth mobt ag-

i?raoo,
Tho art, whi<ih all that wrought, appeared in

no placu.

One would have thought (so cunningly the rndo
And Htjoinod paitsworo imn»lod with tho fine)
That natnio had for w.mtoimosH eiwucd
Art, and that art at natuio did i opine,
Ho rttTiviug each th' othoi to un<loi mine,
Kiwsh did the other' H woik nioio beautify ,
So differing both in wills, agreed in fine
So all agreed through wwoet divoi sity,
ThiH garden to udoin with all variety

And in tho midst of all a fountain stood
Of iichortt substance tliat on earth might bo,
So pure* and wluny, that tho silver flood
Through every channel running ono might

see,

Mo«t goodly it with CUTIOUH imagery
Waw overwrought, and shapes of naked boys,
Ot which some Heom'd with lively jollity
To liy about, playing thoir wanton toy«,
Wliilo othorn did oml>ayo themselves in liquid

And over all, of purest £?old, WOH spread
A trail of ivy in hn native hue ,
For, tho rich metal was wo coloured,
That wij»ht, \\lio did not well advirt'd it view,
Would surely doom it to bo ivy true
"Low IUH lascivious ainw adown did crop]),
Tli at themselves dipping in tho silver d<»w,
Their fleecy flowois thoy fearfully did steep,
Which drops of crystal noem'd for wantonness
to weep

Infhuto streams continually did woll
Out of thin fouutttin, swo(»t and fair to HOC,
Tho which into an amplo lavcr foil,
And Hhortly grei/r to HO jjroat <iuantity,
Tliat hko*tt littlo lako it Hoom'd to be ,

Whose depth exceeded not three cubits height,
That through tho waves ono might tho bottom

feOO,

All pav'd beneath with jasper shining bright.
That soem'd the fountain in that sea did sail
upright

And all the margin round about was set
With shady laurel trees, thence to defend
Tho sunny beams, which on the billows beat,
And those which therein bathed might offend.
* * * f *

Eftboona they hoard a. most melodious sound,
Of all that might delight a dainty oar,
Such as at once might not on living ground,
Save in thin paradise bo hoard el&cwhoio
Bight hard it was for wight which did it hear,
To read what manner music that might be •
For all that pleasing is to living oar,
Was there contorted an ono harmony ;
Birds, voices, instruments, wmda, waters, all
agree

Tho joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade,
Thou, notes unto tho voice attomper'd sweet ,
Th' angelical soft trembling voices made
To th1 instiumonts divine respondenco meet;
The silver sounfung instrumontw did meet
With tho base murmui of tho watei'b fall
Tho water' ri fall with difference discreet,
Now soft, now loud, unto tho wind did call -
Tho goiitlo warbling wind low answcied to all

Tho while e,omo ono did ohaunt thia lovely lay ;
" Ah see, whoso fair thing thou dost lain to

see,

In springing1 flowoi tho imago of thy day ,
Ah see the vizgin rose, how sweetly &ho
Doth fiist poop forth with bashful modesty,
That fauor scorns the loss ye see her may ;
Lo, HOC soon after, how more bold and free
Her bored bosom she doth broad display ,
Lo, see soon oftei, how she fades and falls

away'

" So passoth, in tho passing of a day,
Of mortal life, tho leal, tho bud, tho flowei,
Nor moio doth flourish aftei first decay,
That erst waa sought to dock both bed and

bower

Of many a lady, and many a paramoni ,
Gather thoiofore tho ro?>o, while yet w t>ump,
For soon comes aqe, that will hoi pride de-
flower

Gather tho rose of love, while yet IF. time,
While loving thou maywl loved be with oijual
crime "

(7. ftpenur — Alinvt 1590

134— SONNETS

Swoot is the rose, but grown upon a broro ,
Swoot is the juniper, but sharp his bough ,
Swoot IH the oqlontine, but pnckoth near ,
Swoot w the firbloom, but his bronchos rough ;

SAMUEL DANIEL J

EAJiLY LOVE.

[TlHKD

fiwcot w tho cypruR, but his rind in tough ,
y wcot in tho nnt, but bittor is hiK pill ,
Swcot W tho broom flowci, but ycl sour
enough ,

And wwoot is moly, bnt lus root in ill ;
j So, ovory sweet, with sour is tempered htill,
' That makoth it bo coveted tlio more

For oa^y tiling that may bo got at will

Mont sortH of mon do not but little store.
J Why then should I account of little pain,

That oncllesH ploiHuro shall unto mo gam P

About 15*)0

Since I did leave tho presence of my love,
Many long weary dayn J have outworn,
And many nights that slowly Hoem'd to mo\ e
Their Had protract from evening1 until morn
For, when as day tho heaven doth axiom,
I wish that night the noyous day would end ,
And when as night hath us of light foilorn,
I wish that day would shortly reascond.
Thus I tho time with expectation npend,
And fain my qnof with changes to beguile,
That ftnthor seems his term still to extend,
And maketh every minute seem a milo
fcto sorrow still doth seem too loner to last,
But joyoub hourn do fly away too font

r — Abtutt 1500

Like as tho culver, on the bored bough,
Sits mourning for tho absence of her mate,
And in her wongs sends many a wishful vow
For "his return that seems to linger late ,
So I alone, now left disconsolate,
Mourn to myself tho absence of my Love,
And, wand'nug here and there, all desolate,
Seek with my plaints to match that mournful

dove,

No joy of aught that under heaven doth hove,
Can eomfoit mo but her own joyous sight,
Whono Hwoot aspect both God and man can

move,

In her unspotted ploasuns to delight
Dark w my tUy, whiles her fair light I miss,
And dead my life, that wantK such lively hlum.
iH'Hbff — About, 1500

135 — EAJJLY

Ah, I romonibor woll (and how c»an I
But evermore remember well) whon first
Our flame bojan, when scarce wo know what

was

Tho flame wo felt ; when aw wo sat and High'd
And look'd upon oacli other, and conceived
Not what wo iiiVd, yet something wo did ail,
And yet were woll, and yot wo wore not wolJ,
And what was our disease wo oonld not toll
Then would wo kiss, then High, then look

and them

In that first garden of our HimplonoBS
Wo spent our childhood, But when' years

bogan

To reap tho frnit of knowlc«d<.*o , ah, how then
Would sJio with titt'inci looks, with

brow,

Cliook my proHmnviion .i*.<i my f<»r\\
Yot still \vouJ<l givo nu» finwurs, still would

show
Wliat she would have itit', yot not havo nw

know

136 — Til M TNTR,or>lT< -TK )N OK V* >K Mi* 5 NT
TICKS Plgl'UKt'ATKD.

X h fc « / f

Lot tlioir vile cntnimg, m their limiU ]»eui.,
I&omain among themselves thai, hko \i, most,
And lot tho north, they count of colder blood,
Bo hold more gross, HO it remain more flood

Lot thorn havo fairor citicw. goodlie

And Hwootur Holds f<»r brvuity to liho oy<\

So long aH thc»y havo tho«o un^tMlly wilos,

Rnnh di'tostablo vilo impiety

And lot us want their vmes, ihoir fnitlH tlw»

So that we want not faith or lioii«>Hiy
Wo caro not f w thoHo ]»lcknsuri»s , so wo itwv
Have bottor Jioaitn and slron^T liiuid'i 1Iiuu
thoy

Noptuno, koop ont from thy oinbr.w'M >M!M
TliiH foul contagion of iniquity '
| Drown all oorruptioiiK, comnifc to oVfiUi
Our fair ijroco(»lni£rs, ordowd foimally
Koop us more English , lot not oriift beguil"-
Honour au<l jnst.i<*o with htriuiufc* subtlety.
Lot us not think how ihnt, our good otin

frame
That nunotl hath the autliom of the n,unc»

Ham ntt /*if/n/^.— llnn't UJ12.

137— ttlOHAUP IT,

Tht* Mnftiintj Iwjnw hi*, J//;/'J/v tti

Whether tho soul roeown nit<»lli'7enee,
"Dy hor uoar goniuH, c»f l,li<» btxly'ri end,
And HO impuitH a Hitrlxicss to i]M sent e,
Forogojng rnm whnroto it dotli teml •
Or whoihor nature else hath eonfereueo
With profound sleep, and \\n dolh

By prophcrf,iHing (hcaiint, what hurt is near,
And given tho lioavy <hareful lieari to fear.

However, HO it IH, tho now wi<l kinrr,
ToHH'd horo and thor<» his <pu«t to eonfomu^
Fools a Htrango woight o^ hoirowH gathoritig
Upon liiH tromblmg h<^art, and MV\A no ground ;
Voolrt Hiiddon terror bring cold Hhivering;
Lists not to oat, Htill BIUHOH, HlcHipH uuHound ;
TTiH HOJJHOH (1ro<»]>, hiH Htwwly «.y<w unquielc,
Ajad much lio twlH, ami yot ho IH not hi<!k.

JFVwii 1558 to 1&& ]

AN EPISTLE.

[SAMUEL DANIEL.

The morning of that day winch was his last,
After a weary rest, rising to pom,
Out at a httlo grate Ins eyes ho oast
Upon those bordering hills and open plain,
Where other's liberty make him complain
The more his own, and grieves his soul the

more,
'Conferring captive crowns with freedom poor.

O happy man, saith he, that lo I see,
Grazing his cattle m those pleasant fields,
If he but knew his good How blessed he
That feels not what affliction greatness yields '
Other than what ho is ho would not bo,
Nor change his state with him that sceptre

wields

Thine, thine is that true life , that is to live,
To rest socuie, and not nse up to grieve

Thou sitt'st at homo safe by ihy quiet fire,
And hcor'st of other's harms, but foaiost none
And there thou toll' hi of kings, and who aspiio,
Who f aH, who nao, who triumph, who do moan
Perhaps thou talk'wt of mo, and dost enquire
Of my rostiaint, why hoio I hvo alone,
And pitiofst thin my miserable fall ,
For pity must have past — onvy not all

Thrice happy you that look as from the shore,
And have 110 venture in the wreck you soo ,
No intoicat, no occ«wiion to deplore
Other men's tin vein, while youiaclvos sit free
How much doth your sweet rout make us the

moio

To sec our iui«ory, and what wo bo
Whoso bhudoil gLoatiiQFU, over in turmoil,
Still Hooking happy life, makes life a toil

Hanniwl Ztonu'Z — About 1C12.

, 138.— AN EPISTLE TO THE COUNTESS
OF CUMBERLAND

lie that of such a height hath built ILLS mind,
And roar'd the dwelling of 3biH thoughts so

strong,

As neither fear nor hope con shako the frame
Of hiH roHolvod powers ; nor all the wind
Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong
HIH aottlod peace, or to disturb the flame
What a fair Boat hath he, from whence ho

may
The boundless wastes and woilds of man

Buivoyr'

And with how free an eye doth he look down
Upon thorio lower legions of turmoil ?
Where till the storms of passions mainly boat
On floHh and blood where honour, power,

renown,

Are only gay afflictions, golden toil ,
Whore greatness stands upon as feeble feet,
AH f radly doth , and only great doth seem
To little miiidH, who do it so esteem.

Ho looks upon the mightiest monarch's wars
I But only as on stately robberies ;

Where evermore the fortune that prevails
Must be the right : the ill-succeeding mars
The fairest and the best fac'd enterprise.
Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails :
Justice, he sees, (as if seduced) still
Conspires with power, whose cause must not
beill.

He sees the face of right t' appear as manifold
As are the passions of uncertain man ,
"Who puts it in all colours, all attires,
To servo his ends, and make his courses hold.
He sees, that let deceit woik what it can,
Plot and contrive base ways to high desires ;
That the all-grading- Providence doth yet
All disappoint, and mocks the smoke of wit.

Nor is ho mov'd with all the thunder-cracks
Of tyrants' threats, 01 with the suily brow
Of Pow'r, that proudly sits on otheis' crimes :
Charg'd with more crying gijis tha-T» those he

checks

The storms of sad confusion, that may grow
Up in the present for the coming tunes,
Appal not TT»TT> that hath no side at all,
But of "himself, and knows the worst can falL

Although his heart (so near ally'd to earth)
Cannot but pity the perplexed state
Of troublous and distress' d moitolity,
That thus moke way unto the ugly birth
Of their own soiiows, and do still beget
Affliction upon imbecility
Yet seeing thus the coin so of things must run,
Ho looks thoieon not stiange, but as fore-done.

And whilst distraught ambition compasses,
And is enoompass'd , whilst as ciaft deceives,
And is docoiv'd * whilst Ty^-Ti doth ransack

man,

And builds on blood, and rises by distress j
And tli' inheritance of desolation leaves
To groat-expecting' hopes . ho looks thereon,
As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye,
And boors no venture in impiety

Thus, madam, faros that man, that hath

propai'd

A rest for his desires , and sees all things
Beneath him , and hath learn' d this book of

man,

Full of the notes of frailly ; and compai'd
The best of glory with her sufferings
By whom, I soo, you laboui all you can
To plant your heart , and sot your thoughts as

near
His glorious mansion, as your pow'rs can boar.

Which, madam, arc so soundly fashioned

By that clear judgment, that hath earry'd you

Beyond the feoblo limits of your kind,

As they can stand against the strongest head

Passion can make , inur'd to any hue

The world can cast, that cannot cast that

mind

Out of her form of goodness, that doth seo
Both what the best and worst of earth can be

DAKT-EL ]

THE NOBILITY

I'uiuon —

Which makes, that whatnoevcr hero befalls,
You in tlio region of yourself romam •
Where no vain broath of th' impudent molostw,
That hath woour'd within tho brazon walln
Of a clear conscience, that (without all etain)
Rises in peace, m innoconcy rowta T
Whilst all what Mahco from -without procures,
Shows her own ugly heart, but hurts not yours.

And wheroas none rejoice more in revenge,
Than women uao to do , yet you well know,
That wrong is better check' d by being con-

temn'd,

Than being pursu'd , leaving to him t'avengo,
To whom it appertains Wherein you &how
How worthily your clearness hath condemn'd
Base malediction, living in tho dark,
That at the rays of goodness still doth bark

Knowing the heart of man is set to bo
The centre of this world, about the which
These revolutions of disturbances
Still roll ; where all th' aspects of misery
Predominate whose strong offectH are such,
As he must boar, being pow'iloss to rodioss
And that unless above himself ho can
Eroot himself, how poor a thing M man.

And how turmoil' d thoy are that level lie
With earth, and cannot lilt themselves from

thence ;

That never are at peace with their dowron,
But work beyond their yearn , and ov'n deny
Dotage her rent, and hariUy will diHponso
With death That when ability expires,
Desire lives still — So much delight thoy havo,
To carry toil and travel to tho grave.

Whose ends you see , and what can bo tho

best

Thoy roach unto, when thoy havo cast tho sum
And rook'nrngfl of their glory And you know,
This floating lifo hath but this port of lost,
A hrart pi ^rrrW, t/uitji'ars no ill to cnwc
And that man's greatness xosts but in his show,
The bout of all whoso days consumed arc,
Either w war, or poaco-concorviiig war

This concord, madam, of a woll-tuu'd mind
Hath been so not by that all-working hand
Of Heaven, that though tho world hath dono

his worst

To put it out by discords most unkind ;
Yet doth it still in perfect union stand
With God and man , nor ovor will bo fore VI
From that most swoet accord , but Htill agroo,
Equal in fortune's inequality.

And this noto, madam, of your worthiness
Remains recorded in so many heartK,
As time nor malice cannot wrong your right,
In th' inheritance of famo you muwt POHHOHH .
Yon that have built you by your groat dobortu
(Out of small moans) a far more oxquiHito
And glorious dwelling for your honoured name,
Than all tho gold that leaden minds can frame.

Samuel Dimicl. — About 1612.

139— THE NOBILITY EXITOUTKJ) TO
THE PATRONAGE OF LBAWNINO.

You mighty lords, that with roKpoctod grtuvo
Do at tho Htorn of fair oiampln wtand,
And all the body of thw populaoo
Guide with tho turning of your hand ;
Keep a nuht COUTHO; Ixjar up from iill

Observe tho i>omt of glory to onr land :

Hold up tlUgraced Knowledge from

ground ,

Keep Virtuo lu roqtuwt givo worth lu»r <lu
Let not Noj;loct with barluuonn UIPUI

confound

So fair a good, to bring in night o-tiow
Bo not, 0 bo uot accowary found
Unto her death, that must givo lifo to you.

Whoro will you havo your virtuoun iiauut .-ti

laid?—

In gorgeous tombs, in sacred colls wwnni tj
Do you not soo thoHO prohtrat<i lioapHbo
Your fathers' bonos, and could nol ki»«p

And will you trust docoitful HtonoH fair Jui«l,
And think thoy will bo to your honour Iriwr V

No, no, unspanng Time will proudly
A wairant unto Wrath, that with oiw fin\vtt
Will all those mockeries of vam-glory roinl,
And inako thorn (as before) tinjyi'it»*<M|,

unknown :

Poor i<llo honours, that can ill tlofond
Your momonos, that cannot k<M>p iluur own !
DtniM-~At»i»t IrtW

I must not gnovo, my lovo, \V!IOHO cyon

road
LinoM of dohght, whoroon lior youth

Hinilo ;

Ploworn havo timo boforo thoy oomo to
And who is yoting, and now tini'tt

whilo

And Hport, swoot maid, in HcaKon of* tlu«,«i ,\<*arH,
And learn to gather flowoiw lioforo'

wither ,

And wlioro tho swnotOHt bloHHom lirnt }i|)p<
Let lovo and youth conduct thy

thithor,

Lighten forth smiles to clear tin* «lnu<l<Ml air,
And calm thotompOHt which my KI*?UH do raiHo;
Pity and nmilos do >»OHi become tho fair ;
Pity and Mimics muHt only yi<<l<l tlwo pniiw.
Mako me to «ay, whon all my griofn aro Mff»tU3,
Happy tho heart that high'd for Huch a 0110.

Fair IH my lovo, and cruel as Hlio'H fair ;

Hor )>row nhacloH frown, altho* bor oyc»M aro

Hunny;
Hor HQiiloB aro lightning, thotigh lior pri<io

doHpaur ,
And lior dwdaina aro gall, her favours hotioy.

From 1558 to 1649 ]

MORTIMER, EARL OP MARCH.

[MICHAEL DBAYTON

A modest maid, deok'd with a blush of honour,
Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and

love;

The wonder of all eyes that look upon her
Sacred on earth , design* d a saint above ,
Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes,
Live reconciled friends within her brow ,
And had she Pity to conjoin with those,
Then who had heard the plaints I utter now ?
For hod she not been fair, and thus unkind,
My muse had slept, and none had known my

Care-charmer sleep, son of the sable Night,
Brother to Death, in silent daikness born,
Relieve my anguish, and restore the light,
With dark forgetting of my care, return.
And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-advised youth ,
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,
Without the tormentH of the night's untruth.
Ceaso, dreams, the images of day-de&ires,
To model forth the passions of to-morrow,
Nover lot the rifling- sun prove you liars,
To odd more grief , to aggravate my sorrow
Still lot me sleep, embracing olouds m vain,
And nevor wake to feel the day's disdain

Samuel Darnel — About 1612

141 —MORTIMER, EARL OP MARCH,
AND THE QUEEN, SURPRISED BY
EDWARD in IN NOTTINGHAM
CASTLE.

Within tho castle hath the quoon devised
A chamber with choice rarities so fraught,
As in the name she had imparadiBod
Almost what man by industry hath sought ,
Whero with tho carious pencil was comprised
What could with colours by the art be

wrought,

In tho most RUTO place of tho castle there,
Which she had named tho Tower of Mor-
timer

An orbol form with pillars small composed,
Which to tho top like parallels do boar,
Arching tho compass where they wcro m-

cloRod,

Fashioning tho fair roof like the hemisphere,
In whoso partitions by tho linofl disposed,
All the clear northern anterismg were
In their corporeal shapes with stars in-

As by th' old poets they in heaven wore
placed

About which lodgings, tow'rds the upper face,
Ran a fine bordure circularly led,
As equal 'twist tho high* at point and the base,
That as a zone the waist ingirdled,
That londs tho sight a breathing, or a space,
'Twixt things; near view and those far overhead,
Under tho which the painter's curious skill
In lively forms the goodly room did fill.

Here Phoobus dipping Hyacinthus stood,
Whose life's last drops his snowy breast

imbrue,

The one's tears mixed with the other's blood,
That should't be blood or tears no sight could

view,

So mix' d together in a little flood ;
Yet here and there they sev* rally withdrew,
The pretty wood-nymphs chafing Trim with

balm,

To bring the sweet boy from his deadly
qualm.

With the god's lyre, his quiver, and his bow,

His golden mantle cast upon the ground,

T' express whose gnef Art ev'n her best did

show,

The sledge so shadow'd still soem'd to re-
bound,

To counterfeit the vigour of the blow,
As still to give new anguish to tho wound ,
The purple flower sprung from tho blood

that run,
That op'neth since and closeth with the sun.

By which the heifer lo, Jove's fair rape,
Gazing her new-ta'en figure in a brook,
The water shadow'd to observe the shape
In the same form that she on it doth look
So cunningly to cloud the wanton 'scape,
That gazing eyes the portraiture mistook,
By perspective devised beholding now,
This way a maiden, that way*t seom'd a cow

Swift Mercury, like to a shepherd's boy,
Sporting with Hebe by a fountain brim,
With many a sweet glance, many an am'rous

toy,

He sprinkling drops at her, and she at him ,
Wherein l&e paanter so explain* d their joy,
As though his «Vn the perfect life could limn.
Upon whoso brows the water hung so clear,
As through the drops the fair skin might
appear

And ciffy Cynthus with a thousand birds,
Whose freckled plumes adorn his bushy crown,
Under whose shadow graze the straggling herds,
Out of whose top the firesh spimgs trembling

down,
Dropping like fine pearl through his shaggy

beards,

With moss and climbing ivy over-grown ;
Tho rook so lively done in every poit,
As Nature could be patterned by Art.

Tho naked nymphs, some up and down de-
scending,

Small scattering flowers at one another flung,
With nimble turns their hmbor bodies bonding,
Cropping the blooming branches lately sprung,
(Upon the bnars their colour* d mantles rend-
ing)
Which on tho rocks grow hoio and there

among,

Some comb their hair, some making gar-
lands by,

As with delight might satisfy the eye.

9*

MICHAEL DRA.YTON ]

MOBTIMEft, EAEL OF MABCH

Thoro oomofl proud Phaeton tumbling through

the clouds,

Oast by his palfreys that then, roms had "broke,
And sotting- firo upon tho wolkod shrouds,
Now through tho hoavon run madd'ning from

tho yoko,

Tho elements together thrust m crowds,
Both land and soa hid in a rooking smoko ,
Drawn with suoh hfo, as aomo did muoh

dosiro
To warm themselves, somo frighted with

tho firo

Tho river Po, that him receiving burn'd,
His sovon sisters standing in degrees,
Trees into womon sooming to ho turn'd,
As tho gods turned tho womon mto trees,
Both which at once BO mutually that mourn'd,
Drops from their boughs, 01 teo,rn fell irom

their oyos ,

Tho firo soem'd to "be water, water flamo,
Suoh excellence in uhowuxg of tho name.

And to this lodging did tho light invent,
That it should Jurat a lateral course reflect,
Through a shoit loom mto tho window Honfc,
WTionco it should como expressively direct,
Holding jnnt distance to tlio lineament,
And should tho boams proportionally projoot,
And being thereby oondonwatod and grave,
To every figure a sure colour gave

In part of which, under a golden vino,
"Whoso broad-loavod branches cov'rins ovoi all,
Stood a rich, bod, spread with this wanton

twine,

Doubling themselves in their lascivious fall,
Whoso np'ncd clusters sooming to decline,
Whoio, as among tho naked Cupids sprawl,
Somo afa tho sundry-colour' d birds do hlioot,
Somo swarming up to pluck tho purple fiuit

On whioh a tissue counterpane was cast,
Araohno'H wob tho saino did not Hiirpivss,
Whoioin tho story of lun foi tunoH p«ust
In lively pictuioH neatly handled wiw ,
How ho GHoapod the Towoi, m Iftauco how

graced,

With HtonoH ombioidorM, of a wondioup. mass ,
About tho border, in a ourioiiH fret,
Emblems, improaas, hioio#lypliioH set

This flfttt'ring Httnuhino ha<l bo<fot tho nhowor,
And tho black clouds with such abtuiduaico

j That for a wind they waited bat tho hour,
t With foico to lot thoir f nry on hw hood :
Which when it came, it camo with such a

power,

As he could liardly liavo imagined.
But when men think they most in safety

stand,
Their greatest peril often is at hand

For to that largeness they increased wore,
That Edward folt March heavy on his throne,
Whoso props no longer both of thoincouldboor ;
Two for one seat, that over-groat wore grown,

Proposfrounly that moved ui one sphere,
And to tho like piodominitticy jirono,

That tho young king down. Moitiinor must
cast,

If ho himself would o'er hope to wit fast

Who finding tho necessity vnw mioh,
That urged him still th' twHiiult to imdartako,
And yot his porson iL might noarly tou(»h,
Should ho too Boon IUH Hloopm^ power awukn .
Th' attoittpt, whorom tho dan^u wiw HO wuoh,
Drove luui at length a Hocrot moaiii'i to jn,il;e,
Wlioroby ho might tho ouioipriho effort,
And hurl hiiu luowt, whuio ho did

Without tho castle, in tho onrth is found
A cave, resembling sloepy MorphwiH* (t^ll,
In strange meanders winding midor ^rouml,
Where (larknOHH sooks eotitintially to dwell,
Which with such four and horror doth abound,
A.S thoiiflh it wore an ontranoo into lioll ;
By arehttoots to worvo tho <»astl<' nuulo,
Whon as tho Danes thin island tlitl invtwlo.

Now on along the ortwiUmi* )«itli tloth
Then by a rook tiuiiw tij) luioilim way,
lliwbig tow'rds duy, tlioii. fivllui^ to\v*nl,j thy

dooj),

On a nttiooth lovol them it'-solf doth l«.y,
Directly thon, then obluinoly dot,h <TI (»j>,
Nor in tho ooiirsiG ko(vpw any corf^un wiuiy ;
Till in tho caHtlo, m an odd by-placo,
It casts tho loul initsk from itti dusky faro.

T?v which tho kinuf, with a H(»I<»c»t<Ml C
Of Hucli as he with hih intont ar*<(i tainted,
Winch ho affuotod to tho notion know,
And in rovongo of Rdwawl had riot f umtod,
fITiat to thoir utmost would tho CJIUMO JHU <nn,
And with thoHO tro;iHOii:$ that lnul not IXMUI

tainted,

Advontinod tho labyriutli t* ai-way,
To roiiHO tlio boiiHt which kept thorn :ill at
bay.

Long after rhrolnut took Jiw Jr.b*iin;r
To IUH piilo Hwto and re-HignM his platse,
To wash his caa])leH m tho opon i;i,io,un,
And cool tho foivour of hiH [flowing fn<»(j ;
And Phaibo, soantod of hnr brothoi'ii h(uunf
Into tho wowt went after him iiiuvn,
Leaving bliusk <litrk»(WH to ixwne'.'i tliv) i»l:y,
To fit tho tiino of that black trajfoily.

What time by toioh-hght tho/ attempt tlio

cavo,

"Which at thoir cminmco :u)nnu»cl in a fright,
With tho rofloctioTi that tlieiv uruionr KUVO,
AH it till thon had noVr fu»r»n any h^Itt ;
Which, striving thoir i>ro-(*m'Men<{e to hrtvo,
DarknoHH therewith HO djirm^ly <loth fijjfht,
That oaoh ooufoinKhn^ othor, both apjMMir,
As darknoHH light, and lifjht but

, which croHH th«tn a« tlioy ^o,
Made as thoir paHHaj,^ they would havo doulcsl,
An<I threat'nod them their journoy to foronlow,
As angry with tho path that was thoir gnu to,

MOBTDDBB, 'B?AT?-T. OF MAECH.

[MICHAEL

And sadly soom'd their discontent to show
To the vile hand that did them first divide ;

Whoso onmbrons falls and risings seem'd to
say,

So ill an action could not "brook the day.

And by the lights as they along were led,
Their shadows then them following at their

back,
Were like to mourners carrying forth their

dead,

And as the deed, so were they, ugly, black,
Or like to fiends that them had followed,
Pricking them on to bloodshed and to wrack ;

Whilst the light look'd as it had been

amazed
At their dofoimod shapes, whereon it gazed

The olatt'nng aims their masters soem'd to

chide,
As they would reason wherefore they should

wound,

And struck the cave in passing on each side,
As they wore angry with the hollow giound,
That it an act so pitiless should hido ;
"Whoso wtouy roof lock'd in their angry sound,
And hanging jn the creeks, diow back again,
As willing them fiom murder to refrain.

The night wax'd old (not dreaming of those

things)

And to her chamber IB the queen withdrawn,
To whom a choice musician plays and sings,
Whilst Hho sal under an estate of lawn,
In night-attiro more god-like glittering,
Thau any oyc had «oon the cheerful dawn,
Loaning upon her most-loved Mortimer,
Whose voice, more than the mumo, pleased

her oar.

Whore her fair breasts at liberty woio let,
WhoHO violet veins in branched nvorcts flow,
And Venus' swans and milky doves were set
Upon those swelling mounts of driven snow ;
Whereon whilst Lovo to sport himself doth

got,

Ho lout his way, nor back again could go,
But with thouo banks of beauty sot about,
Ho wander'd still, yet never could got out

Her loose hair look'd lake gold (0 word too

base!

Nay, more than sin, but so to name her hair)
Declining, au to kiss her fairer face,
No word is fait enough for thing so fair,
Nor cvor was there epithet could grace
That, by much praising which wo much

impair,
And whoro the pen fails, pencils cannot

show it,
Only the soul may bo supposed to know it

81 LO laid her fingers on his manly cheek,
The Gods' pure sceptres and the darts of Love,
That with their touch might make a tiger

moot,
Or might great Atlas from his seat remove ;

So white, so soft, so delicate, so sleek,
As she had worn a lily for a glove ,
AB might beget life where was never none,
And put a spirit into the hardest stone.

The fire of precious wood ; tho light perfume,
Which left a sweetness on each Iflmig it shone,
As everything did to itself assume
The scent from them, and made the same iTrQir

own •

So that tho painted flowers within the room
Were swoet, as if they naturally had grown ,

Tho light gave colours, which upon them
fell,

And to tho colours the perfume gave smell.

When on those sundry pictures they devise,
And from one piece they to another run,
Commend that face, that arm, that hand,

those eyes ;
Show how that bird, how well that flower was

done;
How this part shadow* d, and how that did

rise,—
This top was clouded, how that trail was

spun, —

The landscape, mixture, and debneatings,
And in that art a thousand curious things ;

Looking upon proud Phaoton wrapt in fire,
Tho gontlo queen did much bewail his fall ;
But IVCoitimoi commended his desire,
To lose one poor Mo, or to govern all
"What though (quoth ho) ho madly did

aspire,
And his groat mind made "hTm proud Fortune's

thrall?
Yet in dospight, when she her woist had

done,
Ho ponsh*d in tho chariot of tho sun."

" Phoobus (sho said) was over-forced by art ;
Nor could sho find how that embrace could

be."

But Mortimer then took the paintei's part :
" Why thus, bright empress, thus and thus

(quoth he ,)
That hand doth hold his back, and ibis his

heart;
Thus their arms twino, and thus their lips,

you see

Now are you Phoebus, Hyacrnthus I ;
It were a hfo, thus ovory hour to die."

When, by that time, into the castlo-hall
Was ruddy ontor'd that well-armed rout,
And they within suspecting nought at all,
Had then no guard to watch for thorn without.
See how mischances suddenly do fall,
And stool upon us, being faith' st from doubt !
Our life's uncertain, and our death is sure,
And towards most ponl man is most secure

Whilst youthful Neville and brave Tumngton,
To tho bright queon that over waited near,
Two with groat March much credit that had

won,
That in the lobby with the lactfos were,

MICHAEL DBAYTON ]

DESCBIFHON OF

[TfiritD PKUIOD —

delight, whilst tune away did ran,
With auoh discourse as womon love to hoar ,
Charged on the sudden by the armed tram,
Wore at their entrance miserably slain,

When, as from snow-crown* d Skidow's lofty

Some fleot-wing'd haggard, tow'rdu her prey-

ing hour,
Amongst the tool and moor-brod mallard

drives,
And th* air of all her feather 'd flock doth

soow'r,

Whilst to regain her former height she strives,
The foarful fowl all prostrate to her power
Such a sharp shriek did ring throughout the

vault,
Hade by the womon at the fierce assault

Mwlutel Drcuyton — About 1613.

142 — DESCRIPTION OF MOENTNTG,
BIRDS, AND HUNTING- THE DEER.

When Phoebus lifts his hood out of tho win-
ter's wave,
No sooner doth tho earth her flowery boaom

brave,

At such time as the year brings on the plea-
sant spring,
But hunts-up to the morn tho f either 'd flyl-

vans sing,

And in the lower grove, as on the rising- knoll,
Upon tho highest spray of ovory mounting

pole,
Those qturisteia are poroht with many a

speckled breast.
Then from hor burrusht gato tho goodly

glitt'rmg east,
Golds evory lofty top, which lato tho humoif

ous night
Bespangled had with pearl, to please the

morning's sight
On which tho mirthful quires, with their clear

open throats,
"Onto the 3oyful morn so attain thoir warbling

notes,
That hills and volleys ring, and oven tho

echoing air
Seems all composed of sound*, about thorn

everywhere.
Tho throstle, with shrill sharps , as purpowoly

he sung
T awoke tho lustless sun , or chiding, that so

long
Ho was in coming forth, that ahould tho

thickets thrill,
The wooaol near at hand, that hath a golden

bill;
Afl nature him had markt of purpose, t' lot us

see
That from all other birds his tunes should

different bo
For, with their vocal sounds, they sing to

pleasant May;
Upon his dulcet pipe the merle doth only play.

When in tho lower biake, the nightingale hard

by,
In such lamenting strain* tho joyful houi.i

doth ply,
As though tho other birdn who to her tunes

would diaw
And, but that nature (by hor all-fonntrauim,'r

law)
Each bird to hor own kind thin HOIVIOU dotli

invite,
They olae, alone to honi th.it oliarmor of tin*

night,
(Tho more to UHO thoir oars) their voicos MIIV

would flparo,

That moduloth hor tunoB HO admirably rare,
As man to set in parts at finst had loaru'd of

hor,

To Philomel tho next, tho htmot wo prefer ,
And by that warbhng bird, tho wood- lurk

place we then,
The rod-sparrow, tho nopo, tho rod-broust,

and the wren
The ycllow-pato, which though hho hurt the

blooming troo,

Yet ticarco hath any bird a liner pipe than nhe.
And of thoHO chaunting fowln, tho tfoMHurh

not behind,
That hath so many nortri duHcouding froui hor

kind,

Tho tydy for hor notcw OH d<*li<»ato iw lh«y,
The laughing hocco, then the

jay,

Tho ftoftor with tho shrill (worno hid

the IcavoH,
Some in the tailor trooH, noino in thu lower

groavoH)
Thus wing away tho morn, until tho mounting

sun
Through thick exhaled fogn ILLS gulden hoiid

hath inu,
And through tho twinlod topn of our

covert croopH
To kina tho goutlo bluule, this \\bilc that

sweet

And noar to UIOHO our thicks, tho wild and
frightful herein,
Not hearing other noiao but thin of

Pood fairly on tho lawnH ; both Hort,i of H<<a*

flonM door
Hero walk tho trtatoly rod, the fr<3cklod fallow

thoro ,
Tho buokH and lu»ty stagH amount tho HIH-

cals Htrow'd,
Aft Momotixno goilant Hpiritn amongst tho mul-

titude.

Of all tho beastH which wo for our vono*

rial name,
Tho hart among tho rent, tho huntor'a nobloHt

gamo
Of whioh most pnncoly cJbiino with nono di<l

o'er report,
Or by doHCription touch, t' oxproHtt that wou-

drouw Mport

1558 to 1649]

DESCRIPTION OF MOENING

[MICHAEL DBAYTOJT.

(Tot might hare well beseem'd th' ancients

noblor songs)

To our old Arden here, most fitly it belongs ,
Yet shall sho not invoke the muses to her

aid,

But thee, Diana bright, ajjoddess and a maid
In many a huge-grown wood, and many a shady

grove,
"Which oft has borne thy bow (great huntress,

used to rove)
At many a ciuel beast, and with thy darts to

pierce
The lion, panther, ounce, the bear, and tiger

fierce ,
And following thy fleet game, chaste mighty

forest's queen,

With thy diahovol'd nymphs attired in youth-
ful green,
About tho lawns hast soour'd, and wasted

both far and near,
Brave huntress , but no beast shall prove thy

quames heio ,
Save those the boat of chase, the tall and

lusty red,
The stag for goodly shape, and stateliness of

head,
Is fitt'st to hunt at force. For whom, when

with his hounda
Tho labouring hunter tufts the thick unbarbod

ffroundw
Whoro harboui'd is tho halt, there often

from his food
Tho dogs of him do find ; 01 thorough skilful

hood,
Tho huntsman by his slot, or bioaking earth,

poicoivos,
On oiit'mig of tho thick by pressing of tho

greaves,
Whoro ho had gono to lodge Now whon tho

hart doth hear
Tho often-bellowing hotuads to vent his secxot

loir,
He rousing ruflhoth out, and through tho

brakes doth drive,
As though up by the roots the bushes he

would nve.

And through tho cumbrous thicks, as fear-
fully ho makofe,

He with his branched head the tender sap-
lings shakos,
That sprinkling their moist pearl do seem for

him to woop ,
Whon aftor goen the cry, with yellings loud

and doop,

That all the forest rings, and every neigh-
bouring place
And there in not a hound but f alleth to the

chase
Beohating with his horn, which then the

hunter choors,
Whilflt still tho lusty stag his high-palm'd

head upbears,
His body showing state, with unbent knees

upright,
Expressing from all beasts, his courage in

his flight

But whon th' approaching foes still following

That he his speed must trust, his usual Talk

he leaves
And o'er the champam flies which when th*

assembly find,
Each follows, as his horse were footed with

the wind

But being then unbo&t, the noble stately deer
When he hath gotten ground (the kennel cast

arrear)
Doth beat the brooks and ponds for sweet

refreshing soil
That serving not, then proves if he his scent

can foil,
And makes amongst the herds and flocks of

shag-wool'd sheep,
Them frighting from the guard of those who

had their keep
But when as all his shifts his safety still

denies,

Put quite out of his walk, the ways and fal-
lows tries ,
Whom when the ploughman meets, his team

he letteth stand
T assail him with his goad so with his hook

in hand,
The shepherd him pursues, and to his dog

doth hallo
When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds

and huntsmen follow ,
Until the noblo door, through toil bereaved of

strength,
His long and sinewy logs then failing him at

length,
The villages attempts, enraged, not giving

way

To anything he meets now at his &ad decay.
The cruel ravenous hounds and bloody hunt*

ors near,
This noblest beast of chase, that vainly doth

but fear,
Some bank or quickset finds: to which his

haunch oppobed,
He turns upon his foes, that soon have him

inclosed
The churlish-throated hounds then holding

him at bay,
And as thflir cruel fangs on "hia harsh skin

they lay,
With his sharp-pointed head ho dealeth deadly

wounds

Tho hunter, coming in to help his wearied
hounds,
He desperately assail*; until opprest by

force,
He who the mourner is to his own dying

corse,

Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears
lets fall

Michael Drayton. — About 1613.

THE BALLAD OF AOINCOTJRT.

[TlIIKB PERIOD —

143,— THE BALLAD OP AGHNCOUET.

Fair stood tho wind for France,
Whoa, wo our soils advance,
Nor now to piovo our chance.

Longer will tarry ,
But putting to tho WHIT*.)
At Kause, tho mouth of Seine,
With all his martial tram,

Landed King1 Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Fnmishod in warlike sort,
Maroliecl toward Agmcourt

In happy hour ,
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopped his way,
Whore the French gon'ral lay

With all his power.

Which in his height of pnde,
King Henry to deride,
His lansom to provide

To tho king sending1 ,
Which ho neglects tho while,
As from a nation vile,
Tet, with an angry smilo,

Their fall portending1.

And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Homy then :
Though they to one be ten,

Bo not amazed ;
Tot have wo well begun,
Battles so bravely won
Have over to the sun

By fame boon raised.

And for myself, quoth ho,
Thin my full rest shall be ;
England ne'er mourn for mo,

Nor more otrtoom me.
Yiotor I will remain,
Or on thin earth ho ulam ;
Never shall she sustain

LOBS to redeem mo.

Poitiers and Crpssy toll,

When most thoii piiclo did swell,

Tinder our nwoids they foil.

No IOHH our skill IH
Than when our grandmro groat.
Claiming the regal neat,
By many a warlike feat

Lopped tho French lilies.

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led j
With the main Henry sped

Amongst his henchmen.
Exoostor had tho roar,
A braver man not there :
0 Lord i how hot they woro

On the false Frenchmen !

They now to fight are gone ;
Armour on armour shone ;
Drum now to drum did groan,
To heai was wonders

That with tho CHCM tlioy uiitkj
Tho very earth did i,hokr» ,
Trumpet to trumpet t-iutku,
Thunder to tluimlor.

Well it thine ajjo bcritino,

Which did tho Hu?ual nun

To our hid forces ;
When, from a meadow by,
Like u storm tturldcmly,
Tho KngliHh arcliory

Struck tbo "KroiH'h lior,M<vi.

With Spanish y<»w HO strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to aorpoutH Htung,

Piercing the weather ;
None fiom his follow HUrtH,
But playing niauly pjwts,
And like true En^ll-th hcjiroJ,

Stuck cloHO together

When down their bow« tlioy throw,
And forth their bilbown drow,
And on the JbVonch thoy flow,

Not one was ta-nlv
Arms woro from Hli(nil«l<»iri Hont;
Scalps to the tooth wot o rout ,
Do\vn tho French ^oa^iuiiri vn»ut ;

Oar men woro hardy.

This while our noble king,

Down the Kronch lioni, di<l dinpr
As to overwhelm it ,

And many a deep wound rent

His arms with blood l»(»Hi>n»nt,

And many a emol doui.,
Bruised his lieluiot.

Glo'stor, tliat duke so Rood,,
Noxt of tho royal blood,
For famous Englaiid stood,

With IUH bravo brother
Clarence, in HUkol HO bright,
Though but u inoidwi Ivniglit,
Tot in that furious fi'rht

Scarce Hunk another.

Warwick m blood del \vado ;
Oarford the foo invwlo,
And ontol Hlaiif?lit<»i nuulo,

Still ay thoy run up.
Suffolk his av<» did ply ,
lioaumont and "Wittoiitfhby
Bare them ri/^lit <Ion^

Ferrers and

Upon Saint CnHpin'u <7a,y
Fought was this noblo fray,
Which fame did not, dolay

To Engliuid to tuirry.
0, when wliall KngliMhtnon
With such acts iill a pon,
Or Mngl»m<l broed a'pun

Such a King Harry ?

From 1558 to 1G40 ]

DAVID AND GOLIAH.

[MICHAEL DRA.YTON.

144— DAVID AND GOLIAH.

And now before young1 David could oomo in,
Tho host of Israel somewhat doth begin
To rouse itself ; some climb tho nearest tree,
And some tho tops of tents, whence they

might see

How this unarmed youth himself would bear
Against tho all-armed giant (which they fear)
Some get tip to the fronts of easy Tnlla ,
That by their motion a vast murmur filTg
The neighbouring' volleys, that the enemy

thought

Something would by the Israelites be wrought
They had not hoaid of, and they longed to see
"What strange and woiliko stratagem 't should

be

When soon they saw a goodly youth de-
scend,

Himself alone, none after to attend,
That at his need with arms might "him supply,
As merely careless of his enemy
His head uncovered, and his loots of hair
As ho came on being played with by tho air,
Tossed to and fro, did with such pleasure

move,

As they had boon provocatives for love
His Hloovos stnpt up above his elbows were,
And in hit* hand a stiff short staff did boar,
Which by tho leather to it, and the skiing,
They easily might discern to bo a sling
Suiting to those ho woro a shepherd' H scrip,
Which from his Hide Imng down upon his hip.
ThoBO for a champion that <Ud him disdain,
Cant with themselves what such a thing

should moan ,

Some seeing him BO wondorously fair
(As in their eyes ho stood beyond compare),
Their verdict gave that they had sent "him, suie
As a choice bait their champion to allure ;
Others again, of judgment more precise,
Said thoy had sent him for a sacrifice.
And though ho seemed thus to bo very young,
Yot was ho well proportioned and atioiig,
And with a comely and undaunted grace,
Holding a steady and mo«t oven pace,
This way nor that way, never stood to gaze ,
But lilco a Tnn.*p that death could not amazo.
Came close up to Goliah, and so near
As he might easily roach him with his spear
Which when Ooliah saw, " Why, boy,"

quoth ho,
" Thou desperate youth, thou tak'si me sure

to bo

Some dog, I think, and under thy command,
That thus arfc come to beat mo with a wand .
Tho kites and ravens arc not far away,
Nor boasts of ravino, that bhall mako a proy
Of a poor corpse, which thoy from me shall

have,

And their foul bowels shall bo all thy grave "
" Uncircumcised &lavo," quoth David then,
" That for thy shapo, tho monster art of men ,
Thou thus in brass como&t arm* d into tho field,
And thy Imgo spoar of brass, of brass thy

shield .

I in the name of Israel's God alone,
That more than mighty, that eternal Ono,
Am come to meet thee, who bids not to fear,
Nor onco lespeot the aims that thou dost boar
Slave, mark the earth whoreon thou now dost

stand,

I'll make thy length to measure so much land,
As thou liest grov'hng, and within this hour
The birds and beasts thy carcass shall devour."

In meantime David, looking in his face,
Between his temples, saw how large a space
Ho was to hit, steps back a yard or two,
The giant wond'nng what the youth would do
Whoso nimble hand out of his sciip doth

bring

A pebble-stone, and puts it in his sling ,
At which tho giant openly doth jocr,
And as in scorn, stands loaning on his spear,
Which gives young David much content to see,
And to himself thus secretly saith he :
" Stand but one minute still, stand but so fast,
And have at all Pmlistia at a oast."
Then with such sleight the shot away he sent,
That from his sling as 't had been lightning

wont,

And "hi™ so full upon tho forehead smit,
Which gave a crack, when his thick scalp it

hit
As 't had beon thrown against some rook or

post,
That the p^T/ll clap was hoard through either

host

Stage onng awhilo upon hip spear he leant,
Till on a sudden ho began to fumb ,
When down he came, like an old o'er grown

oak,
His hugo root hown up by tho labourcis*

btroko,
That with his very weight he shook tho

ground ;

His brazen armour gavo a jarring sound
Liko a crack' d boll, or vessel chanced to fall
From somo high place, which did like death

The proud Philistines (hopeless that remain),
To seo their champion, great Goliah, tlam
When such a shout tho host of Israel gavo,
As cleft tho clouds ; and like to men thai lavo
(O'orcomo with comfort) cry, " The boy, iho

boy'

0 the bravo David, Israel' s only joy '
God's chosen champion1 O most wondrous

thing '

Tho groat Goliah slain with a poor sbng ' "
Themselves encompass, nor can they contain ;
Now are thoy silent, then thoy shout again
Of which no notice David &eoms to take,
But towaids tho body of tho dead doth mako,
With a fair comely gait , nor doth he itm,
As though ho gloried in what he had dono ,
But tiouiding on the unoiroumcised cload,
With his foot strikes tho helmet from lua

head,
Which with the sword ta'en from tho giant's

sido,
Ho from the body quickly doth divide.

MICHAEL DBAYTON ]

TO HIS COY LOVE

[TiniMD PERIOD —

Now the Philistines, at this fearful sight,
Leaving thoir arms, betake themselves to

flight,

Quitting- their tents, nor dare a minute stay ,
Tinio wants io carry any thing away,
Being strongly routed with a gonoral foar ;
Yet in pursiut Saul's army strikes the rear
To Ekron -wall^, and slow thorn as they fled,
That Shaiom's plains lay oover'd with the

dead,

And having put the Philistines to foil,
Back io the tents retire, and take the spoil
Of what they left ; and ransacking, they cry,
c" A David, David, and the victory ' "
When straightway Saul his general, Abnor,

sent

For valiant David, that incontinent
Ho should repair to court , at whoso command
He comes along, and boaroth in his hand
The giant's hood, by the long hair of his

crown,

"Which by his active knee hung dangling down
And through the army as he comes along,
To gaze upon "hi™ the glad soldiers throng
Some do mstylo him Isiael's only light,
And other some the valiant Beihlomito
With congoos all salute him as ho past,
And upon fr™ thoir gracious glances oast
Ho was thought baso of Turn that did not

boast,

Nothing but David, David, through tho host
The virgin* to their timbrels frame thoir lays
Of him , till Saul grow jealous of his praise.
njyton — About 1C13.

145 —TO HIS COY LOVE.

I pray theo, lovo, love mo no more,

Call home the heart you gave me ,
I but in vain that saint adore,

That con, but will not savo mo
Thorfo poor half kitses kill me quite ,

Was over man thus served ?
Amidbt an ocean of delight,

For pleasure to bo starved

Show mo no more those snowy breasts,

With azure rivers branched,
Where whilst mmo oye with plenty feasts,

Yot is my thirst not staunched
O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell '

By me thou art prevented ,
?Tiw nothing to bo plagued in hell,

But thus in heaven tormented*

Clip me no more in those dear arms

Noi thy life's comfort call me ,
O, those aro but too powerful charms,

And do but more enthral mo
But soe how patient I am grown,

In all this coil about theo ,
Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone,

I cannot live without thee

Micliael Drayton —About 1613.

146— BALLAD OF DOWSABEL

Far in tho country of Aidon,

There won'd a knight, hight Casaamen,

As bold au Iwonbraw
Fell was he and eager bout,
In battle and in touriuuuont,

As was tho good Sir Topas
He had, OR antique htorjox tell,
A daughter olopod Dowwibol,

A maiden fan* and froo
And for she was her father 'n heir,
Full well she was ycond tho lour

Of micklo courtesy

Tho silk well couth who twist and twino,
And make tho fine march-pino,

And with tho noodlo work
And she couth help the priest to uay
His matins on a holy-day,

And sing a psalm in kirk.
She wore a frock of frolic green,
Might well bocomo a maidon queen,

Which soemly was to HOO ,
A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like tho columbine,

Iwrought full f oatoualy
Her features all as fresh above,
As is the grass that grows by Dovo,

And lythe as lass of Kent
Hor skin as soft as Lomster wool,
As white as snow, on Poakwh Hull,

Or swan that swmiH in Trent
This maiden in a morn botimo,
Went forth when May was in tho prime,

To got sweet sotywall,
The honey-suckle, tho harlook,
The hly, and tho lody-wnock,

To deck her summer hall
Thus as she wander1 d hero and there,
And picked off tho bloomy brier,

She chanced to onpy
A shepherd sitting on a bank ;
Like chanticloor ho crowned crank,

And piped full merrily
Ho loarn'd his sheep, OH ho him list,
Whon he would whistio in hit* Iwt,

To food about him round ;
"Whilst he full many a carol Hang,
Until tho fields and meadows rang,

And all tho woodw did Bound
In favour thin same shepherd Hwain
Was hko tho bedlam Tamerlane,

Which hold proud kin#H in awo ;
But meek as any lamb might bo ,
And innocent of ill aw ho

Whom hia lewd brother slaw.
Tho shepherd woro a snoop-gray cloak,
Which was of tho finest lock,

That could be out with Hhoor
His mittens woro of bauzonn' bkin,
His cockers wore of cordiwin,

His hood of minivoor
His awl and Irngol in a thong,
His tar-box on hw brood bolt hung,

Hiw breech of Comtroo blue.

From 1558 to 1619 ]

RINAXDO AT MOUNT OLIVET.

[EDWARD FAIRFAX.

Full crisp and cnrled wen his looks,
His brows as white as Albion rooks,

So like a lover true
And piping still he spent the day,
So merry as the popinjay,

Which liked Dowsabel ,
That would she ought, or would she nought,
This lad would never from her thought,

She in love-longing fell
At length ahe tucked up her frock,
White as a lily was her smock,

She drew the shepherd nigh
But then the shepherd piped a good,
That all his sheep forsook their food,

To hear this melody
Thy fcheep, quoth she, cannot be lean,
That have a jolly shepheid swain,

The which can pipe so well
Yea, but (saith he) their shepherd may,
If piping thus he pine away,

In love of Dowsabel
Of love, fond boy, take thou no keep,
Quoth she look well unto thy sheep,

Lest they should hap to stray.
Quoth ho, BO had I done full well,
Had I not seen fair Dowsabel

Como forth to gather May
With that &ho 'gan to veil her head,
Her cheeks were like the roses red,

But not a word she said
With that tho shepherd 'gan to frown,
Ho thiow his pretty pipes adown,

And on the ground him laid
Saith who, I may not Htay till night,
And lojiVc my summer hall undight,

Arid all for lovo of thoe
My ooto saith he, nor yet my fold,
Shall neither shoop nor shepherd hold}

Except thou favour me.
Saith uhe, yet lever I were dead,
Than I whould lose my maidenhead.

And all for lovo of mon
Saith ho, yet are you too unkind,
If in your heart you cannot find

To lovo us now and then
And I to thoe will be as kind,
As Colin was to Rosalind,

Of courtosv tho flower
Then will I be as truo, quoth she,
As over maidon yot might be,

Unto her paiamour

With that flho bent her snow-white knee,
Down by the shepherd kneeled she,

And him she sweetly kist.
With that tho shepherd whoop'd for joy ,
Quoth ho, there's never shepherd's boy

That ever was so bloat.

Michael Drayton, — About 1613.

147 — SONNET.

In pnde of wit, whon high desire of fame
Gave life and courage to my labouring pen,
And first tho sound and virtue of my name
Won grace and credit in tho ears of men j

With those the thronged theatres that press,
I in the circuit for the laurel strove,
Where the full praise, I freely must confess,
In heat of blood, a modest mind might move
With shouts and claps, at every little pause,
When the proud round on every side hath

rung,

Sadly I sit unmoved with the applause,
A& though to me it nothing did belong .
No public glory vainly I puisue ,
The praise I stnve, is to eternize you

MicJiael Drwyton. — About 1613.

^.—DESCRIPTION OF ARMIDA AND
HER ENCHANTED GIRDLE.

And with that word she smiled, and ne'ertho-

less
Her love-toys still she used, and pleasures

bold

Her hair (that done) she twisted up intress,
And looser locks in silken laces rolTd,
Her curls, garland-wise, she did up dress,
Wherein, like nch enamel laid on gold,
The twisted fiow'rets smiled, and her white

breast *

The lilies thero that spring with roses drest.

The jolly peacock spieads not half so fair
The eyed featheis of his pompous tram ,
Nor goldon Iris so bends in the air
Hor twenty-coloured bow, through clouds of

rain

Tot all her ornaments, strange, nch, and rare,
Her girdle did in price and beauty stain ,
Not that, -with scorn, which Tuscan G-udla

lost,
Noi Venus' cesfcus could match this for cost.

Of mild denays, of tender scorns, of sweet
Repulses, war, peace, hope, deupair, joy, feart
Of smiles, jests, mirth, woe, grief, and sad

regret,
Sighs, sorrows, tears, embracements, losses

dear,
That, mixed first, by weight and measures

meet;

Then, at an easy fire, attempered were ,
This wondrous girdle did Armida fiamo,
And, -when she would bo lovod, woro the same.

Jfawr/cw,— About 1600.

149.— EINALDO AT MOUNT OLIVET,
AND THE ENCHANTED WOOD.

It was the time when 'gainst the breaking clay
Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined ,
For in the east appear' d the morning grey,
And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace

shined,

When to Mount Olivet he took his -way,
And saw, as round about his eyes he twined,

EDWARD FAIRFAX ]

IOTTALDO AT MOUNT OHYBT. [THIRD PERTOD —

Night's shadows hence, from thence tho

morning' B shine ;
This blight, that dark; that earthly, this

divuxo •

Thus to himself ho thought • how many bright
And splendent lamps shine in heaven's tomplo

high

Day hath his golden Run, her moon tho night,
HOT fix'd and wand'ring stars tho azure

sky;

So framed all by their Creator's might,
That still they live and shine, and ne'er shall

die,
Till, in a moment, with tho last day's

brand

They burn, and with them burn soa, air, and
v land.

Thus as he mused, to the top ho wont,

And there kneel' d down with reverence and

fear;

BIB eyes upon heaven's eastern foeo ho "bent ;
His thoughts above all heavens up-lifted

wore

The sins and errors, which I now repent,
Of my unbridled youth, 0 Father dear,
• Bomombor not, but lot thy mercy fall,
And purge my faults and my offences all

Thus prayed ho ; with purple wings up-flew
In golden wood the morning's lusty queen,
Bogilding, with the radiant beams she throw,
Win holm, his harness, and the mountain

green:

Upon his breast and forehead gently blow
Tho air, that balm and nardus breathed un-
seen,
And o'er his head, let down from clearest

skies,

A cloud of pure and precious dew there
flies

The heavenly dew was on hiw garments spread,
To which compared, his clothes pale ashes

seem,

And sprinkled so, that all that paleness fled,
And thence of purest white bright rays out-
stream.

So cheered are the flowers, late withered,
With tho sweet comfort of tho moimngboam,
And so, loturn'd to youth, a serpent old
Adorns herself in now and native gold.

The lovely whiteness of his changed weed
The pnnco perceived woll and long admired ,
Toward tho forest march1 d ho on with speed,
Resolved, as such adventures groat required
Thither he name, whence shrinking book for

dread

Of that strange desert's sight, the first re-
tired,

But not to him fearful or loathsome made
That foiest was, but sweet with, pleasant
shade.

Forward ho pos&'d, and m the grove before
Ho hoard a sound, that htrango, Hweet, pleas-

ing was ,

There roll'd a crystal brook with cfontlo roar,
There sigh'd tho winds, an through tho loiuoa

they pass ,

There did tho nifihtm<*alo her wron^H deploro,

Thoro sung tho swan, and singing died, ultui f

Thoio luto, harp, ciUorn, hum.ui vcut'o, ho

heard,
And all those sounds one sound right well

declared.

A dreadful thunder-clap at last he hoard,
Tho ag od trees and plants woll iu«li ihsiti ronl,,
Yot hoard tho nymphs and HVTOUH afUn word,
Birds, wradH, and waters, fling with Hweot

consent ,

Whereat amazed, ho fltay'd, and woll prepared
For hiw dofonoo, hoodful aud nlow forth won!.;
Nor in his way hw passuqo ou»Ut wilhutood,
Except a quiet, f>till, trtinnpavont flood.

On the groen banks, which that Our

inbound,
Flowers and odours sweetly smiled ami

smell' d,

Which reaching out hiw Htrotchod arms around,
All tho largo desert in his bosom hold,
And through tho grove, one channel pasK'i^o

found ,

Thin in tho wood, ui that tho forest dwelVd
TTOOH clad tho fltioamH, Htroamn jnvon 1)10210

trees ayo made,
And RO oxoliangod ihoii moisture and their

shade

Tho knight somo way flouqht out the flood in

pans,

And aw ho Honght, a wondrourt linden apt»w«"''l ;
A bridge oi ffold, an Imgo aiul nu<;lidy inaith,
On arohoB gioat of that iu»li modal nsirM
Whon through that goldou way ho oiit<jrM

WOH,
Down fell tho bridge , swollod tho siroatn, aud

woar'd
Tho work away, nor Fugn left, whore jb

ntood,
And of a nvor calm booamo a flood

lie turn'd, amassod to &oo it troubled HO,
Liko Huddon brookn, mcrooHod with molton

snow,

Tlio bJlows fioroo, that towed to and fro,
Tho whirlpools suok'd down to thoir

low,

But on ho wont to froaroli for wondorH mo,
Throuffhtho thick troeH, there lii^haiid broad

which grow ,

And in that forest huge, and dosert wide,
Tho more ho (bought, more wonders Htill ho
spied,

Where'er ho stopp'd, it floom*d the joyful

groitnd

Kenow'd iho vorduro of her flowery wood j
A fountain hero, a woll-npring there ho found j
Hero bud tho roses, there tho lilies spread .

JPVom 1658 to 1649 ]

BINALDO AT MOUOT OLIVET.

[EDWARD FAIRFAX.

The aged wood o'er and about Tmrn round
nourish' d with blossoms new, new leaves, new

And on the boughs and branches of thoso

troen
Tho bark was softon'd, and renew'd tho

gxoen.

The Tnp.Tmflf on each leaf did pearled lie ;

The honey stilled from the tender rind .

Again ho heard that wondrous harmony

Of songs and sweet complaints of lovers kind,

The human voices sung a treble high,

To which respond the birds, the stieams, the

wind,
But yet unseen thoso nymphs, thoso singers

were,
Unseen the lutos, harps, viols which they

bear

He look'd, he liston'd, yet his thoughts de-
mod
To tlrmk' that truo, which ho did hear and

seo

A myrtle in an ample plain ho spiod,
And thithor by a boaton path wont ho ,
Tho myrtlo spread her mighty branches wide,
Higher thai) pino, or palm, or oypiess tree,
And fai above all other plants wore soon
That forest's lady, and that desert's queen

Upon tho tree his eyes B.maldo bont,

And there a marvel fix oat and straugo began ,

j>n aged oak beside linn cleft and rent,

And irom hia foitilo, hollow womb, forbh

ran,

Clnxl in raro woods and strange habiliment,
A nymph, for ago ablo to go to man ,

An hundred plants boHido, oven in his sight,
Ohildod an hundred nymphs, so groab, so
dight.

Such as on stages play, such as wo seo
Tho dryada painted, whom wild satyrs lovo,
Whoso arms half naked, locks untrussod bo,
With bunions laced on thoir loga abovo,
And HiJkon roboa tuok'd short abovo Ihoir

knee,
Such Hoom'd tho sylvan daughters of this

grove,
Save that, instead of shafts and bows of

tree,
•She boro a luto, a harp or cittern she }

Aud wantonly they cast thorn in a ring,
And sung and danced to move his weaker

sonso,

Binaldo round about environing,
As does its centre tho circumference ;
Tho tree they compass'd eke, and 'gan to

sing,

That woods and streams admired thoir excel-
lence—
Welcome, door Lord, welcome to this sweet

grovo,

Welcome, our lady's hope, welcome, hor
lovo I

Thou comest to cure our princess, faint and

siok
For lovo, for love of thee, faint, sick, dis-

tress' d;

Late black, late dreadful was this forest thick,
Fit dwelling for sad folk, with grief op-

press'd ,

See, with thy coming how the branches quick
Revived are, and in now blossoms dress'd '
This was their song , and after from it went
First a sweet sound, and then the myrtle
rent.

If antique times admired Silenus old,
Who oft appear'd set on his lazy ass,
How would they wonder, if they had behold
Such sights as from tho myrtlo high did pass '
Thence came a lady fair with locks of gold,
That like in shape, in face, and beauty was
To fair A'rmi.dfl, t Bmald thinks he spies
Her gestures, smiles, and glances of hor
eyes

On him a sad and smiling look she oast,
Which twenty passions strange at once be-
wrays
And art thou come, quoth she, return' d at

last
To hor, fiom whom but late thou ran'at thy

ways?

Comest thou to comfort me for sorrows past,
To oaso my widow nights, and careful days ?
Or comost thou to woik mo gnof and haarn?
Why mil thou speak, why not thy faoo
disarm?

Comest thou a friend or foe P I did not frame
That golden bndgo to entertain my foe ,
Nor opon'd flowers and fountains as you

came,
To welcome T™ with joy, who brings me

woo.

Put off thy helm : rejoice me with tho flame
Of thy bright eyes, whence fiist my £ros did

grow,

Kiss mo, embrace me , if you further ven-
ture,

Lovo keeps the gate, the fort is eath to
enter.

Thus as sho wooes, she rolls her ruof ul oyos
With piteous look, and ohangoth oft hor ohear;
An hundred sighs fiom hoi falso heart up-fly ;
Sho sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hoar
The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies ;
What stony heart resists a woman's tear ?
But yet tho knight, wiso, wary, not unkind,
Drew forth his sword, and from hor carolobS
twined.

Towards tho troo ho maroh'd; &ho thithor

stait,
Before ?™ stepp'd, embraced tho plant, and

ory'd,--

Ah ' never do me such a spiteful part,
To out my tree, this forest's joy and jjride ,

SIR J. HABBINGKCON ]

OF TREASON.

[THIRD

Put up thy sword, else piorco therewith the

heart

Of thy forsaken and despised Armide ,
For through this breast, and through this

heart, unkind,

To thia fair tree thy sword shall passage
find

He hft his brand, nor cored, though oft she

pray'd,

And sho her form to other shape did change ,
Such monsters huge, when men in dreams are

laid,

Oft in their idle fancies roam and range
Her body swell* d, her face obaouro was made ,
Vanish' d her garments noh, and vestures

strange ,

A giantess before him high she stands,
Arm'd, like Briareus, with an hundred

"With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright,
She threatened death, she roar'd, she cry'd

and fought ,

Each other nymph, in armour likewise dight,
A Cyclops great became, ho fear'd them

nought,

But on the myrtle smote with all his might,
Which groan1 d hko Irving souls to death nigh

brought ,
The sky seem'd Pluto's court, the air seonVd

hell,
Therein such monsters roar, such spirits

yell

Lighten' d the heaven above, tho earth below
Roared aloud, that thunder' d, and this

shook
Bluster' d tho tempests strong ; tho whirlwinds

blow,
The bitter storm drove hailstones in his

look,

But yet his arm grow neither weak nor slow,
Nor of that fury hoed or care he took,
Till low to earth tho wounded tree down

bended,
Then fled tho spirits all, tho charms all

ended

The heavens grew dear, tho air wax'd calm

and still,

The wood returned to its wonted state,
Of witchcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill,
Of horror full, but horror there innate •
Ho further tried, if aught wilhwtood his will
To out those trees, as did the charms of late,

And finding nought to stop him, smiled and
waul —

0 s'ladows vain ' 0 fools, of shades afraid '

IVom thence home to the camp-ward turn'd

tho knight ;

The hermit cry'd, up-starting from his seat,
Now of the wood the charms have lost their

might;
The sprites are conqucr'd, ended is the feat ;

See where he comes ' — Array'd in

white
Appear'd the man, bold, stately, high and

groat,

His eagle's silver winiys to shine l>o#mi
With wondrous splendour 'gtmiHttho golili*ji
sun.

The camp received him with a joyful cry,—
A cry, the hills and doles about tluit fillM ,
Then Godfrey \velcomtxl him with UonourH

high,

His glory qnonoh'd all spito, all auvy kilIM
To yonder dreadful crovo, qnotli ho, wont I,
And from tho fearful wood, IIH mo- you wiHM,

Have dnveu tho npritoH away , thilhw l«t
bo

Your people sent, the way IH flafo and fron

— Alwitt 1000.

I5o— OF TREASON

Treason dothnover prospor ; what'n tlio roa*ou p
For if it prowpor nouo dare call it treason

Haminrtttn.—Al>ni't 1007.

151— OF FORTUNE.

Fortune, men say, doth give too ranch to many,
But yet she never gavo enough to any

152.— OF WBITBES WHO OAliP AT
OTHER MEN'S DOOKH.

The readers and tho hoarorw like iny bookH,
But yet some writers cannot thorn <li«fl»sl. :
But what care I H for whon I inako ,i f<*iist
T would my guests should praiho it, notllM"
cooks.

Sir John, HnrfiHijhm. — it»mt 1007.

153 —OF A PKECIHE TAILOR.

A tailor, thought a mjin of
True, but for lying — honost, }>tit for Kt<>alintr —
Did fall one day oxtromoly Hick by chitiifo,
And on tho fluddon wa« m wondrous iniuw .
llio fiondn of holl mustering in fctirful inau»«»i%
Of himdry colour' d Hilks dwplay'd a Iiaiuwr
Which ho had btolon, and winhM, as thoy did

toll,

That ho might find it all one day in hull.
Tho man, affrighted with this apparition,
Upon recovery grew a groat procihiau •
He bought a Bible of the bont translation,
An<l in his life ho show'd groat wrfonutttwn ;
He walked mannerly, ho talkod meekly,
Ho hoard throo lectures and two sermons

weekly,

Ho vow'd to shun all company nnridy,
Ajad in his speech he used no oath but truly ;

Prom 1558 to KM ]

OF CHURCH.

[F GEETVXLBJ, LORD BBOOKE

And zealously to keop the Sabbath's rest,
His meat for that day on the eve was drost ;
And lost the custom wluoh he had to steal
Might cause him sometimes to forget his zeal,
He gives his journeyman a special charge,
That if the stuff, allowance being largo,
He found his fingers were to filch inclined,
Bid him to have the banner in his mind
This done (I scant con tell tho rest for laughter)
A captain of a ship came throe days after,
And brought three yards of velvet and three

Quarters,

To make Venetians down below the garters.
He, that precisely knew what was enough,
Soon slipt aside thiee-quorters of the ptuff ,
His man, espying it, said in derision,
Master, remember how you saw the vision '
Peace, knave ' quoth ho, I did not see one rag
Of such a colour' d silk in all tho flag

Sir Jo7in Jin, t ington — About 1G07

154— CONSTITUTIONAL LIMITATION
OF DESPOTISM

Crowns, therefore keep your oaths of corona-
tion,

Succession frees no tyranny from those ,
Faith is tho balance of power's leputation
That circle broken, where can man repose ?
Since sceptic pledges, which should bo

hinceio,

By one f olwe act grow bankrupt every where
Make not men's conscience, wealth, and

liberty,

Sorvilo, without book, to unbounded will ;
Procrustes like ho rooks humanity,
That in power's own mould casts their good

will;
And slaves men must bo by the sway of

time,

When tyranny continues thus sublime,
x k> * *

Yet above all these, tyrants must have care
To cherish. thoHO assemblies of estate
Which in great monarchioH true glasses are,
To show men's griof, excesses to abate,
Bravo moulds for laws, a medium that in

one

Joins with content a people to the throne
Qienle, Lord Brooke — About 1C20.

155.— IMAGINATION.

Knowledge's next organ is imagination ;
A glass, wherein tho object of our sense
Ought to ro&poct true height, or declination,
For under standing's clear intelligence
But this power atao hath her voiiation,
Fixed in Home, in Home with difference
In all, so .shadowed with self-application,
As makes her pictures still too foul, or fair,
Not like the life m lineament or air.

This power, besides, always cannot receive
What sense reports, but what th' affections

please

To admit , and, as those princes that do leavo
Their state in trust to men corrupt with ease,
False in their faith, or but to faction friend,
The truth of things can scarcely compre-
hend,

So must th' imagination from the sense
Be misinformed, while our affections oast
False shapes and forms on their intelligence,
And to keep out true intromission thence,
Abstracts the imagination or distastes,
With images pre-occupately plao'd

Hence our desires, fears, hopes, love, hato,

and sorrow,

In fancy make us hear, feel, see impressions,
Such as out of our sense they do not borrow ,
And are the efficient cause, the true progres-
sion

Of sleeping visions, idle phantasms waking,
Life, dreams, and knowledge, apparitions

Fullce Grewle, Lotd Brooke —About 1G20.

156— OF CHURCH

Thus having m few images erprest
The effect which each extremity brings forth,
Within mans nature, to disturb mans xest ,
What enemies again they bo to worth,
A<4 cither gyves, which freedom doe restrain,
Oi^ubiles which let confa&ion roign.

There rests to shew, what these degrees of

vice
Work, when they fixt be to the moulds of

As what relation to the prejudice,
Or help they yeeld of universal right ;
Vice getting forces far above her own,
When it spreads from a person to a throne.

For as in princes natures, if there bo
An audit taken, what each kind of passion
Works and by what usurp' d authonty,
Order and reason's peace they do di&f ashion ,
Within man's little woild, it pioves the

same

Which of pow'rs great world doth confound
the frame

Whence spread kings self -love into church or

law,

Pulpit and bar streight feel corrupted might,
Which bounded will not be, much less in awo,
Of heavenly censure, or of earthly right s
Besides creation and each other part
Withers, when pow'r turns nature into art

For as between tho object and our senco
Look where the mediums do prove dim or

oleer,

Mens minds receive forms of intelligence,
Which makes things cither four or foul appear,
So between powers lust, and peoples right,
The mediums help to deer or dazel

F. G-BEVTLB, LOKD BflOOKE ]

OF CHUBCH.

[Tnmr>

Therefore to lei down thono high pillar' d

thrones

To lower orbs whore princo and people mixo/*
AH church, laws, comiuorco, rights, well tom-

poi'd zones,
Whore neither port extremity can. fixe,

Either to bind tranHCondonco by constraint,
Or spoil mankind of all rights but com-
plaint.

And where by this woll-ballonoing of might,
JRogahtios of crowns stand undccluVd,
Whoso boiugs aro not to bo iniinito,
And so of greater prioo then all mankind ,
But in dosiro and function temper' d so
As they may current with their people go

Whon Thoopompufl, Laoedomons knig
Had rais'd up a ploboan magistrate,
(Like Koman tribunes) which the soaring wing
Of sovoraign excesses might abato ,

Ho therein saw, although ho bound his
child,

Tot in a loan room ho did surer build

For infinite ambition to ottond

The bounds of pow'r (which finite pow'rH must
wold)

AM vain is, as desire to comprehend,

And plant eternity m nature's field ,
Whereby the idle, and the over-doing
.Alike run on, thoir own destruction woing

Active then yet without excess of spirit,
Strong princes muHt bo m thoir government,
Their influence in every thing ot merit,
Not with an idle, ftloiious name content,
JBut quick in nimble UHO, and change of

wombs,

Which else prove peoples snores and princes
tombs.

JPlnoing the first foundation of thoir raigns
Upon that frame, which all frames else ex-

ceeds,

Religion, by whoso name tho scepter gjiius
More of tho world, and gioator reverence

breeds

In forramor, and homo-bred subjects too,
Then much oxponoo of blood and wealth can
do.

For with what force Gods true
spreads,

Is by her shadow superstition known ;

When Midas having over Phryfpa whod

Seeds of this ceremony, till thon unknown,
Made Asia safer by that empty word,
Then his forefathers had done by tho sword.

And is not Mahomets forg'd Alcoran
Both with the heathen in authority :
1 And to tho Christians misled miter-throne
Become a very rack of tiranny P
Their spirits muted, eating men like food,
And making ill ends with strong armies
good.

Bohgions fair naino by iumnnutimi
Secretly soisoth all po\v'is of tho mind,
In understanding ruiHoih admiration,
Worship in will, which uutito swoot Jinks bind
Tho soul of niiwi, and having got POUSOHHIOU
Give pow'ifull will an oidiuato piogiossion.

Forming ui consoimn'o line » of equity,

To temper law H, and without foroo mluso

A homo-born prouLiro of cuvilily,

Current with tliat whioh all tho world doth

11HO,

Wlxoioby dividod kiii',p<loms may
If not in truth, at lu.i.tl/ in otitward

Thorofoio T nay pow'r Hliouiil )>o

In judging this (jhusf Htr(»n«,dh of

With caution, tJuit th(» rlw^y go

Give not tho nutro <srowu-rtu)inMn:L(?y ;
Makm" tho Hultan ami tho cniiph ouo
To tyranmzo both Cuiv and Babylon.

Tho chnrchoH proper itiniH bo t-otuni and pniyorn,
PotoTH trno keys to o]M»n cMiiii'i, and tiky,
Which il tho pnoHt output' hri pri<l<*H {l«"«i»iur
Will mto 'L'yte^ «w*t, and I'unln t.wonl trv ;
Godw HiLGttMl word ho tiicrciu doUi abandon,
And ruiiH with ilowhy (vmlid<wo ai rjuidoui.

Mild pooplo thoroforn liotintir you ,>our Itin;^
J&jvoronco youi ]>ru» <LK, but n<tw«r «tt«l«»r cmo
iFrail creature boUi your HOU! and body brm<?,
Bui koop tlio Ixiltor part to < iod alnuc,
The houl hiK jliuago IM, and oudv ho
KUOWH what it M, and want it ou<?ht to bo.

Lout else by HOTHO idolnti OUH
You give thorn, that al HLU <;aii oii'tt no ulonc,
Moan.H to pluolc <lomi tho (iodhoiul by do<M*it,
And upon UUIIIH uivontions uui^u a throno
JiowdoH, whoro sword, and c.inotiH do uttitot
Tho peoplos boudiijfo thuru prove:,

Princon agam wuko, and l»o woll .wlv »'d,
3Iow suddenly in man Um^n pow'r i
The mi tor rais'd, tho hooptor pH'jud
If you leave all rights MipoiMtitmii i
For tliou OH HOU!H tuoro dear, Hum

aro,

So thoiio chtirch-visioiiH ttiuy hlraiu uattint
far.

Kingn thoroforo that fear Mip<»r,*tii,iouH ttti|;hl,
Must croHH tluur COJUSOH in ihoir jiifaii(\vf
By which tho JJruulH, -with tJuur

Got goodn from thoin that took their word,?.

to bo

Troblo iwardod lu tho Jifo to coxno,
And workH not pjiradico tho nanio for Koinor

For with iraeh mystical d(»xi,ority,
liaoking tho li-ving souls through ru#« <
And dying souls with hoixorH myHtory,
Did not tho mitor irom tho wuptur win
Tho third part of tho world, till Luther

oamo,

Who Hhak't tho dootrino of that double
framo?

J?W 1558 fr> 1G49.]

OF CHURCH.

[F. GBEVTLE, LORD BBOOKB.

Lip not Franco, Poland, Italy and Spam,
Still as the snow doth, when it threatens more,
Liko engines, fitted to draw book again
Those that the tine light severed boforo ?
And was not Yemco excommunicate,
For curbing such false purchases of late ?

Which ondloss thirst of sacred avance,
If in the infancy it bo not bounded,
Will hardly by prosperity grow WIHO ,
For as thiu church is on apparonco founded

So beoidos schools, and ceUs which vail her
shamo,

Haih she not armies to extend her name p

Pow'r for a pon«ul, conscience for a tablo,
To wnto opinion in of any fashion,
With witw distinctions, over merchantable,
Between n princes thiono and peoples pas-

Upon wluoh to^ls she raisoth or puls down
All, but thoso objects, which advance her
crown

Pow> tlioroforo, bo who needy, or ambitious,
DisposM to peace, or uiito war enclm'd,
Wliothor religious in her life, or vicious,
Must not to miters so cntluol inanlond
As above truth, and force, moukb may pio-

vail,

Oil thuir falrfo \isionw crown-wjlits to
entail

A sain, lot not hor clorkH by Simons ways,
Lay wast endowments of devoted H]uritH ,
And HO pull down, what their foiofathcrs

rmsM

With honour m tboir actions, if not merit ,
Loast aw by pride thoy onco got ui> too high,
Their baseness feel the next extremity

For first IxwvtaH tlio scandal, and contempt
Wldoli tlioho base courses on their doctrine

oust;

ITio stately monumontH are not exempt,
JJocaiwo without means, no time-works can

labl,

And from high pomp a desperate descent
iShowH both in state and church mwgovom-
nictit.

Whovoof lot hor tako hood, since when obtatcs
Prom wink a prcatnoHH do bogra to fall,
D(M.cont is unto tlumi procipiltito
I(1or as oun piaTigrcuM mom))cr riuucs all,
So what tlio modesty of one time leaves,
Tho iiiuo Huocoocung cortuiiily beroavou.

must tliroitey (aw gods of forms
oxiorior)

(^tmt up tms earthly mettal in good mould ;
Ami whou uum to professions prove superior,
liontram proud thoughts, from doing what
thoy would,

tlio "weak, and fctrong, to

Ay may to order socriUco invention,

And hereby work that formal unity,
Which brooks no new, or ineligious sects,
To nurse up faction or impioty,
Change over teaching people to neglect
But raise the painful, learned, and devout
To plant obeying conscience thorowout.

Veyling her doctnno with antiquity.

Whence, and whore although contradicting
sects

Strive to denro, and prove their podigioe,

As safest humane levels to direct

Into what mould opinion should bo cast,
To make hor true, at least hko truth to last

Or if their tunes will not permit a truce,

In wrangling questions, which break natures

peace,

And therein offer God and man abuse ,
Lot pow'r yet wisely make their practice

ceaso,
In church or courts, and bind them to the

ycliools,
As business for idle, witty fools

Ordoi ing that people from the pulpit hoar
Nothing, but that which seems TUfypg life to

mend ,

As shadows of eternal hope and fear,
Which do contract the ill, and good extend,
Not idle thconck, to tickle wit,
Empty of goodness muoh more nice then
ht

To wluch refining end, it may seem just,
That 111 the chuich the supicam magistrates
Should anoiont bo, ore thoy be put m tm&tr,
Sinco aged wit bosb tempers, and abates
Those heady and exorbitant affections,
Which arc of blind proud youth the imper-
fections

The "Roman laws for magistrates admit
Nono lliaL had not pasa'd tlio meridian line
Of youth, and humours incident to it j
And shall it not in functions diviuo

£o moro absurd, to let that youth appear,
And teach what wise men think scarce lit
to hoar t1

BoRidcs, chakta life years oasilior may obfocrvo,
Which temper in cathedral dignity,
Though \vives bo lawful, jot doth well do&orvc,
As to then functions leaving them moro free

Instance Uioix learned works that liv'd
alone,

Whore mamod bishops loft us few, or none.

And if men shall object, that this restraint
Of lawful inamdtfo will increase the siu,
And so tho bounty of the church attaint,
By bnngins scandal through mans frailty in,
I soy maiis fall is nms, not churched shame,
Ordain'd by consuio to enlarge her fame.

Consul o, tho life of discipline, which bearH
Pow'rs spiritual standard, fit to govern all
Opinions, actions, humours, hopes, and fears,
Spread kaowloclge, moke obodionco general,

G-RJIVILE, LOBD SHOCKS.] REALITY 03? A TRTJT3 RELIGION. [THIKD PEHIOB —

Whence man instructed well, and kept in

awe,
If not the inward, yet keeps outward law.

Which form is all that tyranny expects,
I mean, to win, to change and yet umto ,
Whore a true king in his estate affects
So from within man, to work out the right,
As hia will need not hunt or allay
The liberties of God's immortal way

Where tyiants discipline is never fiee,
But bollanoed, proportioned, and bounded
So with the temporal ends of tyranny,
And ways whereon pow'rs greatnesses are

founded ,

As in creation, fame, life, death, or war,
Or any other heads that soveraign are

Pow'r may not be opposed, or confounded ,
But each inferior orb command or serve,
With proper latitudes distinctly bounded,
To censure all states that presume to swerve,
Whereby the common people and the throne
May mutually protected be in one

Not rent asunder by sophistication
Of one frail sinner, whose supremacy
Stands by prophane or undoi- valuation
Of Gods anointed sovoioigmty ,
And by dividing subjects from their kings
Soars above those thrones, which first gave
them wings.

Affecting such irrevocable might

With us, as to their mufty, Turkb hv'd under,

Or rather saoriledge more infinite,

Prom Jovo to wrest away the fearful thunder
Salmonous pride, as if the truth then fell,
When ho alone rul'd not earth, heav'n and
hell

Salmcneus who while he his corroooh dravo
Over the brazen bridge of Elis stream,
And did with artificial thunder bravo
Jovo, till he piurc't him with a lightning
boom;

Prom which example who will an idol be,

Must rest assur'd to fool a deity

Thus much to shew the outward churches use,

In franuag up the superstitions sphoor,

Subject ahko to order, or abuse,

Chain' d with immortal seeming hopes and

fear,

Which shodow-hko thoir beings yet bereave,
By trusting to be, whon thoir bodies leave.

Whore if that outward work which pow'r

pretends,

Were life indeed, not frail hypocnsie,
Monarohs should need no other laws to friend,
Conscience being base of their authority ,
By whose want, frailty flashing out mans

error

Mokes thrones enwoll themselves with laws
of terror,

Fullo QrevtU, Lwl Brooke —About 1620.

157.-— REALITY OP A TRUE RELIGION

Por sure in all kinds of hypocrisy

No bodies yet are found of constant bomi? ,

No uniform, no stablo mystory,

No inward nature, bat an outward scoinmi? ,
No solid truth, no virtue, holmes,
But typos of thoso, wlucli time makes mow
or loss

And, from thoHo spiings, strange inundation*)

flow,

To drown the noa-marks of humanity,
With masbooros, conspiracy, treason, woi»,
By sects and schisms piofanintf Dmty
Besides, with furies, nuuds, oarth, air, and

hell,
They fit, and toach confusion to robol

But, as thoro IIVOH a true God in tho heaven,

So is there true religion horo on oarth :

By nature p No, by grace j not got, but

givon;
Inspir'd, not taught, from God a Hecouil

birth,

God dwolloth near about UH, ovon within*
Working tho goodness, censuring tho HIU.

Suoh an we are to him, to UH is ho,
Without God there was no man ovor flood ;
Divine thu authoi and tho matter IKJ,
Where goodness must h(3 wrought in flush and

blood

Religion stands not in corrupted things,
But virtues that doscoud havo hou\<»nl;f

* Un-wtr.

.— Ahmf

158.— TO HIS MIHTRBSH, THK QUKKN
OF BOKKMJA.

You moaner beaution of
That poorly Hatisfy our oy«H

Moro by your numbor than your lifjht '
You common pooplo of th« hkiin '
What are you, when tho sun shall rim« /

You CUUOUH chanters of th<» wood,
That warble forth diuiui Nature's III^M,

Thinking yonr voi<?os understood
By your %\oak ar<'onts » what*s your i»rui
Whon Philomol hoi voioo sliall BMNO '•*

You violots that first appoar,
By your pure purplo rnuntJos kuown,

Like tho ]>ioud virgins oi tho your,
As if tho spring wore all your own !
What are you, whori tho roso w blown fr

So, whon my mmtross shall lx» soon
In form and beauty of hor mind ,

By virtue first, them choice, a Qutwxi r
Toll me, if she wort* not duHigu'd
Th' ocLipso and glory of hor kind ?

From, 1568 to 1640.]

A MEDITATION,

[Sin HBNBT WOTTO

159.— A FAEEWJELL TO THE VANITIES
OF THE "WORLD.

Farewell, ye gilded follies ' pleasing doubles ,
Farewell, yo honour1 d rags, ye gloiious bub-
bles,

Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay,
Honour the darling but of one short day,
Beauty, th' eye's idol, but a damask' d sfc™,
State but a golden pnaon to live in
And torture froo-born minds, embroider' d

trains

Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins,
And blood, allied to greatness, is alone
Inherited, not purchased, nor our own
Fame, honour, beauty, fetato, train, blood, and

biith,
Are but the fading blobsoms of the earth

I woiild bo great, but that the sun doth still
Level his rays agamat the rising hill ,
I would bo high, but seo tho proudest oak
Most subject to the ron<hng thunder-stroke ,
I would bo ncli, but soo men too unkind
Dig in tho bowels of tho richest mind ,
I would bo WIHO, but that I often soo
Tho fox BUHjKJotod while tho ass goes free ,
I would bo fair, but hoc tho fair and proud
Like tho bri'^ht Him oit Hotting in a cloud ,
I would bo poor, but know tho humble grass
Still trampled on by each unworthy ass ,
Rich, hatod ; WIF.G, mihpoctod , scom'd if poor ,
Great, foor'tl, fair, tempted, high, still on-

vio<l more

I have wish'd all, but now I wwh for neither
Groat, high, rich, WIHO, nor fair — poor I'll bo

rather

Would the world now adopt mo for hor heir,
"Would bcauty'i* r^uoon ontitlo mo " the fair,"
Farno Hpoak mo fortune' H minion, could I vie
AiitfoiH with ludia , with a speaking eye
Command baio hoadu, bow'd knees, stnko

juHtioo dumb

AH well an blind and lame, or giro a tongue
To ntonoH by epitaphs , bo colTd great master
In tho IOOKO rhymos of ovory poetantor ,
Could I bo moio than any man that lives,
Groat, fair, rich, WIHO, all in superlatives ,
Yot T more frooly would those gifts resign,
Than over fortune would have made them

mine ;

And hold ono mimito of this holy leiwuro
Beyond tho noho-j of this ompty ploaburo

Welcome, pure thoughts ' welcome, ye silent

grovoH !
ThoHo ffuostw, those courts, my soul most

dearly loves.

Now tho wmg'cl people of tho sky shall sing
My choorf ul anthems to tho gladsome spring ,
A prayer-book now shall bo my looking-glaflfi,
In whHih I will adoro swoot virtue's face ,
Hero dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares,
No broken vows dwell hero, nor palo-faced

foara:

Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love

folly,

And learn to affect a holy melancholy ;
And if Contentment be a stranger then,
I'll ne'er look for it but in heav'n again.

Svr Henry Wotton. — About 1621

160— THE GOOD MAN

How happy is he born and taught,
That serveth not another's will ,
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared fox death,
Untied unto the woildly caro
Of public fame, or pnvato breath ,

Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Or vice , who never underbtood
How deepest wounds are given by praise ;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ,

Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat ,
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppiesaors groat ,

Who God doth late and oarl;- pray,
More of his grace than gilts to lend,
And entertains the harmless day
With a rehgious book or fuend ,

This man is freed from sernlo bands,
O± hopo to rise, or f oar to fall ,
Lord of himself, though not of lands j
And having nothing, yet hath all

Sir Hewry Wotton — Abovt 1626.

161,— A MEDITATION

O thou groat Power ' in whom wo move,
By whom wo live, to whom we die,

Behold me through thy beams of love,
Whilst on this couch of tear* I he,

And cleanse my sordid soul within

By thy Christ's blood, tho bath of sin.

No hallow' d oils, no gums I need,
No new-born dramw of purging firo ,

Ono rosy drop from David' H hoo<l
Was worlds of soaa to queiioh thine ire •

0 precious lansom r which once paid,

That (Jonsv/Hwiatwn a>t was said.

And said by him, that said no moro,
But seal'd it with his &acre<l breath

Thou then, that has dwpurged our Hcore,
And dying wort the death of death,

Bo now, whilst on thy name wo call,

Our life, our strength, our joy, our all '

#w H<?nrw Wottvii —

1625,

F GREYILE, LORD BBOOKE.] BEAUTY OF A TEUE RELIGION [TniBi> PEHIOZJ.-

Whence man instructed well, and kept in

awe,
If not the inward, yet keeps outward law

Which form is all that tyranny expects,
I mean, to win, to change and yet unite ,
Where a true king in his estate affects
So from within man, to work out the right,
As "his will need not limit or allay
The liberties of God's immortal way

Where tyrants discipline is never free,
But ballanced, proportioned, and bounded
So with the temporal ends of tyranny,
And ways whereon pow'rs greatnesses are

founded ;

As in creation, fame, life, death, or war,
Or any other heads that soveraign are

Pow'r may not be opposed, or confounded ,
But each inferior orb command or serve,
With proper latitudes distinctly bounded,
To censure all states that presume to swerve,
Whereby the common people and the throne
May mutually protected be in ono

Not rent asunder by sophistication
Of ono frail sinner, whoso supremacy
Stands by prophano ox under- valuation
Of Godn anointed soveraigmty ,
And by dividing subjects from their kings
Soars above those thrones, which first gave
them wings

Affecting such irrevocable might

With us, as to their mufty, Turku liv'd under,

Or rather sacriledge more infinite,

Prom Jovo to wrest away the fearful thunder
Salmonous pride, as if the truth then, foil,
Whon he alone ruTd not earth, heav'n and
hell

Salmoneus who while he his carroach dravo
Over the brazen biidge of Ehs stream,
And did with artificial thunder brave
Jove, till he pierc't Trim with a lightning

beam,

Prom winch example who will an idol bo,
Must rest assur'd to feel a doity.

Thus much to Hhow the outward churches use,

In framing up the super atitioub splioai,

Subject auke to order, or abuse,

Chain' d with immortal Booming hopes and

fear,

Which ahadow-likc their beings yet boroavo,
By iaustmg to be, when their bodies leave

Whoro if that outward work which pow'r

Wero life indeed, not frail hypocrisio,
Monarchs should need no other laws to friend,
Conscience being base of their authority ,
Br whose want, frailty flashing out mans

error

Makes thrones enwall themselves with laws
of terror.

Fulle GrevilG, Lord 3,Mle — About 1G20.

157— REALITY OF A TBUK

For sure in all kinds of hypocrisy

No bodies yet aro fomul of constant bom^ ,

No uniform, no atablo myntory,

No inward nature, but an outward Hooinin# ,
No solid truth, no virtue, holiness,
But typoH of these, which iimo nmke-4 uioro
or loan

And, fromthoHO HprmgH, wtraiigo inundation •>

flow,

To drown the sea-mark H of humanity,
With maswicroH, conspiracy, tioiuwm, woo,
By soctn and Hohuunti prof azuntf 1 >tuty
Beanies, with funon, fieuclH, earth, air, ?»n«l

hoU,
They fit, and teach conf union to u»bol,

But, as there IIVOH a true Cod iu tho hraivuu,

So is there true religion hero on earth ;

By nature? No, by grace; not got, but

given ;
Inspir'd, not taught, from God a Hocrmd

birth,

God dwolloth noar about UH, <»y«u within,
Working the goodnoHB, <JoiiHurin^ tho MIII,

Such afi we aro to him, to tin in ho,
Without God thoro waw no ituiu ov<*
Divine the author and tho matter be,
Wlioro goodnoHH muHt ho wrought in lloih «u«l

blood

Boligion ntandn not in corrupt<Ml things,
But Tirtuort that doncnud huvo hoavcul;

' (It wilt; Lnnl HrtMkr.—Aluntt

IS8.—TO HIS MIHTKKSH, THK
OF BOHHMTA.

You moaner hoantioH of tho ui«hl,
That poorly witinty our cy<*<

Mora by your number than your hiyhi '
You common pooplo of t!i« Hki«» . !
What aro you, whou tho KUIL Hhall rU

You runout* oluintorw of ih(» WMM!,
Tliiii warblo fortli diuiio Natur^'h Iu(\,i

Thinking your voices luulorsicKtil
By you? uutik arronts f whut'H your p
When Pliilomol lior vow»o nliall rai-»v I1

You violotH that iirnt appoiLr,
By your puro purplo itiiuiiliM known,

Like tho proud vir^uiH of tho roar,
As if tho ttpnnft wore all your own !
What aio you, whoii tho row*

So, when my mistrosM Hliall IKI HWII
In form and bounty of hor uuiul ,

By virtue firnt, tbcn ohoioo, a C^uoon
Toll mo, if HUO woro not dom^iM
Tli' oclip«« and rfoty of hor kind ?

8tf Henry

From 1558

A MEDITATION.

[Sin HENBT WOTTON.

159.— A FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES
OF THE WOBLD.

Farewell, ye gilded follies ! pleasing* troubles ,
Farewell, yo honour* <1 rags, ye glorious bub-

bios ,

Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay, .
Honour tho darling but of one short day,
Beauty, th' eye's idol, but a damask'd skin,
State but a golden prison to live in
And torture fieo-born minds, embroider' d

Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins,
And blood, allied to greatness, is alone
Inherited, not purchased, nor our own
Fame, honour, beauty, htato, tiain, blood, and

biith,
Are but the fading blossoms of the earth

I would bo gioat, but that the sun doth still
Level his rays against the n&mg hill ,
I would bo high, but woo the proudest oak
Mont Hubjoct to the rending thunder-stroke ,
I would bo rich, but HOC men too unkind
Dig in the bowels of the richest mind ,
I would bo wise, but that I often see
Tho fox HiiHpootod while the ass goes free ,
I would be fair, but Mio the fair and prond
Liko thn bright sun oft netting in a cloud ,
I would bo poor, but know the humble grass
Still tramplod on by each unworthy ass ,
Iwieli, hatwl, WIHO, HUHpcvstod , fteorn'dif poor,
Groat, foarM, fail, toinptod, hiyh, still 011-

viwl moro

I luwo winh'd all, but now I wwh for neither
Ifanat, high, rich, wise, nor iair — poor I'll bo

rathoi

Would the world wow adopt mo for her heir,
Would bounty' H qnoon tmtitlo mo " the fair,"
Famo Hpoak mo fortune's nimion, could I vie
Angels with India , with a Hpoakuuj 03 e
Command bare heads, bow'd knoos, strike

justiuo dumb

AH well as blind and lame, or ftivo a tongue
To htonon by opitaplm , bo call'd groat master
In tho looso rhymes of every poetaster ,
Oonld 1 bo more than an> man that lives,
Uroat, fair, noli, WIKO, all in wipoilativon ,
Yot 1 moio frooly would those gifts resign,
Tli an ovei fortune would liavo mado them

mmn,

And hold ono nviunto of tlufl holy loiburo
rioho-» of this empty pleawiro

W(»l<Miino, imro thoughts ' welcome, yo silent
s, those courts, my soul most

Now tho willed pooplo of tho Hky shall fring
My rtworftil ant horns to tho nlatbomo Hjniiig ,
A pravcr-hook wow hhall bo my lookiupr-tflaHh,
Ju wliH'U I will iwloro H\voot Mituo'H face,
Bcio dwoll 110 hateful lookn, no palaco oaros,
No brokon vowrf d\voll hoio, nor palo-faood
f oarH ;

Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's

folly,

And learn to affect a holy melancholy ;
And if Contentment bo a stranger then,
I'll ne'er look for it but in heav'n again.

fifw Henry Wutton —Alout 1625.

160.— THE GOOD MAN

How happy is he born and taught,
That serveth not another's will,
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill !

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepaied for death,
Untied unto the worldly caio
Of public fame, or private bioath ,

Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Or vice , who nevei underbtood
How deepest wounds are given by praise ,
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ,

Who hath his He from rumours freed,
Who&e conscience is hib strong retreat ,
Whoso state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppiobbors great ,

Who God doth late and earb- pray,
More of his grace than gift-> U> lend ,
And entertains the harmless day
With a lohgious book or fiicml ,

This man is freed from servile bands,
Of hope to use, 01 tear to f all ,
Lord of himself, though not ot lands ;
And having nothing, yet hath all,

B'ir JHbwy irbtfott — Alout 1625.

161 —A MEDITATION.

0 thou great Power ! in whom we move,
By whom wo live, to whom wo die,

Behold mo through thy beams of love,
Whilst on this couch of teaia I he,

And cleanse my sordid soul wtf Inn

By thy Christ's blood, tho bath of bin

No hallow'd oils, no gums I need,
No now-born drams of puri»in« lire ,

One losy drop from DUA id's soo<l
Was worlds of soas to quench thine ire :

0 precious ransom ' which on<to paid,

That tVmsM)WHittfri&M cat was &aid.

And said by him, that said no more,
But soal'd it with hw nacrod breath

Thou then, that has dinpurged oui score,
And dying wort tho death of death,

JJo now, whilst on thy name wo call,

Our life, our strength, our joy, our all '

Sir Henry Wvttmi — Ahmi 1625,

SIR HENBT WOTTON ]

THE EAT?.L OF SQME&SET.

[TirtRO Itauion. —

162 -ON THE SUDDEN EESTRAINT OF

THE EABL OF SOMERSET, THEN

FALLING- FKOM FAVOUR

Dazzled thus with height of placo,
Whilst our hope1* our witri bOGfUilo,
No man markn the narrow space
'Twiit a i>riHon and a smile.

Tot since Fortune's favours fado,
Ton that in her arms do sloop,
Learn to swim and not to warlo,
For the hearts of kings are doop.

But if greatness bo so blind
As to trust an towers of air.
Lot it bo with goodness lmo<3,
That at least tho fall bo f oar.

Then though dark and you shall nay,
Whon iriouds fail and princes iiown,
"Virtue is tho roughest way,
But proves at mghfc a bod of down.

Sir Ilcmij WoUon — Alutnt KISS.

163 —IN PBAISE OF ANGLING,

Quivering foarn, heart-tearing caro-3,
AnxiouH Hi'tlis, untimely tours,

Fly, fly to courts,

Fly to fond worldlings' sports,
Where strained sardonic smiles arc gloHing

stall,
And gnof is forced to lan«h against her will,

Whore mirth 'H but mummery,

And sorrows only real bo

Fly from our country pastime8;, fly,
Sad troops of human ruwory,

Come, serene looks,

Cloar us tho crystal brooks,
Or tho puro awirod heaven that wmlcM Lo «oo
Tho rich attendance on our poverty ,

Peace and a secure mind,

Which all men wcok, wo only find.

Abused mortals ' did you know

Whoro joy, heart's oaso, and comforts <?TJW,
You'd scorn proud towers,
And ncok them in thono bowoi,-*,

Whero wm<ln, sometimes, om woodn poihaps
may shako,

But blustering care could novor tompont make ,
Nor murmurs o'er coino nigh UH,
Saving of fountttuw that glide by us

Here's no fantastic mask nor dan<*o,
But of our kids Unit fnak and prance,

Nor wars aro soon,

Unless upon tho green,
Two harmless lamba aro butting one tho other,
Which done, both bloating run, each to hin
mothoi ,

And wounds are never found,

SaYO what tho ploughshare givos the
ground.

Hero aio no cntiappmg liaif
To hasten to too ho/ly i

Tho fond civdnlity

Of silly fish, which (\voil<lli i r liTv«») J 'ill look
Upon tbo bait, biit uovt»r on ilii1 hook t

Nor envy IOSM anu»»i^

Tho birdrt, ioi print1 of tli-'ir <-\ui<'(, i on,".

Go, lofc tho diving iM»grc» fr'»><*k
For QotUH, hid m wnno f«'"l«.ru <».NM»U ;
Wo all poitrls worn,

\V]uch OiUelu'is

pasH ,

liiil<» i^uro of

• Iho.v

what tho ,\i»Uow <'<*n» i Iwr .

'd Hilont srrovo ^ oil, mn,y $ on IMS
For ovor, mirth's Just jiurwiry.
May pure rontc»nt <
Jh'or «v«p pitch Ihoir tcn(. \
Upon {.hone downs, tlukw iru'mU, UUMO

by tlu"n |»»rnii'f

And i^iwn wtill
foimtaniH,

Wlunh wo may wry vonr
Moot, when wu conn* n-H lint'?

Lot others wing of kni^hls ;n*l

In as<Ml ficHsit-. !iii<l iiniitiioU \.o»-il s,

Paint 'ili.t'lnv » in uiuijfuutr.v lni«*'.,

\Vln< li \\<<l tiio rc'iUih <•? th<»ir hi'»h v «f "••

COLil't,

Tint I must n*i , <^f U«M> ami (!>o (* fair f-vi« ,
Autliouiic* 'iliall my v<iif*'<1 in inu<» to romo,
Wluni >ot ih1 utiborti Hluill H«I.\, ho, li. «• ! •»

lit*1!1

liitu -*i»»',sU \vhai, <'l «« v. '

> iro]»liit« t I
t <»M

uui L

Tho-io aro lh<^
Th»it iortifv tl
Ai\d tluM« thy

proi« ,«(

»« ui.iui" ;i"<' ,
Thout'.li th' orior ol 1113 ^ouih (1»'^ t h,iU «il

<;<>V(»r,
fjuflicoto fliow ] Hv/'il, jnul \v,J ! ih.v !«*•, <-r.

165 — M K IS 0 Y.

Tho quality of mt-rcy IH nod : i
It dropp«th, IIH the* ffuntlc mm front i«Ntv<wi
Upon tho i>lnco bonoitth • it itt t\\i<M» bl«' nM ;
It bloHsoth hun tlutt j^ivtM, and him thai, (tiltutt:
'TiH mightiost in tho ntitfhtirMt , it bt^'onin i
Thu tlironod mrmaroh txtLtor than hi« rrown ;
XiiH Hcoptrc nhoWH tho forco of temporal

power,
Th' attribute to awo and

Ftoin 1558 to l&iO ] GRIEF THAT CANNOT BE COMFOBTED.

[SlIAXSPERr.

Whoroin doth Hit tlio dread and foai of kings,

But nioroy is above this sceptred sway,

It IH ontlironf'd in tho hearts of kings,

It is au attribute to God himself ,

And oartlily power doth thon show likest

God's

Whon mercy seasons j'ustico. Therefore, Jew,
Though justioo bo thy ploa, consider this —
That in tho com so of justice, none of us
Should see salvation we do pray for moroy ,
And that same prayer doth teach us all to

render

Tho deeds of mercy T have spoko thus much,
To mitigate tho ju&tico of thy ploa

tilmKqiprc — About 1C10

1 66 — N I G H T
Tho moon shmoH bright — In such a night as

tllLH,

"When tho swoot wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did mako no nowe,— in such a night,
Troilus, inotluukH, mounted tho Trojan walls,
And Hij«h'd lun HOU! toward the Grecian tents,
Whoro OreHHid lay that niyht.

In wicli a night,

Did Thinbo fearfully o'ortnp the dew ;
And HIW tlio lion's whadow ore himself,
And i tin diiimay'd away

In huuh a nicfht,

Stood Dido with a wllow in hoi: hand
lT])ou the wjltl noil-banks, and \vnft lior love
To ooiuo again to Oaitluigo

In nac*h a night,

Modoa gather' d tlio cmolutntwl liorbs
That did renew old ./binon

In such a night,

Did JoHHioa steal from tlio wealthy Jew ;
And with an uuthuft love did ran from

Vunioo,
AH fur aH JBolmont

In na«h a night,

Did young Jjoronaso HWOUF ho lovocl hor woll,
Stotiling her noul with many vowa of faith,
And no1 or a true one

In Mioh a night,

Did grotty Jamica, llko a littlo whrow,
ftlandor hor lovo, and ho forgave it hor.

1 would out-iuKlit you, <ii<l no body come :
But, hark, J hoar Lho footing of a man.

o — Aloul 1C10.

167 —NIGHT AND MUSIC

How Mweet the laoonhght t.loopR upon this

bank '

IForo will wo wit, and lot tho Honndu of music
<'r«op m our oaru, woft stillness, and tho

night

B(j(jomo tho touohofl of sweet harmony
Hit, Jessica. Look how tho floor of heaven
IH thick inlaid with patincs of bright gold

There 's not tho smallest orb which thou bo-

hold'fct

But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to tho young -eyed chorubims •
Such harmony is in immortal souls ,
But whilst this muddy vosture of decay
Doth gros&ly close it in, we cannot hear it. —
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ;
With swootost touches pioroo your mistress'

oar,
And draw hoi home with music

I am novoi merry when I hoar sweet music.
Tho reason is your spirits are attentive •
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhancDod coltb,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neigh-
ing loud,

Which is tlio hot condition of their blood ;
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
Oi any air of music touch their oars,
You fehall perceive them mako a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze,
By tho swoot power of music Therefore, tho

poet
Did feign that Orpheus dxew trees, stones,

and floods ,
Sinoo nought &o stookish, hard, and full of

rage,

But music for tho time doth change "hi a na-
ture ,

Tho man that hath no music TO himself,
Noi IH not moved with concord of swoot sounds,
IH fit for tro:iHoiw, Ebtratagoms, and spoils ,
Tho motions of hiw spirit are dull as night,
And lua aflbotionH dark as Erebus
Lot 110 such TTCHVP. bo trusted —Mark tho music.

— About 1610,

168.— GBTE1? THAT OAKNOT BE
COMFOBTBD.

I pray thoo, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears an profitless
AH water in a sieve give not mo counsel ,
Noi lot no comforter doh^ht mino eai,
But such a one whoso wrongs do suit with

mine

Bring mo a father, that so lovod his child,
Whoso joy of hor is overwhelm' d like mine,
And bid him spoak of pationco ,
Measure liis woo tho longth and breadth of

mine,

And lot it answer ovoiy strain for strain ;
As thus for thuu, and Much a gnof for such,
In ovary lineament, brunch, pbapo, and form
IE such a ono will smilo, and stroke his beard;
And " sorrow wag " cry , horn, when ho should

groan ,
Pa-tuh grief with provorbs , mako misfortune

drunk

With candlo wa&tois ; bring him yet to mo,
And I of him will gather pationco
But there is no suoh man For, brother, men
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief

FLOWERS

PErtmr>,—

Which they themselves not fool but, tasting

it,

Thoir counsel turns to passion, which boforo
Would give procoptial modiomo to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air, and agony with words ;
No, no , 'tis all moil''? office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow ,
But no man's vutuo nor sufficiency,
To be so moral, when ho shall endure
The like honvaelf : therefore give me no counsel
My griofa cry louder than advertisement

. — About 1C10.

169— FLOWERS.

Now, my fairest friend,
I would I had some flowers o* the spring, that

might
Become your timo of day, and yours, and

yours,

That wear upon your virgin In anchor yet
Tour maidenheads qroAing — 0 Proserpina,
For the flowois now, that, frighted, thou lot'st

faU

From Dis's wagon ' daffodils,
That como before the nwallow dares, and take
The winds o£ March with beauty , violets, dun,
But swootor than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cythoroa's breath , pale primroses
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids , bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial , lilioa of all lands,
The flower-de-luce being one ' 0, those I lack,
To make you garlands of; and, my hwoot

fnond,
To strew him o'er and o'er.

Abmtt 1610

170.— BICHABD THE SECOND'S

LAMENT

Of comfort no man speak
Lot's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs ;
Mako dust our papur, and with rainy eyes
Write sonow on tho bohoin of the earth.
Let's choose executors, and Ulk of wills •
And yet not so, — for what am wo bequeath,
Save our despond bodies to the ground F
Our lands, our lives, and all are Boliu^broko's,
And nothing can wo call our own, but death,
A id that small model of tho baxron earth,
Which serves as paste and cover to our bonos.
For heaven's sake, lot us sit upon tho ground,
And toll sad stores of tho death of ktn^s —
How some have booa, deposed, some slam in

war,

Some haunted by the ghosts they liavo dopo'-od ,
Some poison' d by thoj: Wives, some Hlooi>:u*r

blTd;

All murttior'd — For within tho hollow crown,
That round q tho mortal tomploa of a lun^,

Keep? death hiw court , and then* th« antic

Scoffing his wtatc, an<l gnmiiiu; at hi-* p<»inp ,
Allowing him a breath, a little, wow
To monaiohuo, bo fear'd awl kill with looks ,
lufusiii" him with wolf and \itui coaeeit, —
As if thw flosh, \vhioh. walln ahout n»n life,
Wore brass impreifiiablo, and hmaourM thus,
Comos tit tho last, ami with a little pin
Bores tliroivjh his castlo walN, and— f

king!
Co\er yonr head**, and nioek not. flo-w and

blood

With Holomn rnvcroneo, throw awaj re peot,
Tradition, fonu, ami ooromomom duty
Tor yoTi hiwo but mistook me all this while
I hvo with broad like you, feel want, ta-ti*

grief,

Need friends — Siihjeoioil ihm,
How can you wiy to mo— I am a Iviiitf '/
* ' v K

What must tho kuijf do no.v .' Miint. ho

Rubnut ?

Tlio kniff shall do it. Must he Ite oVpo t»il .
Tho kmj? shall bo <»ont(»nt<Ml MuMi ho lo e
Tlio name of kmtc •' o1 <TO«VH name, let it »«» •
I'll f^ivo my jowols, for a Met of heul , ,
My jyortyoouK pitlaee., for a hemiita^e ,
My ftay appaiol, for aiidliu-iuiiu' • • «r.\'« ,
My figured p^oblefc^ .'or a <U^h <»f wooil ;
My H0(*]>tro, for a palmer's \vulkm\y- <aft*f
My subjects, for a pair of ear\e<l saint » ,
And my lan><i kmj^lom, for a Mtl<» thrive,
A littlo Lttlo firavo, an ohseurit ffntvo - -
Or Til bo bnned in the kind's hr-liwa^ ,
Homo way of oomnion trade, where .ui>je»»t^

feot

May hourly trample on thnir ^o\<'rf'i'rn'<he(ul:
For on my heart l.h«> tt«»a«l, now v.lnl 1 1 hv«»;
And, Imnod owto, why not upon mi, fu* id !
Anmwlo, thou weej/^-t , My {cniliT-h'MrfiMl

eousm i —

Wo'll ntiako foul weather \iifh «le.pit,'«l <<MJM ;
Our Highs, and they, r-liall I«H]"M the timnier

eorn,

And make a dearth in tin '. re\otfin^ land.
Or shall wo jilay the wuiitoii ttith our wm^,
And make homo pretty ma toll with hei tiling

teuw ?

AH thus — To drop thorn -.till upon on«> plarot,
Till they have, i'nttteil in a pmr of • rive ,
Within tho earth , and, thorwu Ln«l - There lie \
Tuo kiiif-iaen, di^M (heir ^rav«4 with we»«p.

Would not tins ill *lo well ', \\VIl, \\,.|lf I (<«»o
1 lalk but idly, am I you tuoek at me
Most mighty prmr(% »iy lord NoHlnnnlierlaad,
"\\liat Hays km# fioHn/jrliroKe '• will hi , innjivty
Givo liiclinrcl loavo to Uvn till Itiehard <he f

171.— soLTr/x/rry <n«1 wr<«HAwi>

SE(JONU IN rWSoN.
T have boon studying lu>w io com]»arn
Tlua pnaoa, wlioro i livo, uuto t!*o wi»

HOTSPUR'S DEFENCE.

[SHAKSPEBB

And, for because the world is populous,
And horo IB not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it , — Tot I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul ;
My soul, the father and those two beget
A generation of still-brooding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little

world;

In huimmrs, lake the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The bettor

sort, —

As thoughts of things divine, — are interims' d
With scruples, and do tot the faith itself
Against the faith

AH thus, — Coino, little ones , and then again, —
It is as haid to come, as for a camel
To thread the postern of a noodle's eye
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonflors how those vom weak nails
May tear a passage thiough the flinty nbs
Of this hard woild, my ragged prison walls ,
And, for they cannot die in their own pnde,
Thoughts tending to content, natter them-
selves,—

That tliuy are not tho fiist of fortune's slaves,
Nor whall not bo tho laHt , like silly beggars,
Who, Hitting hi tho slocks refuge their

shame, —

Thzit many havo, and olhoiM must wt there
And m this thought they iind a kind of case,
Bearing their own misfortunes on tho back
Of such as havo bofoio ciwlurod tho like
Thus play I, in ono person, many people,
And none contented Sometimes am I king ;
Thou treason raakoH mo wish mysoli a Ijoggor,
And HO I am Then crushing i>onury
Pursuodos mo I was bettor whnn a lanef ,
Thon am I king'd again and, by-aud-by,
Think that I am uukmg'd by Bolingbroko,
And straight am notluny — But, whato'or I

am,

Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
Witli nothing shall bo pleased, till ho bo eased
With boing nothing. — Music do I hoar ?
Ha, ha ' kooi> time — How sour Hweot music is,
When tune IH broke, aud no propoitxm kept '
So IH it in tho music of men's liven
And lioro have I tho daintiness of oar,
To chock time bioku in a disordered stiing ;
JJut, for tho «onc.ord of my state and time,
Had not an oar to hoar my true time broke.
I wasted tnno, ami now doth tune waste mo
For now hath tune made mo his numbering

dook t
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs,

they jar
Tlioir watches on unto mine oycs, the outward

watoh,

Wlioruto my finger, like a dial's point,
IH pointing Htill, in cloousmg thorn from tears
Now, Sir, the soundH, that toll what hoar

it IS,

Arc clamorous groans, that stnko upon my

hoiu t,
Wliif1! is tho boll : So w^hs, and tears, and

gioons,

Show minutes, tunes, and hours — but my

time

Runs posting on in Bolingbroko's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the

clock.

This music mads me, let it sound no more ;
For, though it have holpe madmen to their

wits,

In me, it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me !
For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world

SJtalspere —About 1G10

172 — HOTSPUR'S DEFENCE.

My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But, I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, noat and trunly

dross'd,
Freah as a biidesroom; and his chin, ne-ro

reap'd,

Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ,
Ho was porf umi'd like a milliner ;
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which over and anon
He gave his none, and took 't away again ,
Who, therewith angry, when it next came

there,
Took it in snuff and still ho smiled and

talk'd

And as tho soldiers bore dead bodies by,
Ho calTd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome cor^e
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
Ho cjuobtion'd mo , among the rest, demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf
I thon, all smarting, with my wounds being

cold,

To bo HO postor'd with a popinjay,
Out of my grief and my impatience
Answered nogloctingly, I know not what ;
Ho bbould, or should not; — for ho made me

mad,

To sue him Rhino so briflk, and smell so sweet,
And talk &o like a woitmg-gontlowoiiu' .1
Of gunw, and drums, and wounds, (Go.l feavo

tho mark ')

And tellinj* mo, tho sovereign* at thing on earth
Was pormacotti for an inward brui^o ;
And that it was great pity, so it wu-s
That villainous saltpotio should bo diggM
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall follow had do^troy'd
Po cowardly , and but for those vilu gun*
Ho would hunnoK have been a soldier.
This bald unjointcd chat of his, my lord,
I answer1 d iiwUectly, as I said ,
And I beseech you, lot not this icport
Coino current for an accusation,
Botwixt my love and youi high majesty.

Sliaksperc. — About 1610.

SHAKSPERE ]

RUMOUR

173 —E U M O U E

Open your oai a • Foi which of you will stop
Tho vent of homing whon loudTlnmotu speaks p
1, from the orient to the drooping wo^t,
Malong iho wind my post-horso, still unfold
Tlio acts commenced on thin ball ol eiu th :
Upon my tonqfuos coutinTial slanders rido ,
Tho which in ovoiy lanjjuago T pronounce,
Stuffing tho oars of mon with falfo reports
T speak of poaoo, whilo covert onmity,
Under tho smile of safety, wounds tho world .
And who but Bumoui, who but only I,
Mako fearful musters, and prepared defence,
Whilst tho big yoai, swobi with faomo other

griefs,

Is thought with child by tho fltorn tynnit war,
And no such matter ? Rumour IH a pipo
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures ,
And of so easy and ho plain a stop
That tho blimt monstoi with une ountod head 1,
The stiU-discoidant wavoiin<j multitude,
Can play upon it. But what nood I thus
My well-known body lo anatomuso
Amongr my household •> Why IH Biiiiiour hoio ?
I run before king1 Hairy1 H viotoiy ,
Wlio, in a bloody fiold by Rhrowr.lmry,
Hath beaten down young Ilotwpuz, and IUH

troopH,

Quonclmiff the flame of bold rebellion
Even with tho icboK l)lood 1 Jut what moan 1
To speak RO true at fimt ** xuv ofheo u
To noise abroad, — that Harry Monmoiith fell
Under tho wrath of noble Hotspur's nword ,
And that tho king befoio tho Dotiqias' ra<yo
Stoop' d his anointed head an low as death
This have I rumour' d through tho peasant

towns

Between tho royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-oaten hold of ragged atone,
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lion orafty-aiok tho pont'i como tunni; on,
And not a man of them brings othor JIOWH
Than they have loai n'd of mo Fi om liiimom-'H

tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than

true wrongH.

* — Abnvt, 1010

174 —SLEEP.

How many thousand of my poorewt Mibjcot^
Aro at this hour asleep ' 0 Hlocp, O gentle

sloop,

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frieflitod thoo,
That thou no more wilfc woigh my oyohdn

down,

And stoop my senses m foropotf alno-»H ?
Why rather, gJoop, liost thou in smoky cribs,
tTpon uneasy pallets stretching thoo,
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy

slumber,

Than in the perfumed chambers of tho groat,
Under tho canopies of costly Htato,
And lull'd with sounds of swootos'b melody "

0 thou dull god, why lie- it tlmn wil.h the Mle,
IIL loalhHomo beds, aii<l loav'nt the kindly

conch,

A watGli-ciuw, or a common 'laiiim-bell p
WJtthou upon th<» luiyh and m<l<l> »ias1,
So,il up tho Hhip-boyN <»,><»«, uml roek UM

TIL ciadle of tlm rude nnpoiioiri
And in tho visitation of iho \\uitN,
Wlio tako tho iiiiliun billow-* by i\w t.<»i*,
Curtuit? thuur mmi'iirouH heswls, nail iLiiii'in**1

thorn

With dciiTniiig elumoumn 1,lu> Mlippoi vdtiMtK
llmt, with iho liinly, deaih jt.-'t^l a\\.i,K<4* '
CauHitlioti, <) iMiiiittl wleep! givo thy M«IMI j»
To the wot Hoa-boy iu uti hour w» nule .
And, m iho calnicnt aiul most tit.il!'1 »ti ni;'!t',
With all a.ppliaii(HH and meiwm to bocti,
Deny it to n kmj;,J Then, happy low-lie-

down1
Uneasy lie« iho head ih»,i we*trH a ermvt'.

175,— iTENRr rrrw

TULATION WITH 1HS

Tliy wi«li ^as faiher, H.irrv, in flui

Lliou «hi

I st.iy too li»n«y by ilioe, 1 i\e iry lln**1
J)ohitb<)ii MO lmii'*er l\»r my einjii> dhiir,
Thai thou ^ilt ue«i«U nive-i Un " with i.nm*

honour^

lloioie ihy Hour bo njH1'1 O fnnli «h vimlh'
Thou tiecL'si the j',re;»,t.ne'V* ilmi \\iil m«r

Sfciy bui. a little ; for my eloiifl of <hf;ni(>
Is hold fiom f, ill HH; wiUi so \\«M!V a \\iu'l,
That li will quickly <lio|> : niv d;i', 1 1 dun.
Thou hast htoVn that, whieh, aii,«ir .mui«

Wore thine \vii1ioni nlTeiieo, and, ni iiit\ «)cnfh»
Thou luwt sesbl'd tip my <l\jM'*»f,Miion
Thy life did inamlisii ihoti ln\'<l if, in«* poi,
And thou \ulb lia\o me <U« a1/ un-d of it.
Thou hid'Hi a ihouiuunl <ln''r«'ri m thy

Which thou lia«i wi'tteil nu ihv *>{tmy h«Miri.

To stab at hall an hour ol >nv hie.

What' e,n,n»t, ihou itoi 1'orb'M.r mo Inli' an

hour r'
Thou got ih<»o gouo, and <h# my |',r:ivi» ihv-

self.

And bl<l Ui» merry belh run* to ihine <'ni
That thon art erovvuM, iinl Umf, I HIM d^iul,
Lot all ihoii*.i,r:t thai.Jiotiid bedi«\v Jit.v he,ire
Jio dro])S of balm, to lawfify ihjy h<«»d •
Only eoinponntl mo with for'oiien Uu .d ;
<Uvo that, \\hioh gave thew lii<*, unto iho

worms.

Tluck down my ofllwiM, bn»ak my d««e,r(»e \ ;
Kc»r now a iimo is eomo to moek ai form.
Harry iho Fifth is tirowtiM : — tip, vanity I
Down, royal siato ' all you »«a#o co

lionco !
And io iho English oouri uMhomblo now,

FVcwi 1558 to 1C& ]

THE KING'S A3TSWEB

[SlIAKSPEKB.

From every region, apes of idlenobs '

Now, neighbour oontinoa, purge you of youi

Havo you, a ruffian tliat will swear, drink,

danco,

Revel the merht , lob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways P
Bo happy, ho will trouble you no more
England shall double qild hiw treble guilt
England shall give hire oflico, honour, might
For the fifth Harry from curb'd licence pluoks
The muzzle of lObtiaint, and the wild dog
Shall floHh his tooth in every innocent

0 my poor kingdom, hick with civil blows »
When that my caio could not withhold thy

liots,

"What \vilt tliou do when riot i-, thy caio p
0, thou wilt bo a ^UdcinusH a^ain,
Peopled with wolves, thy old mhabibantb '
x * ) i A

O my Hon '

floa\c>n put it in thy nuud to take it hence,
That thou mights L win the more thy fathoi's

love,

Ploadmcf so wisely in oxcmso of it.
Oomo hither, Harry, rat thon by my bod,
And heal, I thiuk, tho very latowt ooanHol
That over I shall breathe Heaven knowa,

uiy non,
1*y \vhat by-patlm, and induct it crook1 il ways,

1 mot thiH crowu , and J luynolf know well
How troubloHomo il Hat upon my head

To ill (jo it Hludl (lowciid with butter quiet,
Hotter oj) mi on, butter coiifmnivtion ,
i'Vr all tho MOJ! of tho adlnovuuont ^ooft
With mo into tho earth It Moom'd in mo
JJuL aw an honour Hnatch'd with boibtorous

hand,

And T had many living, to upbraid
My #am of it by their awiHtanaon ,
Which daily grow to quarrel, and to blood-

nhod,
Wounding* supposed peace all tho&o bold

Thou HOOHt, with peril I have annwor'd
J«\ir all my reipi liatli bnen but as a wjono
Anting tliat urgnuioiit , and now wiv death
OkanguH tho mood ior what in nu> wa1? pur-

<»}ULHO<1,

7<1allH upon thoo in a mow fairer sori ,
So thou tho gmliuul wear'Ht nuccohtiivoly
Yui, tbou^b thou Btoiidst more Hiiro than I

could do,
Tlion. art not firm cnou<,ph, huico giiofrf are

l?roon ;
And all thy frioiidu, which thou niuat niuko

tliy inendn,
II a\o but their Htingd and teeth newly ta' on

out ,

By whoso fell working I wa« firHt advanced,
And by whono j)owor t well might lod^oafoar
To b<» affuui diHplaoed which to a\oi(l,
T cut thorn off; and had a puiposo now
To loud out many to tho Jloly Land,
LoHt r(jst, and lyuifr ntill, illicit make thoui look
Too near tmto my htato. Therefore, my Harry,

Bo it thy course, to buny giddy minds

With foreign quoirels, that action, honoe

borne out,

May waste the memory of the foimor days.
Moio would I, but my lung-s are wanted so,
That strength of speech is utterly domed mo
How I came by tho crown, 0 Heaven forgive '
And giant it may with thoo in true poaco live f

SJialcsporo— About 1610.

176 — THE ANSWER OF THE LORD
CHIEF JUSTICE TO HENRY V.

I then did use tho person of your father j
Tho imayo of IUH powoi lay then in me
And in th' adminiHtration of his law,
Whiles I was buwy for tho commonwealth,
Tour highnobb pleased to forgot my place,
Tho majobty and powoi of law and juntico,
The imago of tho king whom 1 presented,
And atruck mo in my very seat of judgment ,
Whoroon, as an offender to your lather,
I gave bold way to my authority,
And did commit you If tho deed were ill,
Be you contented, wearing now tho garland,
To have a son sot your decrees at nought ,
To pluck down justice from your awful bench,
To trip tho course of law, and blunt tho sword
That guaida the peace and safety of your per-

son:

Nay, more , to spurn at your most royal imago,
And mock 5 our workings m a aooond body
Question youi royal thoughts, make tho ease

yours ,

Bo now tho father, and propose a son
Hoar yonr own dignity HO much profaned,
Sco your niobt dreadful laws so loosely

Behold yourHolf so by a son disdain' d ,
And then imagine mo taking your part,
And, in your power, soft silencing your son •
Aftor tliis cold considcBanco, sentence me ,
And, an you ore a king, speak in your state,
What I have done, that misbecame my place,
My pcidon, or my Logo's sovereignty.

Shalcspwc — About 1G10.

177— THE KING'S ANSWER

You are right, justice, and you weigh thin well,
Thcro£ ore utill boar the balance and tho sword
And I do wirth your honours may increase,
Till you do live to see a won of mine
Offend you, and obey you, as I did
fcJo whaU I hvo to upeak my father' » wordy —
Happy am 1, that havo a man so bold,
That daroH do juatico on my proper son .
And no loss happy, having such a son,
That would deliver up Itw greatness so
Into tho handu ot justice. — You did commit

ino

For which, I do commit into yonr hand
Tho unstam'd aword that you havo used to

boar,

HENRY THE FIFTH'S ADDKESS

With this remembrance, — That you use tho

same

With tho like bold, just, and impaitial spirit,
As you havo done 'gainwt mo Thoro is my

hand ;

You shall be as a father to my youth .
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine

oar,

And I will Ktoop and humble my intents
To your well-practised, wise directions. —
And, princes all, behove me, I beseech you, —
My father is gone wild into his grave,
For in his tomb lie my affections ,
And with his spirit sadly I survive,
To mock the expectation of tho world ;
To frustrate prophecies , and to raze out
Rotten opinion, who hath writ mo down
After my floeming. Tho tide of blood in mo
Hath proudly flow'd in vanity, till now
Now doth it turn, and ebb back to tho sea ;
Where it shall mingle with tho state of flooda,
And flow henceforth m formal majesty.
Now call we our high court of pailiamont
And let us choose swh limbs ot noblo counsel,
That the gioat body of our state may go
In equal rank with tho bost-govoruM nation ,
That war, or peace, or both at ou<?o, may bo
As things acquainted and familiar to us , —
In which you, father, nhall havo forornosvt

hand.

— Alnut 1(510

178— HENRY THE FIFTH'S ADDRESS
TO HIS SOLDIERS BEFORE HARFLEUR

Once more unto tho broach, dear fiiondw,

once more ;

Or close tho wall up with our English dead '
In peace, there's nothing so bcoomoa a man,
As modobt ntillnohs, and humility
But when tho blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate tho action of tlio tiqer ,
Stiffen the aniowfl, summon up tho blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favom'd rago
Then lend tho oyo A tomhlo o,sp<'rt ,
Let it pry through the portage of thn head,
lako the brass cannon , let tho brow o'er, whelm

it,

As fearfully as doth a gaUM look
O'erhang and jutty Ins coiif omnlod b»wo,
SwiU'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth, and stretch tho nostril

wide,

Hold hard the breath, and bond up ovory spirit
To his full height '—On, on, you ixoblowt

Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof '
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,
Have, in these parts, from mom till oven

fought,

And sheath'd thoir swords for lack of argu-
ment

Dishonour not your mothers ; now attest,
That those whom you oull'd fathers, did be-
get you !

Bo oopy now to men of gro^r blood,

And teach them how to win ' — And jou, good

yeomen,
Whoho limbu were made in Kim land, ^lio,v us

hero

Tho mottle of your pasture , lot UH war
That you are worth >our lu<v<hii'.j which I

doubt not ,

For there is none of yon HO ininin and IHIM*,
That hath not noblo lustro m your oy«» s
I see you stand like gro>hottn<ls in th« i Ups
Stiaimng upon tho stait Th<» ipwiio \ «f«n»l ,
Follow your Kpint • and, upon tins ch.iruiN
Cry — God for Harry' Kuglnnd1 ami Saint

Orcorge !

v. — Hunt 1«UO.

179,— HENRY THE FIFTH'S Al>!>KKriH
AT AGINCOUUT.

No, my fair rou in :
If wo are markM to die, w«« an* <»now
To do our country IOHH » aiul if to hv<»,
Tho fow<»r im»n tho «roat«»r sharo of honour.
God's will ' I pray thoo, wnh not oiu» niun

more.

By Jovo, I am not covotnu^ fc»r fold ;
Nor <'aro I who doth food upon mj <*o f ,
It yetwns mo not if iu<»n inv vju tn«»ijl • w*- «r ,
>Stvh outward thin/^H <Ivn>U not m my <!<• tr* '
But if it bo a Km to «'ovi»l honour,
I am ih(» niont oflViulintf noni iihv**
No, 'faith, my COB, wish not a rnun from K.i"-

land •
God's poiioo1 I would not lo i» •> ;•».',! ,in

honour,
As ono man more, inoilunlcM, uoul<l h.irr fnnji

mo,
For tho bost hopo I havo, < ), <lo not. \\ \ li nv»

more •
Rather proclaim it, Wostnior<*I.in*L t^r ri U

my ho*»t,

Tlutt h« whu'li hath no «totnit"h to flu , fr h',
Lot him dopart ; hU passport iiall l»* in-i'}*',
And orowim for convoy put into In . j»ur »•
Wo would uoidiit in itiat nmu's rMnnpan;;
That f«»trs his i<»llowship to ilit* with » ,*
This day IH call'd th<» foa-i of Tri pi in •
Ho that outliwH this day, «iinl <-om,. ,iiV

Will Hiaiul ft tip-too wh<»n iJn » «!,•'>' » J,UH«M|
And rouso him at tho num« of ('ri pi.' a.
Ho tluit sliall wo thi-^ dny, tapl 1U«« oM i".*,
Will yearly on HIM \iyil fen .t hi • n«N *hlio ir ,
And say, To-niorrovv is '.ainb <'n pj.in
Then will ho sU*ip Ins ..Iroy-e, uud I..,,v hi,

Old men forgot • yot all hi mil In* for »«.f ,
Lut ho'll rom<'ml»«»r, wiili niiv.uitii'i*'',
What foatH ho iJiil that du.v. Then -h-/

Familiar m WH month as IKMI *««hoM word ,, *
Harry tho kirnf, H(Mlfor«l, and K\itii»r,
Warwick and Talboi, SaltHbitry and < i 1«» « »«r -
Bo in thoir flovliuf onp* fnwhly ri*ui<*tnl nrM .
Thia Htory Hhall tho ^t>o<i maw ttwh hi •» <•« •

From 1558 to 1G4Q ]

GLOSTER'S SOLILOQUY

And Crispin Crispian shall no'or go by,
From this day to tho ending of the world,
But wo in it shall bo romombor<«d
Wo fow, wo happy few, wo baud of brothers ,
For ho to-day that shods his blood with mo,
Shall bo my brother , be ho no'or PO vile,
This day shall gontlo his condition
And ftontiomen in England, now a-bod,
Shall think themselves accursed they were not

horo;
And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any

speaks,

That fought with us upon Saint Crinpin's day
Shalspcra — About 1010

180— HENRY THE SIXTH'S SOLILOQUY
ON THE BATTLE-FIELD

Thin battlo faros like to tho moining's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing

What timo tho shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Caii neither call it perfect day nor night
Now HwayH it thiH way, like a mighty soa,
Forced by the tide to combat with tiio wind ,
Now sways it that way, like tlio Holf-samo boa
Forced to rotiio by fury of tho wind
Sometime, the flood piovail«, and then, tho

wind

Now, ono tho bettor , then, another bo^t ,
Both tiiirKitiif to bo victois, broant to laeast,
Yet nmthcr conqueror, not uonqupivd
So IK tho equal poiso of tins foil war
lion1 oil this luolnlull will I Hit mo down
To whom God will, tlioro bo tho victoij '
For Margarot, my quoon, and Clifford too,
Havo chid mo from tho battlo ; swearing both,
They prowpor b*»Hl of all wlton I am thence
'Would I wore dead ' if Qod'ri good will woro

HO ;

For what I« in thin world but griof nnd woo ?
O < tod ' mothirikH, it woro a liappy life,
To }>o no bettor than a hoinoly HWIUII ;
To Hit upon a hill, an I do now,
To oitrvo out dials quaintly, pomt by point,
Tlioroby to nee tho minutoH how thoy rnn
How many mako the hour full complete,
How many hourw bring about the <luy,
Ifow many days will finiHh up tho your,
How many icuiri a moital man may live
"When tliis is known, thozi to divide tho timo«s
Ho tnany ILOUIH muwt I tend my flock ,
So many hour* niUHt I tako my iowt ,
So many liourH must T n<mlcuiplatfk ,
So many hours muwt T sport niyHcli
So many <liy^ my OWPH ]iavo boon with young ,
So many woeks oro tho ]>oor f ooln will yoan ,
So many ,\ earn 01 o T shall hhoar tin* floo^o ;
So niinulc'H, houirt, days, woekH, nioiithR, and

yours,

PoHH'd ovox to tlio ond they woro fronted,
Would brimy white luum unto a (juic*! mtivo
Ah, what «i lifo woio thia ' How «\veot ' How

lovoly !
GIVOH not the hawthorn bush a awocter fchode

To shepherds, looking on their silly Hhoep,
Than doth a nch embroidor'd canopy
To kings, that foar their subjoctfl' treachery ?
0, yes, it doth , a thousand fold it doth
And to conclude, — Tho shepherd's homely

curds,

Hig cold thin dnnk out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All whach secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's dohoates,
His -viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,
When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

Shc&speio — About 1610

!8i.— QLOSTER'S SOLILOQUY.

Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty ,
like one that stands upon a promontory,
And spies a far-off shore whoro ho would iroad,
Wishing- his foot woro equal with his 03*0 ,
And eludes tho sea that sunders him from

thence,

Saying — he'll lade it dry to have his way
So do I wish tho ciown, being RO far off,
And so I chide tho moans that keep mo from

it,

And fio I say — Til cut tho oaunes off,
Flattering mo with impossibilities —
My oyo'ft too quick, my heart o'orwoens too

much,
UnlosH my hand and stiongth could equal

them
Well, say there is no kingdom then for

Bichard ,

What other pleasure can tho world afford P
I'll mako my heaven in a lady'H lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And witch sweet ladies with my words and

looks

0 miserable thought ! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden CTOWIIB f
Why, love forswore mo in my mother'n womb
And, for I Hhould not deal in her soft LIWR,
Sho did corrupt frail nature with POUIQ hribo
To Rhnnk mine arm up like a withered shrub ,
To make an onvzou < mountain on my back,
Whoro sits deformity to mock my body ,
To shape my logs oi an unequal size ,
To disproportion mo in every pttxt,
Like to a chaoft, or an unhck'd bear-wholp,
That camei no impioflM.cn hko tho dam
And am I thon a man to bo beloved ?
0, monstrous fault, to harbour Hivli a thoutfUt '
Then wince this earth affords no ;joy to mo,
But to command, to chock, to oVrboiir such
As are of bettor person than mynelf ,
I'll mako my heaven to dioj.ni upon tho

crown,
And, whiles I live, to account tliis world but

holl,

Until mymis-flhap'dtrunk, thatboarn tliiH head,
Bo round impaled with a glorious orowru
And yot I know not how to f*ot iho crown,
For many lives stand between ino

SHA.KSPBRB ]

WOLSEY ON HIS PALL

[Tn run PnuioD,-—

And I, — liko one lost m a thorny wood,
That rents tho thorns, and is ront with tho

thorns,

Seeking- a way, and straying from tho way ,
Not knowing how to find tho open air,
Uut toiling dosporatoly to find it out, —
Torment myself to oatoh Lho English orown ,
And from that torment I will froo inywolf,
Or how my way out with a bloody axe.
Why I can smilo, and imirfchcr whiles I smile ,
And, cry, content, bo that which grieves ray

heart ,

And wot my chock5? with artificial toars,
And framo my face to all otscasions
I'll darown more sailorn than tho mermaid shall ,
I'll slay more gazorn than tho basilisk ,
I'll play tho orator as woll as Nestor,
Deceive more silly than IflysnoH could,
And, liko a Sinon, take another Tioy
I can add colours to the cainoloon ,
Change shapes with Protons, ior advantages,
And sot tho murth'roiiH Machmvol to wchool
Can I do this, and cannot ^ob a crown *•
Tat 1 wore it farther off I'll i>luck it down

'—Alvtti 1CLO,

182.— WOLSJBY ON HIS FALL
^Farewell, a long farewell, to all my grcat-

This IB tho state of man. To-day ho put.*

lorth
Tho tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow blos-

woms,
And boars his bloMluug1 honours thiok upon

him <,

Tho third day oomos a front, a killing frosL ,
And, — when ho tliinkb, gooA easy man, full

Huioly

HIH {*roatnosH is a ripening — nips his root,
And then ho falls, an £ <lo 1 have vonturM,
Tike little wanton boys that hwnu on bladders,
Thw many summers in a noa of jflorv ,
But far beyond iny tlopth iny high-blown

pride
At longth broke under mo ; and now has loft

nio,

Weary, and old With w»rvi<xs to tho moroy
Of a rude stream, th-it imwt for m-or Indo nip
Yain pomp and glory of this woild, I hak» 4>o7
I feel my heart now opon'd . (), how wretohod
IH that poor man that han^a on i)nn<?OH'

favonrw '
Tli ore IH, botwist that smile wo would aapiro

to,

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and feats than wars or woinoii

have ;

And when ho falls, ho f alia 3jko Lucifer,
Never to hope again. —

* # A *

OromweU, I did not think to shod a tear
In all iny miHonos , but thou bant foro'd mo
Out of thy honest truth to play tho woman

Lot's dry oui eyes and tliu-i far hi\ir nu-,

CroinvV(»ll,

And, — when I am forgotten, M I hiM l'° •
And Hloop in dull cold maibU1, whiiro no w«»n-

tiou
Of mo more munt bo hwrd <>f» — Mj\y, 1 tuu,",ht

thuo ,
Way, YVolHoy, — that oiir»o irod the v\,ij c^f

And FiOimdod all tho (l<»i)Lhi at>iJ duial <»«

honour, —

Foiiml tlioo a \\av, out of lii-< u r,n»l», ion «« in ,
A sum and wafo one, though th} nu'ifcr mt . . <1

it

Mark but my fall, and that thai, rum «I VH-
(Jroiruvoll, X ali'ttqo thou, iliu^ uw!«y umliiiiMM ,
}"Jy thab t»mf<»ll tluj air^^ls, how fan niiitt lh«"s
The iiiiasyo of his JUakor, b<»pt» to \vin bv V*
Love thyHolf last. «lu»nsh tkoui kiMirt* tliaf.

hate thoo ;

(Jorrnption wmr* not inoii* than lioiw .fy.
Wtill in thy r«;}'t hand oarry ^knili* pi',j<'<s
To Hilenoo envious tonjnios. iiojn.il, nud ft»:ir

not
Lot all the on<ls tliou ainf'.t at IK- ih} cotta-

try'H,
Thy <<<><1X and trulh'.^ Ihi-u it lima i;»l! ,t,

O Oroiuwcll,

Thou fall'i-ti a blcssod martyr. H««r\» III" I* in-; j
And,-— IHithoo, load nuj hi
Thoi« tako au inventory of nil I Iruc,
To tho last penny, 'In Urn KJU/'I: my n>ln»,
And my luio^iity to IICJIVCTI, i-. all
L dare now call muio oun <> < 'roiu^i II,

Oromwoll,

Ifjul 1 but sorvM my (<o«l wiih Iialf ih«' /«• 1
F HorvM inv kimr, ho >u»uld not. in miiir ,i »\
itavc loft mo iiakcd to mino ciK'iiiK*

183.— CRANMMU'K IMJOPIHIC^ *H''

I.*?1! nu1 »i'K»! , .it,
F*or hoavcu now l)ids mo, uml (In* v.or»l, 1

uttor
Let none think llattory, for 1 hoy '11 iip»l thorn

truth
Tliii-t royal infdnt, (luxucu riill mo\« iiSotit

hor ')

Though in hor rr^ll<», j««fc now promi i« •
Upon HUH Iind a ilioiiNiiml 1 li'iii an-1 bl«« j»*' ,.
"Which time hlull brm;; to rijN'iuwi • J- hi
* bo
(Uui fow now livin;; KIIII 1.olid<i (hni j^Mw

IlOHH)

A pattern to all print's living with h»«r,
Anil all that hhall wiu'«M'<»«l Hjibst wu » w\*»r
More covetous of vvi iiltmi, ami fair virdui%
Than this pnru HOU! i.hall bo , all i»rui'*<'

That mould up twoh a mighty pi<«<»o a.t ihin it,
With all tho virtuon that uUciul ih<» i^irnl,

Hiill'bo doubled ou her; truth t*Uall nur.w
hur,

&WH 1558 fo 1G40 ] MACBETH BEFORE MURDERING THE KING.

Holy and heavenly thoughts RtJl counsel her
Sho bhall ho lov'd, and foar'd Her own shall

bless hor

Her fcos shako like a field of boaton corn,
And hang thoir hoods with sorrow Good

grown with her

In hor days, every man &hall cat in safety
TIndor his own vino, what ho plants , and sing
Tho morry songs of poaco to all his neigh-

bours
God shall bo truly known ; and those about

hor
Prom hor shall read tho porfoct ways of

honour,
And by those claim their greatness, not by

blood
Nor shall this poaco sloop with hor But as

when

Tho bird of wonder dies, tho maiden phcomx,
Hor ashes now create another hoir,
As ftroat in admiration tut herself ,
So Khali H!IO loavo lior bloqHodnof-fl to ono,
(Whou heaven nhall cull hoi from this cloud

Wlio, from tho wacrod afchos of her honour,
Shall Btar-liko rise, as groat in famo as sho

wan,
An<l HO stand IK'd Poaco, plenty, lovo, truth,

tenor,

That wore tho Rcrvnnta to this chosen infant,
Shall Llien be hw, ami like a vino grow to him;
Whorovor thobiiqht iniii of h^avou shall whine,
HIM honour, and tho tfioatnoHH of IUH namo,
Shall bo, and make new nations. Ho fahall

flonrnli

And, like a uioimloiu cedar, roach IUH bi anchos
To all tho pliunn about lum — Our children' ti

children
Shall HCO HUH, and blois hoavcn.

4, if * #

Sho whall bo, to tho happiness of England,
An aged priiicoHu j many dayw shall floo hor,
And yet no day without a deed to crown rL
Would I had known no more ' but aho must

cho,
FJho muwt, tho «aints must havo hor; yot a

virgin,

A MOM! unspottod Idy nlmll pho pass
To tho ground, aud all tho world whall mourn

her.

Shaltycrc — Aloui 1C10.

184.— HAMLET'S 80L1XOQTTT ON DEATH.

To bo, or not to bo, that ifl tho question •
Whether 'tin nobloi in tho mmd, to suffer
Tho HlmtTH and arrowH of outra<?oous fortune,
Or to take arms againHt a sea of tioublos,
And by opposing ond thorn? — To die, — to

bloop,—

No moio , and, by a sloop, to nay wo ond
rrho heiirt-aoho, and tho thousand natural

Khocks

Thut flcHh is hoir to,— 'tin a conr.ummation
Devoutly to bo wah'd. To die,— to sleep j—

To sleep T perchance to dream, ay, there's

tho rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may

come,

When we havo shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must givo us pause thero's tho rospoct
That makes calamity of so long life
For who would boar tho whips and scorns of

time,

Tho oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con-
tumely,

Tho pangs of dinprro'd lovo, tho law's dolay,
Tho insolonco of office, and tho spuins
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When ho himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin ? who would those fardels

boar,

To grunt and sweat under a woary life ,
But that tho dread of something after death,
The uudiscovor'd country, from whoao bouin
No traveller returns, puzzles tho will ,
Aud makeu us rather boar those ills wo have,
Than fly to others that wo know not of P
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.,
And thus tho native huo of resolution
Is sickbed o'er with tho pale cast of thought
And onterpnzos of gioat pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn away,
Aud loeo tho namo of action.

Sliak&z>cre. — About 1C10.

185.— ICACBETH BEFORE MURDERING

THE KING.

Is thiK a dagger which I see boforo me,
Tho handle toward my hand ? Come, lot mo

clutch thoo —

I havo thoo not, and yot I see thoo still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To f obkng, an to sight P or art thou but
A dagger of tho mind , a false creation,
Proceeding from tho hoat-opprossod brain ?
I see theo yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marBhalVBt mo tho way that I wag going ,
And sucli an instrument I was to UPC
Mlno oyos are made tho fools o' tho other

sonsos,

Or else worth all tho rest • I soo thoo still ;
And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood,
Which waa not so boforo — Thoro'u no such

thing,

Tt i« tho bloody business which informs
Thus to mino oyos — Now o'er tho ono half

world

Nature soomo dead, and wicked dreams abuse
Tho curtain' d sloop; witchcraft colobiates
Palo Hocato* s offoringB , and withor'd murthor,
Alarum' d by hw pontinol, tho wolf,
Whoso howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy

pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing sides, towards Jus

design,
MOVOB liio a ghost. Thououre and firm-sot

oorih,

SHAKJSPEJEIE ]

CASSIUS TO BRUTUS

[Tmuii PIJKIOO —

Heai mot 217 steps, which way thoy walk, for

fear

Thy very stones prate of my whore-about,
And take the present honor from tho time,
Which now auita with it — Whiles I threat ho

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath

gives

I go, and it IB done , the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan , for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.

Shafapcrc — About 1610

186 — CASSIUS TO BEUTUS

I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story —
I cannot tell what you and other men
Thank of this Me , but, for my single bolf ,
I had as liof not bo as live to bo
In awe of such a thing as I mynolf
I waH born free as Caasar , HO were you
Wo both have fed as well , and wo can both
Euduro the winter's cold as well as ho
Foi once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Ccosar said to mo, "Dar'st thou, Caftsitus, now
Leap in with mo into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point i? " Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bade him follow . so, indeed, ho did.
The torrent roar'd , and wo did buffet it
With lusty sinews , throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controvert^
But ore wo could arrive the point propos'd,
Oaosar cried, " Help mo, CaBHiuH, or I sink."
I, as ^Bueafi, our great ancestor,
Did. from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so, from the wavoa of

Tiber,

Did I tho tirod Ctosar And this man
Is now become a god ; and CaHHiun its
A wretched creature, and must bond his body,
If CajHor caroleHsly but nod on him
He had a fever whou ho was in Spain,
And, whon tho fit was on him, I did mark
How ho did shako 'tw truo, tins god did

shake

His coward lipn did from thoir colour fly ,
And that same eyo whoso bond doth awo tho

world

Did lose his lustre I did hoar him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of MB that bade tho

Romans
Mark him, and write his spoocho* in thoir

books,

Alas ' it cried, " Give mo some drink, Titinius,"
As a sick girl Ye gods, it doth amaze mo,
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of tho mojoHtio world,
And bear the palm alone

* # * «

Why, nvui, he doth bestride the narrow world,
Inko a Colossus , and we potty men

Walk under hiw hucfo lon% and j W]> about
To find oursolvoH dishoiiourablo grave-*
Men at some time aro maslois of their f.itun .
The fault, dear Brutus, IH not 111 our «Urn,
But in ourrielvoH, that wo are underlings
Brutus and Ctusar What nhould ho m thai

Ctusar ?
Why should that name bo Houndod moro than

yours P

Wnte them togothor, yours is as fair a nume,
Sound thorn, it doth become tho month as \vell.
Weigh thorn, it in as heavy, conjure with

them,

Brute will ntart a Ftpirit as soon as ( *.o <nr
Now in the names of all tho godrt ai. onee
Upon what moat doth this our (tonal teed,
That ho IH grown HO groat? A#s thnn art

&hani'd !

Rome, thou hast lost tho brood of noltlo liloodn!
When wont tkoro by an ago, niucw^ tho groat

flood,
But it wan famed with moro thau with ouo

man **
When could thoy say, till now, that talK'd of

Rome,
That her wide walkw oucompasH'd l>ui one

man ?

Now IH it Rome indeed, and room onoutfh,
Whon thoro IH in it but ono only man.
Oh ' you and I have hoard our father* Hav%
Thoro waw a Brutus oiico thab wtmM ha\<»

brookM

Tlio oti'rzial dnvil to koop his tttato iit Home,
As oauily as a king

187— MAEK ANTONY'S OI&ATIOK
THE BODY OF

Fnonds, Romans, countrymen, loud trie your

earn ,

I come to bury Gaisar, not to praise him,
Tho evil ih.it mou do liven after them ,
Tho good w oft mtorrM with their bones j
So lot it bo with Ccurior. Tho noble. Itrul.n,*
Hath told you OiLsnar wan aml»iij<>u- .
If it woro HO, it wan a griovotw fault. ,
And gnovoiiMly liath Oamar axiswerM ii
Hore, undur loav<i of Brutus, aud tlw» re'ii,
(For ItrniuH in an honotirablo man;
Bo aro they all, all honourable men;) ,
Come I to HI x sak m (.'awar'H funeral
Ho was nty fri<md, faithful and ju.<t to nut : ,

But BrutuH HayH, ho wan ambition* 5
And JirutuH w an honourabht man*
Ho hath, brought many captives home to Itome,
Whowo rouHnmK did tho gwioral eofU'r.-* fill •
Did thin in (Jn'sar HOOIU ambitiom i' '

Whon thai tho poor havo oruul, (4»>,iar hath

wept

Ambition Hhould bo made of Mtcrner ntuff t
Yet Brntiw Hayn, h« wan ambitiouH ;
And IJrulan in an hoiiourablo matt.
Tou all did HUO that ou tho Luimnuii
I thrice proHoutod liim a kmgly orown,

1553 to 1G40 ]

CLEOPATBA

Which Ho did thrice refuse Was this ambi-

tion?

Yot Brutus says, he was ambitious ,
And, Hiiro, he IB an honourable man
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But bore I am to spook what I do know
You all did love bun onoe, not without cause,
What cause withholds you then to mourn for

0 judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason ' — Bear with

me ,

My heart is ux the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must paubO till it come back to me

# # * • #

But yesterday, tho woid of Csosar might
Have stood agauibt tho world now lies he

there,
And none so poor to do him reverence

0 mahtorri ' if I woio disposed to fitir
Your hearth and imndw to mutiny and rage,

1 Hhonl<l do Biutua wrong, and Cassias wrong,
"Who, you all know, are honourable mon

T will not do thorn wiong , I rathor choose
To wrong tho doa<l, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong nuoh honourable mon.
But horo'H a parchment, with tho seal of Caesar,
I fotmd it in hin closet, 'tis hiH will
Lot but tho commonB hoar tliiH testament,
(Wlutth, paidon mo, I do not moan to road,)
And thoy would go and kibu doad Caxwu's

woundu,

And dip thoir napkiiiH in hiB &ocrod blood ,
Yea, bog a hair of him for memory,
And, dying, mention it within their willH,
Bequeathing it, au a rich legacy,
Onto thoir ISHUO

# * # #

Havo patiouoo, gontlo friends, I must not

road it ;

It IH not moot you know how COJSOT lov'd you.
You aro not wood, you are not stones, but

mon,

And, boing mon, hearing tho will of Caesar,
It will infhirao you, it will moko you mad
'TiH #ood you know not that you aro IUB hoirs,
Tor if you hhould, oh, what would come of it !

* * * •*

Will yon bo patient ? Will you stay a

whilo •»

T liavo o'orrfhot inyHolf, to toll you of it
I f oar I wi ong tho honourable mon
Whono duggors havo stabb'd Otosar I do foar

it

* * * #

If yon havo toarh, proparo to shed thorn

now

You all do know this mantlo I remember
Tho iirht tuno ovor Cajsar put it on ,
'TwaH on a Hummor'a ovouing, in bin tout j
That <lay ho ovoroamo tho Norvu. —
Look ' in thw plaeo ran Caasius' dagger

through

Woo, what a ront tho onvious Casoa mado
Throtigh HUH, tho woll-bolovod Brutua Btabb'd,
And, OH ho plucked hia cursed stool away,

Mark how the blood of Cee&ar foUow'd it ,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ,
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel
Judge, O you gods, how doarly Caesar loved

hiTfl £

This was the most unkindest cut of all
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms,
Quite vanquish' d him then burst his xnfehty

heart,

A??/!, m his mantle muffling up "K^R face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statue,
Which all the while ran blood, great Caasar

fell

Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen '
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down.
Whilst bloody treason flourish' d over us
Oh, now you weop , and, I perceive, you feel
Tho dint of pity these ore gracious drops
Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but

behold

Our Cassar's vesture wounded P Look you here,
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with

traitors

* * #• *

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir

you up

To such a sudden flood of mutiny
They that havo done this deed aro honour-
able ,
What privaio grief b they havo, alas ' I know

not,
That mado thorn do it; they are wise and

honourable,

And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you
I come not, tnendb, to stool away your hearts,
I am no oiator, as Brutus is
But, as you know mo all, a plain blunt man,
That lovo my fnond , and that they know full

well

That gavo me public leave to speak of him.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir mon'a blood I only speak right on ,
I toll you that which you youraelvoB do know ,
Show you fiweot Caesar's wounds, poor, poor

dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me But wore I

Brutus,

And Brutus Antony, thoro woro an Antony
Would lufflo up youi spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Comr, that should move
The stones of Borne to riso and mutiny.

.— About 1610.

188— OLEOPATBA.

Tho barge sho sat in, like a burmsh'd

throne,
Burnt on tho water : the poop was beaten

gold,

Purple tho soils, and feo perfumed that
Tho winds were love-sick with them, the

oars were silver ;

LIFE.

[Tmun

Wliioh to the tiino of flutes kept »itioke, and

mado

Tlio wator, which thoy beat, to follow faster,
AM amorous of thou utrokoa. For lior own

person,

It boggorM all description she did lio
In her pavilion (cloth of gold, of tMsno),
O'orpicturing that Vonufl, wlioro wo »oo
The fancy out-woik nature : on each sido hor
Stood protty dimpled boys, liko smiling

Cupidrt,
With divor pi-colour' d fans, whoso wind did

noom
To glow tho delicate check- 1 which thoy did

cool,
And what thoy undid, did

Hor gentlewomen, like tho Nereides,
So many moimaidH, tondod her i1 tho oye«,
And made thoir bonds adorning at tho holm
A floomm<* mermaid steers , tho silkon tarlrlo
Swell with tho touches of thorfo flowor-HofL

hands,

That yaroly frame tho office From tho bar;;o
A atrango invisible perfume luLH the HPIWO
Of tho adjacent whirl H Tho city <saHt
Hor people out upon hor , and Antony,
Euthron'd in tho market-place, did Hit alone,
Whistling to tho air , wluoli, but f or vacancy,
Had gone to gaao on Cleopatra too,
And made a gap in nature.

Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited hor to supper who replied,
It should bo bettor ho became hor guest ,
Which who entreated Onr courteous Antony,
Whom ne'er tho woid of " No " woman hoard

apeak,
Being barbor'd ton times o'er, goes to tho

foast.

And, for his oriluiary, pays hia heart,
For what his eyes oat only

e — Abnut 1010

189— LIFE.

Beacon tlmn with life
If I do lose thce, I do lone a thmj?
That none but fool* would keop a breath

thou art,

(Sorvilo to all tho akioy influences,)
That dost this habitation, whore thou keep'nt,
Hourly afflict merely, thou art death' H fool ,
For him thou labour'nt by thy flight to shun,
And yet rnnn'st toward him still Thou art

not noble ,

For all tho accommodations that thou bear'st
Are nurs'd by baseness • Thou art by no moans

valiant;

For thou dost fear tho soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm • Thy best of rest w sloop,
And that thou oft provok'sfc, yot grosfaly

foar'st
Thy death, which is no moro. Thou art not

thyself;

For thou cMsl'ht on many a thousand ."
That iShno out of dust Happy thou at I r »,<
For what thou hast iiol M/ill thou htruYt to

got;
And what thou luiflt, for'joltThl Thou nrt nni.

certain ,

Foi thy complexion thift."> io .iiian»o oflVct/,
After the moon ii thou art rich, (,h<m ti"t

poor ,

For, liko an awn who^o Iwvk \\ith in",o(, » bov.
Thou boar'ht thy hoavy rn»Iu«H but a jonriu»;»,
And death unloinK Lliuo.

y > * t

lliou hast nor youth, n<»r n'f*\
But, as it %v<ro, an aftcMlmiHT's sl<»op,
JDioaiiiii)^ on br>th . for all Ihy bio -sod yn\\ h
JJocomos aw ii",<vl, ami doth )M>;; tho tilins
Of pal'uod eld; and whoix tltou art old, a Mr!

rioli,
Thou luwb neither hoat, afloction, limb, r<«.

To make thy nolios plo.'iMaiit. What 'H y« 1,

in this,

That boaru tho nainr* of lifo ? \rot m thin lifp
Lin hid moro thouund doath.i: yot death we

That makes tliono oddn all

. — Afantt 1UHL

190— APPJMJUWKH

Tho world rj «tiU docwuvM with
Li law, what pica HO tamtod and corrupt,
J3nt, bom'jf hcaicmM with a tfnw'iotH \oit«o,
()l)H«urcs the show of ovil f fn iolij*ion,
Wliat clainiKMl onoi, l>ut t«onw uo)M*r brow
Will blosM it, and approve it with a tevt,
Tfuhng tho ^TOHMIIOHH with fair ornament) :*
There w no MCU so Kiini»l(i but asuunien
Homo mark of virtue on his outward purti
How many eowardH, whoso luMit;, arn all u '

fulso
An stayers of wind, wear y<»t upon their

clmis

Tho boardrt of Hercules and frowning MI»I ',
Wlio, inward WMrehM, luivo hvor.i \\hil «' i ,

milk ,

And those nH^ntno but valour^ ("tercmetii,
To rondoi ilioiu r(*doul>t<»d ' Ijoolc ou benuf s,
And you hhall wo 'tis purohau'd by t.h»"

woi^lit ;

Which therein worku a miracle in na(«un»,
Making them lightest thai* w<*ar niosi, of it •
So aio those crisped HiiaKy goldwi loeK'%
Wluoh make mu'h wanton gambols with lh<>

wind,

Upon suppoHed fairneMii, oft<»n known
To be tlio dowry of a Honoiul lusul,
Tho scull that t>red them in tint
TluiH ornament IH but tho /puloti
To a most d.tng(krouH M»a, ilm boautoous Hfjjr.'
Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word,
Tho seeming truth whioh cuiuiingtiuioH put on
To ontrap tho wisest.

1010.

><mt 1558 £o 1049 J

CEREMONY

191 —THE USES OP ADVERSITY

Now, iny co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more

sweet
Thau that of painted pomp ? AIG not these

woods

Moro f TOO from peril than tho envious court ?
Hero fool wo not tho penalty of Adam
The seasons' difference, — as, the icy fang-,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say
This is no flattery, — these are counsellors
That feelingly poisuado me what I am
Swoot are the twon of adversity 9
Which, like tho to.Ml, ut;ly and vonomoufl,
Wears yet a precioun jowol in hiH head ,
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Fmdrt tongues in tioos, books in the running

brookn,
fcjormoiih in atones, and good in everything

— Abtnit 1C10

192 — A MEDITATIVE FOOL.

A fool, a iool ! I met a fool i' tho forest,
A motley fool , a miserable world
AH I do live liy iood, I met a fool ;
Who liii<l lntu down and bowk'd him in tho

i am,

And ruil'd on lady Fortune m good tormw,
lu good sot tormH, — and yet a molloy fool
"• Oood-morrow, fool," quoth I . " No, HIT,"

quo 111 ho,
" Call ino not fool, till Heaven hath sent mo

forlimo n

And then lio drew a dial from his poko ,
And, looking on it with lack-Iuntro oyo,
Savft, very wwoly, *' It IH ton o'clock
Thus wo may HOC," quoth ho, " how tho world

WttgH.

'Tin but an hour ago, since it was nine ,
And after one hour moro, 't will bo cloven ;
And HO, from hour to hour, wo ripe and npo,
And than, from hour to hour, wo lot and rot,
And thereby bungs a tale.'* When I did hoar
Tho motley fool thus moral cm tho time,
My lungH began to crow like chanticleer,
Thut iooln should bo HO doop-contomplativo ;
And I did laugh, HJUIH intormiHuion,
An hour by IHM dial — 0 noble fool »
A worthy fool ! Motley 'H tho only wear.

Alout 1C10

193'

-THE WOULD A STAGE

All tho woild 's a stage,
And all tho men and women moroly players
They bavo tlioir exits, and their entrances ,
\nd one inau in lus time playH many purtH,
It I IH ootH bcung Hovon agon At firht, the infant,
Mowlmg and puking m tbo nuwo'rt arms
Thna tlio whining mhoolboy, with his Hatohol,
Aud shining rooming faco, crooping lalco snail

Unwillingly to school and then, the lovor,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow Then, a soldier ,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the

pard,

Jealous in honour, suddon and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even m tho cannon's mouth . and then, tho

justice,

In fair round belly, with good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and board of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances,
And so ho plays his part • The sixth age shifts
Into tho lean and slippoi'd pantaloon,
With spectaoloH on nose, and pouch on side ,
His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide
For frig shrunk shank, and "big big manly

voice,

Turning again toward ehildiflh treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound . Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is socond childinhness, and moro oblivion ,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every-
thing.

Slwlcsp&re. — About 1G10

1 94 .—AD VEE.SITY.

You wore used

l*o Hay, Extremity was tho tnor of Spnits ,
That common chances common men could

boar ,

That, when tho Poa was calm, all boats alil«-o
Show'd maatorslup in floating JFortuuo's

blows,
Whon most struck home, bomg gontlo

wounded, oravo
A noblo cunning.

Shaktvperc. — About 101(7

195.— BEAUTY.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful Good,
A shining Globs, that fadeth suddenly ,
A Flower that dion, when firnt it 'ginn to bud ,
A brittle Glass, that's broken presently ,
A doubtful Good, a GloHR, a Glass, a Flower,
Lout, fadod, broken, dead within an hour

And an Good lost, is sold or never found,
As fadod Gloss no rubbing will refresh,
AH Flowers dead, lie wither' d on tlio ground,
AH broken Glass no comout can rediouR,
So Beauty blomish'd once, for CVGZ'H lost,
In Rpite of physic, pamtrng1, pain, and cost.

.-— About 161<X

196.— CEREMONY.
0 hard condition, and twin-bora with groat-

HOHH,

Subject to breath of ov'ry fool, whoro sonno
No moro can feel but his own wiiuging
What infante heart-case must King's neglect,
That private Men onjoy P and what havo Kings,

SHAKSPEBE.]

FBTENDS FALLING OFF.

That Privates have not too, save Ceremony ?

Savo ^en'xol Ceremony ?

And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony P

What kind of God art thon? that suffer 'st more

Of mortal giiofs than do thy worshippers

What are thy tents P what aio thy commg-n-in ?

0 Coromony, show mo but thy worth :

What IH thy toll, 0 Adoration *•

Art thon aught O!HO but Plaoo, Degioo, and
Form,

Creating awo and f oar in other men ?

Wherein thon art los« happy, being fear'd,

Than they in fearing

What drinVflt thon oft, instead of Homago
sweet,

But poiHon'd Flatt'ry ? Oh, be siok, grout
GroatnoHH,

And bid thy Coromony give thoo cure

Think'&t thon, the fiory fever will go out

With Titles blown from Adulation P

WiH it give plaoo to floxuio and low bonding ?

Canst thon, when thou command' tit tho beg-
gar's knee,

Command the health, of it P no, thou proud
dream,

That play* at HO subtly with a Kind's repose.

c — About 1G10.

197 — FEIBNDS FALLING- OFF.

They answer, in a 3omt and corporate voice,

That now thoy are at Foil, want treasure,
cannot

Bo what they would , are sorry — you are
honourable, —

But yet thoy oould have wihk'd — thoy know
not — but

Something hath been omisb — & noble imtm n

May catch a wrench — would ul] wore well —
'tis pity —

And BO, intending other f>oriouH matters-*,

After distautoful looks, and thono hard frac-
tions,

With certain half-caps, and cold-moving nodH,

They froze mo into bilcmoo

Alrmt 1(110

198— GOLD.

Why this
Will lug your Priests and Servants from your

Bides ,
Pluck wtout Men's pillow* from below thoir

heads

This Yellow Slavo
Will knit and break Religion* ; blonn tho ac-

ours'd ,

Make the hoar Leprosy ador'd , plaoo Thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With Senators on tho bonoh
For this tho foolish over-careful fathers
Havo broko their sleep with thoughts, thoir

brains with care,
Their bones with industry

There is thy Gold, WOFHO Poisoiito men s MM!-*,
Doing more miudois in HIM lonlhHomo vvoild,
Tlian thoHo poor compounds that thou uiuy'hti

not soil .
I sell theo Poihon, thou bant Hold mo noih\

O thou Hwoot Kint*-killor, ami dear Ihvoree
'Twivb natural HOII and wro ' thou bright 1 >ehit»i
Of Hymen's purest Iwl ' thou Miluini Mar*'
Thou over young, fresh, U»vM, and d«'li»Mto

Wooer,

WliOHO blush dofch thaw the <jorm<'<«rtit<«'l M'HV
That lies on JDian'n lap ' thou T, iHihli* <«'<><1,
That solder1 st do«o iniivoHsilnliUos,
And mak'st thorn kiss ! that HpoaV I wiih

every tongue,

To ovoiy purpose ' O thon Tou<»h of H«Mirl- '
Tlunk, thy slave Man KobolH, and l»y ihy

virtuo

Sot thorn into confoundttig oildw, that brant 1
May have the wozld in oiupiro !

That Broker, that still breaks tho patft of

Faith,

IHiat daily Break-vow , h(* that wins <if ,»H,
Of kings, of boggarn, old mc»n, ytiutiK «M-n,

maids ,— •

Wlio having no «*t<»rna1 thincr to !OMI»
But tho word Maid, — (should tho poor nmiil of

that*

199.— INSANITY.

There IH a willow grows awawtl the bm«»k,
That shows IUH K->ILT luaxm in tKo gla«

Tlierowitli fantastic (jlailiuids did nho
<)i crow-floworrt, notthn, daisnw, and

That liberal KhopliardH RIVO a j?r«M >er na«i«»
lint onr cold maids do deiwl men's fi»r"-« r • <ij

ihoiii
Thcio ou the pondant bought her

woods

Clatabormg to hang, an (mviotm Hh\er hroUi* ;
When down hc^r w<'(»dy trophujn and herself,
Fell in the wcoping iJrook. Her elutltiM

spread wido ;

And, Mormaid-hlco, a whilo lh«y bore lit-r tip .
Which time, Hho chantocl nniitcluM of old tune > ,
As ono ineaj>ablo of her own bntww,
Or liko a rroaturo native aud indued
Uzito that olt^mmii but loiitf it eotild not. l»e,
Till that hor garnieutH, hejwy with th«*ir ilrinK1
Pull'd tho poor Wmtoh from her melodiou,* lay
To muddy .Death.

200.— RELF-TNSI'Kf JTK )K

Thy QlaBH will t&ow thoo how thy boaul IOH \> tnr,
Thy Dial how thy i>rooioUH rninut(*H waMl.<» ,
The vacant Leaves thy mind's imprint \vill bour,
And of thin Book tliia loarninpr may'nt thou
tawto,

From 1538 to 1041).]

ORDER AND OBEDIENCE

[S&AKBF0B1I.

The wrinkles which thy Glass will truly show,
Of mouthed gravoa will givo theo memory ,
Thou "by thy Dial's shady stealth may' at know
Timofs thievwh progrown to Etormty
Look, what thy memory cannot contain,
Commit to these waste Blanks, and thou shalt

find

Those children nurs'd, deliver 'd from thy brain,
To toko a new acquaintance of thy mind.
Those offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy Book
Shalspere — About 1610

201.— LOVE

Didst thou but know the inly touch of Love,
Thou would' at as soon go kindle fire with snow,
As seek to quench the tiro of Love with woid&
I do not seek to quench your LOVO'B hot fire,
But qualify the FITO'H extreme rage,
Lost it Hhould burn above the bounds of

roaHon

The moio thou dam* at it up, the more it burns ;
The cm rent tliat with gentle murmur glides,
Thouknow'wt, being btopp'd, impatiently doth

rago;

But, when his fair course is not hindered,
Ho mukoa Hweet Music with the onaineTd

HtOllOH,

Giving a gontlo KIHS to ovoiy sedge
IIo OYortaketh in hin pilgrimage ,
And HO bv many winding nooks ho HtrayH,
With willing sport, to the wild Ocean

The oourHo of true Love never did rim smooth j
But, oiblier, it wan different in Blood —
Or O!HO mingraffod, in respect of Yoain —
Or O!HO it stood upon the choice ot Friouda —
Or if thoro were a nympathy in choice,
War, Doath, or Sicknoaw did lay wage to it ,
Making it momentary an a Sound,
Swift as a Shadow, short an any JDicam,
Brief au tlio lightning m the colliod night,
That (m a Hplcon) uuioldH both Heaven and

Earth ;

And ore a man hath power to Ray, Behold '
Tho jaws of Darktiows do dovour it tip ,
So amok bright things come to conf usion

Oh, how HUH apring of Love roflorabloth
Tlio unooitain glory of an April day ,
Which now HhowH all tho beauty of tlio Sun,
And by and by a Cloud taken all away.

Love's heralds should bo thoughts,
"Which ton timoa faster glide than tho Sun'H

bourns

Driving back Shadows ovoi low'ring hills
Therefore do nimble-pinion' d Doves draw

TJOVO,
And therefore hath tho miid-Hwift Cupid

O most potential Love ' vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou ait all, and all things else are thine.
"When thou unprassest, what are Precepts

worth

Of stale example ? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of Wealth, of filial Fear, Law, Kindred,

Famet*
Love's arms are Peace, 'gainst rule, *gainst

sense, 'gainst shame ,

And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it boars,
The Aloes of all foicos, shocks, and fears.

Shah ^pere — About 1610,

202.— ENGLA3TO

This loyal Thione of Kings, this sceptor'd Isle,
This Earth of Majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradi&e ,
This Fortress, built by Nature foi herself,
Against infection, and the hand of war ;
This Happy breed of men, this little world ;
ThiB piocious Stone set in the Silver Sea,
Which serves it m the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Agauiht tho envy ot less happier lands ,
Tliia blessed plot, thw Earth, this Realm, this

EngLiud

Dear foi her Reputation through tho woild.

— About 1610,

203 —ORDER AND OBEDIENCE.

While thai tho aimed Hand doth fight abroad,
Tho adviHod Head defends itsolf at home
For Government, though high, and low, and

lower,

Put into partu, dotty keep m. ore ^onwent ;
(Jong-ruing in a full and natural do 10,
Like music

Therefore doth Heaven divide
Tho state of Man in divers functions,
Setting endeavour m continual motion j
To which la fixed, au an aim or butt,
Obedience for so work the Honey-boos ,
Croatvues, that, by a rule in nature, teach
Tho act of order to a peopled Kingdom.
They have a King, and Officers of sorts •
Where some, like HagiHtratcH, correct at home;
Others, hko Morohautn, venture trade abroad j
OtliorH, like Soldiers, armed in their stings,
Make boot upon the Hummer's velvet buds ;
Which pillage they with merry maroh bring

home

To the tent-royal of their Emperor •
Who, busied in his Majoaljy, surveys
Tlio Hinging Masons building roofs of gold ;
Tho civil Citizens kneading up the honey ,
The poor mechanic porters crowding m
Their heavy bin dons at his narrow guto ,
Tho sad-oyod Justice, with Ms surly hum,
Delivering o'er to executors pale
Tho lazy yawning Drone I this infer,—
That many ihinga, having full reform 09

PBOPEJR USE OF TALENTS.

To one consent, may work contrariously
As many Arrows, loosed sororal ways,
Fly to one mark ,

As many several ways meet in one Town ,
As many fresh streams ran in ono self Sea ,
As many linos clone in tho Dial's centre ;
So may a thousand actions, once afoot,
End in one purpose, and be all well borne
Without defeat.

1C10

204— PROPER USE OF TALENTS

Heaven doth with ns, as wo wath torches do,
Not light them for thomHolvos. for if our

virtues

Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not* Spirits are not finely

touched,

But to fine issues ; nor Nature never lends
The smallest soruplo of her excellence,
But, lake a thrifty goddess, she determines
Herself tho glory of a creditor,
Both thanks and uso

c. — Aleut 1010.

305.— TAKE THE BEAM OXTT OF THINE
OWN EYE.

Go to your bosom
Knock there, and ask your heart, what it doth

know

That's lake my brother's fault , if it confess
A natural gniltinofis, such at) is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your tonoruo
Against my brother's liio

— Aboid 1610.

206 —THE VOICE OF THE DYTNO

Tho tongues of (lying men
Inforco attention, like deep harmony
Where wordH are scarce, bhoy'ro Ftoldoin hponli

in vain*
For they broatho truth, that broallio thoir

words in pain.

He that no more muat Hay, is huton'd inoro
Than they whom youth and ease Lavo

taught to gloflo ;
More are men's ends mark'd, than tlioir lives

before

The setting sun, and mnaio in tho clone*,
As tho last taste of swootH IB Hwooient Iai4 ,
Writ in remembrance, more than things long

past.

207 —A GOOD CONSCIENCE

What stronger breastplate than a heart un-

tainted?

Tlinoo is he arm'd that hath his quarrel JUH! ;
And he but naked, though look'd up in Htool,
Whose conscience with injustice IH corrupted.
Shaksp&rc.— About 1010.

208—0001) NAMK.
Good name in man ami woman, d
TH tho immediate jewel of iheir nmls
Who RtoalH my purso, stealH trash , 'li \ some-

thing, nothing
'Twas mine, 'tis his , and lias boon iiluve t«»

Tint ho that hlolif»s from tno my K<>»'] immi1,
Juobs me of Unit winch not/ ctnichc t linn,
And makes mo poor m<W<I

ifanif 1<U<».

209.— AIUKI/S

Whore tlio boo Hu<»kn, thoro lurk 1 :
In a oowHlip'H b*»H I lio j
Thoro I c'onch whon owlw <Io n-> ,
On tho bat'H bwk I do fly.
After Hummer moinly,
Morrily, tnornly, ftiiall T livo, now,
Under tho bloKHom that JianifK on tli
bough.

210— THK FAIUT TO I»U(!K.

Ovor hill, ovor ilaln,

Thorough bushf thorough l»ri.ir,

Ovor )>ark, ovor 7Mih»,

Thorough Hood, tlinroiif.h lin%

I df) wander ov<»ry whons

Hwiftor than tho uiooiurH Hjihon),

And C wrvc* th<» Fairy Qn<'(^i,

To dow hor orbrt ttpoii lh<» lyromt :

Tho cowHlipH tall hor ponhionm IK\

In their gold coatH Hpotn you two,

Those bo rubioH, fairy favour :

In those frookloK livo tlunr wivourn.

1 mnHt pro Hook Honut dow-droptt h<»ro,

And hang a pouil nt every r<m\ lip'.' <k;ir.

an— AMIMNW S()N<1.
Blow, blow, thou winter wu»lt
Thou arii not HO unkind

AH man'H intfratitudo t
Thy tooth IH noi HO keen,
iJeoaiiHo thou art nod MOCII,

Although thy l>r«MiUi IMI ruil«.

"fcYwwjo, fiv^jKO, ilioti In'Uer iiKv,
That do'.i not Into (to uitfh

AH boHitfiiti f«»n?ot •
Though ihou Uut water t warp,
Thy Htin'jr IH nol. HO nliarp

AH fnoird roniorrih*r<»<l not.

Oh, do not wrong1 wiy homwfc nimplo ixiidlt f
Mywdf aiul my (vfTwitionN ttro IIH puro
AH thoHc cliUHto ihunoH that buru bcforo i \ <
Hhriuo

1558 h 1610.]

SONG.

[BEAUMONT AND FLETCHEB

Of the groat Bum only my intent

To draw yon hither was to plight our troths,

With interchange of mutual chaste embraces,

And ceremonious tying of our souls.

For to that holy wood is consecrate

A virtuous well, about whose flowery banks

The nimble-footed fames dance their rounds,

By tho pale moonshine, dipping oftentimes

Their stolen children, so to make them free

Yrom dyins? flonh and dull mortality

By tliiH fair fount hath many a shepherd

Hworo,

And given away his freedom • many a troth
Boon plight, which neither Envy nor old Time
Oould over break, with many a chaste kiss

given

"By this fresh f ount'un many a blushing maid
Hath crown'd tho head of her long-loved

Hhopherd

"With gaudy flowers, whilst ho happy sung
Lays of Inn love and dear captivity

Bca/umont and Fletcher. — About 1047.

213.— NATTTKE ANI> LOVE
Whither goosi thou? Here be woodn as

AH any, air likewise as fiosh and sweet

AH where smooth Sfiophynw plays on the floot

FILCO of tho curled stioaius, with flowoia as

many
Art tlio young spring givof*, and a« choice as

any
Hcio bo all now dolights, cool streams and

ArbourH o'orgrown with woodbinoa, oaves

and dollH ,
OhooHO whore thou wilt, while I sit by and

mug,

< >r gather rashes to make many a ring
, For thy long finffors , toll thoo talorf of lovo ;
*Mow the pale Phaibo, hunting in a grove,
FirHt Haw tlio boy Endymion, from whoso oyos
Mlio took eternal fire that never dies ,
How H!IO convoyed him soitly in a sleep,
Ittrt tomploR bound with poppy, to tho stoop
Head of old Latinos, where uho stoops each

4 hiding tho mountain with hor brother's

To kitw hor swootoHl

JJcaumont and Fldclier — About 1047

214.— CESAR'S LAMENTATION OVEB
POMl'EY'S HEAD

Oh, thou Conqueror,

Thoti glory of tho world onco, now tho pity ,
Thou awe of nations, wherefore didst thou

fj.ll thus P
What poor fato followed thoo and plucked

thoo on

To trust thy Haorod Uf o to an Egyptian ? —
Tho life and light of Ifcomo to a bund stranger

That honourable war ne'er taught a noble*

Nor worthy circumstance showed what a man

was? —
That never heard thy name sung but in ban-

And loose lascivious pleasures ? — to a boy
That had no faith to comprehend thy great-
ness,

No study of thy life to know thy goodness ? —
And leave thy nation, nay, thy noble friend,
Loavo him distrusted, that in tears falls with

thoe—
In soft relenting tears p Hear me, great

Pompey,

If thy groat spirit can hear, I must task thee,
Thou hast most unnobly robbed me of my

victory,
My love and mercy.

Egyptians, dare ye Jfli-mlr your highest pyra-
mids,

Built to outdure the sun, as you suppose,
Wheio your unworthy kings he raked in ashes*
Are monuments fit for him P No, brood of

Nilus,

Nothing can cover his high fame but heaven ;
No pyianuds set off his memories,
But tho eternal substance of his greatness,
Tc which I leave >"™

BeoMTnont and Fletcher — About 1647.

215 —MELANCHOLY.

Honce, all you vain delights,
As short as are tho mghtu

Wherein you spend your folly •
There's nought in this life sweet,
If man wore wise to Peo't,

But only melancholy '

Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes,
A High that piercing mortifies,
A look that's fasten' d to the ground,
A tongue cham'd up, without a sound I

Fountain heads, and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves '
Moonlight walks, when all the towls
Aio warmly hous'd, save bats and owls ;
A midnight boll, a parting groan '
Those aio tho sounds wo feed upon ;
Thon stretch our bones in a still gloomy

valley

Nothing's so dainty-sweet as lovoly melan-
choly.

Beaowjwmt and Fletcher. — About 1047*

216— SONG.

Look out, bright oyos, and bless the air !
Even in shadows you aro fair.
Shut-up beauty is liko nre,
That breaks oat clearer still and higher.

BUATTKONT AND FLETCTTKIS

THE POWEB OF LOVE

[THIRD I'l.lMOI). —

Though your beauty 1)0 confin'd,
And soft Love a pi isouor bound,

Yet the beauty of your mind,

Neither chock nor chain liath found.

Look out nobly, then, and daro
Ev'n the fottois that you wear !

JJtwutnont awl Flvtclier. — About 1C 47

217— THE POWEE OF LOVE

Hear yo, ladies that despise

"What tho mighty Love has done ,
Fear examples and bo wise «

Fair Calisto was a nun
Leda, sailing on tho stream,

To deceive tho hopes of man,
Love accounting but a dream,

Doted on a silver swan ,
Danae in a bra/ou tower,
Whore no love wan, lov'd a shower.

Hoar ye, ladioR that are coy,

What tho mighty Lovo can do ,
Fear tho fioicenosH of the boy ;

Tho chaste inoon ho makoH to woo
VoRta, kindling hoi y firoM,

Circled lound about with spies
Nevor di naming loose desires,

Doting at tho altar dios ,
Bion in a Hhoit hour hi»lv»i ,
Ho can build, and once more fire
Beaumont mi<l Flrtrhn

21 8— TO SLEEP

Care-charming Sloop, Ihou oasor of all woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
On this afUirtod prinoo fall like a cloud
In gentle showois , give nothing that is lond
Or pomful to hw slumbers, easy, fewoot

[Tight f ],

And as a pnrlmg stream, thon sou of night,
Pass by his tioublod HO.UHOH, sing Ins pain
Like hollow murmuring \\ UK I or j;eutle rain
Into this pnnoo, goutly, oh, gmitlv slido,
And kits him into slumbers liko a bndo '

Buwnwnt ttntl Ftelrhri —Alun't 1G47

219— FROM HOLLO.

Take, oh ' take those hpH away,

That so sweetly wore forsworn,
And those eyes, tho brcuk of day,

Lights that do mislead tho morn ,
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, though soalM in vam
Hide, oh ' hide those hdls of snow,

Which thy fiozon bosom boars,
On whoso tops tho pinks that giow

Are yet of those that April wears ;
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those ioy chains by thoo.

fieaumont and JPletclwr — Alwwt 1047

220— S()X(J TO PAN
All yo woods, and trcos, and bow'r.;,
All >o virtues ami yo po\v'in
That inhabit in tho lakes,
In tho i>l<»asaiit springs or

Movo your i<M»l,
To our sound,

Whilst wo gro(»t

All this ground.
With his honour itud IUM imnio
That dofwuU our flockn Jrom l
Ito is groat, and 1m is just,
Ho ih ovor good, and must
ThuH 1)0 Imuour'd. l)alT«thli«»i
Itosos, pinks, and loved lih*«K,

Lei* us fling,

Whilst wo sing,

Evor holy,

Kv<»r holy,

F3vor houourM, <»vor young !
Thus groat l*au is <»ver sun*:.

221 — THH VANITY OP

11817.

Why did my parents «*e»nil m<» io HM« t*\\nn\ <
That! with know IIM l*ii» mi^lii onricliin. in MM I

Hiuco tho cl<»sm* to know iirnt uuuln i»i«»u i*n»l »
And did corrui»t th<» root of all mankind »

For when Ood's hatid luwl written in the h<»art -
Of tho first piiieuis, all 1h« ruli't of "-nrMl,

So that their skill int'usM, <hd pn.<< all art '
That over \\ere, bef«»rc», or sine<« the flood ,

And whcnthfir reaHon'se\ewas Juupnnd elear,
And (ah an oa;>Ie c;ni b(khold the ,>mi)

Could liavnapproai^hM llif eienm! li'>li(.nsti«,tr,
As th' lutollectual aui:«»ls eould h.m« don«>

E'en thon to them the spirit, of JMM Mp^e I-*,
That th<»v woro blind, IIWIUIM* (lu>\ ,iw not
ill,

And linsitUM into i.hcir ineorruptoil l»i'eujt i
A ciinoiiH \\ish, \vhich did <'<»rru|»t llu'ip-vvtll.

Koi that Maine ill the.v straight di« 'ir d to Kiinw ;

WliK'h ill, lioiii^ niui^lil bni adei'eei, of ifnifd,
In all God's works ilie de\il oonld ix»t. Hltow,

Whilo tniuiibcii* lord in his perfect ion ,.tood.

So that themsehes wero iirst. to do the iilt
Erotho.y theieof the knowledfeemdd attain,

Liko him iha.1. knew noi poisonV |xnve]'i.o kdl,
Until (by tasting it) hiniholt warf clam,

E'on so by tasting of that fnut forltnl,
Whero they sought knowled;r<» they did error
find,

HI ihoy dohir'd to know, aiul ill tliny did ;
And to givepaHHion eye**, ina.de. rc»aHon bliiirl.

For thon their miridh did first, In passion HW
l^ioso wrottJuvl shapes of rais<«ry and woc»,

Of nakedness, of sliaine, of poverty*
Which thon their own «xpori<«ieo Hindu them
know.

Fran 1558 to 1640 ]

THE VANITY OF HUMAN LEABNING

[SIR JOHN DAVIBS.

But then grew reason dark, that slie no more
Could tho faar forms of good and truth
discern ;

Bats they became, that eagles were before ,
And this they got by their desire to loam.

But wo, thoir wretched offflprmg, what do wo p
Do not we still taRte of tho fruit forbid ?

Whilst with fond fruitless curiosity,
In books profane we seek for knowledge hid

What is this knowledge ? but tho sky-stoPn fire,
For which tho thief still chain' d in ice doth

sit?

And which the poor rude satyr did admire,
And needs would kins, but burnt his lips
with it

What IR it p but tho cloud of empty ram,
Which when Jove's guest embraced, he

monsters got ?
Or tho false pails, •which oft being filTd with

pain,
Bocoiv'd tho water, but retain' d it not ?

In fine, what in it ? but tho fiery coach

Winch tho youth sought, and sought his

death withal P

Oi tho boy'ft wings, which TV hun he did approach
Tlio sun's hot beams, did melt and let him
fall?

And yet, alas ' when all our lamps are burn'd,
Our bodioH wanted, and our spirits spout ,

Whou wo havo all tho loarnod volumes turnM
Which yield mon's wits both help and orna-
ment

What can wo know P or what can wo discern ?

When error clioakH tho wrrwlo WH of tho mind ,
Tho divers forms ol things, how can wo loam,

That have been over fiom our birth-day blind l

When reason1 s lamp, which (like tho cmuin sky)
Throughout man' B little world her beams did
spread,

IH now become a sparkle, wlncli doth lie
Under tho ashes, half extinct, and dead

How can wo liopo, that through eye and oar,

Tins dying sparkle, in this cloudy place,
Can recollect these beams of knowledge rloai,

Which woro inf us'd m tlio iirnt munis by

grace P
So might tlie heir, whoso father hath in play

Wasted a thousand poundb of ancient rent,
Hy painful earning of OTIO groat a day,

Hope to rostoro tho patrimony spont.

Tlio wits that div'd most deep, and f»oar'd

most lugh,

^^kuig man's pow'rs, have found his weak-
ness such .

Skill comes so slow, and life HO fast doth fly,
Wo loarn so littlo and forgot so much "

For this tho wisost of all moral men
fluid, he know nought, but that ho nought
did know,

.Aiultht) groat moekmg-maKtor mook'tlnot thon,
Whon ho said, Truth was buriod doop below.

For how may we to other things attain,
When none of us his own soul understands P

For which the Devil mocks our curious brain,
When, Know thyself, his oracle commands

For why should we tho busy soul believe,
When boldly she concludes of that and this,

When of herself she can no judgment give,
Nor how, nor whence, nor where, nor what
she is ?

All things without, which round about wo see,
We seek to know, and how therewith to do

But that whereby wo reason, live, and be,
Within oursolvos, wo strangers are thereto

We seek to know the moving of each sphere,
And the strange cause of th' ebbs and floods
of Nilo,

But of that clock within our breasts we bear,
The subtle motions we forget the while

Wo that acquaint ourselves with ov'ry zone,
And pass both tropics, and behold each pole,

When we come home, are to ourselves un-
known,
And unacquainted still with our own soul.

Wo study speech, but others we persuade ,
We loooh-crait loarn, but others euro with it,

Wo interpret laws, which other men have made,
But load not those which in oui hearts are

Wilt

Is it because the mind is like the eyo,

Through which it gathers knowledge by
degrees,

Whoso rays reflect not, but spread outwardly ,
Not scomg itself whon other things it sees P

No, doubtless , for tho mind can backward cast
Upon herself, her understanding's light,

But she IB so corrupt, and so dofao'd,
As hor own image doth herself affright

As is the fable of tho lady fair,

Which for hor lust was turn'd into a cow,
Whon tliirsty to a stream she did repair,

And saw horsolf transform'd sho mat not
how

At first sho startles, thon sho stands amazed ,

At list with terror hhe from thence doth fly,

And loathes the wat'ry glass wherein sho

gazed,

And shuns it still, though sho for thirst
doth die

E'on so mau'rt soul which did God's imago

boar,
And was at first fair, good, and spotless

pure,

Since with hor sins hor beauties blotted woro,
Doth of all sights her own sight loast en-
dine

For e'en at fust reflection sho espies

Such strange chimeras, and such monsters

thero,

Such toys, such antics, and such vanities,
As sho retires, and shrinks for shame and
fear

SIB JOHN DAYIE3 ] THE SOUL MOKE THAN THE SENSE

) PERIOD

And as tho man loves least at homo to bo,
That hath a aluttish houso haunted with

sprites ,

So she impatient her own faults to see,
Turns fiom herself, and in sti mgo

delights
For this few know themselves for merchants

broke

View their estate with discontent and pain,
And seas are troubled, when they do revoke
Their flowing waves into thomnclvoi* again

And while the face of outward things wo find,

Pleasing and fair, agreeable and swoot,
These things transport, and cany out the

mind,
That with herself the mind can never moot

Yet if Affliction once her

And threat the feebler sense with sword and

fire,
The mind contracts her-solf , and shnnkoth in,

And to herself she gladly doth rotiie

As spiders touch'd, seek their web's inmoBt

part,

As boos in storms back to their hives return,
As blood in daugor gathers to the heart ,
As men week towns, when foes the country
burn.

If aught can teach TIS aught, affliction' H look«,
(Making us pry into ourselves HO nour)

Teach us to know ourselves beyond all bookH,
Or all the learned nohools that over wore

This mistress lately plnok'd mo by the oar,
And many a golden lowson hath mo taught ,

Hath made my aonHos quick, and reason clear,
Beforin'd my will, and rootify'd my thought.

So do the winds and thunders cleanse the air
So working seas settle and purge the wine

So lopp'd and pruned tioos do flourish fair
So doth the fire the dronay gold TO One.

Neither Minerva, nor the learned M"uflo,
Nor rules of art, nor piocopts of the WIHO,

Could m my brain those boiimn of nkill infnHO,
As but the glance of this damo'w aujpry oyoH

She within list« my ranormi* mind hath brought,
That now beyond mynolf I will not go ,

Myself am centre oC my circling thought,
Only myself I study, loom, and know

I know my body's of so frail a kind,

As force without, fevers withm can kill
I know the heavenly nature of my mind,

But 'tis corrupted both in wit and will
I know my soul hath power to know all tilings,

Yet is she blind and ignorant in aU •
I know Tm one of Nature's little kuign,

Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall.
I know my life's a pain, and but a span ,

I know my sense is mook'd in cv*ry thing
And to conclude, I know myself a man,

Which is a proud, and yet a wretched thing.
Sir John J}jmos.—Ab(>t<t 1000

222— THAT THE SOUL IS NOftW THAN
A PEUFECTION, 014 ItEJKLEilTlON OK

THE SENSE

Are they not sonwolosH, then, that ilunk tho Houi
Nought but a fine poi faction of ilxi HOUHO,

Or of the ioiinn which fancy doth enroll ,
A quick icHulting, and a eonHoquoiioo ?

"What is it, then, that doth tho nonsn IMMMWS
Both of ialno judgniont, and foml jbppotitiw J

What makes us do what nonso doth UK >st. T of IIM»,
Which oft in torment ot tho HOIIHO d

Sense thinks tho planota* nphoios not much

asunder .

What tolls XIH, thon, tho dwi-nnco IH Hn far »»
SOUHO thinks tho lightning born bufoio tho

thunder
What tells us, thon, they both together tiro *'

Wlion mon soom CTOWH far off upon a tow'r,
Sense 8ail.li, they're crowv what makon us

think thom mou r1

When wo in acjuoH think all wwoot things Hour,
What rnakoi UM know our tongue's ittls»*

What pow'r was that, wltoroby
And wull approvM, and pruis'd thu hott«n

courHo ,

Whon lier tolwllioiw BOH«O did HO withdraw
Her foeblo pow'rs, that who pursuM tho
worso ?

Did Honso pormiaile UlyHHOs not to luw
Tho mormaid'H sozigs \vhioh HO his mon <1id
please,

That thor wore all persuaded, throngli tho oiu,
To quit tho ship and leap into tho HOJU.''

Could any pow'r of HOIIHO tho I2osntin tnovo,
To burn hw own right lund with t%<>uni)*t>

stout ?
Could sense make Marius tul i»il>oun<l, and

prove
Tho cruel lancing of tho knotty gout :

Doubtless, in man thoro is a nalur« found,
Besides tho HOIIHOM, and ubovo thorn f.tr ,

" Though most mou boing in tummial ploiuiurc }

drownM,
It aooins thoir Houls but in tboir Honmw aro."

If wo had nought but HOTIHO, thon only tlioy
Should have Houud iiuiidn, which have thmr
Hounil

, ,

And folly moHt in quickest HOUHO in found.

If wo had nou« lit but HOUHO, caoh living wight,
Which wo call bnito, would bo moro nhurp
than we ;

As having nonwj'H approhonHivo might
In a moro clear and excellent degree.

But they do want that quick diHOOurBinff pow'rf
Which doth in UH tho erring Bonso corro<»t ;

Therefore tho boo did rtuck tho pnlntoil ilow'i,
And birds, of grapoM, the ounnmg Hhadow
peok'd

7'fj\*m 1558 to 1G49 ]

TUB IMMORTALITY OP THE SOUL.

[SiB JOHN DAYIES.

•Sonse outsidos knows, the soul through all

things soos .
Sense, circumstance , she doth tho substance

viow

Sense BOOS tho bazk, but sho iho lifo of trees ;
SenHO hears tho sounds, but she the concords
tiuo

Uut why do I the soul and sense divide,
When sense is but a pow'r, which she ex-
tends,

Which being- in divers paits diversify* d,
Tho divers foims of objects apprehends P

This power spioads outward, but the root doth

grow

In th' inward soul, which only doth porcoive ,
For th' oyos and ears no more thoir objects

know,
Than glaSHOS know what faces they receive

Foi if wo chance to fk our thoughts elsewhere,
Though our eyes open bo, wo cannot see

And if ono pow'r did not both soo and hoar,
Our sights and sounds would aJways^doublo
bo

Thou is tho soul a nature, which contains
Tho pow'r of sense, within a groator pow'r j

Which doth employ and TIHO tho Bonso'H painw,

But sits d r\doa within hor private bow'r

tor John Ifoi<M» — About ItfOO

223 —THAT THE SOTIL IS MORE THAN
THE TEMPERATURE OF THE
HUMOURS OF THE BODY.

If Hho doth then tho subtle Honwo excel,

How gross are they that drown hor m tho
blood ?

Or m tho body's humonrH tompor'd woll ;
AH if in them such high perfection stood P

AH if mont skill in that mumoian wore,

Which had tho boat, aud bent tun'd instru-
ment r*

AH if tho pencil neat, and colourw oloar,
Had pow'r to make tho painter oxcollont P

Why doth not bounty thon rofmo tho wit,
And good complexion rectify tho will r1

Why doth iioi health bring wisdom utill with

it?
Why doth not sickness make men brutish

Ktlll?

Who can m memory, or TV it, or will,
Oi air, or liro, 01 earth, or water find P

What alchynunt can draw, with all hiw skill,
Tho quintoHHOnoo of thobo out of the mind r*

If th' olouiontH which have nor life, nor sense,
Can brood in us so groat a pow'r as HUM,

Why givo they not thom Helves liko excellence,
Or othor tlungH whoruui thoir mixture is ?

If sho woro but tho body's quality,

Thon Hho would bo with it sick, maim'd, and
blind:

Put wo porcoivo whoro those privations bo,
An healthy, perfect, and sharj>Bightod mind

II sho the body's nature did partake,

Her strength would with the body's strength

But when the body's strongest sinews slako,
Thon is tho soul most active, quick, and gay

If she wero but the body's accident,
And hor sole being did in it subsist,

As white in snow, &he might herself absent,
And in the body's substance not be misa'd

But it on hor, not &ho on it depends ,

For sho the body doth sustain and cherish. ;

Such secret pow'rs of life to it she lends,
That when they fail, then doth the body
pensh

Since thon the soul works by herself alone,
Springs not from sense, nor humours woll

agreeing,

Her nature is peculiar, and hor own ,
She is a substance, and a perfect being

Sir John Dawies — About 1COO.

224— IN WHAT MANNER THE SOUL
IS TJMTED TO THE BODY.

Bat how shall we tTrifl union well express P
Nought ties the soul, hor subtlety is fluch ;

Sho moves the body, which she doth possess ,
Yot no part touchoth, but by virtue's touch.

Thon dwells sho not therein, as in a tont ;

Nor as a pilot in hiH ship doth bit ,
Noi as tho spider in his wob is pout ,

Nor as tho wax retains tho print in it ,

Nor as a vosuol water doth contain ,
Nor as as ono liquoi in another shed ,

Nor as tho heat doth in tho nro remain ;
Nor as a voice throughout the air is spread •

But as tho fair and cheerful morning light
Doth hoxo and there her silver beams impart,

And in an instant doth herself unite

To tho transparent air, m all and ev'ry part :

Still re&ting wholo, whon blows tho air divide;

Abiding pure, whon th' air is most cor-
rupted ,
Throughout the air, hor beams diHpoiHincf wide;

And whon tho air is towa'd, not interrupted.

So doth tho piercing- soul tho body £11,
Being all in all, and all m part diifus'd ,

Indivisible, incorruptible still ,

Not forc'd, onoountor'd, troubled, or con-
fus'd.

And as tho sun above tho light doth bring,
Though wo bohold it in tho air below T

So from th' Eternal Light tho soul doth spring,
Though in the body Hhe hor pow'rs do show.

1COO.

225 — THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL

Again, how can sho but immoital bo,

Whon with tho motions of both will and wit,

Sho still aspzioth to otoimty,
And never rests, ML sho attain to it P

SIR JOHN DAVEBS.J

THE IMMOUTAUTY OF THE SOUL

[TmuD

Water in conduit pipe* can iiso no higher
Than the well-hoad from whence it first doth
spring

Then since to etoinal God she doth aspire,
She cannot be but on eternal thing

" All moving things to other tilings do move,
Of tho same kind which &IXQWH their nature

such "
So earth falls down, and fire doth mount

above,
Till both thoir proper* elements do touch

And as tho moisture, which tho thirsty earth
Sucks from tho sea, to fill her empty veinn,

From out her womb at last doth take a birth,
And runs a lymph along tho grassy plaitiH

Long doth she stay, an loth to leave tho land,
From whoso soft Ride she first did ihsiie

She tastes all places, tuinR to every hand,
Her flow'ry banks unwilling to foisnko

Tet nature so her streams doth load and carry,
AH that her course doth mnko no final stay,

Till she herself unto llio ocean marry,
Within whowo wiit'rv bosom lirHt who lay.

E'en so tho sonl, wlneli m this earthly mould
Tho spirit of God dolh soorotly infuso,

Because at first who doth tho earth behold,
And only this material world she VIOWH

At first her mother earth who holdoth door,
And doth embrace the world, and woildly

things ,
She flies close by tho ground, and hovers

here,
And mounts not up with her colostial wings

Yet under heaven she cannot light on aught
That with her heavenly nature doth agroo ,

She cannot rest, sho cannot fix her thought,
She cannot in tlus world oontentod bo

For who did over yot, m honour, wealth,
Or pleasure of tho HOUHO, contentment find ?

Who ever coasM to wish, when ho had health V
Or having wiwlom, wiw not voxM m mind P

Then as a boo whioh among woods doth fall,
Which seom wwoot flow'rs, \vith liwiro Irosh

and gay*

She lights on that, and this, and tasteth all ,
But, pleas' d with uono, doth rise and soar
away

So, when tho soul findn hero no truo content,
And, like Noah's dove, can no suro footing

take,
She doth return fiom whence nh« first wan

sent.

And fliea to him that firnt her wingfi did
make*

Wit, seeking truth, from cause to cause as-
cends,

And never rests, till it tho first attain .
Will, seeking good, find* many middle4 ends,

But never stays, till it the last do gam.

Now God tlio truth, an<l fiiht, of cause* is ,
God IH tho last good ond, wliush bistot li htill ;

Being Alpha and Oiucufi* num'd For this ,
Alpha to wit, Omega to tin1 \vill,

Since then hor heavenly kind nbe <iof.li din-

In that to God she doih dmHly move :
And on no moital thing ran make her stay,
Sho cannot bo from heiwe, but from «bo\<».

And yot tlus first true, cause, and la it good
end,

Sho (Minnot hero HO well and truly t <M« ,
For this porfootion Hh« nuwt y<»t u<i.<ku<i,

Till to hor Maker Hue (ihpoused 1n»

AH ft kmg'H dauglit^r, boni'jr in perM»n • « uvht
Of divers }>rmc,oH, who <l<> iteiifhnour IIOJIP,

()n noun of them can fix a COIN tint thought ^
Though who to all do lend u j^»ntl«» ear •

Yet can Hhn lovo a foreign

Wliom of gi«at worth ami pow'r hlut Jw*nrr

to bo,
If nho bo wooM but l>.y ambahnntlor,

Oi but hiH lotteis, 01 hi« i»iclureh M<M«

For well Hho Ivnown, tliat when nlie sliull }u>

brought
Into tho kingdom whom hoi HJ»OU »» <loth

Her eyes Hhull Keo what sh<t con<'<»i\M in

thought,
Himself, hm Btuto, IHH glory, nu»l hn tram,

So wlulo tho virtfin HOU! <m <»jiri,li <U)1h -lay,
Sho wooM and t(jmp<<Ml m ien ihou^ind

ways,
By thewe groat pow'w which on the earth bear

wwav ,
llio wiwloza of tho world, w<»ulih, ii]«>u nn*,

With thoHO sometimes sho doth hor time
boguilu,

Those do by fits liei fantimy po.r e » j
But Hho distiLHtoH them all within a while,

And in tho hweoteHt finds a tediou tn<< M ,

But if upon tho world's AhmjrMy Km"
Sho <>ne« doth iiK her humble, lo'viuj* ilidtt^hf ,

Who by IUH pialim) driiwn in every thn»«r
And saorod meHHugen, her lo\e halli ^ on /hi ;

Of him H!IO thmkrt Hhooamioi think iooitiueh;

Thw honey tjj«f,(Ml Hi.ill, JM c»v«r t*w<«i*t. ,
Tho plottHunt of hei ravishM iiifiti^hi i", ueh,

AH almost horo H!I<» with her blrn cloilt ni'M'f .

But whon in hoav(«n H!IO Khali his <» otif«» ,ets
Thw IH hor Hov'ioigti good, and ju'ri wt tillih :

Hor longing, wishiiigH, hopes, nil fini* JiM be ;
Ilor joyH are full, hor motionn re^t in thlt \

ThoroiH sho crown'd with garhuidM of <>ouf ent* ;
Thoto doth Hho manna eat, and no<'tur driuK ;
That proHon«o dotJi Hiieh high deliKlits prexwif,
Aa novcr tonguo could Hpouk, nor heart
could think

Sir John, fkiriwr-Alinul X(KK).

1558 «o 1610]

A HOOT TO CHRIST

[JOHN

226 —AN APPEAL TO THE HEABT

0 ignorant poor man ' what clotjt than bear
Lock'd up within tho cankot of thy breast r*

What jowoln, and what riches hawt thoti there ?
What hoav'nly troaHTiro in ao weak a chest P

Look in thy soul, and tliou ahalt beauties find,
Like those which drown'd NaiciHsus in tho
flood

Honour and pleasure both arc in thy mind,
And all that in tho woild IB counted good.

Think of hor woith, and think that God did

moan,
Thin woithy miud should worthy tilings

oml)raco
Blot not hor boautuss with thy thoughts un-

clean,
Nor hor dishonour wilh thy passion l>aso

Kill not hor quu'k'imig pow'r with nurfoitingB
Mar not hor souso with scuHuality .

Cast not her wit on idle ihiii'jn
Mako not hoi fioo will slave to vanity.

And when thou tlimk'st of her ctoruHy,
'Hunk not that doath u",iunst her nature is ,

Think it a birth and when ihou go's! to (ho,
Mini? like a Hwau, aH if thou wont' si to bW

And if thou, hko a child, dulwi

Jiping m tho durlswlicio thoudulst nothing

HOC ,

Now I have brought then torch-light, fc.tr no

moro ,

Now wlum thou ily'hti, thou oaiiHt not hood-
wmk'd b<»

And Ihou, my Hotil, which turii'nt with rurioim

<».vo,

To \iowtho boauwof tluno own form <Uvmo,
Know, that thoti canst know nf>tlun^ ^Knrfi»*ily,
Whilo Hum art oloiuUul with thw Uonh of
ruliio,

ir, au<I

lh'H lV<»t with i,liy
tram

Study tho bost and lii'jImNt tlun^H tlitii
I>ui of thynclf an luunblo thought i

(Jasli down ibysolf, and mily nil ivo to TIUHO

Tho jflory of thy Mak(*i*H Hounxl luuuo
Uso all thy pow'rMtlLtttbloHMOcipow'rlojajiNo,
WhHi |^iv<'S tlicc pow'r to l»o, an<l use tho
wuno

Kir Jolm I )< tries. —About, KiOO.

227,— ADDttKHH TO IU«J1()JP VAJJGN
TFNM,

OH flu' (7(f»/ nf tht* nun fitly? <{f 1hc Kh'
rnlnluif to (ht> I'littcr^ Kh iibi'th

IIn.il, iJihho]} Valoutmo ' whoso day thih is,
All tbo air IH thy oUocoso,
Ami all tho (jbirjiiti^ < horihtcrn
And other birds oro thy 7)ariHlii(inorh
Tliou luuiryoBt, ovory year,

Tho lyiie lark and tho grave whiHponngr clovo;
Tho Hpiurow that noglootH hw life for lovo,
Tho houHohold bird with hit) rod Htomaohor ;
Thou nuik'Ht the blackbird ppeod aH noon,
AB doth the goldfinch or the halcyon ,
This day more cheerfully than ever whmo ,
This day which might inflame thynolf, old
Valentino '

* # # «

John Down,e. — About 1G30.

228— A HYMN TO THE FATHER

Wilt Thou foryivo that am whore I begun,
Which was my sin, though it \voro <lono

before P
Wilt Tliou forgive that win, thxough nthiuh I

nui,

And do mn Htill, though Htill I do doploro ?
When Tliou ha»t done, Thou howt not <lono,
For I have more,

Wilt Thou forgive that win, which T have won
Othor-H to KUX, andmado my HUIH tlioir door?
Wilt Thou forgive that Rin which I did HUUU
A yoar or two, — but wallowM in a Hooro P
When Thou haHt dono, Tliou hast not dono,
For I have inoio.

I liavo a sin of foar, that when I've spun

My lunt tin pad, I sliall poriHh on tho whoro,
Hut riwoai by Thyself that at my death Thy

Won

Shall nhiiio as ho HliuiOH now and heretofore ,
And having done tliat Tliou biiHt done,
1 foar no more '

John, Ihiinc — About 1(580

229— A IfiTMN TO OHBTBT,
At Hw Author'* lust ffonuj into Germany

In what torn Hhip soovor I embark,
That Hhip HhuJil be my omblom of thyaik
What Hoa HOOVOF nwiillow me, that flood
Hlutll bo to mo an oiublcin of thy blood
Though thou with cloudn of angor do disfftiiho
Thy face, jottlirough thatmaHk 1 know those

Which, though thoy turn away
They never will (UmpiHo

I Hac'iifico thin inland unto tluio,

And all, whom I lovo horo, and who lovo mo ;

Wbon L havo put thiH Hood 'twist thorn untl

mo,

Put thou thy blood betwixt my wnw and tlioo,
AH tlio trco'H nap doth Hook the root below
III wmtor, in my winter now I go,
Whoro nono but theo, th' ctoinal root
Of trtio lovo, 1 may know.

Nor thou, nor thy religion, dont control
rrho amorounnoHH of an harmoiuouH HOU! ,
Jiut thou would'wt have that lovo thynolf : an

thou
Art joalouH, Lord, HO I am joolouH now

JOHN DONNIB ]

THE WILL.

Tin iu>

Thou lov'at not, till fiom loving moro thou

froe

My soul who over ^ivo*, takos hboity
Oh, if thou car1 at not whom I lovo,
Alas i thou lov'bt not mo

Seal then this bill of my divorce to all,
On whom thoae famtor bourns of lovo did fall ,
Marry those loves, which m youth Hcattor'd bo
On faoo, wit, hopes (false mistresses) to thou.
Ohurchos arc best for piayor, that havo loasfe

light,
To flee God only, I go out of sight •

And, to 'scape stormy days, I ohooao

John Donne — Aboitt 1G3Q

230.— THE WILL.

Before I sigh my last gawp, lot mo broatho
Groat Lovo, some legacies I horo boquoath
Mine eyos to Argus, if mmo oyon oan HOO ,
If they be blind, then, Lovo, I give thorn thon ;
My tongue to Faino, to aiubaHwadord mmo

oars,

To women, 01 tho Hoa, my toarw ,
Thou, Love, haHfc taught me horotoforo,
By making mo Horvo hor who had twonty moro,
That I should give to none but Huuh arf had

too muoh before

My constancy J to the planotd give ,

My truth to them who at cho court do hvo ;

Mine ingenuity and oponnodH

To JesuitH , to BuffooiiH my pontuvoiioss ;

My silence to any who abroad have boon ,

My money to a Capuchin
Thou, Love, taught' st mo, by appointing mo
To love there, where no lovo locoivod can bo,
Only to give to such as havo no good capacity

My faith I give to Koman OatholioH ;
All my good works uuto the HohwinaticB
Of AmHtordam , my boHb civility
And courtship to an imivoisity ,
My modo«ty I give to 8o1<boiri bare ;
My patience let gamontoiH Hliavn ,
Thou, Lovo, taught1 si mo, by making mo
Lovo her that holds my lovo diwpanty,
Only to givo to Uioao that count my gifts in-
dignity.

I give my reputation to those

Which woio my fnonda, mmo industry to

foes;

To schoolmen I bequeath my doubtf uluorfs ,
My sickness to physicians, or OXOOHH .
To Nature all tfw,t fin thyme kavc wnf !

And to my company my wit
Thou, Lovo, by making mo adore
Hor who begot this lovo in mo before,
Taught' st me to make as though I gave, when

I do but restore

To him for whom the passing boll next iollH
I give my physic books • my written roll«
Ot moral counsels I to 13odlam givo ,
Ily brazen medals, unto them which livo

In want of broad, to thorn which pans amotLf
All foreigners, my Kiulnh tongiio
Thou, Lovo, by wakmir »i<» l<>vc» on**
Who thmkn hor fiiotuNlup a tit, pmi.ion
For youngor IOVOIM, <Unt my .'jiftrf UIIH ch <] >s »•
portion

Thoroforo I'll quo n(» inon\ but I'll undo
The world by dym(.r, !»<•<• niso l«»\o <hiM too
Then all your bcuiutun will b«i no inoin woith I
Than gold m nnno^ wlion* none doUi drau it

forth,
And all your tfiiwos no moio inn shall ba\(»

Tlian a Hun-dinl in a JT,L\O
Thou, liOVtt, tatiufhVht tins l»> nuvkiti^ i»<»
Lovo hoi who doth iiou;Wti hoik nto and thoo.
To invont and praititho this ono way ti> uu-

nihiUto all thrcn.

John

231.—

As virtuous men pas« wildly away,
And whwpor to thoir wouls to ffo ,
Whilst Homo of thnir Ha»l fnonds <io **ny
Tho breath gooh now — and nonw ^v) •> "

Ho lot UH molt, and maUi* no HOMO,
No tour-floods, nor wuh-tomno'it/i mi»\»»
'Tworo piofaiiatdon of our joys
To toll tho laity our lo\o

Moving of IV oar Hi bungs h,intw iind
Men reckon what it did, and moanl ,
But tiopidntiou of iho Hi>ho.r<H,
Though gioaU'r fai, M iniioconl.

Dull, Hubluuary lovor's l<«o
(Whcmo Houl is HOUSO) ('iuuu>t admit
Atmmu'o, bct\uis« it doth rotnovo
which aliniontod it.

Hut we're by lovo ho much roflnod,
That ourHolv<H know not what It IH .
lut>nr-u<murod ol ilio mind,
(\iroloHH O>OH, UpH, aud Uaudrf (<» aii

Our two Houlrf, tlicrofoni (wlanh nni
rrhongh 1 must go, onduro not jo.1
A broach, but an c\pun'-<ion,
Llko gold to nn'y Llunnon bo.it

If thoy bo two, thoy urc^ two HO
AH HtifT twin compiL^HtH arc t\vo ;
Thy Houl, tho lix'd foot., luitknri HO -Jh
To niovo, but doth, if tV otlwjr <lo.

And though it in tlio oontro. wit,
Yot whon tho othoi fur doth
It lotinH, and hearkens after it,
And grown oroot an that <9omu t

Suoli wilt thou bo to mo, who niunt
Like tU' other font, obliquely run ;
'Iliy ilrninoHit niukon my «lrcl<w j»iHt,
And makou mo oiid wlu*ro f

Juhu ltonntt.-~AlMttt 1030.

From 1658 to 1G40.]

SONNETS.

[JOHN DONNE,

232 —SONG.

Sweetest Love, I do not go

for woaimoss of thoo,

Nor in hope tho world con show

A fitter love for mo.

But Bince that I

Must die at last, 'tis best

Thus to UPO myself in jent

By feigned doath to die

Yesternight the sun went lionco,
And yot w hero to-day ,
Ho hath no dcwro nor flense,
Nor half so short a way ,
Then foar not mo,
But believe that I s-hall make
HaHtior journoyH, ninoo I take
Moro wings and spuin than he
# * ) y

Johu Lhnnc — Alnttt 1030

233 —THE BREAK OF DAY.

Stay, O Sweet ' and do not rise •

Tho light that shines comes fiom thine eyca ,

Tho day broakH not — it IH my heart,

BofliuiHo that you and I must pint

Stay, or O!HO my joys will die,

And poriHtt in thoir infancy

'TiH trno, it'H day — what though it bo ?

O wilt thou thorolovo MHO from uio H

Why nhould wo iiso bccawo 'tin light?

Did wo lio down bociiuHo 'twaw night?

lovo, which in Hpito of daikxiotw bioufjht UH

liithor,
Should, in donpito of light, keep us together

Light hath no tonguo, but in all oyo ,
If it could Hpoak aw well OH spy,
ThiH wore the womb that it could say,
That, being woll, I fain would stay,
And that I loved my heart and honour HO,
That I would not from her that had them go

Must business thoo from hence remove ?

Oh, that's tho worst disease of love '

rrho poor, the foul, tho false, love can

Admit, but not the busy man

Ho which hath buHinoBH aiid makos lovo, doth

do
Such wrong Q& when a marned man doth woo

Jolm Donuo — About

234.— THE DT&EAM.

Imago of her whom I lovo more than nho
"VVTioHO fair impression m my faithful hoait
MakoH mo her mod»il, and makon her love mo
Ar» kingB do coinfi, to which their stamps im-
part

The value — go, and take my heart from honoo,
Winch now is grown too great and good for

tno.

Honours oppress weak spirits, and our sense
Strong objects dull , tho more, tho IOHS wo sec

When you are gone, and reason gone with you,
Then phantasy is queen, and soul, and all ,
She can present joys meaner than you do,
Convenient, and more proportional
So if I dream 1 havo you, I have you,
For all our joys aio but fantastical,
And FO I 'scape tho pain, for pain is true ;
And sloop, which looks up sense, doth lock

out all

After such a fruition I shall wake,
And, but the waking, nothing shall repent ;
And phall to lovo more thankful sonnets makor
Than if more honour, tears, and pains, were

bpent.

But, dearest heart, and dearer image, stay ;
Alas ' true joys at boat are dreams enough
Though you fttay hero you pass too fast away,
For even at first life's taper is a snuff
Fill d with her love, may I be rather grown
Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.
John Donne — About 1630,

235— SONNETS.

IT

A due by many titles, I resign
Myself to thce, 0 God lirst I was made
By thco and for thoe , and, when I was docay'd,
Thy blood bought that, tho which befoie was

thine ,

I ,un thy pon, made with thyself to hhino,
Thy f-civant, whose pains thou hast still le-

Thy Hhoop, thmo imago, and, till I botray'd
M^Holf, a temple oi thy hpint divine
Why doth the dovil then u&uip on me ?
Why doth he Htoal, nay, ravibh that's thy

rights
Except thou liso, and for thine own work

light,

( )h ' I shall soon despair, when I shall see
That thou lov'st mankind well, 5 ot wilt not

choose me,
And Satan hates mo, yet is loth to lose me

rv

Oh ' my black soul, now thou art summoned
By sioknofls, Death's herald and champion ,
Ihou'rt bko a pilgrim, winch abroad hath

done
Treason, and durbt not turn to whence ho is

fled,
Or like a thief, which till death's doom bo

road,

Wishoth himself delivered from prison ,
But damn'd and haw3'd to execution,
Wiwhoth that still ho might b'unpnsonod
Yot grace, if thou repent, thon oanntiiot lack,
But who shall give thoo that giaco to be»jn r1
Oh, make thynelf with holy mouzumg black,
And led with bhwhrag, an thou art with win ,
Or wash thoo in Christ's blood, which hath

this might,
That, being rod, it dies rod souls to wlute

JOHN DONNB ]

ODE

TIITUD PKRIOIX —

Doath, bo not proud, though Bomo have

called tlioo

Mighty and dioadfnl, for thou art not BO;
For thone, whom thou think' nt thou dost

ovortliiow,
Dio not, poor death, nor yot canst thou kill

mo
From rest and Bleep, which but thy picture

bo,
Much pleasure, then from thoe much more

must flow ,

And aoonost our best mon with thoo do go,
Rowt of their boneH, and fioul's delivery
Thou'rt slave to fate, ohance, kingw, and

desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sicknews dwell,
And poppy or charms con make UH sloop aw

well,
And better than thy stroke Why hwoll'st

thou then P

One short sloop past, wo wako eternally ;
And death shall be no more, death, tlion ahalt

die.

XI

Spit in my face, you Jews, and puiroo my

side,

Buffet and scoff, scourge and crucify mo
For T liavo tunn'd, and mnn'd ; and only ho,
Who could do no iniquity, hath dy'd
But by my death cannot be Batinfi'd
My finis, which paas the Jowu* iiupioty
They kill'd onoo an ingloriouH man, but T
Crucify him daily, being now glorifTd
Oh, lot mo then his Htrango love Htill admire
Kings pardon, but he bore our pumnhmont ,
And Jacob came, cloth' d in vile harnh attire,
But to Hnpplant, and with gainful intent
Q-od oloth'd himself in vile man'H nosh, that so
He might bo weak enough to suffer woe

XIV

Baiter my heart, throe-person' d God, for

you
AH yet but knock, breathe, Hluno, and week to

mend ; ,
That I may nao and stand, o'ortluow m', and

bond
Tour force, to break, blow, burn, and make

mo now,

I, like an URurpVl town to another duo,
Labour t' admit you, but oh, to no mid ,
Reason, your viceroy in mo, wo should de-
fend,

But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue ,
Yet dearly I love you, and would bo lov'd

fain,

But am betroth' d unto your enemy
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison mo , for I,
Except you enthrall me, novor Hha.ll be fioe ,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravu&h mo.

JoUn Donne,— -About 1C30.

236 —OPE.

Vengeanoo will Hit abovo our fault* ; but till

She thoro <lo wii,

Wo see her not, nor thorn Thus blind, > at Hiill
Wo load her way , un<l tluw, whiUt wo do ill,

Wo sutler it.

Unhappy ho, whom youth makuH not howaro

Of doiny- ill •

Enough wo labour under aijo and oaro ,
In number th* oirourn of tho last plure aro

The groatunt Htill

Tot wo, that nhould the ill, wo HOW IM^"*

AH HOOH Topout,
(Strange thing ') porcoivo not ; onr faults aro

not Hoon,
But pant UH ; noitlior foil, but only iu

The puuishimmtu

But wo know oursolvcH leant ; more outward
hhow«

Our min<lH KO st<jro,
That our HOtilw, no moro than our oyon, dw-

clone

But form and colour. Only li«, who known
Himsolt, known morn,

John Ihnne. — Afanit !<«*«).

237.— TO THE ItOLY TRINITY.

I

0 Holy, bloH.sed, gloiioiw Trinity
< >f PorHonH, still ouo < tod in unity,
The faithful man'n boliovt'd myntcrv,

irolp, holp to lift,
Mywolf ui> to thoo, harrow* d, tojn, and

By Hm and Sutan, and my flush
As my hoart hen in piocos, all <»oiifuH<><l,
<), tako my gift.

Tl

All-graciouH Go<l, tho Hinncr'H Htu'riiiw,

A broken heart thou wort not wont <lf»n}>No :

But, 'bovo tho fat of ranm and bulln, to pn/.u -

For thy acceptance. <>, )>ohol<l mo right,
And take companion on my griovou ^ ]»lu?ht '
What odour can bo than a hoart contrite

To thoo moro ttwoot P

m

Eternal Father, God, who (liflnt or o a to
This all of nothing, gav'ht it form and fato,
And breath'nt into it hf(3 and light, and Ki*ato

To worHhip thoo '

Eternal God, tho 8on, who not dc^niod'Ht,
To tako our nature , boaum'Ht man, an<l diwVHt
To pay our debts, upon thy oronH, and uriwrHt —

TV.

Eternal Spint, God from both procuwUng,
Fathor and Son— tho Ooinforlor, iu br<HJ<Ung
Pure thoughts in man; with fl«ry zoal thorn
feeding

For actB of grouo I

1558 to 1649]

ON LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD

[BEN JONSON

Increase those acts, 0 glorious Unity
Of Persons, still one God m. Trinity ,
Till I attain tho longed-for mystery

Of seeing your face

v.

Beholding Ono an Throe, and Three in One,

A Trinity to shine in Union ,

Tho gladdest light dark man can think upon.

Oh, grant it me '

Father and Son, and Holy Ghost, you thiee
All co-eternal in your Majesty,
Distinct in Persons, yet in Unity —

One God to see

VI

My Maker, Saviour, and my Sanctifier '
To hear, to meditate, sweeten my desire
With grace, and love, with cherishing1 entire ,

O, then how blest '
Among thy Hamts elected to abide,
And with thy angels placed, side by side,
But in thy presence truly gloiifiod,

Shall X there rout.

Ben Jonson — About 1030

238 — -C U P I D

BoautiOH, have you Boon this toy,
(jailed lovo, a little boy
Almost naked, wanton, blind ,
Craol now, and then us kind ?
If ho bo among nt yo, Hay ,
Ho is VOIIUH' runaway

flho that will but now discover
Whoro tho winjjod wag doth hovor,
Shall to-night loccivo a kiss,
How or whore herself would wish ;
But who biiugn him to hm mother,
Shall have that kiss, and another.

Ho haih marks about him plenty ,
You shall know him among twenty
All hiH body IH a firo,
And his broath a flame entire,
Tliat, bomg nhot liko lightning m,
Wounds tho hcait but not tho skin

At hin wght tho wun hath turn'd,
Neptune in tho waters burn'd ;
Hall hath felt a greater heat ;
Jove himself foiHOokhis seal ;
From the centre to tho sky
Aro hit* trophies roared high

Wings he hath, which though ye clip,
He will leap from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart,
But not stay in any part ,
And if chance hiB arrow misses,
He will shoot hunsolf in kisses

Ho doth boar a golden bow,
And a quiver hanging low,

Full of arrows, that outbrave
Dion's shafts , where, if he have
Any head more sharp than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.

Still the fairest are his fuel.
When his days are to be cruel,
Lovers' hearts are all his food,
And his baths their warmest blood,
Nought but wounds hiS hand doth season,
And he hates none bke to Reason

Trust him not his words, though sweet,

Seldom with his heart do meet

All his practice is deceit ,

Every gift it is a bait ,

Not a kiss but poison bears ;

And most treason m his tears

Idle minute's are his reign ,

Then the straggler makes his gain,

By presenting maids with toys,

And would have ye think them joys ,

*Tis the ambition of the elf

To have all childish as himself

If by these ye please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.

Though ye had a will to hide Tinn,
Now, we hope, ye' 11 not abide >""»-

Since you hoai his falser play,
And that he's Venus' runaway

Ben Junaon. — About 1630.

239 — SONG- OF HESPERUS

Queon, and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now tho sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep

Hesperus entreats thy light,

Goddess, excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
Pare itself to interpose ;
Cynthia* s shining orb was made
Heavon to clear, when day did close

Bless us then with wished sight,

Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal shining quiver ,
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever

Thou that makest a day of night,

Goddess excellently bright.

Ben JTonson — About 1630.

240.— ON LUCY, COUNTESS OF BED-
FORD

This morning-, timely rapt with holy fire,
I thought to form unto my zealous Muse,

What kind of creature I could most debire,
To honour, serve, and love , as poets u&e

BEN JONSON ]

SONG.

D PKKMI* -

I meant to mako hor fair, and free, and wiso,

Of greatest blood, and yet more good than

great;
I meant the day-star fihonld not brighter rise,

Nor lend liko influence from his lucent seat.
I meant she should bo courtoouH, facile, sweet,

Hating- that solemn •vaoe of yroatnosrt, prulo ,
I meant each soitust vntuo thoro fihould moot,

"Fit in that soCfcoi bottom to reside.
Only a leainod, and a manly soul

I pturposod her, that should, with oven

powers,
The rock, the spindle, and the sheers control

Of Destiny, and spin hor own free hours
Such when I meant to feiepi, and winh'd to soo,
My Huso bade, Bodf ord write, and that was H!IP '
Hen Jouson — Alout lOiJO

241 —SONG

Follow a shadow, it still flics you ,

Seem to fly it, it will pursue
So court a mistress, she domes yon ;

Lot her alone, Hhe will court you
Say are not women truly, thon,
Styled but the shadows of un men P

At morn and oven shades aio longest ,
At noon thoy are or short, or nonet

So men at woakoMt, thoy are Ktr«nj«c«t,
But grant TW perfect, they're not known

Say are not women truly, tbon,

Styled bat the shadows oi ns men F

Iton JCJHMJI? — Abnnt 1GIJO,

242— SONG TOOKLIA

Brink to mo, only with thine oyoR,

And I will pledge with mine ,
Or loavo a kiss but m tho cup,

And I'll not look for wino
The thirst that from the soul doth ri"o,

Both ank a drmk divine
But might I of .Tovo'H noctar nnp,

I would not ohaii^o for thiuo
I sent theo Lite a rosy wroaUi,

Not so much Aouommg thoo,
As givinqr 1* a hopo, that thoro

It could not wither' d bo
But thou thereon didst only broatho,

And sent1 at it back to me
Since when it grows, and smells, I M\<W,

Not of itself, but thoo.

J5cu Jiwwon.— About 1030

243,— A NYMPH'S PASSION.
1 love, and he loves mo again,

Yet dare I not toll who ,
For if the nymphs should know my
I fear they'd love him too ,
Yet if he bo not known,
Tho pleasure is as good as nono,
For that's a narrow joy is but our own,

Til tell, that if thoy bo not fflarl,

Thoy yet may oiivy mo ,
But thon if I £r°w jealous mad,
And of thorn pituul bo,
It weio a pla'juo 'l>o\<» s"orn
And >ot it tttimot bo loiboni,
Unless my hojut would, as my thought, IK
torn.

Ho is, if they oan find him, fair,

And fresh and frngnuii too,
As Hummor'H hkv, or i>ur^(»d utr,
And loolvs tt^ ltln»H do
That o.ro this luonuiu*1 blown ;
YoL, yot 1 doubt lie i^ not known,
And foar much inoio, that moro oi hint lie
shown.

But ho hath pyns HO romi<l, and linj'Jit,

As make away my doubt,
Wlioro Love may all hut torchon lijfhl,
Though liaio hnxi jttit ibciu out :
IJut thou t* mcrviiso my f(»ar,-»,
"What uym])h H<N*VI hm voH'obutlwnr ,
\VJ1 lie my tival, tliou^li nlio lnuu> but <'ur .

I'll t<»ll no moro, and yol, f 1<»V(»,

And ho lovos uio , y<-t no
Olio uiibocornin^ thfttiyjit, doih inovo
IVom oitlu»r iK'aHi, F know ,
But HO i»T(ini|tti from bljuuo,
As it woultl be to (*ach n fiumt,
£f love or fear would lot mo t<*ll IIIM minx*.

.— l/'»f// If '.';'

— EPITAPH ON TUB flOTJNTKHH
PJOMHHOICK.

Und(»rnrtjitli tln^ sable lirnm
LiOH tho Kiibjoot of all \r«rii«,
Sidney's wM,(»r, PMribroU^'M im>fl»»»? ,
Death T OPO thou host Hlniti uTiolh^t,
IjOamM tui'I fan, umi '^ood tin t tti",
Time hball throw a dart itt ilicn !

K'10

21S—A OIOUOUriATIO.V OK J'HAIW '

HPO tho <»liariot at hand hi»ro of I^ovo,

Wliwom my lady iidolh '
Ka<jh that draws IH a swau ot a «lw«,

And woll tho oar Lovo ;?UH|I<UL
As sho proos all limuts <lo duty

Unto Iwr brauiy ;
And, oniunourM, do wiwh, to ilioy mi«;lit

IJut onjoy Hiw*li a right,
That thrjy still \voro to run liy her • Mi*.
Throng swordK, through FOOH, wliitlipr '-n

would ri<!o

Do but look on hor <%y<»s, th«y do li^hf,
All that rx>v<»'H worl<l rtomprtMfjth I

Do but look on hw hair, it IH bright
AH Love's star wh«n it rirath I

POETEATT OF A POOR GALLANT.

[BISHOP HALL.

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother

Than wordw thai nootho hei '
And from her archod browM such a grace

Shods itself through the face,
AH alone there triumphs to the life
All the gain, all the good, of the elements'

StaLlfo

Have you soon but a bright hly grow
Before rude handu have touch'd it ?
Have you niark'd but the fall o' the snow

Bofoio tho soil hath smutch'd it ?
Have you felt tho wool of beaver P

Or swan's down evei p
Or have flmclb o' tho bud o' tlio brier ?

Or tho nard in tho tiie ?
Or Lave tasted the bag1 of tho beo ?

O SO Wlllto ' O BO faOtt I O HO BWOOt IS

nho '

Hen JMU>(M — About 1G30.

246 —A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER

Hear mo, 0 God '

A broken huart

IB my boHt part
UNO Htill Thy rod,

That L may prove

ThoromThy lo\o.

If Thou hadst not

Ikion Kiorti to nio,

JJut loft mo two,
I luul ioi^ot

[ and tluko

For, Hlll*H HO HWlHifc,

AH imndH ill bout
Itooly rojxmt,
Until thoy moflfc
Their puniHhmont,

Wlu> moro can oiuvc

Than Tlww hawt done,

That tfux'rit a Won
To froo a Hlavo ?

FirHt niado of nought

With all HLUUO bought

8iu, Death, and I loll,

IIiH f lonouH name

(Juito overcame *
Yet T robul,

Aud Hlight the same

But I'll oomo in,

Boforo my IOHH

Mo farther toss ;
AM Hure to win

Under Ilia CroHH

7to? Jtmstm — About 1C30

247.— ADVICE TO A KKCKLESS YOUTH.

Wljat would £ have you do F I'll tell you,

kmHmon ;
Loarja to bo mao, and praotiso how to thrive.

l*hat would I have you do , and not to spend
Your coin on overy bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that humours you.
I would not have you to invade each place,
Nor thrust yourself on all societies,
Till men's affections, or your own desert,
Should worthily invite you to your rank
He that is so respoctless in his courses,
Oft sells hia reputation at cheap market
Nor would I you should melt away yourself
In flashing bravery, lost, while you affect
To make a blaze of gentry to tho world,
A httlo puff of pcorn extinguish it,
And you bo loft like an unsavoury snuff,
Whose property is only to offend.
I'd ha' you soboi, and contain youisolf ;
Not that your sail be bigger than your boat ,
But moderate your expenses now (at first)
AH you may keep the same proportion stiJL
Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy, and more borrow' d thug,
From dead men's dust, and bones , and none

of yours,
Except you make, or hold it.

Son Jotwow.— About 1C30.

248.— -THE REQUIREMENTS OP A
TUTOE

A gontlo squire would gladly entertain
Into IUH houHO some ti cu.oh.er chapolam
Some willing- man that might instruct his sons,
And that would stand to good conditions
FirHt, Iliat ho ho upon tho truckle-bed,
While liis young master lieth o'oi his head,
Second, tlxat ho do, on no default,
Ever proHiono to Hit above tho salt.
Third, that ho never change his trencher twice.
Fourth, tliat ho UHO all common courtesies ,
Sit baro at nioala, and one half nno and wait.
Last, that ho never his young master beat,
But ho muHt ftBk IIIH mother to define,
How many jerks he would his brooch should

line

All thoHo obHorvod, he could contented bo,
To give five maika and winter livery.

Uall, 1600,

249.— POETEATT OP A POOE GALLANT.

Scent thou how gaily my young mantor goow,
Vaunting himHoli upon hin riHing toes ;
And pranks hiH hand upon his dagger's side ;
And pickn hit) glutted tooth since latu noon-
tide?

*Ti<9 Rnffio Trow'Ht thou whore ho dined to-
day ?

In &ooth I naw him sit with Duke Hnnrplirey,
Many good welcomes, and much gratin chcor,
KoopH ho for ovcry straggling cavalier ,
An open houne, haunted with groat roHort ,
Long service xnuct with musical disport.
Many fair younkor with a feather' d crest,
Chooses much, lather be hia ahot-fioo guest,

BISHOP HALL ]

DISCONTENT OF HUN

[THIRD PKUIOU -

To fare so freely with so little cost,
Than stake his twelvepenco to a meaner host
Hadst thou not told mo, I should surely say
He touch'd no meat of all this live-long day
Pox sure methought, yet that was but a guess
His eyes seem'd sunk for very hollowness,
But oould he have (as I did it mistake)
So little in his purse, so much upon his back
So nothing on his maw P yet seemoth by his

belt,

That his gaunt gut no too much stuffing felt
Seest thou how side it hangs beneath his hip
Hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip.
Tet for all that, how stiffly struts he by,
All trapped in the new-found bravery
The nuns of new-won Calais his bonnet lent,
IE lieu of their so land a conquorment.
What needed he fetch that from farthest Spain,
Bos grandame could have lent with lessor pain P
Though he perhaps ne'er paws' d tho English

shore,

Tet fain would counted be a conqueror
His hair, French-like, stares on his frighted

head,

One look amazon-liko dishevelled,
As if ho meant to wear a native cord,
If chance his fates should him that bano afford.
All British baro upon tho bnstlod akin,
Close notched w hw board, both lip and ohm ;
His linen collar labyiinthion not,
Whose thousand double turnings novor mot
His sleeves half hid with elbow piniomnga,
As if he meant to fly with linon wingH
But when I look, and cant mine eyes below,
What monster meets mino eyes in humanshow ?
So slender waist with such an abbot's loin,
Did never sober nature sure conjoin.
Lik'st a strawn scarecrow in tho now-sown

field,

Rear'd on some stack, tho tender corn to shield,
Or, if that semblance suit not every deal,
Like a broad shake-folk with a Hlendor steol

Bishop Hall, 1GOO.

250.— DISCONTENT OF MEN WITH
THEIR CONDITION

I wot not how the world's degenerate,
That men or know or like not their orftato
Out from the Gados up to th' eastern morn,
Not one but holds hia native Htato forlorn
When comely striplings wwh it wore their

chance

For Ofisms' distaff to exchange their lance,
And wear curl'd periwigs, and chalk thoir faco,
And still are poimg on their pookot-glanH.
Tired with pnrn'd ruffs and fans, and partlot

skips

And busks and verdingales about thou: hips ;
And tread on corked stilts a prisoner's pace,
And make their napkm for their spitting-place,
And gripe their waist witbn a narrow Hpan
Fond Cams, that wouldst wish to be a man '

Whose manni&h houHowivc'i like thoir lofu M

state,

And make a drudge of their uxorious mato
Who like a oot-<iuoon fiocz<>th :it tin* rock,
Whiles his brocch'd diuuo doth man tho fort'i'pi

stock.

Is't not a ahaxno to floo each homely groom
Sit perched in an idlo ohanot. room,
That wore not moot Homo pannul to Imstridi*
Surcmg]o.l to a #allod hiukkno.v*h htdo v
Each in:i«k-wotm willbo n<»h with lawhss if.iiru
Although ho smother up mown of HUVOU y<Mi

grain,
And han^'d liimsolf whon corn gronrt <»lu».ip

ajjamj

Although ho buy whole harvests in th<» spring,
And foiwt in false striken to tlw mcasurm^ j
Although his nhop bo mufllod from tho %!it*
Like a day dungeon, or (hnuiutrian night ;
Nor full nor fasting nan tho oario taku wwf f
Whilo hw goortfo-nobloM riiHi(»n in liin <»h<^ t, «
Ho sloops but on«o, ami dtoiuuH of Inirgtar.v,
And wakoM, and caKtH alxnii hw frighted <it\»»f
And crropori for thiovoH in «v(»ry <larlc«r Hh«»l«»i
And if a inouHO but nln, lio ctilN for aid.
Tlio bturdy plouglnnati doth tho whiter H<M\
All Hcarf'd with pu-d colours to ilio leni'<»,
Whom Inditin pjllag« luitli wodo (oriunai««,
And now ho 'ginn to loath II!H fonnc
Now doth hft inly ncoru his ICnnditl-f
And his patched <'ock<»rs now dtwjiiHcd I
Nor liwt ho now go wh wiling to i\w (Nir,
J^it H«HH hw totiiu, and foiMh to i.lio wur,
O war ' to thorn tliat novor 1,i i<»d Uw»<», HW M '
Whon hw dead mato falls vn n*<>Iin<r at hiw fWf ,
And angry bullotH wluHtlon at IUH i»ar,
And hin (hm oyoa HOC nought but thialh «T,M

droar
0 happy ploughman' woro thy \\cal v\.-!I

known ,
0 happy all f»stat<»s, <iv«<»i»i IU'M own '

dninkou rhymer thinks hiii timo \»« ,i

If ho can hvo to soo Ins nimut in piinf,
Who, when he is <mee flohliod io ihi* pro .,
And hCOH his hansoll havo nueli fair HIMMV ,
Snag to tho wheel, and HWI# wifo ilw piul
Ho Honda forth tlnaves of lullad* to the - ,ul
Nor then can rout, but vnluttuM tip Ii<it|»vri

rhyniow,

To havo his namo talked of in fiiium tiw<-
Tho biiun-sic^k youth, that foods IUH iv\.M

oar

With HWWPt-fHMlOflfl ]WH Of WHIM fall-e iftt\M r
Winch hath tho Kpauinli Ooemlen r«M«l auhil*-
y? whotwtonft loaHiiiffH of old Mandcvilh*,

_)f lus advcntureH through tlio Indian'deep,

}f all their niasHy hoapH of #old<m inino,

)r of tho antiqno tombn of I>al<!Hi?

)r of DamaHfiiH* ina^o wall of ^l

M Solomon IUH nweatm# pi I en of

)t tho bird mo that boarn an dep«»n*»

)f mormaidH that tho nonthf^rn MM do haunt,

Of haatlloHs mou, of Havfl^t <«winibalH,

Tho faHhionH of thoir IIVOH ami

From 1558 to 1640.]

JOTJBNEY INTO FRANCE.

[BISHOP CORBET.

What monstrous cities there orootod bo,

Cairo, or tho city of tho Trinity ,

Now tiro they dunghill cooky that have not

noon
Tho bordering Alps, or else tho neighbour

And now ho plies tho news-full Grasshopper,
Of voyages and ventures to inquire.
HIM land mortgaged, ho Hoa-boat in tho way,
Wishes for homo a thousand Highfl a day ,
And now ho dooms his homo-bred faro as loaf
AH MB paroh'd biscuit, or his barrcll'd boof.
'Mongst all those stiiH of discontented strife,
O, lot mo load an academic life ;
To know much, and to think for nothing, know
Nothing1 to havo, yot think wo havo enow ;
In flkill to want, and wanting Rook for more ;
In weal nor want, nor wiHh foi greater store.
Envy, yo monarcliH, with youi proud OXCOBB,
At our low nail, and our high happiness.

J/ttH, 1C>00.

251.— TO HIS SON, VINCENT CORBET

What I Hhall loavo thoo nono can toll,

Hut all Hliull nay I wish thoo well •

I wiHh thoo, Vm, bofoio all wealth,

Both bodily awl ghostly health ,

Nor t<K» much wnulth, uoi wit oomo to tlioo,

So much of cither may inulo thiw>

I wmh Ilioo loaimug not lor show,

Huough tor io limit net and know,

Not Htu'Ii as gwilloinoii rcquito

To priitft at iablo or atfim.

1 wtHh Mum all thy motliur'H gnw<»H,

Thy falhor'H fortnuoH and hm placet*.

F wish them friunilH, and ono at court

Not to build (in, but support ;

To k<wp thoo not i« <loing many

< )pproHHiouH, but from Htiffhring any.

I wiHli then pouru n\ all thy w»iyn,

Nor liusv nor eoritonUotiH diiyH ,

And, when thy woul and Iioilj poii,

AH hmncout tt« now tliou art,

1orlH, 10*7.

252.— JomWKV INTO J^UANOW.

T wont from England into

Nor yot to loaru to «rm^<^ nor danco,

Nor y<»i to rido nor fonoo :

Nor <h<l t pro Hkc» on« of tliow^

That do rotum with half a JIOSP,

They CMU nod from hoiico

lint T lo PariH rcxlo

Murfi lik« Jolra Dory iii tho wong,

ir|)on a holy tido;

I on an ambling* najr <li<l jot

< I tnwt ho irt not paid for yot),

And Hpurr'd lum on oooh nwlo

And to St DOXLIH faRt wo came,
To ROC tho Hif^litH of Noire Damo
(Tho man that nhown ihom HnaHlos),
Where who IH apt for to bokovo,
May soo our Lady's nght-arm sloovo,
And oko her old pantoffloH j

Hor broaflt, her milk, her very g-own.
That she did wear m Bethlehem town,
Wnon m tho *»M^ she lay ;
Yet all tho world knows that's a fable,
For so pood clothes no'er lay in stable,
Upon a lock of hay.

No carpenter could by his trade

Gain KO much com an to havo made

A gown of HO rich wtuff ,

Yot they, poor Houls, think for tlioir credit,

That they believe old Joseph did it,

'Cause ho dosorv'd enough.

Thoro in ono of tho cross's nails,
Wluoh whoso nooti IIIR bonnet vails,
And, if ho will, may knool ;
Some say 'twas falso, 'twtw novor so,
Yot, fooling it, thuB muoh I know,
It is as true as stool.

Thoro is a lanthorn wliicli tho Jews,
Wlion Judas led thorn forth, did UHO,
It woigliH my woight down right ,
Hut to boliovo it, yoti muni think
Tho JOWH did i»ut n candle in't,
And then 'twaH very hghi,

Thorn* H one Haint tlicro liivtli lowt hw noso,

Another 'H hoad, but not hw toon,

II IH elbow tmd hiH thiuiLb ;

Hut wlion that wo had HOOIL the ragH,

Wo w(»ut to tli' inn jwwi took our nagB,

And HO away did oomo.

W« came to PariH, on the Seine,
'Tin wondronrt fair, 'ti« nothing clean,
*Tw Ritropo'H grcwitowt town;
Uo\y Htrong it in 1 need not toll it,
For all tho world may oawily HmoU it,
That walk it up and down.

There many Htrango tilings are to H«O,

The palace and great gallery,

Tho Place Royal dotli oxcwl,

Tho Now Brwlgo, und tho HtatuoH thoro,

AtNotro I>amo«t Q Pator,

Tho Htooplo boarH tho boll

For learning tho UnivnrHHy,

And for old olothoM tho Fiippory,

Tho lioiiHti the quoon did build

,St Iimoocjiico, whoHo oarth dovonrw

Dotwl oorpH in four and twonty hottrfl,

And thoro tho king waH killM

Tho IfciHtilo and St. DOIUH wtroot,
friio Sbafll<miHt liko Ijondon Hoot,
Tho ArHouul no toy,
JJut if you'll HOC tho protlioKt thing,
< lo iiO tha court and HOC tho king,
0, 'tin a hopeful boy '

IS*

BISHOP COT3BET ]

FAREWELL TO THE FAISTES.

[TlUUD

Ho is, of all his dukes and peers,
Bovorenc'd foi much wit at 'a yearn,
Nor musb you think it much ;
For he with little switch doth play,
And mako fine dirty pies of clay,
0, never king made such '

A bird that can but kiU a fly,

Or prate, doth please his majesty,

"Tis known to ovory one ,

The Duke of Guise gave him a parrot,

And ho had twenty cannons for it,

For his new galleon

0 that I e'er might have the hap
To got the bud which in the map
la ooH'd the Indian xuck '

I'd give it him, and hope to bo
As rioh as Guise or Livino",
Or else I had ill-luck

Birds round about his chamber stand,
And he them feeds with his own liand,
"Tis his humility ,
And if thoy do want anything,
They need but whiHtlo for their king,
And he comes presently.

But now, then, for those parts ho must

Bo oiistilod Lewis the Juat,

Great Henry's lawful heir ,

When to his stile to add more words,

They'd better call him King of Birds,

Than oE the gieat Navano

He hath bowdoa a profcty qiuik,
Taught him by nature, how to work
In iron with much ease '
Sometimes to the forge ho goes,
Thoro he knocks, and there he blowa,
And makes both locks and koytf ,

Wluuh putft a doubt in ovoiy one,
Whether ho bo Mars 01 Vulcan' a won,
Some few behove his mother ,
Bub lot them all Ray what thoy will,

1 oame resolved, and HO thmk wtill,
As much th' one as th' other

Hie people too diahko the youth,
Alleging reasons, for, in truth,
Mothers should honour* d bo ,
Yet others say, ho loves her rather
As well as ere she lovod his father,
And that's notoriously — —

His queen, a pretty little wench,
Was bom in Spam, apeakH little French,
She's ne'er like to be mother ,
For her incestuous house could not
Have children which were not begot
By undo or by brother.

Nor why should Lewis, being so juafc,
Content himself to take his luat
With his Lucina's mate,
And suffer his littlo pretty quoen,
From all her race that yet hath boon,
So to degenerate ?

'Tworo ohanty for to bo known
To love otheiri' children J.H his <«wri
And why ? it is no sliamo,
"Unless that ho would «*rmtor 1» »
Than WOH hits fathor HoiKMy,
"Who, inon thought, did lh« nam<»

253— FAREWELL TO TUB FA WINS.

Faiowoll rowtiidrt and

Good hoiiHOwifort now may May,
For now foul nlutu 111 <lainos

Do faro an well UH thoy
And though thoy Hwonp th<3ir houi'tin no lo H

ThatL maidH were wont to do ,
Yet who of late, for cloanlim^^,

Finds tdxponuo in her hhoo 'J

Lament, lament, old AUwyw,

The fainort' IOH! command ,
They did but change priorttrf' hftbii",

But Homo have ohaiu'.od your Luid ;
And all your cluldion nprini ; fioiu thu&co

Aro now grown Puritans ,
Who livu art ohangolmgH <v\<^r hitM»»s

For love of yom <lomitiiui.

At morning and at evening both,

Yon morry woio and glad,
So little care of Hl(K»i> or Hloili

ThoHo pretty ladies had ,
When Torn curuo homo from labour,

Or CIH to milking rows
Then morrily wont thcur tjil>or,

And nimbly wont thoir too,!

Witness those ringn aiul rouiulolay \

Of theira, whi<*h yet roiuani,
Woro footed m <iuoon Mtiry's <lafc\ i

On many a grassy plum ,
But HIIIOO of Itito JClimboth,

And later, Jainos camo in,
Thoy never doncM on any hoath

AH when tho tirao hath I torn.

Jiy which wo note tho faimii

Woro of tho old profession,
Thoir non#s woio Avo-MarnH,

Their dances wore prooutMiDn
But now, alas ' thoy nil aru dood,

Or gono boyond tho «oa« ,
Or farther for religion flod,

Or else tlioy take thoir civ*1

A tell-tale in their company

They novor could onduro,
And whoso kept not nocrotly

Their mirth, was punish1 d ntin* j
It was a jujst and Christian dood,

To pmch Huch l>lack and hluo •
0 how the commonwealth dotU uootl

Such juaiicuH au you 1

W17.

From 1058 t,>

A COML'LALNT OF A LKABNKD DIVINE

WILDK.

254. — SONG.

Dry {hose fair, those crystal eyes,

Wliit'h, like growing fountiians, TIRO,

To drown their banks grief's sullen brooks

Would bettor flow in furrow d looks ;

Thy lovoly face was never mount

To bo ilio shore of discontent

Thru cloar tho'-o watoxish stars again,
WluVh olho portend a lasting rain ,
Lent tlio clouds which Mottle there,
Prolong my winter all tho year,
And thy example others make
In love with sorrow for tliy FU.LO.

King, — Abo tit 16-49.

255— SIC VITA.
to the falling of a star,
Or as tho flights of cation avo ;
Or hko tho fresh Hpxiug's gaudy hire,
( )r silver drops of morning1 dow ,
Or hko a wind that chafes tho flood,
( )r bubblns which on water Htood
Kv'n such IH man, whoso borrow'd lights
Is straight oall'd in, and paid to-night
The wind blown out, tho babble dies;
The spring ontomb'din autumn lu»i,
Tho dow drum up, tlio star IH shot ,
Tlie flight is past — and man forgot
IMittp King — Akin 1

250 —r, 1 1'1 is

Wlui.t IH thn ctm<i(*ncA of man'M life

Uut opon wai t»r ulitmlwr'd Ktrif<^ t*

Wliow HioknOHH to liw HcnHo pToHontw

friu^ combat oi tho olomontH,

Atwl novcr fools a porfmst poa^o

Till death's cold hand Hif?nH lun reloa«<».

It is a storm— whoro tho hot blood
Outvies in rago tho boiling flood •
And oocli loud IJUHHIOU of the mind
Is like a furious gmt of wind.
WliK^h lK»ats tlu^ bark with many a wavft,
Till ho casts anchor in the ftravo.

It is a flowor — wliuili buds, and grown,
And withers as the leaves disoJose ;
Whoso spring and fall faint seiisons koop,
Like fits of wukm# before slwp,
Then hlnmkn into that fatal mould
Wliere its ilrst being waa enroll 'tl.

It is a dream — whono

Is moralised in ago and youth r

Where all tho comforts ho etui share

As wand' ring1 as Ids fancies arc,

Till in a mist of dark decay

TOo drojunor vanish quite away.

It IH a dial— which points out
Tho sunset as it moves about ,
And shadows out in linos of mgfrt
Tho subtle stages of Time's flight,
Till all-ohscuimg earth hath laid
HIM body in perpetual shade.

Tt is a weary interlude —
Wluc h doth short joys, long WOCIH, indudo •
Tlio world tho stage, tho prologue tears ;
The acts vain hopes and vuned fours ;
The soono shuts up with IOF(S of breath,
And loaves no epilogue but Death '

Xbo-nt 10-10.

257— A COMPLAINT OF A LEAENJED
DIVINK IK PU1OTAN

In a melancholy study,
NOJIO but myself,

Mothoiifrht my Muse grow muddy ;
After seven years' reading,
And costly brooding,
I felt, but could find no pelf.
Into learned rags
I have rent my pluhli and satin,
And now am fit to bog
In Hebrew, Greek, and Latin :
Instead of Aristotle,
Would I had got a patton.
Alas ' poor scholar, ft hither wilt thon go ;
* * * *

I have bowed, I have bended,
And all in hope
One day to bo befriended ,
1 havtt incmcli'A, 1 have printed,
Whato or I hinted,
To ploaso our English Pope ,
I worshiped towards tho >last
Hut tho snn doth now forsake mo ,
1 find that I am falling,
Tho northern winds do shako mo.
Would J had boon upright,
For bowing now will break mo«
Alas' poor, &c.

At great preferment I &im'd,
Witness my «ilk,
Jtat now my hopes are xnoim'd
I looked lately
To live most stately,
And have a dairy of bell-rope's milk ,
But now, alas '
Myself I must flatter,
Bigamy of steeples is a laughing matter
Each man must have but one,
And curates will grow fatter.
Alas' poor, £c

Into some country village
.Now I must go,
Whore neither titho nor tillu^o
Tho greedy patron,
And parched nrntron,
Swear to the church they ov, e
Yot if I can preach,
And pray too on a sudden,
And confute tho Pope
At adventure without studying,
Then ton poundw a year,
Bomdcs a Sunday pudding.
Alas I poor, &o,

THOMAS CABBW ]

SONG.

[THIKD PKRMD —

A3! the arts I have skill in,
!Divine and human,
Yet all's not worth a shilling
When, the women hear mo
They do but jeer me,
And say I am profane.
Onoe I remember
I preached with a wearer ,
I quoted Austin,
He quoted Pod and Clever
I nothing g^ot,
He got a cloak and beaver
Alasr poor, &o

Ships, ships, ships I discover,
Crossing the mam ,
Shall I in and go over,
Turn Jew or Atheist,
Turk or Papist,
To Geneva or Amsterdam ?
Bishoprics are void
In Scotland, shall I thither P
Or follow Windebanfc
And Finch, to see if either
Do want a priest to shriove them p
Oh, no, 'tis blustering- weather.
Alas' poor, &c

Ho, ho, ho, I have hit it
Peace, Goodman fool >
Thou hast a trade will fit it j
Draw thy mdonturo,
Be bound at a venture
An apprentice to a free-school ,
There thou mayst command,
By William Lilly's charter ,
There thou mayst whip, strip,
And hang, and draw and quaiter,
And commit to the red rod
Both Will, and Tom, and Arthur.
Ay, ay, 'tis hither, hither will I go.

Dr. Wilde.— About 1049

258 —SONG

Let fools great Cupid's yoke disdain,
Loving their own wild freedom hotter ,

Whilst, proud of my triumphant chain,
I sit and court my beauteous fetter

Her murdering glances, snaring hairrt,
And her bewitching smiles so ploano mo,

As he brings rum, tlwb repairs
The sweet afflictions that disease me

Hide not those panting balls of snow
With envious veils from my beholding ,

Unlock those lips, their pearly row
In a sweet smile of love unfolding

And let those eyes, whoso motion wheels

The restless fate of every lover,
Survey the pains my sick heart fools,
And wounds, themselves have made, dis-
cover.

Tlwmas Oarew,— About 1G30

259.— SONU

Would you know what'w Hoft 5 T dare !

Not brint? you to tho down or Air ; j

Nor to stain to whow vrhitt'H bright, j

Nor to wnow to teach you white ,

Nor, if you would muhiti hour, '

Call tho orbn to tako your ear , i

Nor to pleawo your tuniHO Urmpr forth \
Bruised nard or what'H more worth.
Or on food woio your thoughts pl.m'd,
Brin? you noctar, for n» tusl^i

Would you have all tlioHi* in OHO, |

Name my mihtronH, and 'tis dt»n« !
Thomas ('/n<l»p — t(l»wl HKM). 1

260,— S 0 N 0 .

Ask mo no more whoro Jovo btMtowH,
Whon Juno is pant, tho fading1 row) $
For in your boautioH, onoiit doop,
Thoso flowers, OH in thoir cannon, Hluop.
Ask me no more whithor do Htray
The golden atornn of the (lay ;
For in pure lovo hoavcu did prcpura
Thoao powdora to ennch your hoar.

Ask me no moro whithor doth huttta
Tho nightingale when Maj in past ;
For in your Hweot dividing throat
She wintorn, and koopw wunu hor uoto.

Ask me no moro if oawt or wost
Tho Phcunix builds her t*pu»y n«»«l ,
For unto yon at last nlio fliun,
And in your fragrant bow)ia <li«h '

Cw/rw, — Alwiib irt-JO.

i) ;

261.— THE COMPJJMKNT
I do not lovo theo for that fair
Rich fan of thy most curloUH luur ;
Though tho wiroH th(»rcn)f bo dnbwn
Finer than tho threudn of lawn,
And aio Hoftor than tho Iwwcs
On which tho nubtlo Hpidcr woavtss.
I do not love thoo for thono flowurs
Growing on thy chookn (lovo'H l
Though Huch ouunmg thorn hath
None can paint thoiu wliito and rod
LOVO'H golden arr<;ws thonoo fire Hhot,
Yot for them I lovo thoo not.
I do not lovo thc»o for thoso Hofl
Rod coral lipn I've kiSH'd HO oft ,
Nor tooth of )>oarl, tho double j
To siK3i»<'h, whou snuHio wtdl is l»Minl ;
Though from tliOHO lipH a IUHH boin^ iti.K<
Might tyrants molt, and death awaken,

I do not lovo thoo, oh ! my faircwt,
For that nchoHt, for that rai <»Mt
Silver pillar, which Htundn undor
Thy sound htsa-d, thtit globo of wou»l(»r ,
Tho' that neck bo wlutor far
Than toworn of poliwh'd ivory oro.

PERSUASIONS TO LOVE

[TitoaiAS OA.L.SW.

262,— s o N a

Give mo more lovo, or more disdain,

Tho tomd, or tho froroJi aono
Bring- equal ooho unto niy pain ;

Tho temperate afford mo none ;
Either oxtiomo, of lovo or hate,
IB sweeter than a calm estate.

Give mo a stoim , if it bo love,

Like Donae in a golden shower.
I RWUXL in pleasure , if it prove

Disdain, that torront will devour
My vulture-hopes , and ho'H possoHs'd
Of hoavon that* ft but from boll released
Thou crown my joyn, or euro my pain ,
Givo mo moro lovo, or moro disdain.

Thomas* Oarciu — About 1630.

263— SONG

If tho qmok spiritH m your oye
Now languidi and anon inunt dio ,
If ov'ry Hwoot, and ov'ry graco
MuHt fly from that forHakou face
Thou, Colia, lot UK roap our joys,
JSro tinio such goodly fnut dostroyn

Or, if that golden fleece muwt grow
For ovor, fioo fiom aged HIIOW ,
If thonti bright HUIIH munt know no shade,
Nor your fronh bounties ovor f<tdo ,
Thou fear not, Colui, to b<ntow
What ntill bnirtg gathor'd Hiill must grow.
ThuH, oithoz Tuno hiH moklo brmcrH
lu vain, or olno m vam hiH wings.

Tlwnins (1a,Mto. — About 1000.

264.— DISDAIN ItETUl&NED.

ITo that IOVOH a rony cheek,

Or a coral lip admiros,
Or from Htur-liko oyoH doth «ook

Fnol to maintain IUM firoH ,
AH old Time makoH thoHo dooay,
Mo hiH ilames moHi wanto awuy.

But a nmooth and Htau.dfaHt mind,
Oontlo thon^htw and calm doMiron,

HoartH with oqual lovo oombinoil,
Kmdlo novor-dyin«y flrow

"Whore tliorto arc not, L doHpino

Lovely olicokH, or Hpn or oyo»

No tearw, Oolia, now shall win

My roHolvod hoart to return ;
I have Hoaroh'd thy Houl withm,

And find nought but prido and boorn ,
I have lo*un'd thy artw, and now
(tan dtadam aH much a» thoti.
Homo powor, in my rovontfo, convoy
That lovo to her I oant away.

Thomas Oarntr. — About IC^O,

265 —ON MB. W MONTAGUJB'S KKTUBN
FBOM TliAVEL.

Load the black bull to slaughter, with the boar
And lamb . thonpurplo with tthoir mingled gore
The ocean's curled blow, that so wo may
The sea-ffoda for their careful \vafta#o pay •
Send grateful inconHe up in pious amoke
To those mild Rpintn that cant a curbing yoke
Upon the stubborn winds, that calmly blew
To the wish'd ahoro our long'd-for Montague •
Then, whilst tho aromatic odours burn
In honour of thoir darling aaio return,
Tho Muse'B qturo shall thua, with voice and

hand,
Bless tho fair galo that <3rovo his ship to landi

Sweetly-breathing vornal air,

That with kind waimth dost ropair

Wmter'a ruins ; from whoHo broast

All the gums and Hpioo of th' Eayfc

Boirow their porfumofl , whoHo eye

Gilds the morn, and cleaaa tho »ky ,

Whoso diwhovol'd tionsoa ahod

Pearls upon the violet bed ,

On whoso brow, with oalui fimiles dross' d,

Tho halcyon sits and builds hor neat ;

Beauty, youth, and ondleHis Hpring,

Dwell upon thy rowy wing ,

Tliou, if stormy Boreas thiowft

Down whole forestw when ho blows,

With a prognanb flow'ry birth

Canst roiiOHh tho tooming ourih

If ho nip tho oarly bud,

If ho blaHt whai'H fair or orood,

If ho Hoattor our choico floworn,

If ho Hhako our hills or bowoiw,

If hin rudo broatli threaten UH ,

Thou oanut stroke great JKoluw,

And from him tho grace obtain

To bind him in an iron chain,

Thornus Cfircw. — About 1680,

266— PERSUASIONS TO LOVE.

Think not, 'oatiHO men flatt'ring say,
Y'aro froflh as April, Hwoot a» May,
Bright as IH tho inorumg star,
That you are so , or, though you aro,
Be not thoiofore proud, and doom
All men unworthy your ostoom ,
Nor lot brittle beauty make
You your WIHOI thonghtH forsake
l^or that lovely iaeo will fad ,
Beauty's sweet, but beauty's frail '
'Tin sooner past, 'tiu sooner donn,
Than Hnmmor'M rain or wmt<»r'H sun \
MoHt ilooting when it IH ruosl dear ;
'Tw gone wnilo wo but nay — 'tis horo.
Thoso ouriouH lookn, so aptly twin'd,
WlioHO every hair a soul doth bind,
Will change their auburn hue, and grow
Whito and cold as winter's Hnow.
That oyo, which now is Cupid's nest,
provo hw jrr/iv(>, «.nd all tho ro«*t

THOMAS C&jaaw ]

APPROACH OF SPBINU.

(Tumi) i'ssw-u*

Will follow , in tho ohook, dim, no ',e,

Nor lily shall bo found, nor roso ,

And what will then booomo of all

Those whom now you servants rail ?

Like swallows, when your snmmor's doiie,

They'll fly, and Rcok some warmer win

Then wisely choose ono to yonr friend

Whoso love may (whou your boaniios end)

Remain still firm , bo provide ut,

And think, before tho summer's spent,

Or following winter , like the ant,

In plenty hoard for tune of scant

For when the storms of Time have mownl

Waves on that cheek which was beloved ,

"When a four lady's faoo IB pined,

And yellow spread whore rod onoo hhin'd ,

When beauty, youth, and all swoots leave

her,

Love may return, hut lovers never
And old folks say there are no pains
Like itch of love in aged veins
O love me then, and now boipn it,
Let us not lone tins present mmuuo ,
For time and ago will work that wraok
"Which time or a^o ahall ne'er call b-wk
The snake oaoh year fresh ulun resume^
And eagles change their agod plnmflH ,
The faded roso, oaoh spring, receiver,
A fresh red tincture on her loaves
But if your beauties once decay,
You never know a second May.
Oh, then, be wise, and whilst your season
Affords you days for sport, do raison ,
Spend not in vain your life's short hour,
But crop in time yoir beauties' flower,
Which will away, and doth together
Both bud and fade, both blow and wither

Thomas Cam0.— • About 1030.

267 — APPROACH OF SPRING.

Wow fchat tho winter's gone, tho earth hath lent
Her snow-white robes, and now no more tho

frost

Candies the grass, or calls an icy cream
Upon tho silver lake, or crystal Ktmwn ;
But tho warm sun thaws tho banmnlui earth,
Ajad makes it tender , gives a sacrod tnrth
To the dead swallow ; wakes in hollow true
The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee ,
Now do a choir of chirping nnnwtrcsla bring
In triumph to tho world tho youthful wprmx
Tho valleys, hills, and woods, in rich arniv,
Welcome the coming- of the long'd for May
Now all things smile.

Thomas Caarcw —Alxnd 1C30.

268,—EPITAPH ON THE DUKE OF

BUCKINGHAM.

Reader, when these dumb stonos have told
In borroVd speech what guoht they hold,
Thon shnlt confess the vain pursuit
Of hunun glory yields no fruit

But an untimely grave ^ WvAp
Oould constant happiness ere,i*o,
Her mmwlerH, fortune njid worth,
Uad hero that miracle 1 nought f<«ifl»
They fi\M thiH eluM ot honour wlui*o
No ioo7n was loft for hopo or fenr
i >F moio or loss HO lu»(h, so "re i.*,
HIM giow th was, Ti»i f*> ^i-fc !M'< M-M!.
Hafo in tho t'nrlo ot his ft*<«n«lN ;
Rafo in IUH loyal heart an<I <»tnVi ,
Sale m IUH natavo \,iJi.Mit spirit ;
By f.ivour nafo, and Nifo \\y in^ni, ,
Slafi» l>y tho nWup of Nalrnis wl'n«'i
JM«1 HironvrUi w*i.h hlhipo tui'i i^r.i' « oti
Sni<^ in the cheerful rourtosios
( >f ilou ing gowturoH, Hpo«<»)i, and j»yfis
S-ifo m IUH bonuliios, whu'li woio inor
I*roi>ortion'd to IUH mind than nioro
Ycft thonifh for virtno ho l>ckoom«M
Involv'd himsolt in horrow'd wmru
Htifo in his care, ho IWIVCH U»f»ray '(1
No fi-icnd ongoi?'d, no dobt unjiuul.
But, thonpii iibo stiirH conHt*in» i<
TTpon ono hood tli1 umtod pow<»r
Of all their graces, if th(»ir <lir«
Artpocts muwt otlujr broontH inspirn
With vicuous thonsbts a murdopcr'
May out (aw hero) tlm»r darlmi'/H lifo
\VIio cttn bo happy then, if Watuni nuisf
To ma-ko ono happy maji, uiuko all men 4.:

Uw\<»r

knifo

269 —TO SAXITAH.

Though frost and snow lookM fioirt ttuut* 1

TJiat boauty, which without door IK»M,

l^io gardens, orfhainU, walkit, iliai, fo

I might not all thy pleasures know f

Yet, Saxham, thou, within tl»y |?atis

Art of thyself so dohoato,

So full of native hwoota, that He'in

Thy roof with inward happiriouH ,

As noii.b(»r from, nor to thy Htoio,

"Wuitor taken iiu^ht, or Mpriri^ ««ldM iu'tr<».

rHio cold and froxon air luwl KtarvM

Much poor, if not by thno pro-»cirvM ;

\Vlioso piayors have mo/l<> thy tablo Mi^ ,<>

With plenty, far aliovo tho r<'rtt

The season Jiardly rlnl alfoid

Ooawo oaten unto thv n^ij^hbonr'M ItoiiiJ,

Vet thou Uadnt daint H»M, as iho Mky

TIa/d only boon thy voJary ;

Or olne tho bnds, f oaring tho snow

Mighfa to another del 11*40 grow,

Tho pheasant, partrul^i, and i.lio lark.

Mow to thy houno, OH to tlm arlt,

Tho willing ox of hntiHolf camo

Home to tho Hlun^htor, with iho laml),

And every boant did tluthor liriiif?

Himself to bo an offennjf

The scaly herd moro pleannrc look,

Bath'd in thy dinh, than m the brook*

Water, oarth, air, <h<l all <JO«Kpjro

To pa»y thtii.r tribute to thy firu ;

to

CHRISTMAS.

[GBOIfcOE WlTHEfi.

Whoso cherishing flamos themselves divide

Thron^h every room, where ilioy deride

Tho niftht and cold abroad , -whilst they,

Like sun<j within, koop endless duy

Those choorfnl booms send forth their light,

To all that wander in tho night,

And Hoom to broken from aloof

The woary pilgrim to thy roof ,

WhiTe, if rofrosh'd, he will away,

Ho' a fairly wolooino , or, if stay,

Far moro, wliich ho Hhall hoarty find,

Roth from tho master and tho luxul

rPho stranger's welcome each man there

Si amp1 d on ms cheerful brow dotli woar ;

Nor doth tin a \volromo, or his chcor,

Orow loss, 'cant .oho sta.y« longer lioio

There's none observes, miuili lcri« icpmoH,

How ofton tins man mips or dines

Tliou hast no porlxjr at tho door

T' oxammo or koop back tho poor ,

Nor locks noi bolU , thy gates have boon

Made only to lot strangers in ,

Untaught to nhut, thoy do not foar

To ntand wade open all tho year ,

Careless who ontorn, for thoy know

Thou never didst donf»rvo a for* ;

And aw foi thievon, thy bounty's rnirh,

Thoy cannot wtoal, Hum giv'nt HO inucli

Utircw. — MH> (id KEJO.

270— THE PKIWrW)BE
why I MUM! yon horo
ThiH firstling of tho infant your ,
AHk mo why 1 ncmd to you
TIuH prixnroHo all Ix^poarLM with d<»w ,
1 Htniiffht will whiKpt»r m your O/ITM,
'JTio HwootH of low aro wuHh'd wiUi tcarn
Ask mo why tliiw flow'r doth Hliow
So yellow, ffmvn, mi<l Hi«kly too j
AH!C rao why tho «talk in wtuiik,
And bonding, yot it doth not break ;
I mmit toll yoa, thoso diHOovor
What doubtn and AIUTH aro m a lover.

Thmnaa Uaarew. — About ltJ30.

271 — OIIWHTMAB

So now i« como our joyful1 at foaflt;

Lot ovory man bo jolly ;
Mo/ih. room with ivy ICMWQM in drosfc,

And ovoiy poHt with holly.
Though Homo olmrls at our mirth rapine,
Round yonr forohoadu garlandfl twsno,
I>rown fiorrow in a cnip of wino,

And lot tw all bo merry
Now all ont uoighbonrtt* ohunnoya nmoko,

And ChrihtmaB blockn aro burninff ;
Thoir ov(jn» thoy with bakod moat ohoko,

And all thoir Rpitu aro turning.
Without tho door lot Borrow lie ;
And if for cold at hap to dio,
We'll bury't m a CuriHtmas pio,

And ovormoro bo merry.

Now ovory lad is wond'rons trim,

And no man minds hiH labour ;
GUI lassos have provided them

A bagpipe and a tabor ,
Young- men and matdfl, and girltf and boys,
Give life to one another's joys ;
And yon anon shall by thoir noiso

Perceive that thoy aro merry
Bank misorfl now do sparing flhun ;

Thoir hall of mtiHio flonndoth ,
And dofffl tlionoo with whole shoulders run,

So all thmgH there abonudoth.
Tlio country folliH thomHolvoH advance,
With crowdy-muttouH out of France ;
And Jack Khali pipo, and Gill shall dance,

And all the town bo merry.
Ned SquaRhhath fotchthiH bands from pawn,

And all iiH host apparcjl ;
Brisk Noll hath bought a ruff of lawn

With dropping of the barrel.
And those that hardly all tho year
Had broad to eat, or rags to wear,
Will liavo both clothes and dainty faro,

And all tho day bo murry.

Now poor men to tho jufitwos

With capons make thoir errants ;
And if thoy hap to fail of those,

Thoy plaffixo them with then warrants :
But now thoy feed them with pood cheer,
And what they want thoy take in boor,
For Ohrmtmas oomou but oiiro a year,

And then thoy whall bo merry.
Good fanners in the country nurse

'Hie poor, that olho woro undone ;
Soino landlords spend thoir money worse,

On lust and pndo at l^ondon.
There tho roysters thoy do play,
Drab and dice their lands away,
Which may bo ours another day,

And therefore lot's bo merry.

Tho oliont now his suit forbears,

Tho prisoner's heart is eased ;
Tho debtor drinks away his cares,

And for the time is pleased.
Though others' purses bo moro fat,
Why should wo pmo, or grieve at that P
Hangf sorrow 1 care will kill a oat,

And therefore lot's bo merry.
Hark ' now the wags abroad do call,

Each, other forth to rambling* ;
Anon you'll see thorn in tho hall,

For nuts and apples scrambling1.
Hark ' how tho roofs with laughter sound,
Anon they'll think the IVOUHO goes round,
For thoy tho collar's depth have found,

And thoto they wall bo morry.
Tho wonohos with their wassail bowls

About tho stroots are singing- ;
The boys aro oomo to catch tho owls,

Tho wald maro in is brin^m*.
Our kitchen boy hath broke his box,
And to tho doalmff of tho et,
Our houoHt neighbours oomo by flocks,

And horo thoy will bo morry.

OEOHG-E WITHER.]

SONNET UPON A STOLEN KISS

[TimiD

Now kings and queens pool shoepcotes havo,

Ajid mate with everybody ,
The honest now may play tho knave,

And wise men play tho noddy
Some youths will now a mumming go,
Some others play at Bowland-bo,
And twenty other game boys mo,

Because they will be merry

Then, wherefore, in these merry days,

Should we, I pray, bo duller ?
No, let us sing some roundelays,

To make our mirth the fuller
And, whole we thus inspired sing,
Let all tho streets with echoes ring ,
Woods and lulls, and everything,

Bear witness we ore moiry

George Witlw — About 1633

272— SONNET UPON A STOLEN KISS

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes
Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in

awe,

And freo access unto that sweet Up lie-i,
From whence I long the rosy breath to draw
JDlothinks no wrong it were, if I should abool
From those two molting rubies, one pooi kish ,
None sees the theft that would the theft rovoul,
Nor rob I her of ought what she can mibo
Nay should I twenty kisses toko away,
There would be little sign I would do so ,
Why thon should I this robbery delay ?
Oh ' she may wake, and therewith angiy grow '
Well, if she do, I'll back restore that oiu»,
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan
George Wither — About lo. ."

I

273.— THE COMPANIONSHIP OF THE '

MUSE

See'st thou not, in clearest days,

Oft thick fogs cloud heaven's iayH ,

And tho vapours that do broatho

From tho earth's gross womb beneath,

Seem they not with their black Htooma

To pollute the sun's bright beamy,

And yet vanish mto air,

Leaving it, unblemish'd, fair $

So, my Willy, shall it bo

With Detraction's breath and tlioo .

It shall never rise so high,

As to stain thy poesy.

As that sun doth oft exhale

Vapours from each rotten vale ,

Poesy so sometime drams

Gross conceits from muddy brains $

Mists of envy, fogs of spito,

'Twist men's judgments and hor light

But so much hor power may do,

That she can dissolve them too

If thy verse do bravely towor,

As she makes wing she got<* power ,

Yet the higher H!IO doth Hoar,

She's affrontod still tho mou* ,

Till aho to tho hmh'Ht hath past,,

Thon sho lostrt with ftimo tit last :

Lot nought Ihoroforo tlioo ulTuxliti,

But make forwaid m thy ili;rh(, ,

For, if I coidd match thy rhymo,

To the vory HtarH Fd <'lmil> ;

There bog-m ogiuu, and ily

Till I roaoliM oturmty

But, alas ' my IIIUHO is nlow ,

For thy page nho ilatfH too low

Yea, tho moro'w liM hajtloss fato,

Hor Hliort wmgn woro dipt of Kin .

And poor I, luu fortune riioiimr,

Am myHolf put up a-mowintf

But if I my ca^o can rid,

I'll fly whoro I novor did ,

And though for hor «ako I'm erost.

Though my boat hopes I havo Lwl,

And know «ho would mako my trouUo

Ton times inoro tlutn tot) time-* <luubl« :

I whonld lovo and kooi> ^or ^0<>»

>Spibo of all tho world oouM do

*Foi, thouyli baiiiHhM from m^ iloclc-*,

Aud oonfinM witlun th<»no ro«k«,

floro I waHto away tho litfht,

And coiiHuino tho Kullon ni^-hi,

Sho doth for my comfort Hi,ay,

Aud koepH many oarori away

fj'ho\igh I iniHH tho flowory fiold^,

"With thoHO Hwoots tho Hprin^tMo M<<Ms,

Though I may not HOO thono ffrov<M,

WIOTO tho Hhophordu <?hani thoir luv<»'<,

And tho lasHOH moro ovcol

Than tho HWuot-voiriMl Pliilotncl.

Though of all tho -40 plotiHtU'os pant,

Nothing now remains at lani,

Jiut liomciuhrau<!(i, poor rchnf,

That moro inakcH than miauls u\\ ,",riof

Sho'w my mhid'ri comp.miou Hiill,

Maugro Knvy1w ovil will.

(Wlionco H!IO would bo driven, ion,

Woro't m itLoriulfH pow<«r to ilc» )

Sho <loth toll mo whom lo boiruw

Comfort in tli« «ii<lrfi of HOI row

Makoa tho do>solaioHt j)lac(»

To hor proHonoo bo a ^raco ;

And tho >)liuik(^i <llHoontitul.-t

Bo hor fanont ornumcnt.-t

In my foimcr (Liyw of blim,

Hor divino hkill iau^hi met tlin,

That from ov<»rythm# I «aw,

I could Homu Hivotitiori draw

And raiHo ploasuro to hor

Through tho inoaiic .1 objn<5tS

By tho murmur of a Hpnti^f,

Or th<» loiiht boiiith'H nntl«'in;f.

By a diuHy, \vhos» liiav<H Hprotwl,

Shut whon Titan «<xw fc<j bod ;

Or a whaily btiHh or tro«t

Sho could xnoro mfuno in mo,

Than all Naltiro'H Imaufcios oau

Tu Homo otlior wiwr man.

Jiy hor help JT alno now

Mako thin churliHh plaoo allow

from 1558 ft; 1049,] JUST INDIGNATION OF THE OPPBESSED. [GBOBam WITHER,

Soiuo things that may sweeten gladness,

lu the -very gall of saduoH«.

Tho dull lononoHH, tlio black shado,

Hint thoHe hanging vaultH havo made ,

Tho Htrango music of tho waves,

Boating ou those hollow cavow ;

Thw black den winch rooks emboss,

Overgrown with oldest moan •

The rude portals that give light

More to terror than dohght •

This my chamber of neglect,

WalTd about with dim OHpect

From all those, and this dull air,

A tit object ioi despair,

She hath taught mo by her might

To draw comfort and delight

Thorofoio, thon bout oiirtlily bliss,

I will ehoiihh thoe tor thin

Peony, thou swoot'st eoiitont

That o'er heaven to moitalu lent

Though they an a tuflo leave theo,

Whoho dull thoughts cannot conceive thoo,

Though thou bo to them a HQOZU,

That to nought but (Mirth aio boin,

Lot my life no longor bo

Than 1 am m lovo with then,

Though our WIMI OUCH call thco mu<lnosH,

Lot mo never tawto of gladnoHn,

If I lovo not thy madd'st fits

Above till their greatest witw

An<l thouo.k Homo, too Homing holy,

Do ourounbthy rapturon iolly,

Thou tUMd touch me to contemn

What uuiUo kxiavuH and foolw of thorn.

— Abmit 1C35.

274.— A FUIHONfl&'K LAY

First think, my H<ml, if I liavo fees
That take a ploaHuro m my uai o,
And to procure thoM) outward WOOH
Ilavo tlniH enwritpt me unaware.
Thou Hlu>uld*Ht by much moro aaroful bo,
greater foon l.ty wait for thoo.

By my laid hopw that now are oront,
(lonHidtir thoMt that firiuor In,
And make tho frwtdotu 1 have loKt
A in<«ans that mii<y rein<»ml)«r tluu).
Ifiwl Ohrwt not thy H4i(l<w«uer boon,
What horrid ntato hadnl thou been in !

Or whmi through mo thou HooHt a man
OondonmM unto a moHal death,
How Had )io lookH, how nalo, how wan,
Dntwttiif, with foar, hirt punting breath ,
Think if in that Huch griof ilion KCO,
How Ha<l will ** (Jo, ye cum»d," be '

i iron ohainH, thoHe boltn of Htoel,
Winch often ]>oor ofTendorw fyrjnd ;
Tho wantn ami cuww which they do foci
May bring HOIIIO Creator things to mind ;
For by their gnof thou nhalt do well
To think upon the patiLs oi hell

Again, when ho that foar'd to die
(Paat hope) doth soo has pardon brought,
Bead but the joy that 'H m bin eye,
And thon convoy it to thy thought ;
Then think between thy heart and theo,
How glad will " Come, ye blessed," bo'

Georyo Wither —About 1635.

275.—FROM "A DIKGB"

Farewell,

Sweet groves to yon '

You lulln that highoHt dwell,

And all you humble valow, athou '

You wanton biookH and nohtaiy rocks,

My dear companions all, and you my tender

flocks '
Farewell, my pipo ' and all thoHo ploaumg1

bong's wlioHo moving struan
Delighted onco tho fairoht nyinphs that danco

upon tho plains.
You discontents, whose deep and o\er-deadly

smart

Havo without pity broke tho truest heart,

Sight*, tcarH, and ovory sad annoy,

That 01 st did with mo dwell,

And other H joy,

Faiowoll '

iUw.— Jfruu*lG3&

276.— TO A BKOTJIJEK POET.

(jo, my Willy, got thoo gone,
TJOIVIO mo m oxdo alone ,
Hie thoo to that merry throng,
And amazo them with thy Bong,
Thou art young, yet tmoh a lay
Never graced the month of May,
AH (if thoy provoke thy skill)
Thou canHt fit unto tho quill.
I, with wonder, hoard theo sing
At our last yoar's revelling1
Then I with tho rout waH free,
When unknown I noted thoo,
And porcoivod tho ruder swaina
Knvy thy far sweeter HtrwiiH.
Yea, I saw tho laHHOH cling
liound about thoo in a ring,
AH if each one jcalmiH wore
Any but herHolf should hear.

(Jan tin Witlwr—AlM

277.— THE JUST INDIGKATION Ol1 THisS
OPPKJflSSKD.

Do I not know a groat man's power and

might,

In spite of innocence, can Biuothor right,
Colour his viliamioH to got ostooni,
And make the honest man tho villain soom ?
I know it, and tho world doth know 'tis true,
Yet I protest if Huch a man I know,

r

WITHER

A rETJSECUTED POET'S ADDBE3P.

[TmiM>

That might 107 country p^ojndifte, or tlioo,
Wore ho tho gnutcut or the pioudcwi ho
That breathes 1 JIIB day , if HO it micrht bo found
That any good to oithor might redound,
I, unappalTd, daro in such a case ^
Rip up his forded crimes before his foop,
Though for my labour I wore nuro to drop
Into the mouth of rran without hopo

George Wdlicr — About 1C35.

278— A PERSECUTED POET'S ADDRESS
TO HIS KING

While hero my muse in discontent doth sing
To thoo, hor great Apollo, and my king ,
Imploring thoe, by that high, floored name,
By justice, and those powers that I could

name

By whatsoe'er may move, entreat I thoo,
To be w]iat thou art unto all, to me

Qtwge Wither. — About 1635

279— MY HEAVENLY FATHER AND
HIS ERT&1NG CHILD

Yet I oonfosp, in

I, like some infant, am of tender ivjo.
For as the child who from his father hath
Stray'd in some grove thro1 many a crooMd

path,

Is Bometimos hopeful that ho finds the way,
And sometimes doubtful ho runs more astray
Sometime wibh fair and easy paths doth

meet,
Sometime with rougher tracts that stay his

feet;

Here goes, there runs, and yon amazed stays ,
Then ones and straight forgets his 001*0, and

plays.

Then hearing whore hw lovinff father oallH,
Hakes haste, but through a zeal ill-guided

falls;

Or runs some other way, until that he
(Whose love is more than hit* endeavours be)
To seek the wanderer, forth himuolf doth come,
And take him in his arms, and bear him homo.
So in this life, this grove of ignorance,
As to my homeward, I mywolf advance,
Sometimes aright, and sometimes wrong I go,
Sometimes my pace is speedy, sometimes nlow
One while my ways are pleasant unto ino,
Another whde as fall of oaros they be
I doubt and hope, and doubt and hopo again,
And many a change of passion I pntstuin
In this my journey, so I/hat now and then
I lost, perhaps, may seem to other men.
Yea, to myself awhile, when sins impure
Do my Redeemer's love from me obscure*
But whatsoe'er betide, I know full well
My Father, who above tho clouds doth dwell,
An eye upon His wandering child doth cast,
And He will fetch me to my home at last.

Qeorga Wither.—Alout 1636.

280— AGAINST TliUKT) FLATTRIiMK J

I havo no mu«OH thai will M*rv« t.ho iuru

At every triumph, and rcjcmw or moi.rn,

After a nrnmio'w warning* for ilipir hm»,

If with old hhorry tlioy thorn vlvcs* in ipiro.

I am not of a temper liko to UIOHO

That can provide an hour's Had talk in pnwo

Foi any funeral, and then go dim*,

And choke my grief with HUtfiir-iilmiis ami WHIP.

I cannot at tho claret hit and l

And then, half tipsy, writo an

I cannot for rowat'l adorn UM

Of some oltl rotixm iruscr wii h my vor. v ,

Nor, like tlic )>oot«Ht<ffH of tho Imip,

Go howl a doloful pl«v*y in rhymes

For ovory lord or la lywhij) that du»«,

And then perplex thuir hoirn to patnmiw

That muddy ]>ocwy Oh, how I worn,

That raptnrcH which aro frco and nobly bom

Should, lidlor-liko, f«>r ontittrtfunmnut wimpo

At HtrangorH1 winclowH, and go play tho uiw

In counterfeiting poHHion.

281 —THE Vtou PSALM PARAI'IIttAKKf*.

Come, 0 oomo, with KAPHU! lay«,

Ix>t UH sound th'

Ihthor bring in. trito

Heart, and voice, and

I^ot tho orphurion H\vor>t

"With tho harp and \iol n««(»t :

To yonr voitwrt 1 uiut th<» Iu1,(* ;

Ixjt not tongu'*, nor Hiring 1»<* inuit» ;

Nor a mvtturo dumb bo fomul

Tliat hath eithur voioe or Hound.

Lot such tlimgn as do not livtt,
In Htill muHio prainos givo :
Lowly pipe, ye worms tJiat crppri,
On tho earth, or in tlw <lo(\p,
Loud aloft your voicoH Hi nun,
BaaHtH and mon^orn of tho main.
Brnln, yonr warbling irtililn Htt\«y ;
Oloudw, your poalrt of thnmliT rii<;r :
Hun and moon, pxaltod hitrlKT,
And yon, Htarn, aujftmttit tho t

Come, yo HOUH <»f hmntux ra<n>,
In thiM cliorus tak(j your plaoi),
And amid tliiw mortal throng,
Bo you muHtorH of tho w>«g.
Angels and fu^oniial poworn,
Bo the noblont totior yot»rH,
Let, in praiKo of <iod, iho noutid
Jfcun a nov(»r-endmg round ;
That our holy hymn may IM»
, OH w UK.

Prom tho oartli'M viwt hollow woml»,

Sea and floodfl, from whom to
Shall the oounter-t(mor roar*
To this concert, whnn wo Hing,
Whiatling windn, your doMoant lir!r

JVom 1558 to 1640,1 HBAYUR FOE SEASONABLE WEATHER. [t>BOBOB WrrHRR

Winch may boar tho sound abovo,
Whoro the orb of firo doth move ,
And so climb from sphere to sphere,
Till onr song th1 Almighty hear.

So shall HB from Heaven's high tower
On tho oaith His blowings shower ,
All this hi g i wido orb wo BOO,
Shall ouo quire, one tjmplo be.
There our voices we will roar,
Till wo fill it everywhere ,
And enforce tho fiends that dwell
In tho air, to smfc to hell
Then, O come, with sacred lays,
Lot us sound th' Almighty's praise

Qrorge Wrihw — About 1035

282.— THE FORD OF ABLE

North-oa-dt, not far from this groat pool, there

lies

A tract of beoohy mountains that anno,
With loiHuroly ascending, to such height
AH from their tops tho warlike IH!O of Wight
You in the ocoan'H bonom may onpio,
THo* near two hundred f iirlongH hence it Ho.
Tbo plooHont way, an up thorio lull H you climb,
In Htiow'd o'er with marjoram and thyme,
Which grows unaol Tho hodgo-roww do not

want

Tiio oownlip, violot, i>rimioHG, nor a pliinl
That f ronhly HOoiitH , UK buoh, both green and

tall,
Low BwollowB on whowo bloomings bees do

fall,

Vair woodbines, wluoh about tho hedges twine,
vStnooth privet, au<l the sharp Hwoot eglantine,
With many moro, whoso loaves and blossoms

fair
The earth adorn, and oft perfume the air.

Won there, and in the leant frequented place

Of all these mountains, is a little space

Of ploauant ground, homm'd in with dropping

trees,

And those HO thick that Phoobua soarooly BOOH
The earth they grow on once in all tho year,
Nor what in doiio among tho Mhadown there.
WUhw — About 1035.

283 —THE SEQUESTERED RETIREMENT
OF BENTWORTH.

Two pretty rills do moot, and, meeting, make

Within one valley a largo Hilver lake,

About whose banks the fertile mountains

Btood,

Tn A#G8 pasu'd bravely orown'd with wood,
Which lending cold awoot BhadowH gavo it

graoo
To bo aooouutod Cynthia's bathing-place,

And from her father Neptune's brackish, court,
Fair Thetis hither often would resort,
Attended by tho fiahew of the sea,
Which in those sweeter waters came to play.
There would the daughter of the sea-god dive,
And thither come the land-nymphs every eve,
To wait upon her, bunging for her brows
Bioh gailands of swoot flowers, and boeehy
boughs ;

For pleasant was that pool, and near it then
Was neither rotten marnh nor boggy fen
It was not overgrown with boisterous sedge,
Nor grew there rudely then along the edge
A bonding willow, nor a prickly bush,
Nor broad-loaf 'd flag, nor reed, nor knotty

rush

But hoie, woll-ordor'd was a grove with bowers,
There grassy plots sot round about with

flowers
Hero, you might thro1 the waters see tho

land
Appear, strow'd o'er with white, or yellow

sand.

Yea, deeper was it , and tho wind by whiffs
Would make it rise, and wash the little cliffs,
On which oft pluming sat, unfrighted then,
Tho gaggling wild goose, and tho snow white

swan,

With all tho flocks of fowls winch, to this day,
Upon tlioBo quiet waters brood and play

George Wither — About 1635.

284.— PRAYER FOB SEASONABLE
WEATHER,

Lord, should tho sun, tho oloudn, the wind,

Tho air and seasons bo,
To UH so froward and unkind,

As wo are f also to Thoo *
All fruits would quite away be burn'd,

Or ho in water drown'd,
Or blasted bo, or overturn' d,

Or chilli'd on the ground.

But from our duty though wo sworvo,

Thou still dost mercy show,
And doiga Thy creatures to preserve,

That men might thankful grow.
Yet, though from day to day wo sm,

And Thy displeasure goui,
No sooner wo to ory begin,

But pity we obtain.

Tho weather now Thou changed hast,

That put us late to fear,
And when our hopes wero almost pant,

Then comfort did appear.
The heaven tho earth's complaint hath, hoard,

They reconciled be ,
And Thou such weather hast prepared,

As wo dosirod of Thoo.

Ctwrye W%tlw.~About 1635.

WILLIAM BBOWNBJ 5

teOBNTNX*.

[TlIlIU)

285 —MORNING.

By this had chanticleer, the village cock,
Bidden the goodwif o for hor maids to knock ,
And the swart ploughman for his breakfast

stayed,

That he might till those lands were fallow laid ,
The hills and valleys hero and there resound
With the re-echoes of the deep-mouth' d hound ;
Each shepherd's daughter with her cleanly pail
Was come a-field to milk the morning's meal ;
And ore the sun had climb1 d the eastern hills,
To gild the muttering bourns and pretty rills,
Before the labouring bee had loft the hive,
And nimble fishes, which in rivers dive,
Began to leap and catch the drowned fly,
I rose from rest, not infelicity.

William Browne. — About 1620

286 —EVENING

As in an evening, when the gontlo air
Breathes to the sullen night a soft repair,
I oft have sat on Thames' sweet bonk, to hoar
My friend with his sweet touch to charm mine

ear.
When he hath play*d (as well he con) some

strain,

That likes me, straight I ask the same again,
And he, as gladly granting, strikes it o'er
With some sweet reliHh was forgot before
I would have been content if he would play,
In that one strain, to pans the night away ,
But, fearing much to do his pationco wrong,
Unwillingly have ask'd somo othor song
So, m this diff ring key, though I could well
A many hours, but as few minutes tell,
Yet, lest mine own delight might injure you,
(Though loath so soon) I take my song anew.
TPUZton* Browne — About 1620.

287 —A NIGHT SCENE.

Now great Hyperion loft his golden throne
That on the dancing waves in glory Rhone,
For whose declining on tho western shore
The oriental hills block mantlcn woro,
And thence apace the gentle twilight fled,
That had from hideous caverns UHhorM
All-drowsy night , who, in a car of jet,
By steeds of iron-gray (which mainly sweat
Moist drops on all the world) drawn through

the sky,

The helps of darkness waited orderly.
Frest^ thick clouds rose from all the liquid

plains
Then mists from marishes, and grounds whose

veins

Were conduit pipes to many a crystal spring
From standing pools and fans were following
"Unhealthy fogs - each river, ovory nil
Sent up their vapours to attend her will
These pitchy curtains drew Hwurt Earth and

Heaven,

And as Night's chariot through tho uir wiw

driven,
Clamour grew dumb, unheard was nhnphonl'it

song,
And silence girt the WOO<!K ; no warbling

Talk'd to the echo ; Ratyrn broko thoir tfatwo,
And all tho upper world lay In a trance :
Only the onrlM streams noft chnUiitfh k<»pt ,
And little gales, that from tho ftrwn loaf

swept
Dry summer's duHt, in fearful whiHp'rintfH

stirr'd,
As loath to woken any Binding bird

Willinm,

288,— NIGHT.

The sable mantle of the mlont night

Shut from tho world tho ovor-joynomo lijyht.

Caro fled away, and softest Blumbcru pk>a*m

To leave tho court for lowly cottagcm.

Wild boasts forsook thoir <lon« ou woody Jiilln,

And sloightful ottorn loft tho purling rilln t

Books to their noHtn in high wo<ul« now w«rc»

flung,
And with thoir spread wingH phioM thoir natail

young.
When thieves from thickotH to tho (TOHH-WU.VS

stir,

And terror frights tho lonoly paHHcmgor ;
When nought was hoard but now and thwi tin*

howl

Of somo vilo cur, or whooping of ih*» owl.
William J3ro\w — Alamt

289.— ,S 0 N G.

Gentle nymph fl, bo not rfifuninff,
Love's neglect i« timo'H abuHititr,

Thoy and beauty ILTO but Wt yon ;
Take the <mo, and koop tho otltcr
Love koopH froHh what ^c doth

Beauty gone, you will r^mnt .v<>«.

'Twill bo said, whmi yn liavo pntvivl,
Novor Hwainn moro truly lov<»<l

Oh, then fly all iiioo tmhnvionr !
Ki?y fiun would (OH ht»r tluty)
Bo attontling HtiU on Hoauty^

Lot hor not bo out of favour.

William

290.— s o N a.

Shall I tell you whom I lovn P
Hearken them awhile to tuo,

And if Huch a wonuui move
As I now Hlutll vor«ify ;

T3o oftflurod, 'tin who, or nono,

That I love, and lovo alone.

From 1358 to 1649.]

THE VANIT5T OF THE WORLD.

[FBAWCXS

Nature did her BO much, right,
As slie scorns the help of art.

In as many virtues dight
As e'er yet embraced a heart.

So much good so truly tried.

Some for loss were deified.

Wit she hath, without desire

To make known how much Rho hath ;

And her anger flames no higher
Than may fitly sweeten wrath

Full of pity as may be,

Though perhaps not so to me.

Reason masters every sonso,
And her virtues grace her birth

Lovely as all excellence,
Modest in her most of mirth

Likelihood enough to prove

Only worth could kindle love.

Suoh B!IO in and if you know

Such a ono as I have Hung ;
Bo Hhe brown, or fair, or BO,

That sho be but somewhilo young ,
Bo awBurod, 'tis she, or none,
That I love, and love alone.

WilUam Browne — About 1020.

391.— ADDRESS TO HIS NATIVE SOIL.

Hail thou, my nativo HOI! ! tliou MoHnod plo-4;
WhoHO equal all tho world affcmloth not '
Show mo who con ? HO many cental rillH,
Suoh swooi-clot/hoA valhon, or itHpmng hillR,
Such wood-ground, poHturoH, quamoH, wealthy

Suoh rocks in whom tho diamond fohly frhinos •
And if the earth can nhow tho liko again,
Yet will Rho fail in her wca-ruling men.
Time never can. produce men to o'ortako
Tho fames of Qronvillu, Davin, Gilbert, Drake,
Or worthy Hawkiun, or of thouwwidfl moro,
That by thoir power made tho Devonian nhoro
Mock tho prondTaguHj for wliono riuhont Hpoil
The boawtrag Spaniard loft the Jnchau noil
Bankrupt of «toro, knowing it would quit cost
By winning this, though all tho rent woro lent.

William JJruww.— About IGiiO,

292.— WHAT TS LIFEP

And what '« a lifo ? — ft -weary pilgrimage,
WhoHG glory in. ono day doth nil tho Ftngc
With childhood, manhood, and decrepit ago

And what 'fl a lifo P — tho flourishing array
Of the proud summer meadow, which to-day
Wears her groon plush, and is to-morrow hay

Bead on this dial, how the shades devour
My short-lived winter's day1 hour oats up

hour;
Alas I the total 's but from eight to four.

Behold those lilies, which thy hands have

made,

Fair copies of my life, and open laid
To view, how soon they droop, how soon they

fade'

Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon ;
My non-aged day already points to noon ;
How simple is my suit ' — how small my boon!

Nor do I beg this slender inch to wile
Tho tune away, or falsely to beguile
My thoughts with joy : hero's nothing •tforth a
smile.

Francis Qwwles —About 1646.

293— THE "VANITY OF THE WOBLD

False world, thou ly'st thou canst not lend

The least delight •
Thy favours cannot gain a friend,

They are so slight
Thy morning pleasures make an end

To please at night

Poor are the wants that thou supply'st,
And yot thou vaunt' Bt, and yet thou vy'st
With heaven , fond earth, thou boasts ; false
world, thou ly'st.

Thy babbling tongue tells golden tabs

Of endless treasure ;
Thy bounty offers easy sales

Of lasting pleasure ;
Thou aflk'st tho conscience what she ails,

And Hwear'flt to oapc her
Thrtro 'B none can want whoro thou supply'st r
There *B none can give where thou deny'st.
', Alan ! fond woild, thou boasts , false world,
| thou ly'st.

! What well-advised oar regards
I What earth can say P

Thy words are gold, but thy rewards

Arc painted clay .
Thy cunning con out pock the cards,

Thou canst not play
Thy game at weakest, stall thou vy'st j
If seen, and then rovy'd, dony'st
Thou art not what thou acorn's t ; false world,
thou ly'st.

Thy tinuol bosom Booms a mint

Of new-coin1 d irooHnro
A paradise, that has no stint,

No change, no measure ;
A painted caak, but nothing m't,

Nor wealth, nor pleasure •
Vain earth ' i-hat falsely thus comply 'at
With man ; rain man ' that thou roly'st
On earth ; vain man, thou dot'et , vain earth,,
thou ly'st.

What moan dull souls, in thin high measure,

To haberdauh
In earth's bane wares, whose greatest treasure

Is dross and trash P
Tho height of whose enchanting pleasure

Is but a flaph F

FAITH.

Are these the goods that thou supply' st
"Us mortals with ? Axe those tho high' at ?
Can those bring cordial poacoP false world,
thou ly'st.

Quarlcs. — About 1640.

294.— F A I T H.

The proudest pitch of that; notorious spirit
Was but to win the world, whereby t* inhoiit
'The airy purchase of a transitory
And glozmg title of an age's glory
Would' at thou by oonquoBtwin more fo.mo than

bo,

Subdue thyself ! thyself s a worl<l to theo
Earth *s but a ball, that heavon hath quilled

o'er

With Wealth and Honour, bonded on tho floor
Of fickle Fortune's false and slippery court,
Sent for a toy, to make us children sport,
Man's satiate spirits with fresh delights sup-

plying,
To still the fondlings of tho world from ory-

ing;

AJK! ho, whoso merit mounts to such a joy,
Gaans bat the honour of a mighty toy

But would' st thou conquer, havo thy con-

quest crown' d
By hands of Seraphims, triumph7 d with tho

sound
Of heaven's loud trumpet, warbled by tho

Celestial ohoix, recorded with a quill
Pluck' d from the pinion of an angol'H wing,
Confirm' d with joy by heavon.' a eternal King ;
•Conquer thyself, thy rebel thoughts repel,
Aud chase those falno affections that rebel
Hath heaven despoil' d what hw full hand hath

given thoe P
iNlpp'd thy succeeding blorijoaw ? or beroaven

theo

Of thy dear latest hope, thy bosom friend P
Doth sad Despair deny these giu'ta an end P
Despair's a whisp'ring robel, tlut within thoo,
Bribes all thy field, and sots thyself again'

thee:
Hake keen thy faith, and with thy force lot

flee,

If thou not conquer him, he '11 conquer theo
Advance thy shield of Patience to thy hood,
And when Grief strikes, 'twill strike tho striker

dead.

In adverse fortunes, be thou strong and stout,
Axtd bravely win thyself, heaven holds not out
His bow for ever bent , the disposition
Of noblest spirit doth, by opposition,
Exasperate the more a gloomy night
Whets on, the morning to return more bright
Brave minds, oppressed, should in despite of

Fate,

look greatest, like the sun, in lowest state.
But, ah ! shall God thus strive with flesh and

blood?
Beceives he glory from, or reaps he good

In mortals' ruin, that ho loams man HO
To bo o'orwholm'd by this unequal foo >J

May not a potter, that, from out tho prmm<l.
Hath framed a VOHSO!, search if it bo .«oim<l h
Or if, by furbishing, ho take moro pain
To mako it fairor, shall tho pot complain ?
Moital, thou art but clay , tlion nhall not h<S
That framed thoo for hin Horvuic, HOIHOU thro!
Man, cloao thy lipn ; bo thou no imdorLalcur
Of God's UoaigiiH • dinputo not with thy Mul\<»r
J'V'WM Quail's. — About 1010

295— DELIGHT INT (*OI) ONLY.

I love (and have »oino canao to low) On* carih,
She in my Makor'H croaturo : thtwforit »r*»o«l
She IH tny mother, for uho pravn 1110 birth ;
She in my tender numi — Hho fcivos mo f<»o*l .

But what '» a creature, Lord, compare' 1 with
theeP

Or what 's my mother, or my muMO to m*> f

I love tho air : hor dainty Hwootn rofroHh

My drooping soul, and to now nwoutrf itivito m^;

Hor Hhr ill-mouth' d quiro HUHtiutiH niu with th<\r
fionh,

And with their polyphonian noi<H ilrli'clif ino:
But what '« tho air or all tho *vwi * Hut, , h«»
Can blasH my Houl withal, roinparod In theo ['

I love tho Hoa • «ho is my fcill<»w-(«r«'uiur«s
My oaroful purveyor ; H!UV iirovMtw ino Ht*»rM t
She walls ino round; H!H» makon my diol

greater ,
She waitrt my iroohimi from a form^n whr»n» s

But, Lord of onoaiiH, whtni <}oitiparod with
thoo,

What in tho Odoiwv, or hor wealth to mo J

To hoavonV hij?H <^ity T diroct my journoy,
W}LOHO upanglod Hiiburbrf ou^^rtain inhin <\y° *
Mine oyo, by contampltitioii 'H trrwt aUnriu*>t
TranrioendH tho crytftaL pavcuujnfc of thn ttky ,
But what in hoavun, groat Utxi, oomiuirot) to

thoo?

Without thy prononoo hoavijti '« no hoavcm
to me.

Without thy prosonco earth KIVOH no
Without thy proHonco m»a aftonln rw)
Without thy proncnoo air 'H a rank iuftM'tif)ti ,
Without thy protmnco hoaveri itwilf nopbnvHUnj ;
If not POHHOHHM, if not onjoyM in tlun^
What 'H earth, or aoa, or air, or b<javon to
mo?

The highest honoutK that tho world can buout,

Aro BubjoctH far too low for my doxiro ;

The brightoHt beams of glory arc (at

But dying sparklet* of thy living tiro :

Tho loudest flamoH that earth can kindle, \m

But nightly glow- wormn, if comi>aro<l to tUoo,

Without thy proflcmoo wealth, i» boK« of «ar*w j
Wisdom but folly ; joy dinqultit— -HJulncwx :
Friezidfihip is tredflon, anddo%utK arc Hnanm;
Pleasures but pain, and mirth but
madness,

* Vow 1558 to 1649]

8CXNU-.

ABLJMH.

Without thoo, Lord, things bo not what

they bo,
Nor have they being, when compared with

iheo.

In haying all things, and not thoo, what havo I P
Not having thoo, what hare my labours got P
Lot me enjoy but thoo, what further cravo I P
And having thoo alone, what have I not P
I wish nor soa nor land , nor would I bo
Possoas'd of heaven, hoaven unpossoss'd o±
tiieo.

Frances Qmrles, — About 1640.

296— SONG

Know then, my brethren, hoaven is clear,

And all tho cloncls aro gono ,
Tho righteous now shall flounwh, and

Good days aro coming on
Oomo then, my biothion, and bo glad,

And oko rpjoioo with mo ;
Lawn Hloovow and rochets shall go down,

And hoy ' then up go wo '

Well break tho windows whioh tho Whoro

Of Babylon hath paintod,
And when Iho popinh Haints aro down,

Then Barrow Hhall bo sainted.
There's neither crow nor ciuoifix

Shall stand for men to HOO ,
Homo's traHh and trumporios uhall go down,

And hoy I thon up go wo '

We'll down with all tho

Whoro learning IH profost,
BooauHO they practise and maintain

Tho language of tho boiiHt
We'll drivo tho doctors out of doors,

And arts, whato'or thoy bo j
We'll ory both arts and looming down,

And hoy! thon up go wo'

* * * *

If onoo that Antichrintian crow

Bo cruHh'd and ovortlirown,
We'll toaoh the noblow how to crouch,

And koop tho gentry down.
Good manners have an ill ropori,

And turn to prwlo, wo HOO ;
We'll therefore cry good mimnors down,

And hoy I thon up go wo !

Tho namo of lord Hhall be abhorr'd,

For orory man's a brother,
No reason why, in ohuroh or state,

One man should rule another.
But whon tho change of government

Shall Hot our fingers free,
Woll make tho wanton wiHtord stoop

AIM! hoy ' thon up go wo '

Cor oobblerw shall translabo their Mult,
]<Yom oaves obscure and shady ;

We'll make Tom T * * as good as my lord,
And Joan afl good as my lady.

We'll crash and fling the marriage ring

Into the Roman see ;
We'll ask no bonds, but o'on olap hands,

And hey ! then up go we '

Frwws Quwles.— About 1640.

297.— -SOSPETTO D* HEBODE LEB. X

* * * #
Below the bottom of the great abyss,
There where one centre reconciles all things ;
Tho world's profound heart pants; there

placed is

Mischiefs old master, dose about him clings
A curl'd knot of embracing snakes, that kiss
Bis correspondent cheeks; these loathsome

strings

Hold tho perverse prince in eternal ties,
Fast bound, since first ho forfeited the skies.

* # * #
from death's sad shades, to tho life-breathing

air,

This mortal enemy to mankind's good,
Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care.
To become beautiful in human blood.
Whoro Jordan melts his crystal, to make fair
Tho fields of Palestine with so pure a Hood ;
There docs ho fix his eyes, and there detect
Now matter to make good his great suspect.

He calls to mind tho old quarrel, and what

Hparlc

Sot the contending sons of heaven on fixe :
Oft in hiH deep thought he revolves tho dark
Sybils' divining loaves ; ho doos inquire
Into tho old prophecies, trembling to mark
How many present prodigies conspire
To crown their past predictions, both he

lays
Together, in hw ponderous mind both

weighs.

Heaven's golden-winged herald, late ho saw

To a poor Galilean virgin sent :

Hpw low tho bright youth bow'd, and with
what awe

Immortal flowers to her fair hand present

He saw tho old Hebrew's womb neglect the
law

Of ago and barrenness, and her babe prevent
His birth by his devotion, who began
BotuneB to bo a saint, before a man.

Ho saw rich nectar thaws release the rigour
Of tho ioy north, from frost-bound Atlas'

His adamantine fetters fall ; green vigour
Gladding the Scythian rooks, and Libyan

Bands

Ho saw a vernal smile sweetly disfigure
Winter's sad face, and through -the flowory

lands

Of fabEngaddi'shonoy-sweatua^fountaius,
With manna, milk, and balm, now broach

the mountains.

13

RlCHAJKD

SOSPETTO D' HEBODE.

[TniRi>

He saw how in that blost day-bearing night,
The heaven-rebuked shades mode haste away ;
How bnght a dawn of angels with now light,
Amazed the midnight world, and made a day
Of which the morning knew not , mad with

spite,

He mark'd how the poor Shepherds ran to pay
Their simple tribute to the babe, whoso birth
Was the groat business both of hoaven and

earth

Ho saw a threefold son, with rich increase,
Make proud the ruby portals of tho oast.
He saw the temple sacred to sweet peace,
Adoro her prince's birth, flat on her breast.
He saw the falling idols all confess
A coming Deity. Ho saw the neat

Of poisonous and unnatural IOVGR, oorth-
nurst,

Touch1 d with the world's truo antidote to
burst.

He saw Heaven blossom with a new-born

Jiffht,

On which, as on a glorious stranger, gazed
The golden eyes of night, whose beam made

bright

The way to Both'lom, and as boldly blazed
(Nor osk'd leavo of tho sun), by day as night
By whom (as Hoaveu's illustrious handmaid)

raised
Three kings (or what is more) throo wise

mon wont
Westward, to find the world's true onont.

* * # *

That tho groat flJngol*'b1i'n(lT'n/y light tihould

flhnnk

His blaze, to shine in a poor shepherd's oyo.
That the unmeasured God so low should sink,
As pris'ner in a fow poor ragfl to lio.
That from his mother's broaat ho Trnlk should

drink,

Who feeds with nectar Heaven' B fair family,
That a vilo manger hit* low bed should

prove,
Who in a throne of stars thunders abovo.

That ho whom iho sun sorrow, should faintly

poop
Through clouds of infant flesh that ho tho

old

Eternal Word should bo a child find wocp •
That ho who made tho fire should foar tho

cold
That Heaven's high Majesty his court should

keep

In a clay cottage, by each blast control!' d
That glory's self should serve our griefs and

fears,
And free eternity submit to years.

And further, that the law's eternal Qivor
Should bleed in his own law's obedience ,
And to the circumcising knife deliver
Himself, the forfeit of his slave's offonco.
That the Tniblemiah'd Lamb, blessed for over,
Should take the mark of sin, and pain, of sense.

Those oro tho knotty riddlon, wlioao dark

doubt
EntongloH IIIH lost thoughts juiHl gotting out •

Whilo now thoughts boil'd in Inn cnra#od

breast,

His gloomy bof«om'« darkotrf. «haraotor
Was m his nhocly forohood Hocn uxproHH'd.
Tho forohood'H shade in griof'H

there,

Ifi what in Rign of joy among tlio blosl,
Tho face's lightning, or a ttuulo IH h«»n».
Those stingH of caro that hut

opprowt,

A donporato Oh mo ' drow from hm d*M*p
breast.

Oh mo 1 (thus bollow'dho) ; oh mo ! what. gmii
Portents before mine oyoH their powoiw ad-

vance P

And sorvo my purer right, only to Iwat
Down my proud thought, and taavo it m a

trance P

Frown I, and can groat Katuro koop lu»r waif'

And the gay start* load on tlunr golden datiofi:

Can hiH ationt])tH abovo Htill prr>KjH«r<tuH Ixs

Auflpioious siill, in Hj>ito of holl and i

Ho has my Hoavon (what would lui motor)

whoHC bright

And radiant Hcoptro tins bold handhhotild boar,
And for tho novor-foding fl<kldH of li^rhi,
My fair inheritance, ho oonilnoH inn licrn
To this dark UOUHC of shadoH, horrcir, and

night,
To draw a long-lived death, whoro all my

ohoor

IB tho Holonmity my sorrow woarw,
That mankiiuVH tormont wuitH upon xny

toarH.

Dark dusky man, he noods would Hin^ln forth,
To mako tho partiKT of his own punt m,v *
And Hhonld wo poworri of llcavtm, Hpints of

worth,

Bow our bright honxln txjforo a kityf rif »»I«.y IJ
It shall not bo, said T; and clottih the nortlt,
Whoro n<»vor wing of an/((d ^cit injid« w«y.

What though I miKH'd my Hnw'f yvl I
struck high,

And to daio Homotliing, i« Honin

la ho not BatiHfiod P moann hrt to wrtwi
Holl from mo tw, and Hiwk my twitorinH f
Vilo human naturo, mniuiH ho noi t* invwit
(0 my doHpitj) !) wiUt hiH <Uvi«(«*t ffltirioti F
And riHm# with n<th HpoilH upon hi* 1»r«fu*i,
With hiH fair trmmplw fill all fnturo Mtoriiw l<

MuHt tho bnght anus of hoaven roliukc! thcno
oyosP

Hook mo, and dazxlo my dark

Art thon not Lnoif<»r P lio to whom tho drov^H
Of Htarn that gild tho morn in uhargo won>

givonP

Tho nimbloHt of tho lifflitning-winffml IOVPM P
Tho fail-out, and tho iirwt bora Hmilo of

Hoavon P

HYMN TO THE NAME OF JESUS. [RxoHAXUD CBASHAW.

Look in what pomp tho mistress planet moves,
Rov'rontly oirolod by the lessor seven ;

Such and so rich, tho flames that from
thine eyes

Oppress' d the common people of the skies.

Ah, wretch I what boots theo to oast baok thy

eyos
Whore dawning hopo no baam of comfort

shows P

While the reflection of thy forepast joys
Benders thoo double to thy present woes.
Bather make up to thy new miseries,
And moot tho mischief that upon theo grows.
If hell must mourn, heaven sure shall sym-
pathise

What force cannot effect, fraud shall do*
vise.

And yot whoso forco fear I P have I BO lost
Myself ? my strength too with my innocence P
Como, try who dares, heaven, earth, whatever

dowt boast

A borrowed being1, mako thy bold defence.
Como thy Creator too, what though it cost
Mo ycl a second fall P we'd try our strengths.
Heavens saw uw struggle once as brave a

fifth!

Earth now shall HOC, and tremble at the
sight.

Hichurtl (tVntfiflw — About 1C40

298.— HYMN TO TICK NAME OF JESTJS.

T sing1 tho Name wlnoli none can say,
But iouohM with an interior ray ,
Tlio xioxuo of our now poaco , our good ,
Our bliHH, and Huywniatural blood ,
Tho name of oil our IIVOH and loven
Hearken and help, yo lioly dovoH '
The high-born brood of day ; you bright
CandidatoH of bluwful light,
The hoirw elect of lovo ; whoao nanaoH belong
TTnto the everlasting1 life of wong ;
AH yo wise nouln, who in tho worthy breant
Of thw xinboundofl Niwno budd your warm nest.
Awake, my glory ' sonl (if nuoh thou bo,
And that fair word at all refer to theo),
Awako and Hing,
And bo all wing '

Bring hither thy wholo Holf ; and let mp see
What of thy parent heaven yet speaks in thoo.
O thou art poor
Of noble poworn, I BOO,
And full of nothing olno but empty mo ;
Narrow and low, and infinitely IOHH
Than thin groat morning's mighty JjwuncHB.
Ono little world or two,
Alas ' will never do ;
Wo muflt have wtoro ;
Oo, soul, out of thyself, and nook for more ;

(Jo and roquont

Groat Nature for tho koy of hor hncro cho«t
Of hoav'nH, tlio self-involving1 wot of nphoros,
Which dull mortality more fools than hoars ;
Then rouse tho noHt

Of nimble art, and traverse round

The airy shop of soul-appeasing Bound .

And boat a summons in the same
All-sovereign name,

To warn each several kind

And shape of sweetness — be they such
As sigh with supple wind
Or answer artful touch —

That they convene and come away

To wait at the love-orown'd doors of that
illustrious day

Come, lovely namo ' hfo of our hopo I
Lo, wo hold our hearts wide ope '
Unlock thy cabinet of day,
Dearest sweet, and come away.

Lo, how tho thirsty lands
Gasp for thy golden showers, with long-
stretch' d hands '

Lo, how the labouring earth,

That hopes to bo

All heaven by thee,

Leaps at thy birth I
Tho attending world, to wait thy rise,

First turn'd to eyes ;
And then, not knowing what to do,
Turn'd them, to tears, and spent thorn too.
Come, royal namo ' and pay the expense
Of all this precious patience :

Oh, oomo away

And toll tho death of tft.TB delay.
Oh ROO, RO many worlds of barren years
Melted and mooHur'd out m scan of tears I
Oh, POO tlio weary kdu of wakeful hope
(Lovo'H eaHtern vindown) all wide ope

W?th curtauiB drawn,
To catch tho daybreak of thy dawn '
Oh, dawn at last, long-look' d for day 1
Toko thine own wings and come away.
Lo, whore aloft it oomon ! It comes, among
Tho conduct of adoring spirits, that throng
Liko diligent boos, aud swarm about it.

Oh, they are wise,
And know what Bwoots aro sucfc'd from out it.

It is tho hivo

By which they thrive,
Where all their hoard of honey HOB
Lo, where it comofl, upon tho Hiiowy dove's
Soft back, and bungs a bosom big with loves
Welcome to our dark world, thou womb oi day!
Unfold thy fair conception* ; and display
The birth of our bright joys

Oh, thou compacted

Body of bloHRingH ' Hpirit of souls extracted !
Oh, diBflipato thy Rpioy powers,
Cloud of condensed tweets ! and break upon us

In balmy Rhowors !
Oh, fill our sonaoH, and tako from us
All force of RO profane a fallacy,
To think aught sweet but that which smells

of thoo.

Fair flow'ry namo 1 in nono but thoo,
And thy nootaroal fragranoy,

Hourly there moots
An universal synod of all sweets ; #

RICH&RD

SUDDEN CHANGE.

By whom it is defined thus —
That no perfumo
For over shall presume
To pass for odoriferous,
But snob, alone whose sacred pedigree
Can prore itself some Ion, wwoot nomo ! to thoo,
Sweet namo ' in thy ooch wyllablo,
A thousand blost Arabias dwell ,
A thousand hills of franlonoonHO ;
Mountains of myrrh and bodn of spices,
And ten thousand paradises,
The soul that tastes theo takes from thence.
How many unknown worlds there are
Of comforts, which thou luiHt m keeping '
How many thousand mercies there
In pity's soft lap lie a-slooping1 '
Happy he who has the art
To awoke them,
And to take thorn
Home, and lodge them in his heart.
Oh, that it were as it was wont to bo,
When thy old friends, on fire all fall of thoo,
Fought against frowns with simloy ; gave

glorious chase

To persecutions ; and ogaiiiKt iho face
Of death and fiercest dangers, durnt with bravo
And sober pace march on to moot a grave
On their bold breasts about tho world they

bore ihoo,

And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach thoo ;
In. centre of their inmost SOU!H they wore thoo,
Whore rooks and torments striv'd an vain to

reach thee

Little, alas T thought they
Who tore the fair breasts of thy friends,

Thoic fury but made way
For theo, and served them in thy glorious ends
What did thojor weapons, but with wider pores
Enlarge thy flaming-breasted lovorn,
More freely to transpire
That impatient fire

The heart that hides thoo hardly covers ?
What did thoir weapons, Irat sot wide tho doors
For thee P four purple doors, of love's devising,
The ruby windows which onnoli'd tho east
Of thy so oft- repeated ruizii?
Each wound of thoiru wan thy now morning,
And re-enthron'd theo in thy rotiy nest,
With blush of thine own blood thy day

It was tho wit of love o'orflow'd the boundn
Of wrath, and made the way through all those

wounds.
Welcome, dear, all-adored name '

For sure there is no knee

That knows not thoo ;
Or if there be such sons of shame,

Alas ' what will thoy do,
When stubborn rooks shall bow,
And hills hang down their hoav'n-saluting
heads

To seek for humble bods
Of dust, where, in tho bashful shades of ni&ht,
Next to their own low nothing they may lie,
And couch before the dazzling light of thy
dread Majesty.

Thoy that by IOVO'M mild diotato XMHV

Will not adore thon,
Shall then, with ju«t conftimon, bwv

And break before ihoo.

RicJuwl CWK/WW. — A1nwt Ki

299— OTDDHN

I*vo soon, indeed, tho hopctfnl bud
Of a ruddy rone, that Htood,
Blunhinpr to behold tho ray
Of tho now-flalutod <Uy ;
HIB tender top not fully H proud ;
Tho Hwoot dash of a Hhoww now Hhtid,
Eavrlod him no more to hido
Within himself tho pxirplo prtda
Of his forward flowor, whon lo,
While ho Hwoetly *gan to nhow
His Hwolling glorioH, Anstor Hpiwl him ,
Cruel AuHtor thithor lii«d hitn,
And with tho rush of ono rudo bliwt
Sham'd not spitofully to wtwio
All his leavoH BO fronh and nwont,
And lay them trembling ni> hin ftH,
I've noon tho momiii^'H l<>\oly ray
Hover o'or tho new-born <Iay,
With ropy wmgH, HO rfalily hrijfhi,
As if ho Hoom*d to think of iiijfht,
When a ruddy ntorm, wh<>«« H<«»wl
Mode Hoavon'H ratliant fcwn look foul,
Oall'd for an untimoly night
To blot tho nowly-blortHOUiM li^ht.

Itichard Urtt8faiw>—AlH>ut KM,

300.— MUSIC'S DTTKU

Now westward 8ol had Hpont tho rfaliPHt I,

Of nooii'w high glory, wlicm, hard by tho

stroainH

Of Tibet, on the noono of a #ri'nn pI«A»
Under protection of an oak, thoro Hat
A Hwoct luto'H maHlor ; in wlumn tfwiUo utr ;
Ho loHt tho day'H hoat, and Urn own Imt, <<urt* >.
Close in tho covert of tho IWIVOM ilw«n« wf uod
A niphtiugulo, oomo from iho iioitfhbouri'K?

wood

(Tho Hwoot inhabitant of oiw^H filial iroo,
Thoir muHo, thoir Hyron, luirmhwH Myron i.luO ;
There stood she liHt'uin^, and did ontorinin j
Tho mtwic'H Hoft report, : and mould iho ivum* I
Cn her own murmiiTH ; thai whittimn* tnood |

FIi« oiirioxw fing-orn loni, h(»r VOITO mwio j^rtd. i
The man porooiv'd liiw rival, and luir ari.»" i

OiHpoH'd to ffivo tho li^rht-fool, Iiuly Hporl,
Awakes his lut<», und 'giihmt Iho fight U>
:nformH it in a Hwo^t pnuludium
)f cloHor straiiiH, and o'or th<» wilt lut^hi,
lo lightly HkirmiHhoH on <»v«»ry Hiring
Charged with a flying touch j

Hho

Carves out her dainty voioo tw mulily,
nto a thousand wwont diHtinKuiHh'U ionnn,
And reckons up in «oft <Uv,' '

From 1S58 to 1C® ]

MUSIC'S DUEL.

CJGLASHAW.

Quick volumes of wild notes, to lot him know,
By that shrill taste, she could do something too

His nimble hand's instinct then taught each

string

A cap*nng cheerfulness, and mado j!h<ym sing1
To thoir own dance ; now negligently rash
Ho throws his arm, and with a long-drawn dash
Blends all together ; then distinctly trips
From this to that, then quick returning, skips
And snatches this again, and pauses there.
She measures every measure, everywhere
Meets art with art , sometimes, as if in doubt
Not perfect yet, and fearing to be out,
Trails her plain ditty in one long-spun note,
Through the sleek passage of her opon throat,
A clear unwnnkled song, then doih she point it
With tender accents, and severely joint it
By short diminutives, that, being roar'd
In controverting warblos, evenly sh&r'd,
With her awoot Holt who wrangles , ho amaz'd,
That from HO nmall a channel should be raiy'd
Tho to-ramt of a voice, whoso melody
Could molt into such Hwoot variety,
Strains higher yet, thai, tickled with rare art,
Tho tattling wtringH, each breathing in hiH part,
Host kindly do fall out , the grumbling base
In fliirly groans disdains the treble's grace ;
Tho hitfh-poroh't treble chirpa at this, and

chidoH,

Until his finger (moderator) liidos
And cloHOH the nwooi quarrel, rowing all
Houwo, Hhrill at ouoo , au wlu»ii the trumpets

call
Hot JVTiirs to th' harvoHt of doath'n field, and

woo

MOU'H AoartH into thoir handH • thin loRHontoo
She ffivoH tlioiu back . her wupplo broawt thwJlH

out

Sharp airs, and staggers m a warbling doubt
Of (Tallying HWoetuoHH, hovers o'er her HkiU,
And f olcltf in wavM notoH, with a trembling bill,
Tho pliant ROTIOH of her nhppory Hoiig ;
Thou fltartw nhe tmddonly into a throng
Of Hhort thick soba, whoHG thund'ring volleys

float,

And roil thomnolvoH over lior lubrio throat
Izi panting xminrmrn, Htill'd out of her hrouHt;
That over-bubbling Hiring, tho Hiitfar'd newt
Of her dnliciouH HOiil, that thoro dooH lio
Bathing in HtroamH of liquid melody ;
Mtwic'riboHt wood-plot; when in npon'd airs
A golden-headed harvoHt fairly roarn
HIM honoy-dropping tops, plougli'd by hor

broath

Wliich thoto rocipro(jally laboncoth.
In that Hwoot noil it seems a holy quiro,
Sounded to th' name of great Apollo* H lyre ,
Whoflo Hjlvor roof xiugu with tho sprightly

TiOtOH

Of swoot-lipp'd ongol-imps, that swill thoir

throats

Tn cream of morning Helicon, and then
f*rofor Hoft antlumiH to the earn of men,
To woo thorn from their bodH, Htill inurmuring
That moil can uloop while they thoir matins

(Most divine sorvioo) • whoso so early lay
Prevents tho oyolidu of tho blushing day.
Thoro might you hoar hor kindle hor soft voice,
In the close murmur of a sparkling noise ,
And lay the ground- work of her hopeful song,
Still keeping in the forward stream so long,
Till a sweet whirlwmd (striving to got out)
Heaves her soft bosom, wanders round about,
And makes a pretty earthquake in her breast,
Till the fledged notes at length f brsako their

nest,

Fluttering in wanton shoals, and to tho sky,
Wing'd with thoir own wild echoes, pratthngfly.
She opes the flood-gate, and lots loose a tide
Of streaming sweetness, which in Htato doth

ride

On tho wav*d back of every swelling strain,
Bising and falling in a pompous tram,
And while (the thuH discharges a shrill poal
Of flashing airs, she qualifies their zeal
With tho cool opodo of a graver note ,
Thus high, thus low, as if her silver throat
Would roach tho brazen voice of war'b hoarso

bird,

Hor little Ftonl is ravinh'd, and so pour'd
Into loose ocataoioB, that she is plao'd
Above herself, music's enthusiast.

Shame now and anger mix'd a double stain
In the musician's face " yet, once again,
MifltrcHR, I come now reach a strain, my lute,
Above her mock, or bo for over mute.
Or tune a Hong oi victory to mo,
Or to thywolf wng thine own obnoqiiy,"
So Haid, his haudH Hpnghtly as fire ho flhigfl,
And with a quavering coyness toHtoa tho

Tho Hwoot-lipp'd sisters musically frighted,
Hinging their foarn, are fearfully delighted .
Trembling as when Apollo's golden hairs
Aro funnM and frizzled in the wanton airs
Of hiH own breath, which, married to his lyre,
Doth time the npheros, and moko heaven's self

look higher ;

Prom this to that, from that to this ho flics,
J'celH mufdo's pulHo in all hor arteries ;
Caught in a not which there Apollo aproodR,
HIH fingers tftmgglc with tho vocal throudH,
Following those little rillH, ho ftinkw into
A aoa of Helicon , his hand dooH go
ThoBo parta of Bwcotnosa which with nectar

drop,

Softer than that wliich pants in Hobo's cup :
The humorous strings expound IUH luurnod

touch

By vonouH gloflsos ; now ihoy ficom to grutch,
And murmur in a buzzing din, then ginglo
lu shnll-touguod accents, striving to bo
Every wnooth turn, every dolioionft stroke
OiyoH life to some now grace , thus doth ho

invoke

Swootnosa by all her names . tlraR, bravely thnn
(JTraught with a fury BO harmomouH)
Tho luto'H light gomuH now dooH proudly WHO,
Hoav'd on the Burgos of Hwoll'n ihapRodiou ;
Whose flourish (motoor-liko) doth curl tho air
With flash of high-born fancies, hero and thoro

RICHARD CBASHA.W.]

XII 17

Dancing in lofty measures, and anon
Croeps on tho soft touch of a tender tone,
Whose trembling nmrnmrH, molting in wild airs,
Kun to and fio, complaining his sweet cares ;
Booanso those precious myntorios that dwell
In music's ravish' d BOH! he dare not toll,
But whisper to tho world thus do thoy vary,
Each string his note, as if they meant to carry
Their master's blost soul (snatch' d out at his

ears

By a strong eostaoy) through all tho spheres
Of music's heaven; and seat it there on high,
In th' empyreum of pure harmony
At length (after so long, so loud a strife
Of all tho strings, still breathing the best life
Of blest variety, attending on
TTip fingers' fairest revolution,
In many a sweet rise, many as sweet a fall)
A full-mouth'd diapason swallows all

This done, he lists what she would say to

this,

And she, although her breath's lato exorcise
Had dealt too roughly with her tender throat,
Tot summons all her awoot powers for a noto
Alas I in vain ' for while (nwoot soul) sho inert
To measure all thoso wido diversities
Of ohatt'nng strings, by the small size of one
Poor simple voice, raised in a natural tone ,
Sho fails, and failing grieves, and grieving dies
She dies, and loaves her life the victor't* prize,
Falling upon his luto . Oh fit to have
(That lived so sweetly) dead, so sweet a grave '

Btc7wtr(Z OrosJwMo. — About 1040.

301. — MARK XII. 17.

All we have is God's, and yet
Otosar challenges a debt,
Nor hath God a thinner share,
Whatever Gtosar's paymontw are.
All is God's, and yot 'tis true
All wo have is Coosar's too ;
All is CflQHar's, and, what odd*,
So long as Ciosar's self is God's ?

Ihchwrd Craslwiv.— About 1640.

302.— SUNDAY.

0 day most calm, most bright,
The fruit of this tho next world's bud,
The indorsement of supremo delight,
Writ by a ITriend, and with his blood ;
The couch of time, care's balm and bay :
Tho week were dark, but for thy light ,

Thy torch doth show tho way.

Tho other days and thou
Make up one man, whoso face tliou art,
Knocking at heaven with thy brow •
Tto workydays are tho back-part ,
The burden of tho week lies thoro,
MaJbng the whole to stoop and bow,

Till thy release appear.

Man had ntnuiflit forward tfo
To ondloHH (loath • but thou donl pull
And turn UH round, to look on 0110,
Whom, if wo woro wot v<»ry <ltill,
Wo could not ohooHO bat look on Htill ;
Since thoro in no piano HO olotm,

The wliioh ho dotb not fill.

Snndayw tho pillura aro,
On which hoavon'H palace* art»lu»<l lion :
Tho other dayn fill tip tho Hparu
And hollow room wiili vumtii'H.
Thoy are tho fruitful bcwlH itntl bore lorn
In God'w rich gurdon : that m lmn\

Which partrt thoir ninlvH and onion*.

Tho Sunday H of BIIMI'H lif<»,
Threaded to^othor on Timo'M Hiriuft,
Make bracolotH to adorn tho wifo
Of the eternal glorioua ICirxg-.
On Sunday heaven* M gato HtandH opo ;
Blessings arc plentiful ami rifu —

More plontifal than hojjo,

ThiH day my Haviour rows
And did onoloHO ililn li^lit for Itirt ;
That, as each l>u(tsii hiri manner known,
Man might not of hin foddor HUM.
Christ hath took in thin picco of f ground,
And mwlo a ^ird<>ii tlicrc For UIOMO

Who want horbw for thi'ir wouwl

Tho ront of our (*rt*iLiion
Our ffnni toodwnor diil n»m<»vi«
With tlio Kama Hhaku, winch ni hi.t j
Did tho earth and all tlmi'?« \viih
AH SampHou boro iho <loor.« a\va.\,
OhriHt'H liandn, though nailM, \\ ruiiffht our

And did unlnu^o that, day.

Tim biightmtHH of that day
Wo Hiilliod by our foul offMK'o :
Whoroforo tliat robo wo cuint away,
Haying a now at IUH rxp<»nf<s
WhoHo dropn of blood paid the* ftill ]»rioi%
That was rtxininul to inako u<< jruy,

And iit for i>aradin<».

Thou art a day of miHIi .
And wh(\wj tho wook-dayH imll n
Thy flight in higher, OH thy birth :
O lot mo tako than at tho hound,
leaping with thon from Mttvoii io
Till that wo both, Iwltitf toHnM from

yiy hand in lifttul to hoavtm !

llritort. -Alnnit

303.— VIRTU K.

Sweet day I so oool, HO oaln»» HO bright,
Tho bridal of tho earth and Hky ;
Tho down shall woctp thy full to-night ;

For thou muHt tllo,
Swoofc row) ! who«o htm, anpfty iuid
Bids tho roKh gazor wii>o hw oyo ;
Thy root IH over in itn RTIIVO ;

And thou xnuMt dio.

flrow 1558 to 1649.]

COMPLAINING-

Swoot spring ' full of sweet days and rosos ,
A box whore sweets compacted lie ;
Thy music shows yo have your closes ;
And til must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like Hoason'd timber never gives j
But, though tho whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives

Qeorgo JK&rbert — About 1630.

304, — THE FLOWER

How frowh, 0 Lord, how sweet and oloan
Axe thy returns ' o'on OB tho flowers in

spring——

To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past fronts tributes of pleasure
bring.

Grief molts away
Like Know in May,
As if thoro wore no such cold thing.

"Who would have thought my shrivolTd

heart
Could have recover' d groonnoHB ? It was gone

Quito under ground , an flow'rs depart
To HOO their mother-root whou they have
blown,

Whore they together,
All tho hard wouthoi ,
Dead to tho world, keep IIOIIHO, miknown.

ThoHO are Thy wondorfl, Lord of power •
Killing and qmok'ning, bringing down to hell

And up to houvon, in an hour
Making a chiming of u» paHHuig-boll.
Wo way amiHH,
ThiH or that in, —
Thy word in all, if wo could upoU.

0 that I onoo pant changing were,

Fast in Thy paradiHO, whoro no flower can

wither I

Many a Hpring I Hhoot up fair,
Off 'ring at hoav'n, growing and groaning
thither;

Nor doth my flower
Want a spring Hhowor,
My sins and I joining together.

But, while I grow in a straight lino,
Still upwards bent, aw if hoav'n wero mine

own,

Thy anger comofl, and I decline ;
What frost to that P What polo is not the
zone

Where all things burn,
When Thou Aosi turn,
And tho least frown of Thine IH shown.

And now in ago I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write ;

1 onoo more smell the dew and rain,
And relish vorHing ; 0, my only Light,

It cannot bo
That I am he
On whom Thy tempests foil all night 1

These are Thy wonders, Lord of love,
To make us see we are but flowers that

glide ;

Which when wo onoe can find and prove,
Thou hast a garden for us whore to bide,
Who would be more,
^ Swelling through store,
Forfeit their paradiso by their pride

Qoorgo Herbert. — About 1630.

305.— THE ODOTO

How sweetly doth My Master sound! — My

Master '
As ambergris loaves a rich scent

Unto the taster,

So do those words a swoot content
£n Oriental fragranoy— — My Master '

With those all day I do perfume my mind,
My mind oven thrust into thorn both*—

That I might find

What cordials make tfaiff curious broth,
This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my
mind

My Master, shall I speak P 0 that to Thee
My servant were a little so
As flesh may bo !
That those two words might creep and

grow
To some degree of spioinoss to Thee '

Then should tho pomander, winch was before
A Hpookmg Hwoot, mend by reflection,

And toll ino moro ,
For pardon of my imperfection

Would warm and work it sweeter than before.

For when My Master, which alone is B'vfleet,
And, o'on in my unworthiness pleasing,

Shall call and moot
My Horvant, as Thee not displeasing,

That flfljl in but tho breathing of tho swoct.

Thiti breathing would with gains, by sweot'ning

mo,
(A» sweet things traffic when they meet)

Boturn toThoo,

And so thin new commerce and sweet
Should all my life employ, and busy mo.

George Herbert. — About 1630.

306 —COMPLAINING.

Do not boguilo my heart,

Because thou art

My power and wisdom ! !Put me not to
shame,

Because I am
Thy day that weeps, Thy dust that calls I

Thou art tho Lord of Glory —

Tho deed and story
Are both Thy duo , but I a sifly fly,

That live or die,
According as tho weather falls.

EASTER.

Pn.tr n> —

Art Thou all justice, Lord ?

Shows not Thy word
Moro attributes P Am I all throat or oyo,

To woop or cry ?
Hare I no ports but thoao of grjof ?

Lot not Thy wrathful power

Afflict my hour,
My inch of life , or lot Thy gracious power

Contract my hour,
That I may climb and find robot

George Herbert* — About 1680.

307.— EASTER

Biso, Heart ' thy Lord is risen. Sing His
praiso

Without delays

Who takes theo by the hand, that thou liko-
wise

With Him may'st ri?o —
That, as His death calcined thoe to dost,
"Pitt life may make thoo gold, and much more
just

Awake, my Into, and struggle for thy port

With all thy art '

The cross taught all wood to resound Hin
name

Who bore the same ;
His stretched sinews taught all strmgrf what

key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.

Consort both harp and lute, aud twist a song

Pleasant and long 1

Or, since all music is but throe part.) vied
* And multiplied,

0 let thy blessed Spirit boor a part,

And make up our defects with His sweet art.

1 got me flowers to straw the way,
I got mo boughs off many a tree ,
But thou wast up by break of day,

And brought'st thy gwoots along wiLh thoo

The Sun arising in the cant,

Though he give light, and ill' oast perfume,

If they should offer to contest

With thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many Suns to shine endeavour ?
We count three hundred, but we JOIHB —
There is but one, and that one over.

George Herbert.— -Alout 1G30.

308.-—THE CALL.

Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life t
Such a Way as gives us breath ,

Such a Truth as ends all strife ;
Such a Life as killeth death.

Come, my Light, my Portsi, my Hlrougth!

Such a Lii?ht iw H!IO\VM a IVusi ;
Such a Feast as mondM iu

Such a Strength u<< m«il«ris

Come, my Joy, my I*ovo, my Heart '
Such a Joy on nono «au movo ;

Such a Love OH nono win part ;
Such a Jloart OH joyn m !<>> <•

Hfftwft.—. Muut

309.— MAN.

My God, I hoard tliin day
Tliat none doth build it ntatoly habitation
J*ut ho that moans to dwoll tlutrwn
What house inoro Htatoly hath thoro litmn,
Or oan bo, thuu IH nwn, to wluwo creation

All tlmiffH arc m dotuiy P

For man IH ov'rythiii'f,
And more ho in a tr<w, yul IMWA no fruit, ;
A boaHt, yet IB, or nhoulcl bo, ninni—
Boason and Hpoonh wo only \miix.
Porrotw may thank UH, if ilwy n,n» not imit<4

They go wi-on ih«

Man IH all Hymmoii'i(»—
Thill of propoitionri, ono limb to aimihi'r,
And all to all the worl<l bonUUM.
Each part xmiy «all tho farthciHt hrnUtiv ;
For head with ftwyt liath privato amliJo,

And bolh with IUOOUH uzul lulott.

Nothing hath ^ot HO ftirro
But man hath cati^lii and Ivcpl. it an hie prey
IIiH oyos diHmonnt tlu* liitfluut Hiitm» ;
11 o IH in litilo all tho Hplu^rc.
Horbfl gladly euro our llnnh^ bnrtvn 4« U»,ti* (!»«•>*

tli"ro,

For UH tlio \viiulH do l»l(i\v,
The earth doth rout, hitttvou move, mui

foiuxtaiuH (low

Nothing wo HOO but moaiw oar jrood,
AH oar doliglil, or OH our trtMuurn ;
The whole JH («thor our (uiphoard of food

Or oalwnet of pluoHimt.

Tlio wtitrroM luivo nn to Iwd— •
Night (Trawfl tho curtain, wl&ifh ilw i'.umu»

withdrawn.

KuHiok aud light attonil our htvul ?
All things unto our flash aro Lui'hi
In their dcHcont and Ixuri^— to our inindo
In thoir tiHccnt and uauHu,

Each thing iH full of duiio :
Watorw united arc onr navigation—
DiHtrnguwhod, our habitation ;
JRolow, our drink— abovo, our moat ;
JBoth arc our oloaniiaoHHo, llath ono nuch
boautio P

Then how are all thingv noat P

From 1558 to 1614).] THE SOttOJbJKEJE&y Utf VAIN DJEflHOllTB.

More servants wait on man
Than ho'H toko notice of. In ov'ry path
Ho treads down that which doth bofriond

him

"Whon sioknosso makes him polo and wan.
0 mightio IOTO ! Han is one woj'ld, and hath
Another to attend him.

Since thon, my God, Thou hart
So bravo a palace built, 0 dwell in it,
That it may dwell with Thoe at last !
Till thon afford us BO muoh wit
That, as tho world sorvos ns, wo may servo
Thoo,

And both Thy servants bo.

GWHJV IM&l — About 1G30.

310— THE BAXNTBOW.

High m the airy element thoro Inrng
Another cloudy noa, that did diwliun,
As tlioaj>H IUH purer WIIVOB irwu lioavon

To crawl on oarth, an doth tho sluggish main :
But it the onrth would water with his ram,
That obb'd arid flowed as wuid and noaHon

would ;

And oft tho mm wonld oloavo tho limbor moidd
To lilabiiHtur rooLw, that in tho liquid roll'd

Beneath ttiono mumy batiks a darker cloud,
Dropping witli thicker clow, did iwll, apa«o,
And bout itnolf juto a hollow nhroud,
OH which, if Mmjy did but «iw->L lior fane,
A thouHand ooJnuiH did tho bow ciiwliaso,
That wondor WUH to HOO tho mlk dutitiuM
With tho roHploiuloncu) from horboatiiy gaiii'd,
And JriH paint her louku with boanm HO lively
foignU

About her hoad a oypronn hoitron she wore,
Spread liko a veil, uphold with HI Ivor wiro,
In which tho Htarn HO burnt iu golden oro,
AH Hooni'd tho axuro wob wan all OIL iiro :
But hiiHtily, to quench thoir sparkling ir«,
A flood of 111 ilk came rollitiff up tho nhoro,
That on hi« curded wave Bwift Ar;?iiH woro,
And tho uuzuortitl swan, iliat did her lifo
doploro.

Yot Htran^e it wan HO many wtarw to HOO,
Without a HHU to tfivo thoir taporn li^hi $
Yet strange it WUH not that it HO nhould be ;
For, whore tlio mm centron hitnH(»lf by ri^ht,
Jftor ffute and lookn <Iul ilaino, tluit at the Hifflit
Tho heavenly voil, that O!HO nhould nimbly

move,

"Forgot hiH ilijrht, and all inonnwod with lovo,
With wondor and amazement, did her bounty

provo.

Over her hiuiff a canopy of state,
Not of rich tiHwio nor of Hpaiitflod ffold,
Hut of a HubHtiiuce, thongh not aniinato,
Yet of a heavenly and HpirttniaJ mould,
That only oyos of Hi>iritH miffht behold •
Such light as from main rocks of diamond,

Shooting thoir Hparkn at FhcubuH, would re-

bound,-
And httlo angels, holding* hands, dancod all

around.

£ixf — THE SOBCEREBiS OF
DMLIGUTS.

Hero did Presumption her pavilion spread
Over tho temple, the bright Htars among,
(Ah, that her foot should trample on the head
Of that mo nil over oiul place r) aiul a* lewd throng
Of wanton boys Hrmg- her a pleiM-tout Hong
Of lovo, long life, of utoroy, and of grace,
And ovory one her dearly did ombmco,
Arid Hho herself otioinour'd wan of hor own faces,

A painted face, belied with vermoyl wtoro,
Which light Jbhu'lpiH every day did trim,
That in ono hand a gilded, anchor woro,
Not fixed on tho rook, bat on tho brna
Of tho wade air, she lot it loosely Hwiin I
Her other hand a npriuklo carried,
And ever whou hor lady wavered,
Court holy-wator all upon hor sprinkled.

Poor fool ' shu thought horaolf in wondrous

price

With God, aw if in Varadiwj wlio woro
lint, were H!IO not iu a fool'H iiaradwe,
iShe im^ht havo HOOII mon^ I'oaHoii to (lonpair :
JJut him H!IO, Uke nomtj ^hantly iietid, (b<l fear.

And therefore iw that wruloh how'd out his
coll

CJnder the bowels, in the lioart of IIoll ;
So she al)ovo tho Moon, auiui tlio stars would

dwell.

Her tout with f-uuny elouds was olol'd alcft,
And so oxceeditig Hlunio with a false light,
That, tlotiv'n itHolf to her it aoomod oft,
Iloav'n without elonds to hor deluded sight ;
Dut olonds withouten Hoar'n it was aright .
And as hor house was built, so did hor brain
Build castles in tho 0*2, with idle pain.
But heart Hho never had in all her body vain.

Liko as a ship, in which no balance HOH,
Without a pilot on tho sleeping waves,
Fairly along with wind and water Hies,
And painted masts with Hilkou Hailw ombravofl,
That Neptune's soli the bragging VOHSO! stives,

To laugh a while at her HO proud array;

Her waving Htroaiuorn loosely she lets play,
And fltwfrHMT colours shine aid bright tvs

Bat all so soon as Hoav'n his brows doth bend,
She veils her banners, and piills in her boatus*
Tho empty bark tho raging billows send
Up to lit' Olympic waves, and Argus scorns
Again to ride upon our lower streams :
Right HO JfrttHumptioti did herself boh&vo,
Tossod about with every stormy wave,
And in whito lawn she wont, moHt liko an augol
brnvo.

GILES FLBTCHEB ] THE SOBOEBBBS OF VAIN DELIGHTS. [THIRD ?KUIOT>.—

Gontly our Saviour she "began to shnvo,
Whether ho wore the Son of God, or no ,
For any other she disdain' d to wilo :
And if he wore, she bid him f oarlows throw
Himself to ground , and therewithal did show
A flight of little angels, that did wait
Upon their glittering wings, to latch him

straight ,

And longod on their backs to feel his glorious
weight.

But when she saw her speech prevailed nought,
Herself she tumbled headlong to the floor •
But him the angels on their feathers caught,
And to an airy mountain nimbly bore,
Whoso snowy shoulders, like some chalky

shore,

Bostloss Olympus sooxn'd to lost upon
With all his swimming globes so Loth aro

gone

The Dragon with the Lamb. Ah, unmeet
paragon r

ALL suddenly the hill his snow devours,
In lieu whereof a goodly garden grow,
As if the snow had melted into flow^u,
Which their swoot breath in subtle vapours

throw

That all about perfumed spirits flow,
For whatsoever might aggrato iho sense,
In all tho world, or please the appotonco,
Horo it was poured out m lavish affluence.

Not lovely Ida might with this compare,
Though many streams his banks boftilvorod,
Though Xanthus with his golden sands he bare
Nor Hybla, though his thyme depastured,
As fast again with honey blossomed
No Bhodope, no Tempo's flow*ry plain
Adonis' garden was to this but vain,
Though Plato on his beds a flood of praise
did rain.

For in all these some one thing most did grow,
But in this one grow all things else beside ;
For swoot Variety hornolf did throw
To every bank, horo all tho ground HOG dido
In lily white, there pinks oblazod white,
And damask all tho earth j and hero Hho shod
Blue violets, and there came roses red *
And every sight tho yielding sense as captive
led.

The garden like a lady fair was out,
That lay as if she slumber' d in delight,
And to tho opon skies her oyos did shut ;
The azure fields of Heav'nwero 'somblod right
In a large round, sot with tho flow'rs of light

Tho flow'rs-doJuoe, and tho round sparks of
dew,

That hung upon their azure loaves, did show
Like twinkling- stars, that sparkle in the

evening blue

Upon a hilly bank her head she oast,
On which tho bower of Vain-delight was built.
White and red roses for her face were plao't,
And for her tresses marigolds were spilt :
Them broadly she displayed, like flaming gilt,

Till in tho ocean tho gliwl day worn drnwii'd
Thon up again luir yollow lo<»lvn nlio wound,
And with green lillotn m ihoir pretty cauls
them bound

What should I horo dopoiut hw lily liand,
Her voins of violotn, lw»r ormino l»rt»ast,
Which thoro in orient colours living stand
Or how her gown with tdlkon LUIVCM in dnwt,
Or how her watchman, aruiM with boujfhy

oroHt,

A wall of prim hid m bin Uunl
Shaking at ovory wind tlioir Iwivy
While who Httpmoly Hlooprt no to IMI wakod

Over tho hodffo dopcndn tho grftpiu'? olrn,
Whoso greener head, ompurpulwl in wiiii»,
Boomed to wonder at hin bloody holm,
And half HUHi>oot tlm bunoluw of tho vino,
LoHt they, porhnpn, hin wit whonld wulwnino,
For well ho know Hiioh fruit ho ntwr Uorn i
But hor weak arnw owbnwwd him tho mow,
And hor with ruby gra^cri Ittu^liM at hoc
paramour.

Under tho Hhadow of tlumo drunken t»lm4
A fountain rone, whoTo Paii'rltm^.iat it;i(»s
(When hor Homo flood of fiuuty ovcrwhchnu,
And ono of all hor iavouritoH nlio chooHim)
To bathe hornolf, whom H!IO m lust alm^on.
And from hiw wanion body HuolcH IU'H luuil,
Which, drown'd in pluanuro in ihtit shallow

bowl,
And Hwuuming iu dolight, dotli atuorott^ly roll.

Tho font of silver won, and HO Inn Hho worn
In silver fell, only tlio gihhul bowln
(Like to a furnoco, that tho mm'ral ]>oworH)
Soom'dio have mol't it m their Hhnun^ holoH :
And on tho wator, liko to burning coaln,
On liquid mlvor loavoH of I*OHOH lti.,v t
Bui when Punglory horo did li-tl, to play,
Boso- water then it ran, and uulk it rain'd,
thoy Hay.

Tho roof thick cloudn did pain I, from wluoh

three boyn
Throo gaping zuormaidri with thoir

food,
WhoHobroantH lot fall tho Htroamu,

noiHO,
To lionrt' inoutliH, from whonw it leapt with

spood,
And in tho rosy lavur RoatnM to l»lo<ult

Tho nakod boyn unto tlio witor'n fall,

Their atony ni^htingalos hod taught to noil,
Whon Zophyr broath'd into th(»ir wat'ry in-

torail.

And all about, ombayod in Hnft nloop,
A herd of charmed bcanta a-pprouno! wt^ro Hpruad,
Which tho fair witohiu goldon chaiun dui k<K)p,
And thorn in willing- bozulaxvt f()tt(^ccl t
Once men thoy liv'd, but now tho mon woro

dead,

And turn'd to booittft, HO fablwl Tlomor old,
That Oirco with hor potion, oharmM in gold,
TTs'd manly souls inbeawtly bodioHtoimmould.

From 1558 to 1040 ] THE SORCEBEBS OF YAIN" DELIGHTS. [GiLBS

Through this false Edon, to his Ionian's bow'r,
(Whom thousand souls devoutly idolize)
Our fiist destroyer led our Saviour;
There in the lower room, in solemn wise,
They danc'd a round, and pour'd their sacrx&oo
To plump Iiyams, and among- the rest,
The jolly priest, in ivy garlands drest,
Chanted wild orgials, in honour of tho feast.

Others within their aibours swilling sat,
(For all the room about was arbourod)
With laughing Bacchus, that was grown so fat,
That stand he could not, but was earned,
And every evening freshly watered,
To quonoh his fiery cheeks, and all about
Small cockw broke through tho wall, and

sallied out

Flaggons of wine, to set on fiio that spuing
rout.

This their inhumed souls ofttoom'd their

woolthH,

To crown tho bouning1 can from day to night,
And Hick to drink themselves with drinking

healths,

Rome vomiting, all drunken with delight,
Honco to a loft, oiirv'd all m ivory white,

They coino, whore whiter lodioH naked wont,

Molted in ploumiro and soft langmulimont,
And niuik in bodn of IOSOH, oinorous glances

HOUt.

Fly, fly, thou holy Ohild, that wanton room,
And tli ou, my chanter MUHO, thowo liurlotH Hhun,
And witli him to a liiglwn wfcory come,
Wboro niomvU of gold and floodnoi wlvorrun,
Tho whilo tho owncrH, with their wealth un-

dono,

FMiorvo in thcur nloro, und hi thoir plenty pmo,
Tumbling thouwolvow upon thoii hoapH of

imno,

Glutting their famish' <1 HOU!H, with tho deceit-
ful Hhiuo.

Ah ' who was ho Hiioh precious borll« found ?
How Htrongly Natnro did her trooHurort hido,
And throw upon them, mountains of thick

ground,

To dark thoir ory luHtro ' but qnamt Prirlo
Hath taught hor sons to wound thoir mother's

fudo,
And tfago tho depth, to Hoaroh for flaring

shollH,
In whoso bright bosom flpiuny Bacchus

swells,

That neither If oaven nor Earth henceforth in
safety dwolln

0 sacrod hunger of tho greedy oye,
Whoso need hath end, but no end covotiso,
Empty in fulness, rich m poverty,
That having all things, nothing can suffice.
How thou bofanoioHt the men most WIHO '

Tho poor man would bo rich, tho rich man
groat,

Tho tfreat man king, the king in God's own

seat
Enthron'd, with mortal arm dares flamoe, and

thunder throat

Therefore above the rest Ambition sate,
His court with ghtterant pearl was all inwoLL'd,
And round about the wall, in chairs of state,
And most majestic splendour, were install' d
A hundred kings, whose temples wore impair d
In golden diadems, set here and there
With diamonds, and gemmed every where,
And of their golden virges none disoeptred
were.

High over all, Panglor/s blazing throne,
In hor bright turret, all of crystal wrought,
lake Phcobus' lamp, in midst of Heaven, shone :
Whose starry top, with pndo infernal fraught,
Self-arching columns to uphold were taught
In which her imago stall reflected was
By tho smooth crystal, that, most like her

glass,
In beauty and in frailty did all others pass

A silver wand tho sorooross did sway,
And, for a crown of gold, hor hair she wore ;
Only a garland of roso-buds did play
About hor looks, and in her hand she bore
A hollow globo of gloss, that long before
She full of omptmoss had bladdered,
And all the world therein depictured ;
Whose colours, like tho rainbow, ever vanished.

Such wat'ry orbioles young boys do blow
Ont from their soapy shells, and much admire
The Hwimming world, which tenderly they row
Wibh easy breath tJl it bo waved higher
But if they chance but roughly once aspire,

Tho painted bubble instantly doth fall.

Hero when she came, she 'gon for music call,
And sung this wooing song, to welcome him

withal -

" Love ia the blossom where there blows
Every thing that lives or grows
Love doth make tho Heavens to move,
And tho Sun doth burn in love
Love tho strong and weak doth yoke,
And makos the ivy climb the oak j
Under whoso shadows lions wild,
Softon'd by love, grow tame and mild •
Love no mod'omo can appease,
He burns tho fishes in tho seas ,
Not all the skill his wounds can stench,
Not all the sea his firo can quench
Love did make tho bloody spear
Once a leavy coat to wear,
While in his leaves there shrouded lay
Sweet birds, for love, that sing and play:
And of all love's joyful flame,
I tho bud and blossom am.
Only bend thy kneo to mo,
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.

" See, see tho flowers that below,
Now as fresh as morning blow,
And of all, tho virgin rone,
That as bright Aurora HLowu .
How they all unloayod die,
loosing their virginity ,
Idko unto a summor-Bhado,
But now born, and now they frwlo.

GILES FLETCHER ]

[Tinun PJKUIOD —

Every thing doth pans away,
There is danger in delay •
Come, oomo, gather thou tlio roso,
Gather it, or it you loao.
All tho sand of Tagua' shoro
Into my bosom cants hia oro .
All tho valloya' swimming: corn
To my house is yearly borno .
Every grape of every vino
Is gladly bruia'd to mako mo "WHIG :
Whilo ton thousand kingtJ, as proud,
To carry up my troia havo bow'd>
And a -world of ladies send mo
la my chambers to attend mo
All tho stars in Hoav*n that Hhme,
And ten thousand moro aro mine :
Only bond thy knee to mo,
Thy wooing shall thy winning be."

Thus sought the dire onohantro^a in Ins mind
Her guileful bait to havo embosomed
But he her charms dispersed into wind,
And her of insolence admomnhod,
And all hor optio glasses shattoiod

So with hor giro to Hell Hho took hor flight,
(The starting air flow from the damned

spxight)

Whoro deeply both aggriov'd, plunged thoxn-
BolTOB in night.

But to their Lord, now musing in hifl thought,
A heavenly volley of light angola flew,
And from his Father him a banquet brought,
Through tho fine element ; for well tlioy know,
After his Lonton fast, ho hungry grow *
And as ho fed, the holy qmros combine
To sing a hymn of the celestial Trine ;
All thought to pass, and each was past all
thought divine.

The birds' sweet notes, to Bonnet out their joys,

Attompor'd to tho lays angelical ;

And to tho birdrt tho winds attune their notao,

And to the matin the waters hoarsely call,

And echo back again revoioed all ;
That the whole valloy rung with victory
But now our Lord to rest doth hoiuowurdn
fly:

See how the night comes stealing from the

Qilcs Watcher.— About 1C10.

312.— A HYMN.

Drop, drop, slow tears, and bathe those

beauteous feet,
Which brought from heaven tho news and

Prmoe of Peace '

Cease not, wot eyes, His mercy to ontroat !
To cry for vongoanoo pan doth novor coaHO.
la your deep floods drown all my f aultH and

foars,
Nor let his eye see sm but thro' my tears.

Chios McJwr.— About IdO.

313.— THE Dl'JMAND OF JUSTICE

Upon two atony tiibl<«H, hiuviul lioforo her,
She loan'd hoi boHom, nioro than stony

hold,
There nlopt th' imjwirtial judyo, and htrtot

roHtoror

Of wroutf,or riorlit,with pain, or with rowitrd.
Thoro him:* tho KCOIO of all our <U»I)1'4, tiio

card
Whoro jyooil, and basl, and lift1, and doatli,

woro luuniocl :

Was uo\ur luiirt of morial HO uniiiintiMl,
But whoii that Koroll WILH read, with Uiou.uuiil
torroiw famtud.

WitneHH tho thunder tliat Mount »Shuu

heard,

When «J1 tho lull with Cory oloudu did fl«,m<\
And wand'imj; iHtiiol wiUv tho night af(»ar'<l,
Blinded with uuomg, durnt not touoh tho

Homo,
Bu1> like a woo<l of Rhakm<: loavOH bocanm.

On thin droad JiiHtuM^, H!KS tho livni1* law,

Itowintf hornclf with a majoHtio awo,
All lloav'n, to hoar hur H^ouoh, <htl into
silottoo thraw.

"Broad Lord of Mpiritn, woll thou didHi»

doviHO
To flintf tho world1 H viulo dunghill and tht^

Of tho old cluum, fartluirit from tho HKitw
And thane own Htutt, that liuro tho oitiid of

loss,
Of all tho lower hoiiv1!! tlut curno aiid orttiw,

That wretch, lx»iHt, captivo, iuouHt(«r,

(Proud of iho miro hi wliioh IUH HOU! IM

p<«i'<l)}
Clodded in luuipH of clay, IKH weary liftt to ou<l.

" ITiB botly, <luht , — whoru ^r«w tnuih i-juit <N

of £»rido ?

HIH Haul, thy iinavro* — what <-ouM \u\ onv^^
HiuiHolf, nio.st lia]>iiy, if ho so \v<mM liMd :
Now grown inonL wrt^chml, — whtk ttuu

romody f
Ho H!OW liiniHolf, IniiiHolf ili« cnnniv.

That IUH own Hotd would her own murder
wioak,

If I wore niloiit, lloav'n and Wartli \vouM

And if all fail'd, thoH<t stouoH would info
olamourH break.

" How many dart'i nuwin furrowH in htu ni<h',
Wlion nho, that out of IUH own Hido "wan

mado,
Gave foathorH to tltoir flight ? whcro witn

tho pnclo

OC ttioit now knowlodfjo P whiihctr « Jiil it fad<»,
Wlurn, running from thy voi«<» into tlm Hluuio

Ho fled thy night, himnolf of light bo-
roavM ; .

And for liis Hhiold n lioavy artuottr wotw'd.
With which, vain iuttn, ho thovglit Uod'H oyo«

to havo docoiv'd P

Prom 1558 to 1649 ]

THE TyffiTvrAism OF JUSTICE!.

[teas PLBTOHHB.

" And well lie might delude those eyes that

see,

And judge by colours , for who over saw
A man of loaves, a reasonable tree P
But those that from this stock their life

did draw,

Soon made their father godly, and by law
Proclaimed trees almighty gods of wood,
Of stocks and stones, with crowns of

laurel stood,

Templed, and fed by fathers with their child-
ren's blood.

" The sparkling fanes, that burn m beaten

gold,
And, like the stars of EoaVn in midst of

night,

Black Egypt, as her mirrors, doth behold,
Axe but the donw where idol-snakes delight
Again to cover Satan from thoir sight

Yet thoHo are all thoir gods, to whom
they vie

The crocodile, the cook, tho rat, the fly,
Tit godtJ, indeed, for such men to bo soi vcd by.

" Tho fire, tho wind, tho sea, the Sun, and

Moon,

Tho fitting air, and the Rwift-wingcM hours,
And all tho watchman, that so nimbly run,
And Hontinol about tho walled toworw
Of the world'w aity, in thoir hoavonly

bowers ;

And, lost their ploiiHant gods should
want delight,

Noptnno HpuoH out tho Lmly Aphrorhlo,
And bufa in lloav'u pioucl JIULO'H peacocks

scorn to light.

" Tho sonHoloHs earth, the florpont, dog, anil

cat;
And, worse than all those, man, and worst

of men,

Usurping Jove, and awollmg Bacchus fat,
And drunk with tho vino'n purplo blood ,

and then
Tho ftond himself tlioy cojijuro from his don,

Because he only ynt romtunM, to be

Worno than tho worHt of nion ; they floo

from iihoo,
And woiur hw altar-Htonos out with thoir

pliant knee.

" All that ho Hpeakfl (and all ho spoakfl aro

IIOR)

Aro oracles , 'tis lie (that wounded all)
Cures all their wouuda ; ho (thai put out

their OVOH)
That givoH them light ; ho (that death first

did call

Into tho world) that with his orisol,
InHpints earth- ho HeavVw all-ftoomg

oyo,
Ho Earth's great prophet, ho, whom rest

doth fly,

That on salt billows doth, as pillows, sleeping
he.

" But lot him in his cabin restless rest,
Tho dungeon of dark flames, and freezing

fire,
Justice in Heaven against ™p-if\ makes

request

To Q-od, and of his angels doth require
Sin' s punishment . if what I did desire,

Or who, or against whom, or why, or
whore,

Of, or before whom ignorant I were,
Then should my speech their sands of sins to

mountains rear.

""Were not the Heav'ns pure, in whose

courts I sue,
Tho judge, to whom I sue, just to requite

The cause—- f or sin, the punishment— most

duo,

Justice herself— tho plaintiff to ondito him,

The angels — holy, before whom I cite him,

He — against whom, wicked, unjust, im-

pure,

Then might ho sinful live, and die secure,
Or trial might escape, or trial might endure

" Tho judge might partial be, and over-

pray 'd ;
Tho place appeal' d from, m whose courts

he BUGS ;

Tho fault oxcus'd or punishment delay'd ,
Tho parties self-aocus'd, that cud OOCUHO ;
Angels for pardon might their prayers
use
But now no star con shone, no hope bo

got
MoHt wretched creature, if ho know his

lot,

And yet more wretched far, because he knows
it not !

" What should I tell how barren Earth has

grown,
All for to starve her children P didst not

thou
Water with heav*nly show'rs her womb

unHOwn,
And drop down clods of flow'rs P didst not

thou bow
Thine easy oar unto "the ploughman's vow ?

JLong might ho look, and look, and long in
vain,

Might load his harvest in an empty wain,
And beat the woods, to find the poor oak's

hungry grain

"Tho swelling soa soothes in his angry

waves,
And smitofl tho earth that dares the traitors

nourish ,
Tot oft his thunder thoir light cork out-

braves,
Mowing the mountains, onwhono tomplos

' flourish

Whole woods of garlands , and, their pride
to cherish,

THE DEMAND OP JUSTICE.

[THIRD I>Hl,l)1>.~-

Piough through tho sea's groen fields, and

nets display
To catoh tho flying winds, and steal

away,

Coz'ning the greedy sea, pris'mng their nimble
prey

" Would not the air bo fill'd with streams

of death,

To poison the quick rivers of their blood,
Did not thy winds fan, with their panting

breath,
The flitting region? would not thj hasty

flood

Empty itself into the sea's wide wood ?
Did'st not thou lead it wandering from

his way,
To give men drink, and make his waters

stray,

To fresh the flow'ry meadows, through whoso
fields they play ?

" Who makes the sources of tho silver fotm-

tams
From the flint's mouth, and rooky valleys

slide,
Tbdck'ning- tho airy bowols of tho znoun-

tainaP

Who hath tho wild herds of tho forest tyM
In their cold doziB, making them hungry

bide,

Till man to rent be laid ? oan, beastly, ho,
That should have moat sonse, only Honno-

less be,

And all things else, beside himself, so awofol
seeP

"Wero ho not wilder than tho savage

beast,
Prouder than haughty hiUn, liajdor tliau

rooks,
Colder than fountains from their

roloas'd,
Lighter than air, blinder than

stookR,

More changing than tho rivor'a cnrlmg
looks,

If reason would not, ponne would Hoon
reprove him,

And unto shamo, if not to Morrow

To see cold floods, wild boamtw, dull
hard stones out-love him.

"Under tho weight ot sin tho earth did

fall,
And swallow'd Dathan, and the ratfiug

wind,

And stormy sea, and gaping whale, did call
For Jonas . and the air did bullets find,
And shot from Hoav'n a stony nhow'r to

grind
Tho five proud kings that for their idols

fought,

Tho Sun itself stood still to fight it out,
And fire from Heav'n flew down, when Bin to
Hoav'n did shout

" Should any to himnelf for wifely fly,
Tho way to save limiholf, if any woio,
Wore to fly fiom himnolf nliould ho rely
Upon the promiHo of IUH wife P — but thorn
What can ho woo, but that ho most may

fear,

A Sirou, awflotto death? Tiponliin friends'.'
Who that he needs, or thai lio liath not

lends ?
Or wanting aid himnolf, aid to another Hcm<U?

" His strength ? — but dimt . bin pletwmro ?—

cauHe of pain
Hi« hope? — ^falHC conriii(»r : youth or btwiuiy c*

—brittle •
Entreaty P — fond : r<»p<*nlanco P — laio nu«l

voui:
Just rocomponco ? — tho world woro all t<»o

littlo-
Thy love P — ho hath no title* i o a tittle

HoU*H force P — In valu her furicn H«»Il
shall gather

His servants, kinnmon, or lii« children

ralhor ? —
His child, if good, shall judge ; if bad, filial 1

curue hin father,

"Hi« life? — that briii^m luin to hin <»ml,

and IcavOH him .
HIH on<lP — ^thttfc loav(».M him to bt»#in Lit

WOO:

HIH ffoodflP — ^what good in thai, that H«»

deceives him P
Hifl godri ot wood? — Uujir feet, alas! ur<»

Blow

To go to holp, that imtut l«i helpM i,o <w .
If otiour, groat woi'tlic- — ah! liltlo worth

they be
Unto their O%VJH»W : wif> ?— lliat urnkfi

him HOO

Ho wanted wit, that llioH'-lit ho hud ii., w.iuf-
ing tliee

"Tlio Hoato (Iniik lum <juu'k N— that (u t*»
hiH dead :

to Hparo P— they imiiiMh: n!j?ht. to

Tho world Hhall burn in \\tfhi, : ilin Heav'n i

to Hprnod
Thoir win/rH to Have* lum I'— Heav'n if ,i«ir

fthall Hlido,

And roll away like iwlf \n»r HtarM that. flMe
Aloiiff thtMr oily thre.ul.4 : hU mind pur-

HUOH Intri •
HIH hoiiHo to Hltroiid, or hilN to fall, ami

briiirirt him P

AH florjorwitH both attafli, and witt»er*H<«n
itccuHo him.

" What need I urgo, wliai, tlwy muni needt

confoHH,
Sontonee on thorn, oondonm'd by ilielr own

lUHtP

I crave no moro, and thou ean*Kt rfro no !<WH,
Than death to dead mmi, jitKtino to unjuHi ;
Shame to moHt nhamoful, and ttiotft «htuno*
Ions duHt -

From 1668 to 1G40 ]

ENTSTATJILTXT OF HTJHAN GBEATNESS.

[P. FLBJTOKBB,

But if thy mercy needs will spare Her

friends,

Let mercy there begin, whore justice ends.
'Tis cruel mercy, that the wrong from right
dafondfl."

She ended, and the hoaVnly Incrarchios,
Burning in zeal, thickly unbranded were ;
Like to an army that alarum cnos,
And every one shakes his ydreadod spoor,
And the Almighty's self, as he would tear
The Earth, and her firm basis quite in

sunder,
Flam'd all in just revenge, and mighty

thunder.

Heav*n Rtolo itself from Earth by clouds that
moiuten'd under.

Giles Fletcher. — About 1610.

314— HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHEED'S
LIFE.

Thrice, oh thrice happy, shepherd's life and

utato'

When courts aro happiness* unhappy pawn** '
His cottage low and nafoly humble gate
Shutu ont proud Fortune, with her scorns and

fawn«

No feared trooHon broakH his quiot alpop
Singing all day, hi« flockH ho loarnH to koop ,
UmiHolf aw uinocuiit an arc has Himplo Hheop.

No Syrian wormw lie known, that with their

throiul

"Draw ont thoir Hilkon IIVOH nor Hilkon pride •
1 1 in lambs' warm flooco wollfitu IHH little nood,
Not in that proud Widc-niun tincture dyed :
No entity hoport, wo (tourtly IOOTH lum fright ,
Nor bogging wantH liw middle fortune bito :
Jhit Hwout content nxilcm l>oth misery and spite.

TnKtoad of muHio, and bane flattering longuos,
Which wait to flrHt Haluto my lord'H npriHo ;
Tho choorf ul lark wakoH Mm with early songH,
And bir<V wwoot whJHthng notes unlock IUH

oyoH

In country plays i« all the strife ho UROR ;
Or Hing, or datioo unto the rural MIIHOH j
And but in inuHio'H Hportw all diirorotico rof UROR.

ITiH ^ortftin life, tliat novor oan doooivo him,
IH full of thousand HW(^t«, and rioh content .
Tbo Htnooth-loavod beeohos in tho field receive

hitn
With coolost Hhatlen, till noon-tide rage is

HIM life is noiilior tosa'd m boiniVo-nfl ROOB
Of troublouH world, nor lo«t m nloi-hfitl oaso •
Plon^M and full blewt ho liven, when ho hia
God can ploaflo.

ITiw bod of wool yields Bafo and quiet
While by hit* Hide hin faithful npouso hath

place ;

llifi little son into his bosom creeps,
Tho lively picture of his father's face

Never his humble house nor state torment

him-
Less he could liko, if loss his God had sent

him;
And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy

tomb, content him

Phmeas Fletcher. — Alowb 1633.

315 — INSTABILITT OF HUMAN

GBEATNESS.

Fond man, that looks on earth for happiness,
And hero long seeks what hero IH never found1
For all our good wo hold from Heav'n by

lease,

With many f orf oita and conditions bound ,
Nor can wo pay tho fine and rentago due
Though now but wnt and seaTd, and giv'n

anew,
Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew.

Why ahould'st thou hero look for perpetual

good,

At every loss against HoavVs face repining?
Do but behold where glorious cities stood,
With gilded tops, and silver turrets shining ?
Whore now tho hart fearless of greyhound

feeds,

And loving pelican in safety broods ,
WTiero screeching satyrs fill tho people's

empty steads.

Where is tlio Assyrian hon's goldon hide,
That all tho oast oiico grasp' d m lordly paw ?
Whoro that groat PorRian boar, whoHO swell-
ing pride

Tho bon'H nolf tore out with ravenous jaw P
Or he which, 'twixt a lion and a paid,
Through all the world with nimble pinions

farocl,

And to hiH greedy whelps his oonquer'd king-
doms Hharod P

Hardly tho place of mich antiquity,
Or note of tlumo groat monarchies we find :
Only a fading verbal memory,
An empty name in writ is left behind
But when this second life and glory fades,
And sinks at length in time's obHouror shades,
A second fall succeeds, and double death in-
vades.

That monstrous Boast, which nurHodm Tiber's

fon,

Did all tho world with hideout) shape affray ;
That filTd with costly spoil IIIB gaping don,
And trode down all tho rest to dust and clay
HiH battering horns pulTd out by civil hands,
And iron teeth lie scatter' d on tho wands ;
Back'd, bndlod by a monk, with seven heads

yoked utands.

And that black Vulture, which with doathfiil

wing
O'ornhadowti half tho earth, whoso dismal

sight

Frighten' d the Muses from their native Rprmpr,
Already stoops, and flags with weary flight •

P. FLBTCHEB.] TO EOSBS IN THE BOSOM OP CASTAEA. [Tmwi>

Who then shall look for happiness beneath P
Where oaoh now day pioolaims chance, chungo,

and death,
And life itself* s as flat as is the oar wo breathe

PJwnooLS Fletcher,— About 1C33.

3I6._ TO BOSES IN THE BOSOM OF

CASTABA.

Tee blushing virgins happie are
In the ohasto nunn'ry of hor brests,
!For heo'd prophane BO ohasto a fairo,
"Who ere should oall them Cupid's nests.

Transplanted thus how bright yoe grow,
How noh a perfume doe yoo yoold ?
In some close garden, cowslips so
Are sweeter than i' the open field.

In those white cloystors live socuro
Prom the rude blasts of wanton breath,
Each houre more innocoiit and pure,
Till you shall wither into death

Then that whioh living gave you roome,
Your glorious sepulohor shall be
There wonts no marble for a tombo,
"Whose breflt hath marble boono to mo.
>rttttam Habvnqton.—

317.— TO CASTABA.
8oftty swgwiy to Hwsolf

Sing forth, awoote ohorubin (for we have ohoioo
Of reasons in thy beauty and thy voyoo,
To name thoe so, and soaroo appoare prophano)
Sm£ forth, that while the orbs celestial! straiuo
To oooho thy sweet note, our humane earos
Hay then receive the musioke of the Hphearos.
IBtit yet take heode, lost if the swans of ThamoH,
That addo harmonious pleasure to the HtroaniOH,
O* th' sudden hearo thv well-divided breath,
Should listen, and in silence welcome death .
And ravwht nightingales, striving too high
*To reach theo, in the emulation dye

And thus thore will bo left no bird to ring
Parewoll to th' watora, welcome to the
spring.

Willum Hd)wgton.--

318.— TO CASTABA,
Inqwrmq wlvy I loved, Iwr*

"Why doth the stubborno iron prove
So gentle to th' magnetiquo stone P
How know you that the orbs doe move ;
With rauaioke too ? since heard of none ?
And I will answer why I love.

'Tw not thy vortuos, oaoh a Htorro
Whioh in thy soulos bright sphoaro doe shine,
Shooting then beauties from a forro,
To make each gazer's heart like thine ;
Our vettues often meteors arc.

dualli,

'Tis not thy face, I oannot Hpi

"When pootrt wooi>o nomo iir^n

That Cupid wantoiiH in hor «yi

Or porfumoa vapour from IUM

And 'mongwi iho dead ilioii t)ii<*o tuunt Iio.

Nor i»'t thy birth. POT T wiw no'ro

So value OH in that to <U>li<r}ii

Whioh, bollanoo it, no w»i;flit <loili Ixuiro,

Nor yot IH object to tlio Hi^hi,

But onely filn tlio valour wvro

Nor yot thy fortutios : H!IK(O I know

rfhoy, in thoir motion Hko {<ho HIM,

Ebbo from tho good, to tlio imimniM -low :

And HO in flattery boi/ray,

rjliat raiHiug they but overthrow.

And yot those attrihutoR ini^ht prove
Fuell onongh t'onilomo duniro ;
But thoro waft Hoiuoihlng frotu abovo,
Shot without roiiHon'H tftudo, tin's firu t
I know, yot know iiot, why t lovo.

Wilttun llabfayton— Alwri ICiO.

319.— A DIALOOTO rfldTWKBN1 HOWB
AND VKAI1.

Checko thy forward tluni^'hiH, and know
Hymen only joynoH ilioir htuidn ;
Who with oven pacoH goo,
Shoo in gold, ho nob 111 ItwidH.

But Castora'w purer i!ro,
When it moetcH a nobJo flame ;
Shuns the nmoko of Hiich domro,
loynos with love, ami burnou tho Hamo.

Yot obodionco imiHfc provailo ,
They, who o'ro hpr luitioiiH HWiiy,
Would liavo hor in th' ocoiwi wiilo,
And ooutonino thy narrow noa.

ParentK9 I&WOH mnsi boitm no ncugltt
When they lm.ppmoHHO provout,
Atid onr sea XH not HO Htr<»i#M,
jlut it roomo hath for uontnzit.

'PhoiiHaud hoattH UH viotimn
At tho tfcltar of hor ttycw ,
And will pariiall Hho ooimiuvntl,
Ouoly tliko

Thotwand viotmiH nnwt nitunu) :
Shu the pnrotit will <lcHi^no •
OliooHo (liintara whioh Hhall hurtio,
ChooHU tho piiroHi, that in mhio.

3«x— TO TUB
Uncurtitiniy of r Wr^t** Abtufa

Fawe miBtroHHO of tho I<Jarfch, with gnrlanflu

crown* d,
Bine, by a lover's ohanno, from tho partoht

ground,

from IMS to IW]

TO MS" NOBLEST "FBIEND. [Wrj&MAit HAIUNWOMI

And show thy flowry wealth • thai nho, whoio

oro
Hor Btarros shall guido her, juooto thy

beauties thoro

Should Mho to tho cold northorno climates goo,
Forco thy affrighted liHion thoro to grow,
Thy roaoH in ihowo gelid fields t'appoaro ,
She abncnt, I have all thour winter horo
Or if to th' tomd zono hor way pho bond,
Hor tho ooole breathing of FavomuH lond.
Thither oonunand tho birds to bring their

quires;
That zono is tomp'rato, I havo all his firos.

Attend her, courteous Spring, though wo
should horo

Loso by it all tho treasures of tho yooro.

IVilUwn Halui<jton.— About 1C40

321.— TO SEYMOBS,

Tlio Ifoiuto wi which C«,«tfctra Uoed
Bloat temple, hailo, where tho chant altar

Which Nature built, but tho exactor liandfl
Of vortuo poliHht rniough Bad Fato deny
My prophano feeto aoeoHHO, my vowoa shall

flyo.

May thoHO muHiliaiiB, which divide thn ayro
| With tlioir hanuouiouH broath, thoir flight
I propaio

I For IhiH glad plaoo, and all thoir awKiiiH frame,
To toooh the oprlio my (JaHlaia'H iiunio
Tho boautiouw troopon of (iruxsoH, lod by Lovo
In clianto attouiptn, POHHCHHO Uio uuig~ '

grove,
Whor<» may tho Hiding dwell Httll.

ovory tree
Turno to a lauroll, and projthotioko bo,

Which Hhall in itn flrnt tmw\i\ divino,

That coiirteouH Fate donroon Cawtara zninn

IC40.

322.— DESC3EIPTION OP OASTAIiA

3-iflco tho violot, whioh al^tio

ProwpotH iu Homo happy nlitwlo ;

My (Jantara HVOH miknowno,

To no looHor oyo botrayM,
For HUOO'H to hor Holfo untruo,
Who dolightH i* thj iwbhoko viow.

f>noh IH hor boanty, a» no arlH
Jflavo onrioht wiiJi t)orrow<j«l ffrtuse.
Ifor high birth no pride impartH,
For Mho blunhoH in hor plauo.

>\>lly boawtH a ^lonoun bloo<I*

Slio IH noblont being good

OantiouH nho know novor yot

What a wanton courlHlup meant ;

Not npoakH lotid to boaHt her wit,

In hor nilonoo oJo(iuont.
Of howolf Hurvey Hho takoH,
But 'twooiio men no dilTorenoo makoH.

Kho oboyoH with ppoedy wjll

Horo grave paroutH* WIKO eoinniaudH

And ao innocent, that ill,

Sho nor actH, nor luidorHtaudfl.
Womon'H foot ruuno wtill antray,
If OZJLOO to ill they know tho way.

Sho Hailos by that roeko, tho court,
Whoro oft honour Hplitw hor mawt :
And I'otir'dnoflHO thinks tho port,
Whoro hor fame may anchor cant.
Vortuo wafoly cannot ml,
Whoro vico is onthrou'd for wit
Sho holdB that dayo'fi plean\iro bent,
Whoio Hmno waitH not on dolight ;
Without manko, or btill, or fcant,
Swootly HpondH a wintor'fl ni^lit.
O'ro that darkuoHHO whon<H) i« thrust,
Brayor and Hloopo oft govoniH lunt.

Sho hor throno makes reaaon olimbo,

Whilo wild poflBionB oaptiro ho ;

And each article of tune,

Hor puro thoughts to Hoavon flio :
All hot vowos religious bo,
And hor lovo who vowou to mo.

— About IfcKX

323.— TO OASTAEA.

T/WJ Hwvwrfli nf WMrtcfrl how.

Wo Haw and woo'd oaoh otlu^H oyeH,
My Moults contraofcod ihoii wilh tliiiio,
And I)oth l>urnt in one Hoorifico,
By whi<j)i our manrut'o grow <liviue.

Lot wildor youth, whono «oul in Honwo,
]>rophan<^ tho temple of delight*,
Ami purchoHO oiulloHH pouitouoo,
With tho Htoluo plcsaHuro of ono night.

TIUIO'H ovor onrR, while wo doHpiuo
Tho HOiiNuall idol of our clay,
For though tho Bnnno doo not and riso,
Wo joy ono everlasting day.

WlioHO li(rht no joalouH oloudn obHonro,
Whilo oaoli of UH Hhino iniioctout,
Tho troubled Htroara IH Htill impure,
With vortuo ilios away coutouL

And though opinioiiH often orro,
Woo'lo court tho itiodeHl Himlo of fmno,
^or Hiniio'H bliutk danger oirolon hor,
Who hath infection in. her nanio

ThiiH when to one durke Hilout roomo,
J)oatli Hhall our loving coilinn tlnuttt :
Pauio will build eolmrmoH on* our toinlo,
And adde a porftuno to our dual*

324,— TO MY NOItLKRT FUU4ND,
I. C., ESQUUiE.

I hate tho oounlrio's dnrt and maimorn, yot
I lovo tho faience , I embrace Uio wit

WM. HAJBINGTON ]

NOMINE LABIA MEA APERIES.

[TlIIUD

Au.d courtship, flowing Here in a fnll tide.
But loathe tho exponoo, tho vanity, and prido.
No place each way is happy. Here I hold
Commerce with some, who to my earo unfold
(After due oath ministrod) the height
And greatnosBO of oaoh star shines in the state,
The brightnosso, the oclypso, tho influence.
"With others I commune, who toll mo whence
The torrent doth o£ f orraigno diHoord flow
Eelate oaoh skiimish, battle, overthrow,
Soone as they happen : and by rote can toll
Those Qoimano townos, even puzzle mo to apoll.
The orosso or prosperous fate o£ princes, thoy
Aflcribe to rashnesso, cunning, or delay .
And on each action comment, with moro skill
Than upon Livy did old Hatohavill.
0 busao folly Why doe I my braino
Perplex with tho dull poUicios of Spaino,
Or quick dosignes of Franco P Why not lopaxro
To tho pure innocence o' th' country ayro :
And neighbour thoo, doaro friend ? Who so

dost give

Thy thoughts to worth and vortuo, that to live
Blest, is to trace thy wayoa. There might

not we

Anne against passion with philoHOphie ;
And, by tho aide of leisure, so controulo
What-ore is earth in us, to grow all Boulo ?
Knowledge doth ignorance ingonder when
Wo study myutorics of other men
And f orraigne plots. Doe but in thy owno shade
(Thy head upon some flowry pillow laulo,
Kind Nature's huswifory) contemplate all
His stratagems who labours to mthral
The world to his great master, and youlo findo
Ambition mocks it self o, and graflpH tho wind.
Not conquest makes us great Blood IH too

dearo

A price for glory - honour doth appeare
To statesmen like a vision in tho night,
And jugler-liko workes o' th' deluded sight.
Th' unbusictl onoly wise for no rowpoct
Judangers them to crronr , thoy affect
Truth in her naked beauty, and bohold
Man with an oquall eye, nor bright in gold
Or tall in title , so much him they weigh
As vertue rataoth him above Inn clay.
Thus let us value things : and mrioo we find
Time bonds us toward death, lot'n in our mind
Create new youth ; and arm agiuiiHt the rudo
Assaults of age ; that no dull solitude
0' th' country dead our thoughts, nor buHio euro
O' th' towno make us not thinko, where now

we are

And whether we are bound Timo noro forgot

His journey, though hits steps wo nmnbrod not.

TFdfcoift 2£<Mngton.— -About 1641).

325,— NOMINE LABIA MBA APBEIBS.

Noe monument of me remaino,

My mom' one rust
In the same marble with my dust,
Ere I the spreading laurell gaino,
By writing wanton or prophone.

To glorious wondoi H of tho nku» *,

Shine fltill, blight *tuin»H,
Th* Almightio'H myhtirk charwforHf
Ho not your boautioiw lighta :,urpn/,o,
T* illuminato a wouwn'H «»>(» i.

Nor, to porftimo h«r vi'iui'H, will I

In each ono Hot
Tho purplo of tho viol<»t •
Tho untouoht flowro nmv grow ami c!y«
Safo from my faiuuo'H injurut.

Open my lippon, gr<wit <i<>*i ! anil ihon
Jl<3 Hoaro abovo

Tho humblo flight of cariutll l«»\o.
Vpwar<l to thoo Ilo fonw my IM»«,
And trace no path of vulgar uu>iu
For wlxat can our unbounded I tumltvt
Worthy to bo

Their objoot fitido, oxnnpiin^ Uiw ^
Where oan I fixo P ninco timct oonirottl^M
Our prido, whono motion all thin;^

Should I my Holfo
T' & pniKJo'H
How Hoono may death my hopn» botfi'lfo P
And nhould L fannc tho prottdont fttsvUs
I'mo tcmnanfc to xui^riiuno fain.

If I court gold, will it not rust ?

And if my lovo

Toward a foinolo boauty nmvts
How will that Htirfot of <^ir I tut

whtm rcmolv'd to <lu <t i'

But thon, ^ioruall banquet ! vvluiro

For ovor wo

May foodo without wit«»< i«» J
Who haruionit) ait to tho oanv
Who art, while all ihingrf cl.

While up to thoo 1 Hhooto my Hunt's

Thou don! Uwpoiuio
A holy doivtfa, that xnnwlorM H»I»N»,
And niak«H mo Hnorno all pontjH"^ that
At other triumphoH than thy irnnu1,

It crownort mo with a viotory

tJo h(»avonly, all

That'H oarth Irow mo awity dof h TulL
And I, from my corruption fn*«*,
Grow «x my VOVWH ovon

Willutni

ii. At»nit

326.— PAUCrrATKM DIKIriTM MKOUtJM
— "\ Mini,

Toll mo, <> groat AH-knowiii': (MM! !

What ponod

Hawt tliou unto my day(»n a,wii«rnM °
Liko Komo ol«l lt»ifol(»HH« ir«-i\ Hh,ill I
Wither away, or violently
Fall by tho axo, by li^htnliMr, nr iho wind?
ICooro, wluiro I fir«t drew vititll J*rt*aU»,

HhaUImoniodnfttliP
And Undo in tho wwm» vault a roomn
Whoro my foro-fatlmnr awhiw Mlm»iHi P
Or Bhall I dye, wh«ro nomt hhull wrwfin
My timolesso fate, and my cold earth inUaubo f

from 1558 <n 1040,]

CUPIO MSSOLVI.

[WILLIAM HABINCKTOW.

Shall I 'gainst the swift Parthiaxxs fight,

And in their flight
Itocoivo my death P Or shall I soo
That envied peace, in which wo arc
Triumphant yot, diflturb'd l>y warro,
And perish by th' invading ononno ?

Astrologers, who calculate

Vnoortaino fate,

Affirme my scheme doth not presage
Any abridgement of my dayos .
And tho phywtian gravely eayos,
X may enjoy a rovoiont length of ago.

But they are jugglers, and by slight

Of art tho night

Of faith delude and in their achoolo
Thoy onoly practise how to make
A nuHtory of each nuniako,
And toaeh Htrango wordu credulity to foolo.

Por thon wlio firHt dwlHt motion give,

Whereby thmgn live,
And Inuo hath being I to ooncoalo
Futiiro ovoiitH didnt tlunlco it fit
To ohooko th' ambition of our wit,
And koopo in awo the curious Hoaroh of zealo*

Thcitifuro, HO I propiir'd Htill bo,

TVIy (iod, for thoo i
<)' tli* wwldon on my Hpiritn may
Sonic killing apopl<"ri« Hmo,
Or M 1110 by a dull diMwu*,
Or wcukctuxl by u fooblo ago, decay.

An<l HO I in thy favour dye,

No tnomono

For mo a wolt-wrmight toinbo propare,
For if my Houlo bo 'mon# tho bloHt,
Though my pooro anhoH wiiut a ohont,
I Hluill forgive tho troHpan,so of my hciro.

William ntibtnvtou*—Ab<ntl 1040.

327.— KT JgaCAT/TAVrr JIUMILES.

Jfow (tlimirfiiUy tli1 unpartiiill Hunno

<Hl<lH with IUH boiuium

Tho narrow HtwunoH
Of th* brooko whi<j)i Hiloutly doth rtmno

Without a namo r*

And yot dimlaiwiH to Ictul liin Hamo
To iho wide cltaniioll of tho Tlmaien P

Tliti liirgeHt monutaincrt barren lyo,

And lightning foaro,

Though thoy appoaro
rj'o bid (loUaiico to tho Hkie $

Whicli in OTIO honro

"W1 liavo Hoon tho opening earth dovouro,
"Whon m their height thoy proudoHt were.

But tU' liumblo man lioavofi up hip head

Liko Home rich valo

WhoHo fruitcH noro failo
With ilowroH, with oorno, and vixiofl oro-Rproad.

Nor doth complaino

Oro-flowod by an ill-HoaHon'd raino
Or batter' d by a aiormo of hailo.

loko a tall barko treasurx) fraught,

He the seas oleoro

Both quiet steere :
But when they arc t' a tempest wrought ;

More gtillantly

Ho spreads has sailo, and doth more high,
By swelling of the waves, appearo.

For tho Almighty joyos to force

Tho glorious tide

Of humane pndo
To th' lowest obbo f that ore his oouwo

("Whioh mdoly bore

JDowno what oppon'd it horotoforo)
His feeblest onomio may Htndo,

Bat from his ill-thatohi zoofo ho brings

Tho oottagor,

And doth proforro
Him to th' adored Rtato of kings

Ho bids that hand

"Which labour hath made rough andton'd
n.-n ftrng BooptoT boare

Lot then tho mighty cease to boast

Their boundlosso sway •

Since in their sea
Pew naylo, but by some stormo are lost.

Lot them themselves

Beware for they are their owno shelves
Man still himsolfo hath cast away.

Wilhwu Uabwylun —Alout 1C401.

Tho Hotilo which doth with God unite,
Thorn ) gayitioH how doth Hho Hlight

Which ore opinion Hway P
Like Hoorod virgin wax, which Hhinos
On altars or on martyra' whnuuH,

How doth Hho burno uway P

How violent are her throwos till who
Ifcom envious earth delivered bo,

Which doth her flight roHtraino P
How doth nho doate on wlups aud rookos,
On firon and the no dreaded axe,

And every murd'ring paino ?

TTow Hoone she loaves tho pride of wealth,
Tho flatteries of youth and health,

And fame's more prooiouH breath;
And ovory gaudy ciroumHtauco
That doth tho pompo of life advance

At tho approach of death P

The cunning of astrologers
ObrtorvoH each motion of tho starren,

Placing all knowledge there :
And IOVOTH in their mifitroHflo' oyofl
Contract tho»o wonderH of tlie akioH,

And sooko no higher sphere.

Tho wandxing pilot swoatoB to find
Tho cauHofl that produce the wind

Still gazmg on the pole.
Tho politician soomos all art
Jiut what doth pndo and power impart,

And swolltt tho ambitious Boulo. -

SIR JOHN SUCKLING.]

SONGK

[TiiTux>

But he wliom heavenly fire doth wanno,
And 'gainst those powerful! follioB anno,

Doth soberly disdaino.
All those fond humane mistorios,
As the dooeitfnll and UHWIBO

Distempois of our braino.

Ho as a burden boares MB day,
Tot vainoly throwos it not away

On every idle cause •
But with the sumo untroubled oyo
Can or resolve to live or dye,

Bogardlosso of th' applause

My God i If 'tis thy great deoroo
That this must the last moment bo

Wherein I breathe this ayie ,
My heart oboyos, joy'd to rotiuj/to
Prom the false favours of tho groat

And treachery of tho icbiroi

"When thou shalt ploaso this soulo t" en-
throne

Above impure corruption ;
What should I giiovo or foaro,

To thmke this broatlilosHO body must

Bocomo a loathsome hoapo of dust,
And nero againo appearo.

For in tho fire when ore w tryod,
And by that torment purified,

Doe we deplore tho loaso ? >

And when thou Bhalt my noulo refine,
That it iiiereby may purer Rhine,

Shall I grieve for tho drosso P

Willwm Habington.—* About 1040.

329,— S 0 1ST G.

"Why so pale and wan, fond lover 1

Pr'ythoe why so pale ?
Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail P

Pr'ythoo why HO pale P

Why so dull and mute, young Rumor 1
Pr'ythoe why so mute ?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying- nothing do't P
Pr'ythoe why BO muto ?

Quit, quit for shame I tlus will not inovo,

This cannot take her ;
If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make hor —

Tho donl take hor !

Sir John Bucklwy*— About 1640.

330— A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING.

I tell thee, Dick, where I have boon,
Where I the rarest things have seen

0, things without compare '
Such sights again cannot be found
In any place on EngliHh ground,

Be it at wako, or fair.

At Oharing-CroHH, hard by tho way
Whore wo (thou know'nt) do well our hay,

There IH a IIOIIHO with hiaA.rn .
And there did 1 uro coming down
Such folkH an aro not in our town,

Vorly at leant,

Amongst tho rest, mio pont'Itmt fiim,
(Hib board no higher though than thhwj

Walk'd on boforo tho umi :
Our landlord lookw llko nothing to him :
Tho king (Clod MOHH him) 'twouM undo him,

Hhon'd ho go htill HO drt'Ht.

At OoutHoa-park, without all doubt,
Ho Hhould hiwft flrHt boon taken out

Uy all tho moidH T Ilio town:
Though InHty I^ogcr ihcwi had bwn,
Or little Ooorgo upon iho <fmm,

Or Vincent of tho (Vown-

But wot you what P tho youth wit* goinfr
To make an end of all IIIK WOOIUK ^

Tho parHon for him Ht»ud >
Tot by liin loavo, for all hw hiirtics
Ho did not HO much wmh till piwi

UK did tlui maid.

Tho maid—and thumby luwigK a talo—
For Huch a inaM no WhiiHon altt

( Jonld «v<»r yot jirodnpo s
No grapo that'H kindly rij><» (undd l»t>
So round, HO plump, «o noft o« H!U%

Nor half HO full of juforu

Her finger wan «o Htnall, th« ring
Wou'd not Htay on wlrioh thoy di

It WOH too wwlo ii pock
And to nay truth (for out it muni)
It look'd like tho groat collar (jusi )

About our young <(olt*H

HOP fool bonoath litn* t)oU
lake littlo mien Htoln in and out,

AH if thoy four'd tho
Bnt oh ! sho dunmi Hiu*h A way I
No HUH upon an KtiHtor day

IH half HO lino a nitfht.

ITo wou'd liavo kiHH'd lior <mfl« or twio<t,
But nlio wouM not, nho watt HO nil4'*,

Wlio wouM not do't in Mf?H ;
And then who look'd as who rihou'd my
I will do whui. 1 IIH! to-day ;

And you nhtUl do't at night.

Hor chcokfl «o raw a white WILH cmt
No <lawy malcon comi»ariHont

(Who HOOH thorn JM und<mn>
For fltroalcH of rod wore miTif(lo<l thorcs
Such an aro on a Kuilifrino p«jftr,

Tlio Hido Uiiifn nott tho win.

Hor hpft woro ra<l, and ono wiwtliin,
Compared to thai wa» noxt hor chin,

Homo boo luwt Htun^ it nowly.
Bnt (Dick) hor oyo» HO guiwd hor face,
I dui'Mt no FIOTO tqjrm tlunn ffaxo,

Than on tho Htm in July*

fum, 1558 to 1040.] DESCRIPTION OF THE PRIESTESS OF DIANA. [J. OUALKIMLL.

Jlor moutli so small, when she dooB Hpoak,
Thou' tint swoar hoi* tooili hor words did break,

That thoy might paHaago got;
Dili she so handled atoll the matter,
They camo as good OR OUTH, or bettor,

And aro not Hpont a whit.

If wishing shou'd bo any Rin,

The paroon himself had guilty boon,

Sho look'd that day BO purely :
And did tho youth BO oft tho f oat
At night, as some did in conceit,

It would hayo spoil1 d him, surely.

Passion o* mo f how I run on '

Thoro'B that that wou'd bo thought upon,

I trow, bomdoH tho bndo .
Tho bus'nofls of tho kitchen's groat,
For it is fit that mon Rhould out ;

Nor was it thoro domed

Tunt in tho mok tho cook knock' d thrioo,
And all tho waiters in a inou

Ifw HummoiiH did oboy ;
Each Horving man with didi in Juind,
Bioruh'd boldly up, hko oiir twtin'd band,

ProHontod, and away

When J»I1 tho moat WUH on flio tablo,
What man of knifo, or tooth, wan ablo

To Htay to bo entreated :
And HUH tho vory reason waH,
Uoforo the parHon could nay grace,

The company' wore noulod.

Now liat« ily off, atnl yontliH carmiHo ;
JJottlthH iirht go round, And llioii tho houwo,

Tho brtdos ciuiio think and thick,
And whon 'twtiM suunttrl iwiotlior'H hcwiJth,
ho mado it lior'H by Htoalth,
1 And who could help it, .Dick ?

0* tho Buddon up thoy rim mid clunoo ;
Thon Hit ftfluin, and High and ^Imioo •

711011 daium agitin atid kinw,
ThuK ftov'ral wayn tlio thtio did pa«H,
"WhilHt ovory woniiui winuM hor plooo,

And ovory man wiHli'd hi».

By HUH timo nil worn Htolmi asido
To oounHol aiul utnlroHH ilin bvido j

Hut tbai 1m muni not know :
7)ut yet *twaH thought h<» xuwi, lior mmd,
And did not moan to ni-iiy behind

Abovo an hour or HO.

"Whon in ho oamo (T)iok) tlwro nho lay,
Jjiko now-fal'ti snow iwjltiutf away,

'TwaH timo, 1 trow, to port.
KiflWOH wcjro now tho only «tay,
Which Kooit Hho gavo, a« who wouM Ray,

Good b'yo, with all my hoart.

But jnflt OR hoavonft won'd have to CVOHK it,
III camo tho bridoinaidH with tho poHHct ,

Tho bridegroom oat in npito ;
For had ho loft tho womou to 't
It wou'd havo COH! two lirnmi to do *t,

Which wore too much that ni^ht.

At length tho candlo' R out, am! now
All that thoy had not done, thoy do '

What that iH, who can toll P
But I boliovo it was no moro
Than thou and I have done boforo

With Bndgot and with Nell I

Sir Jolw Suckling.— 'About 1C40.

331.— CONSTANCT.

Out upon it, I hayo loy'd
Throo wholo days togothor ;

Aiul am Hko to love throo moro,
If it provo fair woathor.

Timo shall moult away MH wings,

J3ro he Hh/Jl dwoovor
In tho wholo wide world again

Such a conKtant lovor.

But tho spjtoon't is, no prai«o

IB duo at all to mo ;
lovo with mo had made no stays,

Had ib any boon but Hho.

Had it any boon but &ho

And that yory face,
Thoro had 1>con at leant oro this

A dozen in hor place

&H John 8u,cUiny.— About 1640.

332— SONG.

I prithoo wend mo back my hoart,

Mmuo I citii not havo thine ,
For if from yotrm you wiU not part,

Why tlion Hhould'Ht thou have miuo P
Yet now I think on't, lot it lie,

To Ihid it wore in vain ,
For thwt'Ht a thief in oitlior eye

Would Htuul it back again

Why diould two hoortB in one breast lie,
And yofc not lodge together P

Oh love J whore IH thy nyrapathy,
1C thxiB our bre&fttH thou uevor P

Hut lovo in Hitch a mywtory,

J cannot find it out ;
For when I think I'm bottt rosolv'd,

I then am in mcmt doubt.

Thou farewell caro, and farewell woe,

I will no longer pino ;
For I'll boliovo I have hor heart

As much an nlio IIUH mine

John tiuckUnj.—Alout 1040

333.— DESCRIPTION OF THE PBEESTESS
OF1 DIANA.

Within a little fdlont grove hard by,
Upon a Hniall aKceut, lie might espy
A Htatoly chapel, nclily gilt wiilumt,
Besot with fthady Ryoamorcn about;

JOHN OHALKHILL ]

THE IMAGE OP JEALOUSY.

f THIRD Fcitron —

And ever and anon ho might weft hoar

A sound of music stool in at his oar,

As tho wind gavo it being. So swoot an air

"Would strike a siren mute, and ravish hor.

He BOGS no oreataro that might oauHO tho

samoj

But ho was HUTG that from tho grove it camo,
And to tho grove ho goes to satisfy
Tho curiosity of oar and oyo.
Thorough tho thiok-leavod boughs ho makes a

way,
ISTor could tho scratching brambles make ^w>

But on ho rushes, and climbs up a hill,
Thorough a glade. Ho saw and hoard his

fill—

A hundred virgins there ho might ospy,
Prostrate boforo a marblo doily,
"Which, by its portraiture, appear' d to bo
The imago of ^lana On thomr knoo
They tended thoir devotions -with swoot airs,
Offering the inoenso of their praise and

prayers,
Their garments all alike. * * *

#*#•**
And cross thoir snowy silken robos thoy

woro

An azure scarf, with stars embroider' d o'er,
Their hour in cunous tresses was knot up,
Crown' d with a salvor crescent on tho top ,
A silver bow their loft hand hold, thoir right,
ITor their defence, hold a sharp-headed flight
Of arrows #*#•##
Under their vestments, something whorl

before,
White buskins, laood with nbbandmg, thoy

woro,

It was a catching Flight to a young eyo,
That Lovo had fix'd boforo. Ho might OHpy
One whom tho rest had, sphere-like, cjrclod

round,

"Whose hood was with a goldon chaplotorownM
Ho could not ROO her faco, only IUH oar
"Was blent Math tho sweet worda that como

from her.

334.-— THE IMAGE OF JEAJiOUSY IN"
THE CHAPEL OF DIAKA.

* * A curious eyo
Might ROO some rohos of a pioco of art
That Psyche made, when Love firtit firod hor

heart,

It was the story of her thoughts, that aho
Curiously wrought in lively imagery ;
Among tho rest she thought of Jealousy,
Time left untouoh'd to grace antiquity,
She was deoyphor'd by a tim'roua damo,
Wrapt in a yellow mantle lined with flame ;
Her looks were polo, contracted with a frown,
Her eyes suapioiouB, wandering up and down,
Behind her Fear attended, big with child,
Able to fright Preetimption if she smiled ,

After hor flow a High botwoon two
Of briny watorn. On her dnvo-liko wiii.'f.*
Sho boro a lotto? HoatM \viik a half moon,
And suporwaribwl — HUH fiom KiiHi»ioion.

335 —THE wnvirs OAVM.

Her coll WOH liown out in tho niarMo rook
By moro thiui liuniaii art. Sim nt*(*(i not

knocic —

Tho door ntood alwayn opwi, lar;:(s and wMi«,
Grown o'er wiih woolly IUOHH on i»ithor »'M*».
And intorwovo with ivy'H flaiioriiif; i
Through whioh tho carbuncle aiul

shmoB ;

Not wot by art, but thorp by Nature* h«»wn
At tho world'w Inrtli; HO ntarliko Mtflii, i

hhono,

Thoy Borvod inKtoad of tapcrh, to #ivo \
To tlio dork entry. * * *
* * * * III tlu«y
Tho grotuid won Htrown vitli Howor/, u4h«>, «»

Bweot Hcont,
Mixt with tho olintafi porfutniM from futiia

brought,

IntoxicatoH IUH brainM1 an<l qninUy ^uu*rl»t,
Hi« orodiUo^w HOIISO. Thn wall,* won) ^ilf , tun I

not

With prooioufl HtonoH, tuiii nil tint r«)(»f w«,< fn»f,
With a gold vhio, whom* htratftfUn#

wproaxl
0Tor all Iho arch — tint hw«lliii(C «ntiH*K

rod;

ThiH art had mtwlo of rul>i<>H, olunicTM w>,
To tho qtuckont oyo thoy uu»ni than hci^iuM to

RTOW.

About tho walls laHttivions piKim* , liniur,
Snch OH whoroof IOOHO <)vi<l Hotnoiiinoi :tun?r ;
On either Hide a crow of dwurilnh (*lvo t
I fold waxen taporn i&Hnr than iliont oh^i,
Yot HO well KluLpod uuto their little Hi»i,turis
Ho angol-liko iu fa»o« HO HWOO! hi foaturo,
rHioir noli attiro HO diftorin#, yot* K» well
Becoming hor that woro it, nono coiiltt toll
Wluoh waH tho fairtwt. * * *
After a low nalato th«y all '#an »in&
And ciTolo in tho wtran^T in a nn«t ;
Orandra to licr oharniH \VIIM Ht*'|»t itHid«»t
Loavzn^- hor #noflt half won, atnl wanton o.voi{:
Ho liarl forpjoi hiw hortH^ouuitinj? tUUijtht*
llatl HO bowitoliM hin oarn, mul lilr»urM tu,<

That lio was not liiinMolf. « # #

* * * * Unto hiri vS(>w
Sho roprcrtcmtH a"l>aTi(iiiot, unltorM in

Dy such a Hhut>o OH Mho wim mm* would wi
HIH apimtitp to tiiHto — NO Hktt nho, wtw
To hiH Olarindti. both iu uliatni and fac*s
So voiced, so habitod,— of tho wwno wait
And comely gcsturo. * * *

* * * Hawtly diil tw wfraiu
From sucking in <lo*4tru<jtion at hor Hp j
Sin's oup will poiwou at tho HinailoKt H{JI.

From IWH to 1C10.]

TO CHLOE.

[WILLIAM CAKTWJaiaHT.

She woopH and WOOH again with aubtlonoas,
And with a frown she chides his backward-

HOHH:
Have you («oid pho), Hwoot prince, HO soon

forgot

Your own beloved Clannda P Aro you not
Tlio flame you woro, that you HO Hhghtly sot
lly hor that onao you made tho cabinet
Or your choice oounsol ? Hath eomo worthier

lovo
Slolo your affections? What IR it should

move

You to dinliko so soon ? Must I wtill tanto
No other diHh hut sorrow P Whon wo last
Emptied our HOU!H into each other' H brooHt
It was not HO * * *

* fc > With that nho wept afroHh * *

* * Sho Hoom'd to fall into a Hwound ,
And Htoopin*', down to raiHo her from the

ground,

Ho putn IUH horb into Inn mouth, whoso tafito
Soon changed hw mind he hftH her — but iu

,,

HP* luuidH foil off, and who foil down again
With that who liiant him. nucli a frown OB

would

Havo kill'd a common lover, and made cold
Hwn lunt ittiolf. » * *

* * * Ttu> hj»htH wont out,
And darknoiH himjf tho ohambor round about
A yollhitf, licllmti IUUHO wan OiWih whoro h<wird

, (1/vtlkhill —Alwul KJI5K

VOTARKMS W DIANA.

— — — (^armda camo at lant
With all her train, who, an alonjj Hho paKH'd
Tlioron^h tlio inward oourt, did rmtko a lane,
( >pmuii# th(«ir ninlvH, and clonm;; tluiiu a«iiiu
AH H!W went forward, with ob«(«iuiouH tftiHturo,
I)oin^ thoir rcvorotioo. Ilor upward voHturo
WIIH of bluo nilk, gllHtdrinff with HtarK of Isold,
(Urt to h(»r wjiiwt by worpontH, that (infold
Aiu\ wrap thonuiolvoH toother, How«ll wrought
And fiwhionM to tho Kfo, one would havo

thought

Tlwy hiwl bo(«i rraul. ITndctnKMtth who woro
A coat of Hi Ivor tuwol, whort boforo,
And fritiKM about with gold • wluto buiiLinn

hido

Tho nakod of hc»r 1<^ ; thoy wor« IOOHO ti(Hl
With axuro nhaTuln, cnwlumo knotH woro noon
Most fontly f^»mH, fit only for a quoon.
Jlor hair bound up like to a <;oronot}
Withiliattiotidn, rubion, and rich HappluroH not ;
An<l on tho top a wilvor oroHOont plaoM,
And all tbo IiiHiro by nuoh boauty ffriwiM,
AH hor TcflcciioH mtulo thom Hormi moro fair ,
Ono would havo thought Diana' H nolf woro

thoro ;

Por in lior hand a Hilvcr bow who luild,
Atul at h<^r bttcU tbc"o hunjy a <|uivor iill'd
With turtle- iuatlujrM arroww.

Juluu CVuc^AU/ —^licwrf 1(M».

337.— A VALBPIOTION.

Bid mo not go whoro noillior auzw nor ahowcrw

Do make or ohennh ;
Where discontented thin<;H in sadnens lie,

And nature prriovon aH I ;
Whon I am parted fioiu thono oyow
IFrom which my better day doth rise.
Though some propitious power
Should plant mo m a bower,
Wliore, amongst happy loYorn, I might sco
How showorR and Hunbeamn bring
One ovorlawkng- Pfpnnff ,
Nor would thoHO fall, nor tlioso Bhine forth

to mo

Natmo hornelf to htm IH lout,
Who lofloth hor ho honours mowt.
Then, faircHt, to my parting now dwi)lay

Your ffracort all in one full day ;
WhoHo bloHRod nhapOH I'll Hiiatch and keep,

till when

I do return and now a^ain •
So by thin art, fancy nhall fortune CTOHR,
And lovorn live by thinking on their IOHH.

(Jwtwriyht. — About 1040.

CULOB,

/wrw7/ ytnvny

Chloo, why wwh you that your yoarH

Would baokwtu (In rim, till tlmy mot nuno ?

That i>orfeot likeneHH, which oucluiu H
ThingH unto thingH, might UH combino.

Our agcH HO ni date agree,

That twiuH do differ more than wo.

Thoro aro two birthn ; tho one when light
J^iiHt ntrikoH the new awakened Hon«o;

Tho other when two HOU!H unito :
And wo muHt oount our life from thonco :

Wliwi you lovM me, and I lovM you,

Them both of TLH were born anew.

Love* then to UH did now Roulfl givo,
And iu thoHO HOU!H did plant now pow'rg •

Since when another life wo live,
The breath we breathe IH IIIH, not OUPH ;

Lovo tuakoH thoBe yoting whom ago doth ohill,

And whom ho fincta young keopK young utill.

Lovo, liko that angol that Hliall call
Our bodioH from tho Hilont grave,

Unto ono ago doth raiHo UH all ;
Nemo too mudli, none too little liavo ;

Nay, that the diitoreiioo may bo none,

I to unakoH two not alike, but one

And now ninoo you and I aro Fmch,
Tell mo what'K yourn, and what IH mine P

Our <iyoH, oiurofliTH, our tant«, Hind I, touch,
Do, like our HOU!H, in one combine,

Ho, by thin, I aa well may bo

Too old for yon, an you for mo

.— 4b<m* iGUU

WILLIAM OABTWBIGHT ]

LOVE'S DABTS.

[Tin im

339.— LOVE'S DASTS

Where is that learned wrotoli that knows,
What aro thoso doits tho voiTd god throws P

0 lot him tell mo oro I <ho

"When 'twas ho saw or hoard thorn fly ;
Whether tho sparrow's plnmort, or dovo'H,
"Wing thorn for YOTIOUH lovorf ,
And whether gold, or load,
Quicken, or dull tho head .

1 will anoint and keep thorn warm,
And mako tho weapons heal tho harm.

Fond that I am to ask ' whoo'or
Did yot soo thought ? or silonoo hoar ?
Saf o from tho search of human oyo
These arrows (as thoir ways aro) fly ,

The nights of angeln part

Not air with so much art ,

And snows on streams, wo may

Say, loader fall than they
So hopeless I must now endure,
And neither know the shaft nor euro

A sudden fire of bluHhes ahod
To die whito paths with hasty rod ,
A glance's lightning swiftly thrown,
Or from a true or Booming frown ,

A subtle taking Rxnilo

From passion, or from grulo ;

Tho spirit, life, and grauo

Of motion, limbs, and faoo
Thoso misoonooit ontrtlos darta,
And tears tho "bleedings of 0111 hearts.

Bat as tho feathers m tho wing
Unblomish'd are, and no wounds bring,
And harmless twigs no bloodshed know,
Till art doth fit them for tho bow ,

So lights of flowing graces

Sparkle in several places,

Only adorn tho parts,

Till that wo mako them dart** ;
Thomsolvos aro only twigs and quills :
We give thorn shape, and force for ills.

Beauty's our giiof, but in tho 010,
We -mint, and Htamp, and tliou adore :
Like hoathon wo tho imacfo or own,
And indiscreetly then fall down

Those graces all woro meant

Our joy, not discontent ,

But with untaught domros

We turn thoso lights to nros,
Thus Nature's hoahng herbs wo iuko,
And out of euros do poisons make

Wilhcum, Cwrttoriyhb.— About 1C ID.

340— THE KISS— A

Among thy f ancios toll mo thin .
What is the "fchtyig- wo call a kma P—
I shall rosolve yo what ifc is •

It is a crraturo born, awl bvcvl
Uotwooii tlio lips, nil <-II<MTV ml ,
By lovo aud uanu fli'snv-* fi«il ;
And makes mom Hofb llio brnlal In"!

It IB an activo (liimo, that fl«»M
FiTHt to tho bfcbu'H of tlu» «».V«»M,
And charniH tlu'iu iliortt \vith lullttliMM »
And stills tho biulo loo \\ IKMI t ho <Tiiih *

Thon to tho chin, tho rli<t<»lv, iho MIP*
It friskn, and fliiw tunv l«*n«, now tln'tv ,
"JTiH now far off, and th(»n 'ti i iii'iu ,
And horo, ami thoio, and (ivt^it>\/i< n»,

JIttH it a Hpoalv-inj? virtn<» P — Yc» t.
How HpotikM it, way h — Ih> you lui
Piurt your joiuM lips tlum

your

Aiidthw IOVO'H HwootoHt lanrrua't* U

Hanit a l»o<ly ? — Ay, and
With thoiiHuud raro mn'ol
And a« it flion, it r,mi\y f »>vfn,
Lovo houoy yiol<lK, btat novor M

Fair plcdgcjH of a fruitful tms
Why do you fall tto fast ?
Your datn IH not HO pant,

But yon may ntay yot h<>ro nwlulo,

And go at luHt.

What ' worn yo b<ym to bo
An Lour or lialfri <li»li;vl»t,
And HO to bi<l ^XKl-ni^lil/^

'Tis pity nature brought ^<» F«»rtti
JUtoiwly to Hhow yoiu* worth,
And IOHO you fj[tiito.

JJut you aro lov(»ly II^VCIM, wlim* wo
May road ho\v HOOH thin/rt havo
Thoir ond, though u«*i»r HO bntvo j

And aftor tlu^y havo hlitwn tlu*ir
Like you a whiln, thoy ^Udo
Into tho gravo.

3*12,— -TO IMKFOPILH.

>1air <lniTo<Uls, wo ww»p to woo
You hii'ito away HO HOOK ;
AH yot tho oarly-rtning Him
Han not attaiuM IUH nt)ou i
Siny, Blay,

Until tho hant'ninK *lay
Han run

Bnt to thft (WMi-Hoiif( ;
And having proy'd tnffrithiir, wo

Will go with you alontf J

THE COXTOTRY LIFE.

Wo havo short tamo to stay as you ;

Wo have as nhort a spring ,

Aa quick a growth to moot dooay,

As you or anything •
Wo dio,

As your hourn do , and dry
Away

Liko to tho summer' a ram,
Or ay tho poarlw of morning dow

No' or to bo found again.

343.— S 0 N G

Gather yo rono-buds, wlulo yo may,

Old Time IH htill a flying ,
And thin namo flower tliat smiles to-day

To-morrow will bo dying

Tho glorioun lamp of heaven, tho Sun,

Tho hii»lior ho'H a getting,
Tho Hoonor will hm raoo bo run,

And noaror he's to sotting.

Tho a<yo in bout whioh is tho first,
Wliwu youth and blood arc waimor ;

But being upont, iho worno and worst
Tunes still succeed tlio former.

Thon bo not ooy, but use your timo,
And, whilst* yo may, go marry ;

For having lout but once your prime,
You may for over tarry.

Itoltert Ilwnck.— Abo

34-1,— TO MEADOW8.

Yo havo bwm fronh and groon,
Yo havo boon HUM with tloworn j

And jo tho walkn havo boon,
Whoro maidH havo Hpoui their houru.

To havo bohold whoro thoy

With wiokor arkH did como,
To KM and boar away

Tho richer cownliiw homo.
Yon'vo hoartl thom Hwo<»il,y nhi^,

And H(Kui thom in a round,
J'laoh virgin Hko a

With honovHUokloH

HuL now wo HCO noiui liorn,
WliOHO Hilvory foot di<l tread,

Aa»d, with dinjiovoil'd hair,
AdornM tliiH nmootlior mead.

lake unthriftH, havuig npont
Your Htook, and noody grown,

Yo'ro loft horo to latnont
Your poor ontatoH alono.

Ilwrick.—A'bout 16-18.

345.— TJIlfl OOTOTRY LIFE.

Swoot country lifo, to Hnoh unknown
Whoso kvoa aro othorrt', not thoir own !

But Horvuiff courts and oiiioH, bo
LOHH happy, IQHH enjoying iJioo '
Tliou novcr plongh'Ht tho OOOUU'H foiun
To Hook and bring rough poppor homo ;
Nor to tho JMaHtorn Ind doHt rovo,
To bnng from thonoo tho noorohod <xlovo :
Nor, with tho loss of thy lovod rent,
lirmg'wt homo tho ingot from tho Wont.
No . thy ambition1 H mastor-piooo
Jliow no thought lughor than a iloooo ;
Or how to pay thy hmdH, and clear
AH HCoroH, and HO to end tho year ;
But walk'nt al)out thy own doar boundw,1
Not onvying othorH* larger groundn
For woll thoti know'Ht, 'tiH not th* oxtont
Of land makoM liio, but Hwoct ooutont.
Whon now tho cook, tho plonghman'H horn,
Calls forth tho lily-wriHtod morn,
Thon to thy «orn-ftoldH thou doHt go,
Which though woll-«oil'd, yot thou dont

know

That tho boat oompoHt for tho lands
Is tlio witfo mantor'n foot and handH.
Thoro at tho plough thou find'nt thy toom,
With a hind whititling thoro to thom ;
And ohoor'nt thom up by singing how
Tho kingdom* H portion IB tho plough.
Tlurt dono, thon to th* onamoll'd moads
Thou go'flt ; and aH thy foot thoro treads,
Thou Hoo'nt a proHont gojilliko powor
Imprmtod in oaoh horb and Ilowor ;
And KmolTnt tho broatlx of groat-oyod kino,
Hwoot aH tlio bloHHomrt of tho vino.
Horo thou behold1 Ht thy largo fdook noai,
Unto tho (lowlaps up in moat ;
And, as thon look'nt, tlio wanton ntoor,
Tho hoifor, cow, and ox, draw noar,
To mako aploaHing ptiHtmio thoro,
ITiorto Hoon, ilwni goVt to view thy £ock«
< )f Hhoop, Hafo from tho wolf and fox ;
And find' Hi their bollioH thoro as full
Of short Hwo(tt grafts, OH baoks with wool;
And loavoHt tliom as they food and fill ;
A shophord }>iping on a hill,
For Hi>ortH, for pagoantty, and plays,
r!Tiou ItaHt thy OVOH and holidays ;
On whioh tho young mem and maids moot,
To oxoruiHO their dancing foot ;
Tripping tho oomoly country ronnd,
With daffodilH and AniHioH crown'd
'Hiy wako«, Uiy quintoln, horo ihou lin^i ;
Thy may-polort too, with gailan<U ^raml ;
Thy morriH^Tanco, thy Whitmm-alo,
'Hiy Hhearing-foaHt, which novor fail ,
l^yr harvoHt-homo, tliy waswiil bowl,
Iliat'H toHt up aftor fox i1 thf holo ;
Thy mummorioM, thy Twolfth-night kinjjH
And (jtnoons, thy (JhriHtmas rovollingri;
Thy nut-brown mirth, thy ruHsot wit ;
And no man pays too doar for it. '
To thcHo thou hant thy tim<w to go,
And traoo tho haro in tho troaohorouH snow ,
Thy witty wilofi to draw, and got
Tlio lark into tho trammel not ;
Tliou hast thy oookrood, and thy gludo
To take tho prociotw phoahant mado ;

HBBBICK] PBIMBOSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW. [Tin»i> PKIHOIV

Thy lime-tivigs, snares, and pit-falls, then
To oatoli the pJfonng1 buds, not men.

0 happy He, if that thoir good
Ehe husbandmen but underfttood '
Who all the day themselves do please,
And younglings, with mioh sports aft those ;
And, lying1 down, hayo nought to affright
Sweet sleep, that makes more short the night

Eolcrt ffnmck.—AlmA 1G48

346 — TO FRTMBOSES, FTLLED "WITH
MOBNTNG- DEW.

Why do ye weep, aweet babes ? Can toarB
Speak grief in you,
"Who wore but born
Just as the modest morn
Teem'd her refreshing dew p
Alas ! you have not known that shower
That mars a flower,
Nor felt the unkind
Breath of a blasting wind T
Nor are yo worn with years,

Or warp'd an wo,
Wto think it strange to see
Such pretty floworrt, hko to orphans young,
Spooking by tears before ye hare a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make
known

The reason why
To droop and weop ;
Is it for want of sloop,
Or childish lullaby'''
Or that ye have not soon aa yet
The violet?
Or brought a kisM
From that sweet heart to this »*
No, no , this sorrow nhown

By your tears shod,
Would havo this Icoturo road —
"That things of greatest, HO oi meanest

worth,

Conceived with grief are, autl with toarH
brought forth,"

Robert Henieli.—Altnil IC-lfi

347— JtTLIA.

Some ask'd me where the rubies grow,

And nothing did I say,
But with my finger pointed to

The lips of Julia.

Some ask'd how pearls did grow, and wliore,

Then spake I to my girl,
To part her lips, and show mo there

The quaroLets of pearl

One ask'd me where the roses grow,

I bade him not go soolc ,
But forthwith bade my Julia show

A bud in cither ohook

JRobcr* Jffcrrick —About 1048.

348— CHEERY WPH.
Cherry npo, ripe, iipe, I cry,
Full and fair ones-— noino and buy ;
If so bo you a«k mo whero
Tlioy do grow P — I answer,
Wlioro my Julia'H lipn <lo
Tlicro'fl the land, or chcrry-i
Whoso idantntioiw fully Hho
All tho year \vh<n-o clif»rri<*s

549— A TIlANICSrfTVlN'iJ WUfi HIS
IIOCJHK,

Lord, Tliou Ixast giv<»n nu> a <M»11,

A little hoiiHC,

htiuil)l«) r<»<»f

Under tho Hj,)arH of which T li»'

Jioth soft and dry.
Whore Thou, my chamber for to wnnl,

Of harmlnHH thoiightH, in waf.ch attd

Mo while I Hln^p.
Low in my por<;h, OH IH my fui**»

Both void of ntain;
And yet tho ilmwhold of my <l*n>r

IH worn by tho poor,
Who IniKcvr oonio, atul fr«'<»l> (*i'i

(«ood worclH or nwu,L
Lika an my parlour, t«» my luilh

And kitchen Hmall ;
A littln bnl.twry, and therein

A little bin,
Whioh koopH my little loaf of bread

ITtiohipt, uiiiload.
Some brittle Hti«ks of thorn <»r l»ri*tr

Mako mo a fliv,
GOHO l»y whowe living coal I sit ,

And glow Hko it,.
Lord, I (tonfoHH, too, whoti I «lin »,

Tho pulso IH Thiuo,
And all thono other l>itH thui IM«

Thero ulactid by Th<-e.
TliQ woilH, tho pnrHlain, and U»<'

Whi«h of Thy knulni»HH Thou 1 out » ent. :

And my ooutout
MakoH thoHo, and my bolovod Itcdi,

To bo moro «w(u»i,
'TwTljcm that wnvn'Ht my /rHUortnjj !u«ari k

Wilh guiItl«JHH mirth :
And giv'ht me wansail howl 4 if> drinK,

H])icocl to tho brink,
Lmd, HIM tJiy plmity-drojujinjr hand

'Jliat HOWM my lain! :
All thiH, and liottw, d<wt Thou ricmd

Mo for this end :
Tliat I HhoiiM ron<ler f«ir my

A thankful heart,
Winch, iir'd with mcmtHo, T

AH wholly Hunts ,
But tho a<sooi»tan<!«--that nuittt bo,

0 Lord, by The«.

Itotwrt f!r.rrtfk*—Al*mt 1(1 W.

I Fnn» 1558 to 1C40.]

SONG.

[RlGHABX)

350— TO FIND GOD.
Weigh mo tlio flro ; or canwt then find
A way to moamiro out the wind ,
DiHtinguiHh all thoHO fl oodn that aro
Mirfc ui that watery theatre,
And taste thou thorn OH aaltloHB tharo,
As In thoir ohannol first thoy woro.
Toll mo tho pooplo that do koop
"Within tho kingdoms of tho doop ;
Or fotoh mo baok that cloud again,
Boshivor'd into seeds of rain.
Toll mo tho motes, dusts, nandH, and spoarH
Of corn, when Frammor whakofl hin oarn ,
Show mo that world of HtarH, and whenoo
Thoy aioiHoloHH Bpill thoir inihionoo •
ThiH if thou canst, thon Hhow mo Him
That ridos tho gloriotw ohoiubim

Mint llemek —About 1G48

351.— TO CORINNA, TO GO A-MATQTG.

Got up, pot up for Hhamo, tlio blooming moni

Upon her wingn pronontH tiio god uunhoin.
Hoo how Aurora tliroww lioi iair
FroHh-quiltad colourH through tho air j
Got up, Hwoot Hlug a-bod, and HOO
Tho d«w boHpanghng horb and troo,

Kaoh flowor haH wopt, iwid bow'd toward tlio
oant,

Above an hour wn«o, yot yon am not dronl,
Nay, not HO unioli aw out of bod ,
Wlwn all tho binlw havo matmn waul,
And win/r tluur thankful hynniH . 'tin

Hin,
Nay, profanation, to koop in,

Whon a» a thouHand virgirw <m thw day,

Hpring Hoonor tluiu tlio lark to foirfvU hi May.

KIHO, and put on your folio^o, and bo mm
To eomo iorth, like tho Hpriiitf thno, fronli and
Kroon, .

And Hwoot OH 3^ora. Tuko no euro
UPW jowotH for your pfown or Imir ;
TVunr not, tho loav<m will niaw
GomM in abuudanoo upon you ;
IJoHidoK, tho childhood of tho day IUIH kopt,
AgainHt you como, Homo orient poarlK tmwopl.
Oomo, and roaoivo thorn whilo tlio li^bt
IfangH on tho (low-lookK of tho nij:Ht :
And Titan on tho oantorn lull
ItotiroH hiniHolf, or olno ntandn Hiill
Till you coTiio forth. Wanli, droHH, bo briof in

praying ,

I1ow boadH aro bont, when ou<;o wo go a-
Maying

Oomo, my Oorinna, como ; awl, coming, mark
How each field turuti a Htructt, oaoli Htrooi a
park

Mado ^roon, and trimm'd with trc^OH ;

HOO how

Dovotion ^ivfiH oaoh liouw* a Ixni^h,
Or branch ; otujU porch, oaoli tloor, oro

An ark, a talxrcnaolo in,

Mado up of whito thom noaily intorwovo ;

AH if horo woro tho«o ooolor wluwloH of lovo.
Can Ruoh dolightH bo In tho Htroot,
And opon fioltlfi, atid wo not Hoo't F
Oomo, we'll abroad, and lot'H oboy
Tho proolamation mado for May :

And nin no moro, aw wo have done, by staying,

But, my Comma, come, lot's go a-Maying.

Thoro's not a budding boy or girl, thiw day,
But IH got up, and gono to bring in May.
A doal of youth, oro thin, in oomo
.Back, and with wluto thorn ladon homo
8omo liavo doHpatuh'd tlioir cakoH and

croaui

Before that wo havo loft to dream ,
And Romo haro wopt, and wooM, and plig-htod

troth,

And ohoflo thoir priOHt, oro wo can cant oil
B!O tli :

Many a groon gown haH boon givoxi ,
Many a HHH, both odd and oven ;
Many a glance, too, liaw boon Hcmt
From out tho oyo, IOVO'H ihrmamoxit ;
Many a jont told of tho koy'f* betraying
Thw night, and looku piok'd; yot w'aro not a-
Maying.

Oomo, lot TIR go, whilo wo are in our prime,
And take tho hdnnloBH folly of tho time.
Wo Hhiiil grow old apaoo, and die
JJoCoio wo know our liborty
Our lifo IH Hhort, and our days run
AH ftiHt away aH dooH tho Him ;
And aH a vapour, or a drop of rain
Onco lont, can iio'or bo found again ,
Ko wlmu or you or 1 aro mado
A fabl<», Hong, or flootmg Hlinxlo ;
All lovo, all liking, all dolight
UOH drowu'd with TLH in ondloHA night.
rL1i(m, whilo time Horvon, and wo aro but de-
caying
Ooiuo, my Cotinna, coino, lot« go a»Mayhi#.

It^xrt H<mick.— About; 1048.

352.— aoN«.

Wliy Hhonld you Hwnar T am fornwf >rn,

Hin«(s thin<» f vowM to bo ?
Lady, it IH alroacly morn,

And 'twan lant night I nwortj to tlu'o

Tlutt fond impoHHilukty.

iravo T not lov'd thoo much and loiifr,
A todioiiH tw(dvo hourH* Hpaoo H

1 mtiHt all othcir boaution wrong,
And rob ihcw of a now «mbra<jn,
Could I ntill doto upon thy faco,

NToii but all joy in thy brown lutir
Hy otliorn may bo found ,

But 1 nmnt floaroh tho black and fair,
1 jko HkilM mixioraliKt)H thai Hound
Por troawuro in unplough'cJUup ground.

BlOHASD 3JOVELA.OE ]

TO LTJCASTA

Thou, if when I have lovM my round,
Thou prov'at the pleasant she ,

With spoils of moaner boaatios crown' d,
I ladon -will return to thoo,
Even satod with vaiioty,

Richard j&ovctacc. — About 1649.

353._ TO LTJOASTA,
Qtmg to ilw Wars.

Toll mo not, sweet, I am unkind,

That from tho nunnery
Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind,

To war and arms I fly
True • a now mistress now I chaso,

Tho first foo in tho field ,
And with a stronger faith embrace

A sword, a horse, a shield.

Tot this inconstancy is such,

As you too Hhall adoro ,
I could not lovo thoo, dear, so much,

Jjov'd I not honour more.

JfctcJwtnl Itorcln.cc — About 1C-AO.

354.— TO LTTOASTA.
Prison.

Long in thy shackles, liberty,
I ask not from those walls, but thoo ;
Loffc for a whalo another' a bride
To fancy all tho world beaido.

Tot o' or I do bogin to love,
Soo ' how I all my objects prove 5
Then my f reo soul to that confine,
'Tworo possible I might call mine*
First I would bo in lovo with poaco,
And her rich swelling breasts increase ,
But how, alas ' how may that bo,
Despising earth, she will lovo mo ?

Fain would I bo in lovo with war,
As my dear just avenging star ,
But war is loVd so ov'ry whoru,
Ev*n ho disdains a lodging1 here

Thee and thy woundu 1 woiild bemoan

Fan? thorough-shot religion j

But he lives only that kills thoo,

And whoso binds thy hands IH free.

I would love a parliament

As a main prop from hoav'n sent ;

But, ah 1 who's ho that would bo wedded,

To th' fairoat body that's boheadod '

iNerfc would I court my liberty,
And then my birthright, property ;
But can that be, when it IH known
There's nothing you can call your own P

A reformation I would have,
As for our gnofn a sovereign naive,
That is, a cleaning of each wheel
Of state, that yet sonw rust doth fed

But not a rofoi mitt ion so,
Afl to reform ^<*n* to oVrllirow ,
Liko watohoH by un^lJlful nutu
Pwjomtod, and nut ill a'pun

The pnblio fiuth I wmlil twlorc,
Jiut sho IH batikruvt of lu»r nlorc
3Sfor how to tnint. lu*r <-iui I s <*o,
IPor flho that COWUH all, munt uw»
Since then nono of tho^i c»an IM»
Fit objcotn for my lovo ami nw ;
Wluit thon rrmauiH, lnit tli' only
Of all our IOVCH autl joy« ? Tho IvtNt*

3To, who borne? tho wholo bull
( >f <lay on (iitrth, lends it to nil ;
When Hooking to «rlii»w» bin ri-jlii,
iihwlod, wo riiamU m our owtt li|;ht.

And now an nnivornal mint
Of error is wproiul o'cir tnwih brc':mt,
"With Mich a fury odginl, as i»
Not foiuwl iu th' inwttnta <»f th' a
Oh, from thy glorunw Hf^irry wain
DwpcnHo on mo ono Honocl innim,
To light mo whoro 1 noon may n»n
How to HOIVO you, atul you Irtnt. inn.

HUO.

355.— TO ALTHEA.

"Whon lov<i with tin<»oiii»itMl winitM

IIovorH withm luy gairf'H {
And iny divuLO Althc^a l>H»tjtH

To whiter at tln^j gratoM ;
"Wlion I ho tnujclorl in hor luur,

And fottcrM to IMT <^i< ;
Tho tfodn thai wanton in Uio air,

Know no HU«h lilx»rty.

"Wlion flowinpr <»npH rim i;wiflltv mtitnl

"With no allayinif ThiuucM*
Our oaroUwa hcwlH wiUi T< w< litiund,

Utir hoartH wiih loyal ilium' i ;
TVli<«i thivrtty f(ri<»f in wim»

Wliou hoaltliH ami drnu^hi i ^o I
FinliOH that tipple in ih«^ tlpitp

Know 110 mich liberty.

"Whon (hlvo committed limu-l-i) I
\Vith Mhrillor ihroat t.liaU HIM;?
Tim HwuotuoHs, iiwrity, j»nj«»si,.v,

And KlorioH of my KINU ;
Wlion i Hhall voiro uloutl, how
IIo IH, how j?roat HhouM hn ;

windti that furl thtt ilootl
mwh

Strmo wallH do not a jirinon inako,

Nor iron barn a ca^n ;
MnidH innooout and quiet tako

Uliat for an Itcrmitaw ;
If 1 liavo Froodoni in IHV lovo,

And in my HOU! am fwi ;
AnirolH alouo thai Hoar abovo

Enjoy Htioh li
Ltwhnrd

From 1558 to

THE MUSE'S LOOKING-QLASS.

[THOMAS BANDOLI-H.

356.-SONG.

Amarantha, swoot and fair,
Forbear to braid that shining
As my curious Hand or eye,
Hovering round theo, lot it fly :

Lot it fly as unconfinod
As itH ravishor tho wind,
Who has left his darling east
To wanton o'er this spicy nest.

Every tress must bo oonfoss'd
But noatly tangled at tho best,
Like a clew of golden thread
Host excellently lavollod

Do not then wind tip that light

In ribands, and o'oroloud tho night ;

Liko tho sun in his early ray,

But shako your head and scatter day.

Jtoc7«mZ Lovolaco — About 1649.

357,—A LOOSE SABABAND.

Ah mo, the little tyrant thief,
AH onco my heart was playing,

Ho Hnatoh'd ii up, and flow away,
Laughing at all my praying.

Proud of MB purcliawo, ho Hurvoys,

Antl funouHly HomwlH it ,
And though ho HOOH it f nil o£ wounds,

Cruel HtiU on ho woundw it.

And now thin heart IH all IIIH Hport,
Wluoh OH a ball ho bountloth,

From hand to liand, from broant to lip,
And all its ront conf ouudoth.

Then an a top ho sotn it tip,

And pitifully whipa it ;
Sometimes ho olothos it gay and fino,

Tliou straight again ho strips it.

Ho covor'd it with false bcihof,

Wliioh gloriouHly Hhow'd it ;
And for a morning oushionot

Oft's mother ho bostow'd it.

Each day with her small brazen ntings
A ihouHand timoa she raced it ;

But then at night, bright with her gems,
Oneo near hor breast she placed it.

Then warm it 'gan to throb and blood,

$ho knew tluit smart and griovod ;
At Icmgth this poor condemned hoart,

With those rich drugs reprieved.
She wanH'd the wound with a fresh tear,

Which my Luoasta dropped ;
And in. tho tdeovo silk of her hair

'TwaH hard bound up and wrapped.

She probod it with hor conHtanoy,
And found no rancour nigh it ;

Only tho auger of her 05 o
JUiul wjouirhi fcome proud flesh nigh it

Then proas' d she hard in every Torn,
'Winch from hor kisses thrilled,

And with the balm heal'd all its pain
That from her hand distilled.

But yet this heart avoids me still,

Will not by mo bo owned ;
But, fled to its physician's breast,

There proudly sits enthroned

Jfoc/MwcZ LwcUco.— About 1649.

358.— TO A LADY ADHERING HEBSELF
IN A LOOKING-GLASS.

Fair lady, when you see the grace
Of beauty in your looking-glass ,
A stately forehead, smooth and high,
And full of princely majesty ;
A sparkling eye, no gem so fair,
Whose lustre dims the Cyprian star ;
A glorious cheek, divinely sweet,
Wherein both roses kindly meet ;
A cherry lip that would entice
Even gods to kiss at any pnoe ;
You think no beauty is so rare
That with your shadow might compare j
That your reflection is alone
Tho thing that men most dote upon.
Madam, alas ' your glass doth lie,
Aoad you are much deceived $ for I
A beauty know of richer grace ;
(Swoot, bo not angiy) 'tis your face.
Huuco, then, O learn more mild to bo,
And leave to lay your blame on mo .
If mo your real substance move,
Whon you so much your shadow lovo,
Wiao nature would not lot your eye
Look on her own bright majesty ;
Which, had you once but gazed upon,
You could, except yourself, love none :
What then you cannot love, lot me,
That face I can, you cannot see.

Now you have what to love, you'll say,
What then is loft for me, I pray P
My face, sweet hoart, if it please theo $
That which you can, I cannot see :
So either lovo shall gain his due,
Yours, swoot, in mo, and mine in you.

27w?»tas Rwidolrph*— About 1030.

359,— FEOK THE MUSE'S LOOKING-
GLASS.

See, brother, how tho wicked throng and

crowd

To works of vanity I not a nook or corner
In all this house of sin, thie cave of filthmoRs,
This don of spiritual thieves, but it is stuffd,
SttuTd, and stuflTd full, as is a cushion,
With tho lewd reprobate.

Sister, wore there not before inns —
Yes, I will say inns (for my ssoal bids mo
Su>y filthy ^yp / enough to harbour such

THOMAS RANDOLPH.]

TO MY PICTUJBK.

(TlIlUD i'K

As tiavoira to destruction the brood way,
But they build more and moro — more shops
of Satan ?

Iniquity aboundoth, though pure ssoal
Toaoh, proooh, huff, puff, and snuff at it ; yet

still,

Still it aboundoth ' Had wo soon, a church,
A now-built ohuroh, orootod north and south,
It had boon something worth iho wondering at

Good worku arc done

T say no worku are good ;
Go )d works ore merely popish and apocryphal.

But the bad abound, surround, yoa, and

confound UH

No marvel now if playhouses increase,
For they are all grown HO obscene of late,
That one bogots another

Plat fornication '
I wonder anybody takes delight
To hear thorn prattle

Nay, and I have heard,
That in a— tragedy, t think they call it,
They make no moro of killing one another,
Than you floll pmH

Or you sell feathers, brother ,
But are they not hang'd for it P

Law grows partial,
And finds it but clianco-modloy • and thoir

comedies

Will abuse you, or mo, or anybody ;
We cannot put our monies to increase
By lawful usury, nor break in quiet,
Nor put off our false wares, nor keep our wives
Finer than others, but our ghostu must walk
Upon their stages.

Is not this flat conjuring,
To make our ghosts to walk ore we bo dead P

That's nothing, Mrs. Plowordow ! thoy will

play
The knave, the fool, the devil and all, for

money

Impiety ' 0, that men endued with reason
Should have no moro grace in thorn '

Be there not other

Vocations at* thriving, and moro honnst P
Bailiff**, promoter^ jailorn, and apparitonrs,
Beadles and martialH-moii, the needful inHtru-

Of the republic ; but to mako iliomHolvcm
Suoh monsters I for they ore monHtont — th' are

monsters-
Base, sinful, shameless, ugly, vilo, cloformM,
Pernicious monsters I

I have heard our vicar

Call play-houses the colleges of transgression,
Wherein the seven deadly sins aro studiod

Why then the city will in tiuao bo made
An university of iniquity
Wo dwell by Block-Friars college, whore T

wonder

How that profane nest of pornioious birds
Dare roost themselves there in the midst of us,
So many good and woU-dispoHod persons

0 impudence '

It was a zealous prayer

1 hoard a brother make concerning play-housos,

For charity, what is't ?

That the Globe
Wherein (quoth ho) imgns a whole \vorlo* of

vico,
Had boon consumod ; tho Phutiiv burnt to

Tlio Fortune whipt for a blitul whom ; Hhwk-

Ho wondcrH how it 'neaped

I' th' timo of reformation: la^fly, ho \vi -h'd

The Bull might cross tho Thamoi to iho Hoar-

pardon,
And them 1)0 soundly boitotl.

A good prayor !

Jfndflod, it Homotliing prick, t my t*o« IMMIW,
I come to s(»ll 'om pins and lookui'f-Klii "<• t.

I havo thuir cxiHtoiu, too, for all th<«ir

f oathorn ,

'Tis fit that wo, whifih aro hincroro profrwor*.
Should gain by inudols.

Itttiitlnljih, — Abml

360,-TO MY PKTIT»K.

When ago hath mado inn what. 1 «,m twit r»»)w.
And every wrinklo icllrt mc» wh«»r'» ilu* |iJi»ii'*li
Of Timo fiath fur«)wM, wh<«Ti an IIM* s ha 1 Mm.
Through ovory vein, an<lall «i>* Hi-ji'I ht> ,'M«»^ ,
Wlion Uoath <Ukq)tayM lii« poliiiu* . » in nt.\ i*li«n»Kt
And I, myself, in my own pi^tim* .'ii«K,
Not iliuUncf what I atn, but what I \\.i • :
fn drmbt which to hcliovo, UIIM or m,v ;^»« • > ;
Yot though I tilior, tliiH nmiiuin 1iu*i )«ain««
AH it waM drawn, rcUin.4 ibo priinifivo frnm*»,
And iirnt/ (unnphsxiun ; h(*ro will :<iiil hi* M««"ii,
Hlond on tho <-h(H»k, and doxvn u\uni iht* riitn
Iloro tho smooth brow will Kta,v, Dm Uvcl) »*><«,
Tho ruddy lip, and hair of youthful tl,v<*.
Behold what frailty wt» in man mity »»»»«*,
Whoso shadow w IOHH tfivon to ch<iii;fi« Ui.tn In*.
ih. -Atttttt

Fiwoot l)ir<l ! that hlwf tit away ill" onrlv
Of wint(»rM pant, OP <*nmiit<;, voi«l uf «»arn;
Woll plcanotl with d«»H^hiH whinh
Fair wMHOiw,

TorockK, to H|iriti)^4 to rilht, fn»m loaf.-v
Thou thy Orcalor'u py<»o(in<M«t <]«* t <!««i'J'w»,
And what doar KiftK on ihco 1m diit nol, ,
A Htain to htitnau wnw in niti 1hai low r-<,
What wotil <>an be HO r,i«'k wlnr*h by thy .w
(Attirod m nwcctncwH) nwootty !M ani driven
(inito to forget eiu-th'H turmoil,?, npiio^, a»«i

wrongH,

And lift a revomid cy(» and thcnifflii tt» httww ?
Hwoot artloHH Hon^ttor ! thou my mltui <lo,(t

raj HO
To aiw of RphoroM— yew, and to itn^U*

From, 1558 to 1G40.]

THE DEATH OF ROSAMOND

[THOMAS MAT.

362 — TO HIS LTJTE

My Into, bo as thou wort when thou rlidsl grow
With thy green mother in some shady grovo,
When immolodjLous winds but made thoo inovo,
And buds thoir ramago did on thoo bestow.
Sinco that doar voice which did thy sounds

approve,

"Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow,
IH reft from earth to tuno the spheres above,
What art thou but a harbinger of woe ?
Thy pleasing notes bo pleasing notes no more,
But orphan waihngs to the fainting1 ear,
Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a

tear,

For which be mlont an in woods before
Or if that any hand to touch thoo deign,
lake widow'd turtle still her IOHS complain

. — About 1C40.

363 — SPRING.
Sweet Spring, thou com* at with all thy goodly

tram,
Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with

flow'rs,

Tho zophyrH curl the green locks of the plain,
The oloudu for joy in pearls woop down their

show'rw.
Swoot Spring, thou oom'Ht — but, ah! my

pleasant bourn,

And happy dayH, with thoo come not again ,
Tho Kiwi memorials only of my piun
Do with ilioo come, which turn my sweets to

HOUFH

Thou art tho same which still thou wort before,
DoUoiouH, hiHiy, amiable, fair ;
J Jut Hho whoso breath embalm' <1 thy wholesome

air

IB gone ; nor gold nor ffornn can hor restore.
Nflfflootwl virtue, floiwonH go and como,
When thino forgot lio cloned in a tomb 1

l. — About 1040

364,— THINK ON THY HOME.

Look, how the flower wliioh Img'ringly doth

fade,
Tho xnorning'tj eluding1 Into, tho mimmor'H

qnoon,
Spoil* d of tliat juioe whioli kept it fronh and

green,

AH high aa it did raise, bows low the head •
Might HO tho plooHiiroH of my life being (load,
Or in their contraries bat only soon,
With swifter spoed doolinoH than oint it Hprotul,
And (Waited) source now shown what it hath

been

AH doth tho pilgrim, therefore, whom tho night
By darknoHH would imprison on his way,
Think on thy homo (my sonl) and think aright,
Of what's yet left thoo of lifo'n wasting day ,

Thy sun ponts westward, passed is thy morn,

And twioo it is not given thoo to bo born.
WilUam Drwnmond.— About 1040.

365, — JOHN THE BAPTIST.

The last and greatest herald of heaven's King,
Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,
Among that savage brood the woods forth

bring,
Which ho more harmless found than man, and

mild,
His food was locusts, and what there doth

spring,

With honey that from virgin hives distill* d,
Parch' d body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing,
Made him appear, long since from earth exiled,
There burst he f oith , all ye whoso hopes rely
On God, with mo amidst these dosorts mourn,
Repent, repent, and from old errors turn '
Who liston'd to his voice, obey'd his cry P

Only tho echoed, which ho made relent,

Bung from their flinty caves, Bopont, repent!
Wilham Drummond. — About 1C40.

366.— THE PRATSE OP A SOLITARY
UFE

Thrice happy he who by some shady grove,
Par fiom the clamorous world, doth live his

own

Thou solitary, who IB not alone,
But doth converse with that eternal love

0 how more Hwcet IH bird's harmonious moan,

01 tho hoorHO sobbuigH of tho widow'd dove,
Than those smooth whisperings near a piinoe's

throne,

Which good make doubtful, do tho evil approve '
Ohowmoi OHWootis Zephyr1 H wholesome breath,
And HitfliH oinbaliii'd which new-born flowers

unfold,

Than that applause vain honour doth bequeath 1
How Hwoet are HtroamH to poison drank in gold '
TliQ world in full of horror, troubles, slights -•
Woods' harmless Rhodes have only true de-
lights.

William Drummond. — About 1G40.

367.— THE DEATH OP BOSAMOND

Pair Bowwnond within hor bower of late
(While those sad storms had shaken Henry's

state,

And ho from England last had absent been)
.Retired herself , noz hod that star been aeon
To shine abroad, or with her lustre grace
Tho woods or walks adjoining to tho place

About thoso places, while tho tunes were

froe,

Oft with a train or linr attendants she
For plooHuro walk'd , and Lko tho huntress

queen,

With hor light nymphs, was by tho people aeon.
Thither the country lads and swains, that near
To Woodstock dwelt, would como to gazo on

her

SIB B

THE SPEINft.

Their jolly May-gainos thoro would thoy pre-
sent,

Their harmless sports and mntic mcrrimimt,
To give this boautooiiH paragon dolijjht
Nor that offioiotiH service would H!IO slight ;
But their rudo paHtrauis jyouUy outurttun.

* x * *
Now came that fatal (lay, ordain' d to BOO

The ochp&o of beauty, and for over bo
Accursed by woeful lovcra, — all alono
Into hor chamber Rosamond was gone ;

# * * #
While thus she sadly muaod, a rulhf ul cry
Hod pieroed her tender oar, and in tho Bound
Was named (she thought) unhappy "Rosamond
(Tho ory was uttor'd by hor grieved inaid,
From whom that olow WOH taken, that botray'd
Her lady's life), and while HUG doubting ioar'd,
Too soon tho fatal certainty appear M

For with her tram tho wiatMul quoon wi

there

Oh » who oan toll what cold and killing foar
Through evory port of RoHaniondwaHHtriiokP
The rosy tincture hor Bwooi ohookH fornook,
And like an ivory Hiatno did who whow
Of life and motion roft Had bho boon HO
Transform' d in deed, how kind tho Fatow hod

boon,

How pitiful to hor ! nay to tho quoon »
Even sho herself did seem to ontnrtain
Some ruth; but straight revenge re turn' d

again,
And filTd hor furious broaat " Strumpet

(quoth she),

I need not speak at all , my sight may bo
Enough expression of my wrongH, and wliai
The consequence must provo of Rnuh a hate
Hero, toko this poison'd cup " (for in her hand
A poison' d oup she hod), " and do not stand
To parley now but drink it proHontly,
Or else by torturoH bo roHolved to die (
Thy doom is not." Pale trembling* KoHamond
ROCOIVOH tho oup, and knoolhipf on tho ground,
When dull amazement Homo what had forHook
Hor breast, thus humbly to tine quoon bho

spoke •

" I dare not hopo you should BO far rolont,
Groat queen, as to forgive tho piuuHhmmit
That to my foul offence is juwtly dao.
Nor will I vainly pload OXOUHO, to nhow
By what strong- arts I WOH at flrnt bolray'd,
Or toll how many subtle HIUITGH w(irti laid
To oatoh mmo honour. Thoso though no'or

so true,

Con bring no recompense at all to you,
Nor just ozouflo to iny abhorred cruao,
Instead of sudden death, J crave but time,
*****

,'No moro (replied the furioufl quoon); havo

dono;

Delay no longer, lost thy ohoioo bo ffono,
And that a sterner death for thoo romam."
No moro did Bosomond entreat in vam ;
Bit, foroed to hard nooowHity to yield,
Drank of Iho fatal potion that who hold,

And with it ouiorM tho j^rim i>iMiii,

Yot ^avo Htich w-piic1, llutt h««r il.\i«i \ liriMili

Mi^ht bc»g for^ivoiUHrt from UNI li«'av«'uly

And pardon thuso that li*»r (!(Nlriir!,i(iri
Had doiiMy wnmjihL " Kor^ivo, O

(said H!KU),

Kim that (lihlifMiottrM, lu«r ilmi, niur.li'r*t) in**.
3fot lot mo speak, ft»r tnith'n . al,ts

If you luwl hpurml my lifts I nii'rhi lm\o U»M«U
In time to HMHO thc» iiva»ij»l»» «f ; our "lory ,
Mot of your nhaiiu1, UH now; for nl««n tho

Htory

Of haploHH Uosainond IH rtwl, flip no ,f,
And lioliuHi poopl**, att ihoy \\tll •!<'<«' i.
My criino, and ciJl it foul, they \\i\\ ,»l»hor,
And call unjUHt, tho HJ.KO «f Mli-anor.
And iu thiri act of your* it will IH» thought

Tl(»nry'H Morrow, not hU 1m o, j<m

And now HO far tho vcmomN form* u . ,»UM
Hor vital pnrU, that lift* with Itni«*iiii; «» fail'if.
That well-built i>alatw wltoro iln* (JrjMM- > mmln
Their ohiof abt)(tt», vvhont thou tiud t'ttpith

}>lay\l
Aiui roncUM thoir nliaft i» who c» {-tru»*i«rt» tii«l

Kvon naturo'H Hr^lf, is now dt»ni(»H 'h'«l •juito,
No'or to bo rairtctd n^aiit ; tho nnitnM'lv trokn
Of (loath that j»n'<uuuH cuhinH lia * l»inK«%
That Honry'H ploasod ht»t»rt, i o lt»n?r l»-»«I 'nM.
With Huddcn immrtriritf now iho h<nt o i » (k!lM;
Nor can tho <itioon*H af,ton«laut'<, thoar h fii»',v

fuar

Her wrath, from wtf]»ii!«;iit that ^ijfhf f»trJ'««7ir.
liy rouj;h north Ma it HO Mommm? r»» «•,» f.iili«;
fcio oniHhod fu41n tho hiy'n totul«<r hh«l»s
« # *

7'ArJM'U M< I //. —.!/.» '•/ lllfl*.

368.— TirK HPttlXU.

ThoHo whiter LUt<»H wht«'h tlu* <»«rly »u*ni
tSooiTiH to httvo newly \\ovt»u tit ;«If*av«Mt t I'l ,

To whifth, on batiks of woalth.v 1*it,<ru i horn.
Gold WOK thoir crtullu, liquid ticarl th> *r
milk.

Tht'BO bltinhiti^ liomM, with whot-o ur; in

'Hio wanton wind to nport hiinm^lf f«rtM time -»
"Whilnt from thoir riilwl wardi'ohn hr* r»"'<'h» »
f(»r hh

Tiotti thowi and thc»H(» my f !i»H«,'.i
Trod tip — Imt if iiho should h<«r ftwd ili u

And fragrant brawl— -they'd dry UKIMII to \ no

root,

AH with tho blaKthiff of tho mid»clit.y*K ray;
And thiH Hoft wind, whidh both fiitrftiniiM iiud

POHH liko the uuro^ttrdod brwith uf fr»nl««.
Htr Itichnrtl Pttiirhiitw.—Ah

A BICH FOOL.

[SlB B. FANBttJLWJfc.

369.— A BOSS.

Thou blushing rose, within whose virgin loaves
Tho wanton wind to sport himself presumes,
Whilst from thoix nfled wardrobe he receives
For his wings purple, for his broath perfumes !

Blown in thomorning, thpu shalt fade ere noon :
What boots a life which in such haste forsakes

theeP

Thou'rt wondrous frolic being to die so soon
And passing proud a little colour makes thee.

If theo thy brittle beauty so deceives,
Know, then, the tihrng that swells thoe is thy

bane;

For tho same beauty doth in bloody leaves
The sentence of thy early death contain.

Some clown's coarse lungs will poison thy

sweet flower,

If by the careless plough thou shalt bo torn :
And many Horods lie in wait each hour
To murder thoe as soon as thou art born ,
Kay, force thy bud to blow ; their tyrant broath
Anticipating life, to hasten death.

8vr Richard, Fanshawo.—A'bout 1648

370.— THE SAINT'S ENCOURAGEMENT.

Fight on, brave soldiorH, for the cause ,

l<'oar not tho oavaliorH ,
Their throat'nings arc as aonsoloHS, as

Oar jealousies and fears.
'Tin you must perfect this groat work,

And all malignants slay,
You must bring back the king again

Tho clean contrary way.

'Tis for Religion that you fight,

And for tho kingdom's good,
By robbing churches, plundering men,

And shedding guiltlesM blood.
Down with the orthodoxal train,

AH loyal subjects slay,
When these are gone, we shall bo blest,

Tho clean contrary way.

When Charles we've bankrupt made like us,

Of crown and power bereft him,
And all his loyal subjects slain,

And nono but rebels left him,
When we've boggar'd all tho land,

And ftont our trunks away,
We'll make him thon a glorious prince,

Tho oloan contrary way.

'TiB to preserve hie majesty,

That we against him fight,
Nor arc wo ever boaton back,

JtooauBO our cause is right :
If any make a scruple on't,

Our declarations say,
Who fight for UB, fight for the king

The clean contrary way.

At If eynton, Branford, Plymouth, York,

And divers places more,
WTiat victories wo saints obtiun'd,

The like ne'er seen before !
How often wo Prince Bupert JnU'd,

And bravely won the day ;
Tho wicked cavaliers did run

Tho cloan contrary way.

The true religion we maintain,

The kingdom's peace and plenty ;
Tho privilege of parliament

Not known to one of twenty ;
The ancient fundamental laws ;

And teach men to obey
Their lawful sovereign , and all these

Tho clean contrary way.

We subjects' liberties preserve,

By pnsonments and plunder,
And do enrich ourselves and state

By keeping the wicked undor.
We must preserve meohaanos now,

To lecteise and pray ,
By them the Gospel is advanced

The clean contrary way.

And though tho king be much misled

By that malignant crew j
He'll find us honest, and at last

Gave all of us our due.
For wo do wisely plot, and plot,

Rebellion to destroy,
Ho HOOS wo stand for peace and truth,

Tho cloan contrary way.

Tho public faith shall save our souls,

And good out-works together ;
And ships shall save our lives, thai stay

Only for wind and weather.
But when our faith and works fall down,

And all our hopes decay,
Our acts will bear us up to heaven,

The cloan contrary way,

Sw Rwluvrd Fcvnslwwe.— -About 1646,

371.— A KIOH FOOL.

Thoo, senseless stock, because thou'rt richly

gilt,

The blinded peoplo without cause admiro,
And superstition impiously hath built
Altars to that which should havobecn tho fire.

Whoro shall my tongue consent to worship

thee,

Since all's not gold that glisters and is fair ;
Carving but makes an imago of a tree •
But gods of images aro made by prayer.

Saboan inconso in a fragrant cloud
Illustriously suspended o'er thy crown
Like a king's canopy, makes thoo allowM
For more than ymva. But lot thorn tako thoo

down,

And thy true value be once understood,
Thy dull idolaters will find thou'rt wood.

Sir Richard Pcww/wwoo. — Alout 1048.
15

SIB W.

GONBEBEBT.

372.— GONDIBBBT.

ABGUTSTBTNT.

The king to Gkmdibert is grown so kindo,
That ho prevents the beauteous Bhodalind
In giving of her love ; and Gondibert
Laments his breast holds but a single heart ;
Which Birtha grieves her beauty did subdue,
Since he undoes the world in being true.

Putt grows the presence now, as when all

biow
Some stranger prince must bo received with

When courts shew those, who come to see the

show,
And all gay subjects like domestioks woito.

Nor TJlfinore nor Goltho absent were ;

"Whose hopes expect what list'mng Birtha

(hid

In the adjoining closet) fears to hoare ;
And beggs kindo Heav'n in pitty would
forbid.

The ^fag (who never time nor pow'r mis-

spent
In subjects' bashfulness, whiling* groat

deeds

lake coward counoels, who too late consent)
Thus to hiB secret will aloud proceeds.

" If to thy fame," (brave youth) " I could

add wings,

Or make her trumpet louder by my voice,
I would (as an example drawn for kings)
Proclaim the cause, why thou art now my
choice.

" But this were to suspect tho world asleep,
Or all our Lombards with their envy blindo,

Or that the Huns so much for bondage weep,
As their drown' d oios cannot thy trophies
findo.

" When this is hoard, none dare of what I

give
Presume their equal merit might have

shar'd;
And to say more, might moke thy foca

believe,

Thy dang'rous worth is grown above re-
ward.

" Reward even of a crown, and wtoh a crown,

As by Heaven's model ancient •netoraworoj

When they, as by their coyn, by laws wore

known;

For laws but made more currant victors'
pow'r.

" A crown soon taught, by whom pow'r first
was given j

When victors (of dominion cautious mode
By hearing of that old revolt in Hoav'n)

Kept pow'r too high for subjects to invade.

" A crown, which ends by araiioa thoir de-

bate,
Who quoHtion height of pow'r ; who by tho

law

(Till plain obedience thoy mako inf,ri<*n,tn)
Would not tho people, but ilurir mltm aw,

" To pow'r adoption makoH thy titlo good j
Preferring worth, OB birth KIVQH

place;
And vertuo'a claim exceeds tho right of

blood,
AH soul's extraction doo» tho bodio'fi row.

" Yet for thy blood's long walk

princes' voinn,
Thou xnaist with any Lombard motumro

tune;

Though ho hiH hidden house in Ilium foigntt ;
And not stop short, whon Hubort'H wlf
would olimbo.

c< And Hubert IB of higheiit viotom'
WhoHo worth I Hhall for dttatent «&i|iiro

ChOOBO ;

If ho will loam, that you by fate proofttfo,
And what ho never hod, lie oonnot lorn*.

" HIH valour Hholl tho Oothink

keep;
And would to Hoavtin that all ytnir mi|?hty

mindoH

An soon wore ploa«'(l, OH infatitM ant with *Wt>,
And you hod muHiok common OK tUo wiudoH.

'* That all tho yoar your nofwomt woro Itko
spring,

All joy' d OH binlfl, and all ait lovor« ki«d«» ;
Tliat ov'ry faniouH fi^htor wtvo ft km#>

And each liko you could have* A Uhotialinii*

" For flho in yourn, OH your adoption fivo ;
And in that gift my rcmniuit lif<* t jt*v« ;
But 'tfc to you, brave youth! who now itro

KllO,

And aho that Hoav'n whor<t HnootKUy I livo.

" And richer than that grown (whtab Hhall tm

thine,
Whon life's long program I *m KOTHJ with

faino)
Toko all her love ; wluch ncaroa forlKtfum to

fthino
And own thoo, through aor

Thuft flpako tho king; and Khodalintl
Through imblitih'U lovo, with HO munh tm.ih-

A» younff laatf« «how, whon by «ui?|»riiw o'ro-

hoard
Moaning to fav'rito oaroH a ctoap cllHtnwM,

For lovo i« a <li«troH«, and would bo hid
lako monarchH' griefn, by which tkay bash-

And in that fthaxno boholdow thoy forbid ;
Sinoo thoHo blush moEt, who moitt thoir
blufihow

From 1558 to 1640.]

GONDEBERT.

[Snt W. DA.VKJTAKT.

And Gondibort with dying eios did grieve

At tor vail'd lovo (a wound he cannot heal)
As great mindos mourn, who cannot thon

relieve

The vortuous, when through shame they
want conceal

And now cold Birtha's rosy looks decay;
Who in fear's frost had like her beauty

But that attendant hope perswades her stay
A while, to hear her duke , who thus reply*d.

" Victorious king ! Abroad your subjects are
Like legates safe ; at home like altars free !

Even by your fame they conquer as by warro,
And by your laws safe from each other bo.

" A king you are o're subjects, so as wiso
And noble husbands scorn o'ro loyal wives :

"Who claim not, yet confess their liberties,
And brag to strangers of their happy lives.

" To foes a winter storm , whilst your friends

bow,
Like summer trees, beneath your bounty's

load,

To mo (next him whom your great self, with low
And cheerful duty serves) a giving G-od.

" Since this is you, and KhodaJjnd (the light
By wliioh her sex fled vortuo findo) is yours ;

Tour diamond, with tests of jealous sight,
Tlio Htroko, and fire, and oisol's juice en-
dures,

" Since flho RO precious is, I shall appear
All counterfeit, of art's diHguiHOB made ,

And never daro approach her luntro near ;
Who scarce can hold my value in the anode.

" Forgive mo that I am not what I scorn,
But f alHly have dissembled an OXOOBM

Of all such vertuos as you moot eutcom ;
But now grow good but as I ills confess.

" Par in ambition's fcavor am I gone I
Like raging flame aspiring is my lovo ;

lake flame destructive too, and like the Sun
Doofl round the world tow'rdu change of
objects move.

" Nor IB this now through vortuous shame

confosH'd;
But Khodolind docs force my conjur'd

foaro,

As men whom evil spirits have possess' d,
Toll all when saintly votaries appoarc.

" When she will grace the bridal dignitie,
It will bo soon to all young monarchs

known;
Who thon by posting tlrrough the world will

trio
Who first can at her foot present his crown.

" Thon will Yorona scorn the inn of kings ;
And lihodalind shall o»t her palace gate
Smile, when great lovo those royal sutors

brings,

Who for that smile would as for empire
waite.

" Amongst this ruling race she ohoyoe may

take
For warmth of valour, coolness of the

minde,

Eies that in empire's drowsie calms can woke,
In storms look out, in darkness dangers find.

" A prince who more inlargos pow*r than

lands:

Whose greatness is not what his map con-
tains;

But thinks that his, where he at fall com-
mands •

Not where his coyn does pass, but pow'r
remains.

" Who knows that poVr can never be too high

When by the good possest , for 'tis in thorn

The swelling Kyle ; from which though people

fly,

They prosper most by rising of the stream.

" Thus (princess) you should choose; and you

wfllfinde,

Even he, since men are wolves, must civi-
lize
(As light does tame some beasts of savage

kinde)
Himself yet more, by dwelling in your eies."

Such was the duke's reply; which did pro-
duce
Thoughts of a diverse shape through sov'rol

cores

His jealous rivals mourn at his excuse ,
Bui Astrogon it euros of all his foaios.

Birtha his praise of Bhodahnd bewayles ;

And now her hope a weak physitian seems,
For hope, the common comforter, prevailos

Like common mod' ernes, slowly in oxtroams.

The king (secure in offer' d empire) takes
This foro'd excuse, as troubled bashfulnoss

And a disguise which sodain passion makes,
To hide more joy than prudence should
express

And Bhodahnd (who never lov'd before,
Nor could suspect his lovo was giv*n away)

Thought not the treasure of MB breast so

pooro,
But that it might his debts of honour pay.

To hasten the rewards of HR desert,
The king docs to Verona him command ;

And kmdnoHR BO unpos'd, not all his art
Can now instruct his duty to withstand.

Tot whilst the king does now his time dispose
In seeing wonders, in this palace shown,

Ho would a parting kindness pay to thoHO
Who of their wounds are yet not perfect
grown.

And by this fair pretence, whilst on the king
Lord AHtragoii through all the houHO at-
tends,

Young Oigo does the duke to Birtha bring ;
Who thus lior sorrows to his bosomo sondu.

15*

GONDIBBBT.

" Why should my storm your life's calm voy-
age vex?

Destroying wholly vertue's race in ono ;
So by the first of my unlucky BOX,

AH an a single mine wore undone.

" Make heav'nly Ehodaimd your brido I

Your onoe lov'd maid, excuse you, sinco I

know

That Tortuous mon forsake so willingly
Long cherish' d life, because to Heav'n they

go.

" Let me her servant be ' A dignity,
"Which if your pity in my f all procures ;

I still shall value the advancement high,
Not as the crown is hers, but she la yours."

E're this high sorrow up to dyuig grew,
The duke the casket op'ned, and from
thence

(Eorm'd like a heart) a oheorf nil emrauld drew;
Cheerful, as if the lively stone had sonce.

The thirti'th oarract it had doubled twice ;

Not fcak'n from the Atizok silver mine,
Nor from the brasd, though such (of nobler
price)

Did on tho nocks of Parthian ladies ghino •

Nor yet of those which make tho Ethiop proud,
Nor taken from those rocks where Bactriann
climb ,

But from -the Scythian, and without a oloud,
Not sick at fire, nor languishing with time

Then thus ho spako ! " This (Birtha) from my
male

Progenitors, was to tho loynl she
On whose kinde heart they did in love prevail,

The nuptial plodge, and this I give to thoo!

" Seven centuries have paws' d, Hinco it from

bride
To bride did first succeed ; and though tis

known
From ancient lore, that gomms much vortne

hide,
And that tho ouuauld is tho bndal stone ,

*' Though much renown* d because it chastnoHH
loves,

And will when worn by tho neglected wifo,
Show when her absent lord dinloyal proves,

By faintnosd, and a polo decay of life ;

" Though omraulds servo as spies to jealous

brides,
Yet each compar'd to this does counool

keep,
Like a false stono, tho husband's falsehood

hides,

Or seems born blindo, or feigns a dying
sleep

" With this take Orgo, as a bettor spy ;

Who may in all your kinder f oaros bo Boat
To watch at court, if I deserve to die

By making this to fado, and you lament."

Had now an artftill pencil Jhrtha drawn
(With gnof all daik, then Htraiglit with joy
all light)

Ho must havo fanoyM firwt, in early <l.iwn,
A sudden break of bounty oat of night.

Or fiiat ho must havo mark'd
fear,

Like nipping front, did to her virago
Then think ho Hoorf, in a cold backward yiw,

A rosy morn bo#in a Miildon Hpring.

Her joys (too vanto to bo contain'*! in
Thus she a little Hpako ! " Why ntoop 3*011
down,

My pliffhtod lord, to lowly Ittrtha'H rc*iwli,
Since Bhoclalind would lift you to a crown ?

" Or why do I, whon I thiH plight i

Boldly aapiro to take what you
But that your vortuo han with an^oU plucn,

And 'tin a vortuo to oupiro to lioav'n.

" And aa tow'rdn Hoav'n all travail on thfir

knoOH ;
So Itow'rdH you, thotiffli lovo uHpiro, will

move
And wore you crowuM, what w>ul<l y<»w botiiir

plOOHO

Than aw'd olmilionoo loci by l»ol<i<T I«VP ?

" If I forgot tho dftptli from wlu»nt»o I ti
Vox from yottr boHotno tianttiUM Ixi

Or claim a right toy bounty to your (»y<*'» ;
Or i>rou(Uy think, my oha^tity dcjuort.

<c But thim aKoondinff from your humblo iiuuii
To bo your plighted brido, and tln*it your
wif«,

Will bo a debt that whall 1m hourly jjuul,
Till time my duty cancel with my lift*.

" And fruitfully if Jloav'n oro xnako ?wt

Your imapro to tlio wctrltl, youtlwn my iiri«l«
No more aluill blaino, than you can tax UIM

Spnng

For boaHtiug of thoho flown* •( >tho <Miuiot
hide.

" Orgo, I HO roemvo aw T am
By duty to OHtciom what rtnt yrtu

An<l hope tho joy ho in ihin jowol
Will luckyor than IILH former
prove.

" Por though but twi<so ho ha» itpjircMwhM my

Hiffht,
Ho twwjo xuiulo hiwto to drown m«j in «iy

But now I am abovo IIIH planct'H
And aH for nin be^ panlou for my

Thus «pako «lioj and with fltM M*ntiwuM

The duko did all lw»r btiHlif ul boantiiM vi^w j
Then tlioy with JciHHOM MoulM thoir wvrtwl

plight;
Like fiowroa still «wofltar OA tli^y tltitiko

JPfWk 1558 to 1G40.]

OONBIBEltT.

Yot must those pleasures fool, though inno-
cent,

Tho sickness of oxtroamoft, and cannot last,
For pow'r (lovo's shun' d impediment) has Ront

To toll the duke, his monarch is in hast :

And CflJlfl him to that triumph which ho f cars

So aH tt saint forgiven (whoHo breast dooH all

Heav'n's joys contain) wisely lov'd pomp fox-

boors;

Lent tempted nature should from blessings
fall.

Ho ofton tokos MR leave, with Jovo*s delay ;

And bids hor hopo, ho with tho king1 shaJl

findo,
Ily now appearing- forward to obay,

A moans to soivo him loss in Hhodalind,

Sho weeping to hor olonot-wmdow hio« ,

Whoro she with toaiH dooHKUodalmd Hurvoy,
As dying1 men, who grieve that tlioy have

oyoH,

Whon thoy through ourtainM spy tho rising
day.

Tho king lian now his curious wght snfliB'd

With all loHt aitw, in tlioir revival viowM,
Which when roHtor'd, our prido tluiikH now

mindoH, oall*tl now wlum but

ronow'd !

Thn ImHio court pwpuroH to inovo, on whom
Tlwir Had oflVndwl oyoH tlio counliy uiLhto ,

Wlio luwor KCO (uioii^h wlicnMnuotiuvrjiH comu,
And nothing HO uiKuvil KOOUIH an luisto

AH men wovo rtow, who know tlioy lotto tlioir

way,
Evcm m tlio dtiko tow'rdn lUiodalind doon

movo ;

Yot ho clooM dniiouH foarH, and wonder pay,
Which arc the first, and dangorouH HignoH
of lovo.

All liirt iwldr(»RBOH imifllx t>y (UAtho wore
Arid Ulflnoro ol)H«rv'd; who <liHtu,nt Htaiid;

Not danntf to approa<*h lii« proumoo noor;
JEJut nhun IUH oyoH to wwtpo £rt>m hia com-
xntuid.

Loawt to Vwoua ho nhould bfith roquiro ;

For by mnarnmK Jioro, >>oth hopo to liffht
Thoir Ilymou'H torohon at IUH partuiff firo ;

And not doHpairo to kuacllo thorn

Tho lein,7 IUH ^oldon ohariot now ascondH ;

Whioij uoor fair Ifhodalind tlio duke con-

tainer ;
Though to OXCUHO that gmoo Ko lowly bendH ;

But honour HO rofua'd, more honour gainos.

And now thoir ohariotH (roady to take winpr)
Aro ovon by woakoht breath, a whtapor
Htay'cl

And but Kuch wMupor an a pap^o doon bring
To Laura' u woman from a household maid.

But this low YOIOO did raino in Laura'H oaro
An occho, which from all redoubled goon ;

Proclaiming such a country boauty horo,
AB makos thorn, look, Hko ov'ning1 to lior
noon

And Laura (of hor own high boauty proud,
Yot not to others cruol) Hoftly prays,

Sho may appear ! but Gkiitha, bold, and loud,
With eyes impatient as for conquest, stays.

Though As ti agon now owns hor, and oxcus'd
Hor presence, as a maid but rudely taught,

Infirm in health, and not to groatnoKH us'd ;
Yot Garthti still callu out, to havo hor
brought '

!But Bhodalind (in whono relenting broaHt
OompaflHion's self might sit at wcliool and

loam)
Know bashful maids with publiuk view diff-

trOHt;

And in thoir glass, thomsolvos with fear
discern;

Sho stopt this challongo which oourt-boauty

To country ehapo; not knowing Naturo'a

hand

Had liiitha drofls'd, nor that herself obayM
In vain, wliom conoju'rrag liirtha did com-

mand

Tlio duko (whom vurtuous lan<lnoHi4 uoon wulc-

diuw)
Tliougli hull IHB boudri iroiu liirtha highly

Yot Hcomn to tliink, tlmt lucky Lo, who HUOH
To wear thin royal mayd's, will waJJk at oa«o.

0£ tlxoHO a bruit Hurvoy Had JJirllia takes ;
And OI-^O'H help <liiectH hor oyo to all;
ShowH lu>r for whom grayo Tybalb nightly

Then at wliowo foot wise Eonnogild does
faU.

And when calm Orna with the count Kite Haw,
Hope (who tliough weak, a willing painter is,

And busily doo» ov'ry pattern draw)
By that eiumplo could uot work

B^r soon Hho nhapM her lord and hw HO kiudo,
So all of lovo ; til) fancy wrought no more

When she pereeiv'd lum nit with Uhodaliud ;
Jlut froward-paiixtor-liko tho copy tore,

And now thoy move, and she thus rob'd,

(Binoo with Ruoh haute they bear hor wealth

away)

That thoy at boflt, are but judioiouH thi(>vnn,
And know the noble valluo of tlioir proy.

And then who thus complain' d ! " Wl»y royal

maid '

Injurious groatuofiR ! did you hither come
Whoro pow'r's strong nets of wyrowere novor

laid?
But childish love took cradle as at homo.

SIB >7.

SOKTG.

" Where can we safe our harmless blessings

Since glorious courts our solitude invade ?
Bells which ring out, when th' unconcern' d

would sleep ,
Palse lights to scare poor birds in country

shade '

M Or if our joys their own disooVry make,
Envy (whose tongue first kills whom she

devours)

Calls it our pride ; envy, the poys'nous snake,
Whoso breath blasts maids, as innocent as
flowres !

" Forgive me, beautious greatness, if I grow
Diutemper'd with my fears, and rudely long

To be secure ; or praise your beauty RO
As to believe, that it may do mo wrong j

" And you, my plighted lord, forgive mo

too,

If, since your worth and my defects I find,
I fear what you in justice ought to do j
And praise your judgment when I doubt
you kind."

Now sudden fear o'er all her beauty wrought
The pale appearance of a lolling frost j

And carefull Qrgo, when she started, thought
She had her pledge, the precious omrauld,
lost.

But that kinde heart, as constant as her own,
She did not miss; 'twas from a sudden

senoe,
Least in her lover's heart some change was

grown,
And it grew pale with that intelligence.

Soon from her bosome she this omrauld took*
"If now" (said she) "my lord my heart

deoeaves,
Thifl stone will by dead paleness make me

look
Pale as the snowy pl"> of lilly loaves."

But such a cheerful green the gomm did fling
"Where she oppos'd the raycfl, as if she had

Been dy* de in the complexion of the Hpnng,
Or were by nimphs of Bnttain valleys clad.

Soon she with earnest passion kist the stone :
Which ne'er till then had suffered an eclipse:

But then the rayes retir'd, as if it flhono
In vain, so neer the rubies of her lips.

Yet thence removed, with publick glory shines !
She Orgo blest, who had this rolique

brought ;
And kept it like those relumes look'd in

shrines,
By which the latest miraolos woro wrought.

tforsoon respect was up to rov'renco grown ;

Which fear to superstition would sublime,
But that her father took fear's ladder down ;

Lose steps, by which distress to HeaVn
would olixnbe.

He know, when fear ahapon hcav'uly pow'r HO

just,
And tomblo, (parts of that whapo drawn

truo)
It vailos Hcav'n's beauty, lovo ; whioh \vlutxi

we tiuHt,

Our courage honours him io whom \vo NUO I
Sir WilliuM !ktntmtint.—Atmut

373 -SOW*.

The lark now leaven hw watory noni,
And climbing Khakon hiH <Iuwy wiiiffft ;

He takoH hits window for the cant,
And to implore your light, ho HitiftM,

Awako, awake, the moon will aovor rw,

Till she can dross her beauty at your «»y«u

The merchant bows unto tho Roamftu'H «tur,
The ploughman from tho »on hi* noarfou

takes;
But still the lovor wonder* what ilujy nro,

Who look for day before hits mintrciHit wtUcott ;
Awako, awako, break through your voftH of

lawnl
Than draw your ourtaiuK and bogm

Sir William frtwnant.— Afoul

374.— TO THE QUBBNT.

Fair as unshaded liffht, or an Iho day
In its first birth, when all tho jmr wun Mn,y *
Swoot as the altar* H flmoko, or an tho tiovr
TTnfoldod bud, Hwoll'd by tho curly dtnv ;
Smooth an tho face of watont flrHt aiipoarM,
Ero tidofl began to wtrivo or windw wir<t hoarxi ;
Kind an the willing wuntw, and oalmor far
Than in their ftleopn forgiven hermit* aro,
You that aro more than our diHnrnoicir fwtr
Darofl praifto, with wuoh full art, what nuike

you hero F

Horo, where tho Hummer to w> llttlo won,
That loavoH, her choapOHi wealth, wumio roaoh

at green;

You come, an if tho Rilver planot woro
Misled a while from hot maoh injtmxl nphoro j
And, t'oase tho travclttof hnr bwimM to-ni^hi,
In this email lonthom would contract luir light.
Mir Williwn Da,mMnti.--Mind MM.

375.— THE HOBtftNtt OTA 18-

Still Horald of tho Mom ! whono my,

Being pago and unhor to tho clay,

Doth mourn behind the «nn, bofora him play ;

Who fiott'Ht a golden Hiffnol oro

The bark rotiro, tho lurk apium*,

Tho early cookn cry comfort, Kc*roooli.«wJ« fvor.

Who winVflt whUo lovorn plight ih<«r troth,

Thou faUs oBloop, while thny ar^ loth

To part without a more on#o#hi# oath ;

Steal in a moRMogo to tho oy««

Of Julia, toll her that *ho lion

Too lonfc-.tlxy lord, tlxo Hun, will cjuickty rf«a

From 1558 to 1040.]

UPON HIS MISTRESS SAD.

[JAMBS SlIIBLHT.

Tot it is midnight still with mo,
Nay worse, unless that lander tie
Smile day, and in my zonith seated bo I
But if sho will obliquely ran,
I needs a calenture must shun,
And like tvn. Ethiopian, hato my stm.

John MM--, AloutlW.

376.— SONG BT LOVE TO PHTSANDEB
A3SD BELLANBIA.

Welcome, woloomo, happy pair,

To these abodes, where spicy air

Breathes porfomos, and ovory scnso

Both find his object's excellence ;

Where's no heat, nor oold extreme,

No winter's ioo, no summer's scorching:

beam;

Whore's no sun, yot never night,
Day always springing from eternal light.

All mortal Bufferings laid aside,
Horo in ondlcsa bliss abido.

Woloomo to Lovo, my now-loved hoir,

Elysium's thino, asoend my ohair :

For following sensuality

I thought to disinherit thoo ;

But being now reform' d in life,

And reunited to thy wife,

Mine only daughter, fate allows

That Lovo with stars should crown your

brows.

Join yo that wore his guides to this,
Thus I enthrone you both— now ktas ;
Whilst you in ondlo&s moamiroH move,
Xiod on to endlong joys by Lovo.

Thomas Nobles,— Alcwt 1087.

377.— HIS HATBED OF THE SOOTS.
Hod Cain boon Soot, God would haro changed

hie doom;
Not forced him to wander, but confined him

home.

JoJw OlwdtmcL--A'boub 1C47.

378.— ON PHTLIJS, WALKING BEFOBE
SUNRISE*

Tho slugguth morn as yot tmdrofls «,
My FhilkB brake from out her tost,
AH if flho'd made a match to run
With Venus, uahor to tho sun.
Tho troos (lie yeomen of her guard
Serving moro for pomp than ward,
Baaik'd on each side with loyal duty),
Wave branches to enclose hor beauty.
Tho plants, whoae luxury waH lopp'd,
Or ago with crutchofl undorpropp'd,
WhoHO wooden caroaflaoa are grown
To bo but coffins of their own,
Eovivc, and at hor general dole,
Each receives his ancient soul.

ho

The winged choristers began
To chirp their matins ; and the fan
Of whistling winds, liko organs play'd
TFnto their voluntaries, mode
Tho waken' d earth in odour*) rise
To bo hor morning sacrifice ;
The flowers, call'd out of their bods,
Start and raise up their drowsy hoods ;
And he that for their colour seeks,
Hay find it vaulting in hor cheeks,
Whore roses mix ; no civil war
Between her York and Lancaster
Tho marigold, whoHo courtier's faoo
Echoes tho sun, and doth unlaoo
Hor at his rise, at MM full atop
Packs and shuts up hor gaudy shop,
Mistakes her cue, and doth display ,
Thus Fhillis antedates tho day.

Those miraoloH had cramp'd tho sun,
Who, thinking that his kingdom's won,
Powders with light MB frizzled looks,
To see what saint his lustre mocks.
The trembling loaves through which

play'd,

dappling tho walk with light and shade,
(lake lattice windows), give tho spy
Boom but to poop with half an eye,
Lost hor full orb his sight should fl*™,
And bid UH all good night in M«> :
TiE she would spend a gentle ray,
To force us a now-fasHon'd day.

Bui what uow-fatthionod palsy'H this,
Which makoa tho bought* divest their bliss ?
And that they might her f oolHtcpw ntraw,
Drop their louvoa with shivering awo ,
Phifiifl porceivoH, and (lout her stay
Should wed October unto May,
And as her boauty oaus'd a spring,
Devotion might an autumn bring) ,
Withdrew hor beams, yot made no night,
But loft tho sun hor curate light*

Jolw Clwolwd,— About 1C41

379*— TOON HIS M3BTBESS SAD.

Melancholy, hence, and got
Some piece of earth to bo thy seat,
Horo titie air and nimble firo
Would shoot up to moot douiro :
Sullen humour Icavo hor blood,
Mix not with tho purer flood,
But lot ploasuvoH swelling hero,
Make a spring-tide all tho year,

Lovo a thousand sweets
And with pleasure bosoms filling,
Charm all eyes that nono may find cw,
Bo above, before, behind ua ,
And whilo wo thy raptures tasto,
Compel time itHolf to stay,
Or by forelock hold him font,
Lost occasion slip away.

Jcmes 8Jvirl<yy.~-Aboub 1010.

JAMBS SHIRLEY.]

ECHO AND NARCISSUS.

'Tinitn

3So —ECHO AND NARCISSUS.

Fair Echo, rino f Hick-thoutfhtod nymph, awake,
Loavo thy green conch, and canopy of troon I

Long1 Hinoo tho olioriHiorH of tho wood did Hliako
'ITaoir wuigB, and fang- to iho bright

UpllHO

"Day hath wept o'er thy couch, and
bluHhoth to HOC fair JKioho HtiU in bod.

If not tho birdrt, who 'bout tho aovottH fly,
And with thou: woarbloH charm tho iioi<*h-

bonrm# air ?

If not tho Him, whose now embroidery
MakcH rich tho leaven that m thy

are,
Can make thoo riao; yot, love-husk nymph,

away,
Tho young Naroiaaati in abroad to-day.

Pursue him, timorous maid . ho moves apacp ;

Favomua waata to play with thy loono hair,

And help thy flight; soo how tho drooping

ConrtH thy soft trood, tliou child of Bound

and air ,

Attempt, and ovorUtko him ; tliongli ho bo
Coy to all other nymplw, ho1 11 Hi,oop to thoo.

If thy faoo movo not, lot thy oyow oxpronn
Somo rhetoric of thy tear** to mako him
stay;

Ho muHt bo a rook that will not molt at thono,
Dropping tliono natives diaiuoudn inhm way ,

MiHtakon ho may Htoop at thorn, iind UHH,

Who knows how noon r* may help thoo to a HUM,

If neither lovo, thy boauty, noi* thy toarn,
Invent some ol.lior way to mako him know

Ho nood not hiuit, that «aii luivo hxich a doer :
Tho Qnoon of Lovo did onco Adoniri woo,

But, hard of HOU!, wilh no porHuahioxiH won,

Ho folt tho COTHO of IUH diKdain too noon.

In vaiu I oonnKol hor to put on

Echo liath loft hor noliiary
And m tho vale, tho p:il?U'o oi ilin Hpring1,

Situ Rilontly attondin^ to her lovo ,
But round about, to catdi hm voioo with caro,
In ©very shade and tri>o Mho lud a

Now do tho huntHmon fill th<» air with uoino,
And their sbrill honiH chafe hor doli^htod

oar,
Which, with loud accents, give tho woodw a

voice

Proolaiminff parley to tho foarful doer j
Sho hoars tho 3olly tune« j but ovory «trtun,
As high and mutucal, Hho rotuniH again.

Boufl'dia tho game ; pnrmut doth put onwntffH ;

The sun dobh nluno, and gild them out their

1 way;
The doer into an o'orgrown thioVot flprmftH,

Through, whieh ho quaintly Btoalrt hin htuno

away;

The hunters scatter ; but the boy, overthrown
In a dark part of the wood, complains alone.

Hun, Kcho, led by IHT aiVc»"ii«mH, f«umd,
Joy'd,you may tfiu^ •<,<<> w.u»h him wu,h h»*r

eye;

But more, to fti*o liiiu ri w uiflumi «, \vouu ! -
Who yt>i obsnurcrt li««r»<»lf bohhul Knitii* ti> »• ;
H«, vexiMl^oxcliuuH, amlaikhi;*, t% Win wain I , *
The uuHOOtt virgin (in.tW<»rN ** How» ant 1 1 *
" ^omo p^iido from IKMUVI I Will no man h«»ar I' <f
ho «nc« •

" I dio, 1 die, ' way \w\\i , ami ihui i !»«» tin ,

With fii>qur*«i »ti-i\V(*r^ t»» <«»f »•<• hi i <•«?»*
And ]>orHou i^> U<«r CMHIP^ m»ro Hi. for l«»v<* •
Ho truc'ltH tho Houiul, and liudH Iwr «»,!• r »:t i
grove.

Tho way ho trod wa« pavtul with % jn1««! • ,

ntalkrt,
In thoir whi^>

irj thi*

Another galaxy oiubo.iMMl v/ith

Two town of olniH mn with t»voportiottM r»rii«*i»,
Like naturo'H arrn-n, to iidorn thc» Hi»i«» • j

l^ho fn«tx<lly vinoH tlu»ir lovod furks oml-HMM',
Whil(» foldin^-i.<>i»t tlio (•IMMUWWI! "*•«»« i'«l«
work hidoM ;

Itoro oft tho tir<»l t im lni'» « IT uottM w f»

Uidiii}? liirt j.iorioui; fircult. to ilw wr <.

From huticd dt'li«rhi, i'on\«i.v > liim iimtwnn ;

Into a HiMU'iuiM i»pc««n, \vh<»M*» <«if !»•»• ; |<»
Alnll duliniani, \vliil \l with hi < lr«'<g liK"l»«tr ,

Tim clomlH w(ni(» 1m ty iMJiditi1" tip lii * in 'I .
Tho ilowow how timllii iip«m hint lu I»»* ff* n I ,
Aud, but \vhcu lio looks up, luin;r th>v/u ;|iur

Kotfur from IK>IK*(S wnr i«i hurmoniott,«tirtK*U»
Within an arl»our of <*ufi'4jiiriuj? tr«'«« ..

Whom) wilder bmtffhu into tho hin'nut did I«»o1*,
A pla<»o moro Huit.«.bl«» to twr »li.*trr ';',

J<>ho, HUHprttttinj? that lu»r l<»v«» witfi >;**«»«%

llornolf had in a <*an?lr^ po4uri) 1hn'\.!»,

lint TitiuntiKtu hi ' wuva hiul brought thu Uiy

To ««•«» thiM Idiljvin,1? of i\w «iry i|ii*<t*ti,
Whom tho dojncil<»d nymph <MJ»I«M itif h joy

'I'lmnijrh a wuaU window of cHnnf it«M :
And that nh« mi/rht ]«i worthy hi'i r«ni)tr «c»is
Koffrotrt not to M<»w-drt"ifc hor Ulitl»b<«rM finu*-
With coiifldciirn nho MimotinuM \voul«l so t-ui,

And Ixililly m«M){, N»r«M .MI-. in 1iu* *\n.v ;
Hnttlicnlittr fonr.i j»n« out hcrwlf It nt wr

An<l <?hido hor o\or riiMli roMolvi* UWK,>.
JFfoi honrt. with ovorohur^Mtf l*»vo urn <t
(Jroat Juno will iiui lot, 2»>or Kolu» i }««.tlt.

381.— THM UKHOLVK.

Toll ino not of a faoo tluit'H fair,
Nor lip aud ohonk tlmt'H r<wl,

Nor of tho troMHcm of hor hair,
Nor curl* nx orduc laid j

From IWti to 10 W J

THE INQUERT.

[KATHEO&INB1 PHILIPS.

1> or of a, raro seraphic voice,

That like an angel singa ,
Though if I wero to toko my olioioo,

1 would havo all those things.
But if that thon wilt havo mo love,

And it must bo a sho ,
Tho only argument can move

Is, that she will love mo.

Tho glorios of your ladies be

But metaphors of things,
And but rotiomblo what wo see

Eaoh common object brings
EOSOH out-rod their lips and ohooka,

LiliOH thoir whitonosa stain
What fool IB ho that shadows socks,

And may tho substance gain !
Thon if thou'lt havo mo lovo a

Lot it l>o ono that's kind,
Elwo I'm a servant to tho glass

That's with Canary lanod.

Alcnawlcr Bromc — Alout 1640.

382.— THE MAD LOYEB.

I have boon in lovo, and in dobt, and in drink, —

Thin mauy and many a your ,
And thoHO throo aro plaguos enough, ono would
think,

.For 0110 poor mortal to boar
'TwttH drink inwlo mo fall into lovo,

And lovo imwlo mo run into dobt ,
And though I havo utrugglod and struggled
and Htrovo,

I cannot flol out o£ thorn rot. ^

Thoro*H nothing but money can euro mo,
And rid mo of all iny pain ;
'Twill pay all my dobtw,
And roinovo all my loin 1
And my miatroHH that cannot onduro mo,

Will lovo mo, and lovo mo again *
Thon I'll fall to loving and drinking again.

Alwandcr Jirowc, — About 1G49.

383 —TO A COT LADY.

I pritlioo loavo thin poovinh fashion,
Don't douiro to bo high prized,

LOVO'H a princely noblo pawHion,
And doth woorn to bo doHpiHod.

Though wo Bay yon'ro fair, you know

Wo your boauty do bontow,

For our fauoy makoH you so.

Don't bo proud 'oauao wo adoro you,
Wo do't only for our pleasure ;

And thoHO parts in which you glory
Wo by fancy weigh and measure.

Whon for doitiow you |?o,

l^or angels or for quoonH, pray know

'Tis our own fancy makoB you BO.

Don't suppose your Majesty

By tyranny's beat signified,
And your angelic Natures bo

Distmgnish'd only by your pride.
Tyrants make subjects rebels grow,
And pride makes angels devils below,
And your pndo may make you so '

Meaandor Brome. — About 1649.

384— THE INQUIRY.

If we no old historian's name

Authentic will admit,
But think all said of friendship's fame

But poetry or wit ;
Tet what's revered by minds so pure
Must be a bright idea sure.

But as our immortality

By inward sense we find, '
Judging that if it could not bo,

It would not be design' d :
So hero how could such copies fall,
If there wore no original P

But if truth be in ancient song,

Or btory wo believe ;
If tho inspired and greater throng

Havo scoinod to docoivo ;
Thcio havo boon hearts whose friendship

gavo
Thoni thoughts at once Loth soft and

gravo
Among that consecrated crew

Some more bciapliio fihado
Lend ino a favourable clow,

Now mists my oyow invade.
Why, having fill'd tho world with fame,
Loft you BO litfclo of your flamo P

Why is't so obfficult to soe

Two bodies and ono mind ?
And why aro those who clue agree

So difficultly kind P
Hath nature such fantastic art,
That she can vary overy heart P
Why are the bands of friendship tied

With so remiss a knot,
That by tho most it is defiocl,

And by tho most forgot ?
Why do wo stop with so light sonfao
From friendship to indifference t

If friendship sympathy impart,

Why this ill-shufflod gamo,4
That heart can never moot with heart,

Or flamo encounter flame P
What does this cruelty create ?
Is't tho intriguo of lovo or fate ?

Had friendship no' or boon known to men,

(The ghost at last confest)
Tho world had thon a stranger boon

To all that heaven po&sobt.
But could it all bo hero acquired,
Not hoavon itself would be desired,

Eatherwo Plnlvps.— About 16491,

KATHEBINB3 PHILIPS J

A FBIBJSTD.

385.— A FRIEND.

Lore, nature's plot, this groat creation's soul,
The being and the harmony of things,

Both, still proservo and propagate tho whole,
From whence man's happiness and safety

The eoiliost, whitest, blossod'st tunes did

draw
From hex alone their universal law.

Friendship's an abstract of this noble name,
'Tie love refined and purged from all its

dross,
The next to angel's lore, if not tho same,

As strong in passion is, though not so gross :
It antedates a glad eternity,
And is an heaven in epitome.

*****
Essential honour must be in a friend,

Not such as every breath fans to and fro ;
But born within, is its own judge and end,
And dares not ftun though sure that none

should know.
"Where friendship 's spoke, honesty 's under-

stood;

For none can bo a friend that is not good*
*****

Thick waters show no images of things ;

Friends are each other's mirrors, and should

be
Clearer than crystal or tho mountain springs,

And free from clouds, design or flattery.
For vulgar souls no part of friendship share ;
Poets and friends are born to what they are.

386.— TO HIS HEABT.

Hence, heart, with her that must deport,

And hald tneo with thy sovorain,
For I had lever want ano heart,

Nor have tho heart that does mo pain ;

Therefore go with thy luve remain,
And let me live thus unmolost ;

See that thou cotno not back again,
But bide with her thou luvis best.

Sen she that 1 have eervit lang,

Is to depart so suddenly,
Address thee now, for thou sail gang

And beir thy lady company.

Fra she bo gone, heartless am I ;
For why ? thou art with her possest.

Therefore, my heaarfc ! go hence in hy,
And bide with her thou luvis best.
Though this bolappit body horo

Be bound to servitude and thrall,
My faithful heart is free intoir,

And mind to servo my lady at all.

Wald God that I were pengall
Under that redolent rose to rest 1

Yet at the least, my heart, thou sail
Abide with her thou luvis best.

Son in your garth tho lily whyto

Hay not remain aiming tho lavo,
Adieu tho flower of haill <lolyto ;

Adieu the succour that may mo savo ;

Adieu the fragrant biihmo Huaif,
And lamp of ladios luHtiorft !

Hy faithful heart who Hall it have,
To bido with her it lims bout.

Deplore, yo ladies clear of hno,

Her abHonoo, son Hho inuHt depart,
And specially yo Invert* tnto,

That wounded l>o with luvin rturt.

For yo sail want you of ano hoait
As woil as I, therefore at la»t

Do go with mine, with mind iuwart,
And bide with her thou luvm bont.

Aloxmdcr 8cot>— About 1040.

387.— RONDEL OP

Lo what it is to luve,

Learn ye thai lint to pruvo,
By me, I say, that no wayn may,

The grand of greif ratmivo.
But still decay, both utcht and day ;

Lo what it is to luvo !

Luve is ano fervent fire,

Kondillit without <loHiro,
Short plonotir, lang- Uwplonour ;

Bepontanco is tho hiro ;
Ano purotroHBOur, without mofuour;

Lave is one fervent too,

To luve and to bo wtoo,

To rogo with fctido adwiKO ;
Now thus, now than, HO goon tho gamo,

Inoortain is tho <lico ;
There is no man, I Hay, tliat can

Both luve and to bo wine.

Hoc alwayiB from tho HOOTO,

Loam at mo to bowaro j
It is ano pain and dowblo train

Of ondloHB woo and oaro ;
Por to refrain that denser plain,

Hoe always from tho Huuro,

388.— THE TOWN LADim.
Some win's of tho borow«toitn
Sao wonder vain are, and wantouM,
In warld thoy wait not what fco woir :
On claithia thoy ware mony a oroun ;
And all for nowfanglenoHH of goir.
And of fine silk thoir furrit olokto,
With hingan «loovo«, liko tfoil pokiH ;
Nao proaching will gar thorn f orlxsir
To woir all thing thitt Hin provokiu ;
And all for nowfangiouoHH of goir,
Their wihcoatH maun wool bo howit,
Broudrod rioht braid, with pwtmout« i»ewil
I trow wha wald tho matter «pcir»
That their giulomon hod cauao to mo It,
That evir their wifi» wor« sic g*fo

Jfom 1558 *o 1649.]

NIGHT IS NIGH GONE.

[AliHX. MONTGOMSBT.

Their woven hose of Bilk are shawin,
Barrit aboon with taasols cbrawin ;
With gartcns of ano now manoir,
To gar their courtliness bo knawin j
And all for newfonglenoss of goir.

Soznotimo they will beir np their gown,
To shaw their wiliooat hingan down ,
And sometime baith thoy mil upboir,
To shaw thoir hoso of block or brown ;
And all for nowfanglonoss of ereir.

Thoir collars, carcats, and hauao boidia !
With rolvet hat heigh on thoir hoidis,
Cordit with gold bko ano younkoir.
Braidit about with golden throidia ;
And all for nowf anglonoas o£ gcir

Thoir shoon of volvot, and their muilia I
In kirk thoy aro not content of stuilia,
The sermon whon ihoy sit to hoir,
But cairios ouHhcouH like yam fulls ;
And all for nowf anglonoHH of goir.

And somo will Hpond mare, I hoar say,
In Hpico and drngiH in ano day,
Nor wold thoir mothers in ano yoir.
Whilk will gar mony paok ctaooy,
Whon thoy sao vainly waste their goir.

Leave, burgeM men, or all l>o lost,
On your win's to lank HIO cent,
Whilk may gar all yoai buinun bloir.
She that may not, want wine and roawt,
la tiblo for to wanto nonio goir.

Botwoou them, and uoblow of bluclo,
Nao difforouco l>uti ano volvoi liudo I
Their oamrock mirdiioH aro tin doir,
Thoir other olaithiM ore OM gudo,
And thoy aa costly m othor guir.

Of btu:go«8 wifi« though I »poak plain,
Some luwcbwarb laclioH tiro an viiin,
AH by their claitbing may appour,
Wearing gayer nor thorn may gain,
On owor vain olaiUiitt waHtlug geir.

1580.

389.— THE CHERRY AND THE SLAB.

The outthat oroudtt, the oorbio orioa,
The euekoo ooukfl, the prattling pyon

To gook there they begin ;
The jargon of the jangling jayw,
The oraiking orawn and keokling kaya,

Thoy doavo't mo with thoir din.
The painted pawn with ArguH oyoH

Can on hitf May-aook call ;
The turtle wailo on withor'd Iroos,
And Echo anwwcrH all,
Bopeating, with greeting,
How fair NarciwHUH foil,
By lying and spying1
Bis shadow in tko well.

I saw the hurohoon and the hare
In hidlings hirpling here and there,
To make thoir morning mango.
The eon, the euning, and the oat,
Whoso dainty downs with dow wcro wat,

With Htiff mouataohios tttrange.
The hart, the hind, the dao, the rao,

Tho foumart and f also fox $
The boarded buck olamb up tho brae
With birny bairB and brooks ;
Somo feeding, somo dreading
Tho hunter^ subtlo Bnaros,
With Hkipping and tripping,
Thoy play'd thorn all in pairs.

Tho air was sober, Raft, and swoot,
Nao misty vapours, wind, nor wool,

But quiet, calm, and clear,
To foster Hera's fragrant flowers,
Whereon Apollo's paramours

Had trinklod mony a tear ;
The which like silver shakers shined,

Embroidering Beauty's bed,
Whorowith thoir heavy heads doelinocl
In May's colours dad.
Somo knoping, some dropping
Of balmy liquor Aweet,
Excelling and smolllng
Through Phoebus' wholesome heat.

390.— NIGHT iS Kian GONE.

I£oy3 now the (lay's dawning;
Tho jolly cock's orowmg ;
Tho Eastern sky's glowing j
Stars fado, one by one ;
Tho thintlo-oook'n crying
On lovers long lying,
Cease vowing and sighing ;
The night is nigh gone.
The fields aro overflowing
With gowans all glowing,
And white lilies growing,
A thousand as one;
The swoot ting-dove cooing,
His lovo-notcs renewing,
Now moaning, now suing;
The night is nigh gone

The season excelling,

In scented flowers smelling,

To kind lovo compelling

Our hearts every one ;

With tfwoot ballads moving

The maids wo are loving,

'Hid muKing and roving

Tho night is nigh gone.

Of war and fair women

The young knights aro dreaming,

With bright breastplates gloaming

And plumed helmotH on ;

Tho barbed stood noighs lordly,

And shakos his mane proudly,

For war-trmapotB loudly

Say night in nigh gone.

HUME ]

EABLY DAWN.

[Tinun Pininoi).—

I see tho flags flowing-,
The waniors all glowing,
And, snoitipg and blowing1,
The steeds rushing1 on ,
The lancos arc crashing,
Oat brood blades oomo flashing,
'Mid shouting1 and dashing—
The night is nigh gone.
Alexander Montgomery. — About 1597

391 — EAKLY DAWN.
0 perfect hght, which shod away

Tho darkness from tho light,
And set a ruler o'er tho day,

Another o'er the night

Thy glory, when tho day forth flics,

More viroly does appear,
Nor at nud-day unto our oyos

Tho shining sun is clear.

The shadow of tho oaith anon

KemovoB and drawis by,
Syno in tho east, when it is gone,

Appears a clearer aky

Whilk soon porcoivo tho little lurks,

Tho lapwing- and tho snipe ;
And tune thoir song like Nature' H clerks,

O'er meadow, muir, and Htripo

Alcsmdcr UWHO —Abmil 1509.

392.— THE NOON-TIDE OF A SUMMER'S
DAY.

The tuno so tranquil is and clear,

That nowhere shall yo find,
Save on a high and barren hill,

An air of passing wind.

AIL trees and simples, groat and small,

That balmy loaf do boar,
Than they woro paintod on a wall,

No moro thoy movo or Htoir.

He rivers frowh, the caller streams,

O'er rooks can swiftly rin,
The wator clear like oryntal beams,

And makes a plcoHtmt din.

Aloxawlcr HMHC. — About 1599.

393 —EVENING.
What pleasure, thon, to walk and soo

End-lang a rivor clear,
The perfect foim of every troo

Within the doop appoar.

The salmon out of ortuvos and Creole,

XTphailod into scouts,
The bells and circles on tho woills

Through leaping of tho trouts.

0 sure it were a seemly thing,
While all is still and calm,

The praise of God to play and sing,
With trumpet and with ahalm.

Through all tho land groat is tho gild

Of runtic folks that ory ;
Of bloating shoop ft a thoy bo kill'd,

Of calves and rowting kyo.

All labourorH draw hatno at ovon,

And can to othorn nay,
Thanks to tho gruciotiH (jod of licnvozi,

Whdk sont this nuininor day.

Ak\run<U'r 11 MM. — About 1501k

394— ANE SCHOltT POJMMK OF TYMK.

As 1 was panuing in a morning airo,
And could uot wloip nor nawyiH tuko mo
rost,

Furth for to walk, tho morning VTIIH 1:0 fairo,
Athort tho fioldn, it noomod to ino tho html.
Tho Eant was cloaro, whovoby lx»lyvo 1 gtiht,

That fyrio Tiiaii oumming waH m Hight,

Obscuring ohoato Diana by his light.

Who by his riHiug in tho.a%uro nkyoH,
Did dowlio liolao all thamo on oarth do

dwoll
Tho balmio dow through binnnff drotitli ho

Which made tho soilo to wavour hwuit ami

smoll,

By dow that on tho niglit bofoto dovnic ft»ll»
Which then was soukit tip by tho Dol].»luMiu';

hoit
Tip in tho airo • it wan HO light ami w<ut,

"WhoHO hip awoourling in hin inir]M)UT oluw
Provokit all from Morphoiw to floo .

As booHts to fold, and birdH to King with twir,
Mou to thoir labour, IUNHIO OH tho boo •
Yot itllo mon dovymng <lid I H<IO,

How for to drive tho tymo thai did tliwu irk,

By Bindiio paHtymoH, qululo tlutt it
mirk.

Then wonnclrod I to KCO tht»m Hoik a
So willinfi'ly tho prooiottH tymo to iitu* :

And how thoy did tiiombolils HO farr bi^Io,
To fuwho of tyiuo, which of ItHdJf IH f.vms
Fra tymo bo pani to call it btuskwart Htvitf

In bot iii vaiiio : ikoroforo uion Mould !»<» wartv

To slouth tho tymo that flcoH fni Un»n KO fair,

Por what hatli niau bot tymo into thw lyf«,
Which gives him tlnyiH hiH Uod ari^lil t<>

know ?

Wlioroforo thon Houlcl wo bo at H!(»
So Hpodolio otir holfiH for to wiiiidraw
Evm from tho tymo, which in on

Hlaw

To flio iroin UH, Hnppono wo fltid it
Moro wyso wo woro, if wo tho tyzno hiul

ROght.

But sen that tymo IH HIO a prccsiottH thing,

I wald wo Hould bontow it into thai
Which woro mont ploaHour to our

Moo ydiltoth, which in tho groaieftt !al ;
Bot, BOU that death to all in dotftinnt,

JfVow 1558*01040.]

THE WOBK-GIBL'S SONG.

[NICHOLAS T7&ALL.

Lot us employ tliat tymo that God hath send

us,
In doing woill, that good men may oommend

us.

James VI.— About 1584

395.— SOLITARY LIFE.

Swoet solitary hfo 1 lovely, dumb joy,
That neod'st no warnings how to grow

more wise

J3y otlior men's mishaps, nor the annoy
Which from sore wiongs done to one's solf

dothriue
The morning's second "mansion, truth's first

friend,
Never acquainted with the world's vain

broils,
When tho whole day to our own use we

spend,
And our dear time no fierce ambitaon

npoils
Most happy state, that never tak'st revenge

.For injuries received, nor dost fear
The court's groat earthquake, the grieved

Nor none of falsehood's savoury lies dost

hoar,
Nor knows hope's sweet disease that charms

our HOUMO,

Nor its sad euro — doar-bought experience '
J67cwZ ofAnciuvi. — About 1624

396— SONNET.

T Rwoar, Aurora, by thy starry eyes,

And by those golden looks, whoHo look nono

.And by tho coral of thy rosy lips,
And by the naked wnowH which beauty dyes ;
J Hwoar by all the jewolH of tliy muid,
WhoHO like yet never worldly treasure bought,
Thy flohd judgment, and thy generous thought,
Wluoh in this darkon'd age have clearly

Bhin'd;

J Hwoar by those, and by my spotloHB love,
And by my secret, yet rnont forvont firoH,
That I have never nurnt but chaHto dowros,
And such aft rnodosty might well approve
Thou, ninco I love those virtuous paita in thoo,
not lovo this virtnouH mind in

Howl t\f Slfolvng'— About 1037.

397.— MT FANTASY WILL NEVEB
TUBN.

Spite of MB spite, which that in vain,
Doth nook to force my fantasy,
I am professed for loss or gain,
To bo thine own assuredly ;

Wherefore let my father spite and spurn,

My fantasy will never turn 1

Although my father of busy wit,
Doth babble still, I oare nob though ;
I have no fear, nor yet will flit,
As doth the water to and fro ;
Wherefore, &o.

For I am sot, and will not Swerve,
Whom spiteful speech romoveth nought;
And since that I thy grace deserve,
I count it is not dearly bought ;
Wherefore, &c.

Who is afraid, lot you >vn fly,
For I shall well abide the brunt .
Maugro to his lips that hsteih to lie,
Of busy brains as is tho wont ;
Wherefore, &o.

Who lisioth thereat to laugh or lour,
I am not ho that aught doth, reach ;
There is no pain that hath the power
Out of my breast your love to fetch ;
Wherefore, &o.

For whereas ho moved mo to tho school,
And only to follow my book and learning,
He could never make me such a fool,
With all his soft words and fair speaking;
Wherefore, &e.

This minion hero, this mincing trull.
Doth pleaao me more a thousand fold,
Than all tho earth that is so full
Of prociouH stones, silver, and gold ;
Wherefore, &o.

Whatsoever I did it was for her sake,
It was for her lovo and only pleasure ;
I count it no labour such labour to take
In getting to mo BO high a treasure;
Wherefore, &o.

This day I intended for to bo merry,
Although my hard father be far hence,
I know no caxwo for to be heavy,
For all than cost and great expense ;
Wherefore, <fco.

Thomas Ing&lwid. — Alout 1560.

398.— THE WOBK-GHBL'S SONG-.

Pipe, merry Annot ,
Trilla, Trilla, TriUario.

Work, Tibet , work, Annot ; work, Margerie;

Sow, Tibet , knit, Annot , Bidn, Margerio ;

Lot us seo who will MHJI tho victory.

• Pipe, merry Annot ;

Trilla, Tnlla, Tnllario

What, Tibet 1 what, Annot ' what, Margoriol
To sloop, but wo do not, that Ruall wo try ;
Tour fingers be numb, our work will not lie.

Pipe, merry Annot ,
Trilla, Trilla, TriUario.
Now Tibet, now Annot, now Morgerie ;
Now whippet apace for tho maystrio ,
But it will not bo, our mouth is so dry.

NICHOLAS UDALL.]

THE MINION "WIFE.

[Tniax> PJBBIOD,-

Pipe, merry Aonot ;

Trilla, Trilla, Tnllarie.

When, Tibet ? when, Aonot P when, Margerie P
I wjQl not, — 1 can not, — no more can. I ;
Then give we all over, and there let it lie !

Uddk—. About 15<56.

399.— THE MINION "WIFE.

Who so to marry a minion wife,
TTp.'fr'h had good chance and hap,

Must IOTO her and cherish her all his life,
A*nfl dandle her in Tb^s lap.

If she will fare well, if she will go gay,

A good husband ever stall,
Whatever she list to do or to say,

Must let her have her own will.
About what affairs so ever ho go,

He must show her all Tng mind ;
None of his counsel she may be kept fro,

Else is he a Tpflffl frTiTnT^,

Nicholas

A-bout 1566.

4XXX-— IDLENESS.

What heart can think, or tongue express,
The harm that groweth of idleness P

This idleness in some of us

Is seen to seem a thong but slight ;

But if that sum the sums discuss.
The total sum doth show us straight
This idleness to weigh such weight

That it no tongue can well express,

The harm that groweth of idleness.

This vice I liken to a weed

That husbandmen have named tyno,

The which in corn doth root or breed ;
The gram to ground it doth incline
It never ripeth, but rotteth in fine ;

And even a like thing is to guess

Against all virtue, idleness.

The proud Tfflflff may be patient,
The ireful may be liberal,

The gluttonous may be continent,
The covetous may give alma all,
The lecher may to prayer fall ;

Each vice bideth some good business,

Save only idle idleness.

As some one virtue may by grace

Suppress of vices many a one,
So is one vice once taken place

Destroyeth all virtues every one ;

Where this vice cometh all virtues ore

gone,

In no kind of good business
Can company with idleness.
An ill -wind that bloweth no man good

The blower of which blast is she ;
The lyther lusts bred of her brood

Can no way breed good property ;

Wherefore I say, as we now see

No heart can think, or tongtift oxproHH
The harm that groweth of idlonoHH !

To cleanse the corn, OR mon at noocl
Weed out all weodH, and igrno for chief,

Let diligence, our wood-hook, weed
All vice from UH for liko relief ;
As faith may faithfully Hhow proof

By faithful fruitful businosB,

To weed out fruitless idlcnoHH*

Jo7t» HbywoocZ. — About 1370.

401. — BE MERRY, FRIENDS !

Be merry, friends, toko ye no thought,
For worldly cares core yo right nought j
For whoso doth, when all in nought.
Shall find that thought avafleth nought 5
Bo merry, friend* !

All such as have all wealth at will,
Their wiUs at will for to fulfil,
Prom grief, or grudge, or any ill,
I need not sing this thorn until,

Bo morry, friendft 1

But unto such as wish and want
Of worldly wealth wrought them BO scant,
That wealth by work they cannot plant,
To them I sang at this instant,

Bo merry, frionda !

And such as when the rest scorn noxt,
Then they bo straight orfcromoly vexed ;
And such OH bo in atorm« perplexed,
To thorn I sing this short awoot text,
Bo morry, frionda 1

To laugh and win each man agrooH,
But each man cannot laugh and IOHO,
Yet laughing in the last of thoHO
Hath boon allowed of sago doorooH ;
Bo morry, friondw I

Be morry with sorrow wine mon havo nai<lv
Which saying, being wisely woighod,
It flooms a lesson truly laid
For those whom HOITOWH still invuxlo,
Bo morry, friondu I

Moke yo not two sorrow?* of ono,
For of ono grief grafted alone
To graft a worrow thereupon,
A souror crab wo con graft nono ;
jfto morry, f riondn 1

Taking our florrow« norrowfally,
Sorrow augmontoth our malady ;
Taking our sorrows merrily,
Mirth salvoth sorrowH mcmt roundly;
Bo morry, friend* !

Of griof s to come Htandiag in fray,
Provide defence tho boHt wo may ;
Which done, no moro to do or «ay,
Come what come shall, ooxae caro away !
Bo morry, fnondg I

From 1558

SONG OF HONEST RBCKiJATION.

[JOHN BEDB-OBD,

In such things as we cannot floo,
But needs thoy must ondurM be,
Lot wise oontontment bo decree,
Make virtue of necessity j

Be morry, friends !
To lack or lose that wo would win,
So that our fault bo not therein,
What woo or want ond or begin,
Take novor sorrow but for sin '

Be merry, friends !
In loss of friends, in lack of health,
In loss of goods, in lack of wealth,
'Where liberty restraint oxpolloth,
'Where all these look, yot as this toUoth,

Be merry, friends t
TWp.r> hardly hath a richer thing
Than honest mirth, the which well-spring1
Watereth the root« of rejoicing,
Feeding the flowers of flourishing ;

Be morry, friends '
[The IOBS of wealth is loss of dirt,
As flagon in all times assort j
Tho happy man 's without a shirt,
And never comes to maim or hurt.

Be morry, Mends 1
All seasons are to him the spring,
In flowers bright and flourishing;
With birds upon the tree or wing,
Who in there fashion always sing

Bo merry, friends !
If that thy doublet han a hole in,
Why, it cannot koop the IOHM thy soul in,
Wluoh nmgoth forth boyoud controlling
Whilst thou luiHt nought to do but trolling

Bo morry, friends !]

Be merry in God, Saint Paul naith plain,
And yet, naith ho, bo morry again ;
Since whose advice iw not in vain,
Tho fact thereof to entertain,

Bo morry, friends !

[Let tho world slide, let the world go ;
A fig for caro, and a flg for woo I
If I can't pay, why I can owe,
And dojithi makes oual the high and low*

Bo morry, friends 1]
Mm, Jleywood —About 15ftJ.

402.~DEINKINa SONG.

Back and side go baro, go baro,

Both foot and hand go cold :
But belly, God send thoo good ale enough,

Whether it bo now or old.

I cannot oat but little moat,

My stomach is not good ;
But Huro t think, that I can drink

With him that wears a hood.
Though I pro baro, take ye no care,

I am nothing a cold ;
I stuff my skin so full within

Of jolly good ale and old.

Back and side go bare, &o.

I love no roast but a nut-brown toast,

And a crab laid in tho firo ;
A little broad shall do me stead,

Much broad I do not dosxre.
No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow,

Can hurt me if I wold,
I am so wrapt, and throwly lapt,

Of jolly good ale and old.

Back and side go baro, &o.

And Tyb, my wife, that as her life

Lovoth well good ale to seek ;
Full oft dnnks she, till ye may see

Tho tears run down her ohoek.
Then doth who trowl to mo tho bowl,

Even as a malt-worm should ;
And saath, Sweetheart, I took my part

Of this jolly good ale and old.

Back and sido go bare, &o.

Now lot them drink till thoy nod and wink,

Even as good follows should do ;
Thoy shall not miss to havo the bliss

Good ale doth bring men to *
And all poor souls that have scoured bowls,

Or have thorn lustily trowled,
God save the lives of them and their wives,

Whether thoy bo young or old.

Back and side go baro, Ac.

Vislwp Bm.— About 157$.

403— SONG OF HONEST BECBBATION.

Whon travels groto in matters thick
Havo dulled your wits and made them sick,
What motUoiuo, thon, your wits to quick,
If yo will know, tho bost physic,
Is to give placo to Honest Recreation —
Givo placo, wo say now, for thy consolation.

Where i» that Wit that we sook thanp

Alas t ho lyoth hero pale and wan :

Help him at one* now, if we can.

0 Wit I how doeHt thou P look up I man.
0 Wit 1 give place to Honest Recreation—
Give placo, we say now, for thy consolation.

After placo Riven lot ear oboy :
Givo an oar, 0 Wit ' now wo thoo pray,
Givo oar to what wo sing and say ,
Givo an oar and help will como straightway :
Give an ear to JUConont Recreation •
Give an oar now, for thy consolation.

After oar givon, now give an eye :
Behold, thy frioiidH about thoo Ho,
Recreation I, and Comfort I,
Qtu'oknoKB am I, and Strength here bye.

Givo an oyo to Honest Recreation ;

Give an oyo now, for thy consolation.

After an eye givon, an hand give ye :
Gave an hand, O Wit ' feel that yo HOO;
Recreation fool, fool Comfort free,
Fool Quickness hero, fool Strength to ih<&.

Givo an hand to J Icnxwt Recreation ;

Give an hoiici now, fcr thy consolation.

JOHN LTLT ]

CUPID AND OAMPASPE.

(JlfcKHD JL'JNltlOU. —

Upon his feet, would God ho wore !

To raise hnw now wo nood not f oar ,

Stay you has band, while we hero bear :

Now all at onoe upright him roar.

O Wit } give plaoe to Honoat Boorcation :
Give place, wo say now, for thy consolation,

JO/MI RaJ/ord— About 157G.

404— -OUPID AND CAMPASP33.

Cupid and my Oampaspe played

At cards for kisses — Cupid paid ;

He stakes has quiver, bow and arrows,

His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ;

Loses them, too, then down he throws

The coral of his lip, the rose

Growing on }s cheok (but none knows how),

With ihese, the crystal of his brow,

And then the dimple of his chin ;

All these did my Oampaspo win.

At last he sot her both his eyes, —

She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

O Lore ' hath she dono this to thoe ?

What shall, alas r become of me P

John Irt/fy, — About 1684.

405,— TEE SONGS OP BIRDS.

What bird so sings, yet so does wail P
O 'tis the ravished nightingale.
" Jfafr JU& Jttffj jugj teron," she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick song ' who is't now wo hoar ?
None but the laik so shrill and clear ;
Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morn not waking fan sho sings.
Hark, hark ' with vrhat a pretty throat
Poor robin rodbroast tunes his note j
Hark how tho jolly cuckoos sing,
Cuckoo to welcome in tho spring I
Cuckoo to welcome in tho spring J

JbJwi Lylflj — About 1684.

406.— 001VCPLAJNT AOAJNST LOVE.

O cruel Lovo, on theo I lay
My curse, which shall strike blind the day ;
Never may sleep with velvet hand
Charm these eyes with sacred wand ;
Thy jailors shall bo hopes and fears,
Thy prison mates groans, sighs, and toots,
Thy play to woar out weary tones,
3tartastio passions, vows, and rhyme*.
Thy bread bo frowns, thy drink bo gall,
Sue!* as when you Phaon call ;
Thy sleep fond dreams, thy dreams long caro,
Hope, like thy fool at thy bed's head,
Hock thee till madness strike thoe dead,
A? Phaon thou doet mo with thy proud eyes,
In thee poor Sappho lives, for thoo sho dies.

407,— APOLLO'S SONG OF DAPHNH.

My Daphne's hair in twiwtod ffold,
Bright sbarfl tt-ftiooo hor oyoM do hold ;
My Daphne's blow outhruiiuH tho j,nu»OH,
My Daphne's boanty uiivuw all fonw ,
On Daphne's chock grow roso and cihorry,
But Daphne's lip a Hwcofcor borry ;
Daphne's snowy hand but touohcd dnon molt,
And then no hoavonlior warmth in felt ;
My Daphno'H voioo tunOH all tho Hpli<;nM,
My Daphne's muHic charmfl all oarn ;
Fond am I thuH to fling hor prawn,
These glorioa now aro turned to }>ayH.
Jb/tn. Zii/ty. — Abtmt

408.— SONG TO APOLLO.

Sing to Apollo, god of Day,

Whoso goldon beams with morning l>{&y»

And mako hor oyofl no brightly Hhiuo,

Aurora' H face is cnllod divhio.

Sing to PhobuH and that throno

Of diamonds which ho Hits upon,

lo Picons lot UH muff

To Physio and to Poosy'H king.

Crown all his altarn with bright firo,
Lauroln bind al>out hiH lyro ;
A Daphncan coronet for HIM head,
Tho MUHOH danco about hiH bod ;
When on hiB ravinhiiifc Into ho playn,
Strew his templo round with bu*yH.
lo PooanH let us Hing
To tho glittoring Dolian kiitg.

John Lyly. — About 1502,

409.— CBNONE'S COMPLAINT.

Molpomono, tho muRO of tragic HoiiffN,
With mournful tiinos, in Htolo of dismal lino,
AflHist a silly nymph to wail tow won,
And leave thy hwty company bohiud.

Thou lucklosB wroath! bocomon not mo to

wear

Tho poplar troo for triiimph of my ]«vn •
Then as my joy, my prido of lovo m l(»fi,
Bo thou unoloilic'd of thy lovoly grtttm ;

And in thy loavoH my fortnnoH wrifctoxi bo,
And then Homo ^ontlo wind lot blow abrtiml,
That all tho world may HOO how faUo of Zovo
False Poriy hath to liin U'Juono l)oan.

158 k

410.— -THE SONG OF THE ENAMOUB30D

SHWPHMBD.
0 gentio Lovo, ungentle for thy dootl,

Thou makcwt my hoart

A bloody mark
With piercing shot to blood.

>Vtwi 1558 to 1040.]

JOAB'S ADDBESS TO DAVID.

PBBMB.

Shoot soft, Rwoot Love, for four thou ahoot

For f oar too koon
Thy arrowa boon,
And hit tho hoart whoro my bolovM is.

Too fair that fortimo woro, nor novor I

Shall bo BO bloat,

Among tho rout,

That Lovo Hhall HOIZO on hor by sympathy,
Thon ainco with Lovo my piayors boar no boot,

This doth remain

To oaso my pain,
I tako tho wound, and dio at VontiH' foot.

Gcoryc Peulo —About 1584.

411,— THE AQJGD MAN-AT-ABMS

HIH goldon lookn timo huth to silver turned ,
0 timo too Hwift, 0 BwifLnoHH never ooaning1

His youth 'gaiiiHt tiino and ago hath ovor

Hpumod,
But Hpnmcd in vain; youth wanoth by on-

Jtoiuly, ntrongth, youth, arc floworH but fading

HPPtl ,

Duty, faith, lovo, aro rootii, and ovor groon.

II IK lu 'haul now Hhall mako a hivo for boon,
And lover*' Kongw bo tnruod loholypHalmH;

A ituui-ihUiruM muni now Horvo on hirt known,
Aii'l food on praycrH, whioli aro oldagn'milmH

Hut tlinuuii from court to ootlago ho doparl,

Jlin Hjiiuli IH Hiiro of hiH uiiHpottod hoatt.

And when ho naddowt HitH in hoinoly noil,
Ho'll i<'a»hlnH HwtiiimthiM carol for a Hong.

<( BltMM'd bn tho hoartH tluit wiHh my Hovo-

rt^lffii well,
Curxcul bo the HOttlH that think her any

H, allow thin ai'od man hin
Tu IKS your boadwuoa now that WUH your

— About, 1500.

nn Kn^ln-iul, ancirmt noai of
WIOHO chivalry hatli royaliHM thy fiuno,
Thai, Hounding bmvoly through torroHtrubl

I'roctliuminfr oonqnoHtH, «poil«, and victorion,
Ulnppi ^lonoiiH oohooH through tho farthoHt

world f

What warliko nation, traiu'd In funta of arnw,
Wliat barbaroiw pooplo, Ktnbborn or nnLam'd,
WTtat olimato under tho meridian Ri^nn,
Or froswn Kono undor his brumal ntajyo,
Krfit have not quak'd and tromblod at tho namo
Of IJntah) and hor mighty aonqnororH P
Jlor noighbour roalmH, an Sootlan<l} l>omnark,

Awod with thoir doodH, and joaloufl of hor arma,
Uavo bogg'd dofoniivo and offoriHive loaguoB.

TlmH Buropo, rich and mighty in hor kiiifffl,
Hath foar'd bravo England, dreadful luhor

kings.

And now, to otornifto Albion's champions,
Equivalent with Trojan' « anoiont fame,
ComoB lovoly Edward from Joruflalom,
Voormg bof oro tho wind, ploughing tho floa ;
Hut strotchod Bails uU'd wii£ tho broath of

mon,

That through tho world admiro hitf manlinoBS.
And lo, at last arnvod in Dovor road,
Longshanfc, your king, your glory, and our won,
With troopn of oonquoring lorda and warlako

knights,

Liko bloody- crowtod MarB, o'orloolcfl hm hotit,
Highor than all hia army "by tho hood,
Marching along an bnght as Phojlmn' oycs '
And wo, MH mother, Hhall bohold our HOU,
And England's pooru Hliall soo thoir Rovoroign.
(.fcwjo J'cclc.—Abmrt 1593.

413.— JOAB'S DESCBIPTION1 OF DAVID.

Boatitooufl and bright IB ho among1 tho triboki ,
AH whon tho aun, attirod in gliHtonng xobo,
Comos donoing from his oriental gato,
And, bndogroom-liko, hurla through tho

gloomy air
}Tin radiant boiiuiH nuoh doth King David

Hhow,

(Irown* cl with tho honour of IUH onomioH* town,
fthitiing m iitihcH liko tho firmament,
Tho Htarry vatili, that ovwkatigH tho oarlh ;
So lookoth David, King of Israel.

11505*

414.— JOAN'S ADJ^BBHS TO DAVID ON
DHATJI OF ABSALOM.

Wliat ' irk» it David, that ho viotor broathos,

That Juda, and tho fioltlH of Inriiol

Hlionld oloanHo thoir faooH from thoir cliildron'H

blood F

What ! art thou woary of thy royal rulo ?
TH iHraol'H throne a Barpont in thuio O.VOH,
And ho that Mot thoo thoro, HO far IVotiilJuLukK,
'Hiat thon muHt OUTHO IUH Horvatit for JUM !iiik<j P
llant thon not Haul, that, at* tho ninniintf li"Jit,
olondloHB morning, HO should ho tlujtio

And not a« floworH, by tho brightoHl rani,
Wliich grow np quickly, and OH qniokly fado ?
Jlattt thou not Haid, tho wickod aro OH tlionin,
That oanuot bo pronorvod with tho hand ; •
And that tho man nhull touch thorn numb bo

ann'd

With coatn of iron, and gormoxitH uiarlu of Ht<'c' I,
Or with tho shaft of a dofoncod H]>oar ?
And art thou angry ho i« now cut oil',
That lod tho giultloBH fiwarmin^ to tho.r dcatliH,
And wan xnoro wickod than an lioHfc of mon ?
Advonoo thoo from thy molaiioholy den,
And dock thy body with Ihy blinaful robow,

KOTO DAVULX

Or, by the Lord that sways the Heaven, I

swear,

m lead thine armies to another king,
Shall oheer them for their princely chivalry •
And not sit dauntod, frowning- in the dark,
"When has fair looks with oil and wine refresh* d,
Should dart into their bosoms gladsome beams,
And fill their stomachs with triumphant feasts ,
That, when elsewhere stern War shall sound

his trump,

And call another battle to the field,
Fame still may bring thy valiant soldiers homo,
And for their service happily confess
She wanted worthy tramps to sound their

prowess
Take thou -KMa course and live rofuso and

die.

— About 1595.

415.— KINO- DAVID.

Of Israel's sweetest singer BOW I sing,
His holy style and happy victories ;
"Whoso muse was dipt in that inspiring dew,
Archangels 'stilled from the breath of Jovo,
Decking her temples with the glorious flowers
Heaven rain'd on tops of Sion and Mount Sinou
Upon the bosom of his ivory late
The cherubim and angels laid their breasts ,
And when his consecrated fingers atruok
The golden wires of his ravishing harp,
He gave alarum to the host of heaven,
That, wmg'd with lightning, brake the cloud*,

and oast

Their crystal armour at his conquering foot.
Of this sweet poet, Jove's musician,
And of his beauteous son, I press to sing ;
Then help, drvono Adonai, to conduct
Upon the wings of my well-tempor'd verso,
The hearers' minds above tho towers of heaven
And guide thorn so in this thrice haughty flight,
Their mounting feathers scoich not with tho

fire

That none can temper but thy holy hand :
To thee for succour flics my i ooblo muao,
And at thy feet her iron pon doth use.

Oeorye P<wlc. — About 1500.

416.— BETHSABE BATHING.

Hot sun, cool fire, tempered with flwoot air,
Black shade, fair nurse, shadow my whito hair .
Shine, sun ; burn, fire , breathe air, and oanc

me,
Black shade, fair nurse, shroud mo, and ploaao

me,

Shadow, my sweet nurse, koop mo from burning,
Make not my glad cause cauRO of mourning.
Let not my beauty1 H fire
Inflame unstayed closure,
Nor pierce any bright eye
That wandareth lightly.

George Ptele.— About 1509.

417.— BETHSABE'S ADDBESS TO THE
ZEPHYB

Come, gentle zophyr, triok'd with IAOHO por-

fumos

That orst in Edon swootonM Adam'H lovo,
And stroko my bottom -with tho Hilknn fan •
Thitt Hhado (sun pioof ) in yot no proof for thoo ;
Thy body, smoother than thiH wavoltmn Hpriiiff,
And purer than tho anbutanoo of tho wamo,
Can croop through that hiK lannos cannot

piorco

Thou and tliy BiHtor, soft and wwrwl air,
OoddoBs of life aud govoni<»HH of health,
KoopH ovory lonntain frosh and arbour Hwooi ;
No brozon gato hor pasnago can w»pnlM«»f
Nor bushy thiokot bar thy mibtlo breath.
Then dock thoo with tliy IOOKO UoUghtHomo

robos,

And on thy wings bring dplloato p«rf umoH,
To play the wantonn with us through tno

leaves.

George Peclc. — About 15D9.

8.— DATID ENAKOURKD OF

tnnoR, what wor<lH, what looks, what

wondorH pierce

My noul, inconHod with a Huddon flro !
"What troo, what shade, what Mpring, what

paradiHO,

Enjoys the beauty of BO fair a datno !
Fair Eva, placed in perfect hap])iiu»HK,
Lending her praiHO-notcH to tho Hlx^ral hoaYonH*
Struck with the accoutH of arfrfiari#olH' tunoH,
"Wrought not more plcoHuro to lioi JutHbiuud'rt

thought)*
Thantliiti fair womaiv'w wor«lrt and imiiw tt>

mino.
May that swoot pliiiu that botirM

weight,

Bo HtJl onamoU'd witli dinnoIonrM
That prooiouH fount b(»nr HIUU! of ] inn* it
And for tho pobblo, lot tho mivor striMUUH
That pioroo otirih'H buwolrf to rruuit^un tho

Boiirco,

Play upon rnbioH, Ha]*i)lurf»H, nhtyHolitoH ;
Tho brim lot bo embraced with #oM(*n ourlK
Of moHH that nloop.H with Hound tho wivtorH

make

For ]oy to food tho fount with llirur wcwwo ;
Let oil tho griiHH tliat boautifioit ln»r bowor,
IJour manna orory morn, iiMttwI of di«w ;
<Jr lot tlio dow l)o Hww»t<»r far thau that
Thn*t hongH like chuiiiH of ptuirl on IJormon

hill,
Or balm which trickled from old

board.

* # * *

Soo, Cuaay, BOO tho flowor o! Jsraol,
Tho fairest daughter that obn>H tho king,
In all the land tho Lord ftuMttod to mo,
Fairer than Isaac's lover at tho wolL,

Jffom 1558 to 164DJ

THE SHEPHEKD AND HIS

Brighter than inside bark of now-hewn corlar,
Swoofcer than flames of fino perfumed myrrh ,
And comolior them ito silver clouds that donco
On zephyr's wings before the King of Hoavon.

* * * *
Brig-lit Bethsabo shall wash in David's bowor
In water xnix'd with purest almond flower,
And bathe her beauty in the *niiy of kids ;
Bright Bothsabo gives oarth to my desiroH,
Yordnre to earth, and to that verdure flowers,
To flowers sweet odours, and to odours wings,
That carries pleasures to the hearts of kings.

# # # *

Now comes my lover tripping like the roo,
And bungs my longings tangled in her hour ;
To 'joy her love I'll build a kingly bowor,
Seated in hearing of a hundred streams,
That, for their homage to hov Hovoroign joys,
Shall, as the serpents fold into their nests,
In oblique turnings wind tho nimble wavow
About tho circles of her onnonH walks,
And with their murmur summon easeful sloop,
To lay lus golden acoptro on her browH.

Gcoryc Peok.— About 1500.

419— BEATTTY SUING FOB LOVJE,

Boauty, alas ' where want thou born,

Thiw to hold thyself in scorn P

Whona« Uoauty kiwuod to woo thoo,

Thou by Boauty dont undo m<» :

Hoigh-ho ' doHpwo ino not.

I and thou in nooth arc 0110,

Fairer thou, I fairer none ,

Wanton thou, and wilt thou, wanlon,

Yield a cruel heart to plant on ?

Do me right, and do mo reason ;

Cruelty it* cursf^d trwuuni •

Hoigh-ho I I lovn, liMjjfh-ho ! I lovft,
Heigh-ho i and yet ho OVOH me not.

Mart (tow*.— About 151)0.

420,— SAMELA.

Like to Diana in hor Hummer weed,

Oirt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,

GOOH fair Haniola ;

Wtutor than bo tho flocks that straggling food,
When wanhod by ArothuHa faint they lie,

IH fair Saraola ;

As fair Aurora in her morning grey,
Docked with tho ruddy glister of hor love,

la fair Samola ;

Like lovely Thetis on a coined day,
Whonas her brightness Neptune's fancy move,

Shine** fair Samola ;

Hor troflBGB gold, her oyes like glaBBy Htroams,
Her tooth ore pearl, tho broaatu ore ivory

Of fair Hamola ,
Hor cheeks, like rose and lily yield forth

gleams,
Hor brows' bright arches framed of ebony;

Thus fair Samela

Aissoth fair Vonuw in lior bravost huo,
And Juno in the show of mojonty,

For she's Samola i

Pallas in wit, all throo, if you will viow,
For boauty, wit, and matohloss dignity
Yield to Samola.

Jtolcrt

42 1 . — COKTENT.

Sweet are tho thoughts that savour of con-
tent .

Tho <jtdot mind IH richer than a crown :
Sweet are tho nights in oarolcHS tdtunbor

spent •

Tho poor estate flftorns Fortune' H angry fiown.
Such Hwoot content, nuoh mindH, such Hlocp,

Hueh bliHS,

Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.
Tho homely house that harbours quiet rout,
Tho cottage that affords no prido nor care,
Tho moon, that 'groos with country nmaio

bost,

Tho swcot consort of mirth's and muflio'fl faro.
Obscured life sots down a typo of hhrni $
A mind content both crown and kingdom ifl.

Itobnt OMcnc.— About 1500.

422.— SEPIUKSTIA'S SONO TO HEB
CJIIl,!),

Mother's wag, protty boy,

Father's sorrow, fitthor'n joy,

Wlion thy father first did BOO

Such a boy by him and mo,

Ho wan glad, T was woo,

Fortuno changed matlo him BO ;

When ho bwl loft his protty boy,

Lost hi» sorrow, flr«t MH joy.
Woni> not, my wanton, «milo upon my knoo ;
When thou art old, there's griof enough for
tlioo.

Tho wanton flmilod, father wept,

Mother oriod, baby loap'd ;

Horo ho crow'd, more ho cwicHl,

Nature could not Borrow hide j

II o muHt go, ho muHt kiHH

Child and mother, baby MOHH ;

For ho loft his protty boy.

Father's Borrow, father V joy*
Woop not, my wanton, Htnilo upon my knoo ;
When thou art old, there's griof enough, fox
thoo.

Mori GrG&w.--Alout 1500.

423.-— THE SHEPHEBD AND HIS WIFE*

It was near a thioky shade,
That broad loavon of hooch had mado,
Joining all their tops HO nigh,
That Boarco Phoebus in could pry ;

A KOTOTDBLAT.

[TlJlltD

"Where sat the swain and his wife,

Sporting1 in that pleasing life,

That Corydon oommendoth so,

All other hves to over-go

BCo and sho did sit and keep

Hocks of kids and flocks of s>hoop :

He upon his pipe did play,

She tnned voice unto his lay.

And, for you might her housowif o know,

Voice did sing and fingers sew

He was young, his coat was green,

With welts of white seamed between,

Turned over with a flap,

That breast and bosom in did wrap,

Skirts side and plighted froo,

Seemly hanging to his knee,

A whittle with a silver ohapo ;

Cloak was russet, and the cape

Served for a bonnet oft,

To shroud hun from the wot aloft :

A leather scnp of colour red,

With a button on the head ,

A bobtlo full of oouniry whiff,

By the shepherd's side did lig ;

And in a little bush hard by

There the shepherd's dog did lie,

Who, while his master 'gan to sleep,

Well could watch both kids and sheep.

The shepherd was a frolic sworn,

For, though his 'pare! was but plain,

Yet doon the authors boothly way,

Bos colour was both frosh imcl gay ,

And in their writs plain discuss,

Fairer was not Trfcyrus,

Nor Menalcas, whom they call

The aldorleof eat swain of all 1

Seeming him was his wife,

Both in line and in life.

Fab sho was, as fair might bo,

lake tho roses on the tree ;

Buxom, blithe, and young, I woen,

Boautooiis, like a summer's qnoou ;

For hor checks woio ruddy huod,

As if LdioK woro imbrued

With drops of blood, to malco tho wliile

Please tho oyo with more delight.

Love did lie within hor oyoH,

In ambush for some wanton prize ;

A looter lass than this had been,

Corydon had never seen.

Nor was Phyllis, that fair may,

Half so gaudy or so gay.

She wore a chaplet on her hoad ;

Her cassock was of scarlet red,

Long and large, as straight as bent ;

Her middle was both small and gont.

A nock as white as whale's bone,

Compast with a lace of stone ;

Fine she was, and fair she was,

Brighter than the brightest glass j

Such a shepherd's wafe as she,

Was not more in Thessaly.

e.—Al>out 1500.

424— A BOTODEIAY.

Ah ? what IH lovo ! It is a pretty tlim^,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,

And swootor too •

For kings havo cares that wait upon a, down,
And cares can make the swootoat citron fco
frown.

All then, ah thon,

If country IOVOH Buch nwoot cloHiioH ftiun,
What lady would not lovo a Hhcj/hord Hwain ?

His flocks arc folded j he oomon homo at night
As moriy as a king in hifl delight,

And merrier too •

For kings bethink thorn what tho ntato re-
quire,
Where shepherds, careless, oarol by tho flru :

Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such swoot doHiwjK gain,
What lady would not love a ahopliord nwaiu P

Ho kisseth first, then sits as blithe to oat
His cream and curd, OH doth the king WH uiottk,

And blither too J

For kings havo often foara when thoy Hup,
Whoro shepherds dread no poiwon in tht'ir
cup;

Ah thon, ah llion,

If country IOVOH tmoh awoot dowiron fain,
What lady would not lovo a ahophml Hwom P

tTpon hw couch of straw ho Hloopw AH wound
As doth tho kmg upon hin bod* oC down,

More sounder too
For cares oauBo kings full oft their Hlocp to

spill,
Whoro weary shepherds lie and snort thc'ir flll:

Ah thon, ah thon,

If oouniry IOVOH Huoh sweet drminH f^iiii,
What lady would not lovo a Hliopluwl hw.iin ?

Thus with his wife ho flpondH tlio y<»ur UM

blithe
As doth tho king at every tido or Hj'Ui,

Aiid Wiihor tf>o .
For kings havo WOTH and broils lo IU.AO hi

hand,
Whon ahophords laagh, and lovo ujwii tin*

land

Ah thon, all thon,

If country lovo Much nwoot doiwrc» i n««»
What lady would not lovo a Hliopiionl HWUIII I'

Grecni'.— About 1MM».

425 — PnrLOMRTjA^ ODJ-I.

Sitting by a river's fiido,
Whoro a Bilcnt stream did glido,
Huso I did of many ihmgH
That tho mind in quiot brinffH.
I 'gan think how flomo mou doom
Oold their god ; and somo OBtoom
Honour is tho oHof oontoat
That to man in life is lont ;

From 155S to 1(549.]

MADRIGAL.

And flomo others do contend
Quiet nono liko to a friend.
Others hold there in no wocdth
Compared to a perfect health ;
Some man's mind in quiot stands
Whon ho *s lord of many landR.
But I did siflh, and Raid all this
Wan but a shade of perfect WIHH ,
And in my thoughts I did approro
Nought so swoot as is trno lovo
Love 'twixt lovers paBBoth thono,
Whon mouth kissoth, and heart 'greos, —
With folded arms and hps mooting,
Each soul another sweetly grouting ,
For by the breath the HOU! floototh,
And soul with soul in kissing moototh.
If lovo bo so sweet a thing,
That such happy bliHS doth bring,
Happy IB love's sugared tin all ,
But unhappy maidens all
"VVho oHfcoorn your virgin blimioH
Sweeter than a wife's sweet kisses.
No such quiot to the mind
AH trno lovo with kiHROH kind ,
But if a kiHH prove unchaste,
Then is true lovo quite diMgr,icod.
Though lovo bo Hwcot, loarn thin of mo,
Wo swoot lovo but honesty.

Greene,— About 1590.

When godw had framed tho HWootH of woman' H

An<i lool:t mon'H lookn within liw golden luiir,
That PluwbuH bltwh'd to HOO her nwtchloHH

grace,

And hoavonly gods on oarth did nwko repair,
To quip fair Venus' ovorwocming pride,
IX>VO'H happy thoughts to joaloiwy woro tied.

Thon gr«w a wrinkle on fair VOUUH' brow,
Tho anibor nwool of lovo is turnM to tfall!
(Woomy wan ifoavon , bright Pho'buH <lul avow
Ho would bo ooy, and would not lovo at all ;
H wearing no Beater miHohiof could bo wrought,
Than lovo united to a joalouu thought.

Kobe ft (Imwr-AhmiA 1590.

427— DORASTUS ON ffAWNIA.

All, wcro H!IO pitiful a» who in fair,
Or but m mild an Hho in Hooining HO,
Then wore my hopes groator than, my donpair,
Thon all the world wore Hoavon, nothing woo.
Ah, wore her heart relenting as hor liuwl,
That Hcoms to molt e'en with tho mildost touch,
Them know T whore to soat mo iu a land,
Under Lho wide HoavonH, bnfc yot not Kiifjh.
So an nho HhowH, she HOOTTIH tho budding roHO,
Yet Hwootor far than w an (Mirthly flower ,
Hovoroign of beauty, like the Hpray who grown ;
CompaHH'd aho is with thornu and cunkur'd
iiowcr ;

Tot, wore «lio willing to bo pluckM and worn,
yho would bo gather' d, though Hho grow on

thorn.

Ah, when sho wrngfl, all muwio oteo bo Htill,
For nono must bo compared to hor noto ;
No' or breathed Huoh glee from Philomola'flbill,
Nor irom tho morning ningor'H wwnlling throat.
And whon nho nsoth from hor bliHwful b<wl,
Sho ooinfortH all tho world, as doth tho Hun.

428,— UMAUTV.
Like to tho clear in InghoHt Hplioro,

"Whoro all imporiiil glory Hliinos
Of Hclf-Humo colour IH hor hair,

"Whether unfoldod or in twincH •

Hor oyftH are HapplurOH Mot in ttiow,
llolimng heaven by every wink ;

Tho godH do fear, whon IIM they glow,
And 1 do tremble whon I think*

Her chocks are Idco tho btanhi&g cloud,
Iliat boauUfioH Aurora' H face ;

Or liko the oilvor orimHon Hhroud,
That Photons' smiling lookH doth gmoo.

Her lips are liLo two budded rowm,
"Wlirmi iankH of lilion neighbour nigh ;

Within which bounrta Hho btilm ouolosofi,
Apt to entice a deity.

Hor nock like to a ntatoly towor,
Whom Ijovo liimHolf uuprirton'd lies,

To watch for glancort, ovwy hour,
J(Yoai hor divmo and Hiu-rod <iyoft.

With orient pearl, with ruby rt»<l,

With marble whito, with Mttpphiro blue,
II or body ovorywlwiro JH ftid,

Yet Hoft in touch, aiul Hwcctt in viovr*
Naturo liorHolf hor Hhap« admirtw,

TJio godH arc wounded in hot Highij
And Ix>vo foTwikcB hi« heavenly flrow,

And at hor oyo« Ha brand doth light.

T/UWWM tiMtypr—, About 1590.

429.— ItOSAJJND'W MAOIilCUL.
Jjove in iuy boHom, like a boo,
7)ot/h nnok h'lH awcct ;
Now with IUH wmgH ho playn with me,
Now with hiH f cot
Withiu iniuu oycH ho makou IU'H newt,
TliH bod umidHt my tundnr brotbHt ;
My LihHOH are hut daily foowt,
And ycit ho rt>l>M mo of my rent :
Ah, wanton, will yo V

And if I Hloop, thon iiorohoth ho
With pr(»tty /light,
And makon hiH pillow o£ my knuo,
Tlio live-long niglit.
Htriko I my lute, ho tunciH tho H<.rlng;
flo muNin ]>layH if HO I »iug;
Ho lm»ln mo ovory lovoly tiling
Vot (jniol ho my hourt doth
Wint, wanton, Htill yo f

THOHAS LODGE.]

ROSADER'S SONETTO.

Else I with roses every day
Will whip you hence,
And bind you, when you long lo play,
For your offence 5
ril shut mine eyes to keep you in,
Til make you fast it for your sin,
Til count your power not worth a pin ;
Alas ' what hereby shall I win,
If he gainsay me P

What if I beat tho wanton boy
With many a rod ?
He will repay me with annoy,
Because a god.

Then sit thou safely on my knee.
And let thy bower my bosom be ,
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thoe,
0, Cupid i so thou pity mo,
Spare not, but play thoo

TJwmas Lodge. — About 1590.

430 — ROSAEER'S SONETTO.

Turn I my looks unto tho skies,

Love with his arrows wounds mi-no eyes;

If so I look upon tho ground,

Lore thon in every flower in found ;

Search I tho shade to floe my pain,

Lore meets mo in the shades again ;

Want I to walk in secret grove,

E'en there I moot with sacred love ;

If so I bathe me on tho spring,

E'en on the brink I hoar him sing ;

If so I meditate alone,

He will bo partner of my moan ;

If so I mourn, ho weeps with mo

And whore I am there will ho be ;

When as I talk of Rosalind,

The G-od from coyness waxeth kind,

And sooms in solf-flamo frame to fly,

Because he loves as well as L

Sweet Rosalind, for pity rue,

For why, than lovo I am more true •

He, if ho speed, will quickly fly,

But in thy love I hvo and dio.

TJu)maft Lodgo.— About 1590

431.— ANOTHER.

First shall the heavens want starry light,
The seas be robbed of thoir WUVCB,
The day want sun, and sun want bright,
The night want shade, the dead men graves,
The April flowers, and leaves, and tree,
Before I false my faith to thoe.

First shall toe top of highest hill
By humble plains bo overpry'd,
And poets scorn the Muses' otdll,
And fish forsake the water glide,
And Iris lose her coloured weed,
Before I false thee at thy need.

[First direful Hate shall turn to peace,
And Love relent in deep diHilnan,
And Death hiw fatal stroke Hhwll coano,
And Envy pity every pain,
And Pleasure mourn, and Sorrow hniilo,
Before I talk of any guile.

First Time shall wtay hiM wtayloHK two,
And Winter MOMH hw browH with corn,
And Snow bomoiHton July'H fiwus
And Winter Bpiincr, and Hummer mourn,
Before my pen, by help of Fiuno,
Ooaso to recite th sacred name.

Thomas Mt/v.—Altntt 1.11)0.

432.— THE SUMMER'S QTTKKN.

O, the month of May, tho merry month of Mny,
So frolwk, so gay, and HO groon, HO groan, HO

greon,

0, and thon did I unto my true lovo way,
Sweet Peg, thou shall bo my Summer' H Quoon.

Now tho nightingale, tho pretty nf jfhtingnlA,
Tho sweetest nuigor m all the foroHt'H <iumi,
EntroatH thoo, swoot Peggy, to hoar thy true

love's tale
Lo, yonder Hhc yittotK, her broont agoinnt it

But 0, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, tho

cuckoo ;

See where Hho Hitioth ; come away, my joy :
Come away, I pnthoo, I do not hko tho cuckoo
Should aing whoio my Poggyaud I kinn aiul toy.

0, tho month of May, tho merry month of May,
So frohok, so gay, and HO groon, HO gnum, HO

groon;

And then did I unto my tmo lovo Hay,
Swoot Pog, thou Hhalt bo my Sunmior'n (Juwn.
T. Dellcr (wwl R. Wfaonj—Afanit

433-— SWEET CONTMNT.
Art thou poor, yot htwt thou guidon Mlumlwnt?

Oh, swoot content {
Art thou rich, yot w thy mind poritloxtMl ?

Oh, pnnJHhmont '

Dost thou langli to HOO how foolM an» vcjeod
To add to golden nnmborB, gol<l<m numborMp
Oh, Bwoot content 1 Oh, nwoot, Ato.

Work apaoc, apoco, apace, apace j
Honosi labour boaw a lovoly fww ;
Thon hoy nonoy, money, hoy nonoy, nonoy.
Canst drink tho wtiiorn of tho criH)M\l Hiring f

Oh, wwoot oontoni !

SwimmoBi* thon in wealth, yot Hlnkcat in
thino own toars P

Oh, puniHhmont I

Thon ho tliat patiently wttnt'«btml<m boorH,
No burdon boarH, but i« a king, a king !
Oh, Rwoot content I &o.

Work apooo,
DMor, Vlwttle,

>rowi 1S58 to 1644). J

[THOMAS

434.— LTJLLABT.

Golden slumbers MSB your oycH,
Smiles awako you when you rwo.
Sloop, pretty wantons ; do not cry,
And I will wing a lullaby :
liock them, rock them, lullaby*

Oaro ifl heavy, thoioforo sloop you ,
You arc caro, and oaro must koop you.
Sloop, protty wantons , do not cry,
And I will wngr a lullaby •
Book thorn, rook thorn, lullaby.

, Chcttlc, fr Ifawjliton —About 1500.

435 — VIRTUE AND VICE.

Virtue's branchoH wither, virtue pmofl,
0 pity ' pity ' and alao/k tho time '
Vice cloth fLoiiiwlx, vioo m gloiy HhinoH,
Hor ^ildod bought! abovo tho codai clunb.

Vice hath golden chookrt, 0 pity, pity !
Sho m ovory land doth monarchic .
Virtuo in exiled from ovory city,
Virtue IM a fool, Vioo only wise.

0 pity, pity ' Virtuo wooping dion !
Vic,o lauftlw to HOC her faint, oliink the thno '
ThiH HinkH ; with painted wingH tlio other iliow;
Alack, that bonfe nhould fall, and bod Hhould
climb.

O pity, pity, pity1 mourn, not mug ;
Vi<'0 IK a munt, Virtuo an underling ,
Vico doth ilouriHh, Vice in glory HhmoH,
Virttio'H bnuuihoH witlior, Vntuo piiww.

436.— PATIKNCJP3.

Pationoo ! why, 'ti« tho nonl of poaoo s
Of all tho virtucm, *tiri nearoHt kin to lioavcm $
It makonmon lookliko ffodn. Tho bonLof man
That o'or woro otirth about him WOH a Huff^rpr,
A Hoft, mook, pationt, hnmblo, traiumii Hjurit .
The lirnt true gentleman that cvur broathM*

OX)NTRA«T BHTWMBK KWMALK
JlONOtJRANI) SllAMM

Nothing did mako mo, when I loved thorn bcwt,
To Joatho them inoro than thiH : whon in tho

A fair, younff, modost damwel I did moot ;
She HuoiuM to all a dove whou 1 patw'd by,
And C to all a raven . ovory oyo
Tli it follow'd her, wont with abaHhful jylanoo:
At mo oooh bold and jooring1 oountonan<to
Darted forth Hoom : to her, OH if fthe had boon
Homo towor unvan<iuiHh'd, would they all vuil
'GainKt mo nwoln rumour hoifitod ovory nail ;
Sho, orown'd with reverend praiwoB, patw'd by
thorn ;

I, though with Jfooo mawk'd, could not 'ncapo

tho hem ;
JFor, OB if hoavon haxl not ulraiipro nmrkn on

such,

BooauHO they flhould bo iKKntinff-fltockHto umii,
Droat up in civiloHt ahapo, a oourteHan.
Lot hor walk saint-liko, notoloHS, and unkn' IWH,
Yot she's botra-y'd by Borne triok of her own

27»oma« Dcklccr.—Alrnti KUK).

438.— A DESOBTPTION OF A LADY BY
H13R LOVEIi.

My Tnfoliflo'H fo<«i, her brow, hor oyo,

Tho dimplo on her chock, and nucsh Hweot Hkill

Hath from tho ounnui^ workman1 « peueil

flown.

Thewo lipn look freHh and lively as hor own ,
Seeming to movo and npcak. AlaHl now I HOO
Wio rooHon why fond women love to buy
Adulterate complexion : hero 'tiH road ;
ValRo oolouxH last after the true be dead.
Of »J1 tho rosoH grafted on hor chookH>
Of all tho graooH danoing in hor eye**,
Of all tho mumo not upon hor tonffuo,
Of all that wan pant woman's excellence,
In hor white boHom , look, a pointed board
OirouniHoriboH all 1 Karth oan no bliMR afford ;
Nothing of hor but tliin 1 ThiH oannot Hixsak;
Tt lion no lap for me to roHt upon ;
No lip worth tontine Iforo tho worms wall

focul,

AH in her coflm. Jlonco, then, idle art,
True IOVO^H beHt pi»ture<l in a true lovo'»

hoart.
Here art thou drawn, Hwoet maid, till thiH bo

80 that thou livoHt twioo, twioo art burled.
Thou fignro of my friend, lie there I

Tlwinns £)Mcr,— About 1000.

439«— SH&ING.

, tho wwoot Spring, i» tho yoar'w pleo-

Hont king;
Then blooum oooh thing, then maidH danoo in

» ring,

Oold <iotli not Hting, the pretty birdH do Hing,
Oaokoo, jug, jug, pu wo, to wittit woo.

Tho palm and may make country liorwoM gay,
Latntm frink aud phiy, tho HhupherdH pipe idl

day,

And we h(«xr ayo birdK tuno thiH merry hiy,
Cm»koo, jug, jug, pu wo, to witta woo.

Tho fioldrt breathe Hweet, tho

foot,

Young loyorfl moot, old WIVOH cv finnniwg Hitp,
In ovory Htroot thowo tunoH our darn <lo ^rtmt,
Cookoo, jug, jug, pu wo, to witta woo,
Sprnig, the «woot Hpruig,

IT/wr/ww J^a«/t.— About 1000,

THOMAS NASH ]

THE DECAY 0V SUMMKB.

[TuntD

440 — THE DECAY OF SUMMER.

Fair summer droops, droop mon and boasts

thoieforo,

So fair a summer look for novor moro •
All good thing's vanish, loss than in a day,
Poioo, plenty, pleasure, suddenly dooay.
Go not yot away, bright sotd of tho Had

yoar,

The earth is Hell whon thoa loavost to ap-
pear
"What, shall those flowers that docked thy

garland erst,

Upon thy grave bo wastofnlly dispersed ?
O trees consume* your sap in sonow's source,
Streams turn to tears your tributary course
Go not yot hence, bright soul of tho sad

year,

The earth is hell whon thou loavost to ap-
pear.

TJiomas Nuwh. — About 1600.

441 —THE COMTNTG OP "WINTER.

Autumn halh all tho summer's fruitful trea-
sure,

Gone is our sport, fled is onr Croydon's plea-
sure '

Short days, sharp days, long nights come on
apaco •

Ah, who shall hide us from tho winter's face ?

Cold doth increase, the sickness wjll not ooase,

And hero wo ho, God knows, with little oaso.
Prom winter, plague, and pestilence, good
Lord deliver us '

London doth mourn, Lambeth is Quito forlorn !
Trades cry, woe worth that over they wore

born'

Tho want of term is town and city's harm ;
Close chambers wo do want to koep us warm
Long banished must wo live from our friends
This low-built honao will bring us to our onrta

Prom winter, plague, *and pestilence, good
Lord deliver ufl '

Thomas JVos7i — Mout 1GOO.

442.— APPEOAOHING DEATH.

Adiou , farewoll earth's blis.*,
This world uncertain is
Pond are life's lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys.
None from his darts can fly
I am sick, I must die

Lord have mercy on us 1

Rich men, trust not in wealth ,
Gold o&nnob buy you health ,
Physio himself must fade ,
AH, things to end aro mado ;
The plague full swift goes by ;
I am sick, I must die

Lord have mercy on us !

Beauty is bub a flower,
Which wrmkloH will do\ our :
BrightnoHH falls from tho air ,
Quooaa have <Uod young- and Fair ;
Dust hath cloned Ilnlon'H eye ;
I am sick, I intuit <lio.

Lord have nioroy on UH !

Strongtli HtoopH unto tho tfrm o :
Wornw foot! on Hootor bravo.
Sword* may not fight with fato :
Eaith fitill holda opo hor gato
Oomo, como, tho holln do <*ry ,
I am sick, I muHt die.

Lord have moroy on UH !

Wit with hi« wantonnom,
Tawtoth death's bittcrnon*.
Hell's osocntionor
Hath no oars for to hear
What vain hoart can reply ;
I am sick, I must flio.

Lord have moroy on UH I

Hasto, thoroforo, each dogroo
To wolcomo doHtiny •
Hea^on is onr horitage,
Earth but a player 'H ntajyo.
Mount we unto tho nky ;
I am sick, I muHt die

Lord havo moroy on UH '

TJwnuw

f 443-— OONTKNT3VT KNT.

I novor loved ambitiouHly to climb,
Or thruHt my hand too far into tlio ilro.
To bo in hcavon sure is a blossod ihiiifr,
"But, Atlofl-liko, to pro]) hnavon on OUC'H batik
Cannot but bo moro labour than <loli»'hl.
Such IH tho slate of mon in honour -phw'cl :
Thoy aro gold VOMHO!H miulo for norvilo u ,M :
Hi'jh trees that koop tho woathor from low

houses,

But oannot Hhield tho tompOHti f row ttunn'M >!?(«.
T love to dwoll botwixt tho hilln and clal<*H,
Neither to bo so groat an to bo <m\i(»l,
Nor yet so poor the world Hhoultl pity mo.

Thomas Ntwh,-~A1nwt, KM).

444.— DES?AIB OP A POOft

Why w't damnation to (lonpair and dio,
Whon lifo in my trno hai)pin(JHH' (linnawi P
My soul, my HOU!, thy safoty mokon mn fly
Tho faulty moans that might my paui ap^t^ano:
Divines anil dying mon may talk of boll,
But in my hoart hor novoral tormcmtn dwoll.
Ah, worthloHH wit I to train mo to thi« woo :
Doooitful artri ! that nonrwh UiHoontwit :
I'll thnve tho folly tliat twwilohoil mo HO '
Tain thoughts, adiou ! for now I will rcj}xmt,—
And yot my wantfl porHiuwl<» mo to prooood,
For none take pity of a floliotar'u nood

IVowi 1558 to 10100 T™ PREPARATION

Forgive mo, God, although I curse my birth,
And ban the air whoroin J breathe a wretch,
Since misery hath dauntod all my mirth,
And I ain quite undone through Bromin

brooch;
Ah friends! — no friondw that thow ungentle

frown,
"When changing fortune casts us headlong

down.

Without redress oomplainB my oarcloaH vorHO,
And MidaB* oars relent not at my moan,
In some for land will I niy gnof H rohoarno,
'Mongwt them that will bo movod when I

shall groan.
England, adieu! tho soil that brought mo

forth,

Adieu' unkind, whore Hkill AH nothing worth.

Ahout 1000.

445.— TUB CONFESSION".

Walking in a Rliady grove,

Near silver HlrooniH fair gliding,

"VVhoro irooH in r:unlcfl did gratw the bank«,

And nymphrt had thoir abiding ;

IIoio an I Htrayod I naw a uiiiid,

A boaiitooiiH lovely unutiiiTtt,

With arigol'H face and goddotiH grace,

OJt Huch exceeding- fuaiituo.

Her lookH did HO aHfcouiHli mo,
And Hot my heart a-quukmg,
fjiko Htag that Hazed wan I aimwod,
And m a ntrangor taking*
Yet rouHod mynolf to M»« ilutt olf,
And lo a troo did hido inn ,
Wlioro J tuofuxm bolitild thw (jticun
Awhile, oro

Her roico was «wo«t tnoloditmnly,
Hho snng in porf«(^t tucaHuni ,
And thiiR H!IO Haid with iiricUling ICHLTPI ; ,
" AlaH, ray joy, my troaHnro,
I'll bo thy wifo, or IOHO iny lif<s
Tlioro'w no man <>!HO nhall luwd nxo ;
K(Jod HO, T will way no,
Although a thoumuul cravo mo.

" Oh! Htivy not long, bnt oomo, my dear,
And knit our marrijim) kjiot ;
Mtu'li hour a day, oitcli month a yoar,
Thou knowowt, I tliiuk, florl wot.
Dolay not thon, Hko worldly maldon,
(iood workH till withorod ago ;
'Dove other ttungn, the King of kingH
JiloHHod a lawful marriage.

" Tlion art my choioo, T oonHtant am,

T moan to dio nnapottod ;

"With thoo I'll livo, for thee I lovo,

And ko(vp my namo imblottoil.

A virtuouH lifo iu maid and wifti,

Tho Spjnt of God oommozulH it ;

AnourHi^d ho for ovor bo,

That Hooktt with Hhamo to o£fond it/*

EXECUTION.

With that nhn row* like xumbln rtn»,
Tho tender gra«H HOtvrro bemlinjr,
And loft mo thon porploxod with ftutr
At thin hor Homiot'H ending,
3 thought to movo thiH damo of lovn,
Jhil Hho waH gone already ;
'Wliortiforo I pray that thono that «tay
May find thoir IOVOH OH titoady.

446,— A DIIMIM.

Call for tho Ifcobin-rodbroaHfc and the wron,

Biiuto o'er Hhady ffroven llioy liovc^r,

And with loavon and Jdoworn do oovor

Tlio friondloHH bodioH of nuburicd num.

Cull imto hiH funeral dolo

The ant, tho fiold-monno, and the mole,

To roar him IrillookH that nhall ko<sp him warm,

And (when gay tombH are ro})1iorl) wintaln no

hann;
J)ut keep tho wolf JPftr tliotioo, that'M foo to

men,
For with his nail* he'll dig thorn tip again,

John \\'&9for.—Almt 1010.

447— T1TH MADMAN'S

0, lot -UH howl Homo lunivy noto,

Som<k doiwUy dogged howl,
Hounding, an from tlio thr<»at'jujig throat

Of bowttH and fatal fowl!
AH mvoiiH, HcnuKih-owlH, bullK, tiucl IK^UTH,

We'll boll, and bawl <mr iMiH.M,
Till irkHomo IUUMQ lutvo clo.v<ul your oarH,

Aud corroHivod your hoariH.
At JaHt, whonitH our quiro wautH broaih»

(hir bodittri boing bloKWul,
Wo'll wing, like MWIWIH, will woloonio (loath,

And dio in lovo and rant.

About, lOili*.

448.

ITTJO PKMPAHATIOJN1

TICK.

«XM(!U.

Hark, now everything IH Hiill

Tho Horonoh-owl and Uio whiHtlor fhrill,

(/all upon our damo aloud,

And bid hor (juitiKly don hor ithroud >

Much you hod of land uad rout;

Your loiigtli in <ilay*H now compotoni s

A long war disturbed your niln«l ?

More your porfoni i>(itw»o in nigiuwl.

Of what JH'L fooln mukn mioh vain ko^ting P

Since thoir «onooi>lum,th(»r birth woi»i»ing,

TUoir lifn a g«uoral mint of orror,

Their death a Imloous Htorm of terror.

Htrow yotir hair with powiltvM ttwwit,

Don oloan liiwin, batlwi your f<wt»

And (tho foul flond morn to clujck)

A cruoifix lot bloKH your nook :

JOHN WEBSTEU J

DEATH.

[Tuntn

'Tis now full tido 'twoon night and day ;
End your groan, and oomo away.

John Webster. — About 1023.

449. — DEATH.

What would it pleasure mo to havo my throat

out

With diamonds ? or to be smothered
With cassia P or to bo shot to death with

pearls ?

I know death hath ton thousand several doom
For men to take their exits • and 'tis found
They go on suoh strange geometrical hinges,
You may open them both ways any way (for

hoaVn sake)
So I were out of your whispering : toll my

brothers

That I perceive death (now I'm well awake)
Best gift is they can givo or I can take
I would fain put off my last woman's fault ;
I'd not bo tedious to you
Pull, and pull strongly, for your ablo strength
Musi pull down heaven upon mo
Tot stay, heaven gates aie not so highly arch'd
As princes' palaces , they that enter there
Must go upon their knees Come, violent

death,

Serve for Mandragora to make mo sleep.
Go tell my brothers, when t am laid out,
They then may food in quiet

John IFi'lsicr — About IGSM

450 —THE THBEE STATES OF WOMAN.

In a maiden-time professed,
Then we say that life in blessed ;
Tasting onco the married lifo,
Then wo only praiHO the wife ,
There's but one htaio more to trv,
Which makes women laucrh or cry —
Widow, widow * of thoRO thrr>o
Tho middle 's best, and that give mo

. — Alto nt 1023.

451.— WHAT LOVE IS LIKE.

Love is like a lamb, and love is like a lion ;

Fly from love, he fights , fight, then doow ho
fly on,

Love is all on fire, and yot is over freezing ;

Love is much in winning, yot IH more in
leesuig.

Love is ever sick, and yot is never dying ;

Love is ever true, and yot is ever lying ,

Love does dote in liking, and is mad in

, loathing;

Love indeed is anything, yot indeed is no-
thing.

452 — -HAPPINESS OF MARUIET) LIKK.

How near am I now to a liappiiuwt
That earth exooodtt not! not another lilvo
Tho treasures of the deep aro not no ]»IV«
As aro the conceal'd comfortH of a man
Lock'd up in woman' H lovo. 1 mint thn uir
Of bloHHingH when I coino but noar HIM Iwiw.
What a doliciouH broath marriage Hrouln forth !
The violet bod '« not Hwo<»U»r. Honest, w<'«lWk
Is like a bancpoting-houHo built in it pnttlcti,
On which the spring' « chasto flowum Uko de-
light

To cant their modcHt otlonrH ; whon Iw-o 1« *<•«
With all her powdorn, ptuiitiiigH, uu«l lu^t

pndo,
Is but a fair house built by a clitoh M<liu

Kow for a woloomo,
Ablo to draw mon'H onvioH upon man ;
A kiss now tluit will hang upon my lip
As sweet as morning dew upon a row,
And full OB long '

453— DEVOTION TO LOVE.

0, happy porHocntion, I oiubToro llv»«o
With an nnfttttcrM «oul ; HO Hwc<»t n thing
It IK to nigh UJIOTX the rauk of lov<»,
Whore each calnnuty IH groaning witnc
Of the poor martyr' H faith 3 novor
Of any true ttfTcction but 'twan M\\&
With caro, that, hlto tho catortnllar, <»»!<
The leaden of the Hpriug'H H^cotx'st bv«tU, ih«»

roso.

Lovo, }>rod on oaHli, IK oftx'n nurwMl i't h«II ;
By rote it ron/ln woe ore it loaru to i.i«'ll.

When I call back my VOWH to VIoM fa,
May I thon slip into an olwrun* rrni**1,
WhoHe mould, mipronnM with httitiy tn
Dwelling in open air, may drink thn
Of tho inuonHtant <ilou<lH to rot inn somi 1

Ifo that trtily IOVCH,
BtirnH out the day in idle fantaxi(*H ;
And whon tho lamb, bloating, doth bi<l W

night

Unto tho cloHinpf <lay, thon ttiatH b<»|fin
To keep qniok tiwio unto tho owl, whust* vt)i<»<»
ShrickH like tho bullman hi LUct Iov«r4f. "ar.
lx)vo*H oyo th(j jowtil of hlcop* oh, mildfini wtMr«i I
Tho early lark m wakonM from luir 1 ><•«!,
Itaing only by IOVO'H pi HUH diHquiotod ;
But, singing m tho morninpr'H oar, who w/««|wt
Being (loop in lovo, at lovurH* broken Mrnjm •
But nay, a goldon Khimlwr ohanf*o to ii*»,
With Hilkon Htrini^H, tho oovor of IOV<«*K «»yr»,
Then droamH, magician-iilcn, incmlchi^ t»r«-cri
Pleasure**, who«o failing leavoH moru tliseonttmt,
TJiouMS Middtctun.—AI>nnt,

from 1558 to 1040.] BEAUTY BEYOND THE BEACH OF AST.

[JOHN FOJCD.

454.— INDIGNATION AT THE BAM OF
A -WIFE'S HONOUJB.

Of all deeds yot thiB strikos tho doopost wound.
Into my apprehension,
Reverend and honourable matrimony,
Mother of lawful awoots, unshamod mornings,
Both ploasant and legitimately fruitful, without

thee

All tho whole -world wore soiled bastardy ;
Thou art tho only and tho greatest form
That put'st a difference botwixt our desires
And tho disorder' d appetites of boasts
* B * * But, if chaHto and honest,

There is another devil that hanuts marriage
(None fondly IOYOH but knowH it), jealousy,
That wedlock' H yellow HicknoHH,
That whiHponng Reparation ovury minute,
And thun the ourne lakoH IHH effect or progress.
Tho moHt of men, in their firni nuddon furzoB,
Bail at tho narrow botaidn of marriage,
And oalTl a prinon ; then it w moHt just
That tho dmoaHo of tho prfaon, jealousy,
Should thuH affoot 'em — bat, oh 1 here I'm fix'd
To make Halo of a wife ! monHtrouB and foul I
An act abhorr'd in nature, eold in soul '

.-~About 1G23.

455— LAW.

Thou angol wmi amongHt UH, wobor Law,
Made with mauk oyoH, pornuadmg action;
No loud immodoHt tonpiuo— - vomod liko a virgin,
And an cduMto from Halo,
Save only to bo hoard, but not to TOI!-—
How IIOH abuKO doformM thoo to all oyon '
Yet why HO raHhly for one villahi'H fault
Do I arraign whole man P Adruirod I/aw I
Thy Tipper partH muni noodH be wholly pnro,
And inoorraptiblo— tb.' are grave and wtao ;
'Tin but tho droHH beneath them, and the

cloudH

That get between thy glory and thoir praiHO,
That make the viniblo and foul oolipno ;
For thotto that are near to llion ar« upright,
AH noble m their ooiiHoiondo ait tluilr birth ;
Know thtit damnation, in in every bribe,
And raroly put it from them — rate the pro-

BontorM,
Ajod Boourgo 'em with five yoar»' imi>ri«on-

mont

For ofibring but to tempt 'em :
ThiH IK trtio juHtioo, oxor<iiHO<l and used ;
Woo to the giver, when tho bribe '« rofuHod.
'TiH not their will to have law worno than

war,

Whore Hllll tho pporoai die first,
To Bond a man without a nlioot to hiH grave,
Or bury Mm in hiH papers ,
'Tis not their mind it Hhould bo, nor to have
A ftuit hang longer than a man in chainH,
I*et him be ne'er HO fatdenM

2Vumtaa Atiddlclon. — Almri 1G23.

456. — THE BEAL AND THE IDEAL.

Fancies are but streams

Of vain pleasure ;

. They, who by their dreame

V True joys measure,

Feasting starve, laughing weep,
Playing Hmart , whilst m sleep
Fooln, with shadows smiling,
Woke and find
Hopes like wind,
Idle hopes, beguiling.

Thoughtn fly away ; Time hath palmed them :
Wake now, awake ! see and tanto them !

Jolm Ford.— About 1023.

4S7-— SIMMER SPOBTS.
Haymakers, rakora, roapors, and mowors,

Wait on your Summer-queon ;
DroHB up with musk-rone her oglaaitino bowers,
Daffodils ntrew tho green ;
Sing, danoo, and play,
'Tis holiday;

Tho Sun does bravely slirao
Oil our oars of oorn.
liioh as a pearl
OomoH every girl,

TluH IH mine, thin w mine, thin is mine ;
Lot IIH die, ore away they bo borno.

Bow to the ftrui, to our (inoou, and that fair

one

Como to boliold our HporlH ;
Each boxmy IIIHH hero IH cotuitod a rare one,
AH thoHO in a prinoo'H eourlH.
ThoHO and wo
With country glee,
Will teach the woods to rcmotmd,
And tho hilln with eohooH hollow :
Skipping laxnbtt
Their bloating damR,
'M"ongHt kidH Hhall trip it ronnd ;
For joy thun our wonohot* wo follow

Wind, jolly huntnmon, your neat bnglon Rlirilly,

Jloundn make a lutrty cry $
Spring up, you falconers, tho partridges freely,
Thou let your bravo hawkH fly
Horses amain,
Over ndgo, ovor ])lai«,
The dogs havo ilia ntag in chawo
'Tin a Hport to oontont a king. t
Ho ho ho ' through tho HUion
How tho proiid bird flioH,
And, Houfung, killM with a groco I
Now the door fallfei ; hark I how they ring r
John

458.— BEAUTY BJE5TOK1) THE M3AOH
OF AKT.

Can you point a thought P or number
Every fancy in a {dumber ?

JOHN 3f 03D j

KBIDATi SONd.

(TlllHU

Can you count soft minutes roving
3Trom a dial's point by moving 9
Can yon grasp a High ? or, lankly,
Bob a virgin's honour chastely r

No, oh no i yot you mtiy

Sooner do both that and thw,
This and that, and novor nuas,
Than by any praiso display
Beauty's boauty , such a glory,
As beyond aU fato, all story,

All arms, all arts,

All lovoa, all hearts,
Greater than those, or thoy,
Do, shall, and must oboy.

Jolm JBVwZ— 4foutlG33.

459.— BlilDAL SONG.

Comforts lading1, lovos oncroasing-,
Like soft hours novor ceasing.
Plenty's ploasuio, poaco complying,
"Without jars, or tongues onrjfiiig ;
Hoartu by holy union wedded,
More than theirs by custom boddod;
^Fruitful issues , lifo RO graced,
Not by ago to bo defaced ,
Budcbng aw tho year onsu'th,
Every flpimg another youth :
All what thought can add bouitlo,
Grown this bridegroom and thin brido !

John tford —. About 1C33.

460. — SEEPHEJ&DS AND SHEPHERD-
ESSES

Woodmen, shepherds, oomo away,
This IH Pan's great holiday,

Throw off caroH,
With your hoavoii-inHpiriiig airs

Help us to Miiff,
"Wliile valleys with your echoes ring.

Nymplw that dwell within thoHO proves
Leave your arbonw, )uuu# your IOVOM,

Gather pomes,
Orown your golden hair with rones ,

Aa you pass
Foot lake fairies on tho grans.

Joy erown our bowern ' Philomel,

Loavo of Terotm* rape to toll-
Lot trees dance,

As they at Thracian lyre did once ;
Mountains play,

This is tho shophord'H holiday.

Janws Slvirli'y— Mout 1024,

461,— THE COMMON DOOM.

Victorious men of earth, no more
Proclaim how wide your omi«lres ore ;

Though you bind at every Rhoro,
And your trmmphs roach as far

A» ni'^ht or <ltiy,

Yot you, proud monarolin, imtHi <»l«»v,
And mingle with fargottan imhc»«,
Death callw yo to thu crowd of wmi

Devouring ftuaiun, ?lagm\ and War,

Eaoli able to undo mankind,
Death's Horvilo omiKHtinos at o ;

Nor tO tlU'MO IlluilO <

lie hath at will
Moro quaint mid Hiihiht wa;r ) to kill ;
A Htnilo or kiH.s, aH ho will Ufn Uto nif.,
Shall have tho euiumi^ hkill io break iv
heart.

ty.— ilw* irjiJ

462.— THE EQUALITY OF TTU'3 (UtAVK.

Tho glories of our blowl and Kiat»

Are shudowB, not Hubntantiul thmjf <;
There u no armour against faic ;
Death lays hiH i«y iiand oil kuitfx t
fSooptro uuil crown
MttHt tnmblo down,
And in tlto clunt l>o ('qiuJ mado
With tho j)oor wookocl Miytho ami ny)ftil«,

Somo inon with HWOT<!H may waji 1 hi» H«»M,
And pliwii froHh livurMw wlw»n» i h<«v kill j
But thoir Hiron^ n<5rV(M ut lu *t m u I- > iold ;
Thoy tamo but <mo luuiilu^r .*till :
P'arly or late
They Htoop to falo,

And must «ivo tip thoir murmnriti;? hrMttli,
When thoy, polo oaitiivc% «n«i'i» to <l(«atk.

Tho jfarlandn wither on your brow,
Thou boaHt no mom your mighty
TTpoii Doatli'K purpto ulfcar now
See where tho vid,or-vi<'t.tm l
Your hoiwls «uu«t como
To the cold tomb,
Only the action* of Iho jit'.f,
Wmull Hwoot, and hlojuotu in their <lu d,

463.— WELCOMJO TO T11K

Woloomo, thruwj wdcoiru*,

rHio lriM«H boffin irf> bud, Uu» j»lwl bir«l < ^i
In winter, <'hwi#<»<l >>y IHT into
VV« know no ni« hi,

JOawiiH from your f«y<u
You bcin^f niiir,

Though d<«v1h Htoo»l by.

Prom you <nir Mwordn Uk« culj^t* <»ur lwn«rt

jyrowH bold ,•
li'rom you in foo tlwir liv<ii< your

hold;

LOVE 'WITHOUT BETURK

[THOMAS

Those groves your kingdom, and our laws your

will,

Smile, and wo spare ; but if you frown, wo kill.
llloss then tlio hour
That gives tho powor
In which you may,
At bod and board,
Embrace your lord

Doth night and day.

Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green,
Our longwwishod Cynthia, tho forest' s queen '
PIMp Massvnyer.— About 1633.

464.—. THE SWEETS OF BEAUTY.

Tho blushing roHo and purple flower,
Let grow too long are soonest blasted ;

Dainty irmts, though flwoot, will Hour,
And rot in ripeness, loft nniastod

Tot hero IH one more nwoot than those *

Tho more you taste the moro aho'll please.

Boauty that'H enclosed with ioo,

IH a Hhodow chaste OR rare ,
Tlmu how much thono Hwootn ontioo,

That have IHHUO full as fair '
EaHli cannot yield, from all hor poworn,
Ouo equal for dame VOIMIH* bowers

M<ti>bi u a w— About 1G29.

465 — DEATIT.

Why art tlion Blow, tlinn rout of trouble, Death,

To Htop a wrotoli'H breath,
That callH on thoo, and offers her Had heart

A proy unto thy dart P
! I am nor young nor fair ; bo, therefore, bold »
| Sorrow hath made mo old,

Doformod, and wrinkled ; oil thai I can crave,

IH quiat In my grave.
Such aw live happy, hold long life a jewel;

Hut to me thou art cruel,
If thou rind not my tedious minory ;

And T noon cease to bo.
Strflco, and Htriko homo, then ! pity nuto mo,

In one short hour'rt delay, IH tyranny.

466.— A SCHOLAR A1TD HIS

T wan a Koliolar • ROVOH useful
Dad I deflower in quotation^
Of oroHttM opinions *bout tho soul of man ;
The nioro I learnt, tho more I lotnnit to doubt.
my spaniel, Blopt, whilst I baus'd

ToHs'd o'er the dunces, pored on the old print
Of titled wordn ; and still my spaniel slept,
"Whilnt I wanted lamp-oil, baited my flosh.
Shrunk up my YQIHB • and still my spaniel
slept.

And stall I hold converse with Zaborell,
Aquinas, Scotuu, and tho musty Haw
Of Antiok Donate still my spaniel slept.
Still on went I ; first, an mi amtnaj
Than, an it wore mortal. O hold, hold; at that
Thoy'ro at bram buffets, fell by tho OOTH amain
Pell-mell toprolher , still my spaniel slept.
Then, whether 'twere corporeal, local, flrt,
J&B trad/itee, but whether H had free will
Or no, hot philosophers
Stood banding factions, all so Btrongly propt ;
I staffffor'd, kiiow not which waw firmer part,
But thoxieht, quoted, road, obHorv'd, and pried,
Stufft notinp-bookH • and Kiill my spaniel slept.
At length ho wak'd, and yawn'd 5 and by yon

sky,

For aught I know, ho know as much as I.

Jolm XbwitQn, — About 1C30,

467— THE MADNESS OF OKESTES.

Weep, woop, you Argonauts,

TJowaU tho day

That firwt to fatal Troy

You took your way.

Woop, Greece, woop, Greece,

Two kings arc dead

ArffOH, thott Argon, now a grave

Whoro TvingH aro bmu'd ,

No heir, no lion IH loft,

But ono iUai'H intul

Soo, ArgoH, hant not thou

CauHo to 1)0 Had F

Sloop, sloop, wild brain,

RoHt, rook thy HOMO,

JAVO if thou oannL

To j^riovo for thy offonoo.

Wooi>, woop, you Argonauts !

(hjfe. — Aboitt 1033.

468.— LOYM WITHOUT BETUBN.

Grieve not, fond man, nor lot ono tear
Steal from tliino oyon ; Hluj'll hoar
No more of Oui)i<rn HhaftH , thoy ily
For wounding hor, HO lot tliom (ho.

For why Bliouldwl thou nonriHh nuoh ilamoB oo
burn

Thy cany broaHt, and not have like return ?
Lovo forcoH love, OH flam(j« ojqnro
If not increased by gentle fire.

Let then her frigid coolness xnovo
Thee to withdraw thy purer love ,
And Hinoe Hbo is resolved to Hhow
She will not love, do thou HO too :
For why should beauty so charm tliino oyos,
That if Hho frown, thou 'It prove lior HoanitooP
Lovo forces love, OH flumoH expire
If not incroaHed by gentle firo.

Tlwnms Uoffe. — Abaui 10f)3.

THOMAS HBYWOOD ]

THE DEATH BELL,

PJBRXOD. —

469.— THE DEATH BELL.

Come, list and hark, the bell doth toll
For somo but now departing souL
And was not that somo ominous fowl,
The bat, the night-crow, or screech-owl?
To thoso I hear the wild wolf howl,
In this black night that Rooms to scowl.
All those my black-book death enroll,
For hark, still, still, the boll doth toll
For some but now departing soul.

TJiomoM Heywoo&.—A'bout 1640.

470.— WHAT IS LOVE.

Now what is love I will thee tell,

It is the fountain and the well,

Where pleasure and repentance dwell :

It is perhaps tho saasing boll,

That rings all in to heavon or holl,

And this is love, and this is lovo, aa I hoax toll.

Now what is love I will you show :
A thing that creeps and cannot go 5
A prize that passeth to and fro j
A thing for mo, a thing for mo' :
And he that proves shall find it so,
And this IB love, and this is love, sweet friend,
I trow.

27wmos Heywood. — About 1C40.

471.— -GO, PBETTT BIRDS.

Te little birds that sit and qfag

Amidst the shady valleys,
And see how Philhs sweetly walks,

Within her garden alleys ,
Go, pretty birds, about her bower;
Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower;
Ah, me ' methmks I seo her frown I

To pretty wantons, warble.

Go, tell her, through your chirping bills,

As you by me are bidden,
To her is only known my lovo,

Which from the world is hidden.
Go, pretty birds, and tell her so ;
See that your notes strain not too low,
For still, methmks, I see hor frown,

Te pretty wantons, warble.

Go, tune your voices' haraxmy,

And sing, I am her lover ;
Strain loud and sweet, that every noto

With sweet content may move hor.
And she that hath the sweetest voice,
Tell her I will not change my choice ;
Yet still, methinks, I see hor frown.

Te pretty wantons, warble.

Oh, fly ' make haste ' see, see, she falls

Into a pretty slumber.
Sing round aboufrher rosy bed,

That waking-, aha may wonder.

Say to her, 'tin her lovor true
That sondoth love to yon, to yon ;
And when you hoar hor kind reply,
Betarn with ploaftant waarblingH.

Thwwa Hfywootl. — Abiwi 1C40.

472,— DIANA'S NTMPtfS.

Hail, bomitooufl Dian, quoon of Hhiwlon,
That dwell* at beneath ihoKo shadowy gladort,
Mistress of all thoHO boantoouH iniuilH

That aro by hor allowed.
"Virginity wo all profoHH,
Abjure tho worldly vain cxcoflH,
And will to Dian yiold no low*

Than wo to hor have vowod.
Tho shepherds, flatyrn, nymphn, and fawnB,
For thoo will trip it o'or tho lawnw.

Oome, to tho forest lot xw go,
And trip it like the barren doo ;
Tho fawns and satyrs still do *o,

And freely thus thoy may do.
The fairies dance and Hatyrn fling,
And on the grass troad many a ring,
And to their oavos their vonition bring;

And wo will do as thoy.
Tho shepherds, satyrs, nymphs,
For thoe will trip it o'or tho lavrnH.

Our food is honey from tho boots

And mellow fruits that drop from trooH ;

In chace wo climb tho high (Icgruon

Of every stoopy mountain
And when tho weary day i» pant,
We at tho evening hie us font,
And after this, our field report,

We drink the pleasant fountain*
Tho shepherds, satyrH, nyxnyhrt, and fawns,
For thoo will trip it o'or tho lawun.

Thomas Moywood.— About HMO.

473«— THE IJUIK.

Pack clouds away, and welcome <lay,

With night wo baniHh Horrow :
Sweot air blow Hoft, mount lark aloft,

To give my lovo good-morrow s
Wings from the wind to ploitwo )i<»r mind,

Kotes from the liirk 1*11 borrow :
Bird, pruno thy wing, lUtflilhxgjUo mug1,

To givo my lovo good-morrow.
To give my lovo ffocxUnotrow,
Kotos from them all 1*11 borrow.

Wake from thy nont, robin rod-broaitt,

Sing, birdfl, In cv(»ry furrow ?
And from each hill lot muHio *hrttl

Giro my fair lovo good-morrow.
Blackbird and thrush in ovory buwh,

Staro, linnet, and cook-nparrow,

Sing my fair lovo good-morrow.
To give my love good-morrow,
Sing, birds, in overy furrow*

Thomas Hoyiwood.-~A'bout 1035.

From 1658 to 1649.]

SEARCH APTEB GOD.

[THOMAS HVYWOOD.

474.— SHEPHERD'S SONO-.

Wo that have known no greater state
Than this wo live in, praise our f ato ;
Per courtly Bilks in cares aro spent,
"When country's runsot broodH content.
The power of sceptres wo admire,
But sheep-hooks for our uso doairo.
Simple and low IB our condition,
For horo with us is no ambition •
Wo with the sun our flocks unfold,
Whoso lining makes their fleeces gold ;
Our music from tho birds wo borrow,
They bidding UR, wo thorn, good morrow.
Our habits are but COOTHO and plain,
Yet they defend from wind and ram ;
As warm too, in an equal oyo,
As those bo-fttain'd ni soailet dyo.
Tho whophordj with IIIH homo-spun Ian*,
AH many merry houiH doth POHH,
AH courtiorH with their contly girls,
Though ricldy dock'd in gold and pearls ;
And, though but plain, to purpose woo,
Nay, often with IOHH danger too.
ThoHO that delight in dainlioH' store,
One stomach feed at once, no more ;
And, whon with homely faro wo foa«t,
With UH it doth aH well digoHt ,
And many timoH wo bettor speed,
For our wild fruitH no mirftutH breed.
If wo HomotimoH the willow wear,
Ity nnbtltt HwaniH that diiro forHwoar,
We wonder whence it oomoH, acid foar
They've boon at court mid leamt it there

Thomas HMJUWM!. — Abtntl 1<£K5,

47S-— SHIPWBKOK JJY" DlilNIC

-This gentleman and I

Pafln'd but just now by your uoxt neighbour^

hou«o,

Whore, as they nay, dwollH ono young lionol,
An unthrift youth ; IUH father now at noa :
And there thin mght wan held a HuniptuouH

feast.
In i.he height of their caroiiHing, all their

brainn
WarmM with tho heat of wmo, diHCOUTHO WOH

nfforM

Of HlupH and Btonns at «oa : when Huddonly,
Out of hiH giddy wildnoHH, ono ocmcoivoH
Tho room wherein they quaiT<l to be a piunnco
Moving and floating, and tho confuted noino
To be the murmuring windn, gantH, marmorB ;
That their -unfitoadfast footing did procood
From rooking of the voaflol, This oouooiv'd,
Jb!ach ono begins to apprehend tlio danger,
And to look out for safety. Fly, saith one,
Up to the main-top, and daHOOvor, Ho
Clanbs by tho bod-powt to tho tenter, there
Roporto a turbulent Hoa and tompent towardH ;
And willH thorn, if they'll nayo thoar nhip and

llVOR,

To pant t^ofT i^^T"g 076cboQoid*

All fall to work, and hoint into tho ntroot,
As to tho sea, what next oamo to their hand,
Stools, tables, trossola, tronchoH, bodnioadn,

oups,
Pots, plate, and glasses. Horo a fellow

whiatles ;
They take him for tho boastwftin: ono Hoa

steogghng

Upon tho floor, as if ho swam for life t
A third takoH tho basH-viol for tho cook-boa^
SiiH in tho hollow on't, labours, and rowfl ;
His oar the stick with which tho fiddler

play'd :

A fourth bestride** HH follow, thinking to 'soape
(As did Arion) on the dolphin' H book,
Still fumbling on a gittom. The rudo multi-
tude,

Watching without, and gaping for tho Hpoil
Oast from tho windows, went by th' oara

about it

Tho constable is oall'd t' atone tho broil ;
Which done, and hearing ftuoh a XLOIHO within
Of imminent shipwreck, enters tho houHo, and
• finds them

In this confusion : they adore Ha staff,
And think it Ncpiuno'H trident ; and that lie
Comes with hiH Tritons (ao they oaU'd his

watch)

To calm the tcmpont, and appoawo tho wares :
And at thin point wo loft them,

Tlunntw Ueywood. — About 1C40.

476.— SBAB01T APTBK 001).

I Bought tlino round about, 0 Thou my Ood, I

In Thhio al«xlo.
I Haid unto tho earth, "Hpook, art thou Ho?"

Hlio aiiHworod mo,
" I am not." 1 inquired of oroaturoB all,

lu general,
Contained therein. They with ono voico pro^

claim
Tlutt uono amount thorn chaUongod such a

I ankod tho Roan an<\ all tho (loops bolow^

My God to know ;
I ankod the roptiluH aiuL whatovur in

In tho ubyHH —
Eron from the Hhritnp to tho loviatiian

But in thoHo doH(>rtn whiuh no lino can wound,
Tho (led 1 Hontfltt for WOK not to bo foiuxd.

I ask'd the air if tluit wore Ito 1 but

It told mo no.
I from tlio towering oaglo to tho wron

Demanded then
If anyfoathorM iowl'mongHt thorn. were fiuoh

But they all, much

Offended with my quoHtion, in full choir,
Anflwcr'd, " To jQad thy Ck>d tUoa mturt look
higher."

GEORGE SANDYS.]

[TlIXUD

I ask'd the heavens, sun, moon, and stars ;
but tlxoy

Said, "Wo obey

The God thou sookesi." I asked what eye or
ear

Could see or hoar
What in the world I might descry or know

Above, below ,

"With an •unanimous voice, all those 'things said,
"We are not God, but we by Him were made."

I ask'd the world's groat universal mass

If that God was ,
Which with a mighty and strong voice replied,

As stupifiod, —
" I am not He, 0 man ! for know that I

By Him on high

Was fashion* d first of nothing: thus instated
And swayed by Him by whom I was croatod."

I sought the court ; but smooth- bonguod flat-
tery there

Deceived each oar ,
In the throng'd city there was Rolling, buying,

Swearing, and lying ,
F the country, craft in Hunpleness array1 d,

And then I said —
*c Vain is my scotch, although my paint* be

groat;
Where my God is there can bo no deceit.1'

A scrutiny within myself, I, then,

Even thus began :

" 0 man, what art thou P " What more could
I say

Than dust and clay—-
Frail, mortal, fading, a more puff, a blast,

That cannot last ;

Enthroned to-day, to-morrow in an urn,
Form'd from that earth to which I must
return P

I asked myself what tins great God might bo

That fashioned me P
I answered : The all-potent, solely imnaorwo,

Surpassing nonRo ;
Unspeakable, inncrulablo, eternal,

Lord over all ;

The only terrible, strong, just, and true,
Who hath no end, and no beginning know.

He is the well of life, for Ho doth give

To all that live
Both broath and being; He is the Creator

Both of tho water,
Earth, air, and fire Of all things that subKiHl

He hath tho liat— •

Of all tho heavenly host, or what earth claimH,
He keeps the scroll, and calls thorn by their
names*

And now, my God, by Thine illuminatrng grace,

Thy glorious face
(So far forth as it may discovered bo),

Metbinkalsoo,
And though invisible and infinite,

To human sight

Thou, in Thy mercy, juHtico, truth

In which, to our weak notion, thou oomtst

nearest.
0 make us apt to Rook, and quick in ilu<I,

Thou, (Jod, modi kind !
Givo us lovo, hope, ami faii.li, in Tlu*n to truitt,

Them, Uod, mcwt jitHt '
Remit all our offonccw, we ontrout,
MoHt good ' most great '
Grant that our willing, though urworthy <{»<»*(.,
May, through Thy grow, admit* u \ *mnii<*..1i1h<»
blest.

wju'waL — Ahtwi, Itflo.

477.— A THAttKSOTVWU.

Oh f who hath taHtod of Thy fl1nm<wc*jr
In greater moaHurc, or more oft than t P
My grateful vorwo Thy goodnoHH tthall dinpUy*
0 Thou who wont'Ht along in all my way—
To where tho moruinjr, with porfumtnl winsfn,
From tho high mountamn of L'anohwa npringHi
To that now-found-out-world, whoro woliwr

night

TakoH from tho antipodoH hor Hilcjnt flight ;
TothoHO dark HOOK whoro horrid winter
And binds tho Htubl)oru floodn in
To Libian wantoH, whono thirnt no

And whoro Bwoll*n NiluH CO(»!K tho
Tljy wondorn on tho doop liav« I
Tot all by thoMo on Judali'H liillM
Thoro whoro iho Vir^ui'H H«n

miracloH and onr rcNlomiiiiou wrought :
Whoro T, by Thoo inrtpircul, His pr»i'«M
And on IU'H B0i>ulohro my oifrrinff \i\inff ;
Wliich way Hoo'or T turn my fiMM» or font,
I HOC rrii.y glory and Thy moroy ini»t»t?
Mot on tho Thrariian Hhorcw, wiion in ili<» »ilr
Of frautic HimoanH Thou pnMcvvivi'.tf. in\ htV
»So when Arabian lhi<tv<w boluid m round,
And when by all abaiidouM Tlu«» I found.

Then brought' nt mo liotno in i-miH.y, Unit ihi t

oarth

Might bury uo, whifh fod mo from »u/ lurilt.

.*-J Itnnt l(W)»

Lord ' an tlw» hart omlwnt with lu'ai
BrayH afior th<i <*ool rivuloi,

So Hi|rfw my noul for Tliif*.
My soul thirntH for tlm living Hot! :
"When Hlutll T outer HIM atxxlo,

And there* I (in b<'auty H(^» !'

Toars are my food both night and day ;
While Whoro'H thy Uod P Uioy daily my ?

My Honl in plamtn 1 Kluvl ;
Wlion T ronwmibor how in throng
Wo filled Thy hmtMO with praiao and Monjf-4 ;

How I tholr dauaofl lod.

1558 to

PSALM LXVin.

My soul, why art thou Sv doprost ?
Why, oh ! thus troubled in my bioast,

With griof so overthrown p
With constant hopo on God await
1 yot His nomo shall celebrate,

For moroy timoly shown.

My fainting hpart within mo pants ;
My God, consider my complaints ;

My songs shall praise Theo stall,
Even from tho vale whore Jordan flows,
Whoro Hormon his high forohead shows,

From Mitzar's humble hill.

Deeps unto doops cnragod oall,
Whon thy dark spouts of waters fall,

And dreadful tempest raves
For all thy floods upon mo burnt,
And billows aftor billows tlirust

To swallow in thoir graven

But yot by day tho Lord will charge
His ready morcy to enlarge

My soul, surprised with cares ,
Ho gives my songs then* argument ;
Ood of my life, I will pronent

By night to theo iny prayers,

And Hay, iny God, my rook, oh, why
Am I forgot, and mourning die,

By f OUH reduced to dust V
Their words, like weapons, pierce my bonow,
While ntill they echo to my groans,

Wlioro in tho Lord thy tiuat "

My Honl, why art thou so doproHt ?
O why HO troubled in my breast r*

Hunk Tindemoatk thy load I
With constant hopo on God await ;
For I hiH ziaxno shall celebrate,

My Saviour and my God.

(Jcurge flnnrly» — About 1G30.

479. — PSALM LXVUI.

Lot God, tho God of battle, riso,

And Hoattor his proud oixoution

() let them floo before his faco,

Like smoko whioh driving tempests chase ;

AH wax dissolves with scorching tiro*

So polish in his burning ire.

But let tho just with joy abound ;

In joyful songs his proino resound.

Who, riding on tho rottmg spheres,

Tho name of great Jehovah bears.

Boforo his face your joys express,

A father to the fatherless ,

Ho wipes tho tears from widows' eyes,

The single plants in families ;

Enlarging those who lato wore bound,

While rebels starve on thirsty ground.

Whon ho our numerous army led,
And march' d through deserts full of dread,
Ifoav'n molted, and earth's centre shook,
With hia majestic presence struck.
When Israel's God in clouds came down,
High Sinai bow'd his trembhng crown ,

He, in th' approach of meagre dearth,
With showers refroali'd tho fainting earth.
Whoro his own flocks in safety iod,
Tho needy unto plenty led.
By him wo conquer — Virgins sing
Our victories, and timbrels ring .
Ho Jongs with their vast armies foils,
While women share their wealthy spoils.

Whon he the kings had overthrown,

Our land like &nowy Salmon shone.

God's mountain Bashan's mount transcends,

Though ho his many heads extends.

Why boast ye so, yo moaner hills 9

God with his glory Zion fills,

This hiu beloved residence,

Nor ever will depart from hence.

His chariots twenty thousand were,

Which myriads of angels boor,

Ho in tho midst, as when he crown' d

High Suoai's sanctified ground.

Lord, thou hast raised thyself on high,

And captive led captivity.

* # * *

0 praised be tho God of Gods,
Who with his daily blessings loads j
Tho God of our salvation,

On whom our hopes depend alone j
Tho oontroverso of Mo and death
Is arbitrated by his breath.

Thus npoko Jehovah Jacob's seed

1 will from ttaslian bring again,
And through the bottom ot tho main,
That dogs may lap their enemies blood,
And they wado through a crimson flood.
We, in thy sanctuary late,

My God, my King, behold thy state ;

Tho saored singers march1 d before,

Who instruments of music bore,

In order follow* d — every maid

Upon hex pleasant timbrel played.

His praise xu your assemblies sing,

You who from Israel's fountain sprung,

Nor little JLJoiijamin alone,

But Judah, from his mountain throne ,

The far-removed Zobulon,

And Napthali, that borders on

Old Jordan, whore his stream dilates,

Join'd all their powers and potentates.

For us his winged soldiers fought ;

Lord, strengthen what thy hand hath

wrought t

He that supports a diadem
To thoo, divine Jerusalem '
Shall in devotion treasure bring,
To build tho temple of his King.

Far off from sun-burnt Moroe,
From falling Nilus, from tho sea
Which boate on tho Egyptian shore,
Shall princes come, and hero oxlore.
To kingdoms through tho world ronown'd*
Sing to the Lord, his praise resound ; ^

GEOBGOI SANDYS ]

CHOBTJS OF JEWISH WOOTN

[Tiuun

Ho who heaven's upper hoavon bontndoa,

And on her a#od BhouldorH ridi»n ,

Whose voice tho eloudn jwmudor roiids,

In thunder tornblo doHuondn

O pzaiHo his wtrongtk whowo niajoHly

In Israel BhruoH — hin power on high I

He fiom hiu sanctuary thrown

A trembling: horror on hiH fooR,

While ns his power and Hti'oncjtli invest ;

O Israel, praise the over-blent 1

Oeoryo Sawlys. — About 1636.

480. — CEOIHJS OF JEWISH WOMCT*.

Tho rapid motion of tho Hphoros

Old night from our horizon howm,

And now •declining shadow tpvo way

To the return of cheerful day.

And Phosphorus, who loads tlio fllors,

And day's illubtrioun path propuroH,

Who last of all tlio liost rotircn,

Nor yet withdraw* tho«o riwluwvt firoa ;

Nor have our trumpotH Hiunmou'd

Tho morning1 from hor dowy bod :

As yet her roses aro unblown,

Nor by hor purplo mantel known.

AH night we In the temple koep,

Not yielding to the charms of sloop ;

That BO we might with zoalona prayer

Our thoughts and oloanHod hearta prepare,

To celebrate tho onsiung light.

This annual feast to memory

Is soored, nor with us must die.

What numbers from the sun's tip-rifle,
Prom where he leaves tho morning- skies,
Of our dispersed Abrahamitov,
This Vesper to their homos invites.
Yet wo in yearly triumph Hiill
A lamb for our deliverance kill.
Since liberty our confine* ilod,
Given with tho first unloavon'd broad,
She never would return , though bought
With wounds, and in destruction Hfrnght ;
Some ntray to labya'n H«oroh<M HIWJ<IH,
Whoro horned Hammon'H temple Htande :
To Nilus some, where Philip's son,
Who all the rifled Oriotit won,
Built his proud city ; otborH p^ono
To thoir old prison, Babylon
A part to freezing- Tauruft fled,
And Tiber now the ocean's hooA
Our ruins all the world have fitted *
But you, by use in fmiEortaff akill'd,
Forgetting in remoter elimeft
Our vaaiisht glory, nor thofto timo«,
Those happy timo«, ooinparo with thoao,
Your burdens may Huppori with case.
More justly wo of f ato complain
Who servitude at homo RUfitaiu ;
We to perpetual woes dostened,
In our own country Egypt find.

Yet thin no IOHH onr «rriof provoL t,
Our kiiubrcxl boar divido«l .vol.i ;
Ono part by Jtomau boiula •<« \\ n >»?',,
Tho other two by brothers sprim;;
IVom Havapro IdumuiMnn, \\lnua
Oui fathorn havo HO oft oVri*um»«.
0 Thou, tho Uopc, UM» *mlv ' »n»
Of onr dititrcMH, aiul ruinM t IHNOII*,
Of whom with a propliotio ioti'«in*,
To Jndali dyuitf Jacob wiutf :
The CTOWEUH! muhO on ivory I\n»,

Thinoit foiotoltl, — that Thou h.htiiili
Tho pooj»lt> conMo<»nvto to Tins* ?
That Thou, triumphing iihuuM' ». i1*
Swoot poaoo, thon nnv«kr !•> IM* l-i^k
Whou frnod Judn»a Nhould ol»««,v
()ur Lord, and all aJfftM^i Hi < ^.ay.
<) when Khali wo bohold Thy fa«»of
So often promiHitl to our mt'p,J
If prophotH, wlm havo won
Ity our iniHhapH and t low in
Of joyful ohaiitfo, tiri trul.y , ntw ;
Thy abnonco nhoulil not. nmv tin I
The«, by Thy virtue, \vt» «»n*r«Mt. .
Tho toinplo'n voil, tin* «i**r«»,\ 'H ^««:t
That naino by whi<»h our Fat.inM' (
Which in our vtil^fir Htwcch nc d
Not uttor to «omi>unHlonato
Thy kindrod'H toarK, and ruiiuMl ,,(
HoHt to out groat twlomptum,
O thou moHt Holy 1 antl ai. lit
BlcHH with Thy prowmoo, that
To Theo our VOWH devoutly jui

\r»Ko

481.— L O V K .

'Tiff affection but (

Or diHHwnblod Hborty,
To i>rotoud thy paHKiou ch;iu;;''(l

With chanjjroH of thy mi.itiv . V vy*,

Following hor iuconHiaTU'.Y*
Hopos, which do from favour flouri.ih,

May porhapH OH noon t>xpiiH
As thn ctiufio whioh dt<l ih<'tn tiourt h,

And <liH<loiu'<l they nifty wtiru ;

But lovo JLH another flrn.

For if boauty OIUIMQ thy pmw.i»>»,

If a fair reHiKtloKH 4iy<i
Molt thoo with itti Hoft fV{»r<* ion,

Then thy Impori will i««v«-r «lii»,

Nor bo ourod by cruelty,

'Tin not Hcorn that can rcmov* ihfm,
For thou either wilt not tvo

Such lovod IxMtuty not i<> lovr* th«r>,
Or will olfio ooiiHont ihat )ific
Judgo not an Hho oii<th(. of tluto.

Thufi thou oithor canHt not K(»v*ir
IIoi>o from what ai>]H'iini wt fair,

Or, uuhappior, thou oatiMt ti«ivi<r
Find oontentmont in dtM|mir,
NOT make lovo i*

From 1558 to JLC49.]

LOVE'S DARTS.

CAJJTWKIO-HT.

Tlioro are aeon but fow retiring
StepH 111 all tho im1.hu of lovo,

Made by micih who in itHpirmg
Meeting HGOXIL Ihoir liopon remove ,
Yet oven thoHo no' or change thoir lovo.

482.—01SF THE DEATH OF SIB BEVIL

OBKNVILLfc]

Not to "bo wrought by malice, grain, or pride,
To a compliance with tlio thriving side ,
Not to tako arms for lovo ot change, or spito,
But only to maintain aillictod right ;
Not to cbo vainly m primtnt of fame,
Pcrvortioly Hooking aftui VOILO and name ;
IB to ronolvo, fight, die, aw martyrs do,
And thus did ho, Holdiur uud martyr too.
# * » *

"When now th* uuxmnod logionw proudly came
Down liko a torrent without bank or dam .
When undoHorvod HIUSOOHH urged on their force;
That thunder inuHt ooino down to stop their

conrriO,
Or Uronvillo mnnt ntcp in; then Gronyollo

tttood,
And with hiiusolf oppOHod, and chock* d the

flood

Conquest or death WUH all lun thought. So fire
Kitlior o'oroomoH, or dotih itHolf oxj»ro ;
HIH courage work'd liko UauaoH, cast heat

about,
Hero, there, on thin, on th.it Hide, none gave

out;

Not any piko in that ronowiiort Htatd,
But took now forc.o fioui iun niHpiriug liancl*
Soldier ouooxiragcd Holdutr, man ur^od man,
And he urged all ; PO nuioh oxaniplo can ;
Hurt upon hurt, wound upon wound did call,
Ho wan the butt, tho mark, tho aim of all *
Kin HOU! thiM while retirod from cell to coll,
At last flew up from all, mid then he foil.
But the devoted wUnul oxmigod more
From that hut fato, plitul hotter than bofoio,
And proud to fall witli him, nworn not to yield,
Each nought an honour M ipravo, HO gaiu'd tho

field.

Thus ho being fallen, liin action fought anew •
And the dead oonqunrM, whiloH the living alow.

TliiB wan not lutturo'H courage, not that

tiling

Wo valour call, wliich time and roaaon bring ;
But a diviner fury, fierce and high,
Valour transported into o«Htney,
Which angola, looking on tm from above,
XTno to convoy mto tho ROII!H they lovo.
You now that boast tho Hpirit, and its sway,
Show UB his Hocoud, atid we'll give tho day :
Wo know your politic axiom, lurk, or fly ;
Ye cannot conquer, ?<MUHO you dare not die •
And though you thank Uod that you lost none

there,
'Cause they were such who hvod not when

they were ;

let your great general (who doth rise and fall,
AH hiH successes do, whom you dare cttll,
As fame unto you doth reports dif-tpouBO,

Either a — • or his excellence)

Howe* or ho reigns now by unheard-of laws,
Gould wish hiH fate together with his cause.

And thou (blest soul) whose clear compacted

fame,

As amber bodies keeps, preserves thy name,
Whoso life affords what doth content both

eyes,

Glory for people, substance for tho wiso,
Go laden up with spoils, POHSOSS that seat
To which the valiant, when they've done,

retreat

And when thou Boost an happy period sent
To those distractions, and tho storm quite

spent,

Look down and say, I have my share in all,
Much good grow from my lifo, much from my

fall.

Wdkam CwlMrujht.*— About 1640.

483.— LOTE'S DAJRTS.

Whore is that learned wretch that knows
What are those darts thevoiTd god throws?

0 lot him tell mo ore I die

When 'twas ho saw or hoard them fly ,
Whether tho sparrow's plumes, or dove's,
Wing them foi vanorw loves ,
And whether gold, or load,
Quicken, or dull the head .

1 will anoint and keep them warm,
And make tho weapons heal tho harm.

Pond that I am to ask! whoe'er
Did yet see thought P or silouoo hoar P
Safe from the floaroh of human eye
ThoHo OTTOWH (as their ways aro) fly:

Tho flight/a of angels part

Not air with so much art ;

And snows on streams, we may

Say, louder fall than they*
So hopoloHH I must now endure,
And neither know the shaft nor cure.

A sudden fire of blushes shed
To dye white paths with hawty rod,
A gloaoe'tt lightning swiftly thrown,
Or from a true or scorning frown ;

A subtle taking BnuJo

Prom pasmon, or fiom guile ;

Tho spirit, life, and grace

Of motion, limbfi, and face ,
Those miHconcoit oulitloH darta,
And tears the bleedings of our hearts.

But as tho f oathorfl in tho wing
Unblomish'd aro, and no wounds bring,
And harmloBB twigs no bloodHhod kuow,
Till art doth fit them for tho bow ;

So lights of flowing graces

Sparkle in several places,

Only adorn tho parts,

Till tho/fc wo make thum darts ; 1 7#

WILLIAM WABNEB.J

TALK OF

AND OUKAtf. [Tiiiiti*

Thomsolvos arc only twiga and quills
"Wo givo iliom shape, and £0100 for ills.

Beauty's our giiof, but in tho ore,
Wo mint, and utarap, and thon adoro
3Jiko heathen wo tho imaoro orown,
And indiscreetly thon fall down:

Those gracoH all wore meant

Oor joy, not discontent ,

Bat with untaught dowses

We turn those lights to firew,
Thus Nature's hoofing horbs wo tako,
And out of cures do poisons make

William Cartwriglik— About 1C40.

484..—TALB OF ABOTNTILE AND
OTO&KT.

The Brutons thus dopartod honco, woven king-
doms hero begone,
Where diversely in diverse broils tho Sitxons

lost and won
TTmg Edoll and King Adolbright m Divia

jointly reign
In loyal concord during life these kingly fnoncU

remain.
When Adelbright should leave MM Mo, to

Edoll thus ho Hays :
By those same bond* of happy lovo, that held

us friends always,
By our bypartod orown, of which the moiety

is mine,
By God, to whom my soul must paws, and HO

m tune may thino,
I pray thee, nay, oonjnro thoo, too, to nourish

as thine own
Thy niece, my daughter Ar^ontilo, till sho to

age be grown,
And then, as thou rooervost, resign to her my

throne
A promise had for this bequest, the testator

ho dies,
But all that Bdoll undertook lie afterward do-

mos
Tet well ho f ostora for a time tho damsel, that

was grown
The fairest lady under hoaven ; whoHo beauty

being known,
A many princes seek her lovo, but nono might

her obtain,
For Gteippol Edell to himsolf her kingdom

sought to gain ;
By chance one Ouran, son unto a prinoo in

Bansko, did see
The maid, with whom ho fell in love, as much

as one might be
Unhappy youth I what should he do P his saint

was kept in mew,
Nor ho, nor any noblo man admitted to hor

view.

One while in melancholy fits ho pinow liimHolf

away;
Anon ho thought by force of arms to win hor

if he may,

And fltill againut tho kmjr'H rwiiaml did

Hocrotly mvoi'ilu
At lonrftlj Uio high <u»ntf»ll(»r, Ijo\«», vhom

nono mivy dwobo,;,

lam from lordliiHMu tuiio a

That HO, at lootrii, of Hfoor thath nlio

bocomo hiH ju'l^n
ACOOHH HO hot? to H(M), :nid Hpoiik, In1 did his

lov<» bewray,
And ioHrt Jiw birth : lu«r antavop iva.«, «lw»

hiwliaiullcHH would st^iy.
Moanwhilo, tlin knitf <Iid heat his luuinK, hi*t

booty to a/shiovo,
Not oaring what booania «>f Ivor, H<> ho by ht»r

miglit tlinvo •
At ItiHt hiH resolution wan, Homo p<>omutt

Hliould hor WLVO
And, whi<»h wa« working to hi« winli, ho dul

ol>Horvo with joy
How Ouran, wltom lio thought a drudgw, wapt

many au amorouH toy.
The krnff, poKwivuig Hu«h IUK voiu, pronuktoN

lllH VaHHIll HtlU,

LoHt tha^ tho l>aHono»H of tho man, nhould l^t,

porhapn, hin \\ill
AH«urod tliwof<n*c of IUH lovo, but not HUH-

Tho lover waH, the king liimHolf ni IUH h(4ialF

<Ud woo.
Tho lady, roaoluto from lovo, unkindly iu.Ict>;i

that ho
Should bar tho noblo, and unto HO luwo a match

And thorofor<i, Hlufiin^ out of tloorn, <U»parU»<l
lth.
before a dangorouH lifo in

woaltla.
Whon Curan hoard of hor cheapo,

iu IIIH heart
Was morp tJian iuu«h, oud aft«r hor from c-ourt

ho did dopurt .
Forg(»Uol of huiiHolf, WH birth, IHH country,

fnonclw, uiid all,
And only Muiulin^ whom h<» «ii,,U-iho

fomidroHH of hiH tlmtH !
Nor moanH ho aiior to frtiquont, t>r v.uurt, or

btatoly townM,
But Holitarily to liv<j amongst tlio nouuiry

A braoo of ynvam IM livrjd thiw ;

HO to livo ,
And Hhoj)hor«l-liko to food a tttwk, hiwiwlf did

wholly tfivo
So wontinff, lovo, by woriv luati want, /p-tjw

jiJmoHii to ihu wano :
But thon boffjiu a wK*otul lovo, tho wom«r of

tho twain !
A country woiuih, a noathurd'H maid, whwo

Ountit k<tpt IUH Hliocp,
Did food hor drove , and now on hor wax all

Ho borrowM ou tho working* dayn, hin holly

ruffotn oti.
And of Uio IUIOOU'H fat, to mako HM

black and soft :

From 1558 to 1649.] TALE OF ABaENTILE AOT> CTOAN. [WILLIAM WABNEK.

— I

And lost his tor-box should offend, ho loft ii

at tho fold ,
Sweet growt or whig-, Jiis bottlo hod as much

as it -would hold
A sheave of broad an brown an nnt, and choose

as whito as snow,
And wildmgs, or tho season's fruit, ho did In

scrip bestow :
And whilst his piobald our did sloop, and

sheep-hook lay fr*n by,
On hollow quills of oaton straw ho piped

molody.
But when ho spied hor, his saint, ho wip'd his

greasy shoes,
And clear' d the dnvol from his board, and

thus tho shepherd WOOH ,
' I have, sweot wonoh, a pioco of cheese, as

good as tootli may chaw,
And broad and wilduigft, souhng woll;' and

therewithal did <Lraw
HIM lardry , and, in eating, ' Soo yon crumplod

owe/ quoth ho,
« Did twin this fall , faith thou art too elfish,

and too ooy ;
Am I, I pray thoo, beggarly, that anoh a flock

enjoy,
I WIH X am not ; yet that thou dost hold mo in

diHdam
IB brim abroad, and made a gibe to all that

koop thin plain
There bo an quaint, at least tliat thiuk thom-

HolvoH as quaint, that crave
Tho match which thou (I wot not why) may'ufi,

but miHlik'Ht to Itavo.
How would'Ht thou inatuh? (for woll I wot thou

art a f omalo) , ) ,
I know not hor, tlutt willingly, in maidenhood

would die
Tho ploughman's labour hath no end, and ho

a churl will prove ;
Tlio craftsman hath more work in hand than

fittoth on to lorn t
Tho merchant, trafficking abroad, prnHpcctR his

wife at homo ,
A youth will play the wontou, and an old man

provo a momo ;
Then ohoowj a Hhopliord; with tho Bun ho dotli

his flook unfold,
And all tho (lay on hill or plain ho merry chut

oftn hold *
And with tho snn doth fold again: thon

jogging homo botimo,
TTo tumn a crab, or tunes a round, or sings

Homo marry rhyme ,
Nor lucks ho gleeful talo« to toll, whilst that

tlio bowl doth trot .•
And wttoth Hinging oaro away, till ho to bod

hath got*
There sloops he soundly all tho night, forgetting

morrow cares,
Hor foorB ho blasting of his com, or uttrmg

of his wiweoH,
Or Htorinn by Hua, or Btirw on land, or crack of

credit loHt,
Nor upending f ranklior than his flook shall stUl

dufray tiio eont.

Well wot I sooth they say, that .say, more

quiet nights and days
The shepherd sleeps and wakes than ho whose

cattle he doth, graze.
Believe mo, lass, a king is but a man, and so

am I,
Content is worth a monarchy, and mischiefs

hit the high
As late it did a king and his, not dying far

from honoe,
Who loft a daughter (save thyself) for fair, a

matchloBs wench '
Hove did ho pause, as if his tongue had made

his heart oflbnoo.
The noatroHR, longing for the rest, did egg him

onto toll
How fair she was, and who she was. ' She

bore,' quoth ho, ' tho bell
For beauty • though I clownish am I know

what beauty is,
Or did I not, yet seeing thoe, I senseless were

to miss.
Suppose her beauty Helen's like, or Helen's

somewhat less,
And every star consorting to a pure complexion

guess.
Hor stature comely tall, hor gait woll graced,

and hor wit
To marvel at, not meddle with, as matchless,

I omit.
A globo-liko head, a gold-hko hair, a forehead

smooth and high,
An oven nose, on either side stood out a

grayish eye
Two rosy cheeks, round ruddy lips, with just

Hot tooth within,
A mouth in moan, and underneath a round and

dimpled chin.
Hex snowy nock, with bluish veins, stood bolt

•upright upon
Hor portly shoulders; boating ball*, her veined

broaistfl, anon,
Add more to beauty; wand-like was her

middle, foiling still * *

And more, her long and limber arms had white

and assure wrists,
And fllendor fingers answer to hor smooth and

lily fiats'
A log in print, and pretty foot ; hor tongue of

flpeooh was spare ;
But speaking, Yonus floom'd to npoak, tho bull

from Ide to boar !
With Pallas, Juno, and with both, horsolf

contends in face ,
Where equal mixture did not want of mild

and stately grace
Hor smiles woro sober, and hor looks wore

cheerful unto all,

And Buoh as neither wanton seem, nor way-
ward ; moll, nor gall.
A quiet mind, a patient mood, and not diB-

daining any
Not gibing, gadduag, gawdy ; and hor f acultioa

woro many.
A nymph, no tongue, no hoart, no eye, might

praise, might wish, might BOO,

CHAPMAN ]

SONNJBT,

(.Tumi) 1'Riiion.-

For Me, for lovo, for form, moro good, more

worth, moro fair than Hho '
Vot sack an 0110, as nnoh was none, FWLVO only

she was such
Of Arsentilo, to say tho most, woro to bo

silent much '
6 1 know tho litdy very well, but worthloaB of

snob praiHO,'
Tho noatroMfcj Raid , ' and muse I do, a shepherd

thus should hlazo
Tho coat of beauty Credit mo, thy latter

spoooh bowrayH
Thy clownish Bhapo, a coined show. Bui

wherefore dosfc thon wooy f "
(Tho shepherd wept, and she was woo, and

both did ailenoo keep).
' In troth/ quoth ho, ' I am not such as scorning

I prof OH* ,
But thon for her, and now for thoo, I from

myself digroHR
Hor lovod I, wrotoh that I am, a recreant to

bo,
I loved hor, that hatod lovo ; but now I die for

thoo.
At Kirtland IB my father's court, and Curan

IH my namo ;
In EdolTB court aomothnos in pomp, till lovo

oontrollM tho Hatno
But now ; what now P doar hoart I how now ?

what ndloal tliou to weep P '
(The damsel wept, and ho was woo, and both

did silenoo keep).
6 1 grant/ quoth who, ( it wan too much, that

you did lovo HO much ,
But whom your former could not movo, your

second lovo doth touch.
Thy twice bolovod Argentilo Hubmittoth her to

thoo*
And for thy doublo lovo presents herself a

sinpflo foo ,
In pasmon, not m person chang'd, and I, my

lord, am Hho '
They sweetly surf orbing- in joy, and ailont for

a spaco,
Whereas the oowtaHy had oncl, did tenderly

embrace '
And for their wedding and their wiHh, got

fitting time and i>l;iiuo.

Warner. — About 1586.

485.— SONNET.

MUBOB, that fdno: Lovo's flonsual ompirio,
And lovers kindluit? your onraffod firoH
At Cupid* s bonfiro« Inirninflr in tlio oyo,
Blown with tho empty broath of vam dofiires j
You, that prefer tho painted cabinet
Before tho wealthy JOWO]H jt doth store yo,
That all your joys in <lyin|f fi^iiros Hot,
And stain the liviatf flubBtanco of your glory ;
Abjure those joys, abhor their memory ;
And let my love tho honoured subject bo

Of lovo and honour's ooitiplof o history !
Your oyeH woro iicwr $cl I«*l. in im> »«*<»
Tho majoHty and ri<*lu*i of iho mitul,
Tliat dwoll in (litrkiiiM \; f.»r ,\our »IM! iji Mind.

486.— THEira tS A

VAl'K

W ITWU

Thoro iHn <Tarclon PI ln»r fjx'p,
"Wliuro rowM ami whiio lil«*'i <

A hoavonly pnriulj.tit M that, plju'o,
Whoroin all pl<»«.Mani fruiiH <U> gf

Thoro ohorric'rt t^row Uuii nomi «uty buy,

Till ohorry-ripo thunu'oIvoH <lo

TlioHO cliorrioM fairly do itw»lo*<«

Of oriimtpttffcrl a double row,
Wlii(ih wluni hor lowly lau;rhtor nh

'ttiiiy look liknrosct-hntlH flllM with tmow.
Yot thorn no pocir nor prttunt nuiy buy,
Till ohorry-H|K) tfu»nint«lv(»H do cry.

Hor oyoM liku anj^^H watcli tliciti ntill :
Hor browH liko hcttuluil bo\vu do i^tml

Throat'nin^ with pi'Tfini? frttwrit» <•»» kilt
All that iipproaoh wiUi oy41 or bund

ThcHO saornd olicrrics to comu nij;h,

Till oherry-ripo iiiommtlvoH <lo <ngy.

llicluvnl AHum.— About

487— AI)«TRACT OP

Wlictn I #0 muHin^ all

Whoa I build (laHlloK in tho atr,
Void of Morrow, void of foar,

TnyHolf with phanUuirm HWMit,
tliirikH tho iimo runs vory floni,
All my joys to thi.t an* fully ;
Nought HO Hwodlf a'i Molanoholy.

Wlum I KO wallchi'? all
Kooonntm^ what I liavo ill-dono,
My thou^lits on mo Uiou iynuuii/o ;
P«ar nsul worrow mo tuirprif«» ;
"Wlioihcr I tarry nil 11, or #0,
MothmkM tlu» ilmn movwi v*iry «l»»w.

All my ^rh'fH to IhiM an« jolly ;

Nought HO mid aw Mrluwlmly.

Whoii lo wyhcilf 1 a<'i and t n»>l<s
With plcatiiu;? Uiou^hi^t t,iu^ titno
By a Jn-ook Hi<lo, or wnn<l HCJ ^r*w««,
Unlimml, ttnuou/rlii for, or im.tf«"i;
A thouKiuul pl<Hii4ur<*M <lo mn til«MM,
And crown my HOU! wiitt h(!.p{>ino:m

All my joy« lNwlrli»,4 ni*o folly;

Nonu HO HWHit tut Molaunholy.

J»W in KII0.J

AMBITION.

[THOMAS BTOIUSB

Whon I lie, mi, or walk alone,
I High, I griovo, making groat moan ;
lu a dark grove, or irkRomo don,
With diHcontontH and funes thon,
A thousand miseries at onoo
My heavy heart and soul ensoonco.
All my #nofs to this arc jolly ,
None HO BOUT as Molanoholy.

Mothunkn I hoar, methinks I soe,

Sweat music, wondrous melody ,

TownR, palacoH, and oitios fino,

Houo now, thon thoro , tho world is mino ;

"Baro boantioH, gallant ladios shino ;

"Whato'or IH lovely is divmo

All other JOVH to thin aro folly j
Nono HO irooot as Molanoholy.

Mothinkn T hour, mothinku I ROO,

, gnhluiH, iiondH • my phantasio
a thoupand ugly shapes—

ts black mon, and apos ;
Doleful outuriOH and fearful sights
My Had and dwmnl Houl affnghts
All my tfrmlH to this aro jolly ;
damned OH Molanoholy.

/tolwi Bwrton.—. About 1G21.

488— SONG.

, lady ' miHtroHB, rwo '
Tho night hiith tocliouH boon,
No Hloop htttti ful I «n into my oyos,

Mor Hlumlurrrt made ino Hin
IK not H\W a Haint th<m, Hay,
Thought of whom koopH HIII away P

, tnadaui I rino, and givo mo light,
Whom durknowH Htill will oov«r,
And iffiiorunoo, darker than night,

Till them Hmilo oil fhy lover •
All want day till thy bwtuty HHO,
For tho grtyr jnorn brcnJcH from thmo oyos.

NuUwniul Field. — About 1618.

489,— SONOTTS.

Some mon dolight hu^o buildings to bohold,
Sonio ilioairoH, monntauifl, floodH, and famous

Ronid immiimontH of monarchy and such ildngfl
AH in tho booku of famo havo boun onroll'd,
ThoHO Htatoly IOWJIH that to tho fitara woro

raiHod ;
Somo would thoir ruins ROO (thoir beauty's

gono),

Of which tho world's throo partH oaoh boastfi

of ono

Though nono of those, I lovo a night as raro,
32von her that o'or my life as quoon doth sit ;
Juno in majouty, Pallas in wit,
As Phoobo ohanto, than Vonus far moro fair ;
And though hor looks ovon throaton death to

mo,
Thoir throat'ningfl aro so swoot I cannot flee.

I chanood, my doar, to oomo upon a day
Whilst thon wast but arimng from thy bod,
And tho warm snowu, with comely garments

clod,
Moro noh than glorious, and moro fino than

gay

Thon, bluHhing to bo soon in such a oase,
0 how thy ourlod lookH mino eyos did pbaso ;
And well bouomo thoHO wayos thy boauty's soas,
Whioh by thy haurs woro framed upon thy f aoo ;
Suoh was Diana onoo, when being spied
By rash Aotoson, slio was muoh oommovod
Yot, moro disoroot than th' angry goddess

proved,
Thou know'st I came through error, not of

pndo,
And thought tho wounds I got by thy sweet

wight
Woro too groat soourgos for a fault so light.

Awake, my mtmo, and leave to dream of loves,
Shako off HO ft i'anoy'H chains — I must bo free,
I'll porch no inoa-o upon tho myrtle troo,
Nor glide through th' air with beauty's sacred

doves ,

Btit with JOVO'H Htatoly bird I'll leave my nest,
And try my tught agauwt Apollo's rays.
Tlion, if that ought my vont'rous course

dwmayH,

Upon th1 ohvo'H boughs Til light and rest;
Til tuno my svooonts to a trumpet now,
And nook tlio laurel in another field.
Thus I that once (as Beauty's moans did yield)
Old divorn garments on my thoughts bestow,
Liko TcsaVuH, I fear, unwisely bold,
Am purposed other's passions now t' unfold.

"William AUtoaffbder, Marl of BfarUn&r-
Abort 1030.

490.— WOLSETS AMBITION.
* # * #

Yot, as tlirough Tagus' fair transparent

Htroamn,

Tho wtind'nugmorohant soos tho wnnltliy gold,
Or like 111 Cynthia' H half-obHOurod beamH,
Through minty cloudn and vapours manifold;
So through a mirror of my hopod-for gain,
I saw tho treasure which I should, obtain.

Tfiomas

THOMAS STORER ]

WOLSEY'S VISION.

. 49I(— WOLSEy'S VISION

From that nob. valloy, whoru tho angola laid

him,

His unknown sepulchre in Moab'w land,
Moses, that Israel lod, and they obey'd him,
In glorious view before my foco did fttand,
Bearing tho folded table* in IUH band,
Whoioin the doom of life, and death's despair,
By God' a own fingor was engraven there

Thon passing forth, a joyful troop (mined
Of worthy judges and triumphant kings,

In chariot framed of celestial mould,
And Bimple puronoBB of tho purest Rky,
A more than heavenly nymph I did behold,
Who glancing: on me wjth her gracious oyo,
So gavo me leave her beauty to oupy ;
For sure no sense such Right otin comprehend,
Except her beams then fair reflection loud.

Hor beauty with "Eternity began,

And only unto God was over won ,

When Eden was posHowi'd with sinful man,

She came to him and gladly would have been

Tho long succeeding world' H otorn'il Queen;

But they refused hnr, Oh, hohionw doed '

And from that garden baninh' d wou their Hood.

Smoo when, at sundry times in sundry ways,
Atheism and blondod ignorance coiiRpiro,
How to obscure those holy burning rays,
And quench that zeal of heart — inflaming fire
That makes our soula to heavenly things

aspire,

But all in vain, for, maugro all there might,
She never lost one sparkle of her light.

Thomas fliortv. — About 1505.

492 —SIB FRANCIS DEAKE.
# # * #

Look how tho industrious bee iu fragrant May,
Wnon Flora gildH tho earth with golden flowers,
Enveloped in her swoot porfimuul array,
Doth loavo his honoy-lnnod dolieioiw bowers,
More richly wrought than prui^o'tt stately

towers,

Waving his silken wmgH amid tho air,
And to tho verdant gardonn makes ropair.

First fwJls he on a branch of sugarM tHymo,
Then from tho marygold ho Hu<sks tho wwoot.
And then tho mint, and then tho roso doth

climb,

Then on the budding roHomary doth light,
TJ1 with swoot troaHuro havmt* oJiartfod his

feet,

Late m tho evening homo ho turns ajjain,
Thus profit is the guerdon of his paui.

So in tho May-tulo of hiw smnmor iif»«
Valour onmovod tho mind of v»»nt rous
To lay his 3ifo wiili winds ami wave 4 in «rii'j<',
And bold and hard twlvt'iitun^ t' undorinki\
Leaving hi« ocmniry for hm «»ounlry''i t ak*1 ;
Loatlun,^ tho hfo that c*owanli<Mt clciih «< «in»
rrofemug death, if doatli luiffLii honour
gain
* t » %

Filjjifrry—Almut J.VJO.

493_TO POOTKIWTV

Daughter of Timo, flinncro PoRt(»rity,
Alwayw now-born, yot no nuin known thy hirlh,
Tho arbitroHH of pure ninciority*
Yot ohiuigoablo (like JL'rotouH) <»n tho darth,
ftoxnotimo in plenty, noiuotiiuo joiuM with

dearth

AlwavH to oomo, yc»t alwuyw prtv^nt ht»ri%
Whom all nux aftur, noiio oonio after tuutr*

Unpartial judge of all, wwo proMonti hiu»t^,
Truth's idioxna of tho thingH ai*o pUMt,
Bat Htill piiTHuuig proscnt thim; ~> with lwi,l«».
And more iujuriouH n.t tho iirnt than la^i.,
rroHerving othoTH, wlulo tliino own do \vu/l»'i

True trooHuror of all aiiiiqui^,

Whom all dosiro, yot iwvor o

(Jharlwt

494 —FANCY ANT) DHKTBR

Wlion wort tliou l)ora, DciHirti 't In prlil*' uu'7

pomj) of Kay
Ry whotn, swoot boy, wort thou lK»;rot ? !t.\

fond conceit ruon Hay.
Toll mo who wa« thy nurno P Kmih \ <\»l h, iii

Hn«arM joy.
What WIIH tliy moat and daily food '* Swl i.i»,li \

with groat annoy*

What hadst thou thon io drtn"k ?

IOVOTH' toarH.
Wliat <'radlo \v(»H ilioti ronkM in? In

(Ifvoid of ioarH.
Wliat lull'd thoo, tlu'n, ttMlwpJ* Swwi »

>vJiioh HlccH mo Ix'tri..
Toll m<« whoro IM thy (Iu4>lliu;;-]il:u<f> i' In ,'
1 ronfc.

Wliat tluii'f dotb ploaNo tli(»t> iiui-t?1 To :;»<•/,»»

onbcatiiy Mill.
What ch)AL tliou (lil'tk to bo thy ftm? f)L,>{;un

of my good will
Doth company dinploaiio ? V<w, nuvoly, many

one.
Wlioro do!htl>«niw» dolijfhii to livof Ho

to livo al(»no*

Ffom 1558 to 1049 J

KOBEftT, DUKE OF NOBMANDY.

[BlOHAKD NlCCOLS.

Doth either Tuno or Ago bring liiiix into

dooayF
No, no, Dosiro both lives and dies a thousand

tunes a day.
Then, fond Desire, farewoll ' thou art no mate

for mo .
I should, methinks, bo loth to dwell •with such

QI ono as thoo

jEdnoard, Ewl of Oxford.— About 1600.

495'— THE WIFE.
# * * *

Thou may I trust hor body with her mind,
And, thoioupon secure, nood novoi know
The pangn oi jealouHy and lovo doth find
Moio pain to doubt hor falHo than find hor so,
For pationco is, of evils that aro known,
Tlio oortain romody , but doubt hath none.

And bo tliat thought onoo stirr'd, 'twill novor

dio,

Nor will tho gnof more mild by custom prove,
Nor yot amendment can it satisfy ,
T)io anguish moro or IOHH IH aH our lovo ,
This xuiHory doth from joalouHy onfmo,
That wo may provo hor f O!HO, but cannot true

flivo mo, next good, an uidorHtonfli&g wife,
Hy iiatiiro wine, not luiurnod by mursh art ,
Homo knowledge on hor part will, all licr life,
Moro Htiopo of conversation impart ;
BortidoH liar inborn virtue fortify ;
They are mont firmly {rood that bout know why.

A passive understanding to conceive,
And judgment to discern, I winh to find ,
Boy oiid that all a* hazardous I leave ;
Learning and pregnant wit, in womankind,
What it iindu malleable (it) makes frnil,
And doth not add more ballast, but moro sail.

Books aro a ]>art of raaii'R prerogative ,
In formal ink they thoughtH and VOICOH hold,
That wo to them our wolitudo may givo,
And make time pmnotit truvol tliat of old ,
Our life fanio piocwvth longer at tho end,
And bookw it farther backward do extend

80 fair at leant let mo imagine hor ;
That thought to mo it* truth Opinion
Oatmot in imtttorn of opinion err »
And an my fancy her conceives to bo,
JiJv'ii Hueh my senses both do ieel and BOO.

Beauty in decent ahapo and colour UGH ;
(JolcmrH tho matter are, and shape tho soul;
Tho HOW! — which from no Hingle part doth rino,
Uut irom tlie juHt proportion of tho wholo , —
And it* a more Hpiritiial harmony
Of every part united in tho eye.

No circumstance doth beauty fortify
Idko graceful fashion, native comeliness ;
* * * *

But lot that fashion moro to modesty
Tend than assurance — Modesty doth sot
Tho face in hor just plaoe, from passion free ;
'Tis both tho mind's and body's beauty met.

All those good parts a perfect woman make ;
Add lovo to mo, they make a perfect wife ,
Without her lovo, hor beauty I should take
AH that of pictures dead — that gives it He ,
Till then hor beauty, like tho sun, doth shine
Alike to all , — that only makes it mine.

Ov&rbwry. — Alout 1010,

496— BOBEBT, DUKE OF NOIMCATOY,
PBEYIOTTSLT TO HIS BYES BEING-
PUT OUT.

As bud in cage debonr'd tho use of wings,
Her oaptivod life as nature's chiefost wrong,
In doleful ditty sadly sits and sings
And mourns hor thralled liberty so long,
Till breath bo spent in many a sitful song :
So hero oaptivod I many days did spend
In sorrow's plaint, till death my days did
end

Whore as prisoner though I did remain ,

Yot did my brother grant this liberty,

To quell tho common speech, which did

complain

On my diHtrosa, and on IIIH tyranny,
That in hut parku and fororitH joining by,
When I id ploaso I to and fro might go,
Which in tho eud WOH CUUHO of oil my woe.

For on a tune, when aw Aurora bright
JBogaii to Hoalo heaven' H steopy battlement,
And to tho world disclose hor cheerful light,
As wan my wont, I with my keeper wont
To put away my sorrow's discontent .
Thereby to ease me of my captive care,
And solaoo my sad thoughts in th* open air

Wond'rizig through forest wide, at length wo

gam
A stoop oloud-kiHsing rook, whoso horned

crown

With proud imperial look beholds tho main,
Whoro Severn's dangerous waves run rolling

down,

From th' Kolmos into the wean, by Cardiff town,
Whoso qmok-dov curing Haixdn so dangerous

been
To those that wonder Amphitrito's green :

As there wo stood, tho country round wo eyed
To view tho workmaiiHlrip of nature's hand.
There stood a mountain, from whoHO weeping

side

A brook broaku forth into tho low-lying land,

Hero lies a pluan, and there a wood doth Htand,

Here pawtui-oa, ineadn, oorn-fioldM, a vale do

crown,
A oaKfclo hmp Hlmot nip, raid there

JOHN BOWLANP ]

SLEEP

Horo one with angle o'or n. wlvor Rtroara
With baneful bait tho nibbling fluh cloth food;
Thero in a plough* d land with his ixuuful twwn,
The ploughman ewoatff, in hopo for labour* a

meed:
* * * *

Here sits a goatherd on a craggy rook,
And thoro in shado a shepherd mtli his Hook.

Tho swoot delight of such a raro pronpcct
Might yield coatont tinto a careful oyo ;
Yot down tho rook descending in neglect
Of such delight, tho sun now mounting hiffh,
I sought the shade in vale, whioh low did ho,
Where we reposed us on a green-wood Hido,
A'front the which a silver stream did glido.

There dwelt sweet Philomel, who never more
May bide tho abode of man' H nocioty,
Lest that some sterner Toronn than before,
Who cropt the ilowor of hor virginity,
'Gtoiast her should plot flomo Hoooud vjllany ;

Whose doeful tunes to mind did CUUHO mo
call

Tho woful story of her former fall.

Tho redbreast who ua buHh fast by did stand
As partner of hor woes, his part <Ud ply,
For that tho gilta, with which Antumuus* hand
Had graced the earth, by winter' a wrath Hhould

die,
From whose cold chocks bleak blasts began to

fly,

Which TniPrflft mo t>hiTT0< upon my ftuxniaor

past
Aud winter's woes, which all my lifo should

last.

My keeper, with compassion moved to HOC
How grief's impulsions in my breast did boat,
Thus silence broke . " Would God (iny Lord),"

quoth ho,
" This pleasant land, which nature's hand hath

sot

Before your oyos, mitrht can so you to forgot
Your discontent, tho objoot of tho oy«
Offamos gives oaso to woou which inward ho.

"Behold upon that moimium'H top HO Htoop,
Which Booms to pierce the olmicto and kiHH tho

sky,

How the grey shepherd drives hi« flock of Hhoop
Down to tho vale, and how on rootot fant by
Tho goats frisk to and iro for jollity ;
Give oar likewise unto thouo birds' sweet

songH,

And lot them cause you to forgot your
wrongs."

To this I made reply . " Fond man," said T,
" What under heaven can slock th' iuoroaHrag

woo,

WHch^m my grieved heart doth hidden lio ?
Of choice dolightwhat objoot <*anht thou H!IOW,
But from tho sight of it fronh grj'of <loth

grow ?

What thou didst whilomo point at to bohold,
The same tho sum of Borrow doth enfold*

" That grey-coat whophcnl, whom irom far wt»

flOO,

I likon unto thoo, and thoMO WM ulioi'T*
Uiito my wrotohod wlf (•(nnimriMl uri,; !>«»:
And though that oarcfnl ]Ktsi,nr will tiot Ioi*v*
Whon ho from ravonoiw wolv< < hi-t il»K*'.

should k(^p ;

Yot hero oliiH ' in llinill thon Wju' it m«»,
Until that wolf, my brother, hungry l«*.

" TlioHO Hhaff-liairM f?oat« ti]u»n tho ci!'"-"., hiU,
Which thou did»t Hhow, HI«O how l\uy IV! '*

aud play,

And ovoiywhoro do run ulxnit at will :
Yoa, whon tho liou marks llwm for iiio pn*y,
They ovor liillK androckH citn fly awity .
But when that liou foil nliall follow mo
To Hhed my blood, 0 whiihor Khitll I fl< <* '.'

"Those awoot-voicod birilw, whono tur.i iluui

doHt commond,

To whioh tho echoing woodH roUirn rojily,
Though thoo they plotino, yot in<» tl»ty do

offond :

For when I BOO how thoy (to Tiioiiut <m liijt^
Waving thoir outKtrotoUM win^H at lilniriy,
'JTion do I think how bird-like* in u <'u?ro
My Ufo I load, aiwl frriof (M«I niuor lumijo."

497.— SLKE?.

Woop yon no mor<^

What need you ilow HO fani P
Look how the Hiiowy mouuituti'4
Hoavon'H mm dotlx ^m
But my HUH'H hoavouly
Viow not your
That now lio:<
Softly, now Hoftly h<

Sloop IH
A roHt that poiwo l)(»

Doth not tho HUH riiut
Whoa fair tit won ho «'»•{,» f
I4oHt you llwtti, runt, i
IVtclt not in

Softly, now nofily hoii

John DinntoMif-

IflWI,

498.— TOALM XXX,

r.

Txml, to Ilion, whilo T am
Will T Hintf l^mi
For thou haM, <lrawn xn« from ti
• Ho that mr f<tfM
Do not deride mo.

JVo?fl 1558 to 1C40.]

PSALM

[FIU.NOIS DATXSOET.

n.

When Thino aid, Lord, I implored,
Then by Thee was I restored,
My znournf ul heart with joy Thou straight
didst fill,

So that none ill
Doth now betide mo.

m.

My soul, grievously distressed,
And with death woll-nigh oppressed,
From death's devouring jaws, Lord, Thou
didst save,

And from the grave
My soul deliver.

rv.

0, all ye that o'er had savor
Of UO<VH everlasting favor,
Como ! oomo and help ino grateful praipon sing
To tho world' H King,
And my life's giver.

v.

For His anger never lastoth,
Ami HIM favor never waHtoth j
Though sadness be thy gno«l in Bullon night,
Tho cheerful light
"Win clieorM moke ihoo.

71.

Lull'd aHloop with charming ploiuvuTos,
And luwn, oaHhly, fading tooiumrnH,
Bet-it, peaceful Houl, Haul I, in happy state,
N o HtormB of tale
Shall over shako ihoo !

71T.

For Jehovah's ffraco unbounded,
Hath tny groatntiHB nuroly founded ,
And luith my state as strongly fortified,

On evory Hide,

As rocky mountains.

vin.

But away His fiwio God turned,
J Wim trembled tlum and mourned;
Thuu thus I pourM forth prayern and doleful
Orion,

With weeping eyes,
Like watery f ountainH

re.

In my blood there is no profit ;
If L die, what good comoH of it P
Shall rotten bones or senseles* dust express
Thy thankfulness,
And works of wonder ?

O then hoar mo, prayers forthponring,
Drowned in tears, from moist eyes shower-

&g;

Have mercy, Lord, on mo, my burden ease,
IE Thee it please,
*Whioh I groan under '

Thus pray'd I, and God, soon after,
Changed my mourning into laughter ;
Mine ashy sackcloth, mark of mine annoy,
To robes of joy
Ef tsoons He turned.

xn.

Therefore, harp and voice, cease never,
But sing sacred lays for evor
To great Jehovah, mounted on the skies,
Who dried mine eyes
When as. I mourned.
JVcwicts JDawuson — About 1C10

499.— PSALM !2QG1L
i.

God, who the universe doth hold

In his fold,

Is my shophord, kind and hcotlf ul,
Is my shepherd, and doth keep

Mo, JEJis sheep,
Still supplied with all things needful.

n.
Ho feeds mo in his fioldn, which been

Fresh and green,

Mottled with Hpring's flowory painting,
Through which creep, with murmuring
crooks,

Crystal brookB,
To rofroHh my spirit/H fainting.

in.
When my flonl from Heaven' sway

Wont atttwiy,

With oturth's vanities seduced,
Vor IliH name's Hako, kindly, He

Wandornag mo
To Ilia holy fold reduced.

17.

Yea, though I stray through death's Tale,

Where his pale

Shades did on each sido enfold mo,
DroadlowH, having Thee for guide,

Should I bide;
For Thy rod and staff uphold me.

7.

Thou my hoard wibh messoB largo

Dost surcharge ;

My bowls full of wine Thou pourost
And "before mine enemies'

EnviouB eyes
Balm upon my head Thou ehoworest.

71.

Neither duros Thy bounteous grace

For a space ;

But it knows nor bound nor measure .
So my days, to my life's end,

I shall spend
In Thy courts with heavenly pleasure.

FRANCIS DAVISON.]

•PSALM

500 — PSALM

Lord, how long, how long wilt Thou
Quito forgot and qmto uo^loci* mo ?
How long-, with a frowning "brow,
Wilt Thou from Thy sight reject mo p

n.

How long* shall I scot a way
Forth this maze of thoughts perplex od,
Where my grieved mind, night and day,
Is with tTrmTrmg1 tired and vexed ?
How long1 shall, my scornful foe,
On my fall his greatness placing,
Build upon my overthrow,
And be graced by my disgracing P

ra

Hear, 0 Lord and God, my ones '
Mark my foes' unjust abusing,
And illuminate mine oyow,
Heavenly booms in them infusing1 ;
Lest my woes, too groat to boar,
And too infinite to numlior,
Book mo soon, 'twixt hope and fear,
Into death's eternal slumber.

TV.

Lest my foes their boasting mako,
Spite of right, on him wo trample ,
And a pnde in misohief take,
Hasten* d by my sad example.

As for me, Til rido secure
At Thy meroy's sacred anchor ;
And, undaunted, will endure
Fiercest storms of wrong and rancour.

VI

Those black clouds will overblow,
Sunshine shall have his returning j
And my grief-dull'd heart, I know,
Into mirth shall ohango hiH mourning.
Therefore I'll rejoice and tung
Hymns to God in Haorcrl moaHuro,
Who to happy paflH will bring
My jusfc hopes at HIH good ploaHuro

jPVattcts JDavwon, — About* 1GIO.

501.— -MAN'S MORTALITY.

Liko as the damask rose you AGO,
Or like the bloHHom on tho troo,
Or like tho dainty flower in May,
Or like tho morning of tho day,
Or like tho sun, or like tho shtwlo,
Or like tho gourd whiuh Jonas had —
E'en such is man, whxmo thread IH npim,
Drawn out, and cat, and HO IB donn '
The rose withers, tho blotwom blastoth,
Tho flower fades, tho morning hantoth,
The HUU sots, tho shadow flion,
Tho gourd consumes — and man ho daoH !

Idko to tho grans that 'H newly i.pnnijr,
Or like a talc that'H now bt^iin,
Or like tho bird that'H horn to-day,
Or like tho poarlui (low of Mav,
Or like an hour, or hko a npan,
Or like tho Hinging of a HWOII —
B'on such IK man, who liven by breath,
IH hero, now there, m lifo and tlitath.
The grass withorw, the tain M eiidod,
Tho bird IH flown, tho dow'n aM-endo»l,
The hour is Hhort, tho npan IH loiif?.
The swan'w near death-- man'rt life in done '

Flimtin 1\\i*Mt.

Tho ffontlo Roason of tho yoax
Hath made my blooming bran«h appnar,
And beautified tho land with fl»w<«H ;
The air doth wavonr with delight,
The heavenH do Htnilu i.o H<H> i.lui Hiifht,
And yet mino eyoH auginuzib ihoir Hh

The moadH aro mautlwl all wiMi
The trembling loavon huth <i](»thod tho irccn,
The birds with feathorH IKUV do Htn;v ;
3iut I, poor Houl, whom wroujf <li)i,h rat-U,
Attire mynolf m niournmur bla<'k,
Whose loaf doth fall aitudnt hin .t

And as you HOG tho Hoarlot n
In his Hwoot pt nno hm bii'lt (
Whoao hue i« with tho HUH r
So, in tho April oC mmo iuco,
My livoly colouis <lo ftM
my Huinhino IK

My heart, thai woniM WUH of yor«,
Light an tho vvindw, ahroa<l to Hour
AmongHt tho bmlrt, wluui beauty
Now only hovorH over you,
AH doth tho bird that'H taken n<*w,
And mourns when all her ttni;:hh

WTion ovory man is bout to nport

Then, ponnivo, I aloiio nviort

Into Homo Holitary walk,

AH doth tho doloinl iurtlo-dovr,

\Vlio, having loHfc her faithful lovo,

SitH mourning on Homo tviUwr'd nijilk,

Ol'horo to »iyH<^lf T <lo ret'oun
How far my WOOH my joyw mirmn
Uow lovo roqinii(«1.1i mo with hub'*
How all my plotLHure^ ottd In IMMII,
How hate doth Hay my hopo IM vain,
Uow fortimo frowiiH ti{>on my

And in thin mood, rharjrcd \viih

With vapour1 d m^hn I dun flu* mr,

And to tho Oodn makft tid.i t*ot(tioHtt

That by tho omiintr of m> lifrs

1 may liavo truoo with HUH ni.nin^) Htrifo,

And briutf my HOU! to better jt,Ht.

// in .» -/i (unit

ffntti 1558 to

THE WOODMAN'S WALK.

503— THE SOTJL'S EERAND.

(So, Soul, tho body'H guest,
Upon a thanklofcw orrand,
Fear not to touch tho best,
Tlio truth HhaU bo thy warrant ,
Go, Mnco I noodw munt die,
And give tho world tho ho.

Go, loll tho Coiut it glowH,
And aliinoH hko rotten wood ,
Go, toll tho Ohnrch it shown
What's good and doth no good
If Church and Court reply,
Thou givo thorn both tho ho.

Tell potoiitutoH tlioy livo,

Acting by others' actions,

Not loved, unloHH they give,

Not strong but by then? factions ;

If potentates roply,

Givo potentate** tho Ho

Toll men of high condition
That rulo aflibitH of state,
Thoi$ purpoKO la ambition,
Thoir practice only hato ,
And if they onco roply,
Thou givo thorn all tho ho*

Toll them that bravo it most,
Thoy bog for nioro by Hpuiidnig,
Who in thmr grim-towl confc,
Book nothing but commending1 ;
And if thoy uiako roply,
Then givo thorn all tho ho

Toll Heal it laokH devotion,
Toll Lovo it in but luist,
Toll Tuuo it IH but motion,
Toll FloHh it IH but dunt ,
And WIHU thoni not roply,
For them muHt givo tho lie

Toll Ago it daily waHtolh,
Toll Honour how it alters,
Toll Bounty how she blaHtoth,
Toll Favour how nho faltorH ;
And an tlioy whall roply,
Givo ovory ono Lho Ho.

Toll Wit how imifth it wr«Ji«»loH
In treble pomtH of moonuHH,
Toll Windoni Hho onttmgloti
llorHolf in ovorwiHonoHH ;
And whon thoy do roply,
Straight givo tliom both the lie*

Toll Phytuo of her bolduoMH,
Toll Bkill it in prctonmou
Toll Charity of coldnown,
Toll Law it iw ooutontion ,
And as thoy do roply,
So givo thorn f*tm tho Ho,

Toll Fortune of hor blindnoBH,
Toll Nature of decay,
Toll J<Yi<mdHliip of
TeU Juntioo of dolay ;
And if thoy will roply,
Then, givo thoiii all tho lie

Toll Artn thoy have no Boundno«H}

Hut vary by owtooming,

Toll Sohoolfj they want profoundness,

And wtand too much on soouung ;

If Aria and Schools roply,

Givo Arts and Schools tho lio.

TeU Faith it's flod tho city,
Toll how tho country orroth,
Toll manhood nhakoH off pity,
Toll Virtuo loast ])roforrofch,
And if thoy do ioply,
Sparo not to givo tho lio.

And whon tliou ha»t, as I
Commanded thoo, dono blabbing,
Although to givo tho lio,
JDoBorvoH no loss than Blabbing ;
Tot fltab at thoo who will,
No stab tho flonl can kill.

Uwrtaiu — Abuitt 1503.

504.— OONTJEKT.

There is a jewel winch no Indian mino can buy,
No ohenuo art can counterfeit ;
It inakow mou rich in greatest poverty,
MakoH wator wuio, turns wooden cups to gold,
Tho hoiuoly wliiHtlo to nwooi mnflio'n Htrain ;
Seldom xt comow, to fow from hoavon went,
Tliat much in little — all in nought — Content.
Uncertain —About 15S)8

505.— TRW WOODMAK^ WALK

Through a fair foront as I wont,

Ux>on a Huniiuoir'H day,
1 uiot a woodman, quaint and gent,

Yot m a ntrango army.

1 marvoll'd niuoli at his dirtguieo,

Whom I did know KO woIL
But thuH, m toraiH both grave and wine,

HIH mind he 'gan to toll ,

J'Viond ! muHO not at thi« fond array,

fiat HHt n. while to mo
For it hath holpo mo to «urvoy

What I nhall show to thoo.

Long lived T in thitt forest fair,

Till, weary of my wool,
Abroad iti wnlkH 1 would repair,

AH now I wall rovoal

My fir«t tlay'H walk WJIH to the ootiri,

Whore hoauty fo<l iiiino oyo« ,
Tot found I that tho courtly nport

Did mask in nly diHguiHe :

For falsoliood Hat in fairest lookH,

And friend to friend wat* coy :
Court favour fill'd but empty rooks,

And then I found no joy

Desert went naked in tho cold,
When crouching craft wan foci :

Sweet words wore cheaply bought au<l gold,
But none that Htood in Htoad.

UNCERTAIN.]

CANZONET.

[Timm

Wit was omplojod foi aicli man's own j
Plain moaning' came too nhort ;

AJ1 these devices, Roon an<l known,
Mado me forsake tlio court.

Unto the city noxt I wont,

In hope of batter hap ,
Whoro liberally I launcht and spout,

As sot on Fortune's lap.

The little stock I had in store,
Mothought would iio'or bo done ;

Fnonds flock' d about mo moro and more,
As quickly lost as won.

For, when I spont, then they wore land,

But when my purse did fail,
Tho foremost mtuo. oame Lint behind

Thus lore with wealth doth quail.

Once more for footing- yet I atrovo,
Although the world did frown •

But they, before that hold me up,
Together trod me down.

And, lest onoo more I should arise,
They sought my quite decay a

Then got I into thin disguise,
And thonoo I stole away.

And in my zxund (mothought) I said,,
Lord bless me from the eity .

Where simplenoHS IH thus betray* d
Without romorno or pity.

Yet would I not give over BO,

But oneo more try my fate j
And to the country then I go,

To live in quiet state.

There did appear no subtle shows,
But yea and nay wont smoothly

But, lord ' how country folks nan glozo,
When they apeak most untruly !

More craft was in a buttonod cap,

And in an old wife's rail,
Than in my life it was my hap

To see on down or dale.

There was no open forgery

But underhanded gloannifr,
Which they call country policy,

But hath a worser moaning.

Some good bold faee bears out the wrong,

BocauHO ho gains thereby ,
Tho poor man's back iu oraok'd ore long,

Yet there he lets him ho

And no degree, among them all,
But hod such close intending,

That I upon my knees did fall,
And pray'd for their amending.

Back to the WOOC!H I got again,

In rnind perplexed Horo ,
Where I found ease of all my pain,

And mean to stray no moro.

Thorn oily, court, nor country tot*,

(Jail iuiy way annoy mo ;
But an a woodmau ought to do,

I frooly may employ mo ;

Thorn live T qmutly oloiic.

And noun to trip tny talk :
Wherefore, whim L am dead and /.rone,

Think on tho woodman' n \\nlk f

Unn rt<u/i.— Ahmt NJOO.

506.— OAN2IONKT.

Tho golden win that bring* tho day,
And lottcta mon light to m»c» withal,
In vaiu doth oaHt hit* botunM away,
When they are blind on whom tlwy fiull ,
There in no foroo in all hin light
To give tho mole a porf oot Might.

But thou, my gun, moro bright than ho
That HliinoH tit noon In mimmor ticio,
HOH! glvrou mo light and power to Kent
With porf oot Hkill my wghl to tfuiito •
Till now I lived an blmd tw tnolit
That hidoH her head in uurbhly hole*.

I hoard tho pmiwo of Boauty*H ^wifiv
Yet doom'd it nought but pootV nlull ;
I gassod on many n, lovoly fn/»o.
Yet found I none to ]>wi<l my will ;
Which mado mo think that txtauty bright
Wan nothing olae but rtxt and whito*

But now thy beams havo cloar'd my i*ightt
I blush to think I wan HO blind,
Thy flaming oyos afford mo Htfht,
That beauty's blazo oiuth whoro I find ;
And yet thowo daintm thitt Hliinn no bn^lit,
Are but tho shaclowH of thy light*

507— THM OXKOliJD UIDDLK.

Tlioro dwollH a pooj)lo on tho (tarth,
That rwikrmH truo ullitf^uuioo tri'iuuin,
rriiat niakcH HIM! war a holy mirth,
Caliri xnadmmK x<uiltaud tionHfmf roum
That findrt no fNwulom but in Hliivi«r> ,
That makoH IWH truth, nOi^ioti ktiavttfy,
'I'hat rob and clwwtt with y«ia and way :
Ittddlo juio, riddlo ino, who aro

rfhoy hato tho iioHh, yot UIKH thoii* <lamoH,
That make kingH gruat by ourlmuf orowuH,
That quench tho firo l»y kiiniliuK <!am«H(
That Hottlo poaoo by plund'rinff town*,
That govern with impliuit vnfeoH,
That 'HtAliIifth truth by cutti»«r ihnwbm
1'htit kiHH thoir nuiMtor and faim,v :
Itiddlo mo, riddle mo, "who arc th».v .b

Fruni 1558 to 1049 ]

BOJ3IN GOODFELLOW.

[ANONYMOtTS.

Thai mako Heaven speak by their oom-

miHHion,

Tliat stoi> God'H penoo, and boast his power,
Tliat touch bold bbisphomy and hochtion,
And pray high troawon by tho hour,
That damn all Haiuta but suoh OH they are,
!That wwh all oommon oxcopt prayer,
Tliat idolixo J'ym, Brooks, and Say:
Biddlo mo, nddlo mo, who are thoy P

That to enrich tlio commonwealth,
TrauHport largo gold to foreign parts ;
That houHo't in Amsterdam by stealth,
Yot lord it hero witlun our gates ; •

That are staid xnon, yot only stay
For a light niqlit to run away ;

That borrow to loud, and rob to pay .

Riddle uio, nddlo mo, who arc thoy ?

UncGrtoMi.— -About 1643.

508.— AMBITIO FEMTNTNI (3ENEEJS.

MtetroHB MatroHHa hopes to bo a lady,
Not an a dignity of Into expected j
lint from the tnno alniowt she was a baby,
TJiat hath your nohcwt gunUomon rojoctod;
But yot not dnhb'd at prowont a« aho Hliould bo,
Livori in oxpoot^co Htill— my Lady "Would-bo.

t/7U!i!rictt/i.— About 1013

509,— NEC STTTOB ULTBA-

A oobblov and a mirato onoo disputed,
Uoforo a jtulgo, about tho kuif?*rt injunctions,
Whoroin tho otirato hoing Htill oonfutod,
One Htvi<l 'tw'oro good if thoy two changed

ftinctlonfl :

Nay, quoth tho jud^o, T thoroto would bo loth,
But, an you like, we'll mako thorn oobblora

both.

UnGortown,.~~ About 1G13.

510.— ROBIN OOODFBLLOW.

Prom Oborou, in fairy land,

Tho km# of pfhontft and Hhodows there,
Mad Eobin I, at hifl command,
Am wont to vi«w tho night-sports horo.

What rovol rout

IH kept about,
In ovory oomor whoro I go,

I will o'orHOO,

And morry bo,
And mako good sport, with ho, ho, ho '

Mora Bwift than lightning- otin I fly

About thin airy wolkin noon,
And, in a minuto'H fq>aco, dottory
.blaoh thiu^r that'n done below tho moon.
Thoro't* not a big
Or ghoHt Hhall wag1,
Or cry, 'ware goblniH I whore I go ;
But Kobui I
Thojr f oantH will spy,
And send thorn hornu with ho, ho, ho '

Whono'or auoh wandorors I moot,
AH from tlioir ni^ht-Hpozis they trudge

homo,

With coontorfoitinff voioo I groot,
And call thoui on with mo to roam :
Through woodH, tlirongh liikos ;
Through bo«H, tlirough brakes ;
Or O!HO, uiiHoon, with them 1 go.
All in tho nick,
To play Homo trick,
And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho !

Sometimes I moot thorn like a man,

SomotimGB an ox, Hoinotimos a hound;
And to a horflo I tuin mo can,
To tnp and trot about thorn round.

But if to ndo

My buck thoy stride,
Moro swift than wind away I go,

O'or hod^o and liuidn,

Through ])OO!H aud ponds,
I hurry, toughing, ho, ho, ho '

Whoii lad» and IUHHOH morry bo,

With poHHotH and with jiutkots fino;
Unsoon of all tho company,
1 oat thoir oalcoH and Hip thoir wino !

And, to make sport,

I puff and Huort .
And out tlio oandloH I do blow :

Ilio mitidH £ kiHH,

Thoy shriek— Who's this P
I anBwer nought but ho, ho, ho !

Yot now and thon, tlio maids to plooso,

At midniKlxt X card uj> thoir wool j
And, while thoy Hloop and take thoir oaRo,
With whool to threads their flax I pull

I grind at null

Their malt up still j
I dross thoir hemp , I spin their tow ;

If any wake,

And would mo tako,
I wend mo, laughing, ho, ho, ho r

When any need to borrow aught,

We lond them what thoy do require .
And, for tho UHO demand wo nought j
Our own is all we do dowiro.
If toropay
Thoy do delay,

Abroad amougflt thorn then I go,
And night by night,
I thorn affright,
• With pinohxugs, droumH, and ho. ho, ho I

THE OLD AETD YOUNG COUJATJEJi

[THIRD

Whon la/,y queans have nought to do,

But study tow to oof> and lie ,
To moke debate and mischief too,
'Twixt one another secretly
I mark their gloze,
And it disclose

To them whom they have wronged so •
When I have done
I get mo gone,
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho '

Whon mon do traps and engines Bet

In loop-holes, where the vermin oroop,
Who from their folds and ILOUHOS get
Theur duoka and goose, and lambs and snoop ;

I spy the gin,

And enter in,
And seem a voimin taken so ,

But when they there

Approach me near,
I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho !

By wells and rills, in meadows groon,

"Wo nightly dance our heyday guiwo ;
And to our fairy king and queen,
Wo chant our moonlight minatrelsiOB

Whon larks 'gin tang,

Away wo fling,
And babeti new bora steal as wo go ;

And elf in bod

We leave in stead,
And wend us laughing ho, ho, ho '

From hag-bred Merlin's time, have I
Thus nightly revelled to and fro ,
And for my pranks mon call mo by
The name of Robin Good-follow.

Fiends, ghosts, and sprites,

Who haunt the nights,
The hags and goblins do me know ;

And beldames old

My feats have told,
So vale, valo , ho, ho, ho '

Anonymous — Before 1640.

511.— -THE OLD AND YOUNG COITRTIEE.

An old song mado by on aged old pato,

Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a

groat estate,

That kept abiave old house at a bountiful rato,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at hiH#uto ,

Like an old courtier of tho quoon'w,

And tho quoon's old coortior.

With on old lady, whoae angor ono word

They every quarter paid thoir old Hervants

their wages,
And never knew what belong1 d to coachmon,

footmen, nor pages,
But kept twenty old follows with blue coatK

and badges ,
Like an old courtier, &o.

With an old stndy fillM lull of li'uruod old

books,
With an old roviwul chaplain, you uiiqlil

know him by liw loolvH,
With an old buttory hatch worn qrnic oft tho

hooks,
And an old lulcthcn, thai, maintain <1 half a

dozen old (sooks ;
Like on old courtier, «Kc

With an old hall, hunt? about with pliers, tftm*,

and bows,
With old HworclH and Imoklum, that luul bonu*

xhany nhrowd I down,
And an old fno/.o coat, to covor IIIK wnr.iliip'cf

trunk IIOHO,
And a cup of old sherry, to comfort bin copier

none ;
Like an old courtier, &c.

With a good old fashion, whon ChriHtmoM wax

come,
To call in all his old neighbour** with b»Kt>ipo

and drum,
With good oheor enough to furniuli ovory old

room,
And old liquor ablo to make a cat flpoak, uud

man dumb ,
Liko an old couri.uir, Ac.

With an old fuJconor, huntHinan, and

of hounds,
That never hawk'd, nor hunt(frl, but in hit* own

groundw ,
Who, liko a wiHo man, kopt him«olf within UIH

own bounds,
And when ho diod, #avo ovory <»liil<l a tlioiwand

good ponndhi ,
Liko on old conrtior, &vt.

But to Ins oldest son hi« IIOUHO and laiuln In*

OSBlppl'd,

Charppn^ him m his will to knop tho old Imun-

tifal muui,
To ho ffood to lu,4 old ionantn, and io hi-*

neighbour!* bo kjiul ;

But in tho nuHuiuur <lit-iy you shall htnu? hov\
ho was mcJmotU
luko a youn^ w>urti<ir of +.lw» I
And tho Ian/,'1!! yoaiiff nourtior.

Liko a flouriHhiiitf youn;r ppftllant, nowly «»CM*J»«

to hiH luud,
\Vlio koopH a braco of paintnl nuulainu ut hi t

comintuid,
And taken aj) a ihnuHiind pound! upon hi.i

father's land,
And gotH drtxuk in a tavorn till ho oozi uoithcT

go nor Hkiiil;
Liko a young conrtiur, &o.

With a nnwfan^lod lady, tliut i« dainty, uicrs

and Hpura,
Who never know what; Mon#M togoodJiom^

kooping or caro,

TIME'S ALTBBATION.

"Who buys gaudy colour' <1 fans to play with

wanton mr,
And KOVOU 01 • ;ht different droHBingH of other

women's hoar
Liko a young couitior, &c.

With a now-foHMon'd hall, built wlioio tho

old ono stood,
Hung round with now pictures that do tho

poor no good,
With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns

neither coal nor wood,
And a now smooth shovel board, whereon no

victuals ne'er stood .
Like a young courtier, &o.

With a now study, stuff d full of pamphlotu

and plays,
And a now chaplain, that HWOOTR faster than

ho prayM,
With a now buttery hatch, that opens once In

four or live dayn,
And a new French cook, to devise fine kiok-

whawH and toyn .
Like a young oourtior, &o

With a now f osluon, when Chmtmas IB draw-
ing on,

On a now journey to London Btraight wo all
inuHt bo»gono,

And l<uivo noiio to kucp howo, but our new
porter John,

Who rolwvoH tho poor with a thuuip on Uio
bank with a Htono ,

Like a young courtier, Ac

With a now gontlwmni iiHlun*, whom carriages

IH complete,
With a now coachman, footmen, and pogos to

carry up tho mtitl,
With a waiting gentlewoman, whono droning

IH vury noat,
Who, when her lady haw dinwl, lota tho Hor-

vantH not cat ;
lake a young courtier, &c

With now titJoM of honour, bought with IUH

fathor'K old gold,
For which Hundry of hin awjoHlorH' old munorH

arc Hold ;
And thin IH tho COUTHO mont of our now giilliuitH

hold,
Which makoH that good houHokooping IH now

grown HO cold

Among tho young courtiorH of the king,
01 tho king'** young <!ourtiorH.

512— TIME'S ALTERATION.

Whon thiB old cap wan now,

TIH mnce two hundred year;
No mabce then wo know

Hut all tlnngB plenty woro :
AU fricndHhap now decayn

(Boliovo mo tluH iw true) T
Which wan not in thoHo dayrt,

When this old cap wan new.

Tho nobles of our land,

Woro much doH^htud then,
To hftvo at their command

A crow of lu«ty men,
Winch by their coattt woro known,

Of tawiiy, rod, or blue,
With croHtu on their aloovoR whown,

When thia old cap was now.

Now pride hath bamnh'd all,

TTnto our land'H reproach,
When ho whoao moaiiH is small,

Maintain** both horso and coach :
LoLHtetul of a hundred men,

Tho coach allows but two ,
ThiH waa not thought on then,

When tiny old cap WOB LCW.

Good hospitality

WaH ohoriHh'd then of many :
Now poor moil wtarvo and die,

And are ( not holp'd by any :
For choi-ity waacoth cold,

And lovo la found in few ;
ThiH was not in timo of old,

Whou thin old cap was now.

Whoro'or you travelled then,

You might moot on tho way
Bravo kuightu and gentlemen,

Clad in thoir conntry groy ;
That oourtoouH wcnild appear,

AIM! kindly wolcxmu) you ;
No puntaiJM llicni were,

Wliun HUH old ettp waH now.

Our LwliCH ni Ihowo dayw

In civil habit wont ;
Ihoad cloth waH tlion worth proiso,

And gtivo tbo bowt content
I'reiujh fanluoiiH thon woro ncorn'd ;

I^oud fanglort then nono know .
Then xuodoHty women adorn' d,

When tliiw old cap was now.

A man might then behold,

At OhriHtmaH in oiu»h hall,
Good firoH to curb tbo cold,

Aud. moat for groat and Hmall •
Tho woighbourH w(»n» friendly bidden^

And all had wolcowio tnio ,
Tho poor from tho gatcH wuro not chiddon.

When tlutf old cap wa» now,

Black jackfl to ovory man

Were fill'd with %vano aud boor ;
No pewter pot nor can

In. thotto dayn did appear :
Good ohoor m a noblomu/if H hounc

WaH (sountod a nconily whow ,
Wo wanted no bravni nor HOUHC,

Whon this old cap wow now.

Wo took not Huch dohght

In cupH of Hilvor fine ;
Nono undortho degree of a knight

In plate drauk bocr or wuio 18

ANONYMOUU.J

LOYALTY CONFINED

[Tin ui>

Now each moohonioal man

Hath a cupboard of plafce for a show ,
"Which was a roro thing thon,

When tlna old cap wa« now

Thon biibory was nnborn

No Himony mon did two ;
Ghiltrfcuintf did UHury BOOTO,

DoviH'd among tho .Tows.
The lawyow to bo foo'd

At that timo hardly know ;
For man with man agreed,

When ihiH old cap was now.

No captain then caroused,

Nor Bpont poor Holdior'a pay ,
They woro not HO abuwod

As thoy aro at thw day :
Of sovon dayH thoy mtiko oight,

To koop from thorn thoir <lao ;
Poor soldier's hod thoir right,

Whon this old Gap was

Which mado thorn forward «tdl

To go, although not protft ,
And going with .'food will,

Thoir fortunoH woio tho bcHt.
Our "English thou in light.

Did foreign TOOK Hubduo,
And forood thorn all to flight,

Whon HUB old cap wan now.

God flavo our gracious king,

And Bond him long to livo
Lord, nuHchiof on thorn bring

That will not thoir dm* givo,
But seek to rob the poor

Of that which IH thoir duo
This wat* not in tinio of yoro,

Whon thw old cap was now.

Anonymous. — Jfr/o/v 1 640.

513.— LOYALTY COiNTITOD.

Boat on, proud billowx Boroaw, blow ,

Swell, <!iirr<l wavoH, lii#h iie> JOVO'H roof,
Your incivility doth nhow

That muoocmeo IH ttmijioHt-proof ,
Though Hurly Norotw frown, my thought** aro

calm;

Thon Htnko, affliction, for thy woundM aro
balm.

That which tho world miHoallH a jail,

A private oloHot IH to mo
Whilst a good ocmtfoianoo IH my bail,

And innoocnoo my liberty
Looks, bars, and sohtudo, togothnr mcsfc,
Make mo no prisoner, but on anchorot.

I, whilst I wiHh'd to bo rotirod,

Into thi« prwtto room wan lurnod ;
As if thoir wiHcloms hod oonHi>irod

Tho saUuruujdor whould bo bnrnod ;
Or hko tho«e sophitfts, that would drown a fiwh,
I am constrained to suffer what I wiak

Tlio cynic IOVOM IUH i)ov<'ri,y,

Tho i>cjij<*«.n \mf wildciuc . »,
And iiH tho hidnii^H prulo to hti

Naked on fro/ou < !iUi<*m-iiiH •
Ooritoutmcnt (tuniioi HMiiirt, «<,<>!{•« wo d
Make tormonlH oany to their apatih>.

TlioHO maniwloH upon my «nu

1, as my mhtriMH1 favourH, w«»'ir;
And for to koop my u.nkl<w worm,

T havo i onio jrou Mhw*kEi'H tli««n» •
TlioHO walls aro but my wirrmtm ; t!»»i
Which mou cuAL jail, <l«*t.U provo my oit.

I'm m tho oabinnt lookM up

Like Homo lugb-priwMl
Or like tho groat Mogul or

Am oloiH^trM np from imblic
3lotiredxioHH IH a piooo of majesty,
And tlniH, prund Hiilttiu, I'm iu

«u; ilitn*.

Hin for want of food muni
Wlioro ti^mptiug objoHiH aro iini ,
And tlioHtj h.irong walln do only

To koop VH*O out, mid Ut»c»p iu«» in :
Mulico of lato'w urowti <iharii)al»ln mm»,
Tm not couumtlod, but am 1%opL

»So ho that (ttruok af. Jjt::on'^ lifo,

Thinking t' havo tiuulo IIIH
By a iiuilioLoim fncmdly kuifo
JOid only wottTKl httu i<» a f
Malice, T H(»O, waut'H wit ; For what i><

, ofLtimoH proven favour l»y ill* <*vt«ni,

Whon OIKK» in,> pritiro afllicUoii hath,

ProHj>oniy doth tn»a»u>n H<«cin ;
And to malvo Hinooih so rou^li a ]>aLh,

I win loom pati<itu'(k from Ititn •
Now not to Htiiior hhown no lo.val lit-url -•
When kiugH want ooius Htibjm'U taui.i luvir a

What though I cinniot i«'(^ my

Ncathcr in )tr»rHoii, or in coin ;
Yet ccmtumplution i.* a Uiin/f

fHiat rorulitrK \vhut I have not, mm«'
My latig from 1110 what adamant am |wrt,
Whom f dr> woar ou>;nbvc«u <»ti my ht«nrt,

Havo you not ,U'»M» tlio nt<7hlt»;«yito
A j)ri«'oiH»r like, coopM in a <»u«t«%
How doth H!IO cluuii. lnv w«»nti^l tali*,

In that boi narrow Jh-nnitfi^f* !
Mwi tltoti h<«r c2iannfn<7 nmloil^ «l«>th provo
That all her hium aro tr«M',», hnr **a«*» a irr*>vo*

T am that t>ml whom thoy oottiblno

Thiw to doprivo <»f Hborty ;
But though thoy do my oonw> wmfltus

Y<jt, matigro halo, my utml IN fvwi :
Aud, though immurM, yot ottu T ohirp tuui wng
DiHgraoo to roboln, glory to my king.

Ifrm 1558 to 1G49.]

ADAM BELL.

[ANONYMOUH.

My HOU! is froo act ambient air,

Although my baser part'H unmow'd ,
Whilwt loyal thoughtH do Hiill repair

T accompany my aohtudo ;
Although rebellion do my borly bind,
My long alone con captivate iny mind.

J.7LOWJ/WOIW,—

514— -ADAM BELL.

EYTTE THE FIRST

Merry it was in Iho groon foi(»at

Among tho lovt's groan,
Whoro that men hunt oawt and wust

With bows and orrowK koon ,

To raino tho door ont of thoir d«in ;

Such Hifchtw liath oft bwu HOOU ,
AH by tliroo yuontoii of tho north conntno,

By them it IH I moan.

Tbo ono of thorn hight Adam Boll,
Tho other, Olym of tho (Jlotigh,

TUo third waH William of Gloudusly,
An orchor good enough,

Tlioy w<»ro outlawed for vonwon,

ThoHo yoomon ovcryohouo ;
Tlioy Hworo thorn brethren upon a day,

To Wiiglwh-wood for in gwio,

Now liiih and lii ,(.011, jr

That of iiurUu'H lovoth to hoar,
Two <>i thorn wort' Hinglo mon,

Tho tilled had u. woddod fcro.

William wan tho woddcwl mail,
"Much more thon WOH IUH <w,ro ;

1I« wvul to hit* brothron upon a day,
To OorliHlo ho would faro,

Tor to Hi>oak with fair Alien liin wifo,

And with hiH ohildrtm tliro(^
" Ky my troth," wai<l Adani I.V11,

" Mot by tho oomiHol of wi<» •

"For if you #o to OnvliHlo, brother,
And from thiH wild wocxl wend,

If that tho jtiHtico may you tako;
Your life woro at on ond."

u If thtit I oomo not to-morrow, brother,

Hy t>rimo to you ag-aui,
TruHt yon thou that 1 am takon,

Or O!HO that I am nlam "

He 1/K>lc IUH loavo of hin brotliron two,

And to CarliHlo ho in gone
Thoro ho kuockod at hjin own window

Shortly and anon

u Whoro bo you, fair Ah'oo," ho «aid,
" My wifo and olul<Uon tliroo P

Lightly lot an thino own Inwband,
William of Oloudoaly "

" Alow 1 »' thon Httydfc fair Alico,

And Kighod wondroiiH Horn ,
" Thw j)l;u5o huN boon bonot foi you

This htdf a yoar and more "

" Now T am horo," said Cloudosly,

" I would that in I woro ;
Now f otch us moat and drink enough,

And lot UH mako UK good ohoor "

Sho f otohod him moat and drink plenty,

Liko a two wocldcid wifo ;
And plotist'd him with that who had,

Whom Hho lovod OH her life

Thoro lay an old wifo in that placo,

A httlo boHjdo tho ilro,
Which William liad fotuid of ohant^

Moro than aovon your.

Up Hho rose, and walked full Htill,
Evil mote aho npood thoroioro ;

For Hho had Rot no foot on ground
In floven year boforo.

Sho wont unto tho justice* hall,

AB fant an Hho could Ino *
" rVbi» night," Hho wud, "as como to town,

William oi Cloudoidy."

Thoroof tho juwtioo was full fain,

And HO waH tho HhoriiT also ;
" Thou nhalt not Iravatlo lulhor, damo, for
nought,

Thy mood tliou nhalt have tto thou jf<> "

Tlioy #avo to h«r a right good nown,
Of Hoavlot it waH at* 1 hoar<l Hapxo ;

Sho took tlui ^ift, and homo nliu wont,
And oouohod hor down ajftuu.

Thoy rained tiio town of m^rry CarliHlo

Jn all tho haHto that thoy can,
And caino thronging to William's house,

AH font UH thoy might gono.

Thoro thoy boHot that good yoomttn

Round about on ovory Hide ;
William hoanl grcuit IIOIHO of folkK,

lliat thithorwaffd tost hiod.

Alioo opcmod a back wmd?>w,

And Iook6d all about,
Sho waH waro of tho justice and Hhoriff both,

With a full groat rout.

" AlaH I troiiwm," oriod [fair] AHoo,

" Evor woo may thou bo '
Qo into my ohambor, my hunbond," «ho said,

" Hwoot WilUain of OloudaHly."

Ho took IUH Hword laid "his biujkl?»r,
HIH bow and hw ohilurou tliroo,

And wont into hiH RtrongOHt chamber,
Wlioro ho thought nuroHt to bo.

Fair Alico followed him OH a lovor truo,

With a poloaxo in hor hand ;
u Ho Hhall bo (load that lioro oouioth in

This door, wlulo 1 may nUtid."

18*

ANONYMOUS ]

ADAM BELL.

Cloudosly bont a right good, bow,

That was of a truHty tree,
Ho smote the justice on tlio breast,

That hw arrow buwt m llireo

"A onrso on his hoarb," «aid William,

" This day thy coat did on '
If it had boon no bettor than mine,

It had gono near thy bono,"

"Yield thoe, Cloudoaly," said tho justice,
" And thy bow and thy oarowa ihoo fxo "

"A ourso on his heart," «aid tho fair Alice,
" That my husband oounsolloth so "

" Sot firo on tho houno," flaid tho sheriff ,

" Sith it will no boitor bo,
And bronne wo therein, WJham," ho said,

" HJ% wifo and his children three/'

They fired tho houao in many a place,

•Hio firo flow up on high •
" Alnja f " then ori&d fair Alioo,

" I soe we hero shall die "

William opened a back wind&w,
That was in MR chamber high,

And there with shoots ho did lot down
His wife and hfe children throo

"Have here my troaFmro," aaydo William,

" My wife and children throe ,
For Ohriste's IOYO do thorn no harm,

But wroak you all on mo "

William shot so wondrous woll,

Till his arrows wore all ygo ,
And tho fire so faut upon h'm foil,

That his bowstring brent in two.

The sparkles brent, and foil him upon,

Good William of OloudoHly •
Then was ho a woeful man, and said,

" This is a ooward'n death to ino

"Lover had I," Haydo William,
"With my ftword iu tho lout to ronno,

Than hero among mine enomioa' -wood
Thus cruelly to bron "

He took his fjword ami IH'H btuiklfa,

And among them till ho THAI,
Whoro tho people worn mowt in prone,

He smote down many a mail.

There might no man

So fiercely on them ho ran ;
Then thoy throw windows and doors on him,

And so took that good yeoman.

There they bound him both hand and foot,
And in a deep dungeon him cant ;

"Now CloudoHly " said tho 3twUco,
" Thou sliolt bo hungod in haHto,"

" A pair of now gallows," raid tho Hhorlff,

" Now flbaU I for thoo moke ;
And tho g&tott of OarliHlo shall bo shut.

No man shall eomo in thereat.

" Tlion Hhall not Iwlp C'l.s m of thi

Nor yet shall A flam Hrll,
Though they <uimo with a ihouHtind mo,

Nor all tho ih«viln iu lifll."

Early in tlio mormiii? tho jusilc'i* «i»i<» o,

To tlio Kiiittw first ^uii \M >'«n«,
And oommiwMloa io IKI i-hul
ovwyohono.

Tlion wont ho i.o tli« innrk'il-iiliit»ol

As fast IIM lio <»oul<l hut ;
A pair of now tfullm\rt thoro ilul lu* iM»t up

A littlo boy anumff thorn askod,
*' Whtit ucamsl that gHllowiM

Thoy «aid, "To liunv «• ftwxi yocnniin,
William

That littlo boy ww ihn iown

And Troi>t fair Aliw* H «win« ;
Oft ho hod men Clloudwly in iho woutl,

And given him tliorcv to diiio.

He wont out at a mwit'o iu llw wall,
And lightly to th« wood <1M gone* t

Tlioro mot lie with those wightio yorimf«a
Shortly and anon.

" AlaH I " then Haul f lw» littlo boy,

" Yo tarry IMMPH too lonvr ;
Cloudcflly IH itiVon, atul (ititnpmHi to clwvtli*

And roiwly for to

" Alan ' " then Hat<l good Adam Hell,
" Tluit ov«r \vc» HSIW i IIIH day I

Ho had bettor linvti Itirr'unl hom with ut;f
So oft iiH \vo <li<i him pray.

"He might luwodwrid in i?r»'i««

Under tho HluulowK grctMi,
And liavn k(^pt both linn and IH in rest,

Out of ulUroiihlo ami Ici-n ! "

Adam bunt a rif*h(> jroo<l })<»w1
A groat ImHi M»oti ho hud i lain :

"Tako that, oliild," lioiuihl, "*nUiy«liimrr,
And bring m<» ituno arrow u^aiu,"

"Now go \v<» I«MU'<»,M waul Urn ;u \\i/lit«*

" Tarry \vt» no longer lu«r<» ;
Wo Hktll him borrow by <Joil hi* tfr,u'«»,
Though wo buy it full <N'»r."

To Cliwlinln wont tlioiv ImM y

All in a morning of M.i.y
Hero IH a lyU<i of <Jlouil<«»ily,

And tinoilicr in for to 'ay.

WTTOK TUB

And whou th<»y wmw io nu»rry <'iirli«l(\

In a fair ittoming ti<Us
Tlioy found tlio tfatiw nhui thorn uuUl

Kouncl about on ovory Mv.

frum 1558 to JCiOJ

ADAM BELL.

''Alas i " then mad good Adam Boll,
" That over wo woro niado mon '

Thoao gtttos bo nhut HO wondroua well,
Wo may not come thorom."

Then bospako him Gym of tho Olorigh,
" With a wilo wo will us in bring ,

Lot UB nayo wo bo inoHHongora
Straight como now from

Adam said, " 1 have a lottor wntton,

Now lot UH wisely work,
Wo will way wo havo tho kingos soal !

1 hold tho portoi no olork "

Thon Adam Boll boat on tho gates
With t*tiok(»h groat and strong ,

Tho portor mm veiled who wan thoroat,
And to tho gatca ho ttiroug

" Wlio IB thoro now," mud tho porttr,
" That xnakoth all thiH knocking H "

"Wo bo two nicHHongors," quoth Clym of

tho dough,
" Bo come light from our king."

"Wo have a lottor," miid Adam Boll,
" To tho jtiHtieo wo unwti it bring ,

Let UH 111 our moHHUtfo to do,
That wo wore ajjam to tho king "

« There oomoth nono m," Hind tho porter,

'* By him that di<»l ou a tree,
Till a falHo thiof bo luuiKwl,

Oullod William of UlouUtwly "

Thou rtpako tho <yood ycomtm Olym of tho
( 'lough,

And wworo by Mary froo,
" And if that wo Httuul lonf? without,

Like a thiof haiiRod thuu Hlialt bo.

" Lo J horo wo luivo tho kiinrrH noal •
What, limUm, art tbon wodo P "

Tlio portor wont it had booi HO,
Aud lightly did oiThiH hcxxl.

" Woloomo IH my lord1 si noal," ho said?

" J<1or tliat y<s whall cniuo in "
iro opoiiod tlio gutn -iuli Hluntly .

Ail ovil oponing1 for him.

** Now tiro wo iai," wud Adam Boll,

" Whereof wo ar<» full fiiin ?
But CliriHfc ho known, that haarowod hoU,

JIow wo Hhall oomo out a«uui."

"Had wo tho k«yH," wild (Jlym of tho dough,
"Iti^ht woll then Hhould wo npood;

Thou mi^Iit wo coino out well oiiou^K
When wo BOO timo and nood.1'

Thoy called tho portor to council,

And wranff his nock in two,
And cant him ui a doop dtm^oon,

And took IUH koyn him fro.

" Now am I portor," aaid Adam Boll,
• *' Hco, brothor, tho koyh are horo ,
Tho worHt porti^f to inorry Oarhnlo
That it had thin hundred year.

" And now will wo onr bowtta bond,

Into tho tower will wo go,
Por to doliror our dear brothdr

That lioth in oaro and woo."

And thereupon they bont their bows,
And looked thoia* Btnngs woro round,

Tlio markot-plaoo in morry Oarlislo
Thoy bosot that stomid.

And of? thoy looked thorn beside,
A paii of now ffallowa thoro they Soo,

And tho juhiaco witli a qnobt of B(j.un7os,
That had judged William hanged to bo.

And CloudoHly lay roady thoro m a cart,
Fawt bound both foot and hand ,

And a Htrongr ropo about hw nock,
All roady ior to hang.

Tho justice called to him a lad,
Cloudcsly's clothoH ho should have,

To take tho znoafturo of that yoom&n,
Thoroaftor to mako his grave.

"I have noon as groat a marvol," said
CloudoHly,

"An botrwcon this and primo,
Ho that makoth a grave for mo,

Himuolf may ho thorom "

" Thon BpoakoHt proudly,*' said tho juutlco,
" t will Lhoo hiwiff with my hand , "

Full well h<uid thiH hiH brothron two,
Tlioro Htill aH tli-oy did

Tlion GoudoKly (jaHt IUH oyori awdo,
Aud naw IIIH two bruUireu Httuid

At a comer of tlio mtukot-plaoo,
With thuix {^oo<l bowu bout 121 thoir hand.

" I HOC oomMrt," wud CloudoHly,

" Yet hopti I woll to fojfo,
If I mJ^ht liavo my handn at will

liijfht littlo would I cwo."

Tlion Hpako pood Adam Boll
rro Olyni of tho Oloug-h HO froo,

" Brother, BOO you mark tho justaoo woll ,
Lo, yondor yon may him BOO ,

"And at tho HhoruT ahoot I will,

Stronjrly with arrow koc»n , "
A bottor Hhot jn mcny Oarlwlo

ThiH Hovon year watt not woon.

TLoy looHod their arrowH both at onoo,

Of no man had they dread ;
The one hit tho juHtioe, tho other tho HhcrifF,

That both their sideu gau blood.

AH mon voided, that thorn prtood nigh,
Wliou tho justice foil to tho ground,

And t?io Hhonff fell nigh him by,
Uibher had hiB death wound.

AH tho oitizonfl f ast gan fly,

Tlxoy dnrnt no longer abido •
Thon harhtly they looHi'd CloudoHly,

Whero ho with ropott lay liod.

ANONYMOUS.]

ADAM BELL

[THIWD

William, start to on officer of tho town,
His axe from hin hon<l ho wrongo ,

On echo side ho Hmoto thorn down,
Ho thought ho tamed too long.

William said to his brethren two,

" This clay lot UH livo and die,
If over yon have nood, as I havo now,

Tho aamo shall you find by mo."

Thoy shot so well in that tide,

Their ntnngH woro of silk lull Hurq,

That they kept tho wtrooton on ovoay side ;
That battle did long endure

Thoy fought together as brethren true,

Liko hardy mon and bold,
Many a man to tho ground they thiow,

And many a heart muxlo cold

But when thoir anrowR woro all gone,

Mon piessod to thorn full fawt,
Thoy drew thoir wwordes thesii anon,

And thoir bowea from them cost

Thoy went liffhtly on thoir way,
With swordos and buoldor.4 round ,

By that it was mid of tho day,
They mado many a wound.

There was on out-horn in Carlinlo blown,
And tho bolls backward did tmy ,

Many a woman said, " Alan ' "
And many their hands did wring.

Tho mayor of Carlisle forth corao was,

With hun a full groat rout ,
These yeomen droadocl him full sore,

For of thoir lives thoy stood in groat doubt,

Tho mayor oamo armod a full groat pace,

With a poloaxo in his hand ,
Many a strong man with lum was,

There in that stowro to stand

Tho mayor smoto at CloudoHly with hw bill,

His buckler ho brant m two,
Pull many a yeoman witli gioat ovil,

" Alas ' Trooson ' " thoy oricd for woo ;
"Keep woll tho gates font," they li.ul,

" That thoHo traitorH ihoro out not go "

But all for nought was that thoy vn ought,
For so fast thoy down were lii.nl,

Till thoy all tliroo that so manful ftmrfit,
Woro gotten without abruaclo.

" Have hero your keys," said Adam Boll,

" Mine office I hero forsako,
And if yon do by my oomiHcM,

A now porter do yo mate."

He throw their koyoa at thoir heads,

And bado thom well to thrive,
And all that lottoth any good yeoman

To oomo and comfort hw wifo.

Thus be these good yeomen gone to tho wood,

As lightly as leaf on lyiulo ,
Thoy laugh and bo merry in thoir mood,
enemies bo far behind.

When thoy came to tho Knj»lMi-'vu».Kl

Under tho tiuwty treo,
Thoro thoy found I>OW?»H full fowl,

And IUETDWH f nil great pl«»ni.j .

" So God mo liclj)," wii<l Adiutt Holl,
And CJlyiu of tho CJlougli HO f«»«»,

('I would wo win» in uwrry (Jfirlishs
Before that fair nK^yno."

Thoy Hot thorn down, and nm<l" jtH^I c!h>»»r

And oaiimd drank full well
A Hocond fytto of thoHo wi^hiio VIM^-H-II

Another 1 will jou well

STTTH TUB THlltl).

AB thoy wit in Kii«rlwh-wootl,

TTntl<>r tli« groou-\vcxxl tree,
Tlioy thought tlioy hoard a woman w< i»ji.

but her thoy mought not HIM*.

fcjore thon Hiffhe<l tbo fair Alicw
" Tliat ovor I wiw thin day !
For now is iny doar hunhaiui
im<l woll-a-duy !

Or with uiiihcn* of tlimn tvcain,

To lot thom know what him bcfoll,

My heart woro put out of jwin ! '

Cloudenly wailful a littlo l)(wiil»s
And looked uudoribo g«*t>n-woml l.Mifl<«,

Ho was wuro of his wifo an<l uhlMrwi ihni*,
Full wou in heart aiui iixhul,

" Wolocimo >\ifo,n UIMI Haiti William,

" Under thiM trunty tro<i :
I bad wend** y« vicnlay, by HWM«(, Htiini John,

Thou Hhouldortt mo nevor hibvo IMM*."

"Now woll irt mo that ,\o !/(» hen*,

My lieart in out of woo."
"J)amo,<" Iu» Haul, *fclw tnerft\ a»»l »l:wl

And tliaiik iuy biothr(»u two.1*

iotijKiak," naid Acliini
" I-WIH it IH no l)oot ,
'Phe moat tluiL you mut.t nip
It rmmoth y«»t fant on foot,"

«mt imy down iii{^) a 1,nnl«
noblo arelu^H all Mm «»*,
them hlow a IiaH of /yrec C
Tlio bent thti.t thoj mmld MM»

" IFavn hero tho bout, Aiirti1, my
Haul WilJif-ui <»f < 'loiifichl,v.

" I5y cauiui yo r,o boldly
Wl«»n I wtiM Mlain full

With tmoh iihiii* IL« they hint ;
An<l tlianlc<\l < jod of their fortune ;
Thoy wero both merry autl $*\A.

And when tlioy luul mippM woll,

Ocrttiin witlumton lc»a»'fn
Cloudonly «ai<l, * Wo will to our kin-?,

To (?ot UH a c luirtor of prnwi**

m ISflS /« 10 K) J ADAM BELL.

"Alieo Khali bo at our aojoununpr,

In a nunnery hero boHido ,
My two RonnoH Bholl with hor go,

And thoro they nhall abide.

" Mmo oldest HOII shall iro with ino,

"For him havo I no oaro ,
And ho nlin.ll bring1 yon. word again

How that wo do faro."

ThuB bo thoHO yoomon to Iiondon gono,

AH fast OH thoy might hio,
Till thoy camo to tho kiu#1H palooo,

Wlioro thoy would nooctf'H bo

And whon thoy caino to tho kmrr<vs court,

Unto tho palooo tfato,
Of no man would thoy o».k no loavo,

But boldly wont in thoroat.

Thov piorod profltly into tho hall,

Oi no man had thoy droad ,
Tho porioi oaino aClor, and did thorn call,

And with tluuii bogan to ohido.

Tho UHlwr Haul, " Yoomon, what would yo
havo P

T pray yon toll to mo ;
You miffht tluw mako otticorit Hlumt :

Good HIM, of whcmco bo yo F "

"Sir, wo bo ontlawH of tho

Cortam withouton I
And luthur wo l»o OOHM« in our l

To tfot UH a ahartur of pout'o."

And vvlioii ilu^y (*aitut )x»foii(i tlw» kujft,

AM ill WJI.H thn lit\v of tlui land,
Thoy IviwouM down without lotting

And oiu)h hold ti]i IUH lunul

Thoy fluid, *c Lord, w<» boHo<wh thoo horo,

That yo will tfttiut UH ffnuio ,
For wo havo ulaiu y<utr fat fallow door,

Tn nwuiy a mmdry i>lm«»,"

" What bo your natmut ? " thon Haul our Iciutf,

"Anon that >ou toll in<» • "
Thoy Haul, "Adam Holl, ('lymof tho Ctloutfi,

And William of

** Jlo yo tlioKQ thiovoH," thon Haiti our king;

"That man havo told of to iu« V
lloro to (iod I inalco an avow,

Yo Hindi bo hangod all thrao.

" Yo Hholl bo (load without morcy,

AH I am Iclnff of thin land,"
7!<t commanded IUH ofiloorH <»voryol)oiio

Flint on thota to lay hand.

Thc»rc thoy took thoHO

And arroHto<l thorn all throo *
u So may I thrive," HOW! Adam Boll,

u rJ"hw giuuo likoth not mo

" But, fyood lord, wo brooch yon now,

Tliat you #raiit UH P:UAJO,
luoHinunh UH iruoly wo bo to you oomc\

AH fwtoly wo may iro you PUSH,

With sttoh woaponH OH w<» liaro lioro»

Till wo bo out of your plaoo ;
And if wo livo thiri hundred yoar,

Wo will OHk you no grace."

" Yo Hpoak proudly/' said tho king;

" Yo Hliall bo huaiffod all throo."
" That woro pri'oat pity," thou «aid tho quoon,

" If any graoo might bo

" My lord, whou T camo Crwt into this land,

To bo your wwlflod wif<>,
Tho fitHt boon that I would awk,

Yo would grant it mo bolyfo

" And T awkod you novor none till now :
Thoroforo, good lord, f^raut it ni(^ "

" Now <ink it, niiwliian,11 Hai<l tho
"And gnuitcxl it Hhull bo."

c* Thon, ffood my lord, T you bonoooh,

ThoHO yoomon ffraut yo uio."
a Madam, yo iniftht havo OHkod a boon,

That nhould havo buoii worth all throo.

e( Yo might havo awk<\l towoiv and towai«>

ParkH and foYOHta plenty."
"Nono HO plofwant to iny pay," who said;

" Nor nono HO lofo to mo."

" Madam, Hith it in your doslro,

Your unknitf granted Hhall bo ;
Hut I had lovor hod fjfivon you

(h>od maikot IOWUOH throo "

rHio (jiaoono wan a jflad woman,
And Haul, " Lord, fframmorcy •

T daro inidortttko for thran,
That true mon Hhull thoy bo

"But, flood my lor<l, Hpoak Homo morry word,

That comfort thoy may HOO."
" r grout you ffraao," thon Htucl our king:

" WaHli, followH, a*ul to moat go yo."

Thay ha<l not Kittoii but a while

(Jortain wjtliout lo«yjrno,
Thoro oamo jnoHHonfforn out of tho north

With lottorn to our kin#.

And whon thoy oomo boforo th<i
Thoy knoolorl down on ilicir kn<«o,

And Haiti, " Ix>rd, your oflioor« frro<»t yon woll,
Of CarliHlo in tho north countrio."

" How faratli my jnntioo ? " HaUl tlio kinjf,

"And my hhwiff nln5f "
" Sir, thoy bo Hlaui, witliout loaning

And many an oflicor ino."

" Wlio hath thorn HlayncN ? " Hold tho khiff,

"Anon thtit thou toll mo."
"Adam Boll, and Clym of tho Oloujrli,

And Wilham of Oloudonly."

"Alan, for ruth I " them wad our "kmy *

" My hoart in wontlroun KOTO ;
I had lovor than a thounand pound,

I had known of this boforo ;

ADAM DELL.

[Tumi*

" For I have granted thozn graeo,

And thab forthinkoth mo ,
But hod I known all thin before,

Thoy had boon hungod oil throo "

Tho long ho oponod tho lottor anon,
Himaolf ho ioa,d it through,

And found how tliono outlaw** had slain
Throe hundred men and mo ;

Ibrat tho justice and tho sheriff,

And tho major of Carlisle town,
0£ all tho conHtablos and oatohipolls
wore loft not ono

Tho badies and tho beadles both,
And the soitfoaunts of tho law,

And forty fosters of tho fo,
Those outlaws had yslaw ;

And broke his parks and slam his door,

Of all thoy choao tho boat ;
So porilous outlaws, aw ihoy woro,

Walked not by oast nor wost

When tho king this lotlor had road,

In his hoait ho fliglutd Horo .
"Tako up tho tables anon," ho said,

" !For I may oat no moro."

Tho king£ called his best arch&ra,

To tho butts with him to go
"I will BOO thoso follows shoot," ho said,

" In tho north have wrought this woo."

The kind's horflomon, busko thorn blyro,
And tho queen's arolariH alno,

So did those thxoo wightio yoomon ;
With thorn thoy thought to go.

There twioo, or thrico thoy shot about,

For to assay thoir hand ;
Thoro wan no shot thoso yoomon shot,

That any piyoko might thorn stand.

Then spako William

" By him that for mo <hod,
I hold him novor no good axohcV,

That flhoototh at buttw no wide."

"At what a butt now would yo shoot,

I pray thoo toll to ino if "
"At suoho a butt, sir," ho Haid,

"As mon uso IQ my oounLrio."

William wont into a field,
And with him his two brotliron ;

Thoro thoy Rot up two liaxol rodn,
Twonty score paooa botwoon

" I hold him an aarchor," said Cloudosly,
" That yondor wand oloavoth in two "

<c There is nono suoho," said the king,
"Nor no man can «o do."

" I shall assay, sir," said Cloudosly,

"Or that I farther go"
Cloudesly with a bearing arrow

Clave the wand in two.

"Ikon art tho bost ari'hor/1 tlwa mid tlw

" Fornooth that over T
"And yot for your lov«s" wii«l William
tc I will do more inay^cry.

" I have n wm i« w»von joar oil,

Ho w to mo full iloar :
I will him tio io a Ktakc t

All Hhall hoc that b«» litw.

"And lay an np]»l« UIK>U lii« howl
And j?o Hit st'oro ])twi> i luiu fro,
And J niywlf with a broad urrnw
clojivo iho api>lt» in two "

" Now hanto ilioo," tlioa Hiifl tlu> kin*;,
" By mm that dim I on a inns

Bui if thou do not, UH thou hiiHt mud,
HangtM Hhalt thou bo.

"An thou tou«li his hwwl or gown,
.For sight tluit tucn may HCO,

By all tho Haintw that bo in hotivon,
I shall hanpf you all throo."

" Tliat 1 hav« inmxuiHod," v^ \Villiom,
"That i will iiovor fornako.11

And thoro oven boforo tluj kin«^
Jn tho earth ho drove a HLakc .

And bound thor(»i,o KIH <»ld<»Mt ron,
And bad him Htand HtUl ihfroat ,

And tmiiod tho clultVH fwro him fro,
BocauHO ho nhould not ntart.

An apple upon liin luuul ho Kfi,

And then IHH bow ho bcnf, :
Six Heoro pac(»H thoy w<*rt> out mot,,

And thither (Uoiide«ly \\<«nt.

Thoio he drew out a fair broud arniw
HIM bow wan ^T<»at and lomf>

He Met that arrow in IUK bou,
Tliat WIIH both utilKaud Htron,;.

Ho pmyod tint lu'oplo that \vt»n« il»»n»,
That thoy would all ntill H tain I,

Foi ho that Hhoototh for .inch a
J)(«hovoth a Htcdfctht hand,

Much pooplo prayed

Tliat Jiw life wivcil uiirfii lu»,
And wlum ho nuidc hiia vt'iuly to * hoof ,

Thoro was many a wwpSug <•>•»«,

Bui (ttoudohly olofl i}w upplo in Lwo,
rJliat many a man mitfht H<*C ;

"Over Codn fwbcxlo," Haiti tint lutijf,
" l^iat tlioit Hhould nhooi at wtt,

"I jyivo the<» oi^htiMUt iKinr« a day,
And my bo we Hhalt thou hour,

And ovor all tho north euumtrw
T make thr>o «lti(»f rydero/*

"And X Kivo tl>o
Hold tho qmxm,

" By C\QI\ and by my fay ;
Come fetch thy paymout wlum thou wilt,

No man Hhall Hay thoo nay,

r

Fnm 1658

A TALK OF ROBIN HOOD

[A WON 0:0 us.

" "William, I make thoo a gentleman

Of clothing, and of f oo :
And thy two brethren, yooinon of my
chambcrr,

Tor thoy arc so soomly to soo.

" Tour son, for ho in tondor of ago,

Of my wmo-collur ho shall bo ,
And when bo oomoth to man's OHiato,

Bottor advanced shall ho bo.

"And, William, bring mo your wife," said
tho queen,

" Mo longoth nor soro to soo •
Slio shall bo my cluof gontlowoinan,

To govern my nurnoiy "

Tho yooinon thanked thorn all courteously,
And said, " To some bishop -will wo wond,

Of all tho sins that wo liavo done,
To bo assoilod at IUH hand."

So froth 1)0 ffono tho««o wood yooinfcn,

AM faHt as thoy might luo,
And after oamo and dwelled with tho long,

And tliod good nion all three.

Thvw ondoth tho lives of those good yoornibi,

(lod Hond thorn otonial bht-w ;
An<l all, that with hand-how Hhoototh,

Tlmt of lioavon may novor HIIHH

Annn ywo us. — ticfimi HMO.

5I5-JTTIH BTimi OF MOBIN HOOD

O Willio's largo o* Vuub and lith,

And ootno o1 hijyh
An<l ho in ROJUJ <,<> Murl

To Korvo for moat and fon.

Karl Uiohard had but ao dauffhtor,

Fair aH a lily llowor
And tlioy made tip thoir lovo-controol

Like proper paramour.

Tt foil -upon a nimmor'H nioht,

Wluui tho loavon woro fair and growi,

That Wall 10 mot IUH gay liulio
Intil tho wood alano.

" 0 narrow i« my gown, Wlllio,

That wont to bo HOO wido,
And gano in a* my fair colour,

That wont to bo my prldo

" Tiut jrfn my fathor should ffct word
What'n ptiHt botwoon nw twa,

Before that ho tthould oat or drink,
JTo'd "bang you o'er that wa*.

** But yo'll oomo to my bowor, Willie,

At tho Hotting1 o* tho mui ;
And koj> mo in your anriH twa,

And latna mo fa' down."

0 whan tho mm wan noar gano down,
HO'H doou him till hor bowr>r ;

And thoro, by tho loo lutht o' tho moon,
Her window nhe lookit o'er.

Intill a robe o' rod noorlot
She lap, and caught nao harm ;

Wxllio waH largo o1 lith and limb,
And koopit hor in his arm,

And thoy'vo gano to tho gndo groonwood,

And oro tho night waft dune,
Sho'fl bogno to ^»yn a bonny young sou,

Amang tho loavos aao green.

Whon night waR gano and day was oomo,

And tho sun bogan to poop,
Up and raiRo tho Karl lUchard

Out o' hiH cbfowHy sloop.

HO'B oa'd upon hiH merry young mon,

By ano, by twa, and by throo,
" O what's oomo o' my daughtor doar,

That H!IO'B na como to mo p

" I droamt a dioary droam laHt njaht—

God grant it oomo to gudo !
I droamt I saw my daughter dear

Drown in tho Baut noa flood.

" My daughter, maybe, IB dead or siok;

Or gni B!IO bo tvfcown awa',
I mak' a vow, anil I'll koop it true,

I'll hang yo ano and a' ! "

Thoy sought hor back, they HotigKt hor fore,
Thoy nought hor np and down ,

Thoy got hor in tho jyudo gronnwood
Nurrimg her bonny yoimg Hon.

Iio took tlio bonny boy in hw arms,

And kiHt him tcmdorlio »
Wayrt, " Though I would yonr fathor hang,

Tf our mother's doar to mo."

Ho kist htm o'er and o'or again,

" My ppnuulHon I thoo claim ;
And Kobin Kood in gudo greenwood,

'Tia that shall bo your namo."

Tlioro'H mony ano sings o' grass, o' grass,

And mony ano flings o' corn ;
And mony ano sings o' Robin Hood,

Kens litUo whar' ho was born.

It was ua in tho ha', tho ha',

Nor in tho paintod bowor ;
But it was in tlio gtido greenwood,

Amang tho lily Howor.

Anonynttntit. — llejoro 1040*

516.— A TALE OF KOBIN HOOD.

In Ruminor when tho shawos bo shono,
And loavod bo largo and long,

It is full morry in tho fair f orwfa
To hoar tho fowle's songj

To soo tho door draw to tho dale,

And loavo tho liillt^s hoo,
And shadow them in tho IcwV groon,

Under tho gioonwood tree

ANONYMOUS ]

A TALE OF ROBIN HOOD.

[ Tumi)

It bofoi on Whitsuntide,

Early in a May morning1,
Tho Run up fair did nliuiu,

And tlio birdie merry did ton*.

" This is a merry mormn#," Raid Littlo John,

" By hun thai died on troo ;
A more merry man than T am one

Lives

" Pluck up thy hoart, my door mayfltfo,"

Littlo John did Ray ,
"And think it IB a fall fair timo,

In a morning: of May."

** Yofl, ono thing grieves mo," Raid Robin,
" Aiid doon my hoort much woo ,

That I may not so Roloinn day
To mass nor matins go

" It is a fortnight, and moro," said ho,

" Sin I my Saviour RQO ,
To-day I will to Nottingham," paid Robin,

" With tho might of mild Marj''."

Thon spoko Mooho, tho miller's sou,

Evor moro well him botido ,
" Take twolvo of thy wight yeomen,

Well woaponod by their Bido

*' Such on woldt^ thysolf wlon

Tliat twolvo daro not abido "
" Of all my merry men," said Robin,

" By my faith I will nono have.

** But Littlo John shall boar my bow,
ML that mo 3iBt to draw —

"Thou shalt boar thine own," said Littlo
John,

" Maystor, and T will boar mino ,
And wo will nhoot a penny," Haul Littlo John,

" Under the greenwood lyuo "

" I will not ahootaponny," said "Robin Hood,
" In faith, Littlo John, with thoo ;

But ever for ono w them Hhoolut,'* Hiiid liobin,
" In faiUi I hold thoo threw "

Thus Rhot thoy forth DIOHO yeomen two,

BothiS at biiHh and hromn,
Till Little John won of hm nmyntte

"Five shillingH to hose and Hhono.

A forly Rtnfo fell them between,

AR thoy wont by tho way ;
Little John stud ho had won five wlullinffM,

And Robin Hood said Hhortly, " Nay ' "

With that Robin Hood lied Littlo John,

And ftmoto him with IUH hondo ;
Littlo John waxt'd wroth therewith,

And pulled out his blight brondc

" Wert thou not my inayKtor," Hold Littlo
John,

" Thou shoiddRt bye it full HOTO ;
Get thoo a man whore thon wilt, Robin,

For thou gotst mo no moro."

Then Robin JTOOH to Nottin^hain,

And Littlo John to merry
The patlw ho kiw»w alje

Wlion Robin oatno to
Cmtainly withoutwi Inyno,

Ho prayed to God tiwl hiild Wur.\\
To bring him out Hafn it^i

Ho tfooH into St. Wiw.vN <*hi«ivli,
And law»<il«Ml down b(»for»» Un> roo 1 »

All that ovor w<n(> tht» i*iiurtih uitliui
Dohold well Ifcobm HcH>il.

h'm ntood a p*oitt hoot KM I monk*
J pray to < jod woo hn ho ,
Full HOOII lio know fyood U'jliiu II uo I,
AH HOOH an ho him HO«.

Out at tho door ho ran,

Knll HOOU and anon ,
All tho gatoH of Noti.ift.TluLm

Ho made to bo Hpari-od ovor.v c)iu».

"Rwo up," ho tiaid, « tlum

Bunko thofk and inalu* ilico
1 3iav<» Hpu«(l tlio kirift'H ft»loii,

For Kooth l«j irf in tlun U>wn.

" I havo Hi>ird tli<» falho foluti.

AH ho HtandH at IUH m.-uin t
It in loiitfo of tlwM»/* Hikid tho monk,

"An ovovho fro »M pa--*.

" ThiH troitor'H iiumn IH Tlt»l»Sn Howl,
Uudor tho tfri»tm-wood I4\ uilo ;

H<» rohbtid urn o««o of nu humlriMl
It Hluill nov<u» out of my mind."

Up tlion roue thin proud Mlr<»iMfr,
And want towfoilH him tlicro;

Many won tho xnotlior noti
To tho kirk with him did fan*.

In at tho cloorH they throly Him ti,

With Htitvcw iuli K<»«! Hkotu* ;
"Alan! ulan!" wud Itobin lir^l,

But Robin took out a two-liaiul nword,

Tiiat httn«*< d <lown by Iwi knw» s
Them iw Iho hhoviflr and lilt men htm»d t lu«'i:«' I ,

Tlnlhwvard \\ouitl IM*.

Thrj(5o thorow at them ln> ran,

Thon for nooth at) 1 5011 jsi.\,
An<l wonndod many a mof l«*r Htm ;

And twolvo ho i>lovv thai day.

lirt Hword upon tho Hhorifr'H h»»»wl

(fortamly ho hrako in t\vo ;
5 Tho Htnith that i\\m\ matin," wud Ilo}>in,

" I pray (Jod wyrko him woo ;

" For now am T woaponlonK/' Haiti Robin,

" Alan ' againHfc my will f
Itul if I may floo tlioHa tnutorH fro,

I wot Ihoy will mo J.IU."

m IfifiB to 1649 J

A TALK OF ROBIN HOOD.

[ANONYMOTTS.

Bobin'H men to tho churoho ran,
Throughout thorn over ilkonn ,

Sonio foil in Rwooiunjjr OH if thoy woro doa<l,
And lay still as any Htono.

None of thorn wore in tlioir mind,
But only Little John.

" Lot bo yotir rulo," said Littlo John,
" For inn love that dwd on troo ,

Yo that Hhould ho doughty mon,
It IH groat Hharno to HOO

" Our mayfffcor haw boon hard bystodo,

And yot 'wapcVl away ,
Pluck up your hourtH, and loavo tills moan,

And hearken what I Hball Hay

" TTo lias Rorvod our Lady many a day,

Awl yot \vill Htanrnly,
Thcrofoio T tnwt m lioi npooially,

No wiokod death Hholl lio din,

" Thoroforo ho glad," Haid Littlo John,

"And lot thin morning bo ;
And T nhall ho tho mouk<vn guido,

With tho might of mild Mary

"And T will moot him," wuxl Littlo Jolm,

"Wo wUl iro f)iit wo two "

if i» » 'i

« V C I

" Look that y<^ koop woll tho tryHtil trrc,

Undor tho lovyH Kimtlo ,
And Hjiaro TiotK^ of thiH vunisow,

lluit KO in thiH vulo."

VorUi thoy wont, thono y(»otnon two»

Uttlo John and Moclio inforo,
And looked on Mo<jh (»my'n IIOUHO ;—

rfho highway hvy f iill noar.

littlo John Ktoo<l at a window m

And loolrcM forth at a wtu'ro ;
IIo waH Vfuro whom tho monk oaitto

And with him a littlo i»i#o.

" Jty my faith," Haid Littlo John to Morlie,

*' t can toll thoo tiding j^ood ;
I HCKJ whcno tho uiouk ocmiOH vidnipr,

1 blow him hy hiH wide hood.'*

Thay wout into tho way thono yoomon both,

AH courtoouH num and houdo ,
Tlu*y Hi»yrrod titliyiiffiw to tlio monk,

AH thoy had boon hiH frioud.

(( Jf<Vom whonoo como yo P " said Littlo John ;

" Toll UH titliyngnn I you pr«y,
Of a falHQ outlaw, onllod itobin Hood,

Waw taken yoHtorday.

cc Ho rohhod mo and inyfollowHboth
( Of twonty markw in oortilm ;
If thtit falno outlitw )>o takon,
J'or sooth wo would ho

" So did ho mo," Raid tho monl«\
" Of an hundred pound, and moro ;

T laid first hand?* limi upon,
Yo nay thaiilf mo thovoforo."

" I pray Clod thank yon," said Littlo John,

" And wo will when w<i may ;
Wo will #0 with you, with your leave,

And bring- you on your way.

" For "Rohin Hood lian many a wild follow,

Ti oil yon m certain,
K thoy wiHt yo rodo thin way,

In faith yo nhould bo Hlain."

AFI thoy wont talkiutf hy tho way,

Tho monk and Ijifctlo John,
John took tho monk'H homo hy tho hoad,

l^ill BOOH and anon

John took tho monk'w hoifio hy tho hoad,

For sooth an f you wiy ;
So did Monho, tho littlo page,

For ho Hhould not nta* away.

By tho gullet of tho hood,

John pulled tho mouk^ down ;
John was nothing of him aghast,

iro lot him fall on hw crown.

lattlo John wan ROI-O ap^riovod,
And dnwv out hm Hword on liigh ;

Tlio inonko saw ho nhonld ho doad,
Loud inurcy did ho (jry

"IFo wan my mavi'toi," raud Littlo John,
" That thou lui,;.!. hrowwd ui btvlo ;

KluJL thou now <'<<u!n at oui king,
For to toll kin talo "

John ninoto oft thci monlv.(vH hoad,

No loiiffcr would lio <lwoll ;
Ho did Moeho, thn httlo pago, ,

Fc»r foar lent lie nhoidtl toll.

Thcro thoy hunod thorn both,

In wither KIOHH nor lyntfo ,
And Littlo John and IMocho infovo

Utiro tlio lottoiv) to our kuiff.

* % * #

I To kuoolcM dowi' upon hi'n kn<io;
" <{o<l 5 on HUYO my lioj^o lordj
JOHUH you navo aiid hoo

" Clod you Havo my lu\^ khiff ' "

To H))onk John wtw full hold ;
Ho fr«iV(J hun tlio If^ficTH in hm hand,

Tho Xing did it unfold.

Tho kiuf? road tho hsttt^rH tttion,

Aud Haid, HO mot L iheo,
'* T[ horo waH

HO Horo to HOC "

" Wlioro IH tho monk tlmt thou hhould liavt*
brought " 1>

Our lanff gau Htt,r ,
" Hy my tiotli," BUM I Lit lio John,

" Ho died upon tho wuy."

ANONYMOUS ]

A TALE OF EOB1N HOOD.

[Timtn

Tlio king gave Mocbo and Littlo John

Twenty pound in cortam ,
And mado thorn yoomon of tho crown,

And bade thorn go again

Ho ffavo to John tho noal in hand,

Tho sheriff lor to boor,
To bring Robin him to,

And no man do him doro.

John took hin loavo of our king-,

Tho sooth as I you say ,
Tho next day to Nottingham,

To take ho wont tho way.

When John came to Nottingham,

Tho gatos wore sparred ichono ;
John called up the porfcibr,

He answered soon anon

*' What is tho cause," said Littlo John,
" Thou sparsest tho gates so fast ? "

" Beoautto of Robin Hood," said tho portfa,
" In deop priaon id oast.

" John, and Mooho, and Will Soathlok,

For woll on I you say,
Thoy slow our mon upou our waJls,

And sawteno ud ovory day."

LitUe John spyrred af tor tho Hhoriff

And soon ho him f ondo ,
Ho oponod the kins' H pnvy-souJ,

And gave him in his hondo.

When tho sheriff Raw tho long's seal,

Ho did off his hood anon ,
"Whore is tho monkfc that boro tho lettorBf"

Ho said to Littlo John.

" Ho is so fain of lima," said Littlo John,

" For woll as I you say ;
Ho has made him Abbot of WoslmniBtor,

A lord of that abbfcy "

Tho sheriff ho mado John #ood ohour,
And gave him wnio of tho host ,

At night thoy wont to their bod,
And ovory man to hia ro.st.

When tho sheriff waa awloop,

Drunken of wine and alo,
Little John and Mooho for Hooth,

Toot tho way unto tho jtul

Littlo John caller! Tip tho jaalor,

And bade him use anon j
Ho said Robin Hood had broken prison,

And out of it was gone.

Tho porter ro«o anon, certain,

As soon as ho heard John call ;
Littlo John was aoady with a sword,

And bare him to tho wall

" Now will I bo porter," wild Littlo John,
"And take tho koyw in lur.wV , "

Ho took the way to IJobm Hood,
And soon ho him nnbomdo

Ho gave him a good MVonl in lii-t lutn*!,
Hin hood tlioruwitli f<ii* to kc«»p ;

And Tihoro wlioro tho wall wan lowonl,
Anon down did thoj leap.

By that tho cook bi'tfan to <jrow,

Tlio day boffun to sj>ri7i^r ;
Tho ahonff fonwl th«> j«ul(»r (Viwl,

Tho coimuou bull iiuulo ho ring-.

Ho mode 11 cry thron/cliout all thc» town,
Whothor ho l>o >ooii»iu or ktiftvo,

That (icmld brtni? luiu Ifiobiit HCKM!,
HIH wansou ho nhotiltl have.

" For I dturo ntw»r," Haiti iliu Hhvvtff»

" Ooino before our kliiff ;
For if I do I wot ooritlui,

For Hooth ho will mo hang."

Tho sheriff mnxlti to nook J

Koth by Htroot atul Htyo ;
And Kobin was lu m<»rry Hhorwood,

AH light OH loaf on lyndti.

Then bespako wood Litllo John,

To Itobin Hoo<l <U<1 ho Hay,
" I have dono th«o a goorl turn for nil w il,

Koquito mo when 3 on may.

" I havo dono thee a tfooil ttun," tuuil LiUlo

John,

" *'or Hooth as I you Hay ;
t havo brought tlioo ni\A(\r Iho

lyno,
Fax o well, oud havo good day."

"Nay, by my troth," HIW! Ifiohm Hood,

" So Hhall it novijv be ,
I make ihon muyHtor,1' nald Itohat Hoo*l,

" Oi all my moa find wo "

"Nay, by iny troth," Haiti Littlo Join*.

" >So Hliall ii novor b(« ;
But lot mo bo a follow," Hti.ul Lii,U<» Jolin

rrhnrf John j?ot liobiu Hood ottU of

Curiinn witlioutou layn/i ;
VJliou InH men Haw him wholn and tumn't,

For Hooth ihoy woro Full fain.

Thoy flllod in wino, iitul iu«ulo hint Kliut,

Under tlin ]C»VOH Hniall ;
And t'.ofc ]uihiioH of \tMiinon,

That ffood W*M wiUuil

Thou word ranui nnio

How TV>biu Hood WJI
And how tho Hhcriff of

J)nrrtt n<m»r look liini upon.

Tlion IxjMpolvo our coznoly kiHff,

In an a.^ror lnjrh,
"Liitlo John has bojyuilod tlio

(:L fat ill (to UaH ho mo.

" LiUlo John has Ito^ullcHl lui l)oth,

A"d that full woli Jl WMJ,
Or duo tho Hiiorilf of

Uo 1>o.

r-

JiOBlN HOOD AND ALLKN-A-DALE.

[ANONYMOUS.

" I modo him yooman of tho crown,
And gave hwn foo with my hand ;

J gave him gntho," said our king,
" Throughout all niorry England.

"I gave him gritho," then said our long,

" I say, HO mot I thoo,
For sooth wtch a yooman as lio IB one,

In all }j]ugland aro not throo.

" Ho is true to Ms naayntor," said our king1,

" I say, by sweet Saint John,
Ho IOVOH bettor Bobin Hood

Than ho does us ychono.

" Robin Hood in orcr bound to liim,

Both in Htroot and stall ,
Speak no moro of this matter/' naid our king,

" But John has beguiled TIH all "

Thus ondu the talking of the monk,

And Kobin Hood, I win ,
Ood, that is over u (urowxuM king,

Bring UH all to HIH WISH

Me/we IGdiO.

517.— BOBIN HOOD AND AILBN-A-

f omo lihton to mo, you galliintw HO froo,
All you lilinii lovo uurtk for to hnu,

Ami I will toll you of a bold outlaw,
That lived m NottinghittiiHlmu

AH Robin ITood in tho forest stood,

All midcr the greenwood trcd,
Tlu\cQ ho wan aworu of a brttvo yomig man,

AH fiaio IVH imo might bo.

Tlio yoniiffHtor was oltwl in scarlet rod,

fn HCfu-loi fino aud ^a/yj
And lu) did frisk it cmur

And chauntod a roundelay.

Afl Hobui Hood next morning Htood

Amongst tho loavos HO gay,
llioro did ho oupy tho saiuo young man

Oomo drooping along tho way.

Tho soarlot ho woro tho day boforo

It wan cloow oast away ;
And at ovory stop ho ftrtohocl a nigh,

" Alas ! and a woll-a-day ! "

Thon stopped forth bravo Littlo John,

And Mulffo, tho millor'n son ,
Wluch mado tho young man bond hiB bow,

Wlion as ho soo them conic,

"Stand off1 stand off ' " tho young man said,

" What is your will with mo P "
"You must oomo l>ororo onr master straight,

Under yon greenwood tree."

And when he came bolcl Robin boforo,

Bobin asked him oourteounly,
(< 0, hant thou any money to spare,

tfor my merry men and mo P "

" I have no money," tho young wim said,

" But fivo flln.Uii.igs and a ring ,
And that I have kept this seven long years,

To have at my wedding.

" Yostorday I should have married a maid,

But eho was from mo la' on,
And ohoRon to bo an old knight's delight,

Whereby my pool heart is slain."

"What is thy namoP" then said Robin

Hood,

" Come toll mo, without any fail "
"By tho faith of my body," then said tho

young man,
" My name it is Allon-a-DfJo,"

" What wilt thou give me," Raid Bobin Hood,

" In ready gold or foe,
To help theo to thy true love again,

And deliver her unto thoo P "

" I have no monoy," thon quoth tho young
man,

" No ready gold nor foo,
Uut 1 will swear upon a book

Thy true servant for to be."

" How many milos in it to thy true lovo P

Oomo toll mo without guile "
"JJy tho faith of my body," thou said tho
young man,

"Jt is but live little mile."

Thon Itobiu ho haRted over tho plain,

Ho did neither ntint nor lin,
UTitil he cumo imto tho ohureh

Whoro Alien should keep his woddb'.

" Wliat hast thoa hero P " tho bishop thon
said,

" I prithee now toll unto mo."
" I am a bold harper," quoth Bobin Hood,

" And the best in tho north coutitrjr.*'

'* 0 weleomo, 0 welcome," tho bishop he said,

' " That ninsio bost ploaHoth me,"

"You shall hove no niusiu," quoth Bobin

Hood,
" I'll! tho bride and bridegroom I BOO."

With that came in a wealthy knight,

Wluoh was both gxavo and old ;
And ufter liim a finikin lass,

Did shine Hko tho gliBtoring gold.

" This is not a fit match," quoth Bobin Heod,
" Thtit you do seem to make hero ;

For since wo ace oomo into the oliuroli.
The bride shall ohuso her own dear/'

ANONYMOUS] KOBIN HOOD BESCU1NO THE WIDOW'S SONH. [Tiuun I'I:KIOI»,«-

Thon Robin Hood put Inn hoi n to liw mouth,

An.d blow blowta two and throo ,
When four-and-twonty > oomon bold

Camo looping ovor tho lea.

And whon they caiuo into tho churoh-yard,

Marching all in a row,
Tho first xnau wan Allon.o-Dalo,

To give bold Robin his bow.

" This is thy trao lovo," Bobm ho stud,

" Young AUon, an 1 hoar Hay ;
And you shall bo maniod tlus namo timo,

Boforo wo deport away "

" That whaU not bo," tho bwhop ho criod,

" For thy word shall not jstond ,
Thoy anal! bo tkroo timoB iwkod in tho church,

As the law IB of our land."

Robin Hood pulled off tho bishop's coat,

And put it upon LrLtlo John ,
" By tho faith ot my body," thou Robin Hold,

"This cloth doth mttko thoo a man.'4

When Littlo John wont into tho qiiiro,

Tho pooplo began to laugh ;
Ho askod thorn HOVOII timen into ohnroh,

Lost throe tunoa Hhoidd not bo enough

"Who gives mo this maidP" saJld Little
John,

Quoth Robin Hood, " That do T ,
And ho that takon hor from AJlon-a-Dalo,

Full doarly ho dull her buy."

And thon having ondocl thin morry wedding,

Tho brido looked liko a qiioon ,
And HO thoy roturnod to tho morry green-
wood,

Amongst tho loavoH HO groon.

— tttfow

518.— EOBIN HOOD BKMOUTN'a THE
WIDOW'S TirKMM HOWS

Thoro arc twolvo uiouthw m all tho yoar,

AD I hoar many Hay,
But tho moment month in all tho yoar

la tho morry month of May.

Now "Robin Hood IH to Nottingham gono,

With «. link n, fioiwt, und ft ilinj,
And thoro ho raot a cully old woman,

Was wooping on tho way.

"What news? what nown? thou Billy old

woman,

What nowft hawt thou for mo P"
Said H!XO, "There's my throe sons in Notting-
ham town
To-day condemned to die "

" 0, havo they parwhort burnt r " ho ,',u«I,
ly(>r havo tlu\v mttiiHtorn .ilittii ?

Or havo thoy robbed any vir/ftn ?
Or other nion'ri -v\ IVOH hav o ta\»u ? "

" friioy have no pariHlioH burnt,
Noi yot 3i:ivc» ininiHtors sJaiu,

Nor havo they rohlxwl any virgin,
Nor other iuou\t WIVC»H

"O, what luivo tl»»y douoi1'* .'aid H<»l«u

Hood,

(t T pray thoo toll to w<» "
"Tt'H for .slaynig of th<» KIII./H fallow <l<'<»r,
bowrf will* HUMS"

"Don! thott not mind, old w«>!«a«,M li" M«iil,
a How thou madont mo nnp iuul time ?

Jty tho truth of my body,0 (jutiih ln»M Kol»m

Hood,
"Tou could not tell it in better Lime."

Now llobiu 3 food IK to Nottingham gmw,

With a Uul a tfuirni tiiitl n <A/if,
And thorct ho met with a hill> old palituir,

WOH walking alonj< th<» highway.

\vhai

thou nillfv

"What
man,

What n<iWH? T do thoo pra,\."
Said ho, "Thron wiuiroH hi Noi.iiu^Uatti

Aro coudomu'd to tUo HUH day "

u Oomo «hon«^> thy appar<»l with wie, ohl
Ooino oluuiifi) thy iippnn1! for inino ;

Iloro IH toil, xhilhtiifH iu f»oo<i silvrr,
Go dunk it in boor or wino."

"0, thino apparel in good,'* ln« «aid,
" And mint) IH ni;^ed and torn ;

Whc»rov»>r you go, whornvnr,\<m
Lutigh not an old man

(-omo chntigo thy np]Nire1 \villi

olil

Oomo chaii^ct thy apparel with mini1 ;
Iloro IH a i)H'CO of good broad gold.
(jlo f«»iwi thy brothnm with win**/1

rriion ho pui on \\M old man1:, hat,
ft ntood full high on tho crown ;

"Tho hr«t bol<l Imrgiiiu that I <*om<» at,
It Hhall uiako thoo <:omo down.11

Then ho put on tho old man',, rloiik,
WOH patohM bliuik, liliw*, and ml ;

He thought it no hhumo, all thu day
To wear tho bagu of brmul.

Then he jrnfc on ih<» ol<l tnatt*H brock 4,

WOH pivtohM from J*»g to ^idtt \
" By tho truth of my body,'* bold Uolua CM
Hay,

"ThiH man lovod Jittlo

J&Vow 1558 itt 10-10.]

BOBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBOBKK,

rnion lio pni on tho old maii'n hono,
Woro patch1 il from knoo to wriHt .

ft By tho truth of my body," Huid bold Robin

Hood,
" I'd laugh if I hod any lint."

Then ho put on tho old man'H whocs,
Wovo patch' d both boiioath and aboon ;

Them Ifiobin Hood wworo a solemn oath,
" It'a good habit that makes a man."

Now Robin Hood in to Nottingham gono,
With a link (it down, tmd <t. dtnm,

And thoro ho mot with tho proud tthorlff,
Was walking along tho town

" Savo yon, iiavo you, hhoiifi1' " ho said ,
** Now hoiLvcn you Havo and HOO '

And wlut will you gw to <i Hilly old man
To-day will .yotii hangman bor"'

** Somo hiutH, HOIMO Hiui.H," tho sheriff ho Haid,

"BoillO HUltH I'll JjiVO to tllt'O ,

ftonio suits, Homo wulH, and pouoo thirtocn,
To-day 'H a hcingmau'tf foo."

Thon Hobm lio turns him round about,
And jumpH from HtooL. to ntono •

"By tho tiuth of my body," tho sheriff ho

Haul,
" That'n woll jumpt, ihou mmblo old man "

" t wan jin'or a hangman 111 all my Jifo,

Nor yot jntMidH to inwhi ;
/(> Htil curst \M hn," naid bold liobui,

k> Tlut.L lu'rti u. Uimfjriujiu wait matlo '

u IVo a }nvj for ntciil, ati<l a bag for malt,
Atul a ba# for harloy and (torn ,

A bag For broad, aud it bivtf for boof,
And a bag for my little Hnuill horn.

" I havo a horn in my pocliM,

I got it from Uobm Jlood,
And ntill when I not it to my mouth,

tfor thoo it blovvH litilo good.

" (>, wind tliy horn, llion proud f(sllow 1

Of tlioo T havo no doubt.
L WIH!I that them givo Htxth a bla^t,

Till both thy oyoH fall out."

Tho iii'Ht loud blant that ho did blow,
Ho blow both loud and Hhrill j

A hinidrod and lifty of ftobm LIood'B men
C<amo mding over tho hJL

rJ1jo next loud blant that ho did givo,
JIti blow botli loud and amain,

And quickly Hixty of Jiobm Efood'H inon
Oamo Hhiuing ovoi* tho pliuu*

" 0, who aro thoHO r* " tho Hhoriff ho Bawl,

" (Jom<» tripj»iu« ovor tho loo P "
"They're uiy attoudantH," bravo Jiobin did
Hay;

" ITbioy'll pay a visit to thoo."

Thoy look tho gallown from tho wlaok,

They aot it an tho glon,
Thoy hanged tho proud Hhorlff oil that,

Kolouyod their own throo ruon.

519.— ROBIN HOOD AOT) GUY OP
G1SBOJBNE,

When Bhaws bo shoon, and Hwards full fair,
And loaves both largo and long,

It IH moiry waUang in tho fair foroflt
To lioar tho small birdw'

Tho woodwool Hang, and would not ooaHO,

Sitting upon tho wpray,
So loud, ho wakonod JLiobin Hood,

In tho gioonwoocl whoro ho lay

" Now by iny faitli," Haid jolly itobin,

" A Hwoavon I had thiH night ,
1 dreamt ino of two wight yoomon,

That faat with mo can light.

" Mothought they did mo boat and bind,

And took my bow mo fro* ,
If X 1)o liolmj. alrvo in thiH laud,

I'll bo wrokon on thorn two."

" Swoavonn aro swift, mowtor," quoth Johai,
"Art tho wind that blown o*or «t hill,

J<\>1 jf it bO 110VOI HO ](JU(l tlllH lllgllt,

To-moriow it may bo Htill."

" HiiHlc y<s, bo wno y(», my moi-ry DUOJI all,

And John Hhall go with mo,
I'V>r F'Jl ffo H(«»k yon wiglit yoomon,

In tbo gioonwood whoro thoy bo "

rL1hon thoy cant on their gowrw of groon,

Atul took thoir bowK oaoh ono,
An<l th<»y away to tho grooix forest,

A Hhooting forth aro gouo ,

Until thoy oamo to tho inorry grooawood,

Whoro thoy had gladdtint bo,
Mli(»ro woro thoy awaro of a wight yooman,

Uiw body loaned to a troo.

A Hword aud a dagger ho woro by his Hide,

Of many a man tho bano ,
And ho WON clad 111 hm oapull hide

Top aud tail aud. mono.

*c Stand you wtill, tntwfcor," quoth Litfclo John,

" Undor thJH troo HO groon,
And I will go to yon wight yooman

To know what ho doth naoan."

" Ah i John, by mo thou aottoat no btore,

And that I fairly And ,
How oft Hond I my mon boforo,

And tany myHolf behind P

c< It in no canning a knave to kon,

An a man but hoar him Hpoak ;
An it woro not for bursting of xay bow,

John, I thy head would break "

B01UN HOOD AND GUY OF

[Tnnin l»u>ioi> —

As ofton words iliov bieortcn l>alo,
So thoy parted, liobin irnd John ;

Arid John as gono "to JJ.w ncsdalo
Tho gatos ho knowotli oaeh ono.

But wlion ho oamo to BarnOBdnlo,

Great hoannOHS tlio o ho had,
For ho foTind two of his own follows

Wbro slam both in a gltwlo

And Scarlott ho was flying a-foot

Fast ovor stock and Htono,
For the proud nhoriff with Hovon sooro mon

Fast after him is gono.

" Ono shot now I will shoot," quoth Jolm,
" (With Chnsto his might and 1110,111 ,)

I'll make yon follow that flics BO fast,
To stop ho shall bo faan "

Thon John bent up hiH long bondo-bow,

And f ottlod him to shoot
The bow was mode of tondor bough,

And fdl down to hiw foot

Woe worth, woo worth thoc, wiokod wood

That ore thou grow on a troo ;
For now this day ihou art my balo,

My booto whon thou shonld&t bo.

His shoot it was but loowoly shot,

Yet flow not tho arrow in vain,
For it mot ono of tlio Hhonff'B men, —

Good William-a-Tronb was dam.

It had boon bottor for William-a-Tront
To have boon a-bed with Borrow,

Than to be that clay in tho greenwood glado
To moot with Littlo John's arrow.

But as it is said, whon mon bo mot,

Fivo can do moio than throo,
Tho sheriff hath takon Littlo John,

And bound him fast to a troo.

" Thou Hhalt bo diawn by dtilo and down,

And hang'd high on a hill "
"But thou mayst f«iol of thy purpose," quoth
John,

" If it bo Ohnsto hi« will "

Let ua loave talking of Littlo John,

And think of Kobiu Hood,
How ho IB gono to tho wight yoouuin,

Whoro undor tho loavon ho ntood.

" Good morrow, good follow," »ai<l Bobin so

fair,

" Good morrow, good follow,'1 quoth ho ,
" Methmks by thx« bow thou boor'wt m thy

hand,
A good orchor thou shouldwt bo."

'* I am wilful of my way," quo* tho yeoman,

"And of iny morning tido "
" I'll lead thoo through tho wood," said Bobia,

" Good follow, m be thy guide."

" I flook an outlaw/' tho strati '{IT haul,

"Mon rail him Itobm lltiod ,
Kathcr I'd mood with -flud. protul outlaw

Thau forty pouiuln KO good."

" Now ooiuo with m<t, ilmii wiirhf,y ycomitu,
And liobin thou noon t lull* sett

But lirnt let us HMiuci iwslimo ilml
(Jndor tho gruouwooil irot\

" First l(«t us Home* inimWy nutko

Among tho woods K«» <«M»W,
Wo may chance to incut. \\ ith I2obiu f f orxl

If ore at KomciiUHot him on."

Tlioy cut tliom down two mimmor

Tliat grow both undor a briar,
And Hot tliom tlirooHOont rod, in twain,

To slioot tho i>riokH y-foro.

" Load on, good follow," quoth Tlobin Hood,

" Load on, T do bid thoo."
" Nay, l>y itiy faith, good follow,"

"Myloadorthou nhalt IM».M

Tho fii'Ht timo Kobiu Hliot at tho jirfr

Ho iiiiMHM I) lit an ni<ih it fro* ;
Tho yeoman lio wan an arrlu'r good,

But lio could novor nhoot HO.

Tho Hocon<l Hlioot lia<l tlio wi/rhiy yoonuui,

Ho nlmt witlun tho garlnud ,
But 16ol>itt lio Hhot fai lK»t,tor tluui ho,

For bo clavo tho good priolc-wand.

"A bloMHiug upon thylioart," lio wurl,
" Good follow, tliy HJioottug i« f^ood;

For an thy hoart )>o as good us thy hand,
Thou wort bottcv than i&o)>in

"Now toll mo thy wamo, f?ood follow," Haiti ho,

" Uiulortho loavoH of lyno."
" Nay, by iny faith," quoUi ln.Id FAohin,

" Until thou hant toM inn fcliim*."

'* [dwell hydalo and down,1* (|tic»th he,
" And liohm to lake* I'm Kwttm j

And wlum I am call<»<l l»y iny roylii niimn,
1 am <}uy of good (iiHlHSruo."

" My dw<»lliticr I'M in thin wood," n*iy,i

" By thoo 1 wot rj'ylii, nought •
lam Uobin Hood of JfamcVduIo,

Whom thou HO long hast

Ho ilmi had uoillwi* Iwmn kith Jtor kin,
Mi^ht Jiav<» HOOU a full fair Hi/flit,

To i -oo how toqi'thor thoMi y<«(»mon wtnil
With bJbulnH both brown and iiritrhi.

To wjo Iwvr thuHO yoonion
Two IionrH of a mtmmor'ri <lay :

Yet noithcsr Kobni Hood nor nlr Uuy
Thc^rn fottlod to ily away.

JRobin wan toauhl<M (if a root,

And Htumhluti at that tidn;
And (iny wan quiok and nimbly withal,

And hit Vyi o'or tho loft

From 1558 to 1040.] BOBIff HOOD AND THE CUBTAL FBIAR.

[ANONYMOUS.

" Ah, door Lady," said Bobiii Hood, " thou,
Thon art both moihor and may,

I think it was never man's destiny
To dio before hit* day."

Bobin thought on onr Lady door,

And soon leapt up again,
And niraight ho oamo with a backward stroke,

And ho BUT Guy hath slnMu

Ho took BIT Guy's head by tho hair,
And struck it upon his bow's-end :

*' Thou hast boen a traitor all thy life,
"Which thing* must havo an end "

Robin pull'd forth an Irish knifo,

And niok'd BIT Guy in tho faco,
That ho was novor ot woman born,

Could toll whoso hoad it waH

Sayn, " Lio thoro, lao ihoro now, sir Guy,

And with mo bo not wroth ;
If thou havo had tlio worst strokes at my
liancl,

Thou shalt Imrvo tho bettor cloth."

Jtobm did off his gown of green,

And on HIT Guy did throw,
And ho put on tlial capnll hido,

Thai clad him tip to too.

"Tho bow, tho arrowri, tlio littlo hom,

JNow with xno I wiJl boor ;
For 1 will away to liarniwlalo,

To soo how inyinon do faro."

Bobin Hood mi Ouy's horn to his mouth,
And a loud blunt in it did blow,

That bohoarcl ilio sheriff ot Nottingham,
AH ho loaned, under a lowo.

"Hoarkon, hoarkon," Raid tho

"I hoar now tidings good,
For yondor I hoar sir Guy's hom blow,

And ho hath shim Bobin Hood.

" Yonder I hoar air Guy'n horn blow,

It blows HO well intido,
And yondor oomon that wighty yeoman,

Clad m hiB capull hido,

" Coxno hither, oomo hithor, thou good sir
Guy,

Aftk what thou wilt of mo."
" 0 I will nono of thy gold," paid Bobin,

" Nor I will none of thy foo.

" But now I havo slain tho master," ho says,

" Lot mo go stnko tho knave j
For this is all the reward I ask;

Nor no other wall I havo."

" Thou art a madman," said tho sheriff,
" Thou shouldst have had a knight's foo :

But fiooing thy asking hath boen so bad,
Woll granted it shall bo."

When Littlo John hoard his manter Hpoak,
Woll know ho it was his gtovou .

« Now shall I bo loosed," quoth Littlo John,
" With ChriHto his might ui hoavon."

Fast Bobin ho hiud him to Little John,
Uo thought to looso frm bohvo ,

Tho shoriff and all hin company
Fast after him did drive.

« Stand back, stand back," Raid Bobin;

" Why draw you mo so noaa ?
It was novor tho uso in our country,

One's shrift anothoi should hoar "

But Bobin pull'd forth an Irish kmfo,

And looflod John hand and foot,
And gavo him HIT Guy'H bow into his hand,
And bade it bo his booto*

Thon John ho took Guy's bow w. his hand,

His bolts find arrows oaoh ono .
Whon tho sheriff saw Littlo John bond his
bow,

Ho fettled him to bo gono.

Towards his house in Nottingham town,

Heflod full iastaway;
And so did all tho company

Not ono behind would stay.

But ho could neither run so fast,

Nor away HO fiwi could rido,
But Littlo John with an arrow to broad,

Ho shot him into tho back-Hide

Anmiywous. — Bofwo 1G40.

520,— -BOBIN HOOD AND THE OtIBTAL
FKCAB.

In tho summer tome, whon leaves grow green,

And flowers are fresh, and gay,
Bobin Hood and his morzy men

Wore all disposed to play.

Thon somo would leap, and flomo would run,

And Homo would UHO artillery ,
" Which of you can a good bow draw,

A good archer for to bo c5

" Which of you can kOl a buck ;

Or who can HU a doo H
Or who can kill a hart of groafto,

Fivo hundred foot ham fro' ? "

Will Scarlet ho kill'd a buck,

And Midge ho kill'd a doo ;
And Little John HQ'd a hart of grease,

Fivo hundred foot him fro'.

« God's blessing on thy heart," said Bobin
Hood,

" That shot such a shot for mo ;
I would ride my horse an hundred miles

To find ono to match thoo." ^

ANONTMOTJS.]

BOBIN HOOD ATSTD THE OUBTAL FKIA.K. [Tuiiii>

Tliat caused Will Scarlet to laugh,

Ho laufth'd full heartily,
" Tlioro lives a friar in Fountain' « Abboy

WJ1 boat l>oth him and tlioo.

" Tho c-artal friar 111 T'onntaiw'H Abboy
Woll oaii draw a good Htrong bow ;

Ho will boat bofch yoa and your yoomon,
Sot thorn all ou a row "

Robin Hood took a solemn oath,

It waH by Mary froo,
That ho would neither oat nor drink,

Till tho friar ho did BOO

Bobin Hood put on his harnosB good,

On IUB hoad a cap of Htool ,
Broad sword and buoklor by his Hide,

And thoy booamo him woll.

Ho took Ms bow into his hand,

(It was of a trusty tioo)
With a sheaf of anowH by hi« fiido

And to Fountain Dole wont ho

And coming unto fair Fountain Dalo,

No farther would JIG rulo .
Thoro wow ho 'waro of a cnirtol friar.

Walking by tho water-Hide.

Tho friar had on a haroofiR pood,

On hin hoad a cap of Htool ,
Broad sword»and buckler by hiH Bide,

And thoy "became >"^ woll.

Bobm Hood lighted oft Inn horse,

And tied him to a thorn •
" Carry mo over tho water, thou ourtal friar,

Or olso thy Ho '» forlorn.* '

Tho friar took Robin Hood on MB back,

Doop wator ho did boHtrido,
And spako neither good word nor bad

Till ho came to tho othor Hide.

latfhtly loapM Bobin off tho friar's baok,

The friar said io him again,
" Carry mo over tho wator, lino follow,

Or it shall biood thoo pain."

Bobin Hood took tho friar on hiH back,

Doop wator ho did bestride,
And spake neither good nor bad

Till ho oamo to tho othor mdo.

Idghtly loap'd tho friar off Bobin Hood's
back ,

JXobin said to him again,
" Carry me over the wator, them cturtal fmar,

Or it shall brood theo pain."

Tho friaa? he took Bobin Hood on hw back
again,

And stopp'd up to his knee ;
Till he came to tha middle of the afaroam

Neither good no* bad spoke he ;

And coming1 to tlio im<l<lli» of ih<» j.lroam,

Thoro ho throw Jiobiti in ,
" And chooHA tlmo, ohooso tlu»c, fln«» fi'llov ^

Whotlior thou wilt wink or rt\vuu M

TlobmlT<vod HWIUII to it lumli <»r br<K»ui,
Tlio friar io iho willow \v*i«cl ,

Bold Rohm Uotnl hu ^ot io l-ht^ nhons
And took liis bow in IUH hand.

Olio of tlio boni arrowH undor lir. bi^li,,

To tln^ friiir ho Jot ity •
Tho cnrtal friar with his MttM»l luirkl«*r

Did put that arrow by.

" Shoot on, Hhoot on, thou fin<* fcllon,

Shoot oH thou luiHt Ix^nin ;
If thou Hhoot hor« a Miitumcr'H duy,

Tliy mark I -will not

Bobm ITood Mhot HO panniiifr wi»It,

Till htrt aiTowrt all w«w ^oi«» ;
Thoy took their nworclH and nltHtl l»nrM«ir,i,

Ti^liey fought with miglit iwid main,

From ton o'olook that vory day,

Till four i' tho iift<^rn<H)U ;
Tlien ltol>m Jflood oaino on IUH KmutK,

Of tlio friar to bog a boon.

" A boon, a boon, thou (nirtttl friar,

I bog it on my kno<» ;
Givo mo l°nvo to H«t wiy horn to my mtiuih,

And to blow bltwtw tliroo."

" That I will do,*1 Haul tho ourtal friar,
" Of thy blastrt I havo no doubt ;

I hope thou wilt blow KO ptiKHing woll,
Ml both thy oyon drop out.'*

Bobm ITood Hot IUH hoin to hm month,

And ho blow out bliut-H 1,lir<M%
JIalf a humlrod yoomon, with thcnr lxm.'. bout,

Oamo ranging ovor ttus It ML.

tlu\ friar,

" TltoHo men at a mines" uti*l IfctiMn Uo<«l,
" Friar, what'H that to i\m\ t' "

" A boon, a boon," wi/ul Uio curia! friar,

" Tlio like J gavo to ihon ;
CSivo mo lciav(» to put my {Ut to my mouUi,

And wliuto whiittw

" That T will do," wud ItoMn H<»o«t,
" Or O!KO I wtjro to blarno j

Throe whutt»M in a friar',4 fUt
Would make mo gliwi aiut fain/'

Tho friar ho mt bin flni to i
And h« whitt«»d him wiiuUM thaw ;

Half an hundred good IHVU riogH
Came running ovor thu Uuw

" Iloro in for ovory tnan a ring,

And 1 myntoif for ikm ; "
" Kay, by my filth," Haiti Ucfrlu H«gd,

{| Jb'riar, that may not W

From 1558 to 1C40.]

HOW BOBDST HOOD LENDS, <fcc.

[ANOBTYMOUS.

Two dogs at onoo to Bobin did go,
Tho ono behind, and tlio oilior before ;

Bobm IIood'H mantlo of Lincoln green
OS from his book thoy tore.

And whothor his men shot oast or west,

Or thoy nhot north or south,
Tho otatul dogH, HO taught thoy woro,

Thoy caught tho arrows 111 thoir mouth.

" Tako np thy dogs," said Littlo John,

" Fnar, at my bidding thoo ;
" Whono man art thou," said tho otirtal friar,

" That oomos horo to prato to mo P"

" I am Littlo John, Robin Hood' a man,

Fiiar, I will not ho ,
If thou tako not up thy doffK anon,

I'll tako thorn up and thoo "

Littlo John had a bow in IUH hand,

Ho shot with might and main,
Soon half a sooro of tho friar 'H dogs

Lay doad upon tho plain.

" Hold thy hand, good follow," said tho coital
friar,

" Thy master and I will agroo ,
And wo will havo now ordorH takon,

With all hasto that may bo.

" If thou wilt for«ako fair Fountain Dajc,

Ami Fountain Abboy free ,
Evory Sunday throughout tho year

A noblo shall bo thy foo.

" Evory Sunday throughout tho year,

Choag'd tihail thy gwrrnuutu bo,
If thou wilt to fair Nottingham go,

And thoro remain with uio."

Tho ourtal friar hod kopt Fountain Dalo,

Seven long years and inoro ;
There wan noittior knight, lord, nor oarl,

Could mako him yiold before.

521. — HOW B0BIN HOOD IJKNDFJ A
POOE KOTCIHT JPOmi JaTOO)JRJSD
POTOTDS.

Lithe and lystan, g-ontylmen,

That bo of freboro blodo ,
I ahall you toll of a gudo yomtko,

His name was Bobyn Hode,

Bobyn was a prondo outUwo,

Whylos ho walkod on grounde,
So ourteyso an outlawo a*s lw was ono

Was novor none yfotmdo.

Bobyn fttodo in Barnysdolo,

And lonod hym to a troo,
And by hym fitode LyteiU Johan,

A good,Yoman was he:

And also dyd good Scatholook,

And Muoh tho miller' H sono ,
Thoro was no ynoho of hie body,

But it was wortho a grome.

Thon bespako him Lytell Johan

All unto Eobyn Hode,
" Maystor, yf ye wolde dyno beiiyme,

It wolde do you mooh good."

Thon bospake good Eobyn,

<k To dyuo I havo no lust,
Tyll I havo Rome bolde bar6n,

Or some unkoth guost,

" [Or ols some byshop or abbot]

That may payo for tho bost ,
Or Bomo knyght or some squyoro

That dwdloth horo by wo&t."

A good manor than had Robyn,

In londo whoro that ho woro
Evory dayo or ho woulde dyne

Thro mosses woldo ho here.

Eobyn loved Our Dore Lady ,

For douto of dodoly nynne
Woldo ho novor do company harme

That ony woman was ynnd.

" Maystor," thon sayd Lytoll Johan,
"And wo our bordo whall fiprodo,

Toll UH whithor wo Bhall gone,
And what lyf o wo ahall lodo ,

" Whoro wo shall tako, whoro wo shall lovo,

Whoro wo Hhall abide bohyado,
Whoro wo shall robbo, whoro wo abaU revo,

Whoro <TG shall boto oud byndo."

" Thoroof no fors," sayd Bobyn,

" Wo BlmXL do well onow ;
But loko yo do no housbonde harme

That tylloth with his plough ,

" Ko moro yo shall no good yamtta,
That walkoth by grene wode Bhawo,

No no knyght, no no squyer,
That woldo bo a good folawo.

"Those bysshoppos, and thoso aarohobys-
shoppos,

Yo shall thorn boto and byndo ;
Tho hyo shoryfe of Notynghamo,

Ilym holdo m your myndo "

"ThiH worde shall bo holde," said LytylL
Johan,

<( And this loason shall wo lero ;
It is forro dayos, god seudo us a guost,

That wo were at our dynere."

" Tako thy good bowo in thy hando," said
Eobyn,

" Lot Mooho wonde with thoo,
And so shall WyUyam Soatholoolco,

And no man abydo with mo • ^9*

ANONYMOUS.]

HOW KOBIN HOOD LENDS,

" Aucl walko up to the Saylos,

And so to Watlyngo-fltroto,
And wayto tiftor soino unkoth gnoat,

Up-ohaunco yo mowo thorn inoto.

" Bo ho orlo or ony baron,

Abbot or ony knyght,
Bryngo hym to loilgo to mo,

Hys dynor shall bo dyght."

They wonto unto tho Sayloa,

Thowo yomon all thro,
Thoy lokod ost, they lokod west,

They xnyght no man BOO

Bat as thoy lokod in Baraysdolo,

By a dorno stroto
Then oamo there a knyght rydyngo,

Full sono thoy gun hym moto

All dreri thon "was his Romblaunto,

And lytoll wan hys piydo,
Hys one foto m the stcropo fitodo,

That othor waved bouydo

Hyu hodo hangyngo ovor hys oyon two,

Ho redo in Hymplo aray .
A soryor man than ho was ono

Bodo never in somors-day.

Lytoll Johan was cnrtoyso,

And set hym on hya kno •
" Woloomo bo yo, gontyll knyght,

Woloomo aro you to mo ,

" Woloomo bo thou to grono -wood,

Hondo knyght and fro ,
My maystor hath abydon you f astyngo,

Syr, all those ouxeu thro."

" Who is your maystor ? " sayd tho knyght.

Johan saydo, " Robyn Hodo "
" Ho IB a good yowan," sayd tho knyght,

" Of hym I have horde mooh good

" I ffraunto," ho wayd, " with you to wondo,

My brethren all in-f ere ,
My xrarpoHO wan to have doynod to day

At Blytho or Dankastoro."

Forthe than wont thitf gontyll fcnyght,

With a oarefnll ohero,
Tho torew out of HH oyon ran,

And fell downe by his loro.

Thoy brought hym unto tho lodge doro ;

Whon Eobyn gan hym so,
Poll enrteysly dyd of his hode,

And set hym on his kno.

" Welcome, syr knyght/1 then said Bobyn,

" Weloomo thou art to mo ;
I haue abydo you f astyngo, syr,

AU these houres thro."

Then answered tho gentyll knyght,

With wordea f ayre and fee,
" God thee save, good Bobyn,

And all thy fayre meyne 1 "

Thoy wanhod to^ydor and wyix»<l both,

And Rot tyll thoyr dynoro ,
Brodo and wyno thoy hiwl ^noiigh,

And nomblob of tho <lc»rt» ,

SwannoB and foKJiuutoH thoy hud full ftood,

And fouloH of tho nvt»r(» t
There faylod novw w> lyt<»ll «, byril»s

That ovor "vvaH brud on brnro.

" Do gladly, syr Taiy^ht,'* naytl Ituliyn.

" Oramoroy, nyr," Hayd ho,
" fiiKsh a dynor had T not

Of all ilioao wokoH thro .

*' If I oomo itj^ayno, Ilobyn,

Hero by thiH oonntr<\
As good a dyner t Hliull thoo iuak<s

As thou haut made to mo."

" Qramoroy, knyght," naytl Robyn,

" My dynor whan I luivo,
I was novor HO grody [ I HWOOT to them],

My dynor for to crave*

" But pay or yo wondo,'* «ay<l Robyii,
" Mo ihyiikoi.il it IH ^ooil ryght ;

It was novel tho manor, by my Iroth,
A yoman to pay Tor a knyght."

"I havo naught in iny ooforH," Hayd tho
knyght,

" That I may profor for Hhonut/'
" Lytoll Johan, go loko," Hayd Kobyn,

" No lot not for no blame.

" Toll me trouth/' Hayd liobyn,

" So god havo parte of tluu),"
"I havo no more but ton HhillinffH," Hayd tho
kuyght,

" So god havo parte of mo."

" Yf thoti havo no more," Hayd l&obyu,

" I wyll not ono pony ;
And yf thou have nodo of ony niun^,

Moro Khali 1 Ion llioo

" Go now forth, LytoJl Johan,

Tho troutho toll thou mo .
Yf there bo no more but ton Hlullin^,

Not ono pony than 1 HO."

Lytoll Johan Hprod downo IUH mantiMl

IVill fayie TJpon tho gromwlo,
And thore ho founclo in tho knyghtuH <'f;for

But even halfo a poundo.

Lytyll Jolian lot it lyo full Htyll,
And wont to IUH mayHtor full lowo.

" What tydyngo, Johan f " Hay<l Kobyn.
" Syr, tho knyght IH trawo inough."

" Fyll of tho boBt wyno," Hayd Kobyn,

" The knyght «hall begyuno j
Mooh wonder thynketh. mo

Thy clothyxigo IH HO thynne.

" Toll mo one wordo," nayd Bobyn,

I trowe thou wovo made a knyght of f onto,
Or elles of ycmanry •

1649.]

HOW I40BIN HOOD LENDS, <fcc.

LANONVMOTJS.

" Or olios tliou hast bon a sory housband,
And loved in stroko and stryfo ,

An okoror, or olles a lochouro," sayd Bobyn,
" With wrongo hast thou ledo thy lyfo."

c< I am nono of them," flayd the knyght,

* By [him] that mado mo
An hondroth wyntor hore before,

Myno aunsotters knyghtos haye bo.

' But ofto it hath bofal, Bobyn,

A man hath bo dysgrato ,
But [ho] that sytoth in heven above

May amend his state.

" Within two or thro yoro, Bobyn," ho sayd,

" My noyghboroa woll it kondo,
.Fouro hondroth ponnclo ot good monoy

Full wol than myght I spondo.

" Now havo 1 no good," sayd tho knyght,
" But my ohyldron and my wyfe ;

God hath ahapon nuoh an ondo,
Tyll at may amondo iny lyfc "

" In what manor," sayd Bohyn,

" Hast thou loro thy nohos P "
" For my groto foly," ho eayd,

" And for my kradonoaso.

" I had a wono, for Both, Bobyn,

That sholdo havo bon my oyro,
When ho WOH twenty wyntor oldo,

In foldo woldo junto f idl foyro ;

" ITo slowo a Jcuyght o£ LoncoHtphyro,

And a Rqayio bold,
For to Havo hym in LIB ryght

My goodos both »otto and soldo ;

" My londoB both Bat to wodde, Bobya,

TJntyll a cortayno dayo,
To a ryoho abbot horo bonydo,

Of Saynt Mary abbay."

" "What is tho flommo ? " Rayd Bobyn,

" Troutho than toll then mo "
" Ryr," ho flayd, " fonro hoii<lrod poundo,

Tho abbot toldo it to ino."

" Now, and thou loso thy londo," wayd Bobyu,

" What shall fall of tkooP"
" Tlaaloly I wyll ino buako," sayd tho knyght,

"Ovortho salto soo,

" And so whoro Cryet was quyoko and dood,

On tho mounto of Oalvar^.
Faro woll, frondo, and havo good dayo,

It may noo better bo — "

Toores foil out of his eyon two,

Ito woldo hauo gono his way —
"Farowoll, frondos, and havo good day;

I no havo moio to say."

" Whoro bo thy frondos ? " sayd Bobyn.

" Syr, novor pno wyll me know ,
Whylo I was ryoho mow at homo,

Grete boat thon woldo they blowo,

"And now thoy renne awayo fro mo,

As bastes on a rawo ,
Thoy tako no moro hood of mo

Than thoy me never sawe "

For ruthe thon wepte Lytell Johan,

Scatholooko and Muoh in fore
" Fyll of the best wyne," sayd Bobyn,

" For here is a symplo ohere.

" Hast thou ony frondes," sayd Bobyn,

" Thy borowes that wyll bo P "
" [Nono other] but Our Dero Lady r

She [never hath] fayled me "

" Now by my hand," sayd Bobyn,
" To soroho all Englond thorowo,

Tel. f oundo I nover to iny pay,
A mooh better borowe.

" Come now forthe, Lytoll Johan,

And goo to my tresoure,
And brynge me foure hondrod pounde.

And loke that it well toldo bo."

Forthe then wente Lytell Johan,

And Soatholooke went before,
Ho toldo out foure hondred pounde,

By two and twenty soore.

" Is this woll ioldo P " said lytoll Much.

Johan sayd, " What groveth thoo ?
It is almcs to holpo a gontyl! knyght

That is fall in povoitfc "

" Maystor," than sayil Lytoll Johan>

" His clothyngo is full thynno ;
To muni gyvo tho knyght a lyvoray,

To lappo MH body thor in.

" For yo havo scarloi and grono, maystor,

And many a rycho aray ;
Thoro ia no marohaunt in mory Englondo

So ryoho, I daro well sayo."

" Tako liym thro yordos of every colour oa
And loko that woll mote it bo "

Lytoll Johan toko none othor mosuro.
But his bowo tro,

And of ovory handf ull that ho mot

Ho lopt ovor fotos thro.
" What dovilkyns draper," sayd litoll Much,

"Thynkystthoutobo?"

Scatholooko stoodo full siyll and lough,

[And sworo it was but right] j
Johan may givo hym tho bottor mosuro,

It costoth lum but lyght.

" Maystor," sayd Lytoll Johan,

All unto Bobyn Hodo,
" To must gyve that knyght an hors,

To ledo homo al this good "

" Tako hym a gray courser," sayd Bobyn,

" And a sadoll newo ,
Ho is our ladyes mossongoro,

[I hopo] that ho bo tiuo "

ANONYMOUS ]

THE KNIGHT RELEASES HIS LANDS, &o [THIRD PTDBIOD —

" And a good palfraye," sayd lytell Moch,
" To mayntayne hym in his ryght "

" And a payre of botes," sayd Soathelooke,
" For he is a gentyll knyght "

" "What shalt thou gyre hym, Lytel Johan? "
sayd Bobyn

" Syr, a payre of gylte spurres olene,
To pray for all this company —

God brynge hym out of tene ! "

" Whan shall my daye be," sayd the knyght,

" Syr, and your wyll be ? "
" This daye twelve moneth," sayd Robyn,

"Under this grene wode tre."

" It were grete shame," sayd Bobyn,

" A knyght alone to ryde,
Without squyer, yeman, or page,

To walke by hys ayde

*e I shall thee leno Lytell Johan my man,

For he shall be thy knave ;
In a y email's steed he may thee stonde,

Tf thou grete nede have "

Anonymous. — Before 1649

522 — TTTTP. KNIGHT EELEASES HIS
LANDS, AND STJCOOT3GBS A YEO-
MAN

Nowe is the knyght went on his way •
This game he thought full good ;

Whan he loked on Bornysdala,
He blyssed Eobyn Hode ;

And whan he thought on Barnysdale,
On Soathelook, Much, and Johan,

He blyssed them for the best company
That ever he in oomo

Then spake that gentyll knyght,

To Lytel Johan gan he saye,
" To xnorowe I must to Yorke toune,

To Saynt Mary abbay ,

" And to the abbot of that place
Foure hondred pounde I must pay •

And but I be there upon this nyght
My londe is lost for ay."

The abbot sayd to his covent,

There he stode on grounde,
"This day twelfe moneth came there a
knyght

And borowed foure hondred ponnde.

" [He borowed foure hondred pounde]

Upon all his londe fre,
But he come this ylke day

Ihshflryted shaU he be "

" It ip rott erely," sayd the pryoure,

" The day is not yet ferre gone ;
I had lever to pay an hondred pounde,

And lay it downe a none.

" The knyght is forre boyonde the see,

In Englonde is his ryght,
And suffireth honger and colde

And many a sory nyght -

" It were grete pytfc," sayd the pryoure,

" So to have his londe ,
And ye be so lyght of your oonsoyence,

Te do to him moch wronge."

"Thou arte ever m my berde," sayd tho
abbot,

" By our saynt Eychardo."
With that cam in a fat-heded monkc,

The high cellarer .

" He is dede or hanged," sayd the monke

" By *"™ that bought me dere ,
And we shall have to spende m this place

Fonre hondced pounde by yere."

The abbot and the high cellarer,

Sterte f orthe full bolde ,
The High Jusiyce of Englonde

[With] tho abbot there dyd holde.

The High Justyce and many mo

Had take into their honde
Wholly all the knyghtos dot,

To put that knyght to wronge.

They demed the knyght wonder soro,

The abbot and hys moyne •
" But he come this ylke day

Disheryted shaU he be."

" He wyll not come yet," sayd the justice,

" I dare weU undertake "
But in sorry tyme for thorn all,

The knyght came to the gate.

Than bespake that gentyll knyght

Untyll his meyne,
" Now put on your simple wedoa

That ye brought fro tho BOO."

[They put on their simple wedes,]

And came to the gates anone,
The porter was redy hyxnselfe,

And welcomed them ovorychono.

" Welcome, syr knyght," sayd the port&r,

" My lord to meto is ho,
And so is many a gentyll man,

For the love of thee "

The portor swore a full groto otho,

[When ho his horse did see] .
"Here be the best coresed horso

That ever yet sawe I me.

"Lede them into the stable," ho sayd,

" That eased myght they be."
"They shall not come therm," sayd the
knyght

[" Thy stable liketh not me."]

From 1568 to 1649.] THE KNIGHT RELEASES HIS LA25DS, <5Lo

[ANONYMOUS.

Loidos were to mete isette

In that abboies hall,
The knyght went forth and kneled downe,

And salved them grete and small.

" Do gladly, syr abbot," sayd the knyght,

" I am oome to holde my day."
The fyrst word the abbot spake,

" Hast thou brought my pay P "

*' Not one peny," sayd the knyght,

[" Alas » it might not be "]
""Thou art a shrewed dettour," sayd the

abbot,
" Syr justyce, drynke to me.

" What doost thou here," sayd the abbot,
" But thou haddest brought thy pay ? "

" Pore heaven," than sayd the knyght,
" To pray of a longer daye "

" Thy daye is broke," sayd the justyce,

" Londe getest thou none "
" Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,

And fende me of my fone "

"I am holde with the abbot," sayd the
justyce,

" Bothe with cloth and fee."
" Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende ! '*

" Nay, fore heaven," sayd he.

" Now, good syr abbot, be my frende,

For thy curteyse,
And holde my londes in thy honde

Tyll I have made thee gree ,

" And I wyll be thy true servaunte,

And trewely serve the,
Tyl ye have foure hondrod pouude

Of money good and free "

The abbot sware a full grete othe,

[A solemn othe sware he ]
" Get the londe where thou may,

For thou getest none of me "

[" Now by our Lady,"] sayd the knyght,
[" Whose aidance have I besought,]

But I have my londe agayne,
Full dere it shall be bought.*'

The abbot lothely on hym gam loke,

And vylaynesly hym<g&n call .
" Out," he sayd, " thou false knyght,

Spede thee out of my hall I "

" Thou lyest," then sayd the geatyll knyght,

"Abbot in thy hal;
False knyght was I never,

By lnm that made us all."

Tip then stode that gentyll knyght,

To the abbot sayd he,
" To suflre a knyght to knele so longe,

Thou canst no ourteysye ,

" In joustes and in tournemeno

Full f erre than have I bo,
And put myself e as ferre in prees

As ony that ever I se."

" What wyll ye gyve more P " said the justyce,
" And the knyght shall make a releyse ,

And elles dare I safely swere

Ye holde never your londe in pees."

" An hondred pounde," sayd the abbot
The justyce sayd, " Gyve him two."

" Nay, be heaven," sayd the knyght,
" Yet gete ye it not soo -

" Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,

Yet were ye never the nere ,
Shall there never be myn eyre,

Abbot, justyse, no frere."

He sterte hym to a, borde anone,

Tyll a table rounde,
And there he shoke out of a bagge

Even foure hondred pounde.

" Have here thy golde, syr abbot," sayd the
knyght,

" Which that thou lentest me ;
Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge,

Bewarde sholdest thou have be."

The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,

For all his ryall chere,
He cast his hede on his sholder,

And fast began to stare.

"[Bring] me my golde agayne," sayd the
abbot,

" Syr justyce, that I toke thee "
" Not a peny," sayd the justyce,

[" Thou diddest but pay my fee."]

" Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,

Now have I holde my daye,
Now shall I have my londe agayne,

For aught that you can saye."

The knyght stert out of the dore,

Awaye was all his care,
And on he put his good olothynge,

The other he lefte there.

He wente hym f orthe full mery syngynge,

As men have tolde in tale,
His lady met hym at the gate,

At home in " Wierysdale."

*
" Welcome, my lorde," sayd his lady j

" Syr, lost is all your good ? "
" Be mery, dame," sayd the knyght,

" A""* praye for Bobyn Hode,

" That ever his soule be in blysse,

He holpe me out of my tene ;
Ne had not be his kyndenesse,

Beggars had we bene.

LITTLE JOHN IN THE SEEVICE OF, &c. [THIRD PBEIOD —

" The abbot and I aoordyd bene ,

He is served of his pay ,
The good yeman lent it me,

As I oame by the way."

This knyght than dwelled f ayre at homo,

The soth for to say,
Tyll he had got f oure hondreth pounde,

All redy for to paye.

He purveyed hym an hondred bowea,
The strenges [were] welle dyght,

An hondred shef e of arowes good,
The hedes burnyshed fall bryght,

And every arowe an elle longe,

With peoocke well ydyght,
Inocked all with whyte sylv&Tj

It was a semly syght.

He purveyed hym an hondreth men,

Well harneysed in that stede,
And hymself e in that same sete,

And clothed in whyte and rede.

He bare a launsgay in his honde,

And a •nftn.-n ledde his male,
And reden with a lyght songe,

Unto Barnysdale

As he went at a biydge ther was a wrastelyng,

And there taryed was he,
And there was all the best yem&n

Of all the west oonntree.

A fall fayre game there was upset,

A whyte bull up ipyght ;
A grete oourser with sadle and brydil,

With golde buraeyshed f nil bryght ;

A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge,

A pype of wyne, in good fay :
What man bereth him best, I wys,

The pryoe shall bere'away.

There was a yeman in that place,

And best worthy was ho ,
And for he was ferro, [without] frend bestad,

Islayne he sholde have be.

The knyghc had ruth of this yem&n,

In pbce where thab he atode,
He said that yoman sholde have no hanne,

For love of Robyn Hode

The knyght prosed into the place,

An hondred f olowed hym fre,
With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe,

For to shende that company.

They sholdred all, and made hym rome,

To wete what he wolde say,
He toke the yeman by the honde,

And gave hym all the playe;

He gave hym fyve marke for his wyne

There it laye on the molde,
And bad it sholde be sotte a-broche,

Drynke who so wolde.

Thus longe taryed this gentyll knyght,

Tyll that playe was done, —
So longe abode Robyn fastynge,

Thre houres after the none

Anonymous — Before 1C t9.

523— LITTLE JOHN IN THE SERVICE
OF THE SHERIFF OF NOTTING-
HAM

Lyth and lysten, gentyll men,

All that now be here,
Of Lytell Johan, that was the knyghtos man,

Good myitho shall ye here

It was upon a mery day,

That yonge men wolde go shete,
Lytell Johan f et hi* bowe anone,

And sayd he wolde them mete.

Thre tymes Lytell Johan shot about,

And alwa/ deft the wande,
The proude shoryf of Notyngham

By the markes gan stande*

The sheryf saw how Johan shot,

And a great oath sware ho
" This •ngft.Ti ig the best archere

That yet sawe I me

" Say me now, wyght yonge man,

Thy name now tell to me,
In what countre were thou born,

And where may thy wonnynge be ? "

" In Holdernesso I was bore,

I wys, all of my dame ,
Men call me Reynolde Grenelef e,

Whan I am at hame."

" Say me, Reynaud Grenelefe,

Wolte thou dwell with me p
And every yere I wyll tho gyvo

Twenty marke to thy foe "

" I have a mayster," sayd Lytell Johana

"A ourteys knyght is he ,
May ye gete leve of hym,

The better may it bee "

The sheryfe gate Lytell Johan
Twelve monethes of tho knyght,

Therf ore he gave him zyght anono
A good hors and a wyght

Now is Lytell Johan the sheryffes man,

Heaven gyve us woll to spedo ;
But olway thought Lytell Johan

To quyte hym woll his xnede.

*eNow so heaven me holpo," sayd Lylol
Johan,

"And by my trewe lowifc,
I shall be the worste servaunte to hym

That ever yet had ho "

Irom 1558 to 1649 ] LITTLE JOHN IN THE SERVICE OF, &c

[ANONYMOUS.

It befell upon a Wednesday,

The sheryf e on hontynge was gone,

And Lybel Johan lay in his bed,
And was f oryete at home.

Therfore he was fastynge

Tyl it was past the none.
" Gk>od syr stuard, I pray thee,

Geve me to dyne/' sayd Lytel Johan.

" It is too long for Grenelefe,

Fastynge so long to be ,
Therf ore I pray the, stnarde,

My dyner gyve thou me "

" Shalt thon never ete ne drynke," sayd the
stuarde,

" Tyll my lord be come to towne "
" I make myn avowe," sayd Lybell Johan,

" I had lever to craoke thy orowne."

The butler was ful uncurteys,

There he stode on flore,
He sterte to the buttery,

And shet fast the dore.

Lybell Johan gave the buteler such a rap,

His backe yede nygh on two ;
Tho he lyved an hundreth wynter,

The wors he sholde go.

Ho sporned the dore with his fote,

It went up wel and fyne,
And there he mode a large lyveray

Both of ale and wyne.

" Syth yo wyl not dyne," sayd Lytel Johan,

'* I shall gyve you to drynke,
And though ye lyve an hondred wynter,

On Lytell Johan ye shall thynk."

Lytell Johan ete, and Lytell [Johan] dronke,

The whyle that he wolde*
The sheryf e had in his keohyn a coke,

A stoute man and a bolde.

" I make myn avowe,*' sayd the coke,

" Thou arte a shrewde hynde,
In an housholde to dwel,

For to ask thus to dyne "

And there he lent Lytel Johan,

Good strokes thro.
" I make myn avowe," sayd Lytell Johan,

" These strokes lyketh well me.

" Thou arte a bolde man and an hardy,

And so thynketh me ,
And or I passe fro this place,

Asayed better shalt thou be "

Lytell Johan drewe a good swerde,
The coke toke another in honde ;

They thought nothynge for to fle,
But styfly for to stonde.

" 1 mako myn avowe," sayd Lytell Johan,

" And be my trewe lewte,
Thou art one of the best swerdemca

That ever yet sawe I me.

"Coowdest thou shote as well in a bowe,
To grene wood thou sholdest with me,

And two tymes in the yere thy olothynge
Ichaunged sholde be ;

" And every yere of Bobyn Hode

Twenty marke to thy fee."
" Put up thy swerde," sayd the coke,

" And felowes wyll we be "

Then he f ette to Lytell Johan

The numbles of a doe,
Good brede and full good wyne,

They ete and dranke therto

And whan they had dronken well,
Ther trouthes togyder they plyght,

That they wolde be with Bobyn
That ylke some day at nyght.

The dyde thorn to the tresuie-hous,

As fast as they xnyght gone,
The lockes that were of good stele

They brake them everyohone ;

They toke away the sylver vessell,

And all that they myght get,
Peoes, masars, and spones,

Wolde they non f orgete j

Also they toke the good pence,
Thre hondred pounde and three ;

And dyd them strayt to Bobyn Hode,
Under the grene wode tre

" God the save, my dere maystfcr,"

[Little Johan said he,]
And than sayd Bobyn to LyteU Johan,

" Welcome myght thou be ;

" And also be that fayre yeman
Thou bryngest there with thee.

What tydynges fro Noiyngham ?
Lytell Johan, tell thou me "

" Well thee greteth the proude sheryfe,

And sende thee here by me
His ooke and his sylver vessell,

And thre hondred pounde and thre."

" I make myn avow," sayd Bobyn,

" However the thing may be,
It was never by his good wyll,

This good is come to me I "

Lytell Johan hym there bethought

On a shrewed wyle
Fyve myle in the forest he ran,

Hym happed at his wyll ;

Than he met the proud sheryf ,
Huntynge with hounde and home,

Lytell Johan. coud his curteysye,
And kneled hym bef orne :

" God thee save, my dere mayster,

Keep thee well," sayd he.
" Baynolde Grenelefe," sayd the sheryfe,

" Where hast thou nowe be p "

ANONYMOUS ]

BOB!!* HOOD BEIMBTJBSES HIMSELF, &c. [THIRD PERIOD —

" I have be in this forest,

A f ayre syght can I se,
It was one of the f ayrest syghtes

Tliat ever yet sawe I me ,

" Tender I se a ryght fayre hart,

TT-m colouro is [fall shene],
Seven score of dare upon an herde

Be all with hym bedene ;

"His tynde are so sharp, mayst&r,

Of sexty and well mo,
That I durst not shote for dzede

Lest they wolde me sloo."

" I make myn avowe ' " sayd the sheryf,
" That syght wolde I fayn se "

"Buske you thyderwarde, my dere mayst^r,
Anone, and wende with me "

The sheryf e rode, and Lytell Johan

Of f ote he was full smarte,
And whan they came afore Bobyn :

"Lo, here is the mayster harte ' "

Styll stode the proude sheryf,

A sory man was he :
" Wo worth the, Eaynolde Qrenelefe '

Thou hast now betrayed me ' "

" I make myn avowe," sayd Lytell Johan,

" Mayster, ye be to blame ;
I was mysserved of my dynere,

When I was with you at hame."

Soone he was to supper aette,
And served with sylver whyte ;

And whan the sheryf se his vessel!,
For sorowe he myght not ete.

" Make good chore," sayd Bobyn Hode,

" Sheiyfe, for charyte,
And for the love of Lytell Johan,

Thy lyfe is graunted to the."

When they had supped well,

The day was all agone,
Bobyn Gomm&nznded Lytell Johan

To drawe off his hosen and his shone,

Bos kyrtell and his cote a pye,

That was furred well fyne,
And take him a grene mantell,

To lappe his body therin

Bobyn commaunded his wyght yong mopj

Under the grene wood tro,
They shall lay in that same sorte

That the sheryf myght them se.

All nyght laye that proud sheryf,
In ms breche and in his sherte,

No wonder it was, in grene wode,
Tho his sydes do smerte.

" Make gbd <&sre," sayd Bobyn Hode,

" Sheiyfe, for <baxyte,
» For this is- ourr order I wys,
Under the gr«s»wood't*e*"

" This is harder order," sayd tho shoryfe,

" Than ony anker or frere ,
For al the golde in mory Englonde

I wolde not longe dwell here "

"All these twelve monethes," sayd Bobyn,

" Thou shalte dwell with me ;
I shall thee teohe, proud shoryf o,

An outUiwe for to be "

"Or I here another nyght lye," sayd tho
sheryfe,

" Bobyn, nowe I prayo thoe,
Smyte of my hede rather to-morne,

And I forgyve it thee.

" Lete mo go," then sayd the shoryf ,

"For saynt Ohaiyte,
And I wyll be thy best frende

That ever yet had thoe "

" Thou shalt swero me an otho," sayd Bobyn,

" On my bryght brondo,
Thou shalt never awayte me scathe,

By water ne by londe ;

" And if thou fynde ony of my men,

By nyght or by day,
Upon thyne othe thou shalt swore,

To helpe them that thou may "

Now have the sheryf iswore his othe,

And home he began to gono,
He was as full of grene wode

As ever was [haw] of stono.

Anonymous. — Bqfore 1649.

524.— BOBEST HOOD BEIMBTOSES BIM-
OF HIS LOAN

The sheryf dwelled in Notynghamo,

He was f ayne that he was gono,
And Bobyn and his mery men

Went to wode anone.

" Go we to dyner * " sayd Lytoll Johan.

Bobyn Hodo sayd, " Nay ;
For I drede our lady be wroth with me,

For she sent me not my pay "

"Have no dout, mayster," sayd Lytoll Johan,

" Yet is not the soxme at rest ,
For I dare sayo, and saufly sworo,

The knyght is trewe and trust "

" Take thy bowe in thy hando," sayd Bobyn,

" Let Mooh wendo with thoo,
And so shall Wyllyam Soaihelook,

And no man abyde with me,

" And walke up into the Saylos,

And to Watlynge-strete,
And wayte after some toiketh gest,

Up-chaunoe ye may thejn mete.

From 1558 to 1G49.] BOBEGT HOOD EEIMBTTESES HIMSELF, &c.

[ANONYMOTTS

" "Whether lie be messengere,

Or a man that myithes can,
Or yf he be a pore man,

Of my good he shall have some."

Perth then stert Lytel Johan,

Half in tray and tene,
And gyrde hym with a full good swerde,

Under a mantel of greno

They went up to the Sayles,

These yemen all thre ,
They loked est, they loked west,

They znyght no man se

But as they loked in Barnysdale,

By the hye waye,
Than were they ware of two blacke monkes,

Eche on a good palferay.

Then bespake Lytell Johan,

To Much he gan say,
*• I dare lay my lyfe to wedde,

That these monkes have brought onr pay.

" Make glad ohere," sayd Lytell Johan,

" And frese our bowes of ewo,
And loko your hertes be seker and sad,

Your strynges trusty and trewe

*( Tho monke hath fifty two mon,

And seven somers full stronge ,
There lydeth no bys&hop in this londe

So ryolly, I undorstond.

«' Brethern," sayd Lytell Johan,
" Here aro no more but we thre ;

But we brynge them to dynor,
Our mayster dare we not se.

" Bende your bowos," sayd Lytell Johan,

" Make all yon prese to stonde ;
The f ormost monke, his lyfe and his deth

Is dosed in my honde

" Abyde, ohorle monke," sayd Lytell Johan,

" No f erther that thou gone ;
Tf thou doost, by dere worthy god,

Thy deth is in my honde.

« And evyll thryffce on thy hede," sayd Lytell
Johan,

" Byght under thy hattes bonde,
For thou hast made our mayster wroth,

He is fastynge so longe."

" Who is your mayster ? " sayd the moiike.

LyteU Johan sayd, " Bobyn Hode."
" He is a stro'nge thefe," sayd the monke,

" Of hym herd I never good."

" Thou lyest," than sayd Lytell Johan,

" And that shall rewe thee ,
He is a yeman of the forest,

To dyne he hath bode thee."

Much was rody with a bolte,

Beddoly and a-none,
He set the monke to fore the brest,

To the gronnde that he can gone.

Of fyfty two wyght yonge men,

There abode not one,
Saf a lytell page, and a grome

To lede the somers with Johan.

They brought the monke to the lodge dore,

Whether he were loth or lef e,
For to speke with. Bobyn Hode,

Maugre in theyr tethe.

Bobyn dyd adowne his hode,

The monke whan that he see ;
The monke was not so curteyse,

His hode then let he be.

" He is a ohorle, mayster, I swere,"

Than sayd Lytell Johan
" Thereof no force," sayd Bobyn,

" For ourteyay can he none

" How many men," sayd Bobyn,

" Had this monke, Johan ? "
" Fyftiy and two whan that we met,

But many of them be gone "

" Let blowe a home," sayd Bobyn,
" That felaushyp may us knowe."

Seven score of wyght yemen
Came pryokynge on a rowe,

And everych of •Hhfttyi a good mant&Il,

Of scarlet and of raye,
AH they came to good Bobyn,

To wyte what he wolde say.

They made the monke to wasshe and wype,

And syt at frfa denere
Bobyn Hode and Lytel Johan

They served Trim bothe in fere,

" Do gladly, monke," sayd Bobyn.

" Grameroy, syr," sayd he.
" Where is your abbay, whan ye are at home,

And who is your avowe ? "

" Saynt Mary abbay," sayd the monke,

11 Though I be sympls here."
" In what ofiyoe P " sayd Bobyn.

"Syr, thehyeselerer"

" Te be the more weloome3" sayd Bobyn,

" So ever mote I the
Fyll of the best wyne," sayd Bobyn,

" This monke shall drynke to me.

" But I have grete mervayle," sayd Bobyn,

" Of all this longe day,
I drede our lady be wroth with me,

She sent me not my pay."

" Have no doute, mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,

" Ye have no nede I saye,
This monke it hath brought, I dare well swere,

Tor he is of her abbay "

" She was a borowe," sayd Eobyn,

" Betwene a knyght and me,
Of a lytell money that I hym lent,

Under the grene wode tree ,

ANOKTMOTTS.J

BOBIN HOOD JfcSEIMBUBSES HIMSELF, &o. [THIRD PERIOD —

" And yf thou hast "that sylver ibroughte,

I praye the let me se,
And I shfl.ll helpe thee eftsones,

T£ thou have nede of me "

The monke swore a fall grete othe,

With a sory ohere
" Of the borowehode thou spekest to me,

Herde I never ere."

" I make myn. avowe," sayd Bobyn,

" Monke, thou arte'to blame,
For god is holde a ryghtwys man,

And so is his dame.

" Thou toldest with thyn owne tonge,

Thou may not say nay,
How thou arte her servaunt,

And servest her every day :

" And thou art made her messengere,

My money for to pay,
Therfore I con thee moie thanke,

Thou art oome at thy day.

" What is in your oofers ? " sayd Bobyn,

" Trewe then teU thou me "
" Syr," he sayd, " twenty marke,

Al so mote I the."

" Tf there be no more," sayd Bobyn,

" I wyll not one peny;
Yf thou hast myster of ony more,

Syr, more I shall lende to the ,

" And yf I fynde more," sayd Bobyn,

" I wys thou shalte it forgone ,
For of thy spendynge sylver, monk,

Thereof wyll I ryght none.

" Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan,

And the trouth tell thou me ;
If there be no more but twenty marke,

No peny that I se."

Lytell Johan spred his mantel! downe,

As he had done before,
And he tolde out of the monkes male

Eyght hundzeth pounde and more.

LyteU Johan let it lye full styll,
And went to his mayster in hast :

" Syr," he sayd, "the monke is trewe ynowe,
Our lady hath doubled your cost."

" I make myn avowe," sayd Bobyn,

" (Monke, what tolde I thee P)
Our lady is the trewest woman

That ever yet f ounde I me.

"By all that's good," sayd Bobyn,

" To seohe all Englond thorowe,
Yet f ounde I never to my pay

A xnoohe better borowe.

" "FjTl of the best wyne, do hym diynke," sayd
Bobyn,

" And grete'well thy lady hende,
And yf she have nede of Bobyn Hode,

She shall hym fynde a f rende ,

" And yf she nedeth ony more sylvtr,

Come thou agayne to me,
And, by this token she hath me sent,

She shall have such thro "

The monke was going to London ward,

There to holde gxete moto,
The knyght that rodo so hye on hors,

To brynge hym under f ote.

" Whither be ye away P " sayd Eobyn.

" Syr, to manors in this londo,
To reken with our rovos,

That have done mooh wrongo "

The monke toke the hors with spurro,

No longer wolde he abydo.
" Aske to drynke," than sayd Bobyn,

"Or that ye forther ryde "

" Nay, fore heaven," than sayd the monke,

" Me reweth I cam so nere ;
For better ohepe I myght have dyned

In Blythe or in Dankestore."

" Grete well your abbot," sayd Bobyn,.

" And your piyour, I you pray,
And byd hym sende me suoh a monko

To dyner every day "

Now lete we that monke be styll,

And speke we of that knyght,
Yet he came to holde his day

Whyle that it was lyght

He dyde him streyt to Barnyadale,

Under the grene wodo tre,
And he f ounde there Bobyn Hode,

And aH his mery meyne

The knyght lyght downe of his good palfray,

Bobyn whan he gan see,
So curteysly he dyde adoune his hode,

And set hym on his knee

" God the save, good Bobyn Hodo,

And al this company."
" Welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,

And ryght welcome to mo."

Than bespake hym Bobyn Hode

To that knyght so fire •
" What nede dryveth the to, grene wodo ?

I pray the, syr knyght, tell mo.

"And welcome be thou, gentyl knyght,

Why hast thou be so longe P "
" For the abbot and the hye justyce

Wolde have had my londe."

" Hast thou thy londe agayno P " sayd Bobyn,

" Treuth than toll thou me "
" Ye, truly," sayd the knyght,

"And that thanke i god and the.

" But take not a grefo, I have be so longe ;

I came by a wrastelynge,
And there I dyd holpe a pore yeman,

With wronge was put behynde."

From 1558 to 1649.]

EOBIN HOOD'S DEATH A1TD BUEIAL.

[ANONYMOUS.

£fc Nay, that is well,' sayd Bobyn,
" Syr knyght, that thanke I the ;

What man that helpeth a good yem&n,
His frende than wyll I be."

" Have here foure hondred pounde," sayd the
knyght,

" The whiche ye lent to me ;
And heie is also an hondred more

For your curtoysy "

*e Nay, syr knyght," then aayd Bobyn,

" Thou broke it well for ay ,
For our lady, by her selerer,

Hath sent to me my pay ;

"Andyf I toke it twyse,

A shame it were to me
But trewely, gentyll knyght,

Welcom arte thou to me "

Whan Eobyn had tolde his tale,

He laugh and had good chore
** By my trouthe," then sayd the knyght,

"Tour monoy ia redy here."

" Bioke it well," sayd Bobyn,

*e Thou gentyll knyght so fre ;
And welcome be thou, gentyll Jsiiyght,

Under my try&tell tree.

"But what shall these bowes do?" sayd
Robyn,

" And these arowes if edered fre P "
"By my troth," than sayd the knyght,

" A pore piesent to thee."

" Come now forLh, Lytell Johan,

And go to my treasure,
And brynge me there foure hondred pounde,

The monke over-tolde it to me.

" Have here foure hondred pounde,

Thou gentyll knyght and trewe,
And bye hors and harnes good,

And gylte thy spurres all newe .

" And yf thou fayle ony spendynge,

Come to Eobyn Hode,
And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle

The whyles I hare any good

<e And broke well thy four hondred pounde

Whiche I lent to the,
And make thy selfe no more so bare,

By the counsell of me "

Anonymous — Before 1649

525— EOBIN HOOD'S DEATH AJNTD
BUEIAL.

When Eobin Hood and Little John

Down a down, a down, a down,
Went o'er yon bank of broom,
Said Eobm Hood to Little John,
" We have shot for many a pound :
Hey down, a down, a down.

" But I am not able to shoot one shot more,

My arrows will not flee ;
But I have a cousin lives down below,

Please God, she will bleed me "

Now Eobin is to fair Kirkley gone,

As fast as he can wen ,
But before he came there, as we do hear,

He was taken very ill

And when that he came to fair Kirkley Hall,

He knocked all at the ring,
But none was so ready as his cousin herself

For to let bold Eobin in.

" Will you please to sit down, cousin Eobin,"
she said,

" And drink some beer with me p "
" No, I will neither eat nor drink,

Till I am blooded by thee."

" Well, I have a room, cousin Eobin," she
said,

" Which you did never see ,
And if yon please to walk therein,

You blooded by me shall be."

She took him by the lily-white hand,

And led him to a piivate room ,
And there she blooded bold Eobm Hood,

Whilst one drop of blood would run.

She blooded "few in the vein of the arm,

And locked fa™ up m the room
There did he bleed all the live-long day,

Until the next day at noon.

He then bethought him of a casement door,

Thinking for to begone ;
He was so weak he could not loap,

Nor he could not get down.

He then bethought fa™ of his bugle-horn,
Which hung low down to his knee,

He set his horn unto his mouth,
And blew out weak blasts three

Then Little John, when hearing him,

As he sat under -the tree,
" I fear my master is near dead,

He blows so wearily."

Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone,

As fast as he can dree :
And when he came to Kirkley Hall,

He broke locks two or three ,

Until he came bold Eobin to,

Then he fell on his knee ;
" A boon, a boon," ones Little John,

"Master, I beg of thee."

" What is that boon," quoth Eobin Hood,
" Little John, thoubegst of me? "

" It is to burn fair KirHey Hall,
And all their nunnery "

PATIENT GffilSSELL.

[THIRD PEBIOD —

" Now nay, now nay," quoth. Bobin Hood,
" That boon Til not grant thee ,

I never hurt woman in all my life,
Nor man in woman's company.

" I never hurt fair maid m all my time,

Nor at my end shall it be ;
But give me my bont bow in my hand,

And a broad arrow I'LL let flee ,
And where this arrow is taken up,

There shall my grave digged be.

" Lay me a green sod under my head,

And another under my feet 5
And lay my bent bow by my side,

Which was my music sweet ,
And make my grave of gravel and green,

Which is most right and meet.

" Let me have length and breadth enough,
With a green sod under my head ,

That they may say when I aTm dead,
Here lies bold Bobin Hood "

These words they readily promised him,

Which did bold Robin please ,
And there they buried bold Robin Hood,

Near to the fair Berkleys.

Anonymous. — Before 1649

526.— PATIENT GKBISSELL.

A noble marquess,

As he did rode a hunting,

Hard by a forest side,
A fair and comely maiden,
As she did sit a spinning1,

His gentle eye espied.

Most fair and lovely,
And of comely grace was she,
Although in simple attire •
Xghe sung full sweetly,
YVith pleasant voice melodiously,

" L set the lord's heart on fire.
te looked, the more he might 3
red his heart's delight,
And td^his comely damsel

Then, tie went —

" God speed" quoth he, "thou famous flower,
Fair mistresVof this homely bower,
Where love and virtue
3>well with sweet content."
A

With comely gesture^

And modest mild behaviour,

Sha bid him. welcome then;
She entertained him
In faithful friendly manner,

And all his gentlemen*

The noble marquess

Tn 'a heart felt such a flume,

Which set his senses all at strife .
Quoth he, " Fair maiden,
Show me soon what is thy name •

I mean to make thoo my wife "
" Gnasell is my name," quoth she,
" Far unfit for your degree,
A silly maiden,

And of parents poor "
" Nay, Gnssell, thou art rich," ho said,
" A virtuous, fair, and comely maid ,
Grant me thy love,

And I will ask no more."

II

At length she consented,
And being both contented,

They married were with speed ;
Her country russet
Was changed to silk and velvet,

As to her state agreed;
And when that she
Was trimly tired in the same,

Her beauty shone most bright,
Far staining every
Other fair and princely damo,

That did appear in sight.
Many envied her therefoio,
Because she was of parents poor,
And 'twist her lord and she,

Great strife did raise.
Some said this, and some said that,
And some did call her beggar's brat,
And to her lord

They would her oft dispraise

" 0 1 noble marquess,"

Quoth they, " why dost thou wrong us,

Thus basely for to wed,
That might have gotten
An honourable lady

Into your princely bed ?
Who will not now
Tour noble issue still deride,

Which shall hereafter bo bom,
That are of blood so base,
Born by the mother's side,

The which will bring them in scorn,
Put her, therefore, quite away,
And take to you a lady gay,
Whereby your lineage

May renownfcd be "
Thus every day they seemed to prate
That mahced Gns&oU's good estate,
Who all this while

Took it most patiently.

in.

When that the marquess

Bid see that they were bent thus

Against his f axthful wife,
Whom he most dearly,
Tenderly, and entirely,

Beloved as his He ,

From 1658 to 1649 ]

PATIENT 0-KESSELL

[ANONYMOUS

Minding in secret

Per to proro her patient heart,

Thereby her f oos to disgrace ,
Thinking to show her
A hard discourteous part,

That men might pity her case.
Great •with child this lady -was,
And at last it came to pass,
Two goodly children

At one birth she had •
A son and daughter God had sent,
Which did their father well content.
And which did make

Their mother's heart fnll glad.

Great royal feasting,

Was at these childien's christening,

And princely tiiumph made ,
Six weeks together,
^11 nobles that came thithor,

Were entertained and stayed ;
And when all these pleasant
Sportmgs were quite done,

For his young daughter,
And his pretty smiling son ,

Declaring his fall intent,
How that the babes must murdered be j
For so the marquess did decree.
" Come, let me have

The children," then he said.
With that fair Gnseell wept full sore,
She wrung hex hands, and said no more,
" My gracious lord

Must have his will obeyed "

IV.

She took the babies,

Even from the nursing ladies,

Between ther tender arms ;
She often wishes
With many sorrowful kisses,

That she might ease their harms.
"Farewell, farewell,
A thousand times, my children dear,

Never shall I see you again ,
'Tis long of me,
Your sad and woeful mother here,

For whose sake both must be sln.m
Had I been born of royal race,
Jou might have lived in happy case ;
.But you must die

For my unworthmess.
Come, messenger of death," quoth she,
" Take my dearest babes to thee,
And to their father

My complaint)

He took the children,
And to Ms noble master,

He bore them thence with speed ,
Who in secret sent them
TJnto a noble lady,

To be brought Tip in deed.

Then to fair GrisseU,
With a heavy heart he goes,

Where she sat mildly all alone .
A pleasant gesture,
And a lovely look she shows,

As if no grief she had known
Quoth he, " My children now are slain ;
What thinks fair GrisseU of the same ?
Sweet Gnssell, now

Declare thy mind to me "
" Sith you, my lord, are pleased with it,
Poor Gnssell thinks the action fit :
Both I and mine

At your command will be "

" My nobles murmur,

Fair GrisseU, at thy honour,

And I no joy can have,
Till thou be banished,
Both from the court and presence

As they unjustly crave
Thou must be stripped
Out of thy stately garments all ,

And as thou cam'st to me,
In homely gray,
Instead of bisse and purest pall,

Now all thy clothing must be :
My lady thou must be no more,
Nor I thy lord, which grieves me sora
The pooiest life

Must now content thy mind.
A groat to thee I must not give
Thee to maintain while I do live ;
Against my Gnssell

Such great foes I find."

When gentle Gnssell

Did hear these woeful tidings,

The tears stood in her eyes,
Nothing she answered,
No words of discontentment

Did from her lips arise
Her velvet gown
Most patLffntiy she stripped off,

Her kzrtle of silk witih the same
Her russet gown
Was brought again with many a eeoff,

To bear them herself she did frame
When she was dressed in this array,
And was ready to part away,
*e God send long life

Unto my lord," quoth she ;
" Let no offence be found in this,
To give my love a parting' kiss."
With watery eyes,

" Farewell, my dear," said he.

71.

From princely palace
Unto her father's cottage

Poor Grissell now is gpns.
Full sixteen winters
She lived theie contented ,

No wrong she thought upon.

ANONYMOUS ]

THE TWA SISTEES 0' BINNOBIE

[THIRD PBBIOD —

And at that time thiough
All the land the speeches -went,

The marquess should manied be
Unto a noble lady great,
Of high descent ,

And to the same all parties did agree.
The xnaiquess sent for Gnsaell fair,
The bride's bed-chamber to prepare
That nothing therein

Might be found awry.
The bride was with her brother come,
Which was great joy to all and some ,
But Grissell took

AH this most patiently*

And in the morning

When as they should be wedded,

Her patience there was tried
Grissell was charged
Herself TT* friendly manner
* For to attire the bride.
Most willingly
She gave consent to do the same ;

The bnde in bravery was dressed,
And presently
The noble marquess thither came

With all his lords at his request.
" 0 ' GnsseU, I would ask of thee,
If to this match thou wilt agree ?
Methmks thy looks

Axe waxed wondrous coy."
With that they all began to smile,
And Gnssell she replied the while,
" God send lord marquess

Many years of joy."

VII.

The marquess was moved
To see his best beloved

Thus patient in distress ;
He stept unto her,
And by the hand he took her,

These words he did express . —
" Thou art my bnde,
And all the bnde I mean to have

These two thy own children be "
The youthful lady
On her knees did blessing crave,

Her brother as well as she
" And you that envied her estate,
Whom I have made my loving mate,
Now blush for shame,

And honour virtuous life.
The chronicles of lasting fame
Shall evermore extol the name
Of patient Gnssell,

My most constant wife."

Q. — Before 1649.

527.— THE TWA SISTEES 0' BINETOBIE.

There were twa sisters sat in a bow'r ;

(Binnone, O Bmnorie ')
A knight cam1 there, a noble wooer,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Bmnorie.

He courted the eldest wi' glovo and nn<y,

(Bmnono, O Binnone !)
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a* thing,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnoric

The eldest she was voxod sair,

(Binnone, 0 Binnone ')
And saar envied her sister fair,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnone

Upon a morning fair and clear,

(Binnone, O Binnone ')
She cned upon her sister dear,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie

" O sister, sister, tak* my hand,"

(Binnone, 0 Binnone ')
" And let's go down to the river-strand,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnono."

She's ta'en her by the My hand,

(Binnone, 0 Binnone I)
And down they went to the river-strand,

By the bonny mill-dams o* Bmnorio

The youngest stood upon a stone,

(Binnone, 0 Bmnonc ')
The eldest cam' and pushed her in,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorio.

" O sister, sister, reach your hand r

(Binnone, 0 Binnone ')
"And ye sail be hoir o' half my land"—

By the bonny mill-dams o' Bmnoiio

" 0 sister, reach me but your glove ! "

(Binnone, 0 Binnone ')
"And sweet William sail be your love " —

By the bonny mill-dams o' Bmnono.

Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,

(Binnone, 0 Binnone ')
Till she cam* to the mouth o' yon mill-dam,

By the bonny TOiTLdfl/BVi o' Bmnono

Out then cam' the miller's sou

(Binnone, 0 Binnorie ')
And saw the fair maid soummin' in,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Bmnono

" O father, father, draw your dam ' "
. (Binnone, 0 Binnone ')
" There's either a mermaid or a swan,"
By the bonny mill-dams o' Bmnono.

The miller quickly drew the dam,

(Binnone, 0 Binnone ')
And there he found a drown'd woman,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnono.

Bound about her middle sma*

(Binnone, 0 Binnone ')
There went a gouden girdle bra',

By the bonny mill-dams o1 Binnorie.

All aznang her yellow hair

(Binnorie, 0 Binnone ')
A string o' pearls was twisted rare,

By the bonny itnll-djymq o' Binnorie.

From 1558 to 1649 ]

THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT.

[ANONTMLOTJS.

On Her fingers lily- white,

(Branone, O Bumorie ')
The jewel-nogs were Binning bright,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnone.

And by there cam* a harper fine,

(Binnone, O Binnone ')
Harped to nobles when they dine,

By the bonny min-daing o' Binnone.

And when he looked that lady on,

(Bumorie, O Binnone ')
He sigh' d and made a heavy moan,

By the bonny mill-dams o* Binnone*

He's ta'en three locks o* her yellow hair,

(Binnone, O Binnone ')
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnone.

He went into her father's hall,

(Binnone, 0 Binnone ')
And played his harp before them all,

By the bonny mill-dams o' Bumorie.

And sune the harp sang loud and clear

(Binnone, 0 Binnone »)
" Fareweel, my father and mither dear' "

By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnone.

And neist when the haip began to sing,

(Binnone, 0 Binnone ')
'Twas "Fareweel, sweetheart'" said the
string,

By the bonny mill-dams o1 Binnone

And then as plain as plain could be,

(Bmnone, O Binnone ')
•** There sits my sister wha drowned me ' "

By the bonny mill-da.™ o' Binnone.

Anonymous. — Before 1649.

328. — THE HUNTING- OP THE
CHEVIOT.

The Percy out of Northumberland,

And a vow to God made he,
That he would hunt in the mountains

Of Cheviot within days three,
In the maugre of doughty Douglas,

And all that with him be.

The fattest harts in all Cheviot
He said he would kill and carry away ;

"By my faith," said the doughty Douglas

again,
" I will let that hunting if I may."

Then the Percy out of Bamborough came,
And with him a mighty meyne",

Fifteen hundred archers, of blood and bone,
They were chosen out of shires throe

This began on a Monday at morn,

In Cheviot the "hillfl so hie ;
The child may rue it that is unborn ;

It was the more pitie

The drivers thorough the woodes went,

For to raise the deer ;
Bowmen bicker* d upon the bent

With their broad arrows clear.

Then the wild thorough the woodes went,

On every side shear ,
Greyhounds thorough the greves glent

For to Upl! their deer.

They began in Cheviot, the TnTIa above,

Early on Monanday ,
By that it drew to the hour of noon,

A hundred fat hartes dead there lay.

They blew a mort upon the bent,
They assembled on sides shear ;

To the quarry then the Percy went,
To the bntthng of the deer.

He said, " It was the Douglas's promise

This day to meet me here :
But I wist he would fail, verament,"—

A great oath the Percy aware.

At last a squire of Northumberland

Looked at his hand full nigh ,
He was ware of the doughty Douglas
coming,

With Trim a mighty meyn6 ,

Both with spear, bill, and brand ;

It was a mighty sight to see ,
Hardier men, both of heart and hand,

Were not in Christiantie.

They were twenty hundred spearmen good,

Withouten any fail ,

They were born along by the Water of
Tweed,

In the bounds of Tivydale.

" Leave off brittlmg the deer," he said,
" To your bows look ye take good heed ;

For since ye were of your mothers born
Had ye never so miokle need."

The doughty Douglas on a steed

He rode all his mon beforne ;
His armour glittered as a glede ;

A bolder barne was never born.

" TeH me who ye are," he says,

" Or whose men that ye be ;
Who gave you leave to hunt in this ohace

In the spite of me ? "

The first roa-n that ever him answer made.

It was the good Lord Percy ,
" We wiU not tell thee who we aro,

Nor whose men that we be ;
But we will hunt here in this chace,

In spite of thine and thco

20

ANONYMOUS ]

THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT.

[THIRD PERIOD —

" The fattest harts in all Cheviot

We have bdPd, and oast to oawy away "
•' By my troth," said the doughty Douglas

again,
*' Therefor ahfrTC one of us die this day."

Then said the doughty Douglas

Unto the Lord Percy,
" To kill all these guiltless men,

Alas, it were great pitie I

" But, Percy, thou art a lord of land,
And I am earl called in my oountrie ,

Let all our men apart from us stand,
And do the battle off thee and me "

" Now, curse on his crown," said the Lord
Percy,

" Whosoever thereto says nay ' —
By my troth, doughty Douglas," he says,

" Thou never shalt see that day.

" Neither in England, Scotland, nor France,

Of woman bora there is none,
But, an fortune be my chance,

I dare meet fri™, one man for one."

Then spake a squire of Northumberland,
Richard Witherongfcon was his name

"It shall never be told in Sou-fch-England,"

he says,
" To King Harry the Fourth, for shame '

• I wot ye bin great lordes two,

I am a poor square of land;
I'll ne'er see my captain fight on a field,

And a looker-on to stand :
But while I may my weapon wield

I will fail not, heart and hand."

That day, that day, that dreadful day 1 —

The first fytte here I find.
An ye mil hear more of the Hunting of
Cheviot,

Yet more there is behind

THU SECOND JPXTTJW.

The Englishmen had their bow&s bent,

Their hearts were good enow ;
The first [flight] of arrows that they shot
off,

Seven score spearmen they sloughe.

Yet bides Earl Douglas upon the bent,

A captain good enow,
And that was soon seen, verament,

Tor he wrought [the English wo].

The Douglas parted his host in three,
Like a ohiettam [full] of pzide ;

With sure spears of mighty tree
They came in on every side.

Thorough oar English archery,

And gave many a wound full wide ;

Many a doughty they gar'd to die,
Which gained them no [small] pwde.

The Englishmen let their bowes bo,
And pulTd out brands that wore bright ,

It was a heavy sight to seo
Bnght swords on basnets light.

Thorough rich mail and maniple
Stern they struck down straight ,

Many a freke that was full f roo,
There under-f oot did light.

At last the Douglas and Percy mot,
Like two captains of might and mam ,

They swapt together till they both pwat.
With sworda of the fino Mililn

These worthy frekos for to fight

Thereto thoy were full fain,
Till the blood out of there basnets sprout

As ever did "Ka.il or rain.

" Hold thee, Percy ' " said the Dougta,
" And i* faith I shall thoe bring

Where thou shalt have an carl's wages
Of Jamie our Soottuah king

" Thou shalt have thy ransom free ,

I hight thee hero this thing »
For the manf ullest Tniw yet art thou

That ever I conquered in fighting "

" Nay," said the Lord Percy,

" I told it thee boforno,
That I would never yielded bo

To no man of a woman born "

With that caxno an arrow hastily

Forth of a mighty wano ,
And it hath stricken the Earl Douglas

In at the bieost bane.

Thorough liver and lungs both

The sharp arrow is gono,
That never after in all his life-days

He spake more words bu4 one
That was, " Fight yo, my merry men, while
ye may '

For my He-days bo dono "

The Percy leaned on las brand,

And saw tho Douglas dio ,
He took the dead man by tho hand,

And said, " Wo IB mo for thoo '

" To have saved thy life, I would have given

My landes for ycara throe ,
For a better man, of heart nor of hand,

Was not in the north countric "

Of all that saw a Scottish knight, *

Sir Hugh the Montgomcrio ,
He saw the Douglas to death was dight ;

He spended a spear, a trusty tree ;

He rode upon a courser

Through a hundred aiohery ,
He- never stinted, nor nevwr blan,

Till he came to good Lord Percy

From 1558 to 1649.] KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTEBBUBY.

He set upon the Lord Percy

A dint that was fall sore ,
With a sure spear of a mighty tree

dean thorough his body he bore.

On the other side that a mam might see

A large cloth-yard and mair.
Two better captains in Chnstentxe

Were not, than the two slam there.

Ayi archer of Northumberland
Saw s3a,Tn was the Lord Peroy *

He bare a bend-bow in his hand
Was made of trusty tree.

An arrow, that was a cloth-yard long,

To the hard steel haled he,
A dint he set, was both sad and sore,

On Sir Hugh the Montgomene

The dint it was both sad and sore

That he on Montgomene set ,
The swan-feathers the arrow bore

With his heaxt's-blood they were wet.

There was never a fceke one foot would

flee,

But still UL stour did stand,
Hewing on each other, while they might

dree,
With many a baleful brand.

This battle began m Cheviot

An hour before the noon,
And still when even-song bell was rung

The battle was not half done

They took [off] on either hand

By the light of the moon ,
Many had no strength for to stand,

In Cheviot the Tnlls aboon

Of fifteen hundred archers of
Went away but fifty and three ;

Of twenty htuadred spearmen of Scotland,
But even five and fiftie,

That were not slain in Cheviot ,

They had no strength to stand on hie.

The child may rue that is unborn .
It was the more pitie

There was flla.m with Lord Peroy,

Sir John of Agerstone ,
Sir Boger, the hynde Hartley ;

Sir William, the bold Heron.

Sir George, the worthy Lovel,

A knight of great renown ,
Sir Balph, the rich Bugby ;

With dints were beaten down.

For Witheringbon my heart was wo,
That ever he slam should be ,

For when both his legs were hewn m two,
Yet he kneeled and fought on his knee.

There was slam with the doughty Douglas,

Sir Hugh the Montgomene ,
Sir Davy Liddale, that worthy was,

TTig sister's son was he ,

Sir Charles 1 Murray in that place,

That never a foot would flee/,
Sir Hugh Maxwell, a lord he was,

With the Douglas did he dee

So on the morrow they made them biexs

Of birch and hazel gray ,
Many widows with weeping tears

Came to fetch their makes away

Tivydale may carp of care,

Northumberland make great moan ,
For two such captains as there were slain

On the Marches shall never be none.

Word is come to Edmborough,

To Jamie the Scottish EJng,
Doughty Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches,

Lay dam Cheviot within.

T3Hq handes did he weal and wring

u Alas, and wo is me '
Such another captain in Scotland wide

There is not left," said he.

Word is come to lovely London,
To Harry the Fourth our King,

Lord Peroy, lieutenant of the Marches,
Lay slain Cheviot within

" God have mercy on his soul," said King

Harry,

" Good Lord, if Thy will it be '
I've a hundred captains in England," he
said,

" As good as ever was he
But, Percy, an I brook my life,

Thy death well quit shall be,"

And now may Heaven amend us all,

And into bliss us bring !
This was the Hunting of the Cheviot

God Bend us all good ending '

Anonymous. — Before 1C49

529 —KING JOHN AOT) THE ABBOT OF
CANTEBBUBY.

An ancient story Til tell you anon,

Of a notable prince, that was called King

John,

He ruled over England with HWP and might,
But he did great wrong, and maintain3 d little

right.

And ril tell yon a story, a story so merry,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury ,
How for his housekeeping and high renown,
They rode post to bring him' to London town.

20*

ANONYMOUS ] KING- JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY [TnraD PERIOD -

A hundred men, as the Ems Heard say,
The Abbot kept in his house every day ;
And fifty gold chains, without any doubt,
In velvet coats waited the Abbot about

" How now, Father Abbot P I hear it of thee,
Thou keepest a far better house than me ,
And for thy housekeeping and high renown,
I fear thou work'st treason against my crown ' '

«My Liege," quoth the Abbot, "I would it

were known,

I am spending nothing but what is my own ,
And I trust your Grace will not put me in

fear,
For spending my own true-gotten gear "

" Yes, yes, Father Abbot, thy fault is high,
And now for the same thou needest must die ,
And except thou canst answer me questions

three,
Thy head struck off from thy body shall be.

" And first," quo* the King, " as I sit here,
"With my crown of gold on my head BO fair,
Among all my liegemen of noble birth, —
Thou must tell to one penny what I am worth

" Secondly, tell me, beyond all doubt,
How soon I may ride the whole world about ,
And at the third question thou must not aTm-nVj
But tell me here truly, what do I think ? "

" 0, those are deep questions for my shallow

wit,

And I cannot answer your Grace as yet
But if you will give me a fortnight's space,
I'll do my endeavour to answer your Grace."

" Now a fortnight's space to thee will I give,
And that is the longest thou hast to livs ;
For unless thou answer my questions three,
Thy life and thy lands are forfeit to me."

Away rode the Abbot all sad at this word ,
He rode to Cambridge and Oxenf ord ,
But never a doctor theie was so wise,
That could by his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the Abbot, with comfort so

cold,

And he met his Shepherd, a-going to fold
"Now, good Lord Abbot, you are welcome

home,
"What news do you bring us from great King

John *> "

<c Sad news, <sad news, Shepherd, I must give ,
That I have but three days more to live.
I must answer the BTmg his questions throe,
Or my head struck off from my body shall be.

"The first is to tell him, as he sits there,
With his crown, of gold on his head so fair
Among all his hegemen of aoble birth,
To within one penny, what he is worth.

" The second to toll him, boyond all doubt,
How soon he may ride this whole world about ,
And at question the third I must not fchrmk,
But tell fa™ thero truly, what docs ho -fcTiTnlr ? ' »

" 0 cheer up, my Lord ; dad you never hoar yot
That a fool may teach a wise man wit P
Lend me your serving-men, horse, and apparel,
And I'll nde to London to answer your quarrel

" With your pardon, it of fa has boon told to

me

That Fm like your Lordship as over can bo •
And if you will but lend me your gown,
There is none shall know us at London town."

"Now horses and serving-mon thou shall

have,

With sumptuous raiment gallant and bravo ,
With crozior, and mitre, andioohot, and copo,
Fit to draw near to our Father the Pope "

"Now welcome, Sir Abbot," the King ho did

say,

" Tis wellthou'rt come back to keep thy day;
For and if thou canst answer my questions

three,
Thy life and thy living both savod shall bo

" And first, as thou seest mo sitting here,
With my crown of gold on my head so fair,
Among my liogemen of noble birth, —
Tell to one penny what I ami worth."

" For thirty pence our Saviour was sold
Among tho false Jews, as I have boon told ;
And twenty-nine is the worth of theo ,
For, I think, thou art one penny worse than
he."

The King he laugh* d, and swore by St Bittle,
" I did not think I was worth so little '
Now secondly tell me, beyond all doubt,
How soon I may nde this world about "

" Tou must rise with tho sun, and ndo with tho

same,

Until the next morning he riaoth again ;
And then your Grace need never doubt
But in twenty-four hours you'll ndo it about."

The King he laugh* d, and swore by St. Jono,

" I did not think I could do it BO soon !

Now from question the third thou must not

shrink,
But tell me truly, whafc do I think ? "

" Yea, that I shall do, and xnako your Graoo

merry

Tou think I'm the Abbot of Canterbury ;
But Tm his poor shepherd, as plain you may

see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for

me."

From 1558 to 1649 ]

EDOM O' GORDON.

[ANONTMOTTS.

The Emg- lie laugh' d, and swore by the mass,
" I'll moke th.ee Lord Abbot this day in his

place i "

'* Now nay, my Liege, be not in such speed ;
For, alas ' I can neither write nor read."

1 Four nobles a week, then, I'll give to thee,
For this merry jest thou hast shown to me ;
And tell the old Abbot, when thou gettest

home,
(Thou host brought him free pardon from Emg1

John."

Anonymous — Befoi e 1649.

530.— EDOM O' GORDON.

It fell about the

When the wind blew Efl™n and oauld,
Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,
" "We maun draw to a hauld

"And whatna hauld sail me draw to,

My morry men and me P
We will gae to the house of the Bodes,

To see that fair ladye "

The lady stood on her castio wa',
Beheld baith dalo and down,

There she was awaore of a host of men
Came iidmg towards the town

" O see ye not, my meiry men a%

0 see ye not what I see 9
Methinks I see a host of men ,

1 maivel who they be "

She ween'd it had been her lovely lord,

As he cam* riding hame ,
It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon,

Wha reck'd nor sin nor shame.

She had nae sooner busbt heisell,

And putten on her gown,
Till Edom o' Gordon an' his men

Were round about the town.

They had nae sooner supper set,

Nae sooner said the graco,
But Edom o' Gordon on* his men

Were lighted about the place.

The lady ran up to her tower-head,

As fast as she could hie,
To see if by her fair speeches

She could wi' fa™ agree.

" Come doun to me, ye lady gay,
Como doun, como doun to me ;

This night soil ye lig within mine arms,
To-morrow my bride sail be."

" I winna come down, ye fause Gordon,

I winna come down to thee ,
I winna forsake my am dear lord, —

And he is na far frae me."

" Gie owie your house, ye lady fair,

Gio owre your house to me ;
Or I sail burn yoursell therein,

But and your babies three.'*

" I winna gie owre, ye fanso Gordon,

To nae sic traitor as thee ,
And if ye burn my am dear babes,

My lord sail mak' ye dree

" Now reach my pistol, Glaud, my man,

And charge ye weol my gun ,
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,

My babes, we been undone ' "

She stood upon her castle wa1,

And let twa bullets flee
She miss'd that bluidy butcher's heart,

And only razed his knee.

" Set fire to the house ' " quo' fause Gordon,

Wud wi' dole and ire
" Fause ladye, ye sail rue that shot

As ye burn in the fire ! "

" Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man '

I paid ye weel your fee ,
Why puf ye out the grund-wa' stane,

Lets in the reek to me ?

" And e'en wae woith ye, Jock, my man !

I paid ye weel your hire ,
Why pu' ye out the grund-wa' btane,

To me lets in the foe?"

" Ye paid me weel my hare, ladye,

Ye paid me weel my fee
But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man, —

Maun either do or dee "

O then bespoke her little son,

Sat on the nurse's knee :
Says, " O nutter dear, gie owre this house,

For the reek it smothers me."

" I wad gie af my goud, my bairn,

Sae wad I a' my fee,
For ae blast o' the western wind,

To blaw the reek frao thee "

O then bespoke her daughter dear, —

She was baith jimp and sma' ,
" O row* me in a pair o' sheets,

And tow me o'er the wa' ! "

They row'd her in a pair o' sheets,

And tow'd her owre the wa' ,
But on the point o' Gordon's spear

She gat a deadly fa'.

O bonnie, bonme was her mouth,

And cherry were her cheeks,
And clear, clear was her yellow hoar,

Whereon the red blood dreeps.

Then wi' his spear he turn'd her owre ;

0 gin her face was won '

He said, " To ore the first that e'er

1 wish'd alive again "

ANONYMOUS ]

THOMAS THE BHYMEK

[THIKD PEBIOD. —

He cam9 and lookrb again at her ;

0 gin her skin was white '

" I might hae spared that bonnie face
To hae been some man's delight.'1

*e Busk and boun, my merry men a',

For ill dooms I do guess , —
I cannot look on that bonnie face

As it lies on the gross "

" Wha looks to freits, my master dear,

Its freits -will follow them ,
Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon

Was daunted by a dame "

But when the ladye saw tho fire

Come flaming o'er her hoad,
She wept, and loss'd her children twain,

Says, *k Bairns, we been but dead."

The Gordon then his buglo blew,

And said, " Awa', awa' '
This house o' tho Bodes is a' in a flame ,

1 hauld it tuno to gaV

And this way lookit hor ain dear lord,

As he cazno owre the lea ,
He saw his castle a* in a lowe,

Sae far as he could see

" Put output on, my wighty men,

As fast as ye can dn'e '
For he that's hindmost o' the thrang

Sail ne'er get good o1 me "

Then some they rade, and some they ran,

Out-owre the grass and bent ;
But ere the foremost could win up,

Baith lady and babes were brent.

And after the Gordon he is gano,

Sae fast as ho might dn'e ;
And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blude

He's wroken his fair ladye

Anonymous — Before 1649

531 — THOMAS THE BHYMEB.

True Thomas lay on Huntley bank ;

A f erlie spied he wi' his ee ,
There he saw a lady bright

Come riding doun by the Eildon Tree

Her skirt was o1 the grass-green silk
Her mantle o' the velvet flno ,

At ilka tott o' her horse's mano,
Hung fifty siller bells and nine

True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap,
And louted low doun on his knee ;

" Hail to thee, Mary, Queen of Heaven '
For thy peer on earth could never be "

"0 no, 0 no, Thomas," she said,
" That name does not belong to me ;

I'm but tihe Queen o* fair Elfland,
That hither have come to visit thee

"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said,
" Harp and carp along wi' mo ,

And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
Sure of your body I shall bo "

" Betide me weal, betide me woo,
That weird shall never daunton me "

Syne he has lass'd hor on tho lip A,
All underneath the Eildon Troo.

"Now ye maun go wi' mo," sho said,
" Now, Thomas, yo maun go wi' me ;

And ye maun servo mo sevon years,
Through weal or woo as may chance to bo "

She's mounted on her milk-white stood,
And she's ta'on Thomas up behind •

And aye, whene'er hor bridle rang,
The steed gaod swifter than the wind.

O they rade on, and farther on,
The steed gaed swifter than the wind ;

Until they reach' d a desert wide,
And living land was loft behind.

"Now, Thomas, light doun, light doun,"
she said,

" And lean your head upon my knee ;
Abide ye there & little space,

And I will show you f erlios throe

" 0 see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset wi' thorns and briars P

That is the Path of BightGOUsnoaa,
Though after it but few enquires,

" And see ye not yon braid, braid road,
That lies across the lily lovon P

That is the Path of Wickedness,
Though some call it tho road to Hoavon.

" And see ye not yon bonny rood
That winds about tho foray broo ?

That is tho road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night maun goo.

" But, Thomas, ye soil haud your tonguo,

Whatever ye may hear or sco ,
For speak ye word in Elfin-land,

Te'll ne'er win book to your ain oountrio.' *

O they rode on, and further on,
And they waded rivers abuno tho knoo ,

And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard tho roaring of & sea

It was mirk, mirk night, there was noo

starlight,
They waded through rod bludo to tho

knee,

For a' tho blude that's shod on tho earth
Bms through tho springs o' that oountno,

Syne they came to a garden green,

And she pu'd an applo froo a tree-
" Take this for thy wages, Thomas," aho

said,

"It will give thee the tonguo that can
never lee."

From 1558 to 1649.]

LOED BEIOHAN.

[ANONYMOUS.

" My tongue is my ain," then Thomas lie
said;

"A gudely gift ye wad gie to me I
I neither dought to buy or sell

At fair or tiyst where I might "be.

*' I dought neither speak to prince or peer,
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye ! " —

" Now hand thy peace, Thomas," she said,
" For as I say, so must it be."

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair o* shoon of the velvet green ;

And till seven years were come and gane,
True Thomas on earth was never seen.

Anonymous. — Before 1649.

532.— THE WATEB O' WEAPIE'S "WELL

There cam9 a bird out o" a bush,

On water for to dine ,
ATI* sidnng sou, says ths king's doohter,

"Owae's this heart o' mine"

He's ta'en a harp into his hand,

He's harpit them a7 asleip ,
Except it was the king's dochter,

Wha ae wrnk coudna, got*

He's loupon on his berry-brown steed,

Ta'en her behin' himsel ,
Then baifch lade doun to that water

That they ca' Weano's WeU.

" Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair,

No harm shall thee befall;
Oft times hao I watered my steed

Wi' the water o' Woarie's WeU "

The first step that she steppit in,

She steppit to the knee ,
And, sichin' says this ladyo fair,

" This water's nae for me."

" Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair,

No harm shall thee befall ,
Offc times hae I watered my steed

Wi' the water o' Weane's WeU."

Tho next step that she stteppit in,

She steppit to the middle ;
O, siohm' says this ladye fair,

" I've wat my gowden girdle."

" Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair,

No harm shall thee befall;
Oft times hae I watered my steed

Wi' the water o' Weane's WolL"

The next step that she steppit in,

She steppit to the chin ,
0, siohin' says this ladye fair,

" They sud gar twa luves twin."

1 c Seven king' s dochters I've drouned there,
F the water o' Weane's WeU ;

An' I'll mak' ye the eight o' them,
An* nng the common bell "

" Sin' I am standin' here," she says,

" This dowie death to dee ;
One kiss o' your comelie mouth,

I'm sure wad comfort me."

He louted him o'er his saddle bow,

To kiss her cheek an* ftlhiyi ;
She's ta'en him in her arms twa,

An* throun IITO headlong in.

" Sin' seven king's daughters ye' ve drouned
toere,

I* the water o' Weane's WeU,
TU mak' ye the bridegroom to them a',

An' ring the bell myseU."

An' aye she warsled, and aye she swam,

An* she swam to dry Ian' ,
An' thankit God most cheerf nllie,

For the dangers she o'ercam.

Anonymous —Btfore 1649.

533.— LOBB BEIOHAN.

Lord Beiohan was a noble lord,

A noble lord of high degree ;
He shipped himself on board a ship,

He longed strange countries for to see.

He sailed east, and he sailed west,
Until he came to proud Turkey ;

Where he was ta'en by a savage Moor,
Who handled him right cmellie

For he viewed the fashions of that land ;

Their way of worship viewed he ;
But to Mahound, or Termagant,

Would Beiohan never bend a knee.

So on each shoulder they've putten a bore,
In each bore they've putten a tye ;

And they have made him trail the wine
And spices on his fair bod^.

They've casten him in a donjon deep,
Where he could neither hear nor see ,

For seven long year they've kept him there,
Till he for hunger's like to dee.

And in his prison a tree there grew,
So stout and strong there grew a tree,

And unto it was Beichan chained,
Until his life was most wearj-

This Turk he had one only daughter —
Fairer creature did eyes ne'er see ,

And every day, as she took the air,
Near Beichan's prison passed ahe.

LORD BEIOHAN.

[THIRD PBUIOD —

And bonny, meek, and mild was she,
Tho' she was como of an ill kin ;

And oft slie signed, she knew not why,
For Tiirn that lay tho donjon in.

O ' so it fell upon a day,

She heard young Beichan sadly sing 5
And aye and ever in her ears,

The tones of hapless sorrow ring.

My hounds they all go masterless ,
My hawks they flee from tree to tree ;
My younger brother will heir my land j
Pair England again Til never see "

And all night long no rest she got,

Young Beiohan* s song for •ffinT>Trmg> on :

She's stown the keys from her father's head.
And to the prison strong is gone.

And she has oped the piison doors,

I wot she opened two or three,
Ere she could come young Beichan at,

He was locked up so curioushe.

But when she came young Beiohan before,

Sore wondered he that maid to see '
He took her for some fair captive, —

II Fair Ladye, I pray of what countne P "

" Have you got houses P have you got lands p
Or does Northumberland 'long to thee P

What would ye give to the fair young ladyo
That out of prison would set you free P "

" I have got houses, I have got lands,
And half Northumberland 'longs to mo, —

I'll give them aH to the ladyefair,
That out of prison will set mo free.

" Near London town I have a hall,
With other castles, two or three ,

I'll give them all to the ladye fair,
That out of prison will set mo free "

" Give me the troth of your right hand,

The troth of it give unto me ,
That for seven years ye'll no lady wed,

Unless it be along with me."

" I'll give th«e the troth of my right hand,

The troth of it I'll freely gie ,
That for seven years I'll stay unwed,

For kindness thou dost shew to me "

And she has bribed the proud warder,
With golden store and white mon&y ,

She's gotten the keys of the prison strong,
And she has set young Beiohan free.

She's gi'ezi him to eat the good spice coke,
She's gi'en Tnm to drink the blood-red wine ;

And every health she diank unto him, —
"I wish, Lord Beichan, that you were
mine."

And she's bidden hmi sometimes think on her,
That so kindly freed him out of pine

She's broken a ring from her finger,
And to Beichan half of it gave she, —

" Keep it to mind you of that love
The lady bore ihab set you free "

0 ! she took l»™ to hor father's harbour,
And a ship of fame to hrm gave she ;

" Farewell, farewell, to you, Lord Beichan,
Shall I e'er ogam you see P

" Set your foot on the good ship board,
And haste yo book to your own countiie ;

And befoie seven years havo an end,
Come back again, love, and marry me.'"

Now seven long years are gone and past,
And soie she longed her love to see ;

For ever a voice within hor breast

Said, "Beiohan has broken his vow to
thee'"

So she's set her foot on the good ship board,
And turned her back on hoi own countno.

She sailed east, she soiled west,
Till to fair England's shore came she ;

Where a bonny shepherd she espied,
Feeding his sheep upon tho lea.

" What news, what news, thou bonme shop-

What news hast thou to tell me ? "
" Such news I hear, ladye," he said,
" The lake was never in this countne.

" There is a weddm' in yonder hall,
Has lasted thirty days and three ,

But young Lord Beichan won't bed with his

bride,
For love of one that's ayond the sea "

She's putten her hand in her pocktH,
Gi'en him the gold and white mon£y ,

" Here, tak' ye that, my bonme boy,
For the good news thou tolT&t to me."

When she came to Lord Beichan1 s gate,

She tirled softly at tho pin ;
And ready was the proud warder

To open and let this ladye in.

When she came to Lord Beiohan' s castlo,

So boldly she rang the bell ,
E 'Who's there p who's there?" cried tho proud
porter,

" Who's there P unto me come tell ? "

" 0 f is this Lord Boiohan's castle ?

Or is that noble lord within ? "
' Yea, he is in the hall among them all,

And thin is the day of his weddin' "

" And has he wed anithor love P —
And has he clean forgotten me P ' "

And, sighing, said that ladyo gay,
* I wish I was in my own countne."

From 1568 to 1649.]

LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY

And she has ta'on Her gay gold ring,
That with, her lovo she brake so free,

" Qae him that, ye proud porter,
And bid the bndegioom speak to me.

" Tell him to send me a slice of bread,

And a cup of blood-red wine,
And not to forget the fair young ladye

That did lelease him out of pine."

Away, and away went the proud porter,
Away, and away, and away went he,

Until he, came to Lord Beiohan's piesence,
Down he fell on his bended knee

" What aileth thee, my proud porter,
Thou art so full of courtosie P "

" I've been porter at your gates, —
It's thirty long yeais now, and three,

But there stands a ladye at them now,
The like of her I ne'er did see.

" For on every finger she has a nag.
And on her mid-finger she has three ;

And as much gay gold above her brow
As would an earldom buy to me ,

And as much gay clothing round about her
As would buy all Northumberlea "

It's out then spak' the bride's mother, —
Aye, and an angry woman was she, —

" Ye might have excepted the bonmo biide,
And two or three of our compamo "

" 0 ' hold your tongue, yo silly frow,

Of all your folly let me bo ,
She's ten timos fairer than the bride,

And all that's in your compamo

"She asks one sheave of my lord's white
bread,

And a cup of his red, red wine ,
And to remember the lady's love

That kindly freed him out of pine "

Lord Beiohan then in a passion flew,
And broke his swoid in splinters three ,

" O, well a day ' " did Beichan say,
" That I so soon have mained thee '

For it can be none but dear Saphia,
That's cross' d the deep for love of me I "

And quickly hied he down the stair,
Of fifteen steps he made but three ,

He's ta'en his bonme love in his arms.
And kist, and kist her tenderize.

" 0 ' have ye taken another bnde ?

And have ye quite forgotten me °
And have ye quite forgotten one

That gave you life and hbertie P "

She looked o'er her left shoulder
To hide the tears stood in her ee ;

"Now fare-thee-well, young Beichan," she

says,
" I'll try to ^-mlr no more on thee "

" 0 T never, never, my Saphia,

For surely this can never be ;
Nor ever shall I wed but her

That's done and dreed so much fox me."

Then out and spak* the forenoon bride
" My Lord, your love is changed soon ;

At morning I am made your bride,
And another's chose, ere it be noon ! "

" O ' sorrow not, thou forenoon bnde
Our hearts could ne'er united be ,

Ye must return to your own countne,
A double dower Til send with thee "

And up and spak' the young bride's mother,
Who never was heard to speak so free, —

" And so you treat my only daughter,
Because Saphia has crossed the sea."

" I own I made a bnde of your daughter,
She's ne'er a whit the worse for me,

She came to me with her horse and saddle,
She may go back in her coach, and three*"

He's ta'en Saphia by the white hand,
And gently led her up and down ;

And aye as he kist her rosy lips,

" Ye're welcome, dear one, to your own."

He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,
And led her to yon fountain stane ,

Her name he's changed from Saphia,
And he's called his bonme love Lady Jane

Bold Beichan prepared another mariiage,
And sang with heart so full of glee,

" I'll range no more in foreign countries,
Now since my love has crossed the sea."

Anonymous, — Before I64Q.

534 —LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.

JIBST PAST.

Over the mountains,

And under the waves,
Over the fountains,

And under the graves,
Under floods which are deepest,

Which do Neptune obey,
Over looks which are steepest,

Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place

For the glow-worm to lie,
Where there IB no place

For the receipt of a fly,
Where the gnat dares not venture,

Lest herself fast she lay,
But if Love come he will enter,

And find out the way.

JLKONOtOUS ]

rPHE] CEDXiDB OF

Ton may esteem him

A child of his force,
Or yon may deem mm

A coward, which is worse ,
But if lie whom Love doth honour,

Be concealed from the day,
Set a thousand guards upon Tiwi,

Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him,

Which is too unkind,
And some do suppose him,

Poor heart, to be blind ;
But if he were hidden,

Bo the best you may,
Kind Love, if you so call him,

WJlxfind out the way.

Well may the eagle

Stoop down to the fist,
Or you may inveigle

The Phoanix of the east ;
With fear the tiger's moved,

To give over her prey ,
But never stop a lover,

He will find out the way.

From Dover to Berwick,

And nations thereabout,
Brave Guy, Earl of Warwick,

That champion so stout,
With his warlike behaviour,

Through the world he did stray,
To win his Hnllis1 favour,

Love will find out the way.

In order next enters

Bevis so brave,
After adventures

And policy brave,
To see whom he desired,

His Jbsian so gay,
For whom his heart was fired,

Love will find out the way.

8HOOND PAST.

The Gordian knot,

Which tvue lovers knit,
Undo it you cannot,

Nor yet break it;
Hake use of your inventions,

Their fancies to betray,
To frustrate their intentions,

Love will find out the way.

From court to the cottage,
In bower and in hall,

From the king unto the beggar,
Ix>ve conquers all

Ttowgh ne'er so stout and lordly,
Strive op do what you may,

Yet be yott ae'er so hardy,
Love wia tod out the way.

Love hath power over princes,

And greatest emperors,
In any provinces,

Such is Love's power,
There is no resisting,

But him to obey;
In spite of all contesting,

Love will find out tho way.

If that he woro hidden,

And all men that arc,
Were stnctly forbidden

That place to declare ;
Winds that have no abidingg,

Pitying their delay,
Would come and bring fam tidings,

And direct him the way.

If the earth should part him,
He would gallop it o'er ,

If the seas should o'erthwari him,
He would swim to tho shore.

Should his love become a swallow,
Through the air to stray,

Love will lend wings to follow,
And will find out the way.

There is no striving

To cross his intent,
There is no contriving

His plots to prevent ,
But if onoo the message groet him,

That his truo love doth stay,
If death should come and moot Trim,

Love will find out tho way

Anonymous?—,

535- — '

CHELDI5 OF ELLE.

On yonder hill a castle stands,
With walls and towers bcdight,

And yonder lives the Childo of Ello,
A young and comely knight.

The Ohilde of EUe to his garden wont,

And stood at his garden-pale,
When, lo ! he beheld fair Emmoline'a pago

Come tripping down the dalo.

The Childe of Ello he hied him thonco,
I wist he stood not stJL

Come climbing up the fall

Now Christc theo savo, thouli-frtlofoot-pago,
Now Chnsto thoe save and seo '
Oh tell mo how does thy lady gay,
And what may thy tidings be ? "

" My lady she is all Woebegone,
And the teats they fall from her eyno ;

And aye she laments the deadly feud
Between her house and thine.

From 1558 to 1649 ]

•I'M m CHILDE OF

" And here she sends th.ee a silken scarf

Bedowed with many a tear,
And bids thee sometimes tTiinlr on her,

Who loved thee so dear.

"And here she sends thee a ring of gold,
The last boon thou may* at have,

And bids, thee wear it for her sake,
When she is laid in grave.

" For, ah i her gentle hoart is broke,

And in grave soon most she be,
For her father hath ohose her a new new love,

And forbid her to think of thee.

" Her father hath brought her a cailish knight,

Sir John ol the north countiey,
And within three days she must fa™ -wed,

Or ho vows he will her slay,"

" Now hio thoe back, thou little foot-page,

And groet thy lady from me,
And tell her that I, her own true love,

Will die, or set her free

" Now hio thoe bock, thou little foot-page,

And lot thy fair lady know,
This night will I be at her bower-window,

Betide me weal or woe "

The boy he tripped, the boy he ran,

Ho neither stint nor stay'd
TTntil ho came to fair Bmmeline's bower

When, kneeling down, he said,

*' 0 lady, I'vo boon with thine own truo love,
And no greets thoe well by me ,

This night will he be at thy bower-window,
And die or sot thee free "

Now day was gono, and night was come,

And all were fast asleep,
An savo tho lady Emmolme,

Who sate m her bower to weep

And soon she hoard her truo lovo's voice

Low whispering at tho wall ;
" Awako, awake, my dear lady,

'Tis I, thy true lovo, call

*' Awako, awako, my lady dear,

Come, mount this fair palfrey
This ladder of ropes will lot thoo down,

I'll carry thee honoe away "

*' Now nay, now nay, thou gentle knight,

Now nay, this may not be ,
For aye should I tint my maiden famo,

If alone I should wend with thee "

"0 lady, thou with a knight so true

May'st safely wend alone ,
To my lady mother I will thee bring,

"Where "marriage shall make us one."

" My father ho is a baron bold,

Of Imoago proud and high ,
And what would he say if hie daughter

Away with a knight should fly p

" Ah i well I wot, he never would rest,
Nor his meat should do him no good,

Till he had slam thee, Childe of ELle,
And seen thy dear heart's blood."

" 0 lady, wart thou in thy saddle, set,

And a little space fa*n fro',
I would not care for thy cruel father,

Nor the worst that he could do.

" O lady, wert thou in thy saddle set,

And once without this wall,
I would not care for thy cruel father,

Nor the worst that might befall."

Fan* Bmmelme sighed, fair Emmehno wept,

And aye her heart was woe •
At length he seized her Hy- while hand,

And down the ladder he drew :

And thnoe he claap'd her to his breast,

And kiss'd her tenderly .
The tears that fell from her fans- eyes,

"Raja like the fountain free.

He mounted himself on his steed so tall,

And her on a fair palfrey,
And slung his bugle about fap neck,

And roundly they rode away.

All tlna behsard her own damsel,

In her bed wherein she lay ,
Quoth she, " My lord shall know of this,

So I aiion have gold and fee

" Awake, awake, thou baron bold '

Awake, my noble dame '
Tour daughter is fled with the Childe of Bile,

To do the deed of shame."

The baron he woke, the baron he rose,

And called his merry men all •
" And come thou forth, Sir John tho knight,

Thy lady is carried to thrall"

Fair Emmeline sckroe had ridden a mile,

A mile forth of the town,
When she was aware of her father's men

Come galloping over the down .

And foremost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north oountrey :

"Now stop, now stop, thou false traitor,
Nor carry that lady away.

" For she is come of high lineage,

And was of a lady born,
And ill it beseems thee, a false churl's son,

To carry her hence to scorn."

" Now loud thou liest, Sir John the ktughfc,

Now thou dost lie of me ;
A knight me got, and-a lady me bore,

So never did none by thee.

" But light now down, my lady four?

Light down, and hold my steed,
While I and this discourteous knight

Do try this arduous deed.

ANONYMOUS.]

KING EDWABD IV. AND THE TANNER [THIRD PBRIOD —

*' But light now down, my dear lady,
laght down, and hold my hoise ,

While I and this discouiteous knight
Do try our valoui's force "

Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmelme

And aye her hoarfc was woe,
"While 'twixt hex lore and the cariish knight

Past many a baleful blow.

The Child of Elle he fought so well,
As his weapon he waved amain,

That soon he had slam the oarlish knight.
And laid "him upon the plain

And now the baron and all his men

Pull fast approached nigh *
A)\ i what may lady Enuneline do '

'Twere now no boote lo fly.

Her lover he put his horn to his mouth,

And blew both loud and shrill,
And soon he saw his own merry men

Come riding over the Ml

st Now hold thy hand, thou bold bor6n,

I pray thee, hold thy hand,
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts,

Past knit in true love's band

" Thy daughter I have dearly loved

Full long and many a day ,
But with such love as holy kirk

Hath freely said we may

" 0 give consent she may be mine,

And bless a faithful pair :
My lands and livings are not small,

My house and lineage fair .

"My mother she was an earl's daughter,
And a noble knight my sire " —

The baron he frowned, and turned away
With miokle dole and ire

Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,

And did all trembling stand
At length she sprang upon her knee,

And held his lifted hand.

" Pardon, my lord and father dear,
This fair young knight and me •

Trust me, but for the oarlish knight,
I never had fled from thee

" Oft have you called your Emmelmo

Your darling and your joy ;
0 let not then your harsh resolves

Your Emmehne destroy."

The baron he stroked his dark-brown cheek,

And turned his head aside
To wipe away the starting tear

He proudly strove to hide.

In. deep revolving thought he stood,

And mused a little space •
Then raised fair Emmehne from the ground,

With many a fond embrace

" Here, take her, Childe of Ello," ho said,

And gave her lily hand ,
" Here, take my dear and only child.

And with her hplf my land

" Thy father once mine honour wrong-ad

In days of youthful pride ,
Do thou the injury repair

In fondness for thy bnde.

" And as thou love her, and hold her dear,
Hoaven prosper thoe and thmo

And now my blessing wond wi* thoo,
My lovely Emmeline "

Anonymous. — Btforc 1649.

536.— E33TG EDWAJKD IV AND THE
TANNEE OF TAMWOETH.

In summer time, when leaves grow green,

And blossoms bedook tho tree,
TJJSjTyg Edward would a hunting ndo,

Some pastime for to see.

With hawk and hound he made him bowne,

With horn, and oko with bow ,
To Drayton Basset ho took hw way,

With all his lords in a row.

And he had ridden o'er dale and down

By eight of clock in tho day,
When he was 'ware of a bold tanner,

Come riding along the way.

A fair russet coat the tanner had on,

Fast buttoned under his chin ,
And under him. a good cow-hido,

And mare of four shilling

*e Now stand you still, my good lords all,

Under the greenwood spray ,
And I will wend to yonder fellow,

To weet what ho will say.

" God speed, God speed thoo," said our king,
" Thou art welcome, sir," said ho.

" The readiest way to Drayton Basset
I pray thoe to show to me "

" To Drayton Basset wouldsi thou go,
Fro' the placo where thou dost stand P

The next pair of gallows thou comest unto,
Torn in upon thy right hand."

" That is an unready way," said our king,

" Thou dost but jest, I see,
Now show me out the nearest way,

And I pray thoe wend with me "

"Away with a vengeance ' " quoth the tanner

" I hold thee out of thy wit -
All day have I ndden on Brook my maro,

And I am fasting yet."

ffrom 1668 to 1G49 ] KINO- EDWARD IV. AOT> THE TANNER.

[AM-OKTYMTOUS.

"Go with me down to Drayton Basset,

No dainties wo will spare ,
All day shalt thou eat and drink of the best,

And I will pay thy fare."

" Grameroy for nothing," the tanner replied,

" Thou payest no fare of mine
I trow I've more nobles in my purse,

Than thou hast penoe in thine."

" God give theo joy of them," said the king,
" And send them well to pnefe "

The tanner would fain have been away,
For he weened ho had been a thief.

" What art thou," he said, " thou fine fellow,

Of thee I am in great fear,
Por the clothes thou wearest upon thy back,

Might beseem a lord to weai "

" I never stole them," quoth our king,

" I toll you, sir, by the rood."
" Then thou playest, as many anunthrift doth,

And standest in midst of thy good."

"What tidings hear you," said the king,

As you nde far and near ? "
*« I hoar no fadings, sir, by the mass,

But that cow-hides are dear "

" Cow-hides ' oow-hides ' what things are those ?

I marvol what they be ' "
" What art thou a fool ? " the tanner icplied ;

" I carry ono under me "

" What craftsman art thou ? " said the king,

" I pray thoe toll mo true "
" I am a barker, sir, by my trado ;

Now toll mo what art thou ? "

" I am a poor courtier, sir," quoth he,
" That am forth of service worn ,

And fain I would thy prentice bo,
Thy cunning for to learn."

"Marry heaven forfend," the tanner roplied,

" That thou my prentice were
Thou wouldst spend more good than I should
win

By forty shilling a year."

" Yet one thing would I," said our king,

" If thou wilt not soem strange
Though my horso be bottor than thy mare,

Tot with thee I fain would change."

As ohango fall well may wo,
By the faith of my body, thou proud f ellbw,
I will have some boot of thee,"

" That wore against reason," said the king,

" I swoar, so mote I theo
My horse is better than thy maro,

And that thou well mayst see "

*' Tea, sir, but Brook is gentle and mild,

And softly she will fare ,
Thy hoi Be is unruly and wild I wise ;

Aye skipping here and there "

" What boot wilt thou have ?" our king replied,

" Now tell me in this stound "
"No pence, nor halfpence, by my faith,

But a noble in gold so round "

" Here's twenty groats of white money,

Sith thou wilt have it of me."
" I would have sworn now," quoth the humor,

" Thou hadst not had one penny

" But since we two have made a change,

A change we must abide,
Although thou hast gotten Brook my mare,

Thou gettest not my cow-hide."

" I will not have it," said the king,

" I swear, so mote I thee ,
Thy foul cow-hide I would not bear,

If thou wouldst give it to me."

The tanner he took his good cow-hide,

That of the cow was hilt 5
And threw it upon the king's saddle,

That was so fairly gilt.

" Now help me up, thou fine fellbw,

'Tis time that I were gone ;
When I come home to Gyilian my wife,

She'll say I am a gentleman "

When the tanner he was in the king's saddle,

And lus foot in the stirrup was ;
He marvelled greatly in his mind,

Whether it were gold or biass.

But when his steed saw the cow's tail wag,

And eke the black cow-horn ;
Ho stamped, and stared, and away he ran,

As the devil had him borne.

Tho tanner he pulled, the tanner he sweat,

And held by the pummel fast,
At length the tanner came tumbling down ;

His neck he had well-nigh brast.

" Take thy horse again with a vongeanoe," he
said,

" With me he shall not bide."
" My horse would have borne thee well enough,

But he knew not of thy cow-hide.

" Tet if again thou fain wouldst change,

As change full well may we,
By the faith of my body, thou jolly tanner,

I will have some boot of thee "

" What boot wilt thou have," the tanner
replied,

" Now tell me in this stound ? "
" No ponce nor half -pence, sir, by my faith,

But I will have twenty pound."

" Hero's twenty groats out of my purse ;

And twenty I have of thine .
And I have one more, which we will spend

Together at tiie wine "

ANONYMOUS ]

THE HEIE OF LINNE

[THIRD PBBTOD. —

The king set a bogle horn to his mouth,

And blew both loud and shrill
And soon came lords, and soon came knights,

Fast riding over the hill.

" Now, out, alas ' " the tanner he cried,

" That ever I saw this day »
Thou art a strong thief, yon come thy fellows

Will bear my cow-hide away "

" They are no thieves," the "fcfrig replied,

" I swear, so mote I thee •
But they are the lords of the north country,

Here come to hunt with me "

And soon before our Irnig they oame,

And knelt down on the ground
Then -might the tanner have been away,

He had lever than twenty pound.

" A collar, a collar, here ." said the king,

" A collar," he loud 'gan cry
Then would he lever than twenty pound,

He had not been so nigh

" A collar, a collar," the tanner he said,

" I trow it will breed sorrow •
After a collar oometh a halter,

I trow I «W1 be hang'd to-morrow."

" Be not afraid, tanner," said our TnTig ,

" I tell thee, so mote I thee,
Lo here I make thee the best esquire

That is in the north country.

" For Humpton-park I will give thee,

With tenements fair beside •
'Tis worth three hundred marks by the year,

To Tnatntam thy good cow-hide."

" Gramercy, my liege," the tanner replied,
" For the favour thou hast me shown •

If ever thou oomest to merry Tamwbrth,
Neat's leather shall clout thy sheen. "

Anonymous — Before 1649

537— THE

OF LINNE.

PAKT THE FIBST.

Lithe and listen, gentlemen,

To amga song I will begin •
It is of a lord of f a» Soodand,

Which was the unthrifty heir of Linne.

His father was a right good lord,
His mother a lady of high degree;

But they, alas ' were dead, hun fro',
And he lov*d keeping company.

To spend the day wrfh merry cheer,
To drmk and revel every night,

To card and dice from eve to morn*
It was, I ween, his heart's dahght.

To ride, to run, to rant, to roar,
To alway spend and never spare,

I know, an' it wore the king himself,
Of gold and fee ho might be bare

So fares the unthrifty lord of Linno
Till all his gold is gone and spent ;

And he maun sell his lands so broad,
His house, and lands, and all his rout.

His father had a keen steward,
And John o' the Scales was called ho .

But John is become a. gentleman,
And John has got both gold and foo.

Says, " Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne,
Let nought disturb thy merry cheer ,

If thou wilt soil thy lands so broad
Good store of gold I'll give thee hero "

" My gold is gone, my money is spent ;

My land now take it unto thoo *
Give me the gold, good John o' the Sodas,

And thine for ayo my land shall bo "

Then John he did fa™ to record draw,
And John he cast him a gods-penme ;

But for every pound that John agreed,
The land I wis, was well worth throe.

He told fa™ the gold upon the board,
He was right glad his land to win ,

" The gold is thiuo, the land is mine,
And now Til be the lord of Lmne "

Thus he hath sold his land so broad,
Both hill and holt, and moor and fen,

All but a poor and lonesome lodge,
That stood far off in a lonely glen

For so he to his father hight,

" My son, when I am gone," said he,

" Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad,
And thou wilt spend thy gold BO free

" But swear me now upon the erosa,
That lonesome lodge Ihou'lt never ftponrt ;

For when all the world doth frown on thoo,
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend "

The heir of Lmne is full of gold

" And come with me, my friends," Raid ho,
" Let's drmk, and rant, and merry make,

And he that spares, ne'er mote he theo."

They ranted, d<rg.T)flr.> and merry made,

Till all his gold it waxed than,
And then his friends they slunk away ;

They left the unthrifty heir of Linne.

He had never a penny left in his purse,

Never a penny loft but throe,
And one was brass, another was lead,

And another it was whito mon&y.

" Now well-a-day," said the hew of Linne,
" Now well-a-day, and woe is me,

For when I was the lord of T.nvrm;
I never wanted gold nor fee.

From 1668 to 1649]

THE HEIR OP IINNE

[ANOITYMOUS.

" But many a trusty friend have I,
And why should I feel gnef or care ?

Til borrow of them all by turns,
So need I not be never bare."

But one, I wis, was not at honte ;

Another had paid hia gold away ;
Another colled T»mn thriftless loon,

And bode "E"™ sharply wend h?s way.

" Now well-a-day,"' said the heir of tone,
" Now well-a-day, and woe is mo ;

Tor when I had my lands so broad,
On me they liv'd right merrily.

" To beg my bread fiom door to door,
I wis, it were a burning shame

To rob and steal it were a sin
To work my limbs I cannot frame.

" Now I'll away to lonesome lodge,
For thero my father bade me wend ;

When all the world should frown on me,
I there should find a trusty friend."

PABT THB SECOND.

Away then hied the heir of Tan-no
0s or hill and holt, and moor and fen,

Until ho oamo to lonesome lodge,
That stood so low in a lonely glon.

Ho looked up, ho looked down,
In hopo some comfort for to win •

But baro and loathly woro the walls

" Hero's sorry cheer," quo* tho heir of
IJinne

Tho little window dim and dark
Was hung with ivy, bnor, and yew,

No ahntanorang sun horo over shono ;
No wholesome breeze here oyor blow.

No chair Vior toblo he moto spy,
No bheorful hoarth, no welcome bed,

Nought save a ropo with running nooso,
That dangling hung up o'er his head

And over it in broad letters,

Theso words were written plain to see •
" Ah i graceless wretch, hast spent thine all,

And brought thyself to penury P

"All this my boding mind misgave,
I therefore left this trusty fhend •

Lei it now shield thy foul disgrace,
And all thy shame- and sorrows end "

Sorely shont wi' this rebuke,
Sore shent was the heir of lonno,

His hoart, I was, was near to burst
With gtult and sorrow, shame and sin.

Never a word spake the hour of Linno,
Nevor a word ho spake but three .

" This is a trusty friend indeed,
And is right welcome unto m© "

Then round his neck the cord he drew,
And sprang aloft with his bod^:

When lo ! the ceiling burst in twain,
And to the ground came tumbling he.

Astonished lay the heir of Linne,
Nor knew if he were live or dead :

At length he looked, and saw a till,
And in it a key of gold so red.

He took the tall, and looked it on,
Straight good comfort found he there .

It told him of a hole in the wall,
In which there stood throe chests in-fore.

Two were full of beaten gold,
Tho third was full of white mon&y ;

And over them in bioad lotfc&rs

These words were written so plain to see •

" Once more, my son, I set thoe dear ,
Amend thy life and follies past , ^

For but thou amend thee of thy life,
That rope must be thy end at last."

" And let it be," said tha heir of Lmno ,

"And let it bo, but if I amend:
For here I will make my vow,

This reade all all guide me to the end."

Away then went with a merry cheer,
Away then went the heir of Lmne ,

I wis, he neither oeas'd nor blanne,
Till John o' tho Scales' house he did win.

And when ho came to John o' tho Scales,
Up at tho spoero then looked he;

Theia sat throe lords upon a row,
Were dnnTnng of tho wine so free.

And John himself sat at the board-head,
Because now lord of Linne was he

" I pray thee," he said, " good John o-1 tto

Scales,
One forty ponce for to lend me."

" Away, away, thou thriftless loon;

Away, away, this may not be ,
For Christ's curse on my head," he said,

" If ever I trust tbee one penme."

Then bespake the heir of lanne,

To John o* the Scales' wifo then spake he
" Madame, some alms on mo bestow,

I pray for sweet sauxt Chanty ,"

"Away, away, thou thriftless loon,
I swear thou gettest no alms of me ;

For if we should hang any lose! here,
The first we would begin with thee."

Then bespoke a good fellow,

Which sat at John o' the Scales his board ;
Said, " Turn again, thou heir of TnTvne ,

Some tune thou wast a well good lord':

" Somo time a good fellow thou hast been,
And sparedst not thy gold and fee ,

Therefore I'll lead thee forty pence,
And other forty if need be.

THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE,

[THERD PBBXOD —

ie And ever, I pray thee, John o1 the Scales,

To let him sit in thy company
For well I wot thou hadst his land,

And a good bargain, it was to thee "

Tip thon spake him John o* the Scales,
All wood he answer' d him again

"Now Christ's curse on my head," he said,
"But I did lose by that bargain

" And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne,
Before these lords so fair and free,

Thou shalt have it back again better cheap,
By a hundred marks, than I had it of thee.

" I draw you to record, lords," he said,
"With that he cast farn a gods-penme

" Now by my fay," said the hear of Linne,
" And here, good John, is thy monfcy "

And he pulTd forth three bags of gold,
And laid them down upon the board •

All woe begone was John o8 the Scales,
So shent he could say never a word

Ho told him forth the good red gold,

He told it forth with miokle dui
" The gold is thine, the land is mine,

And now again I'm the lord of Lmne "

Says, " Have thou here, thou good fellbw,
Forty pence thou didst lend me .

Now I am again the lord of Lmne,
And forty pounds I will give thee

" Til make thee keeper of my forest,
Both of the wild deer and the tame ;

For but I reward thy bounteous heart,
I wis, good fellow, I were to blame ''

" Now well-a-day '" saith Joan o' the Scales •
" Now well-a-day ' and woe is my life !

Yesterday I was lady of Linne,
Now Tm but John o' the Scales his wife "

"Now fare thee well," said the heir of Linne,
"Farewell now, John o' the Scales," said

he:

" Christ's curse light on me, if ever again
I bring my lands in jeopardy '*

Anorvynwus— -Before 1649.

538— THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.

Will you hear a Spanish lady,

How she wooed an English man ?

Garments gay and rich as may be,
Decked with jewels she had on

Of a comely countenance and grace was she

And by birth and parentage of high degree.

As his prisoner there he kept her,

In his hands her life did lie
Cupid's bands did tie them faster

By the liking of an eye.
In his courteous company was all her joy,
To favour him m anything she was not coy.

But at last there came commandment

For to set the ladies free,
With their jewels still adoinfcd,

None to do thorn injury.
Then said this lady mild, " Full woo is mo ;
O, let mo still sustain this kind captivity '

" Gallant captain, show some pity

To a lady in distioss ,
Leave me not within this city,

For to die in heaviness.
Thou hast set this present day my body free,
But my heart in prison still remains with
thee."

"How shouldst thou, fair lady, lovo mo,
Whom thou know* st thy country's foo ?

Thy fair words make me suspect thoo .
Serpents lie where flowers grow "

" All the harm I wish to thee, most courteous
knight,

God grant the same upon my head may fully
light'

" Blessed be the time and season,

That you came on Spanish, ground j
If our foes you may bo termbd,

Gentle foes we have you found
With our city, you have won our hearts each.

one,

Then to your country bear away, that is your
own"

" Best you still, most gallant lady j

Best you still, and weep no more ;
Of fair lovers theie is plenty,

Spam doth yield a wondrous store "
Spaniards fraught with jealousy wo often

find,

But Englishmen through all the world are
counted kind.

Leave me not unto a Spaniard,
You alone enjoy my heart ;
I am lovely, young, and tender,
Love is likewise my desert •
Still to serve thee day and night my mind is

pressed,

The wife of every Englishman is conntod
blessed."

" It would be a shame, fair lady,
For to bear a woman honco ;
English soldiers never carry

Any such without offence."
"I'll quickly change myself, if it be no,
And like a page I'll follow thoo, where'er thou
go"

" I have neither gold nor silver

To maintain thee in this oaso,
And to travel is great charges,

As you know in every place."
" My chains and jewels every ono shall bo

thine own,

And eke five hundred pounds rn gold that lies
unknown"

From 1558 to 1649 ]

THE LASS OF LOCHBOYAN.

[ANONYMOUS.

Ck On the sea are many dangers,

Many storms do there anso,
Which will be to ladies dreadful,

And force teais from watery eyes "
«• Well, in troth, I shfl.11 endure extremity,
For I could find in heart to lose my life for
thoe "

*' Courteous lady, leave this fancy,

Hero oomos all that breeds thib strife ;

I in England have already

A sweet woman to my wife P

I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain,

Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in

" 0 ' how happy is that woman

That enjoys RO true a fnond '
Many happy days God bond hor '

Of my suit I make an end
On my kneea I paidon crave for my offence,
Which did from love, and true aftoction fcr&t
commence

" Commend me to thy lovely lady,
Bear to hor this chain of gold,
And these bracelets for a token ,
Grieving that I was BO bold •
All my jewels in like sort take thou with

thoo,

For they aro fitting for thy wife, but nob for
mo.

"I will spend my dajd in prayer,
Love and all her laws defy ,
In a nunnery will I shroud me,

Far from any company
Bat ero my prayers have an end, bo sure of

this,

To pray for thee and for thy love I will not
miss.

"Thus farewell, most gallant captain '
Farewell too my heart's content '
Count not Spanish ladies wanton, |

Though to thee my love was bent '

Joy and true prosperity go still with theo ' " I
•e The like fall ever to thy share, most fa*r I
lad}>!"

,._/},/„„. lOtt).

539— THE LASS OF LOCHBOYAN.

" O wha will shoe my bonay foot p
And wha will glove my hand f

And wha will lace my middle junp
Wi' a long, lang linen band P

" 0 wha will kame my yellow hair,
With a new-made silver kame f

An<l wha will father my young son,
Till Lord Gregory come hame P "

" Thy father will shoe thy bonny foot,
Thy mother will glove thy hand,

Thy sister will lace thy middle jimp,
Till Lord Gregory come to land.

" Thy brother will kame thy yellow hair
With a new-made silver kame,

And God will be thy bairn's father
Till Lord Gregory come hame "

" But I will get a bonny boat,

And I will sail the sea ;
And I will gang to Lord Gregory,

Since he canna come hame to me."

Syne she's gar'd build a bonny boat,

To sail the salt, salt sea ,
The sails were o' the light green silk,

The tows o7 taffety.

She hadna sailed but twenty leagues,
But twenty leagues and three,

When she met wi' a rank robber,
And a* his compan^.

" Now whether are ye the queen herself

(For so ye weel might be,)
Or are ye the Lass of Loohroyan,

SeflTnn* Lord Gregory."

" O I am neither the queen,'* she said,

" Nor sic I seem to be,
But I am the Lass of Loohroyan,

Seekin' Lord Gregory."

" 0 see na thou yon bonny bower,

It's a* covered o'er wi' tin ?
When thou hast sailed it round about,

Lord Gregory is withiu,"

And when she saw the stately tower

Shming sae clear and bright,
Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave,

Built on a rook of height ,

Says — " Bow the boat, my manners,

And bring me to the land !
For yonder I see my love's castle

Close by the salt-sea strand."

She sailed it round, and sailed it round,

And loud, loud cried she —
" Now break, now break, ye fairy charms,

And set my true love free ' "

She's ta'en her young son in her arms,

And to the door she's gane •
And long she knocked, and sair she ca'd,

But answer got she nane.

" 0 open the door, Lord Gregory '

0 open and lot me in f
For the wind blows through my yellow
hair,

And the rain draps o'er my chin."

" Awa, awa, ye 21 woman !

Ye're no come here for good '
Te're but some witch, or wil warlock,

Or mermaid o' the flood "

" I am neither witch, nor wil warlock,

Nor mermaid o* tho sea ,
But I am Annie of Loohroyan ,

0 open the door to me I "

ANONYMOUS ]

THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN.

[Timm

*' Gin then be Annie of Lochroyan,

(As I trow thou binna she,)
Now tell me some o' tlie lore tokens

That past between thee and mo "

" 0 dinna ye mind, Lord Gregory,

As we sat at the wine,
"We changed the nags frae our fingers.

And I can show thee thine ?

" O yours was gude, and gride enough,

But aye the best was mine ,
For yours was o' the gude red gowd,

But mmo o* the diamond fino

** And has na thou mind, Lord Gregory,

As we sat on the hill,
Thou twined me o* "my maidenhoid

Sight sair against my 'will P

" .Now, open the door, Lord Gregory,

Open the door, I pray f
For thy young son is in my arm",

And will be dead ere day."

"If thou be the Lass o* Lochroyaii,

(As I kenna thou be,)
Tell me some -mair o' the love tokens

Post between me and thee "

Fair Annie turned her round about —

" Woel ' since that it be sae,
May never a woman that has borne a son,

Hoe a heart sae f on o* wae '

" Take down, take down, that mast o' gowd '

Set up a mast o' tree '
It disna become a forsaken ladj-

To sail sae royallie " .<

"When the cock had crawn, and the day did
dawn,

And tho sun began to peep,
Then up and laise "hi"! Lord Gregory,

And sair, sair did he weep

te Oh I hao dreamed a dream, mother,

I wi&h it may prove true '
That tho bonny Lass o' Lochioyan

Was at the gate e'en now.

" O I hae dreamed a dieam, mother,
Tho thought o't gars mo greet '

That fair Annio o' Lochioyan
Lay oaold dead at my feet."

" Gin it be for Annio of Loohroyi a

That ye make a' this dm,
She stood a' last night at your dooi ,

But I true she wad na in."

" 0 wae betide yo, ill womika '

An ill deid may yo the '
That wadna open tho door to hor,

Nor yet wad wakon mo "

0 he's gane down to yon shore BI^O

As fast as ho could faro ,
He saw fair Annio in tho boat,

But the wind it tossod hor POIV

" And hoy, Annie, and how, Annie.

0 Aii-mo, winna ye bido 1 "
But aye the inair ho cued Annio,

The braider grow tho tido.

" And hoy, Annio, and how, Annio '
Dear A Time, spoak to mo ' "

But aye tho loudor ho cnocl Amnc,
The loudor roared tho HOU.

The wind blow loud, tlio woa ffro-w r.w.

And dashod tho boat on nlioio ,
Fair Annie floated tlirou«'li tho f*u»M,

But the babie roso no uioro

Lord Gregory toro his yollovv luur,

And mado a heavy moun ,
Fair Annie's corpse lay at hw foot,,

Her bonny young son wan gouo

0 chorry, chorry was, hor clioolc,

And gowdon w.ia hoi ht> IT ,
But clay-cold woio hor rosy lips —

Nao spark o' lifo was thoro.

And first ho kissod hor nhorry clicok,
And syne ho kissod hor chin,

And gyno ho kissed hor rowy lips—'
Thoio was nae breath wilhm

" 0 wao botido my cruel niotbt»r '

An ill doath may sho dio '
Sho turned my truo lovo frao my dour,

Wha camo soo far to mo.

" 0 wae bobde my craol motht'r '

An ill death may sho dio '
Sho turned fan? Aiinio frao my door,

"Wha diod for lovo oj mo "

. — Ityftw 1C40.

THE FOUKTE PERIOD,

FROM 1649 TO 1689.

" fTIHE forty years comprehended in this period," says Chambers, in his admirable
JL " Cyclopaedia of English Literature," " produced some great names ; but considering
the mighty events which then agitated the country, and must have influenced the national
feelings— such as the abolition o£ the ancient monarchy of England, and the establishment of
the Commonwealth— there was less change m the taste and literature of the nation than xnig ht
have been anticipated Authors were still a select class, and literature, the delight of the
learned and ingenious, had not become food for the multitude. The chivalrous and romantic
spirit which prevailed in the reign of Elizabeth, had even, before her death, begun to yield to
moie sober and practical views of human life and society: a spirit of inquiry was fast
spreading- among the people. The long period of peace under James, and the progress of
commerce, gave scope to domestic improvement, and loitered the reasoning faculties and
mechanical powers, rather than the imagination The reign of Charles I , a prince of taste
and accomplishments, partially revived the stylo of the Elizabethan era, but its lustre ex-
tended littlo beyond the court and the nobility. During the civil war and the protectoiate,
poetry and tho drama wero buned under the strife and anxiety of contending factions Crom-
well, with a just and generous spirit, boosted that he would make tho name oi on Englishman
as great as ovoi that of a Roman had been. He realized his wish in the naval victories of
Blake, and tho unquestioned supremacy of England abroad ; but neither the tuno nor inclina-
tion of the Protector permitted fa™ to be a patron of literature Charles II. was better fitted
for such a task, by natural powers, birth, and education , but he hod imbibed a false and
perverted taste, which, addod to his indolent and sensual disposition, was a? injurious to art
and literature as to the public morals Poetry declined fiom the date of the Restoration, and
was degraded from a high and noble art to a mere courtly amusement, or pander to immorality
The whole atmosphere of genius was not, however, tainted by this public degeneracy. Science
was assiduously cultivated, and to this period belong some of the proudest triumphs of English
poetry, learning, and philosophy Milton produced his long-chenshed epic, the greatest poem
which our language con boast , Butler his inimitable burlesque of Hudibras ; and Drydon his
matchless satire and versification In the department of divinity, Jeremy Taylor, Bairow,
and Tillotson, kid the sure foundations of Protestantism, and the best defences of revealed
religion In speculative philosophy, we have the illustrious name of Locke ; in history and
polito literature, Clarendon, Burnet, and Temple. In this period, too, Bunyan composed his
inimitable religions allegory, and gave the first conspicuous example of native force of mind
and powers of imagination rising successful over all the obstructions caused by a low hiation
in Mo, and a miserably defective education. Tho world has never been, for any length of
tune, without some great men to guide and illuminate the onward course of society ; and,
happily, some of thorn were found at this period to serve as beacons to their contemporaries
and to all future ages "

Professor Spaldmg, in reference to this period and a few years afterwards, states
that "whether we have regard to the political, the moral, or the literary state of the
nation, England resembled a fine antique garden neglected and falling into decay. A
few patriarchal trees still rose green and stately , & few chance-sown flowers began to
blossom in the shade but lawn, and parterre, and alley were matted with noisome weeds,
and the stagnant waters breathed out pestilential damps. "When, after the Revolution, the
attempt was made to re-introduce order and productiveness, many of the wild plants were
allowed still to encumber the ground ; and there were compartments which, worn out by the
rank vegetation they had borne, became, for a time, altogether barren. In a word, the
"Restoration brought in evils of all kinds, many of which lingered through, the age that
succeeded, and others were not eradicated for several generations. 23*

THE FOUBTH PEBIOD.— FBOM 1649—1689.

" Of all the social zmacliiefa of the time, none infected literature so deeply as that deprava-
tion of morals into which the court and the aristocracy plunged, and into which so many of tho
people followed them The lighter kinds of composition mirrored faithfully tho suiioundmg
blackness The drama sank to a frightful grossness the tone of thinking was lowered also
m other walks of poetry The coarseness of speech survived the close of tho century • tho
oool, selfish, calculating spirit, which had been the more tolerable form of the degradation,
survived, though in a mitigated degree, very much longer This bad morality was in part
attributable to a second characteristic of the time, which produced, likewise, other consequences
The reinstated courtiers imported a mania for foreign models, especially French Tho favounto
literary works, instead of continuing to obey native and natural impulses, wero anxiously
moulded on the tastes of Pans. This prevalence of exotic predilections endured for more
that a century. Amidst all these and other weaknesses and blots, there was not wanting either
strength or brightness The literary career of Dryden covers the whole of our period, and
marks a change which contained improvement in several features Locke was tho loader of
philosophical speculation, and mathematical and physical science, little dopendcnt on tho
political or moral state of the times, had its active band of distinguished votaries headed by
Newton : —

" c a mind for ever
Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.*

That philosophy and science did not even then neglect goodness or despise religion, iu proved
by the names which we have last read ; and in many other quarters there wero uttered, though
to inattentive ears, stern protests against evil, which have echoed from ago to age, till they
reached ourselves Those voices issued from not a few of the high places of the Church ; and
others were lifted up, sadly but firmly, in the midst of persecution. The Act of Uniformity,
by silencing the Puritan clergy, actually gave to the ablest of them a greater power at tho
time, and a power which, but for this, would not so probably have bequeathed to us any record
The Nonconformists wrote and printed when they were forbidden to speak. A younger gene-
ration was growing up among them ; and some of the elder race still survived — such as tho
fiery Baxter, the calm Owen, and the prudent Oalamy Greatest of all, and only now reaching
the climax of his strength, Milton sat in the narrow chamber of his neglected old age, bating-
no jot of hope, yielding no point of honesty, abjuring no word or syllable of faith, but consoling
himself for the disappointments which had darkened a weary hie, by consecrating its waning1
years, with redoubled ardour of devotion, to religion, to truth, and to the service of a remote
posterity."*

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

ABBAHAJMC COWLEY.
In Aikin'B " Select Works of the British
Poets," we have the following- "Abraham
Oowley, a poet of considerable distinction, was
born at London, in 1618 His father, who was
a grocer by trade, died before his birth ; but
his mother, through the interest of her friends,
procured his admission into Westminster
school, as a king's scholar. He has repre-
sented himself so deficient in memory, as to
have been unable to retain the common rules
of grammar: it is, however, certain that, by
some process, he became an elegant and correct
classical scholar. He early imbibed a taste for
poetry ; and so soon did it germinate in his
youthful mind, that, while yet at school, in his
fifteenth or sixteenth year, he published acollec-
tiou of verses, tmder the appropriate titte of
'Poetical Blossoms*

" In 1636 he was elected a scholar of Trinity
college, Cambridge la this favourable situa-
tion he obtained much praise for his academ-
ical exercises , and he again appeared as an
author, in a pastoral comedy, called ' Love's
Riddle,' and a Latin comedy, entitled, c Nau-
fragium Jocnlare ' , the last of which was
acted before the university, by the members
of Trinity college He continued to reside at
Cambridge till 1643, and was a Master of
Arts when he was ejected from the university
by the puritanical visitors. He thence re-
moved to Oxford, and fixed himself in St
John's college It was here that he engaged
actively in the royal cause, and was present
in several of the king's journeys and expedi-
tions, but in what quality does not appear.
He ingratiated himself, however, with the
principal persons about the court, and was

From 1649 to 1689 ]

BIOGEAPHICAX NOTICES.

particularly honoured with the friendship of
Lord Falkland.

"When the events of the war obliged the
queen-mother to quit the kingdom, Cowley
accompanied her to France, and obtained a
settlement at Paris, in the family of the Earl
or St. Alban's During an absence of nearly
ten years from his native country, he took
various journeys into Jersey, Scotland, Hol-
land, and Flanders, and it was principally
through his instrumentality that a corre-
spondence was maintained between the king
and his consort The business of cypher-
ing and deoyphcrmg their letters was en-
trusted to his care, and often occupied
his nights, as well as his days It is no
wonder that, after the Ecstoiaiaon, he long
complained of the neglect with which he was
treated In 1656, having no longer any
affairs to transact abroad, he returned to
England , still, it is supposed, engaged in the
service of his party, as a medium of secret
intelligence Soon after his arrival, he pub-
lished an edition of his poems, containing
most of those which now appear in his works
In a search for another person, he was appre-
hended by the messengers of the ruhng powers,
and committed to custody, from which he
was liberated, by that generous and learned
physician, Dr. Scarborough, who bailed him
in tho sum of a thousand pounds This,
however, was possibly the sum at which he
was rated as a physician, a character he
assumed by virtue of a degree which he
obtained, by mandamus, from Oxford, in
December, 1657

"After tho death of CiomweH, Cowley re-
turned to France, and resumed his station
as an agent in the royal cause, the hopes of
which now began to revive. The Eestoration
reinstated him, with other royalists, in his
own country, and he naturally expected a
reward for his long services. He had been
promised, both by Charles I and Charles IL,
the Mastership of the Savoy,butwasunsuccess-
ful in both his applications Ho had also the
misfortune of displeasing his party, by his
revived comedy of The Cutter of Coleman-
street,' which was construed as a satire on
the cavaliers At length, through the interest
of the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of
St. Alban's, he obtained a lease of a farm at
Chertsey, held under the queen, by which his
income was raised to about .£300 per ft-mmTn.
From early youth a country ' retirement Jiod
been a real or imaginary object of his
wishes , and, though a late eminent critic
and moralist, who had himself no sensibility
to rural pleasures, treats this taste with
severity and ridicule, there seems little reason
to decry a propensity, nourished by the
favourite strains of poets, and natural to a
mind long tossed by the anxieties of business,
and the vicissitudes of an unsettled condition.

" Cowley took up his abode first at Barn-
elms, on the banks of the Thames , but +-Mq

place not agreeing with his health, he removed
to Chertsey. Here his Me was soon brought
to a close. According to his biographer,
Dr Sprat, the fatal disease was an affection
of the lungs, the consequence of staying too
late in the fields among his labourers Dr
Warton, however, from the authority of
Mr. Spence, gives a different account of the
matter. He says, that Cowley, with his
friend Sprat, paid a visit on foot to a
gentleman in the neighbourhood of Chertsey,
which they prolonged, in free conviviality,
till midnight , and that missing their way on
their return, they were obliged to pass tho
night under a hedge, which gave to the poet
a severe cold and fever, which terminated in
his death. He died on July 28, 1667, and
was interred, with a most honourable attendance
of persons of distinction, in Westminster-
abbey, near the remains of Chaucer and Spen-
ser King Charles II pronounced his eulogy,
by declaring, ' that Mr. Cowloy had not left
a better man behind him in England '

11 ' At the tune of his death, Cowley certainly
ranked as the first poet in England; for
Milton lay under a cloud, nor was the age
qualified to taste him. And although a largo
portion of Cowley's celebrity has since
vanished, there still remains enough to raiso
him to a considerable rank among the
British poets It may be proper here to
add, that as a prose-writer, particularly in
the department of essays, there are few
who can compare with T»m in elegant
simplicity " See Baxtei's Piefatory Address
to his "Poetical Fragments" , Dr Johnson's
" Lives of tho English Poets " , Macaulay's
"Miscellanies", Alhbone's "Crit Diet
Eng Lit", Dr Angus' s "Handbook of
English Lit " , Chambers's l< Cycl Eng. Lit"

BISHOP JEREMY TAYLOB.

He was by far the greatest writer of the
Anglican Church at this period Shaw thus
speaks the unanimous opinion of oil scholars
and all Christian men and women "He
was of good but decayed family, his father
having exercised the humble calling of a
barber at Cambridge, where his illustrious
son was born in 1613 The boy received a
sound education at the Grammar-School
founded by Perse, then recently opened in
that town, and afterwards studied at Cains
College, where his talents and learning soon
made >»™ conspicuous. He took holy orders
at an unusually early age, and is said to have
attracted by his youthful eloquence, and by
his c graceful and pleasant air,* the notice of
Archbishop Laud, the celebrated Primate and
Minister, to whose narrow-minded bigotry and
tyrannical indifference to the state of religious
opinion among Tii« countiymen sjo much of the
confusion of those days is to be ascribed.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[FOURTH PERIOD.—

Laud, who was struck with Taylor's merits at
a sermon preached by the latter, made the
young priest one of his chaplains, and pro-
cured for him a fellowship in AH Souls College,
Oxford His career during the Civil War
bears some resemblance to that of Puller,
but he stood higher in the favour of the
Cavaliers and the Court Ho served, as
chaplain, in the Boyahst army, and was taken
prisoner in 1644 at the action fought under
the walls of Cardigan Castle , but he confesses
that on this occasion, as well as on soveial
others when he fell into the power of the
triumphant party of the Parliament, he was
treated with generosity and indulgence Such
trarta of mutual forbearance, during the heat of
civil strife, axe honourable to both parties
and as refreshing as they aro rare Our
great national struggle, however, offered
many instances of such noble magnanimity
The Bang's cause growing desperate, Taylor at
last retired from it, and Charles, on taking
leavo of him, mado "bfrn a present of his watch
Taylor then placed himself under the protec-
tion of his friend Lord Carbery, and resided
for some time at the seat of G-olden Grove,
belonging to that nobleman, in Carmarthen-
shire Taylor was twice manned, first to
Phoebe Langdalo, who died early, and after-
wards to Joanna Bridges, a natural daughter
of Charles I , with whom he received some
fortune He "was unhappy in his children,
his two sons having been notorious for their
profligacy, and he had the sorrow of &ui vivnig
them both During part of the time which
he passed in retirement, Tayloi kept a
school in Wales, and continued to take an
active part in the religious controversies of
the day The opinions he expressed were
naturally distasteful to the dominant party,
and on at least throe occasions subjected him
to imprisonment and sequestrations at the
hands of the Government In 1658, for
example, he was for a short time incarcerated
in the Towor, and on his liberation migrated
to Ireland, where he performed the pastoral
functions at Losbura On the Restoration
his services and sacrifices weie rewarded with
the Bishopric of Down and Connor, and
during the short time he hold that preferment
he exhibited the brightest qualities that can
adorn the episcopal dignity He died at
lasburn of a fever, in 1667, and loft behind
him a high reputation for courtesy, chanty,
and zeal — aH the virtues of a Chnstian
Bishop.

"Taylor's works are very numerous and
varied in subject s I will content myself with
mentioning the principal, and then endeavour
to give a general appreciation of his genius.
In the controversial department his best-known
wojck is ttke treatise e On the Liberty of Prophe-
sying,' which must be undorMwod to refer to
the general prof ession of religious principles
and the right of all Christians to toleration in
the exercise of their worship This book is

the first complete and systematic defence of
the great principle of religious toleration , and
in it Taylor shows how contrary it is not only
to the spirit of Chnstiamty but even to tho
true interests of government to interfere with
the profession and practice of religious sects
Of course the argument, though of universal
application, was intended by Taylor to BOCUTO
indulgence for what had onco boon tho domin-
ant Church of England, but which was now
proscribed and persecuted by tho rampant
violence of the sectarians. An ' Apology for
Fixed and Set Forms of Worship,' was an
elaborate defence of the noblo ritnal of tho
Anglican Church Among hw woiks of a
disciplinary and pioctiool tendency I may
mention his c Life of Chi j at, tho Groat Eiom-
plar,' in which tho details scattered through
the Evangelists and tho Fathers aro co-
ordinated in a continuous narrative Bud tho
most popular of Taylor's writings aro the two
admirable treatises, * OnthoKulo andExoiviHO
of Holy Living,' and 'On tho Rule and
Exercise of Holy Dying,' which mutually
correspond to and complete each other, and
which form an Institute of ChiiHLian lifo and
conduct, adapted to every conceivable circum-
stance and relation o£ human existence Tliw
devotional work has e^oyod in Kngland a
popularity somewhat similar to that of tho
' Imitation of Josus Christ,' among OathohoB ,
a popularity it deserves for a similar oloquxmco
and unction The least admirable of hm
numoions writings, and his only one in
which he derogated from Jus usual tone of
courtesy and faiiness, was his 'Ductor
Dubitantium,' a treatise of questions of casu-
istry. His * Sermons ' arc very numoroun,
and are among the most eloquent, learned,
and powerful that tho whole rtuij;o of ftotots*
taut — nay, the whole range of ChrihLiaii —
— literature has produced* AH in hiH character,
so in his writings, Taylor IB tho ideal of an
Anghoan pastor Our Church itaolf bom#
middle term or compromise botwoon tlio
gorgeous formalism, of Catholicism and tlio
narrow fanaticism of ColvmiHtic theology,
so our great ecclesiastic wntoru exhibit tho
union of consummate learning with practical
simplicity and fervour

"Taylor's style, though occasionally over-
charged with erudition and marked by that
abuse of quotation which disfigatos a great
deal of the prose of that ago, is unifoimly
magnificent Tho maieiials aro drawn from
the whole rango of profane OB well as sacred
literature, and ore fused together into a rich
and gorgeous unity by tho fire of an unequalled
imagination No prose IB more melodious
than that of this great writer , his periods,
though often immeasurably long, and evolving,
m a series of subordinate clauses and illus-
trations, a train of images and comparisons,
one springing out of another, roll on with a
soft yet mighty swell, which has often some-
thing- of the enchantment of verse. Ho has

1649 to 1689.]

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

boon called by the cntio Jeffrey, * the most
Shakspenan of our great divines', but it
would bo more appropriate to compaie him
with Spenser He has the same piotorial
fancy, the same voluptuous and ^languishing
harmony , but if hecanmany respect be likened
to Shakspere, it is firstly in the vividness of
intellect whichleads Tmn to follow, digressively,
the numborless secondary ideas that spimg
up as he wiitos, and often lead Timn apparently
far away from his point of departure, and,
secondly, the preference he shows for drawing
his illustrations from the simplest and most
familiar objects, from the opening rose, the
infant stieamlet, 'the little lings and wanton
tendrils of the vine,' the moining song of the
soaring laik, or the c fair cheeks and lull eyes
ot childhood ' Like Shakspore,too, he knows
how to point the temble and the sublime no
loss than the tender and the affecting , and
his description of the horrors of the Judgment-
Day is no lo&a powerful than his exquisite
portraiture of manicd love Nevertheless,
with Sponber's sweetness he has occasionally
something of the luscious and enervate languor
of Spensei's style He had studied the
Fathora HO intensely that ho had become
infected with something of that lavish and
Oriental imagery which many of those groat
writers exhibited — many of whom, it should
be icmombciod, were Orientals not only in
their Rtyle, but in their origin. Taking his
personal character and 1»g wiitmgs together,
Jeremy Taylor may be called tho English
Fonolon , bat in venturing to make this
parallel, wo must not forgot that each of these
excellent writers and admirable men po&se&sod
tho characteristic foatuiob of his zospoctive
country; if Fenelon's productions, like those
of Taylor, are distinguished by their sweet-
ness, that swootnosd IB allied in tho former to
the neat, door, precise expression which tho
French literature derives not only fiom the
cloBkiical origin of the language, but from the
antique writers who have always been set up
as models foi Fionch imitation, while Jciemy
Taj lor, with a sweetness not inferior, owes
that quality to tho some nch and poetic
susceptibility to natural beauty that gives
such a matchless colouring to tho English
poetry of tho sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries."

HENBY VATTGHAN.

" Vaughan was born in Wales, on the banks
of the Uske, in Brecknockshire, in 1614. His
father was a gentleman, but, we presume,
poor, as his &on was bred to a profession
Young Vaughan become first a lawyer, and
then a physician ; and we suppose, had it not
boon for his advanced life, he would have
become latterly & clergyman, since ho grow,
when old, exceedingly devout. In life, he was

not fortunate, and we find him, like Chamber-1
layne, complaining bitterly of the poverty of
the poetical tribe. In 1651, he published a
volume of verse, in which nascent excellence
struggles with dim obscurities, like a young
moon with heavy clouds But his 'Silex
ScintJlans,' or 'Sacred Poems,' produced in
later life, attests at once the depth of his
devotion, and the truth and originality of his
genius He died in 1695

" Campbell, always prone to be rather severe
on pious poets, and whose taste, too, was
finical at times, says of Vaughan — *He
is one of the harshest even of the inferior
order of tho school of conceit; but ho has
some few scatteied thoughts that meet the
eye amidst his harsh pagos, like wild flowers
on a barren heath' Surely this is rather
6 harsh* judgment. At the same time, it is
not a little laughable to find that Campbell
has himself appiopnated one of these * wild
flowers' In his beautiful 'Bainbow,' he
ones —

c How came the world's gray fathers

forth
To mark thy sacied sign ' *

Vaughan had said—

'How bright wert thou \\hon Shera'fl

admiring eye
Thy burnished flaming aicli did first

de&cry ,
When Torah, Nahor, Haran, Abiaham,

Lot,
The youthful world's gray fathers in one

knot,
Did with nitentive looks watch every

hour
For thy new light, and trembled at each

shower ' '

Indeed, all Campbell's 'Rainbow' is just
a reflection of Vaughan's, and reminds you of
those faint, pale shadows of the* heavenly
bow you sometimes see m the darkened and
disarranged skies of spring To steal from,
and then strike down, the victim, is more
suitable to robbers than to poets

" Perhaps the best criticism on Vaughan
may be found in the title of his own poems,
1 Silex Scintillans * He hod a good deal of the
dulness and hardness of the flint about ins
mind, but the influence of poverty and
suffering, — for true it is that

c Wretched men

Are cradled into poetry by wrong ;
They learn in suffering what they teach
m song,1 —

and latterly the power of a genuine, though
somewhat narrow piety, struck out glorious
scintillations from the baro but rich rock. Ho
ranks with Crashaw, Quarlea, and Herbert, as
one of the best of our early religious poets ,
like them in their faults, and superior to all

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[FOURTH PEBIOP —

of them in refinement and beauty, if not in
strength of gemns " — GiHUan's " Specimens
with Memoirs of the Less-known Bntish
Poets," vol. u, pp. 231-2 See B Aris
Willmott's " Lives of the Sacred Poets " , Dr
" Handbook of Eng. Lit."

THOMAS STANLEY

Thomas Stanley, born 1625, died 1678, tho
learned editor of JEschylus, and author of
the " History of Philosophy" He made
poetical versions of considerable neatness
from Anacreon, Bion, and Moschus, and the
"Kisses" of Secundus He also translated
from Tristan, Marino, Boscan, and Gongora
Campbell's " Spec. Eng. Poets," p. 267.

KICHABD BAXTER.

Eiohard Baxter, born 1615, died 1691 Wo
cannot do better than give the admirable
article on this great and good man, written
by the Bev Dr Angus m the " Handbook of
English Literature "

" Baxter was born in Shropshire, and was
educated in the free school of Wroxeter, and
afterwards under the care of Mr Wioksteod,
of Ludlow There, a large library was ac-
cessible to Trim — the only advantage he seems
to have gamed from Mr. Wickstead's tuition
After receiving ordination from the Bishop of
Worcester, he obtained employment as school-
master at Dudley, and there he preached his
first sermon He was never at college like
Erasmus and Scakger, and Andrew Fuller
and Carey, he was his own teacher, 'my
faults,' said he to Anthony Wood, who had
written to aak whether he was an Oxonian,
( are no disgrace to any university, for I was
of none • weakness and pain helped me to
study how to die . that set me on studying
how to live, and that on studying the doctrine
from which I must fetch my motives and
comforts • beginning with necessities, I pro-
ceeded by degrees, and am now going to see
that for which I have lived and studied.* To
feeble health and protracted suffering he was
indebted for much of his earnestness and
wisdom.

" In 1640 he removed to Kidderminster,
where he laboured, with a slight interruption
cwwed by the Civil War, for sixteen years.
In that town he illustrated by his life his
own book, 'The Befonned Pastor/ 'teaching
men from house to house,' and warning them
day and night with tears his memory is still
fragrant there.

"At the outset of the Civil War he sided
on the whole with the parliament : more

accurately he may be said to have been the
friend of the Constitution, against both tho
great paities, and, as might have boon ex-
pected, he was blamed by both After tho
battle of Bdgehill, during which ho was
preaching for his fnend Samuel Claiko, of
Alcester, he accepted the chaplaincy of Colonel
Whalloy's regiment, and continued to discharge
the duties of his office with oarnohtnoss and
popularity He soon found it, however, no
congenial post* ho distrusted Cromwell, and
was grieved with the nauow views of noino of
the leaders At length his health failod ' it
pleased God to take him from all public em-
ployments' The leisure whidh hi« illness
secured him he used in collecting and writing
down his thoughts of that country upon the
borders of which ho scorned to Htaaid. How
touching is the whole scene ' Tho wo i en-
feebled man gathers up his foci expecting to
die, the din of battle is still in his oars,
aiound Tnm is a suffering country and a dis-
tracted Church - ho turns his thoughts to tho
better land The whole picture is a repetition
of the Pilgrim's visit to the Delectable Moun-
tains, where the eye could trace the outlines
of the New Jerusalem, and tho ear already
caught the music of the harping of tho many
harpers The sights he saw and tho Bounds
ho heard he has recorded in tho 'ftamt'R
Everlasting Best,' one of the most useful and
popular of his works.

" Soon after this illness he visited London
for medical advice, and preached before the
Parliament on the day preceding tho vote that
was to bring back King Charles. At tho
Restoration he was offered a bishopric, but
felt compelled, on conscientious grounds, to
decline it He preached for some time under
the protection of a licence granted by Sheldon,,
and at length a chapel was built for him id
Oxendon Street there ho ministered bub
once, when the arm of the law closed tho
place Under the various Acts of Parliament
passed in the reign of Charles II. ho was
several times imprisoned, his library was
sold, and he was driven, a fooblo aged man,
from place to place, without a homo In
1685 he was, on fnvolous grounds, condemned
by the infamous Jeffreys for sedition, but by
the king's favour the fine inflicted by the
sentence was remitted Tho lafit years of his
life were spent more peacefully ho died
in Charter-house Yard, in 1C91, reckoning
among his personal friends Barrow, Wilkms,
and Hale. A few years after his death there
was published c A Narrative of tho most Me-
morable Passages of his Life and Times,' a
highly instructive volume, and a groat
f avounte with Dr. Johnson and with Coleridge,
both of whom praise its sincerity and sub-
stantial truthfulness.

"Besides the works already mentioned,
Barter is the author of ' A Call to the Un-
converted to Turn and Live/ one of the most
impressive volumes ever written . twenty

From 1649 to 1689 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

thousand copies are said to have been sold
on the first year after it was published

" Baxter's example is one of the most in-
structive in our literature. With Trim activity
was a passion Sometimes the devoted friend,
oftener the victim, of the ruling powers, he
was at the same time a voluminous writer
and a labonous pastor. Thrce-and-twenty
octavo volumes of practical writings, such,
Barrow says, as wore never mended, forty
more of controversy and personal history,
attest Trig diligence in one department , hun-
dreds of visits paid to his paiishioners, and
prolonged conversations with each of them,
attest it m another He did the woik of a
city missionary at Kidderminster, and wrote
more pages than many students now read

" And all this was done amid great bodily
weakness He enteiod the ministry with
what would now be called the symptoms of a
confirmed consumption he seemed ever living1 j
upon the brink of the grave Great energy
or noble achievement was hardly to be looked
for from such a sufferer had he spent his
time in telling his aalments, had he even re-
tired from the field to the hospital, it would
be easy to find circumstances to excuse, if not
to justify, such a course But instead of
yielding to selfish complaint or valetudinarian
indolence, ho manfully held on his way, a
cheerful traveller to the very close 'In
deaths oft* ho was also 'in labouis more
abundant ' There is a shorter road to repose
amid bodily afflictions than talking of them,
and that road Baxter found

" His books have been warmly praised by
Flavel and Uiher, by Manton and Doddndge,
by Addison and Johnson Wilberforce deemed
them ' a treasury of Christian wisdom,' and
the man himself among 'the highest orna-
ments of the Church of England.' The style
is one of the finest specimens of direct mas-
culine English, and is a model for all who
wish to talk to people instead of talking at
them or before them every sentence strikes
home His life, written by Orme, has been
prefixed to the last collected edition of his
practical works, and a genial review of his
character and labours may be seen in the
'Essays' of Sir James Stephen "

See an article in AUibone's "Grit. Diet
Eng. Lit " of very great merit, and which
places the subject in every point of view All
we know of Baxter redounds to his praise a
more godly man never lived

GEORGE DIGBT.

George Digby, Earl of Bristol, born 1612,
died 1676 His father was first ambassador to
Spam, and our poet was born at Madrid. He
seems to have published speeches , " Elvira,"
a comedy, and a few other works. Horace

Walpolo says of him that he was " a singular
person, whose life was a contradiction " See
Walpole's "Royal and Noble Authors";
"Athen. Oxon ", "Biog. Brit " ; Bp. War-
burton's " Introduc. to Julian."

HENRY MORE.

Henry More, born 1614, died 1687. " Dr.
Henry More was the son of a respectable
gentleman at Giantham, m Lincolnshire He
spent the better part of a long and intensely
studious life at Cambridge, refusing even the
mastership of his college, and seveial offers of
pieferment in the Church, for the sake of un-
broken leisure and letuement. In 1640 he
composed his Psychozoia, or Life of the Soul,
which he afterwards republished with other
pieces, in a volume entitled 'Philosophical
Poems ' Before the appearance of the former
work he had studied tho Platonic writers and
mystic divines, till his frame hod become
emaciated, and his faculties had been strained
to such enthusiasm, that he began to talk of
holding supernatural communications, and
imagined that his body exhaled the perfume
of violets With tho exception of those
innocent levenes, his life and literary oha-
lacter were highly lespectable. He corre-
rponded -with Des Cartes, was the fnond of
Cudwoith, and as a du mo and moiali&t was
not only popular in hib own tone, bvt has
been mentioned with admnation both by
Addison and Blair In the heat of rebellion
he was spared even by tho fanatics, who,
though he refused to take tho covenant, left
him to dream with Plato in his academic
bower. As a poet he has woven together a
singular texture of Gothic fancy and toeex
philosophy, and made the Christiano-Platoxuc
system of metaphysics a ground-work for the
fables of the nursery His versification,
though he tells us that he was won to the
Muses in his childhood by the melody of
Spenser, is but a faint echo of the Spenserian
tune In fancy he is dark and lethargic.
Yet his * Psychozoia ' is not a common-place
production : a certain solemnity and earnest-
ness in his tone leaves an impression that he
* believed the magic wonders which, he sung '
His poetry is not, indeed, like a beautiful
landscape on which the eye can repose, but
may be compared to some curious grotto,
whose gloomy labyrinths we might be cunous
to explore for the strange and mystic associa-
tions they excite " — Campbell's "Specimens,"
p 297.

STB JOHN DENHAM.
Sir John Denham, born 1615, died 1668
" He was the son of the Chief Baron of the
Exchequer in Ireland, and a supporter of

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[FOURTH PERIOD —

of them in refinement and beauty, if not in
strength of genius." — Gilfillan'a " Specimens
•with Memoirs of the Less-known British
Poets," vol. ii., pp 231-2 See R. Ans
Willmott's " Lives of the Sacred Poets " , Dr
Angns's "Handbook of Eng Lit"

THOMAS STAOTJBY.

Thomas Stanley, born 1625, died 1678, tho
learned editor of JSschylus, and author of
the " History of Philosophy " He made
poetical -versions of considerable neatness
from Anacreon, Bion, and Mosohus, and the
"Kisses" of Seoundus He also translated
from Tristan, Marino, Boscan, and Gongora
Campbell's " Spec. Eng Poets," p 267

RICHARD BAXTER

Richard Baxter, born 1615, died 1691 Wo
cannot do better than give the admirable
article on this great and good mom, written
by the Rev. Dr. Angus in the " Handbook of
English Literature."

" Baxter was born in Shropshire, and was
educated in the free school of Wroxeter, and
afterwards under the care of Mr. Wiokstead,
of Ludlow There, a large library was ac-
cessible to him — the only advantage he seems
to have gained from Mr. Wiokstead's tuition
After receiving ordination from the Bishop of
Worcester, he obtained employment as school-
master at Dudley, and there he preached his
first sermon He was never at college . like
Erasmus and Scahger, and Andrew Fuller
and Carey, he was his own teacher* (my
faults,' said he to Anthony Wood, who had
written to ask whether he was an Oxonian,
( are no disgrace to any university, for I was
of none : weakness and pain helped me to
study how to die that set me on studying
how to live, and that on studying the doctrine
from which I must fetch my motives and
comforts beginning with necessities, I pro-
ceeded by degrees, and am now going to see
that for which I have lived and studied.* To
feeble health and protracted suffering he was
indebted for much of his earnestness and
wisdom.

*' In 1640 he removed to Kidderminster,
where he laboured, with a slight interruption
caused by the Civil War, for sixteen years.
In that town he illustrated by his life his
own book, « The Reformed Pastor,' • teaching
men from house to house,' and warning them
day and night with tears his memory is still
fragrant there.

« At the outset of the Civil War he sided
on the whole with the parliament : more

accurately he may be said to have been the
friend of the Constitution, against both tho
great parties, and, as might havo boon ex-
pected, he was blamed by both After tho
battle of Edgehill, during which ho was
preaching for his friend Samuel Clarke, of
Alcester, he accepted the chaplaincy of Colonol
Whalloy's regiment, and continued to discharge
the duties of his office with oorno&tnoRB and
popularity. He soon found it, however, no
congenial post ho distrusted Cromwell, and
was grieved with the nairow views of some of
the leaders. At length his health failed c it
pleased God to take fa™ from all public em-
ployments ' The leisure which hit* illness
secured him he used in collecting and writing
down his thoughts of that country upon tho
borders of which he seemed to stand How
touching is the whole sceno ' Tho wo j en-
feebled man gathers up his foot expecting- to
die, the din of battle is still in his oars,
around >»™ is a suffering country and a dis-
tracted Church • ho turns his thoughts to the
better land The wholo picture is a repetition
of the Pilgrim's visit to the Delectable Moun-
tains, where the eye could troco tho outlines
of the New Jerusalem, and tho ear already
caught the music of the harping of tho many
harpers The sights he saw and the sound s
he heard he has recorded in tho 'Saint's
Everlasting Rest,' one of the most useful and
popular of his works

" Soon after this illness he visited London
for medical advice, and preached before the
Parliament on the day preceding the vote that
was to bring back King Charles At the
Restoration he was offered a bishopric, but
felt compelled, on conscientious grounds, to
decline it. He preached for some time under
the protection of a licence granted by Sheldon,
and at length a chapel was built for him in
Oxendon Street there he ministered bub
once, when the arm of the law closed the
place Under tho various Acts of Parliament
passed in the reign of Charles II he was
several times imprisoned, his library waff
sold, and he was driven, a feeble aged man,
from place to place, without a home In
1685 he was, on frivolous grounds, condemned
by the infamous Jeffreys for sedition, but by
the king's favour the fine inflicted by the
sentence was remitted The last years of his-
life were spent more peacefully he diod
in Charter-house Yard, in 1601, reckoning
among his personal friends Barrow, Wilkins,
and Hale A few years after his death there
was published ' A Narrative of the most Me-
morable Passages of his Life and Tunes,* a
highly instructive volume, and a great
favourite with Dr Johnson and with Coleridge,
both of whom praise its sincerity and sub-
stantial truthfulness.

" Besides the works already mentioned,
Baxter is the author of * A Call to the Un-
converted to Turn and Live,' one of the most
impressive volumes ever written, twenty

From 1649 to 1689 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

thousand copies are said to have been sold
in the first year after it was published.

" Baxter's example is one of the most in-
structive in our literature With Trim activity
was a passion Sometimes the devoted fnend,
offcener the victim, of the ruling powers, he
was at the same tune a voluminous writer
and a laborious pastor Three-and-twenty
octavo volumes of practical writings, such,
Barrow says, as were never mended, forty
more of controversy and personal history,
attest his diligence in one department , hun-
dreds of visits paid to his parishioners, and
prolonged conversations with each of them,
attest it m another. He did the work of a
city missionary at Kidderminster, and xnrote
more pages than many students now lead

" And all this was done amid great bodily
weakness He entered the ministry with
what would now be called the symptoms of a
confirmed consumption he seemed ever living
upon the brink of the grave Great energy
or noble achievement was hardly to be looked
for from such a sufferer had he spent his
time in telling- his ailments, had he even re-
tired from the field to the hospital, it would
be easy to find circumstances to excuse, if not
to justify, such a course But instead of
yielding to selfish complaint or valetudinarian
indolence, ho manfully held on his way, a
cheerful traveller to the very close *In
deaths oft* he was also 'in labours moio
abundant ' There is a shorter road to icpose
amid bodily afflictions than talking of them,
and that road Baxter found

" His books have been warmly praised by
Flavel and Usher, by Monton and Doddiidge,
by Addison and Johnson Wilberf orce deemed
them ' a treasury of Christian wisdom,' and
the man himself among 'the highest orna-
ments of the Church of England ' The style
is one of the finest specimens of direct mas-
culine English, and is a model for all who
wish to talk to people instead of talking at
them or before them every sentence strikes
home His life, written by Onne, has been
prefixed to the last collected edition of his
practical works, and a genial review of his
character and labours may be seen in the
' Essays ' of Sir James Stephen "

See an article in Allibone's "Grit. Diet
Eng. Lit" of very great merit, and which
places the subject in every point of view All
we know of Baxter redounds to his praise a
more godly man never lived.

GEOEGE DIGBY.

George Digby, Earl of Bristol, born 1612,
died 1676 His father was first ambassador to
Spain, and our poet was born at Madrid. He
seems to have published speeches ; " Elvira,"
a comedy, and a few other works. Horace

"Walpolo says of him that he was " a singular
person, whose life was a contradiction " See
Walpole's "Eoyal and Noble Authors";
"Athen. Oxon."; "Biog Brit ";Bp War-
burton's " Introduc to Julian."

HENBY MOKE.

Henry More, born 1614, died 1687. " Dr.
Hemy More was the son of a respectable
gentleman at Grantham, in Lincolnshire Ho
spent the better part of a long and intensely
studious Me at Cambridge, i of using even the
mastership of Ins college, and several offers of
preferment in the Church, for the sake of un-
broken leisure and retirement In 1640 he
composed his Psyohozoia, or Life of the Soul,
which he ofteiwards republished with other
pieces, in a volume entitled 'Philosophical
Poems ' Before the appearance of the former
work he had studied the Platonic writers and
mystic divines, till his frame had become
emaciated, and his faculties had been strained
to such enthusiasm, that he began to talk of
holding supernatural communications, and
imagined that his body exhaled the perfume
of violets With the exception of these
innocent reveries, his He and literary oha-
lactei woie highly respectable He corre-
rponded with Dos Cartes, was tho fnend of
Cudworth, and as a di\ ine and moiali&t was
not only popular in his own time, but has
been mentioned with admiration both by
Addison and Blair. In the heat of rebellion
he was spaied even by the fanatics, who,
though he refused to take the covenant, left
him to dream with Plato in ^1g academic
bower. As a poet he has woven together a
singular texture of Gothic fancy and Greetf
philosophy, and made the Christiano-Platonic
system of metaphysics a ground-work for the
fables of the nursery. His versification,
though he tells us that he was won to the
Muses in his childhood by the melody of
Spenser, is but a faint echo of the Spenserian
tune. In fancy he is dark and lethargic*
Yet his 'Psychozoia* is not a common-place
production : a certain solemnity and earnest-
ness in his tone leaves an impression that he
( believed the magic wonders which he sung.'
His poetry is not, indeed, like a beautiful
landscape on which the eye can repose, but
may be compared to some curious grotto,
whose gloomy labyrinths we might be curious
to explore for the strange and mystic associa-
tions they excite " — Campbell's "Specimens,"
p. 297

SIB JOHN DENHAM.
Sir Join Denham, born 1615, died 1668
" He was the son of the Chief Baron of the
Exchequer in Ireland, and a supporter of

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[FOURTH PERIOD. —

Chailes I Though a poet of the secondary
order, when legarded in connection with
Cowley, one woik of his, * Cooper's Hill,*
will always occupy an important place in any
account of the English literature of the
seventeenth century This place it owes not
only to its specific r siits, but also in no mean
degree to the circ jnstance that this poem
was the first woik in a peculiar department
which English, writers afterwards cultivated
with groat success, and which is, I believe,
almost exclusively confined to our Ltoratnio
This depaitment is what may be called local
or topographic poetiy, and in it the writer
clioobes some individual scene as the object
round which he is to accumulate his descrip-
tive or contemplative passages Denham
selected for this purpose a beautiful spot
near Richmond on the Thames, and in the
description of the scene itself, as well as in
the reflections it suggests, ho has iison to a
noble elevation. Four linos, indeed, in which
he expresses the hope that his own veise may
possess the qualities which he attributes to
the Thames, will be quoted again and again
as one of the finest and most felicitous
pashj&es of veiso in any language " — Shaw's
" Hist Eng Lit ," pp 18 i-o Ho was re-
garded with great esteem by Waller, Pnor,
Dryden, Watson, and Johnson.

WILLIAM CHAMBEKLAYNE.

William Chamborlayne, born 1619, died
1089 Ho was a native of Dorsetshire, a
soldier, physician, and poet He published
" Love's Victoiy," a tiagi-comody, in 1658.'
A portion of this appealed on the stage in
3678, under the title of "Wits Led by the
NORO, or a Poet's Eevonge " In 1659 appeared
his *sPhoronnida," a heroic poem Campbell
•writes of thia woik —

" HIH ' Pharonmda/ wluch Langbamo says
has nothing to recommend it, is one of the
inoRt interesting stories that was ever told in
verse, and contained so much amusing matter
as to bo made into a prose novel in the reign
of Chailos II. What Dr Johnson said
xmjnstly of Milton's Comas, that it was like
gold hid under a rock, may unfortunately be
applied with too much propriety to ' Pharon-
mda * Never, poihapa, was so much beautiful
design in poetry marred by infelicity o±
execution: his ruggedness of versification,
abrupt transitions, and a stylo that is at once
slovenly and quaint, perpetually interrupt
in enjoying the splendid figures and spirited
passions ot this romantic tablet, and moke us
catch them only by glunpses I am well aware
that from a story so closely interwoven a few
selected passages, while they may be more
than sufficient to exemplify the faults, are not

enough to discover the full worth of Chambor-
layne Hus sketches, already imperfect, must
appear still more so in the shape of frag-
ments; we must peruse the narrative itself
to appreciate the rich bieadth and vaiioty of
its scenes, and we must peihaps accustom
our vision to the thick medium ot its uncouth
stylo to enjoy the power and pathos of hia
characters and situations. Under all the
defects of the poem, the reader will then
indeed feel its unfinished hints affect the heart
and cblato the imagination From the fo,to
of Chamberlayne a young poet may loaru one
impoitant lesson, that he who neglects tho
subsidiary giacos of taste has every chance of
being neglected by posterity, and that tho
pride of genius must not prompt him to
disdain the study of harmony and of stylo."

EDMUND WALLER.

" Edmund Waller, born at Coloshill, Hert-
fordshire, in March, 1605, was tho sou of
Robert Waller, Esq , a gentleman of an ancient
family and good fortune, who married a sinter
of the oelebiatod John Hampden. Tho death
of his father during his ini<mcy left IJITP heir
to an estate of .£3,500 a year, at that period
an ample fortune. Ho was educated first at
Eton, whence ho was i amoved to King's
College, Cambridge His election to Paiha-
ment was as early as between his sixteenth or
seventeenth year , and it was not much later
that he made his appearance as a poet and it
is remarkable that a copy of versos winch ho
addressed to Piinco Charles, in his eighteenth
year, exhibits a stylo and character of vormn-
cation as perfectly formed as those of his
xnatirrest pi eductions. He again served in
Parliament before ho was of ago , and ho con-
tinued his services to a later period Not
insensible of the value of wealth, he augmented
his paternal fortune by marnogo with a iich
city heiress. In tho long intermissions of
Parliament which occurred after 1628, ho
retired to his mansion of Beaconsfiold, whore
he continued his clasoical studioa, cmdoi tho
direction of his kinsman Morloy, afterwards
bishop of Winchester, and he obtoiiio.l ad-
mission to a society of able men and polite
scholars, of whom Lord Falkland was the con-
necting medium

" Waller became a widower at tho ago of
twenty-five , ho did not, however, spend much
time in mouimng, but declared himHolf the
suitor of Lady Doiothoa Sydney, oldest
daughter of tho Earl of Leicester, whom he
has immortalized under tho poetical name of
Saooharissa She is described by him as a
maje&tio and scornful beauty , and he seems
to delight more in her contrast, the gentler
Amoret, who is supposed to have been a Lady
Sophia Murray. Neither of these ladies, how-

From 1649 to 1689.]

BIOSBAPHICAL NOTICES,

ever, was won by his poetic strains ; and, Iffa*
another WK*).) he consoled himself in a second
marriage

" "When the king's neoesaities compelled
him, in 1640, once more to apply to the repre*
sentatives of the people, Waller, who was
returned for Agmondesham, decidedly took
part with the members who thought that the
redress of grievances should precede a vote
for supplies , and he made an energetic speech
on the occasion He continued during three
years to vote in general with the Opposition in
the Long Parliament, but did not enter into
all their measures. In particular, he employed
much cool argument against the proposal for
the abolition of Episcopacy, and he spoke
with freedom and seventy against some other
plans of the House In fact, he was at
length become a zealous loyalist in his inclina-
tions , and his conduct under the difficulties
into which tl"3 attachment involved him
became a souico of his indelible disgrace A
short narrative will suffice for the elucidation
of this matter

" Waller had a brother-in-law, named Tom-
kyns, who was clerk of the queen's council,
and possessed great influence in the city
among tho warm loyalists. On consulting
together, they thought it would bo possible to
raise a powoiful party, which might oblige tho
Parliament to adopt pacific mea«*uio«is "by 10-
sisting the payment of tho tai.es lened for the
suppoit of the war. About this iamo Sir
Nicholas Ciispe foimcd a design of more
dangcious import, which was that of exciting
the king's friends in the city to an open
resistance of the authority of Pailiamont ; and
for that purpose he obtained a commission of
array from his majesty This plan appears to
have been originally unconnected with the
other , yet the commission was made known
to Waller and Tomkyns, and the whole was
compounded into a horrid and dreadful plot
Waller and Tomkyns were apprehended, when
the pusillanimity of the former disclosed the
whole seciot ' Ho was- so confounded with,
fear,' (says Lord Clarendon,) 'that he con-
fessed whatever he liad heard, said, thought,
or seen, all that he know of himself, and all
that he suspected of others, without concealing
any person, of what degree or quality soever,
or any discourse which ho had over upon any
occasion entertained with them' The con-
clupion of this business was, that Tomkyns,
and Ohaloner, another conspirator, wero
hanged, and that Waller was expelled the
House, tned, and condemned, but after a
year's imprisonment, and a fine of ton thou-
sand pounds, was suffered to go into exilo
He chose Bouen for his first place of foreign
exile, where ho lived with his wife till his
removal to Paris In that capital ho main-
tained the appearance of a man, of fortune,
and entertained hospitably, supporting this
style of living chiefly by the Falo of his wife's
jewels. At length, after the lapse of ten

years, being reduced to what he called his
rump jewel, he thought it time to apply for
permission -bo return to his own country. He
obtained this licence, and was also restored to
his estate, though now diminished to half its
former rental Here he fixed his abode, at a
house built by himself, at Beaconsfleld; and
he renewed his courtly strains by adulation to
Cromwell, now Protector, to whom his mother
was lelated. To this usurper the noblest
tribute of his muse was paid

"When Charles EL was restored to the
crown, and past character was lightly re-
garded, the stains of that of Waller were for-
gotten, and his wit and poetry procured him
notice at court, and admission to the highest
circles. He had also sufficient interest to
obtain a seat in the House of Commons in all
the parliaments of that reign. The king's
gracious manners emboldened ITITP to ask for
the vacant place of piovost of Eton College,
which was granted him , but Lord Clarendon,
then Lord Chancellor, refused to set the seal
to the grant, alleging- that by the statutes
laymen were excluded from that provobt&hip
This was thought the reason why Waller
joined the Duke of *RT"?lQT*ghfrm in fag hostility
against Clarendon.

" On the accGS«aon of Jajnes EL, Waller, ihon
in his 80th year. TNOS chosen lepresentative
for Saltash Having now considerably pasped
the usual limit of human life, he turned his
thoughts to devotion, and composed toine
divine poems, the T^T?**! task in 'which men of
gaiety terminate their career He died at
Ueaconsfield in October, 1C87, in the 83rd year
of his age He left soveiol children by his
second wife, of whom the inheritor of his
estate, Edmund, after representing Agmondes-
ham in Parliament, became a convert to
Quakerism

" Waller was one of tho earliest poets who
obtained reputation by the sweetness and
sonorousness of his strains; and there are
perhaps few masters at the present day who
surpass KITTI in thin particular " — Allan's
"Select Worksof the British Poets," pp 142-3

JOHN MILTON.

s

"John Hilton, a poet of the first rack in
eminence, was descended from an ancient
family, settled at Milton, in Oxfordshire His
father, whose desertion of the Eoman Catholic
faith was the cause of fag disinheritance,
settled in London as a scrivener, and marrying
a. woman of good family, had two sons and a
daughter. John, the eldest son, was born in
Bread Stieet, on December 9, 1608 He
received the rudiments of learning from a
domestic tutor, Thomas Young, afterwards
chaplain to the English merchants at Hamburg,
whose merits are gratefully commemorated by

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[FOURTH PERIOD —

his pupil in a Latin elegy At a proper age
lie was sent to St Paul's School, and theie
"began to distinguish himself by his intense
application to study, as well as by his poetical
talents In his sixteenth year he was re-
moved to Chiist's College, Cambridge, where
he was admitted a pensioner, under the tuition
of Mr W Chappel

" Of his course of studies in the university,
little is known , but it appears, from several
exercises preserved in his works, that he had
acquired extraordinary tftn\\ in wilting Latin
verses, which are of a purer taste than any
preceding compositions of the kind by English,
scholars He took the degrees both of Bachelor
and Master of Arts ; the latter in 1632, whon
he left Cambridge He renounced his original
intention of entering the Church, for which he
has given as a reason, that, ' coming to some
maturity of years, he had perceived what
tyranny had invadod it * , which denotes a man
early habituated to think and act for himself

" He now returned to his father, who had
retired fiom business to a residence at Horton,
in Buckinghamshire , and ho theie passed five
years in the study of the best Roman and
Grecian authors, and in the composition of
some of his finest miscellaneous poems This
was the period of his ' Allegro ' and ' Pense-
roso * , his * Comus ' and ' Lyoidas ' That his
learning and talents had at this time attracted
considerable notice, appears from an applica-
tion made to him from the Bndgewator
family, which produced his admirable masque
of 'Comus/ perfoimod in 1634 at Ludlow
Castle, before the Earl of Bndgewater, then
Loid President of Wales, and also by his
' Arcades/ part of an entertainment presented
to the Countess Dowager of Derby, at Hare-
field, by some of her family.

"In 1638 he obtained his father's leave to
improve himself by foreign travel, and set out
for the Continent. Passing through France,
he proceeded to Italy, and spent a consider-
able tune in that seat of the arts and of
literature At Naples he was kindly received
byManso, Marquis of Villa, who had long
before deserved the gratitude of poets by his
patronage of Tasso , and, in return for a lau-
datory distich of Manso, Hilton addressed to
him a Latin poem of gieat elegance. He left
Italy by the way of Geneva, where he con-
tracted an acquaintance with two learned
divines, John Diodati and Frederic Spanheim ,
and he returned through France, having been
absent about a year and three months

"On his arrival, Milton found the nation
agitated by civil and religious disputes, which
threatened a crisis , and as he had expressed
himself impatient to be present on the theatre
of contention, it has been thought extraor-
dinary that he did not immediately place him-
self in some active station But his torn was
not military ; his fortune precluded a seat in
Parliament ; the pulpit he had declined, and
for the bar he had made no preparation His

taste and habits wore altogether literary , for
the present, therefore, ho fixed himself in the
metropolis, and undertook the education oi
his sister's two sons, of the name of Phillips
Soon after, he was applied to by several parents
to admit their children to the benefit of his
tuition He therefore took a commodious
house in Aldersgate Street, and opened an
academy Disapproving the plan of education
in the public schools and universities, ho de-
viated from it as widely as possible Ho put
into the hands of his scholars, instead of the
common classics, such Greek and Latin authors
as treated on the arts and sciences, and on
philosophy , thus expecting to instil the know-
ledge of things with that of words. We aic
not informed of the result of his plan ; but it
will appear singular that one who had himself
drunk so deeply at the Muses' fount should
withhold the draught fiom others Wo learn,
however, that he performed the task of m-
struotion with great assiduity

** Milton did not long suffer "b.mflHfllf bo lio
under the reproach of having neglected the
public cause m his private pursuits , and, in
1641, he published four treatises lelative to
church government, in which he gavo the pre-
ponderance to the presbyterian form abovo
the episcopalian Resuming the same con-
troversy in the following year, he numbered
among his antagonists such men as Bishop
Hall and Archbishop Usher His father, who
had been disturbed by the king's troopa, now
came to live with fa™ ; and the necessity of a
female head of such a hou&o, caused Milton,
in 1643, to form a connection with the
daughter of Biohard Powell, Esq , a magis-
trate of Oxfordshire This was, in several
respects, an unhappy marnago ; for his father-
in-law was a zealous royahst, and his wife hod
accustomed herself to the jovial hospitality of
that party She had not, thorefoio, passed
above a month in her husband's honso, when,
having procured an invitation from hor father,
she went to pass the summer in his mansion.
Milton's invitations for her return wero treated
with contempt; upon which, regarding hor
conduct as a desertion which broke the nuptial
contract, he determined to punish it by repu-
diation In 1644 he published a work on
' The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce ' ,
and, in the next year, it was followed by
6 Tetrachordon, or Expositions upon the four
chief Places in Scripture which treat of
Marriage ' He further reduced his doctrine
into practice, by paying his addresses to a
young lady of great accomplishments , but, as
he was paying- a visit to a neighbour and kins-
man, he was surprised with the sudden entrance
of his wife, who threw herself at his feet, and
implored forgiveness After a short struggle
of resentment, he took her to his bosom ; and
he sealed the reconciliation by opening his
house to her father and brothers, whon they
had been driven from home by the triumph of
the republican arms.

From 1649 to 1689 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

" In the progress of Milton's prose works, it
will be right to mention his ' Areopagitica , a
Speech of Mr John Milton, for the Liberty of
Unlicensed Printing,'— a work published in
1644, written with equal spirit and ability,
and which, when reprinted in 1738, was
affirmed by the editor to be the best defence
that had ever then appeared of that essential
article of public liberty In the following
year he took care that his poetical character
should not be lost to the world, and published
his * Juvenile Poems/ Latin and English.

" Milton's principles of the origin and end of
government earned him to a full approbation
of the trial and execution of the king- ; and,
in order to conciliate the minds of the people
to that act, he published, early in 1649, a
work, entitled, 'The Tenure of Kings and
Magistrates, proving that it is lawful, and
hath been so held through all ages, for any
who have the power, to call to account a
tyrant or wicked king, and, after due convic-
tion, to depose and put him to death, if the
ordinary magistrate have neglected or denied
to do it/ Certainly, it would not be easy to
express, in stronger terms, an author's resolu-
tion to leave no doubts concerning his opinion
on this important topic His appointment to
the Latin Secretaryship to the Council of
State was, probably, the consequence of his
decision.

'* The learned Fienohman, Salmasius, or Sau-
maise, having been hired by Chailes II , while
in Holland, to write a work in favour of the
royal cause, which he entitled 'Defensio
Begia,' Milton was employed to answer it,
which he did in 1651, by his celebrated ' De-
fensio pro Populo Anglicano,' in which he
exercised all his powers of Latin rhetoric, both
to justify the republican party, and to con-
found and Tilify the famous scholar against
whom he took up the pen. By this piece he
acquired a high reputation both at home and
abroad ; and he received a present of a thou-
sand pounds from the English government.
His book went through several editions , while,
on the other hand, the work of Salmasius was
suppressed by the States of Holland, m whose
service he lived as a professor at Leyden.

" Milton's intense application to study had,
for some years preceding, brought on an affec-
tion of the eyes which gradually impaired his
sight, and, before he wrote his 'Defensio,'
he was warned by his physicians that the
effort would probably end in total blindness.
This opinion was soon after justified by a
gutta serena which seized both his eyes, and
subjected the remainder of his life to those
privations which he has so feelingly described
in some passages of his poems. His intel-
lectual powers, however, suffered no eclipse
from this loss of his sensitive faculties , and
he pursued without intermission both his
official and his controversial occupations.
Cromwell, about this time, having assumed
the supreme power, with the title of Pro-

tector, Milton acted with a subservience
towards this usurper which is the pait of his
conduct that it is the most difficult to justify
It might have been expected, that when the
wisest and most conscientious of the repub-
licans had become sensible of his arts, and
opposed his ambitious projects, the mind of
Milton would neither have been blinded by
his hypocrisy, nor overawed by his power.
Possibly the real cause of his predilection
for Cromwell, was that he saw no refuge
from the intolerance of the Presbyterians,
but in the moderation of the Pzotector And,
in fact, the very passage in which he addresses
him with the loftiest encomium, contains a
free and noble exhortation to him to respect
that public liberty, of which lie appeared to
be the guardian.

" Cromwell at length died ; and so zealous
and sanguine was Milton, to the very lost,
that one of his latest political productions
was, ' A ready and easy Way to establish a
free Commonwealth.' It was in vain, how-
ever, to contend, by pamphlets, with the
national inclination ; and Charles II returned
in triumph Milton was discharged from his
office, and lay for some time concealed in the
house of a friend. The House of Commons
desired that his Majesty would issue a pro-
clamation to call in Milton's c Defence of the
People,' and c Iconoclastes,' together -with a
book of Goodwyn's. The books were accord-
ingly burnt by the common hangman ; but the
authors were returned as having absconded ,
nor, in the act of indemnity, did the name of
Milton appear among those of the excepted
persons

"He now, in reduced circumstances, and
under the discountenance of power, removed
to a private habitation near his former resi-
dence. He had buned his first wife ; and a
second, the daughter of a Captain Woodcock,
in Hackney, died in childbed To solace his
forlorn condition, he desired Ms fnend, Dr.
Faget, to look out a third wife for him, who
recommended a relation of his own, named
Elizabeth Mmshull, of a good family in
Cheshire. TTia powerful mind, now centered
in itself, and undisturbed by contentions and
temporary topics, opened to those great ideas
which were continually filling it, and the
result was, * Paradise Lost ' Much discussion
has taken place concerning the original con-
ception of this grand performance , but what*
ever hint may have suggested the rude outline,
it is certain that all the creative powers of a
strong imagination, and all the accumulated
stores of a life devoted to le&rmng, were ex-
pended in its completion. Though he appears,
at an early age, to have thought of some
subject in the heroic times of English history,
as peculiarly calculated for English verso, yet
his religious turn, and assiduous study of the
Hebrew Scriptures, produced a final preference
of a story derived from the Sacred Writings*
and giving scope to the introduction of his

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[FOURTH PHJBIOD. —

theological system. It would be superfluous,
at this tune, to weigh the merits of Milton's
great work, which, stands so much beyond
competition, but it may be affirmed, that
whatever his other poems can exhibit of beauty
in some parts, or of giandeur in others, may
all be referred to * Paradise Lost * as the most
perf oot model of both.

" Milton, not exhausted by this great effort,
followed it in 1670 by * Paradise Begamed,'
written upon a suggestion of the Quaker
Elwood's, and apparently regarded as the
theological completion of the ' Paradise Lost '
Although, in point of invention, its inferiority
is plainly apparent, yet modern criticism has
pronounced that there are passages in it by no
means unworthy of the genius of Milton,
allowance being made for the small compass
of the subject, and his purpose in writing it.
Together with it appeared his tragedy of
* Sampson Agomstes,' composed upon the
modol of antiquity, and never intended for tho
stage.

" With this work his poetical account closes •
and a few pieces in prose can scarcely claim
particular notice Ho sunk tranquilly under
an exhaustion of the vital powers in November,
1674, when ho had nearly completed his 66th
year His remains were carried from his house
in Bunhill Fields to tho church of St Giles,
CripplogatOj with a numerous and splendid
attendance. No monument marked the tomb
of this great man, but his memory was ho-
nomod with a tomb in 1737, rn Westminster
Abbey, at the expense of Auditor Benson Tho
only family whom he lof fc were daughter? " —
See Aikm's " British Poets" ; <* Handbook of
Eng Lit ," by Rev Dr Angus, Shaw's " Hist
of Eng Lit " 5 Chambers* s " Cyo Eng. Lit "
vol i , Scrymgeour's "Poetry and Poots of
Britain", Campbell's "Specs", Professor
Spalding's "Hist. Eng Lit"; Gilfillon's
"English Poets."

ANDEEW MAEVELL.

"This noble-minded patriot and poet, the
friend of Milton, the Abdiol of a doik and
corrupt age, — * faithful found among the faith-
less, faithful only ho,' — was born in Hull in
1G20 Ho was sent to Cambridge, and ii said
•there to have nearly fallen a victim to the
proselytising Jesuits, who enticed him to
London His father, however, a clergyman in
Hull, went in search of and brought V?™ back
to his university, where speedily, by extensive
culture and the vigoious exercise of MR power-
ful faculties, ho emancipated himpelf for ever
from the dominion, and the danger of the
dominion, of superstition and bigotry. We
know little more about the early days of our
poet. When only twenty, he lost his father
in remarkable circumstances In 1640 he had
embarked on the Humber, in company with

a youthful pair whom he was to marry at
Barrow, in Lincolnshire. The weather was
calm 7 but Morvell, seized with a suddon pro-
sentiment of danger, threw his staff ashore,
and cned out, * Ho for heaven ' * A storm
camo on, and the whole company perished.
In consequence of this sad event, tho gentle-
man, whoso daughter was to have been married,
conceiving that tho father had sacrificed his
life while performing an act of friendship,
adopted young Marvell as hia son. Owing to
this, ho received a better education, and was
sent abroad to travel. It is Raid that at "Rome
he met and formed a friendship with Milton,
then engaged on his immortal continental tour.
We find Marvell next at Constantinople, as
Secretary to the English Embassy at that
Court We then lose sight of him till 1653,
when ho was engaged by tho Protector to
superintend tho education of a Mr. Button at
Eton For a year and a half after CromwolPH
death Marvoll assisted Milton as Latin Secre-
tary to the Protector Our readers aro all
f amihar with the print of Cromwell and Milton
seated together at the council-table — tho one
the express image of active power and rugged
grandeur, the othei of thoughtful majesty and
otheieal p,raco Marvoll might havo boon
added as a third, and become tho emblem of
strong English sense and incorruptible inte-
grity A letter o£ Milton's was, not lone?
since, discoveied, dated February, 1652, in
which he spooks of Marvell as fitted, by Ins
knowledge of Latin and his experience of
teaching, to bo his assistant Ho was not
appointed, however, till 1657 In 1660 ho
became member for Hull, and was re-elected
as long as ho lived Ho was i»b-ont, however,
from England for two yours, 111 tlio bogimiincf
of the reign, in Germany and Holland Aftcr-
waids he sought Icavo from his constituent
to act as Ambassador's Socrotaiy to Lord
Carlisle at the Northern Courts , Imt from tho
year 1665 to his death, his attention to IHH
parliamentary duties was unremitting. II o
constantly corresponded with hiw constituents;
and after the longest sittings ho used to writo
out for their use a minute account of public
proceedings ere lio wont to bod or took any
refreshment He was ono of the last moxnboiH
who received pay from tho town ho repre-
sented (2« a-clay was probably tho snm) , and
his constituents wore wont, boRi/les, to send
him barrels of alo as tokens of thotr regard.
Moivoll spoke little in tho HOUPO , but his
heart and vote woro always ui tho nght place.
Even Prince Euport continually consulted him,
and was sometimes persuaded by him to Rnj>-
port the popular side, and King: Chrrlos,
having met him once in private, was so do-
lighted with hiH wit and acpreeablo manners,
that he thought him worth trying to bnbo.
Ho sent Lord Danby to offor him a mark of
his Maiesty^s consideration. Marvell, who
was seated in a din<yy room up several flights
of stairs, declined the proffer, and, it is said.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

called ILLS servant to witness that he hod dined
for three successive days on the same shoulder
of mutton, and was not likely, therefore, to
care for or need a bnbe When '.he Treasurer
was gone, he had to send to a fnend to borrow
a guinea Although a silent senator, Marvell
was a copious and popular writer. He attacked
Bishop Parker for his slavish principles, in a
piece entitled 'The Eehearsal Transposed,'
in which he takes occasion to vindicate and
panegyrise his old colleague Milton. His ano-
nymous * Account ot the Growth of Arbitrary
Power and Popery m England ' excited a sen-
sation, and a leward was offered for the ap-
prehension of the author and printer Marvell
had many of the elements of a first-rate poli-
tical pamphleteer He had wit of a most
pungont kind, great though coaise fertility of
fancy, and a spirit of independence that
nothing could subdue or damp He v, as the
undoubted ancestor of the Defoes, Swifts,
Steeles, Jumusefa, and Burkes, in whom this
kmd of authorship reached its perfection,
ceased to be fugitive, and assumed classical
rank

" Marvoll had been repeatedly threatened
with assassination, and hence, when he died
suddenly on tho 16th of August, 1678, it was
surmihod that ho had been removed by poison.
The Corporation of Hull voted a sum to defray
his funeral expenses, and for raising a monu-
ment to his memory, but owing to tho inter-
ference of the Couit, through the lector oi the
paiish, this votive tablet was not at the timo
erected. Ho was buried in St Giles-in-the-

" ' Out of tho strong came forth sweetness,'
saith tho Hebiew record. And so fiom the
sturdy Andrew Marvoll have proceeded such
soft and lovely strains as (The Emigrants,'
'Tho Nymph complaining for the death of
her Fawn,' 'Young Love,' &o. The statue
of Memnon became musical at tho dawn , and
tho stern patriot, whom no bnbe could buy
and no flattery melt, is found sympathising in
song with a boatful of banished Englishmen m
tho remote Bermudas, and inditing ' Thoughts
in a Garden,' from which you might suppose
thai he had spent his life more with melons
than with men, and was better acquainted
with the motions of a bee-hive than with the
contests of Parliament and the distractions
of a most distracted ago. It was said (not
with thorough truth) of Milton, that ho could
cut out a Colossus from a rock, but could not
caive heads upon cherry-stones — a task which
his assistant may be said to have performed
in his stead, an his small but delectable copies
of verse" — GhHUan's "Less-known Bntish
Poota,"volii,p 174.

SAMUEL BTJTLEB.
Samuel Butler, born 1612, died 1680.

'The

particulars of the life of the author of ' Hudi-

bras ' are scanty and obscure. He wan the
son of a farmer in Worcestershire It is
doubtful whether he received a university
education ; for, though alleged to have resided
some years at Cambridge, he is not known to
have matriculated at any college. He is after-
wards found in the family of the Countess of
Kent, and enjoying the friendship of the
learned Selden. He appears again, probably
in the capacity of tutor, in the service of Sir
Samuel Luke, one of Ciomwell's officers, who
is considered to be the prototype of Hudibras.
The Bestoration brought to his fortunes a
gleam of hope He obtained employment as
secretary to the Earl of Carbery Having lost
his wife's fortune through bad securities, he
became an author, and published, in 1663, the
first part of his Satire It was received with
unbounded popularity, and was made known
at court through the kindness of tho Eail of
Dorset. The author, however, was unrewarded
The king is said to have given him .£300, bu1
of this there is no proof. In the subsequent
yeais he inblished the pecond and thud ports
of his poem, and died in indigence in 1680
The neglect of the king is the more criminal,
since the Satire must be viewed as a valuable
piece of good service to the royalist cause
Broad caricature and miraculous force of vt it
exert their united strength to hold up the
Puritan poity to contempt and nchcule Tho
idea of the piece is, of course, bonowcd honi
Cervantes, but thcio is no resemblance be-
tween the two TV orks * Hudibras ' is thoronglily
Englisb Tho ivholo poem is a continual
spaikle of brilliancy, adorned by the resouieos
oi immonso leaning, language, character, and
imagery aio moulded at the author's will No
rhyme is so complicated that he wants woids
to form its Qountcipaii , no image so remote
that his hand cannot compel it into his PCI vice
Tho work is unfinished, and from tbo range of
years over which it was published, the i»lan is
desultory and incompact The perusal of
* Hudibras ' is diet so solid, that it should bo
taken by littlo at a time. It is one of those
works whose epigiammaiao practical wndom
has woven itself into tho phraseology of the
laiujuage The popularity of 'Hadibras*
caused forgeries of the anthoi's stylo alter his
death 'Genuine Bemoans,' in prose and
verse, wore published in 1759, by Mr Thyor,
fiom manuscripts left in possession of Butler's
fnend Mr Longueville " — (Sorymgeour'n
" Poetry and Poets of Britain,", pp 222, 223 )
See Dibcun's "Library Companion"; Pro-
foco to "Hudibras," by Rev. Dr Narii,
Hallam's "Introduct to Lit History"; Alh-
bone's " Cnt Diet Bng. Lit."

CHARLES COTTON.

Charles Cotton, born 1630, died 1687, best
known as the friend of Izaak Walton, hod

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[FOURTH PERIOD—*

an estate m Derbyslure upon the river Dove,
celebrated for its trout He wrote several hu-
morous poems, and his " Voyage to Ireland,"
Campbell remarks, seems to anticipate the
manner of Anstey in the "Bath Guide"
Shaw's "Hist Eng. Lit," p. 187 See Alli-
bone's "Crit Die Eng. Lit"; Gilfillan's
M Less-known British Poets "

EABL OF BOSCOMMON.

Earl of Boscommon, born 1634, died 1685,
the nephew of the famous Stratford, produced
a poetical " Essay on Translated Verse " and
a version of the "Art of Poetry" from
Horace, which were received by the public
And the men of letters with an extravagance
of praise attributable to the respect then
•entertained for any intellectual accomplish-
ment in a nobleman — Shaw's "Hast Eng.
tat"

EAEL OF BOCHESTEB.

Earl of Rochester, born 1647, died 1680, so
celebrated for his insane debaucheries and the
witty eccentricities which made him one of
the most prominent figures in the profligate
court of Charles II, produced a number of
poems, chiefly songs and fugitive lyrics, which
proved how great were the natural talents he
had wasted in the most insane extravagance .
his deathbed conversion and repentance pro-
duced by the arguments of Bishop Burnet,
who has left an interesting and edifying
account of his penitent's last moments, show
that, amid all his vices, Rochester's mind
retained the capacity for better things. Many
of his productions are unfortunately stained
with such profanity and indecency, that they
deserve the oblivion into which they are now
fallen.

JOHN DRYDEN

" John Dryden was born, probably in 1631,
in the parish, of Aldwincle-Allsaints, in Nor-
thamptonshire His father possessed a small
estate, acted as a justice of the peace during
the usurpation, and seems to have been a
Presbyterian John, at a proper age, was
sent to Westminster school, of which Busby
was then master ; and was thence elected to
a scholarship in Trinity College, Cambridge
He took his degrees of bachelor and master of
art** in the university, but though he had
written two short copies of verses about the
time of his admission, his name does not occur

among the academical poets of this period
By his father's death, in 1654, he succeeded
to the estate, and, removing to the metropolis,
he made his entrance into public life, under
the auspices of his kinsman, Sir Gilbert
Pickering1, one of Cromwell's council and house
of lords, and staunch to the principles then
predominant On the death of Cromwell,
Dryden wrote some * Heroic Stanzas,'
strongly marked by the loftiness of expression
and variety of imagery which characterised
his more mature efforts They woie, how-
ever, criticised with some seventy

" At the Restoration, Dryden lost no time in
obliterating former stains ; and, as far as it
was possible, rendered himself peculiarly dis-
tinguished for the base servility of his strains.
He greeted the king's return by a poem,
entitled ' Astrrea Redux,' which was followed
by CA Panegyric on the Coronation ' nor
did Lord Chancellor Clarendon escape his
encomiastic lines. His marriage with Lady
Elizabeth Howard, daughter of the Earl of Berk-
shire, is supposed to have taken place in 1665.
About this time ho first appears as a writer
for the stage, in which quality he composed
several pieces , and though he did not display
himself as a prime favourite of the dramatic
muse, hia facility of harmonious versification,
and his splendour of poetic diction, gained
him admirers In 1667 he published a sin-
gular poem, entitled 'Annus Mirabilis,' the
subjects of which were, the naval war with
the Dutch, and the fire of London It was
written in four-hue stanzas, a form which has
since gone into disuse in heroic subjects , but
the piece abounded in images of genuine
poetry, though intermixed with many extra-
vagances.

" At this period of his life Dryden became
professionally a writer for the stage, having
entered into a contract with the patentees of
the King's Theatre, to supply them with
three plays in a year, upon the condition of
being allowed the profit of one share and a
quarter out of twelve shares and three quar-
ters, into which the theatrical stock was
divided Of the plays written upon the above
contract, a small proportion only have kept
their place on the stage or in the closet. On
the death of Sir W. Davenant, in 1668,
Dryden obtained the post of poet-laureate, to
which was added the sinecure place of his-
toriographer royal ; the joint salaries of which
amounted to ,£200

" The tragedies composed by Dryden were
written m his earlier periods in rhyme, which
circumstance probably contributed to the
poetical rant by which they were too much
characterised For the correction of this
fault, Vilhers Duke of Buckingham, in con-
junction with other wits, wrote the celebrated
burlesque drama, entitled 'The Rehearsal,'
of which Dryden, under the name of Bayes,
was made the hero, and, in order to point
the ridicule, his dress, phraseology, and mode of

From 1649 to 1689.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

recitation, were exactly imitated by the actor.
It does not, however, appear that his solid
reputation as a poet was injured by this
attack. He had the candour to acknowledge
that several of the strokes were jnst, and he
wisely refrained from making any direct reply.

" In 1681, and, as it is asserted, at the
king's express desire, he wrote his famous
political poem entitled * Absolom and Aohi-
tophel f ; in which the incidents in the life
of David were adapted to those of Charles n.
in relation to the Duke of Honmouth and the
Earl of Shaffcesbury. Its poetry and its
seventy caused it to be read with great
eagerness; and as it raised the author to
high favour with the court party, so it in-
volved htm m nreeoncilable enmity with its
opponents. These feelings were rendered
more acute by his 'Medal, a Satiie on
Sedition,' written in the same year, on oc-
casion of a medal struck by the Whigs, when a
grand jury returned Ignoramus to an indict-
ment preferred against Lord Shaftesbury, for
high treason. The rancour of this piece is
not easily to be paralleled among party poems
In 1682, he published ' Mac-Meoknoe,' a
short piece, throwing ridicule upon his very
unequal rival, ShadwelL In the same year,
one of his most serious poems, the ' Eeligio
Laioi,' made its appearance Its purpose
was to give a compendious view of the argu-
ments for revealed religion, and to ascertain
in what the authority of revelation essentially
consists.

" Soon after this time he ceased to write
for the stage His dramatic vein was probably
exhausted, and his circumstances were dis-
tressed. To this period Mr. Malone refers a
letter written by him to Hyde, Earl of
Rochester, in which, with modest dignity, he
pleads merit enough not to deserve to starve,
and requests some small employment in the
customs or excise, or, at least, the payment
of half a year's pension for the supply of his
present necessities. He never obtained any of
the requested places, and was doomed to find
the booksellers his best patrons.

" Charles H. died in 1685, and was succeeded
by his brother James n., who openly declared
his attachment to the religion of Borne It
was not long before Diyden conformed to the
same religion. This step has been the cause
of much obloquy on one side, and has found
much excuse on the other, but if it be con-
sidered, from a view of his past life, that, in
changing his religions profession, he could
have had httle difficulty to encounter, it will
appear no breach of candour to suppose that
his immediate motive was nothing mote than
personal interest The reward he obtained
from his compliance was an addition to his
pension of .£100 per annum. Some time
after he was engaged in a work which was
the longest single piece he ever composed
This was his elaborate controversial poem of
"The Hind and Panther ' When completed,

notwithstanding its unpromising subject, and
signal absurdity of plan, such was the power
of Dryden's verse, that it was read with
I avidity, and bore every mark of occupying the
public attention. The birth of a prince called
forth a congratulatory poem from Dryden,
entitled 'Britannia Eediviva,' in which he
ventured to use a poet's privilege of prophecy,
foretelling a commencing era of prosperity to
the nation and the church from this auspi*
cious event ; but in vain ! for the Revolution
took place within a few months, and the hopes
of the party weie blasted for ever

"Dryden wag a severe sufferer from the
change . his posts and pensions were taken
away, and the poetical laurel was conferred
upon his ITI significant rival, Shadwell. He
was now, in advanced life, to depend upon
his own exertions for a security from absolute
indigence His faculties were equal to the
emergency ; and it will surprise some theorists
to be told, that the ten concluding years of
his life, in which he wrote for bread, and
composed at a certain rate per line, were
those of many of the pieces which have most
contributed to immortalise Vs name. They
were those of his translation of Juvenal and
Persins, of that of Virgil entire, a work
which enriches the English language, and has
greatly promoted the author's fame; of his
celebrated ( Alexander's Feast ' ; and of his
Fables, containing some of the richest and
most truly poetical pieces which he ever com-
posed Of these, several will appear in the
subsequent collection of his woiks Nor
ought his prose writings to be neglected,
which, chiefly consisting of the critical essays
prefixed to his poems, are performances of
extraordinary vigour and comprehension of
mind, and afford, perhaps, the best specimens
of genuine English.

" Dryden died of a spreading inflammation
in one of his toes, on the first of May, 1700,
and was buried in Westminster Abbey, next
to the tomb of Chaucer. No monument
marked his grave, till a plain one, with his
bust, was erected, at the expense of Sheffield,
Duke of Buckingham. He left behind him
three sons, all brought up to letters. Hu
own character was cold and reserved, back-
ward in personal advances to the great, and
rather heavy in conversation. In fact, he
was too much engaged in literature to devote
much of his time to society. Few writers of
his time delighted so much to approach the
verge of profaneness ; whence it may be
inferred, that though religion was an in-
teresting topic of discussion to Trim, he had
very httle of its spirit in his heart."— Allan's
" Select Brit. Poets," pp. 148-9. See Camp-
bell's "Spec."; Alhbone's "Cnt Diet. Eng
Lit."; SIT Walter Scott; Holland's "In-
troduo.toLit Hist"; Dr. Seattle's "Essays";
Dr. Garth's "Pref. to the Translation of
Ovid's Metamorphoses"; Lord Brougham;
Pope's Pref to his Translation of Homer.

22

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[FOTTIRTH PfclUOI) —

JOHN PHILIPS.

' ' Bramp ton in Oxfordshire was the birthplace
of this poet. He was born on the 30th of
December, 1676. His father, Dr. Stephen
Philips, was archdeacon of Salop, as well as
minister of Bampton John, after some pre-
liminary training at home, was sent to
Winchester, where he distinguished himself
by diligence and goodnature, and enjoyed
two great luxuries, — the leading of Milton,
and the having his head combed by some one
while he sat still and la rapture for hours
together. This pleasure he shared with
Tossing, and with humbler persons of our
acquaintance; the combing of whose hair,
they tell us,

' Dissolves them into ecstasies,

And brings all heaven before their eyes.'

"In 1694, he entered Christ Church, Cam-
bridge. His intention was to prosecute the
study of medicine, and he took great delight
in the cognate pursuits of natural history and
botany. His chief friend was Edmund Smith,
(Bog Smith, as he was generally called,) a
kind of minor Savage, well known in these
times as the author of * Pheadra and Hip-
polytus,' and for his cureless dissipation. In
1703, Philips produced 'The Splendid Shil-
ling,' which proved a hit, and seems to have
diverted Trig aspirations from the domains of
JEsculapius to those of Apollo Bohngbroke
sought fa™ out, and employed him, after the
battle of Blenheim, to sing it in opposition'
to Addison, the laureate of the Whigs At
the house of the magnificent but unprincipled
St John, Philips wrote his ' Blenheim,' which
was published in 1705. The year after, his
* Cider,' a poem in two books, appeared, and
was received with great applause Encouraged
by this, he projected a poem on the Last Day,
which all who are aware of the difficulties of
the subject, and the limitations of the author's
genius, must rejoice that he never wrote.
Consumption and asthma removed him pre-
maturely on the 15th of February, 1708, ere
he had completed his thuty-third year. He
was buried in Hereford Cathedral, and Sir
Simon Harcourt, afterwards Lord Chancellor,
erected a monument to his memory in West-
minster Abbey.

" Bulwer somewhere records a story of John
Martin in his early days He was, on one
occasion, reduced to hi$ last shilling He had
kept it, out of a heap, from a partiality to its
appearance. It was very bright He was
compelled, at last, to part with it. He went
out to a baker's shop to purchase a loaf with
his favourite ahilimg- He had got the loaf
into his hands, when the baker discovered
that the shilling was a bad one, and poor
Martin had to resign the loaf, and take back his
dear, bright, bad shilling once more. Length
of time and cold criticism in like manner have
reduced John Philips to his solitary ' Splendid
ShlOmg/ But, though bright, it is far from ,

bad. It is one of the cleverest of parodies,
and is perpetrated against one of those colossal
works which the smiles of a thousand carica-
tures were unable to injure No groat or
good poem was over hurt by its parody —
'Paradise Lost' was not by ' Tho Splendid
Shilling ' ; * The Last Man ' of Campbell
was not by 'Tho Last Man' of Hood, not
the ' Lines on the Burial of Sir John Mooro '
by then? witty, well-known caricature, and
if 'The Vision of Judgment' by Southoy
was laughed into oblivion by Byron's poom
with the same title, it was because Southoy's
original was neither good nor groat. Philips'
poem, too, is the first of the kind ; and Rarely
we should be thankful to tho author of the
earliest effort in a style which has created KO
much innocent amusement. Dr Johnson
speaks as if the pleasure arising from fluch
productions implied a malignant ' momentary
triumph over -fchat grandeur which had
hitherto held its captives in admiration.' Wo
think, on the contrary, that it springs from
our deep interest in the original production,
making us olive to the strange resemblauoo
the oanoataio bears to it. It is our lovo that
provokes our laughter, and hence the admirer*
of the parodied poem are more delighted than
its enemies At all events, it is by 'Tho
Splendid Shilling' alone — and that principally
from its connection with Milton's groat work
— that Philips is memorable His * Cidor '
has soured with ago, and tho loud echo of IUK
Blenheim battle-piece has long since dierl
away" — Ghlfillan's " Loss-known Brit. Poets,"
vol. in , pp, 11-13.

SIB CHABLES SBDLET

" Sedley was one of those characters who
exert a personal fascination over their own
age without leaving any works behind tlioin
to perpetuate the charm to posterity. Ho
was the son of Sir John Sodloy of Aylonford,
in Kent, and was born in 1639. When tho
^Restoration took place ho repaired to London,
and plunged into all the liconoo of tho time,
shedding, however, over the putrid pool the
sheen of his wit, manners, and genius. Cliorlot.
was so delighted with him, that ho ia oaid to
have asked fa™ whether he had not obtained
a patent from Nature to be Apollo' w viceroy
He cracked jests, issued lampoonn, wrote
poems and plays, and, despite some groat
blunders, was universally admired ami
loved. When his comedy of ( Bollaxmra '
was acted, the roof fell in, and a few, includ-
ing the author, were slightly injured. When
a parasite told him that tho fire of tho play
had blown up tho poet, house, and all, Sedley
replied, 'No, tho play was so heavy that it
broke down the house, and buried the poet in
his own rubbish ' Latterly he sobered down,
entered parliament, attended closely to public
business, and became a determined opponent
of the arbitrary measures of James II. To

From 1649 to 1689 ]

BIOG-EAPHICAL NOTICES

this he was stimulated by a personal reason
James had seduced Sedley*s daughter, and
made her Countess of Dorchester. 'For
making- my daughter a countess,' the father
said, CI have helped to make his daughter*
(Mary, Princess of Orange,) 'a queen,'
Sedley, thus talking, acting, and writing,
lived on till he was sixty-two years of age.
He died in 1701.

" He has left nothing that the world can
cherish, except some light and graceful songs,
sparkling rather with point than with poetry."
— GWfillan's " Less-known Bnt. Poets," vol.
lit., pp. 1, 2.

THOMAS FLATMAtf

Thomas Flatman, born 1633, died 1672,
was a native of London, educated at Oxford,
skilled in law, painting, and poetry In 1674
appeared a collection of his poems and songs.
He composed Pindaric Odes on the Earl of
Ossory, Prince Euport, and Charles EC For
that on the Earl of Ossory, the Duke of
Ormond, his father, presented the author with
a diamond ring worth ,£100 It appears from
the following bit of gossip of old Anthony
a Wood, who dearly loves a sly joke, that
Master Flatman, like many bachelors of
modern tunes, sometimes amused himself with
ridiculing the connubial happiness which ho
afterwards gladly embraced " This person was
m his younger days much against marriage,
to the dislike of fas father, and made a song
describing the cumbrances with it, beginning

•fthnp —

' Lake a dog with a bottle tyed close to the

tail,
lake a Tory in a bog, or a thief in a jayle,' Ac

But being afterwards smitten with a fair
virgin and more with her fortune, (unkind
Anthony') did espouse her, Nov, 26, 1672,
whereupon his ingenious comrades did serenade
ITJTTI that night with the said song." Athen
Oxon. Alhbono adds, " This is just such a
story as we might expect from such a crusty old
bachelor as Anthony a Wood " See Allibone's
"Crit. Diet, Eng. lat."

JOHN QUAELES.

Of Francis Quarles's numerous family,
John is alone remembered. He was a member
of Exeter College, Oxford; he bore arms for
the king in the garrison of the city He
seems to have been indebted for his education
to Archbishop Usher, in whose house he
resided. Upon the decease of this prelate,
whom he loved sincerely, he composed an
Elegy beginning with these beautiful lines . —

" Then weep no more . See how his peaceful

breast,

Rock' d by the hand of death, takes quiet rest.
Disturb him not ; but let him sweetly take
A full repose ! he hath been long awake."

The feet of Sion's watchman must have been
weary, says the sweet-worded E. Aris WiU-
mott, and his eyes heavy with sleep. He
stood by his sovereign till the strength of the
royalists was exhausted, when he retired to
London in a mean condition, and about 164(9
bade farewell to England and went abroad*
Upon his return he lived by literature. He
died in 1665 of the plague He wrote much,
and by many he was esteemed a good poet,
though deficient in the power and originality
of his father But, says Willmott again, if he
hod less energy he had more grace. See E.
A. WJlmott's « Lives of the Sacred Poets,"
vol. i,, pp 240, 241.

JOHN POMFEET.

John Pomfret, born 1667, died 1708, " was
a clergyman, and the only work by which he
is now remembered is his poem of cThe
Choice/ giving a sketch of such a life of rural
and literary retirement as has been the hoc
erat w, lotis of so many. The images and
ideas are of that nature that will always come
home to the heart and fancy of the reader ;
and it is to this naturalness and accordance
with universal sympathy, rather than to
anything very original either in its conception
or its execution, that the poem owes the hold
it has so long retained upon the attention."
—Shaw's " Hist. Eng. Lit ," pp 267, 268.

THOMAS BEOWN.

His birth unknown, but died 1704,
" Thomas, usually called Tom Brown, was the
son of a farmer at Shipnel, in Shropshire, was
for some time a schoolmaster at Kingston-
upon- Thames, but left the ungenial vocation
for the life of a wit and author, in London
He was a good linguist, and seems to have
rather wasted thff-1" wanted talent.**— Camp-
bell's " Specimens," p. 315. See AJlibone's
" Crit. Diet Eng Lit. " ; Dr. Johnson's " Life
of Dryden"

•p.A"RT. OF DOESET.

Ear. of Dorset, born 1637, died 1706,
" wrote htfle," says Chambers, "but was ca-
pable of doing more, and being* a liberal patron
of poets, was a nobleman highly popular in
his day Coming very young to the pos-
session of two plentiful estates, and in an age
when pleasure was more in fashion than busi-
ness, he applied his .talents rather to books
and conversation than to politics In the
first Dutch war he went a volunteer under the
Duke of York, and wrote or finished a song
(his best composition, 'one of the prettiest
that ever was made,' according to Priori the
night before the naval engagement in* which

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

Opdam, the Dutch admiral, was blown up,
with all his crew. He was a lord of the bed-
chamber to Charles n , and was ohamberlain
of the household to William and Mary. Prior
relates, that when Dorset, as lord chamber-
lain, was obliged to take the king's pension
from Dryden, he allowed him an equivalent
out of his own estate. He introduced Butler's
c Hudibras * to the notice of the court, was
consulted by Waller, and almost idolised by
Dryden. Hospitable, generous, and refined,
we need not wonder at the incense which was
heaped upon Dorset by his contemporaries
TTiR works axe trifling , a few satires and songa
make up the catalogue. They are elegant,
and sometimes forcible , but when a "tai1 hko
Prior writes of them, c there is a lustre in his
verses like that of the sun in Claude Lorraine's
landscapes,' it is impossible not to be struck
with that gross adulation of rank and fashion
which disgraced the literature of the age "

JOHN SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF
BUCBINGHAMSHIBE.

" He was associated in his latter days with
the wits and poets of the reign of Queen
Anne, but he properly belongs to the previous
age. He went with Prince Bupert against
the Dutch, and was afterwards colonel of a
i egunent of foot In order to learn the art of
war under Marshal Turenne, he made a cam-
paign in the French, service The literary
taste of Sheffield was never neglected amidst
the flrn of arms* and he made himself aix ac-
complished scholar. He was a member of the
privy council of James II , but acquiesced in
the Revolution, and was afterwards a member
of the cabinet council of William and Mary,
with a pension of .£3,000 Sheffield is said
to have * made love ' to Queen Anne when
they were both young, and her majesty heaped
honours on the favourite immediately on her
accession to the throne He was an opponent
of the court of George I , and continued ac-
tively engaged in public affairs ffil Tr»g death
Sheffield wrote several poems and copies of
verses. Among the former is an * Essay on
Satire/ which Dryden is reported to have
revised. His principal work, however, is his
' Essay on Poetry,1 which received the praises
of Boseommon, Dryden, and Pope It is
written in the heroic couplet, and seems to
have suggested Pope's 'Essay on Criticism.'
It is of the style of Denham and Boseommon,
plain, perspicuous, and sensible, but contains
as little- true poetry, or less, than any of
Dryden' s prose essays" — Chambers' s "Cyc.
~~ Lit ," i , 378.

GEOEGE STEPNEY

George Stepney, born 1663, died 1707,
" was the youthful friend of Montague, Earl of

Halifax, and owed his preferments to that
nobleman. It appeals, from his verses on the
burning of Monmouth's picture, that his first
attachment was to the Tory interest, but he
left them* in sufficient time to be rewarded a*>
a partisan by the Whigs, and was nominated
to several foreign embassies. In this capacity
he went successively to the Imperial Court, to
that of Saxony, Poland, and the States
General , and in all his negooiations is said to
have been successful Some of his political
tracts remain in Lord Somers' collection. AH
a poet, Dr. Johnson justly characterizes him
as equally deficient in the grace of wit and the
vigour of nature." — Campbell's " Specimens,"
317

WILLIAM WALSH.

William Walsh, born 1663, died 1709. « He
was a knight for his native county, Worces-
tershire, in several parliaments, and gentleman
of the horse to Queen Anne, under the Duke
of Somerset. Though a friend to tho Revo-
lution, he was kind to Dryden, who praised
him, as Pope must have done, merely from tho
motive of personal gratitude ; for exoept his
encouragement of the early genius of Pope, ho
seems to have no claim to remembrance.'*
—Campbell's " Specimens," p 820.

EOBEET GOULD.

» Little is known of this writer beyond his
having been a domestic of the Earl of Dorset
and afterwards a schoolmaster. He wrote
two dramas, "The Rival Sisters," and "In-
nocence Distressed "

DE WALTEE POPE

His birth-day is unknown. " Ho was the
junior proctor of Oxford in 1658, when a con-
troversy took place respecting the wearing of
hoods and caps, which the roigmng party
considered as the relics of Popery Our
proctor, however, so stoutly opposed the
revolutionists on this momentous point, that
the venerable caps and hoods continued to bo
worn till the Restoration This affair he used
to call the most glorious action of his life.
Dr. Pope was, however, a man of wit and in-
formation, and one of the first chosen fellows
of the Eoyal Society. He succeeded Sir
Christopher Wren as Professor of Astronomy
m Gresham College "—Campbell's "Speci-
mens," p. 322.

THOMAS OTWAY.

Thomas Otway, born 1651, died 1685.
Shaw correctly states that, "among the

JVow 1649 -to 1689 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES,

exclusive tragic dramatists of the age
of Drydcn the first place belongs to
Thomas Otway, who died, after a life of
wretchedness and irregularity, at the early
age of thirty-fonr. He received a regular
education at Winchester School and Oxford,
and very early embraced the profession of the
actor, for which ho had no natural aptitude,
but which familiarized "him with the tech-
nical requirements of theatrical writing. He
produced in the earlier part of his career
three tragedies, ' Aloibiades,' 'Don Carlos,1
and c Titus and Berenice,' which may be
regarded as his first trial-pieces ; and about
1677 he served some tune in a dragoon re-
giment in [Flanders, to which he had been
appointed by the protection of a patron
Dismissed from his post in consequence of
irregularities of conduct, he returned to the
stage, and in the years extending- from 1680
to his death, he wrote four more tragedies,
'Cams Maroius,' the * Orphan,' the •Sol-
dier's Fortune,' and 'Venice Preserved.'
All these works, with the exception of the
« Orphan' and 'Venice Preserved,' are now
nearly forgotten , but the glory of Otway is
so firmly established upon these latter, that
it will probably endure as long as the language
itself. The life of this unfortunate poet was
an uninterrupted series of poverty and dis-
tress , and his death has frequently been
cited as a striking instance of the miseries
of a literary career It is related that,
when almost starving, the poet received a
guinea from a charitable friend, on which he
rushed off to a baker's shop, bought a roll,
and was choked while ravenously swallowing
tho first mouthful. It is not quite certain
whether this painful anecdote is strictly true,
but it is incontestable that Otway's end, like
his life, was miserable. How far his misfor-
tunes were unavoidable, and how far attribu-
table to the poet's own improvidence, it is
now impossible to determine Otway, like
Ohattorton, like Gilbert, like Tasso, and like
Cervantes, is generally adduced as an example
of the miserable end of genius, and of the
world's ingratitude to its greatest bene-
factors.

"As a tragic dramatist Otway 's most
striking merit is his pathos, and he pos-
sesses in a high degree the power of uniting
pathetic emotion with the expression of the
darker and more ferocious passions. The
distress in his pieces is carried to that intense
and almost hysterical pitch which we see
so frequently in Ford and Beaumont and
Fletcher, and so rarely in Shakspere. The
sufferings of Monimia in the ' Orphan' and
the moral agonies inflicted upon Belvidera in
* Venice Preserved,' are earned to the highest
pitch, but we see tokens of the essentially
second-rate quality of Otway*s genius the
moment he attempts to delineate madness.
Belvidera's ravings are the expression of a
disordered fancy, and not, like those of Lear

or of Ophelia, the lurid flashes of reason and
consciousness lighting up for an instant the
tossinga of a mind agitated to its prof oundest
depths. In 'Venice Preserved* Otway has
not attempted to preserve historical accuracy,
but he has succeeded in producing a very
exciting and animated plot, in which the weak
and uxorious Jaffier is well contrasted with
the darker traits of his fnend and fellow-con-
spirator Pierre, and the TnTiumft-n harshness
and cruelty of the Senator Priuli with the
ruffianly thirst for blood and plunder m
Renault. The frequent declamatory scenes,
reminding the reader of Dryden, as for
instance the quarrels and reconciliation of
Pierre and Jaffler, the execution of the two
friends, and the despair of Belvidera, are
worked up to a high degree of excellence ;
and Otway, with the true instinct of dramatic
fitness, has introduced, as elements of the
deep distress into which he has plunged his
principal characters, many of those fr.pnHtff
and domestic details from which the high
classical dramatist would have shrunk as too
ignoble Otway in many scenes of this play
has introduced what may be almost called
comic matter, as in the amorous dotage of the
impotent old senator and the courtesan
Aquilina; but these, though powerfully and
naturally delineated, are of too* disgusting
and odious a nature to be fit subjects for re-
presentation Otway's style is vigorous and
racy , the reader will incessantly be reminded
of Dryden, though the author of 'Venice
Preserved ' is far superior to his great master
in the quality of pathos , and in reading his
best passages we are perpetually struck by a
sort of flavour of Ford, Heywood, Beaumont,
and other great masters of the Elizabethan
era " See Chambers, vol. i , p. 386 , Camp-
bell's " Specimens "

NATHANIEL LEE.

' ' A tragic poet who not only had the honour
of assisting Dryden in the composition of
several of his pieces, but who, in spite of
adverse circumstances, and in particular of
several attacks of insanity, one of which
necessitated his confinement during four years
in Bedlam, possessed and deserved a high
reputation for genius. He was educated at
Westminster School and Cambridge, and was
by profession an actor he died in extreme
poverty in 1692. His original dramatic
works consist of eleven tragedies, the most
celebrated of which is 'The Rival Queens,*
or 'Alexander the Great,' in which the
heroic extravagance of the Macedonian con-
queror is relieved by amorous complications
arising from the attachment of the two
strongly-opposed characters of Boxana and
Staiara. Among his other works may be
enumerated ' Theodosius,' ' Mithndatos;

BIOGBAPHICAEi NOTICES.

[FOTJBTH PmaiOJD —

and the pathetic drama of *LuohiB Julius
"Brutus,7 the interest of whioh turns OIL the
condemnation, of the son by the father. 3in all
these plays we find a sort of wild and exagge-
rated tone of imagery, sometimes reminding
us of Marlow ; but Lee is for superior m ten-
derness to the author of Faustus, nay m this
respect he surpasses Dryden In the "beau-
tiful but feverish bursts of declamatory
eloquence which are frequent in Lee's plays,
it is possible to trace something of that
violence and exaggeration which are perhaps
derived from tho tremendous malady of whioh
he was so long- a victim." — Shaw's "Hist
Bug. Lit.," pp. 262, 263; See Campbell's

JOHN CROWOT.

Was patronized by Boohester. He wrote
seventeen, pieces, two of which, says Cham-
bers, " evince considerable talent "

THOMAS SHADWELL.

A popular rival and enemy of Dryden, who
wrote many plays in whioh he took for his
model Ben Jonson. He possessed consi-
derable comic powers When the revolution
was in the ascendant and threw Dryden into
the shade, ShadweU received the office of
Poet Laureate. See Chambers, " Cyol. Eng
Lit./* vol. i., p. 392.

SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE.
Sir George Bttherege, born 1636, died 1694,
vnsote a very sprightly comic drama, " Man of
Mode, or Sir Fopkng Mutter " He was a gay
libertine, and whilst leaving a festive party
one evening at his house in Batasbon, where
he resided as British plenipotentiary, he fell
c?own the stairs and killed himself. Soe
Chambers, voL i , pp. 392, 393

WILLIAM WYCHEBLEY.

" The greatest of the comic dramatists was
WiDiaan Wyeherley, bom in the year 1640,
in Shropshire, where his father possessed a
handsome property Though bred to the law,
Wydherley did not practise his profession, but
lived gaily 'upon town ' Pope says he had
a 'true nobleman look,* and he was one of
tto favourites of the abandoned Duchess of
ClerroJand. He wrote various comedies, ' Love
in. a Wood,' 1672, the 'Gentleman Dancing
Mswber;' 1678, the 'Country Wife,' 1675,
aad<tte 'Ham Dealer,' 1677. In 1704 he
pofaKsheda volume of miscellaneous poems,
of winch it has been said, ' the style and ver-
Bx&oafcum. axe beneath cnticism; the morals
are those of Bodies**.' M advanced age,

Wycherley continued to exhibit the folbes and
vices of youth. His name, however, stood
high as a dramatist, and Popo was proud to
receive the notice of the author of tho
'Country Wife.' Their published corre-
spondence is well known, and is interesting
from the marked superiority maintained m
their intercourse by the boy-poet of sixteen
over his mentor of sixty-four. The pupil
grew too great for his master, and tho unna-
tural friendship was dissolved At the age
of seventy-five, Wyoher-ley married a young
girl, in order to defeat the expectations of his
nephew, and died ten days afterwards, In
December, 1715. The subjects of most of
Wycheosley's plays were borrowed from the
Spanish or French stage He wrought up his
dialogues and scenes with groat care, and
with considerable liveliness and wit, but
without sufficient attention to character or
probability. Destitute himself of moral fool-
ing or propriety of conduct, his characters are
equally objectionable, and his onoo fashionable
plays may be said to be * quietly inurnod ' in
their own corruption and profligacy " — Cham-
bers, " Cyo. Eng Lit ," vol i , p. 393

MBS. APHBA BEHN.

Chambers rightly says in tho first volume
of his excellent " Cydopsadia," p 393, that " a
female Wycherley appeared in. Mrs Aphra
Behn, celebrated in her day under tho name
of Astrcea

" The comedies of Mrs Behn are grossly
indelicate , and of the whole seventeen which
she wrote (besides various novels and poems),
not one is now read or remembered Tho his-
tory of Mrs Behn is remarkable Sho
was daughter of the governor of Surinam,
where she resided somo time, and booamo
acquainted with Prince Oroonoko, on whoso
story she founded a novel, that supplied
Southerae with materials for a tragedy on tho
unhappy fate of the African prince Sho was
employed as a political spy by Chailos II.,
and, while residing at Antwerp, aho was
enabled, by the aid of her lovers and admirers,
to give information to the British government
as to the intended Dutch attack on Chatham
She died in 1689 " Pope, by no means fas-
tidious, yet rebukes Mrs. Behn in a well-
known couplet —

" The stage how loosely does Astraaa tread,"
&e.

The " Biog Dram " says " It is no wonder
that her wit should gain her tho esteem of
Mr Dryden, Mr Southerno, and other men
of genius. Cotton, sings :

1 But when you wrrto of love, Aatrma, then
Love dips ms arrows where you wet your pen.
Such charming hues did aever paper grace ;
Soft asyour sex, and smooth ae.bewuty'fi face/ "

FOFKTH PEEIOD.

From 1649 to 1689

540 — OF MYSELF.

Thia only grant mo, that my means may lie
Too low for envy, for contempt too high

Somo honour I would have,
Not from «reat deeds, but good iilone ,
111' unknown are better than ill known

Rumour can ope the grave
Acquaintance I would, have, but when't

depends
Not on the number, but the choice, of fnends

1 looks should, not business, entertain the light,
And sloop, as undisturb'd aw <?o.ilh, the night

My houso a cottage more
Than palace , and should fitting bo
For all ray URO, no luxury.

My garden painted o'er
With Nature' H hand, not Art's , and pleasured

yield,
Horace might envy in his Sabino Held

ThuH would I double my life's fading space ,
For ho, thali rnnR it well, twice runs hia race.

Aud in tliiH true delight,
ThoHo nnbought sports, this happy htate,
I would not ioar, nor wiHh, my fate ,

But boldly Bay each night,
To-morrow let my HUH his beams display,
Oi in oloiulri hide them , I have hv'd to-day.

Cowlcy —Morn 1018, Died 1667

541,— THE CHRONICLE.

A BALLAD.

Margarita first pOBsest,

It I remember well, my breast,

Margarita first of all ,
But when awhile the wanton maid
With my restless heart had play'd,

Maifcha took the flying ball.

Martha soon did it resign

To the beauteous Catharine
Beauteous Catharine gave place
(Though loth and angry she to part
With the possession of my heart)
To Eliza's conquering face

Eliza tdl tV.g hour might reign,

Had she not evil counsels ta'en.
Fundamental laws she broke,
And still new favourites she chose,
Till up m arms my passions rose,
And cast away her yoko.

Mary then, and gentle Anno,
Both to reign at once began;
Alternately they sway*d,
And sometimes Mary was the fair,
And sometimes Anne the crown did wear,
And sometimes both I obo/d.

Another Mary then arose,

And did rigorous laws impose ,
A mighty tyrant she '
Long, alan ' should I have been
Under that uon-scoptied queen,
Had not Rebecca set me free.

When fair Rebecca set me free,

'Twas then a golden tune with me .
But soon those pleasures fled ;
For the gracious princess dy'd,
In her youth and beauty's pride,
And Judith reigned in her stead.

One month, three days, and half cm hour,
Judith held the sovereign power •
Wondrous beautiful her face ,

But so weak and small her wit,

That she to govern was unfit,

And so Susanna took her place

But when Isabella came,

Arm'd with a resistless flame,
And th' artillery of her eye ,

Whilst she pioudly march' d about,

Greater conquests to find out,
She beat out Susan by the by.

But in her place I then obey'd

Black-ey'd Bess, her viceroy-maid,
To whom ensued a vacancy

Thousand worse passions then possest

The interregnum of my breast ,

Blesb ino from such an anarchy !

Gentle Henrietta then,

And a third Mary, next began ;
Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria ;

ABRAHAM COWLBT ]

ANACREONTICS

And tlien a pretty Thorn asmo,
And then another Catharine,
And then a long eb costera

But should I now to yon relate

The strength and nohes of their state ;

The powder, patches, and the pins,
The ribbons, jewels, and the rings, ^
The lace, the paint, and warlike things,

That make up all their magazines ;

If I should tell the politic arts

To take and keep men's hearts .
The letteis, embassies, and spies,
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries,
The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,
Numberless, nameless, mysteries '

And all the little lime-twigs laid,

By Machiavel the waiting-maid ;
I more voluminous should grow
(Chiefly if I like them should tell
All change of weatheis that befell)
Than Hohnshed or Stow.

But I will briefer- with them be,

Since few of them were long with me
An higher and a nobler strain

My present empress does claim,

Heleonora, first o' th' name ;

Whom God grant long to reign 1

Abraham Oowley — Born 1618, Died 1667

542 —ANACREONTICS,

OB SOME COPIES OP VEESES, TEANSIATBD
P ATtAPKTCA STIC ATiTiY OUT OF ANACREON.

DBINKING.

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks, and gapes for d^my again,
The plants suck-in the earth, and are
"With constant drinking fresh and fair ;
The sea itself (which one would think
Should have but little need of drink)
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up,
So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup.
The busy Sun (and one would guess
By* a drunken fiery face no less)
Drinks up the sea, and when he "as done,
The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun :
They chrnfe and dance by their own light ,
They drink and revel all the night.
Nothing in nature 's sober found,
But an eternal health goes round.
FBI up the bowl, then, fill it high,
RH all the glasses there ; for why
Should every creature drink but I ;
"Why, man of morals, tell me why P

AGE.

Oft am I by the women told,
PoorAnacreonl thou groVst old :
Look how thy hairs are falling all .
Poor Anacreon, how they fall '

Whether I grow old or no,
By th' effects, I do not know ;
This, I know, without being told,
"Tis tame to nve, if I grow old ,
'Tas tune short pleasures now to take,
Of little life the best to make,
And manage wisely tho last state.

GOLD.

A mighty pain to love it is,

And 'tis a pain that pain to

But, of all pains, the greatest pain

It is to love, but lovo in vain

Virtue now, nor noble blood,

Nor wit by love is understood ,

Gold alone does passion move,

Gold monopolizes lovo

A curse on her, and on tho man

Who this traffic first began '

A cuise on bun who found the ore f

A curse on him who digg'd the store !

A curse on him who did refine it 1

A curse on him who first did com it !

A curse, all curses else above,

On "him who us'd it first in love I

Gold begets in brethren hate ;

Gold in families debate ,

Gold does friendships separate j

Gold does civil wars create

These the smallest harms of it I

Gold, alas ' does love beget

THE EPICURE

/ Pill the bowl with rosy wine '
Around our temples roses twine '
And let us cheerfully awhile,
> Like tho wine and rose**, smilo
Crown'd with roses, we contemn
Gyges' wealthy diadem.
To-day is ours, what do we fear ?
To-day is ours , we have it hero :
Let's treat it kindly, that it may
Wish at least, with us to stay
Let's banish business, banish sorrow ;
To the gods belongs to-morrow.

ANOTHBJS.

Underneath this myrtle shade,

On flowery beds supinely laid,

With odorous oils my head e'er-flowing,

And around it roses growing,

What should < do but drink away

The heat and troubles of tho day >

In "ffiflft more than kingly state

Love himself shall on mo wait.

Fill to me, Love , nay fill it up ;

And mingled cast into tho cup

Wit, and mirth, and noble fires.

Vigorous health and gay desires.

The wheel of bfe no less will stay

In a smooth than rugged way

Since it equally doth flee,

Let the motion pleasant bo.

From 1649 to 1689.]

AGAJOSfSl' HOPE.

[ABRAHAM COWLSJT.

Why do we precious ointments show'r ?
Nobler wines why do we pour ?
Beauteous flowers why do we spread,
Upon the monuments of the dead p
Nothing- they but dust can show,
Or bones that hasten to be so
Crown me with roses whilst I live,
Now your wines and ointments give ;
After death I nothing1 crave,
Let me alive my pleasures have,
All are Stoios in the grave.

THE GRASSHOPPER

Happy Insect ' what can be

In happiness compared to thee ?

Fed with nourishment divine,

The dewy Morning's gentle wine '

Nature waits upon thoe still,

And thy veidant cup does fill ,

'Tis filTd wherever thou dost tread,

Nature's self 's thy Ganymede

Thou dost drink, and dance, and rang,

Happier than the happiest bug '

All the fields which thou dost see,

All the plants, belong to thee ,

All that summer-hours produce,

Fertile made with early juice

Man for thee does sow and plow ,

Fanner he, and landlord thou '

Thou dost innocently 3oy ,

Nor does thy luxuiy destroy ,

The shephoid gladly heareth thco,

More harmonious than he.

Thee country hinds with gladness hear,

Prophet of the npen'd year '

Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire ,

Phoobus is himself thy sire.

To thee, of all things upon earth,

Xdf o is no longer than thy mirth.

Happy insect, happy thou '

Dost neither age nor winter know ;

But, when thou'st drunk, and danced, and

sung

Thy fill, the flow*ry loaves among,
(Voluptuous, and wise withal,
IDpicurean fymmfl.'!, o
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.

THH SWALLOW.

Foolish Prater, what dost thou
So early at my window do,
With thy tuneless serenade 9
Well 't had been had Tereus made
Thee as dumb as Philomel ,
There his knife had done but well.
In thy undiscovered nest
Thou dost all the winter rest,
And dreamest o'er thy summer joys,
Free from the stormy seasons' noise,
Free from th' ill thou'st done to me •
Who disturbs or seeks-out thee '•»
Hadst thou all the charming notes
Of the wood's poetic throats,

All thy art could never pay

What thou hast ta'en from mo away

Cruel bird 1 thou'st ta'en away

A dieam out of my arms to-day .

A dream, that ne'er must equall'd be

By all that waking eyes may see

Thou, this damage to repair,

Nothing half so sweet or fair,

Nothing half so good, canst bring1,

Though men say thou bring' st the Spring.

Abruliam Qowley —Born 1618, Died 1667.

543— AGAINST HOPE.

Hope' whose weak being rum'd is,
Alike, if it succeed, and if it miss ;
Whom good or ill does equally confound,
And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound
Vain shadow ' which does vanish quite,
Both at full noon and perfect night !
The stars have not a possibility

Of blessing thee,

If things then from their end we happy call,
'Tis hope is the most hopeless thing of alL

Hope ! thou bold taster of delight,
Who, whilst thou shouldst but taste, devour' st

it quite '
Thou brmg'st us an estate, yet leav'st us

poor,
By clogging it with legacies before '

The joys which we entiie should wed,
Come deflower' d virgins to our bed ;
Good fortunes without gam imported be,
Such mighty custom 's paid to thee
For joy, like wine, kept dose does better tasto ;
If it take air before, its spirits waste

Hope ! Fortune's cheating lottery !
Where for one prize an hundred blanks there

be;

Fond archer, Hope ! who tak'st thy aim so far,
That still or short or wide thine arrows are '

Thin, empty cloud, which th' eye deceives

With shapes that our own fancy gives '
A cloud, which gilt and painted now appears,

But must drop presently in tears I
When thy false beams o'er Reason's light

prevail,
By ignes fatui for north-stars we sail

Brother of Fear, more gayly clad !
The merrier fool o* th' two, yet quite as mad .
Sure of Repentance ! child of fond Desire '
That blow'st the chynuos', and the lovers'
fire,

Leading then still insensibly on

By the strange witchcraft of " anon ! "
By thee the one does changing Nature, through

Her endless labyrinths pursue ;
And th' other chases woman, whilst she goes
More ways and turns than hunted Nature
knows.

Abrafwm Qowley —'Bom 1618, Died 1C67,

FOR HOPE.

[FOURTH PERIOD —

544 — FOR HOPE

Hope ? of all ills that mon endure,

Tlie only cheap and universal cure '

Thou captive's freedom, and thou sick man's

health '

Thou loser's victory, and thou beggar's wealth '
Thou THM-TITI^ winch from Heaven we eat,
To every taste a several meat '
Thou strong retreat ' thou sure-entaaTd estate,
Which nought has power to alienate '
Thou pleasant, honest flatterer ' for none
Flatter unhappy men, but thou alone I

Hope ' thou first-fruits of happiness '
Thou gentle downing1 of a bright success '
Thou good preparative, without which our joy
Does work too strong, and, whilst it euros,
destroy'

Who out of Fortune's reach dost stand,

And art a blessing still in hand '
Whilst thee, hor oornest-monoy, we retain,

We certain are to gain,
Whether she her bargain bieak or else fulfil ,
Thou only good, not worse for ending ill !

Brother of Faith ' 'twixt whom and thoe
The joys of Hoaven and Earth divided be '
Though Faith bo hoir, and have the fixt estate,
Thy portion yet in moveables is groat.

Happiness itself 's all one

In thee, or in possession f
Only the future's thine, tho present his '

Thine' s the more hard and noble bliss :
Best apprehender of our joys ' which hast
So long a reach, and yet canst hold so last !

Hope ' thou sad lover's only friend '
Thou Way, that znayst dispute it with the

End1

For love, I fear, 's a fruit that doos delight
The taste itself less than the smoll and sight*

Fruition more deceitful is

Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss ,
Men leave thco by obtaining, and straight nee

Some other way again to thoe ,
And that's a pleasant country, without doubt,
To which all soon return that travel out.

Abraham Cowley — Born 1618, Died, 1667

545 —CLAUBIAJSTS OLD MA^T OF
VERONA

DB SStBTB VEBONEBTSI, QTJI STTBTTKBI0M:
ECfBHSStrS EST

FELIX, qui patrus, &c

Happy the man, who his whole time doth

'bound

Within th' enclosure of his little ground.
Happy the man, whom the same humble place
(Th' hereditary cottage of his race)
From his first rising infancy fra-s faaown,
-And by degrees sees gently bending down,

With natural proponsion, to that earth
Which both pieserv'd his life, and gave fam

birth

TTini no false distant lights, by fortunes set,
Could ever into foolish wanderings get.
He never danger either saw or fear'd ,
The dreadful storms at sea ho novor heard.
He never heard the aTrpill alarms of war,
Or the worse noises of the lawyers' bar
No change of consuls marks to him tho year,
The change of seasons IH his calendar
The cold and heat, winter and summer shows ;
Autumn by fruits, and spring by flowers, he

knows
He measures tune by land-marks, and has

found

For the whole day the ^n-1 of his ground.
A neighbouring wood, born with himself, he

And lovos his old contemporary trees.
He 'as only heard of near Verona's name,
And knows it, hko the Indies, but by famo
Does with a Like concernment notice take
Of the Bed-sea, and of Benaous' lake.
Thua health and strength he to a third age

onjoys,

And sees a long posterity of boys.
About the spacious world let others roam,
The voyage, He, ia longest made at homo

Abraham Cowley — Bo/n 1G18, Died 1667.

546 —THE WISH.

Well, then ; I now do plainly see

This busy world and I shall ne'er agree ;

The veiy honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the soonest cloy ;

And thoy, methinks, deserve my pity,
Who for it can enduro the stings,
The crowd, and buzz, and murmunngH,

Of this groat hive, tho city

Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' gravo,
May I a pTflnJI house and largo garden have '
And a few friends, and many books, both true,

Both wiso, and both delightful boo '

And, since love ne'or will from mo flee,
A mistress moderately fair
And good, as guardian-angels aro,

Only bolov'd, and loving me '

Oh, fountains ' when in you shall I
Myself, eas'd of unpoocoful thoughts, ospy ?
Oh fields ' oh woods ' when, when ahall I be
made

The happy tenant of youi shade •*

Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood,
Where all the riches lio, that sho

Has com'd and stamp'd for good

Pride and ambition here
Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear ,
Here nought but winds can Inartful murmurs
scatter,

And nought but Echo flatter

to 1689 ]

FEOM THE PTNDAJKTC ODES.

[ABRATTATVT COWIBY

The gods, when they descended hither
From Heaven, did always chuse their way,
And therefore we may boldly say,

That 'fas the way too thither

How happy here should I,
And one dear she, live, and embracing die I
She, who is all the world, and can exclude

In deserts solitude.

I should have then this only fear —
Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Should hither throng to live late me,

And so make a city here.

Abraham Cowley —Born 1618, Died 1667

547 —FROM THE "HYMN TO LIGHT"
x * *•

St^1, from what golden quivers of the bky
Do all bhy winged arrows fly P
Swiftnosb and Power by birth are

thine

Fiom thy great sue they came, thy sore, the
Word Divme

Thou in the Moon's bright chariot, proud

and gay,

Dost thy bright wood of stars survey ,
And all the year dost with thee bring
Of thousand flowery lights thino own noo-
tumal spriiiQ*

Tliou, Scythiau-liko, dost round thy Ifty jp

above

The Sun's gilt tent for ever move,
And still, as thou in poinp dost go,
The shining pageants of the world attend thy
show.

Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou

scorn

Tho humble glow-worms to adorn.
And with, thoso living spangles gild
(0 greatnoas without pnde ') the bushes of
the Hold.

Night and her ugly subjects thou dost

fright,

And Sleep, the lazy owl of night ,
Asham'd, and fearful to appeal,
They screen their horrid shapes with the black
hemisphere

With them there hastes, and wildly takes

"th* ^ftTTP

Of painted dreams a busy swarm

At the first opening of tfrmfl eye

The various clusters break, the antic atoms

fly

At thy appearance, Grief itself is said

To shake his wings, and rouse his

head:

And cloudy Care has often took
A gentle beamy smile, reflected from thy
look.

When, goddess' thouhft'st up thy waken'd

head,

Out of the morning's purple bed,
Thy quire of birds about thee play,
And all the joyful world salutes the rising
day

All the world's bravery, that delights our

eyes,

Is but thy several Iivenes ;
Thou the rich, dye on them bestow'st,
Thy nimble pencil paints ting landscape as
thou go'st.

A crimson garment in the rose thou wear' st,
A crown of studded gold thou bear'st ,
The virgin-lilies, in their white,
Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked
light

The violet, Spring's litUe infant, stands
Girt in thy purplo swadcllmg-bands ,
On the fair tulip thou dost dote ;
Thou cloth' st it in a gay and party-colour1 d
coat

Through the toft ways of Heaven, and air,

and sea,

Which open aJl their pores to thee,
lake a clear river thou dost glide,
And with thy living stream through the close
channels slide.

But the vast ocean of unbounded day,
In th' empyrean Heaven does stay
Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below,
From thence took first their rise, thither at

last must now
Alri/lwm Cowley — JBo?u 1G1S, Died 1667

548.— FROM THE PINDABIC ODES.

DESTRUCTION OP THE PIRST-BOBN, IN THB
"ELAGTJBS OP EGYPT."

XIV.

It was the tune when the still moon
i Was mounted softly to her noon,

dewy sleep, which from night's secret
springs arose,

ABRAHAM

THE COMPLAINT.

[FOUBTH PBBIOD —

Gentty as Nile the land o'erflows ,
When, lo, from the high countries of refined

day,

The golden heaven without allay, —
Whose dross in the creation purged away,

Made up the sun's adulterate ray, —
Michael, the warlike prince, does downwaid

fly,

Swift as the journeys of tho sight,
Swift as the race of light,
And with his winged will cuts through the

yielding sty,
He passed thro' many a star, and, as he

Shone (like a star in them) more brightly

there

Than they did in their sphere
On a tall pyramid's pointed head he stopped

at last,

And a mild look of sacred pity cast
Down on the sinful land where he was

sent

To inflict the tardy punishment
" Ah, yet," said he, "yet, stubborn king,

repent,

While thus unarmed I stand,
Ere the keen sword of God fill my commanded

hand.

Suffer but yet thyself and thine to live ,
Who would, alas, believe,
That it for man," said he,
" So hard to be forgiven should be,
And yet for God so easy to forgive."

xv.

He spoke, and downwards flew,
And o'er his shining form a well-cut cloud ho

threw,

Made of the blackest fleece of night,
And close wrought to keep in the powerful

light,
Tot wrought so fine, it hindered not his

flight,
But thro' the keyholes and the chinks of

doors,
And thro' the narrowest walks of crooked

pores,

He passed more swift and free
Than in wide air the wanton swallows

flee

He took a pointed Pestilence in his hand ,
The spirits of thousand mortal poisons

made

The strongly tempered blade
The sharpest sword that e'er was laid
Up in the magazines of God to scourge a

wicked land
Thro' Egypt's wicked land his march he

took,
And as he marched the sacred first-born

strook

Of every womb ; none did he spare,
None from the meanest beast to Oenohre's
Durpleheir

XVI

The swift approach of endloss night
Breaks ope tho wounded sleepers' rolling

They wake the rest with dying cries,
And darkness doubles the affright.
The mixM sounds of scattered deaths they

hear,
And lose their parted souls 'twixt grief and

fear
Louder than all, tho shrieking women's

voice

Pierces this chaos of confused noiso ;
As brighter lightning outs a way
Clear and distinguished thro' tho day :
With less complaints the Zoan temples

sound

When the adored heifer's drowned,
And no true marked successor to bo found
While health, and strength, and gladness

The festal Hebrew cottages ;

The blest destroyer comes not there,

To interrupt the sacred cheer
That new begins their well reforn^d year.
Upon their doors he read and understood

God's protection writ in blood
Well was he skilled i' th' character divine ,

And tho9 he passed by it in haste,

He bowed and worshipped as he pass'd,
The mighty mystery thro' its humble sign.

Abraliam Cowley — Born 1618, Died 1667.

549— THE COMPLAINT.

In a deep vision's intellectual scene,

Beneath a bower for sorrow made,

Th' uncomfortable shade

Of the black yew's unlucky green,

Mix'd with the mourning willow's careful

gray,

Where reVrend Cam cuts out his famous way,
The melancholy Cowley lay ,
And, lo ' a Muse appear5 d to his closed sight
(The Muses oft in lands of vision play,)
Bodied, array'd, and seen by an internal light •
A golden harp with silver strings she bore,
A wondrous hieroglyphic robe she woro,
In which all colours and all figures wero
That Nature or that Fancy can create,
That Art can never imitate,
And with loose pride it wanton' d in tho air.
In such a dress, in such a well-clothed dream,
She used of old near fair Ismenus* stream
Pindar, her Theban favourite, to meet ;
A crown was on her head, and wings were on

her feet.

She touch' d frjyioi with her harp and raised fyiTn

from the ground ;
The shaken strings melodiously resound

7<Vow 1649 to 1689.]

THE COMPLAINT

[ABRAHAM COWLHT.

" Ait thou return' d at last," said she,

fct To this forsaken place and me p

Thou prodigal ! who didst so loosely waste

Of all thy youthful years the good estate ,

Art thou return'd, here to repent too late ?

And gather husks of learning up at last,

Now the noh harvest-time of life is past,

And winter marches on so f adt ?

But when I meant t' adopt thee for my son,

And did as learn' d a portion assign

As over any of the mighty nine

Had to their dearest children done ,

When. I resolved t' exalt thy anointed name

Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame ,

Thou changehng I thou, bewitch'd with noise

and show,

Wouldst into courts and cities horn me go,
Wouldst «ee the world abroad, and have a

share

In all the follies and the tumults there ,
Thou wouldst, forsooth, be something in a

state,
And business thou wouldst find, and wouldst

create

Business ! the frivolous pretence,
Of human lusts* to shake off innocence ,
Business ! the grave impertinence ,
Business ' the thing which I of all things

hate,
Business ' the contradiction of thy fate

Go, ronegado ' oast up thy account,

And see to what amount

Thy foolish gains by quitting me ,

The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty,

The fruits of thy unlearn' d apostasy

Thou thoughtst, if once the public storm were

past,

All thy remaining life should sunshine be .
Behold the public storm is spent at last,
The sovereign is toss'd at sea no more,
And thou, with all the noble company,
Art got at last to shore •
But whilst thy fellow-voyagers I see,
All march' d up to possess the promised land,
Thou still alone, alas ' dost gaping stand,
Upon the naked beach, upon the barren sand.
As a fair morning of the blessed spring,
After a tedious stormy night,
Such was the glorious entry of our Trfagf T
Enriching moisture dropp'd on every tfayig
Plenty he sow'd below, and cast about him

light.

But then, alas ' to thee alone
One of old Gideon's miracles was shown,
For ev*ry tree, and ev*ry hand around,
With pearly dew was orown'd,
And upon all the quicken' d ground
The fruitful seed of heaven did brooding lie,
And nothing but the Muse's fleece was dry
It did all other threats surpass,
When God to his own people said,
(The men whom thro' long wanderings he had

led,)
That he would give them even a heaven of

brass

They look'd up to that heaven in vain,

That bounteous heaven ' which God did not

restrain
Upon the most unjust to shine and rain.

The Rachel, for which twice seven years and

more,

Thou didst with faith and labour serve,
And didst (if faith and labour can) deserve,
Though she contracted was to thee,
Given to another, thou didst see,
Given to another, who had store
Of fairer and of richer wives before,
And not a Leah left, thy recompense to be.
Go on, twice seven years more, thy fortune

try,
Twice seven years more God in his bounty

may

Give thee to fling away
Into the court's deceitful lottery .
But think how likely 'tis that thou,
With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough,
Shouldst in a hard and barren season thrive,
Shouldst even able be to live ;
Thou f to whose share so little bread did fall
In the miraculous year, when Tynan -n ft rain'd on

all"

Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a

smile,

That seem' d at once to pity and revile
And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head,
The melancholy Cowley said •
"Ah, wanton foe1 dost thou upbraid
The ills which thou thyself hast made °
When in the cradle innocent I lay,
Thou, wicked spirit ' stolest me away,
And my abused soul didst bear
Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where,
Thy golden Indies in the air ;
And ever since I strive in vain
My ravish'd freedom to regain ;
Still I rebel, BtQl thou dost reign ,
Lo, still in verse, against thee I complain
There is a sort of stubborn weeds,
Which, if the earth but once it ever breeds,
No wholesome herb can near them thrive,
No useful plant can keep alive *
The foolish sports I did on thee bestow
Make all my art and labour fruitless now ,
Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth

ever grow

When my new mind had no infusion known,

Thou gayest so deep a tincture of thine own,

That ever since I vainly try

To wash away th' inherent dye

Long work, perhaps, may spoil thy colours

quite,

But never will reduce the native white.
To all the ports of honour and of gain

Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back

again
Thou slacken' st all my nerves of industry,

COWLBT ] FROM " FRIENDSHIP IN" ABSENCE." [FOURTH PEBCOD -—

By making them so oft to be

The tinkbng strings of thy loose minstrelsy.

Whoever this world's happiness would see

Must as entirely cast off thee,

As they who only heaven desire

Do from tlio world retire

This was my erroi, this my gross mistake,

Myself a demi-votary to make

Thus, with Sapphira and her husband's fate,

(A fault whioh I, like them, am taught too

late,)

For all that I gave up I nothing gain,
And pensh for the part which I retain.

Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse '
The court and better king t' accuse ;
The heaven under which I live is fair,
The fertile soil will a foil harvest bear
Thine, thine is all the barrenness, if thou
Mak'st me sit still and sing when I should

plough

When I but think how many a tedious year
Our patient sovereign did attend
His long misfortunes' fatal end ,
How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear,
On the Great Sovereign's will he did depend,
I ought to be accurst if I refuse
To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse '
Kings have long hands, they say, and though

I be

So distant, they may reach at length to me.
However, of all princes thou
Should' st not reproach rewards for being small

or slow;

Thou ' who rowardest but with popular breath,
And that, too, after death » "

AbraJiam Cowley. — Bom 1618, Died 1667.

550 — FROM " FRIENDSHIP IN
ABSENCE "

A thousand pretty ways we'll thmfr upon

To mock our separation

Alas * ten thousand will not do ,

My heart will thus no longer stay,

No longer 'twill be kept fiom you,

But knocks against the breast to get away.

And when no art affords me help or ease,

I seek with verse my gnef s t' appease .

Just as a bird that flies about,

And beats itself against the cage,

Finding at last no passage out,

It sits and sings, and so o'ercomes its rage.

Abraham Qowley — Born 1618, Jhed, 1667,

551. — THE WAITJCNG-MATD.

Thy maid ' Ah ' find some nobler theme
"Whereon thy doubts to place,

Nor by a low suspect blaspheme
The glories of thy face.

Alas ' she makes theo shine so fair,

So exquisitely bnght,
That her (fo™ lamp must disappear

Before thy potent light

Three hours each morn 'in dressing thoe

Maliciously are spent,
And make that beauty tyranny,

That's else a civil government.

Th' adorning thee with so much art

Is but a barb'rous skill ,
'Tis like tho pois'mnpr of a dart,

Too apt before to kill

The min'st'ring angels none can ROC ,
'Tis not their beauty or their face,

For which by men they worshipp'd bo,
But their high office and their placo

Thou art my goddess, my saint sho ,
I pray to her only to pray to thoe.

Abraham Cowley.—Born 1681, DM 1667.

552.— HONOUR

She loves, and she confesses too ;
There's then, at last, no more to do
The happy work 's entirely dono ;
Enter the town which thou hast won ,
The fruits of conquest now begin ;
lo, tnumphe , enter in.

What's this, ye gods ' what can it bo lfj

Remains there still an enemy ?

Bold Honour stands up in the gate,

And would yot capitulate ,

Have I o'orcomo all real foes,

And sha,n *hip phantom mo oppose ?

Noisy nothing ' stalking nhado '
By what witchcraft wort thou made **
Empty cause of solid harms 1
But I shall find out counter- chaimn
Thy airy devilship to remove
From this circle hero of love.

Sure I shall nd myself of thoe
By the night's obscurity,
Acid obscurer secrecy
Unlike to every other sprite,
Thou attempt' st not men to fnght,'
Nor appeal 'st but in the hght

Abraliam Cowley. — Born 1618, £>M 1067.

553. — OF SOLITUDE.

Hail, old patrician trees, so groat and good !

Hau, ye plebeian underwood '

"Where the poetic birds rejoice,

And for their quiet nests and plenteous food

Pay with their grateful voice

to 1089.]

OF HEAVEN.

[BISHOP JEREMY TAYLOR.

Hail tho poor Muse's richest manor-seat !

Ye country houses and retreat,

Which all the happy gods so lore,

That for you oft they quit their bright and

great
Metropolis above

Here Nature does a house for me erect,
Nature ' the fairest architect,
Who those fond artists does despise
That can tho fair and living trees neglect,
Yet the dead timber pnze

Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying,
Hear the soft winds above me flying,
With all their -wanton, boughs dispute,
And the more tuneful birds to both replying,
Nor be myself, too, mute,

A silver stream shall roll his waters near,
Gilt with the sunbeams here and there,
On whose enamell'd bank I'LL walk,
And see how prettily they smile,
And hear how prettily they talk

Ah ' wretched, and too solitary he,
Who loves not his own company '
He'll feel the weight of it many a day,
Unless he calls in sin or vanity
To help to bear it away

Oh, Solitude ' first state of humankind '
Which bloss'd remain' d tall maTi did find
Even his own helper's company
As soon as two, alas ' together join'd,
Tho serpent made up throe.

Though God himself, through countless ages,

thee

His sole companion chose to be,
Thoe, sacrod Solitude ' alone,
Before the branchy head of number's tree
Sprang from the trunk of ono ,

Thou (though men fhfaTr thine an unactive

part)

Dost break and tame th' unruly heart,
Which else would know no settled pace,
Making it move, well managed by thy ait,
With swiftness and with grace

Thou the faint beams of reason's scattered

light

Dost, hko a burning glass, unite,
Dost multiply tho feeble heat,
And fortify the strength, till thou dost bright
And noble fires beget.

Whilst this hard truth I teach, methmks I

see

The monster London laugh at me ;
I should at thee, too, foolish city J
If it were fit to laugh at misery ,
But thy estate I pity.

Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,
And all the fools that crowd thee so,
Even thou, who dost thy millions boast,
A village less than Islington wilt grow,
A solitude almost

Abraham Cowley — Bwn, 1618, Died 1G67.

554— -EPITAPH ON A LIVING- AUTHOE.

Here, stranger, in this humble nest,
Here Cowley sleeps , here lies,

Scaped all the toils that life molest,
And its superfluous 3oys.

Here, in no sordid poverty,

And no inglorious ease,
He braves the world, and can defy

Its frowns and flatteries.

The little earth, he asks, survey ;

Is he not dead indeed ?
" Light he that earth," good stranger, pray,

" Nor thorn upon it breed ' "

With flowers, fit emblem of his fame,

Compass your poet round ;
With flowers of every fragrant name,

Be his warm ashes crown' d '

Abraham Cowley. — Born 1618, Died 1667.

555 — OF HEAVEN

O Beauteous God ' unciroumsonbed treasure

Of an eternal pleasure '

Thy throne is seated far

Above the highest star,

Where Thou preparest a glorious place,

Within the brightness of Thy face,

For every spirit

To inherit

That builds his hopes upon Thy merit,

And loves Thee with a holy chanty.

What ravished heart, seraphic tongue, or eyes

Clear as the morning rise,

Can speak, or think, or see

That bright eternity,

Where the great King's transparent throne

Is of on entire jasper stone p

There the eye

O' the chrysolite,

Andaeky

Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase —

And abovo all, Thy holy face —

Makes on eternal chanty.

When Thou Thy jewels up dost bind, that day

"Remember us, we pray —

That where the beryl lies,

And the crystal 'bove the skies,

There Thou mayest appoint us place

Within the brightness of Thy face —

And our soul

In the scroll

HENRY VAXJGHAN ]

EABLY EISING- AND PBAYEB

[FOUBTH PESIOIX —

Of life and blissf ubiess enroll,

That we may praise Thee to eternity Aile-

lujah1
Bislwp Jenny Taylor.— Born 1613, Died 16G7.

556 — EABLY RISING AND PBATEB

When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave
To do the like ; our bodies but forerun
The spirit's duty true hearts spread and heave
Unto their God as flowers do to the sun ;
Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou

keep
TTi-m company all day, and in "Ffrm sleep

Tot never sleep the sun up, prayer should
Dawn with the day , there are set awful hours
'Twixt heaven and us; the manna was not

good

After sun-rising , far-day sullies flowers ,
Bise to prevent the sun, sleep doth sins glut,
And heaven's gate opens when the world's is

shut

Walk with thy fellow-creatures note the hush
And whisperings among them Not a spring,
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn , each bush
And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not

singp

O, leave thy cares and follies ' go this way,
And thou art cure to prosper all the day.

Serve God before the world , let Him not go
Until thou hast a blessing ; then resign
The whole unto "Eft™, and remember who
Prevailed by wrestling ere the sun did shine •
Pour oil upon the stones, weep for thy sin,
Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven.
Mornings are mysteries the first world's

youth,

Man's resurrection, and the future's bud,
Shroud in then: births, the crown of life,

light, truth*

Is styled then: star— the stone and hidden food,
Three blessings wait upon them, one of which
Should move — they make us holy, happy, rich.

When the woild's up, and every swarm abroad,
Keep well thy temper, mix not with each clay ,
Despatch necessities , life hath a load
Which must be carried on, and safely may
Yet keep those cares without thee, let the

heart

Be God's alone, and choose the better part
Henry Vaualian — Bom 1621, Died 1695.

557 —THE FEAST*

0 come away '

Hake no delay——
Come while my heart is clean and steady !

While faith and grace

Adorn the place,
Making dust and ashes ready '

No bliss here lent

Is permanent—
Suoh triumphs poor flesh cannot mot it ,

Short sips and sights

Endear delights ;
Who seeks for more he would iiihoi it.

Come then, true bread,

Quick'mnjf the dead,
Whose eater shall not, cannot dye '

Gome antedate

On me that state
Which brings poor dust the victory ' —

Aye viotoiy '

Which from Thine eye
Breaks as the day doth from the cast,

When the spilt dew,

Inke tears, doth show
The sad world wept to be roleast

Spring up, O mine '

And springing shine
With some glad message from His heart,

Who did, when slam,

These means ordain
For me to have in TH™ a pait ! —

Suoh a sure part

In His blest heart,
The well where living waters spring-,

That, with it fed,

Poor dust, though dead,
Shall rise again, and live, and sing

0 drink and bread,

Which strikes death dead,
The food of man's immortal being ,

Under veils here

Thou art my chcei,
Present and sure without my seeing.

How dost Thou fly,

And search and pry
Through all my parts, and, like a quick

And knowing lamp,

Hunt out each damp
Whose shadow makes me sad or sick '

0 what high joys '

The turtle's voice
And songs I hear ' O quick'mng showers

Of my Lord's blood,

You make rooks bud,
And crown dry hills with wclL* and flowers !

For this true ease,

This healing peace,
For this brief taste of Imng glory,

My soul and aU,

Kneel down and fall,
And sing- His sad victorious story !

O thorny crown,

More soft than down'
O painful cross, my bed of rest !

O spear, the key

Opening the way '
O Thy worst state my only best I

From 1649 to 1689.]

THE BEE.

VATTGHAN.

0 all Thy griefs

Are my reliefs,
As all my sins Thy sorrows were !

And what can I

To this reply P
What, 0 God' but a silent tear 9

Some toil and sow

That wealth may flow,
And dross this earth for next year's moat

But let me heed

Why thou didsted,
And what in the next world to eat

Hewiry Vcwghan — Lorn 1621, Jlted 3695

558 —THE BEE.

From fruithful beds and flowery borders.
Parcelled to wastef ol ranks and orders,
Whore state grasps more than plain truth

noods,

And wholesome herbs are starved by weeds,
To the wild woods I will be gone,
And the coarse meals of great Saint John.

Whon truth and piety are missed,

Both in the rulers and the priest ,

When pity is not cold, but dead,

And the rich oat the poor like bread ,

While factious heads, with open coil

And force, first mado, then share the spoil ;

To Horeb then Eliaa goes,

And in the desert grows the rose

Hail, crystal fountains and fresh shades,

Where no proud look invades,

No busy worldling hunts away

The sod reiaxer all the day '

Haal, happy, harmless solitude *

Our sanctuary from the rude

And scornful world the calm recess

Of faith, and hope, and holiness '

Here something still like Eden looks —

Honey in woods, juleps in brooks ,

And flowers whose noh, unnflod sweets

With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets,

When the toils of the day are done,

And the tired world sets with the sun,

Here flying winds and flowing wells

Are the wise, watchful hermits bells j

Thou* busy murmurs all the night

To praise or prayer do invite ;

And with an awful sound arrest,

And piously employ his breast

When in the East the dawn doth blush,
Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush ;
Herbs straight get up, flowers peep and spread ,
Trees whisper praise, and bow the head ,
Birds, from the shades of night released,
Look round about, then quit the nest,
And with united gladness sing
The glory of the morning's King,

The hermit hears, and with meek voice
Offers his own up, and their joys,
Then prays that all the world might bo
Blest with as sweet an unity

If sudden storms the day invade,
They flock about him to the shade,
Where wisely they expect the end,
1 Giving the tempest tune to spond ,
And hard by shelters on some bough
Hilanon's servant, the sage crow.
0 purer years of light and grace '
Great is the difference, as the space,
'Twixt you and us, who blindly run
After false fires, and leave tho sun
Is not fair nature of herself
Much richer than dull paint and pelf ?
And arc not streams at the spring head
More sweet than in carved stone or load p
But fancy and some artist's tools
Frame a religion for fools.

The truth, which once was plainly taught,
With thorns and briars now is fraught
Some part is with bold fables spotted,
Some by strange comments wildly blotted ;
And discord, old corruption's crest,
With blood and blame have stained the rest.
So snow, which in its first descents
A whiteness like pure heaven presents,
Whon touched by mn-n is quickly soiled,
And after tiodden down and spoiled

0 lead me where I may bo free
In truth and spirit to serve Thee '
Where undisturbed I may converse
With Thy great self; and there rehearse
Thy gifts with thanks , and from Thy store,
Who art all blessings, beg much more.
Give me the wisdom of the bee,

And her unwearied industry '

That from the wild gourds of these days,

1 may extract health, and Thy praise,
Who canst turn darkness into light,
And in my weakness show Thy might.
Suffer me not in any want

To seek refreshment from a plant
Thou didst not set, since all must be
Plucked up whose growth is not from Thee.
'Tis not the garden and the bowers,
Nor sense and forms, that give to flowers
Their wholesomeness ; but Thy good will,
Which truth and purou-Ms puichase still.

Then, since corrupt •""«" hath driven hence

Thy land and saving influence,

And bdm is no more to be had,

In all the coasts of Gilead —

Go with me to the shade and cell

Where Thy best servants onoe did dwolL

There let me know Thy will, and see

Exiled religion owned by Thee ,

For Thou canst turn dark grots to halls

And make >"11a blossom like the valos, gg

HBNBT VAUGHAN j

PEACE.

[FOUBTH PJ&BIOD —

Decking thoir untilled heads with flowers,
And fresh delights for all sad hours ,
Till from them, like a laden bee,
I may fly home, and hive with Theo !

Henry Vauughan — Bom 1621, Died 1695.

559 —PEACE

My soul, there IB a country

Afar beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry,

AIL skilful in the wars.
There, above noise and danger,

Sweet Peace aits crowned with smiles,
And one born rn a manger

Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious friend,

And (O my soul awako ')
Did m pure love descend,

To die here for thy sake
If thou canst get but thither,

There grows the flower of peace —
The rose that cannot withei— —

Thy fortress, and thy ease
Leave, then, thy foolish ranges ,

For none can theo secure,
But One who never changes—

Thy God, thy lafe, thy Core.
Hcwry 7ou07ia».— .Bcwn 1621, D%e& 1695

560— THEY ABE ALL GONE

They are all gone into the world of light,

And I alone sit hngormg here !
Their very memory is fair and bright,

And my sad thoughts doth dear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove —

Or those faint beams in which this hill is

drest
After the sun's remove

I see them walking m. an air of glory,
Whose life doth trample on my days—

My days which ore at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.

0 holy hope ! and high humility —

High as the heavens above 1
These are your walks, and you have showed
them me,

To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous death-— the jewel of the jusfc—
Shining nowhere but in the dark >

What mysteries do he beyond thy dust,
Could ™pjn outlook that mark '

Hethatiofch found sou* fledged bird's nest
may know,

At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fwrddl or grovejhe sings in aow,

That is to him vaknown,

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul whon man doth sloop,

So some strange thoughts transcend our

wonted themes,
And into glory peop.

If a star woio confined into «i tomb,
Her captive flamos must nooils burn thoro ,

But when the hand that looked her up gives

room,
She'll shine through all the sphere

0 Father of eternal lifo, and all

Created glories under Thoe '
Resume thy spirit from thra world of thrall

Into true liberty

Either disperse these mists, which blot and £11
My perspective still as they pass ,

Or else remove me hence unto that lull
Where I shall need no glass

Henry Vauglwn.—Born 1621, Died 1095.

561 — THE TIMJ3E12

Sure thou didst flourish once, and many

springs,
Many bright mornings, much dow, many

showers,
Pass'd o'er thy head ; many light hearts and

wings,

Which are now dead, lodged in thy living
towers

And still a new succession sings and flies,
Fiesh groves grow up, and their groon

branches shoot

Towards the old and still enduring skies,
While the low violet thrives at their root
* * *

Senary Va.ugUan — Born 1621, Died 1695

562 —THE EAINBOW

Still young- and fine, but what is still in view
We slight as old and aoil'd, though freah. and

new.
How bright wort thou when Shem'a adman?

eye

Thy buraish'd flaming arch did first descry ,
When Zerah, Nahor, Horan, Abroxn, Lot,
The youthful world's gray fathers, in one knot
Did with mtenti-v o looks watch every hour
For thy new light, and trembled at each

shower1
When thou dost shine, darkness looks whit«

and fair;
Forms torn to mosLo, clowta to smiles and

air,

Earn gently spends his honey-drop*, «ad powrft
Balm on the cleft earth, milk cm grass and

flowers.

From 1649 to 1689.]

CE.T.TA SINGING

[THOMAS

Blight pledge of peace and sunshine, the sure

too

Of thy Lord's hand, tho object of His eye
When I behold thee, though my light bo dun,
Distant and low, I can in thino soe Him,
Who looks upon thee from His glorious throne,
And minds the covenant betwixt all and One

i. * *

Henry VctMgJwn, — Born 1621, Died 1695

563 — THE WEEAJTE.

(TO THE BXDEEHEIt )

Since I in storms most used to bo,

And seldom yielded flowois,
How shall I got a wroath for thoe

From thoso rudo bajron hours •»

Tlio softer dressings of the sprutg,

Oi summoi's later stoic,
I will not for thy temples bring,

Which thorns, not loses, wore

Eut a twxnod wroath of grief and praise,

Praise soiTd with tears, end tears again
Shining with joy, hko dowy days,

This day I bring for aH thy pain,
Thy causeless pain , and as nad cloath,

Wluoh sadness breeds in the most voua,
O not in vain ' now bog thy bioaUi,
Thy o^uiok'ning bieath, which gladly bears

Through saddest clouds to that glad place,
Wlioro cloudless qtuics sing without tears,

Sing thy just praise, and see thy face.

Heiuy Vavghav — Bom 1621, Died 1695

564. — THE HETBEAT

Happy those early days, when I
Bhined in my angel-inf oncy.
Before I understood this place,
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy aught
But a white celestial thought, —
When yet I had not walked above
A nulo or two from, my first lovo,
And looking back (at that short space)
Could see a glimpse of his bright face
When on some grided cloud or flower
My gazing soul would dwell an h«nn ,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity

Oh, how I IcfDf to travel back,
And tread again that ancient track '
That I might one* more; reach that plain,
Where first I left my glorious tram,
From whence the enlightened sprat sees
That shady C% of Fata Trees.

.— JBor» 1621, Dte& 1695.

565.— THE TOMB.

When, cruel faJT one,

By thy disdain,

And, as a trophy of thy scorn,
To some old tomb am borne,
Thy fetters must their power bequeath

To those of Death ;
Nor can thy flame immortal burs,
lake monumental fires within an urn .
Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall

prove
There is more liberty in Death than Lovo.

And when forsaken lovers come

To see my tomb,
Take heed thou. mix not with the crowd,

And (as a victor) proud,
To view the spoils thy beauty made,

Press near my shade,
Lost thy too cruel breath or name
Should fan my ashes back into a flame,
And thou, devour' d by this revengeful fire,
who died as thine, expire

But if cold earth, or marble, must

Conceal my dust,
Whilst hid in some dark ruins, I,

Dumb and forgotten, he,
The pride of all thy victory
Will sleep with me ,

And they who should attest thy glory,
Will, or forget, or not believe this story.
Then to increase thy triumph, let mo rest,
Since by thine eye slain, buried in thy breast,

Thomas Stanley — Born 1625, Died 1C78.

566.— CELIA SINGING.

Roses in breathing forth their scent,

Or stars then* Dorrowu ornament :

Nymphs in their wat'ry sphere that move,

Or angels in their orbs above ;

The winged chariot of the light,

Or the slow silent wheels of night ,

The shade which from the swifter win

Doth in a swifter motion run,

Or souls that their eternal test do keep,

Make far less noise t^ftl» Celia's breath in

sleep.

But if the angel which inspires
This subtle name with active fixes,
Should mould this breath to words, and those
Into a harmony dispose,
The music of this heavenly dphere
Would steal each soul (in) at the ear,
And into plants and stones infuse
A life that cherubim would ehuse,
And with new powers invert the laws of f ate,
ijTiTl those tTbjgrf? tore, p-1"^ dead things animate.

Thwna* Stenl&j.—Bam 1025, DieA 1678.

SKI*

STANLEY ]

SPEAKING AND KISSING.

[FOURTH PHBIOD. —

567 —SPEAKING AND KISSING.

The air which thy smooth voice doth break,
Into my soul like lightning flies ,

My life retires while thou dost speak,
And thy soft breath its room supplies.

Lost in this pleasing ecstaoy,
I join my trembling lips to thine,

And back receive that life from thee
Which I so gladly did resign

Forbear, Platonic fools ! t' inquire
What numbers do the soul compose ;

No harmony can life inspire,
Bat that which from these accents flows.

Thomns Stanley — Born 1625, Died 1678

568.— LA BELLE CONFIDANTE

Ton earthly souls that court a wanton flame

"Whose pale, weak influence
Can nse no higher than the humble name

And narrow laws of sense,
Learn by our friendship to create

Ay* immaterial fire,
Whose brightness angels may admire,

But cannot emulate
Sickness may fright the roses from her check,

Or make the lilies fade,
But all the subtle ways that death doth seek
Cannot my love invade.

Thomas Stanley—. Born 1625, Died 1678

569— NOTE TO MOSCEUS.

Along the mead Europa walks,
To choose the fairest of its gems,

Which, plucking from their slender stalks,
She weaves in fragrant diadems

Where'er the beauteous virgin treads,

The common people of iho field,
To kiss her feet bowing- their heads,

Homage as to their goddess yield.

'Twixt whom ambitious wars arise,
Which to the queen shall first present

A gift Arabian spice outvies,

The votive offering of their scent.

When deathless Amaranth, this strife,

Greedy by dying to decide,
Begs she would her green thread of life.

As love's fair destiny, divide.

Pliant Acanthus now the vine

And ivy enviously beholds,
Wishing her odorous arms might twine

About this fair in such strict folds.

The Violet, by her foot opprest,
Doth from that touch enamoui'd rise,

But, losing straight what made her bleat,
Hangs down her head, looks pale, and dies, j

Cliiaa, to new devotion won,
Doth now her former faith deny,

Sees in her face a double sun,
And glories in apostaoy.

The Gillyflower, which mocks the skies,
(The meadow's painted lainbow) socks

A brighter lustre from her eyes,
And richer scarlet from her chocks.

The jocund Flower-de-luce appears,
Because neglected, discontent ,

The mornmg furnish' d her with tca*c;
Her sighs expiring odours vent

Narcissus in hor eyes, once moro,
Seems his own boauty to adiniro -r

In water not so clear befoie,
As represented now in firo

The Crocus, who would gladly claim

A privilege above the lest,
Begs with his tiiplo tongue of name,

To be transplanted to her bioast.

The Hyacinth, in whose palo leaves
The hand of Nature writ hia fato,

With a glad smile his sigh OOCOIVGB
In hopes to be more fortunate

His head the drowsy Poppy rais'd,
Awak'd by this approaching morn,

And view'd her purple light amaa'd,
Though his, alas ! was but hor scorn.

None of this aromatic crowd,
But for their kind death humbly call,

Courting her hand, hko martyrs proud,
By so divine a fate to fall

The royal maid th' applause disdain!?

Of vulgar flowers, and only choao
The bashful glory of tho plains,

Sweet daughter of the Spring, the Hose.

She, like herself, a queen appears,
Rais'd on a verdant thoiny throne,

Guarded by amorous winds, and woais
A purple robe, a golden crown.

TJwmas Stanley. — Born 1025, Died 1G78L

570,— THE VALEDICTION.

Vaan world, what is in thoo ?
What do poor mortals see
Which should esteemed bo

Worthy their pleasure ?
Is it the mother's womb,
Or sorrows which soon come,
Or a dark grave and tomb ;

Which is their treasure ?
How dost thou man deceive

By thy vain glory P
Why do they still believe

Thy false history ?

From 1649 to 1689]

THE VALEDICTION.

[EICHAJBD BAXTHB.

la it children's book and rod,
The labourer's heavy load,
Poverty undertrod,

The world deeareth ?
Is it distracting cares,
Or heait-tormenting fears,
Or pining gnef and teais,

"WTutsli ip?^ reQuireth •*
Or is it youthful rage,

Or childish toying ?
Or is decrepit age

Worth man's enjoying °

Is it deceitful wealth,

Got by care, fioud, or stealth,

Or short, •uncertain health,

Which thus befool men ?
Or do the serpent's lies,
By the woild's flatteries
And tempting vanities,

Still overrule them *
Or do they in a dream

Sleep out their season P
Or borne down by lust's stream,

Which conquers reason '<*

The silly lambs to-day
Pleasantly skip and play,
Whom butchers mean to &la,y,

Perhaps to-morrow ,
In a moio brutish sort
Do careless sinners sport,
Or IB. dead sleep still snort,

As near to soiiow ,
Till life, not well begun,

Be sadly ended,
And the web they have spun

Can no'er be mended.

What is the time that's gone,
And what is that to come p
Is it not now as none P

The present stays not
Time posteth, 0 how fast '
Unwelcome death makes haste ,
None can call back what's past—-
Judgment delays not ,
Though God bring in the light,

Burners awake not , —
Because noil's out of sight,
They Bin f orsako not

Man walks in a vain show ,
They know, yet will not know ;
Sit still when they should go—-
But run for shadows,
While they might taste and know
Tho living streams that flow,
And crop the flowers that grow
In Christ's sweet meadows,
lafe's better slept away

Than as they use it ,
In sin and drunken play
Vain men abuse it.

Malignant world, adieu '
Where no foul vice is new —
Only to Satan true,

God still offended;
Though taught and warned by God,
And Hiq chastising rod,
Keeps still the way that's broad,

Never amended
Baptismal vows some make,

But ne'er perform them ;
If angels from heaven spake,

'Twould not reform them.

They dig for hell beneath,
They labour hard for death,
Bun themselves out of breath

To overtake it
Hell is not had for nought,
Damnation 's dearly bought,
And with great labour sought —

They'll not forsake it.
Their souls are Satan's fee —

He'll not abate it.
Grace is refused that's free —

Mad sinners hate it

Vile man is so perverse,
It's too rough work for verse
His madness to rehearse,

And show his folly ,
He'll die at any rates —
He God and conscience hates,
Yet sin he consecrates,

And calls it holy.
The grace he'll not endure

Which would renew him —
Constant to all, and sure,

Which will undo him.

His head comes first at birth,
And takes root in the earth —
As Nature shooteth forth,

His feet grow highest,
To kick at all above,
And spurn at saving love ;
His God is in his grove,

Because it's nighest ,
He loves this world of sinfe,

Hates that would mend it ,
Loves death that's called life,

Fears what would end it.

All that is good he'd crush,
Bhndly on sin doth rush—
A 'pricking, thorny bush,

Such Christ was crowned with ;
Their worship's like to this —
The reed, the Judas loss
Such the religion is

That these abound with ;
They mock Chnst with the knee

Whene'er they bow it —
As IE God did not see

The heart and know it.

LORD BBISTOL ]

SONG

Of good they choose the least,
Despise that which is best —
The joyful, heavenly feast

Which Christ would give them ;
Heaven hath scarce one cold wish ,
They live unto the flesh ,
lake swine they feed on. wash —

Satan doth drive them
lake weeds they grow in mire,

Which vices nourish —
Where, warmed "by Satan's fire,

j^ll gins do flourish.

Is this the world men choose,
For which they heaven refuse,
And Christ and grace abuse,

And not receive it ?
Shall I not guilty be
Of this in some degieo,
If honoe God would me free,

And Fd not leave it P
My soul, from Sodom fly.

Lest wrath there find thee ;
Thy icfugo — rest is nigh —

Look not behind thee I

There's none of this ado,
None of the hellish crew ,
God's promise is most true —

Boldly believe it.
My friends are gone before,
And I am near tho shore,
My soul stands at the door —

O Lord, receive it '
It trusts Christ and His merit's —

The dead Ho raises ,
Join it with blessed spirits

Who sing Thy praises.

Richai d Baxter — Born 1615, Died 1691

S7i— SONG.

See, O HOG '

How every tree,

Every bower,

Every flower,
A new life gives to othoia' joys ;

Whale that I

Gnef-stncken he,

Nor can meet

With any sweet

But what faster miiia destroys. .
What are all the senses' pleasures,
When tho mind has lost all measures ?

Hear, 0 hear '
How sweet and clear
The nightingale
Aaxd water's fall
In concert join for others' oar ;
While to me,
For harmony.

Every air

Echoes despair,

And every drop provokes a tear.
What are all tho senses' pleasures,
When the soul hag lost all measures P

Lord Bristol.— Born 1612, DieA 1C7C.

572.— THE PHILOSOPHER'S DEVOTION.

Sing aloud ' His praiso rehearse,
Who hath made the universe
He the boundless hcavonfl lias thread,
All the vital orbs has kned ,
He that on Olympus high
Tends His flock with watchful rye ;
And this oye has multiplied
Midst each flock for to reside
Thus, as lound about they stray,
Toucheth each with outstretched ray :
Nimbly they holil on their way,
Shaping out their night and dtty,
Never slack they , none respires,
Dancing round thoir central fii*os

In due oidor as they move,
Echoes swoot bo gently drovo
Through heaven's vast hollownospi,
Which unto all comers press —
Music, that the heart of Jovo
Moves to -joy and sportful love,
iPills the listening bailor's oars,
"Riding on tho wandering splieics.
Neither speech nor language i i
Whore their voice is not tiuusniiss

God is good, IR wi*e, w Mn-OBg —
Witness all tho creature throuq—
Is confessed by every tongue
All things back from vhenco thoy r
As the thankful rivers pay
What they borrowed of tho &oa

Now, myself I do resign ,
Take me whole, I all am Thine
Save mo, God ' from flolf-dewro,
Death's pit, dark holl'H ro&uig firo,
Envy, haticd, vengeance, ire ,
Let not lust my honl tomiro.

Quit from those, Thy pnu«o I'll rixifr,
Loudly sweep tho trembling- htmi;?.
Bear a part, 0 wihdom's BOIIH,
"Freed from vain religions '
Lo i from far I you salute,
Sweetly warbling on my lute-
India, Egypt, Araby,
Asia, Greece, and Tartary,
Carmel-tracts and Lebanon,
With the Mountains of the Moon,
Prom whence muddy Nile doth run ;
Or, wherever else you won,
Breathing in one vital air-—
One wo are though distant far.

From 1649 to 1689 ]

THE PRE-IQXISTEN'CY OF THE SOUL.

[BJBKftY MOBI.

Rise at once — let's sacrifice '
Odours sweet perfomo the skies
Soe how heavenly lightning fires
Hearts inflamed •with high aspires ;
All the substance of our souls
Up in clouds of incense rolls '
Leave we nothing to ourselves
Savo a voice — what need wo else ?
Or a hand to wear and tire
On the thankful lute or lyre

Sing aloud ! His praise rehearse
"Who hath made the universe

lleniy Jlfo/c — Born 1614, Died 1687.

573 —CHARITY AND HUMILITY

Far have I clambered in my mind,
"Bnt naught so «,iec,t as love I find ,
Dcop-fcoarclung wit, mount-moving might,
Arc naught compared to that good upright
lifo of delight, and soul of bliss '
Sure fcourco of lasting happiness '
TTiglior than heaven, lower than hell '
What is thy tent ? Where mayst thou dwell0

My mansion luj>lit Humility,
Heaven's vastest capability— *•
Tlio farther it doth downwaiil tend,
The higher up it doth ascend ,
If it go down to utmost naught,
It Hliiill return with that it bought

Lord, Ktrotch Thy tent m my t tiaight

l>roaKt —

Enltwr/jo it downward, that mire rest
May there be pight , for that pure liio
Whorowith thou woutest to inspire
AH wolf-doad souls My life IH gone —
Sad solitude 'ti my irkKomo wonne
Out off from men and all this world,
In Lotho'ti lonesome ditch I'm huiled.
Nor might uor Mght doth aught mo move,
Nor do T euro to bo above
0 feoblo rayn of mental light,
That boat be ROOU in this dark night '
What aro you p Wliat is any strength
If it bo not Lud in one length
With pndo or love ? I naught desire
But a now life, or quite t'oxpiro
Could I demolish with mine eye
Strong towoiM, ntop the fleet starn in sky,
Bring- down to earth the pale-faced moon,
Or turn block midnight to bright noon —
Though all thingn wore put m my hand —
AH parched, as dry as the Libyan sand
Would bo my life, if Chanty
Wore wanting. But humility
In more than my poor soul durst crave,
That lies intombod in lowly grave
But if 'twere lawful up to send
My voice to heaven, this should it rend

Lord, thiust mo deeper into dust
That Thou maycat raise mo with the just '

Hew y More — Horn 1614, Died 1687

574— THE SOUL AND BODY.

lake to a light fast lock'd in lanthorn dark,
Whereby by night our wary steps we guide
In slabby streets, and dirty channels mark,
Some weaker rays through the black top do

glide,
And fluster streams perhaps from horny

side

But when we've passed the penl of the way,
Arnv'd at home, and laid that case aside,
The naked hght how clearly doth it ray,
And spread its joyful beams as bright as

summei's day.

Even so the «soul, in this contracted state,
Confin'd to the&o strait instruments of sense,
More dull and narrowly doth operate ,
At this hole hears, the sight must ray from

thence,
Here tastes, there smells : but when she's

gone from hence,

Like naked lamp she is one shining sphere,
And round about has perfect cognoscenoe
Whate'er in her horizon doth appear :
She is one oib of sense, all eye, all airy ear.

Henry More — Bom 1614, Died 1687.

575 — THE PRE-EXTSTENCY OF THE
SOUL.

liiao then, Aristo's t*on, aswst my Muse ;
Let that high sprite, which did enrich thy

brains
With choice conceits, some worthy thoughts

infuse,

Worthy thy title and the reader's pains
And thou, O Lycian sage ' whose pen contains
Treasures of heavenly hght with gentle fire,
Give leave awhile to warm me at thy flames,
That I may also kindle sweet desire
In holy mjjml** that unto highest things aspire.

Por I would sing the pre-existenoy
Of human souls, and live once o'er again,
By locollection and quick memory,
All that is past since first we all began ;
But all too shallow bo my wits to scan
So deep a pomt, and mind too dull to door
So dark a matter But thou, more than man,
Aread, thou sacied poul of Plotin dear,
TeU me what mortals are — tell what of old
they were

A spark or ray of the divinity,

Clouded with earthy fogs, yclad in clay,

A precious drop sunk from eternity,

Spilt on the ground, or rather slunk away ;

For then we fell when wo 'gan first t'aq«ay,

By stealth of our own solves, something to

been
Uncontonng ourselves from our great stay,

HENBT MOBE ]

THE PRE-EXISTENCY OF THE SOUL [FOUBTH PSBIOD —

Which fondly we new liberty did ween,
And from that prank right jolly wits ourselves
did deem.

Show fitly how the pre-existent soul

Enacts and enters bodies here below,

And then entire unhurt oan leave this moul,

And thence her airy vehicle oan draw,

In which by sense and motion they may know,

Better than we, what things transacted bo

Upon the earth, and when they list may show

Themselves to friend or foe, their phontasie

Moulding their airy orb to gross consistency.

Wherefore the soul possessed of matter moot,
If she hath power to operate thereon,
Can eath transform this vehicle to sight,
Bight with due colour figuration,
Oan speak, can walk, and then dispear anon,
Spreading herself in tho dispersed air,
Then, if she please, recall again what's gone
Those th' uncouth mysteries of fancy are —
Than, thunder for more strong, more quick
than lightning far

Some heaving toward this strange activity
We may observe ev'n in this mortal state ,
Here health and sickness of the phantasie
Often proceed, which working minds create,
And pox and pestilence do malloate,
Their thoughts still beating on those objects ill,
Which doth the master' d blood contaminate,
And with foul poisonous impressions fill,
And last, the precious life with deadly dolour
kill.

All these declare the force of phantasio,
Though working here upon this stubborn clay ,
But th' airy vehicle yields more easily,
Unto her beck more nimbly doth obey,
Which truth the joint confessions bewray
Of damned hags and masters of bold skill,
Whose hellish mysteries fully to display,
The earth would groan, trees sigh, and horror
all o'erspilL

But he that out of darkness giveth light,
He guide my steps in this so uncouth way ,
And ill-done deeds by children of the night
Convert to good, while I shall hence assay
The noble soul's condition ope to lay,
And show her empire on her airy sphere,
By wliat of sprites and spectres stones say ,
For sputes and spectres that by night appear
Be, or all with the soul, or of a nature near.

Up then, renowned wizard, hermit sage,
That twice ten years didst in the desert won,
With sprites conversing in thy hermitage,
Since thou of mortals didst the commerce

shun;

Well seen in these foul deeds that have fore-
done

Many a bold wit Up, Marcus, tell again
That story to thy Thrax, who has theo won
To Christian faith, the guise and haunts

explain
Of all air-trampling ghosta that in tho world

lemam.

There bo sue sorts of sprites Lolunon
Is the first kind, the next aio named from air ,
The first aloft, yet far beneath the moon,
The other in this lower region fore ,
The third terrestrial, the fourth watery arc ,
The fifth be subterranean , the last
And worst, light-hating ghosts, moro uruul far
Than bear or wolf with hunger hard oppressed,
But doltish yet, and dull, like an unwieldy
beast.

Cameleon-hko they thus thoir colour change,
And sizo contract, and then dilate again,
Like the soft earth-worm hurt by hoodluss

chance,

Shrinks in herself to shun or oase her pain
Nor do they only thus themselves constrain
Into less bulk, but if with courage bold,
And flaming brand, thou strike those shades in

twain
Close quick as cloven air So sang that wizard

old

And truth he said, whatever he has told,
As even this present age may verify,
If any lists its stones to unfold,
Of Hugo, of hobgoblins, of inoubi,
Abhorred dugs by devils suoken dry ;
Of leaping lamps, and of fierce flying stones,
Of living wool and such like witchery ,
Or proved by sight or self-confessions,
Which things much credence gain to paat tra-
ditions

Wherefore with boldness we will now roUto
Some few in brief , as of th' Astorgan lad
Whose peevish mother, in fell ire and hato,
With execration bold, the devil bad
Take him alive. Which mood the boy n'oto

bear

But quits the room — walks out with spirit wad,
Into the court, where lo ' by night appear
Two giants with gnm looks, rough limbs, black

gnaly hair

The walking skeleton in Boloma,

Laden with rattling chains, that show'd hit*

grave

To the watchful student, who without dismay
Bid tell his wants and speak what he would

have,

Thus cleared he tho house by courage brave
Nor may I pass the fair Cerdiman maid
Whose love a jolly swain did kindly crave,
And oft with mutual solace with her staid,
Yet he no jolly swain, but a deceitful shade

Jffom 1C49 to 1689 ]

COOPEB'S HILL

[SiR JOHN DENEAH.

In arctic climes an isle that Thul6 hight,
Famous for snowy monts, whose hoary heads
Sure sign of cold , yet from their fiery f oet
They strike out burning stones with thunders

dread,

And all the land with smoke and ashes spread ,
Here wand'nng ghosts themselves have often

shown,

As if it were the region of the dead,
And mot deputed, met with whom they've

known,
In seemly sort shake hands, and ancient

friendship own

A world of wonder * hiLhor might be thrown
Of sprites and spectres, as that frequent noi&o
Oft heard upon the plain of Marathon,
Of neighing horsed and of martial boys ,
Tho Grook the Poi&ian nightly hero destroys
In hot assault ombioiTd in a long war ,
Four hundied years did lost those dreadful

toys,

As doth by Attic records plain appear,
Tho suods of hato by death so little slaked are.

Henry MM —Bom 1614, Dual 1687

576— COOPER'S HILL

Sure there arc pootfi which did never dream
Upon ParuaasLiH, nor did taste the Rtream
Of Helicon , wo thorofoio may suppose
.Those made not poots, but the poets thoHp,
And as courts make not kings, but kings tho

court,

So where tho Muses and their tram resort,
Parnassus stand* , if I can be to theo
A poet, thou Parnassus art to me.
Nor wonder if (advantaged in my flight,
By taking wing from thy auspicious height)
Through untraced ways and airy paths I fly,
More boundless in my fancy than my eye ,
My eyo, which swift; as thought contracts the

space

That Lios between, and first salutes tho place
Crown'd with that sacred pile, so vast, so high,
That whether 'tis a part of earth or sky
Uncertain seems, and may be thought a proud
Aspiring mountain, or descending cloud ,
Paul's the late theme of such a Muse, whose

flight
Has bravely reach'd and soar'd above thy

height ;
Now shalt thou stand, though sword, or tune,

or fire,

Or zeal, more fierce than they, thy fall conspire,
Secure, whilst thee the best of peets sings,
Preserved from ruin by the best of kings
Under his proud survey the city hes,
And like a zm&t beneath a hill doth rise,
'Whose state and wealth, the business and the

crowd,
Seems at this distance but a darker cloud,

And is, to him who rightly things esteems,
No other in effect than what it seoms ;
Wheio, with lake haste, though several ways

they run,

Some to undo, and some to be undone ,
While luxury and wealth, like war and peace,
Aie each the other's rum and increase ,
As rivers lost in seas, some secret vein
Thence leconveys, there to bo lost again.
Oh ' happme&b of sweet retired content '
To be at once secure and innocent
Windsor the nest (where Mars with Venus

dwells,

Beauty with strength) above the valley swells
Into my eye, and doth itself piesent
With such an easy and unforced ascent,
That no stupendous precipice denies
Access, no honor turns away OLr eyo& ,
But such a use as doth at once mvito
A pleasme and a loverence fiom the Bight
Thy mighty master's emblem, in whose face
Sat meekness, heighten'd with majestic grace ,
Such seems thy gentle height, made only proud
To be tho basis of that pompous load,
Than which a noblei weight no mountain

bears,

But Atlas only, which supports the spheres
Whon Natuie'b hand this ground did thus

advance,

'Twas guided l>y a wiber power than Chance ,
Mark'd out for such an UFO, as if 'to ere meant
T' invite the builder, and his choice prevent
Noi can wo call it choice, when what we choose
Folly or blindness only could refuse
A crowu of such majestic toweis dolh grace
The gods' great mother, when her heav'nly

race

Do homage to her ; yet she cannot boast,
Among that ntun'rous and celestial host,
More heroes than can Windsor; nor doth

Fame's

Immortal book record more noble names.
Not to look back so far, to whom this isle
Owes the first glory of so brave a pile,
Whether to Cesar, Albanaot, or Brute,
The British Arthur, or tho Danish C'nute ;
(Though this of old no less contest did move
Than when for Homei's birth seven cities

strove)
(Liko him in birth, thou should'st bo like in

fame,

As thine his fate, if mine had been his flame)
But whosoe'er it was, Natuie design' d
First a brave plaoe and then as brave a mind.
Not to recount those sev'ral kings to whom
It gave a cradle, or to whom a tomb ,
But thee, groat Edward ' and thy greater son,
(The hhes which his father wore he won)
And thy BeUona, who the consort came
Not only to thy bed but to thy fame,
She to thy triumph, led one captive king,
And brought that son which did the second

bring,
Then didst thou found that Order (whether

love
Or victory thy royal thoughts did move )

SEB JOHN DENHAM ]

COOPBB'S "HTT.T..

[Foir&TH PERIOD.-

Each was a noble cause, and nothing lor 8
Than the design has been tho great succe ra,
Which, foreign kings and emperois osteom
The second honour to their diadom.
Had thy great destiny but given thee skill
To know, as well as pow'r to act her will,
That from those kings, who then thy captives

wero,

In after-times should spring a royal pair
Who should possess all that thy mighty pow'r,
Or thy desires moie mighty, did devour ,
To whom there better fate reserves whato'er
The victor hopes for or the vanquish* d fear ,
That blood which thou and thy great grandsiro

shed,

And all that since these sister nations bled,
Had been unspilt, and happy Edward known
That all tho blood he spilt had been his own
Whon he that patron choso in whom arojom'd
Soldier and martyr, and his arms confined
Within the azure circle, ho did Room
But to foretel and piophecy of fa™
Who to his realms that azure round hath

•jom'd,

Which nature for their bound at first designed ,
That bound which to the world's extioinost

ends,

Endless itself, its liquid arms extends,
Nor doth he need those emblems which wo

paint,

IS, it is himself the soldier and the saint
Hero should my wondor dwell, and hero my

proase,
But my fix'd thoughts my wand'nng eye

betray*!,

Vio'ving- a ndghb'ring hill, whose top of lato
A chapel crown'd, till in tho common fate
Th1 adjoining abbey fell. (May no such

storm

Fall on our times, whore ruin must rofoim r)
Toll mo, my Muso T what monstrous diro

offence,

What crime, could any Christian king incense
To such a rage ? WaVt luxury or lust ?
Was ho so tempoiate, so chaste, so just ?
Wero these their crimes p thoy woie his own

much more ,

But wealth is cnme enough to him that's poor,
Who having spent tho treasuies of his crown,
Condemns their luxury to food his own ,
And yet this act, to varnish o'oi tho shame
Of sacrilege, must bear devotion' & nomo.
No crime so bold but would be understood
A real, or at least a seeming good
Who fears not to do ill, yet f earn tho name,
And, free from conscience, is a slave to famo
Thus he the church at onco protects and

spoils;
But princes' swords are sharper than their

stylos,

And thus to th* agos post he makes amends,
Their charity destroys, their faith defends
Then did Kbgion in a lazy cell,
In empty airy contemplations dwell,
And like the block unmoved lay ; but ours,
As much too ackve, like the stork devours.

Is there no tomp'rate region con bo known
Betwixt their frigid and our tonid zono ?
Could wo not wake from that lethargic decani,
But to bo lestless in a worse extreme P
And for that lethargy was thoio no euro
But to be oast into a calontnro p
Can knowledge havo 110 bound, but must

advance

So far, to moko us wish for ignorance,
And rather in tho dork to giopo onr way,
Than led by a false guide to err by day P
Who sees these dismal hoaps but would

demand

What barbarous invader sock'd tho land ?
But whon he hoars no Goth, no Tuik, dul

bring

Tins desolation, but a Chriwtiankincr ,
When nothing but tho name of zool avpoarn
'Twixt our bost actions and tho worst of theirs ,
What does ho think our saonlocro would spare,
When such th' effects of our devotions aio p
Porting from thence 'twixt angor, fiharno, nnfl

fear,
Thoso for what's past, and this for wliat'ti loo

noor,

My oyo descending from tho Hill, smwvM
"Whoro Thames among tho wanton valley i

stuiys.

Thames ' the most lovod of all tho Ocean'}/ KOU •,
By his old siro, to his embraces rnnn,
Hasting to pay his tribute to tho HCU,
Liko mortal life to moot eternity t
Though with those streams ho no roKomlfliiuoo

hold,

Whoso foam is amber, and their snivel <rol<l -
His genuine and loss guilty wealth t7 explore,
Search not his bottom, but survey IU'H Hln^e,
O'er which ho kindly spreads his spaoiom v «iiff
And hatches plenty for th' onnmn? Hpi m« ,
Nor then destroys it with too fond a sta> ,
Liko mothers which their infants own lay ,
Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave,
Like piofuso kings, roHumoj tho wealth l«o

gave

No unexpected inundations spoil
Tho mower's hopes, nor mock tho plonglunau'n

toil,

But godlike his unwearied bounty flown ,
First loves to do, thon loves tho tyood ho doo'i
Nor arc his blessings to hw bankrt confined,
But froo and common as tho flea or wind ,
When ho, to boast or to difiporxo hw wtoron,
Full of the tributes of his cpatofnl nhoror,
Viflits tho world, and in his flym# tow'rn
Bim^s homo to us, and makes both Ind'r \

ours,
Finds wealth whoro 'Us, bostows it whoro A

wants,

Cities in dosorts, woods m cities, plants
So that to us no thing, no place, w Htran<rp,
Y/hilo his fair bosom is tho world's Exchange
O, could I flow hko theo, and mako thy sbwu»i
My gioat example, as it is my thomo '
Though doop yot clear, though gentle yet not

dull,
Strong without rage, without o'orflowing fulyL

nnt 1040 fo 1689.]

COOPER'S HILL

[SiB JOHN DBNHAM.

Hoav'n her Endanus no more stall toast,
Whoso fame in thine, like lesser curient, 's

lost,

Thy nobler streams shaH visit Jove's abodes,
To Hlimo among tho stars, and bathe the gods.
Heio Nature, whether more intent to please
UB for herself with strange varieties,
(For things of wonder give no less delight
To tho wise Maker's -flipp. beholder's sight ;
Though these delights from several causes

move,

For HO our children, thus our friends, we love)
Wisely ftho knew tho haimony of things,
Ah well as that of sounds, from discord springs
Such was tho discoid which did first disperse
Form, oidor, beauty, through tho umveico ,
Whilo drynoHS moisture, coldness hcatiepists,
All that wo have, and that wo are, subwste ,
Wlnlo tho ntcep hoind roughness of tho wood
StrivoH with tho gentle oalmno&s of the flood,
Such hugo extremes whon Nature doth unite,
Wonder from thence losultd, from thence

delight.

Tho wtroam in so transparent, pure, and clear,
^iat had tlio F.olf-onamour'd youth gazed hoie,
So fiitally docoivod ho had not boon,
Wlulo ho tlio "bottom, not his face had peon
But las proud head the any mountain hicloa
Among tho cloudn , IUH bhouldors and his sides
A Hhady mantle clothoa , lus curlod blows
Frown on tlio gontlo htroam, which calmly

flowH,
Wlulo -winds and stormw hi« lofty fcn-hcad

boat ,

TJio common fato of all that's hicfh 01 (neat.
Low at IUH foot a hpiunoiiM jtlaiii ia placed,
Bot\vo<m tho mountain and tho stieam cm-

bi ocod,

Which. Hhttdo and shelter from tho Hill derive*,
Whilo tho kind rivor wealth aud beauty gives,
And mtho mixture of all those appeals
Variety, which all tho rot.t endears
This scone had Homo bold Qrook orBntiRh bard
Behold of old, what atoriofl had wo hooid
Of famoR, satyrs, and the nymphs their dames,
Their f oasts, their revels, and their am'ious

flames P

'Tin Rtill the same, although then: airy shape
All but a quick pootio Right OHCILPO.
There FaunuB and Sylvanus kcop thoir courts,
And thithor all the homed host resorts
To graze the ranker mead , that noble herd
On whoso sublime and Hhady fronts is rcarM
Nature's great masterpiece, to show how soon
Great things are made, but sooner are undone
Hero havo I soon the Sing, when groat affairs
Oavo leave to slacken and unbend his cares,
Attended to the chase by all iho flow'r
Of youth, whoso hopes a nobler proy devour ;
Pleasure withpraise and danger they would buy,
Arid wish a too that would not only fly
Tho staq- now conscious of his fatal growth,
At onco indulgent to his f oar and sloth,
To some dark covert his retieat had made,
Whore nor man's eye, nor heaven's should
invade

His soft repose , when th' unexpected fecund
Of dogs and men Ins wakeful ear does -wound.
Boused with the noise, he scarce believes his

car,

Willing to JihTnTf th* illusions of his fear
Had given this false alarm, but straight his

view

Confirms that more than all ho fears is true.
Betray' d an all his strengths, the wood besot,
All instruments, all arts of ruin met,
Ho calls to mind his strength, and then, hit?

speed,

His winged heels, and then his armed head ;
With these t' avoid, with that hit fato to meet ,
But fear prevails, and bids fa™ tiust his feut
So fast he flies, that his reviewing eye
Has lost the chasers, and his eai the cry ,
Exulting, till he finds their nobler sense
Their dispioportion'd speed doth rccouTi'iu-,e ;
Then curses his contpinng feet, who*e t-cciit
Betiays that safety which their &TV if tuo*bltLt
Then tiies his fnends , among tho baser Loiu
Wheie ho so lately was obey'd and fcoiM,
His safety seeks ; the herd, unkindly WIHO,
Oi chafes him from thence or fiozn "M™ flic.1
Like a declining statesman, left foilorn
To his friends' pity, and pursuers' scorn,
With shame remembers, while lumeelf was on«
Of the same herd, himself the same had done.
Thonco to the coverts and tho conscious

groves,

The fccenes of his past triumphe. and hih loves,
Sadly <=rui\ eying Tvheio he ranged alone,
Prince ot the toil, and all tho heid IIIR ov.n
And like a bold knight-errant did pioclaun
Combat to all, and boio a\\ay the c'anie,
And taught the woodfc to c«ho io tlic stream
His dreadful challonge, and his clariung beam ;
Yot faintly now declines the fatal strife,
So much hiH lovo was clearer than his life.
Now ev'ry leaf, and ev'ry moving breath
PieseoitH a foe, and ov'ry fee a death
Weaned, forsaken, and purouod, at It st
All fafeiy in despair of safety placed
Courage he thence restores, repob cd in bear
All thoir assaults, snice 'tis in vain io icui
And now, too late, he wishes foi the Cj-kt
That strength he wasted in ignoble fliglit ,
But ^vlien he sees the eager chato ICLCI, '<!,
Hintf elf by dogs, "Hie dogs by men \ uirucd,
He straight revokes his bold lepolvo, and wore
Eeiients Ins courage than his fear befcic,
Finds that uncertain ways unsafe&t aro,
And doubt a greater mischief than devour
Then to tho stream, when neither friends, nor

force,

Nor speed, nor art, avail, he shapes hiaconr-c ,
Thinks not their rage BO dosp'rato to c^&ay
An element moie merciless than they
But fearless they pursue, nor can tLc flood
Quench their dire thirst , alas I they tlmst for

blood

So t'waids a ship the oar-finn'd galleys ]>h ,
Which, wanting pea to ndo, or wind to fly,
Stands but to fall levenged on thoto that dtuo
Tempt tho last fury of extreme despair.

SIB JOHN DENHAM ] EARL STRAFFORD'S TEIAL AND DEATH. [FOURTH PERIOD.—

So fares the stag , among th* enraged hounds
Eepels their force, and wounds returns for

wounds

And as a hero, whom his baser foes
In troops surround, nowthese assails, now those.
Though prodigal of life, disdains to die
By common hands , bat if he can descry
Some nobler foe approach, to him ho calls,
And begs his fate, and then contented falls.
So when the king a mortal shaft lets fly
From fog unerring hand, then gl«id to die,
Proud of the wound, to it resigns his blood,
And stains the crystal with a purple flood
This a more innocent and happy chase
Than when of old, but in the self-same plaoo,
Fair Liberty pursued, and meant a prey
To lawless power, hero turn'd, and stood at bay,
"When in that remedy all hope was placed
Which was, or should hare boon at least, the

last

Hero was that Charter soal'd wherein the crown
All marks of arbitrary power lays down ;
Tyrant and slave, those names of hato and foar,
The happier style of king anl bubject bear
Happy when both to the feo>me centre move,
When kings give liberty and subjects love
Therefoie not long in force this Charter stood ,
Wanting that seal, it must be seal'd in blood
The subjects arm'd, the more their princes

gave,

Th' advantage only took tho more to crave ,
Till kings, by giving, give themselves away,
And ev'n that power that should deny betray
"Who gives constrained, but his own fear

reviles,
Not thank'd, but scorn' d , nor are they gifts,

but spoils "
Thus kings, by grasping mpie than they could

hold,

First made their subjects by oppieqsaon bold ;
And popular sway, by forcing- kings to give
More than was fit foi subjects to receive,
Eon to the same extremes , and one excess
Hade both, by striving- to bo greater, less
When a calm river raised with sudden rains,
Or snows dissolved, o'erflows th' aborning

plains,

The husbandmen with high-raised bonks secure
Their greedy hope?, and this he con endure ,
But if with bays and dams they strive to force
His channel to a new or narrow course,
No longer then within his banks he dwells,
First to a torrent, then a deluge, swells ,
Stronger and fiercer by restraint, he roars,
And knows no bound, but makes his pow'r his

shores.
Sw John Dtmham — Horn 1615, Died 1668

577.— ON THE EABL OF STRAFFORD'S
TTCTAT. AND DEATH.

Great Strafford ' worthy of that name, though

all
Of thee could be forgotten but thy f all,

Crush' d by imaginary tiooaou's weight,
Which too much mont dad accumulate.
As chemists gold from brass by fire would

draw,

Pretexts are into treason forged by law
His wisdom such, at onco it did appear
Three kingdoms' wonder, and three kingdoms'

fear,
Whilst flinglo he stood forth, and soem'd,

although

Each had an army, as an equal f oo ,
Such was his force of eloquence, to inako
The hoaiora moro concern' d than ho tliat

spake,
Each seom'd to act that pait ho camo to

see,

And none was moro a lookor-on than ho.
So did he move our passions, Homo v/oro

known
To wish, for the defence, tho crime thoir

own,

Now pnvate pity strove with public liato,
Reason with rago, and eloquence with fate.
Now they could him, if he could them for-
give,

He's not too guilty, but too wise, to live •
Less seem those facts which treason's nickname

bore

Than such a foar'd ability for moro
Thoy after death their foars of him express,
His innocence and thoir own guilt oontoss.
Their legislative frenzy they repent,
Enacting it should moke no precedent.
Thjw fato ho could have 'scaped, but would

not lose

Honour tor Life, but lathor nobly ohoso
Death from thoir feard than safety from his

own,
That his last action all the rest might crown

Sir John DenUam, — Bom 1615, Dwd 1668.

578.— SONG TO MORPHEUS.

Morpheus, the humble god, that dwoUs
In cottages and smoky cells,
Hates gilded roofs and bods of down ;
And, though ho fears no prmco'n frown,
Flies fiora tho circle of a crown

Como, I say, thou powerful god,
And thy leadon charming rod,
Dipt m the Lethean lake,
3;er his wakeful temples shako,
Lest he should sleep and never wako.

Mature, alas ' why art thou so
Obliged to thy greatest foe ?
Sleep, that is thy best repast,
Yet of death it bears a taste,
And both are the same thing at last.

Sir John Denlwni —Born 1615, Died 1668.

From 1049 to 1089 ]

ARGALIA CONDEMNED. [WILLIAM CHAMBEBLAYNB.

579 —A SUMMER MORNING

Tho morning- hath not lost her -virgin blush,
Nor step, but mmo, soil'd the earth's tmselTd

robe.

How full of heaven this solitude appears,
This healthful comfort of the happy swam ;
Who from his hard but peaceful bed roused

up,

In 's morning exorcise saluted is
By a fall quiro of foathor'd choristers,
Wedding then? notes to the enamour* d air '
Bore nature in her unaffected dress
Plaited with valleys, and cmboss'd with hills
Enchased with silver streams, and fiinged with

woods,
Sits lovely in her native russot

William CJw.m'borlaync — Born 1619,Die<Z1689

580.— VIRGIN PURITY

The morning pearls,
Dropt in the lily's spotless bosom, are
Loss chastely oool, ore the meridian sun
Hath lass'd them into heat

WillMm Chainlet lay nc — Born 1019, Died 1089

581 .— ARGALIA CONDEMNED ON FALSE
EVIDENCE

High mounted on an obon throno on which
Th' ombollish'd silver whow'd RO sadly rich
As if its varied form Htiovc to delight
Thoso solemn soulb which death-pale fear did

f right,

In Tynan purple clad, the pnncors Rate,
Between two sterner ministers of fate,
Impartial judges, whoso diatingui&h'd tasks
Their various habit to the view unmasks
One, ui whose looks, as pity strove to draw
Compassion in the tablets of the law,
Some softness dwelt, in a majestic vest
Of state-like red was clothed, the other,

dress'd

In dismal black, whose terrible aspect
Declared his office, served but to detect
Her slow consent, i£, when the first forsook
The cause, the law so far as death did look
Silence proclaim'd, a harsh command calls*

forth

Th* undaunted prisoner, whose excelling worth
In this low ebb of fortune did appear
Such as we fancy virtues that conic near
The excellence of angels — fear had not
Rifled one drop of blood, nor rage begot
More colour in his cheeks — his soul m state,
Throned in the modium, constant virtue sat.

Yet, though now depress'd
Even in opinion, which oft proves the best
Support to those whose public virtues wo
Adore before their private guilt we see,
His noble soul still wings itself abovo
Passion's dark fogs , and like that prosperous

dove

Tho world's fiist pilot, for discovery sent,
When all the floods that bound the firmament
O'erwhelm'd tho earth, conscience* calm Joys

to increase,

Returns, height with the ohve branch of peace,
Thus fortified from all that tyrant fear
O'erawod tho guilty with, he doth appear.

* * * Not aH

Hit> virtues now protect him, he must fall
A guiltless sacrifice, to expiate
No other crime but their envenom'd hate
An ominous silence — such as oft precedes
Tho fatal sentence — while the accuser reads
His charge, possess d the pitying court in

which

Presaging calm Pharonnida, too rich
In mercy, heaven's supreme prerogative,
To stifle tears, did with her passion strive
So long, that what at first assaulted in
Sorrow's black armour, had so often been
For pity cherish'd, that at length her eyes
Found there those spirits that did sympathise
With those that warm'd hei blood, and unseen,

move
That engine of the world, mysterious love

The beauteous princess, whose free soul ha<I

been

Tot guarded in her virgin ice, and now
A stianger is to what she doth allow
Such easy entrance By tho?e rays that fall
From either' s eyes, to make reciprocal
Their yielding passions, brave Argaha felt,
Even in the grasp of death, his functions

melt

To flames, which on his heart an onset make
For sadness, such as weary mortals take
Eternal farewells m Yet in this high
Tide of his blood, in a soft calm to die,
His yielding spirits now prepare to meet
Death, clothed IT* thoughts white as his winding-
sheet

That fatal doom, which unto heaven affords
The sole appeal, one of the assisting lords
Had now pronounced whose hornd thunder

could
Not strike his laurell'd brow ; that voice which

would

Have petrified a timorous soul, he hears
With calm attention. No disorder' d fears
Ruffled his fancy, nor domestic war
Raged in his breast ; his every look so far
From vulgar passions, that, unless amazed
At beauty's majesty he sometime gazed
Wildly on that as emblems of moio groat
Glones than earth afforded, from the seat
Of resolution his fix1 d soul had not
Been siarr'd to passion, which had now begot

WILLIAM CHAMBEBLATNE.] THE ATTACHMENT DISCOVERED. [FOTTCTH Paaiow -

Wonder, not fear, within him No haish

frown
Contracts his brow ; nor did his thoughts pull

down

One famting spirit, wrapfc in smother'd groans,
To clog Ins heart. Prom her most eminent

thiones

Of sense, the eyes, the lightning of his soul
Flew, with such vigour forth, it did control
All weaker passions, and at once include
With Roman valour Christian fortitude

CJiamlcrlai/ne—Born 1619, Died 1689.

582— THE FATHER OF PHARONNIDA
DISCOVERS HER ATTACHMENT TO
ARGALIA.

Silont with passion, which his eyes inflamed,
The prince awhile beholds her ere he blamed
The fiaiity of affection , but at length,
Through the quick throng of thoughts, arm'd

with a strength,
Which crush'd the soft paternal smiles of

love.
Ho thus begins — '"And must, O must that

prove

My greatest cuise on which my hopes ordain' d
To laise my happiness ? Have I refrain' d
The pleabures of a nuptial bed, to joy
Alone in thee, nor trembled to destroy
My name, so that advancing thine I might
Live to behold my sceptre take its flight
To a more spacious empire P Have I spent
My youth tiH, grown in debt to age, she hath

coat

Diseases to arrest me that impair
My strength and hopes e'er to enjoy an heir,
Which might preserve our name, which only

now

Must in our dusty annals livo , whilst thou
Tiousfer'fffc the glory of our house on one,
Which had not I warni'd into Me, had gone,
A wrotoh f orgotten of the world, to th* earth
From whence he sprung f But tear this

monstrous birth

Of fancy from thy soul, quick as thou'dat fly
Descending wrath xf visible, or I
Shall blast thee with my anger till thy name
Rot in my memory , not as the same
That once thou werfc behold theo, but as some
Dire prodigy, which to foreshow should come
All ills which through the progress of my life
Did chance -were sent I lost a queen and

wife,

Thy vutuooB mother, who for goodness might
Have hero supplied, before she took her flight
To heaven, my better angel's place; have

since

Stood sterna of strong affliction ; still a prince
Over aay passions until now, but tms
Hath proved me co-ward. Qh,' thou dost

&22ZS9

To gneve me thus, fond girl " — With that ho

shook

His reverend head , beholds her with a look
Composed of gnef and anger, which she ROO-J
"With melting sorrow , but resolved love frooa
Her from more yielding pity —

She falls

Prostrate at's feet ; to his remembrance calls
Her dyrng mother's wiU, by whoso pale dust
She now conjures ^nm not to bo unjust
Unto that promise, with which her pure woul
Fled satisfied from earth— as to control
HOT freedom of affection —

She then

Calls to remembrance who relieved him wliou
Distress* d within Aleythius1 walls , the lovo
His subjects bore Argalia, which might yiove
Her choice her happiness , with all, how groat
A bkebhood, it was but the retreat
Of royalty to a more safe disguise
Had showed him to thoir state's deluded oyos
So mean a thing. Lovo's boundless rhotorw
About to dictate more, ho, with a qiuck
Aud furious haste, forsakes tho room, IUH ritfo
Thus boiling o'er — " And must my •wrotohoil

Be thus by thoe tormented P but tako hood,
Correct thy passions, or their cause miwt

bleed,
Until he quench tho flame—"

* * Her soul, opproK«M,

Sinks in a pale swoon, catching at tho rest
It must not yet enjoy , swift help lends light,
Though faint and glimmering, to behold what

night
Of gnof o'ershadow'd her. You that havo

been

Upon the rack of passion, tortured in
The engines of forbidden lovo, that havo
Shed fruitless tears, spout hopeless sighs, to

crave

A rigid parent's fair aspect, concoiro
What wild distraction soizod hor. I izrant

leave

Hor passions' volume only to bo road
Within the breasts of such whoao hearts havo

bled
At the like dangerous wounds

William* Clia.m'bcrlMjne — DM n 1G19, J3w</ i(J80.

583— ARG-AT.TA TAKEN PRISONER BT
TURKS.

* * The Turks had ought

Hade desperate onslaughts on tho irtto, but

brought
Nought back but woonda and infamy ; but

now,

Wearied with toft, they onro resolved tcr "bow
Their stubborn resolutions with tho strength
Of not-to-be-resisted wont the length
Of the chronical disease extended had
To some few months, since to oppress tho sad

.ft »M HMO to 1689]

ABGALTA TAKEN PRISONER. [WILLIAM CHAMBEBLAYNE.

But constant islanders, the army lay,
Circling tlioir confines Whilst this tedious

From battle rusts the soldier's valour in
His tamtod cabin, thoie had often bean,
With all variety of fortune, fought
Brave &mglo combats, whose success had

brought

Honour's unwither'd laurels on the brow
Of oithor party ; but the balance now
Forced by the hand of a brave Turk, inclined
Wholly to them. Thrice had his valour shined
In victory's refulgent rays, thnco heard
The nhouts of conquest , thnce on his lance

appcar'd

The heaila of noble Khodians, which had atinck
A general sorrow 'mongfet the knights. All

look

Who next tlio lusts should enter , each desires
The task wore hia, but honour now requires
A spirit more than vulgar, or she dies
The next attempt, their valour' fa sacrifice ;
To prop whoso ruins, chosen by the free
Com ont of oil, Axgaha oomofl to bo
Their hippy champion Truce proclaimed,

until

The oomhat ends, th' expecting people fill
The HpatnouH battlements , the Turks forsake
Thuir touts, of whom the city ladies tike
A dreadful view, till a more noble sight
Diverts their looks; oach part behold tlioir

knight

With various wishes, whilst m blood and twoat
Tlioy toil for victoay The conflict' b ho«it
Rugod in thour veins, which honour more

inflamed
Than bnrmng calentures could do; both

blamed

The foeblo mflttenoo of their stars, that gave
No Rpoedior conquest ; each neglects to save
HimHolf , to seek advantage to offend
His eager foe. * # #

* * * Bisfc now so long

The Turks' proud champion had endured the

AHHaultn of the stout Christian, till his strength
Cool'd, on the ground, with his blood— ho foil

at length,
Bouoath his conquering sword. The barbarous

crow

O' the villains that did at a distance view
Their champion's foil, all bsuada of truce forgot,
Kunuiug to succour him, begin a hot
And desperate oombvfc mth. those knights that

To aid Argalia, "by whose conquering hand
Whole squadrons of thorn fall, bub here he

spent

Km mighty spirit in vain, their cannons rent
Hia scatter' d troops.

Arj^aka hos in chains, ordain'd to die

A sacrifice unto tho eruakfcy

Of tho fierce ba»h»v, whose loved favourite in

TLui combat lofce ha slow ; yot had not boon

In that so much unhappy, had not he,

That honour'd then his sword with victory,

Half-brother to Janusa been, a bright

But cruel lady, whoso refined delight

Her slave (though husband), Ammur&t, durst

not
Ruffle with discontent, wherefore, to cool

that hot

Contention of her blood, which he foresaw
That heavy news would from her anger draw,
To quench with tho brave Christian's death, he

sent

Him living to her, that her anger, spent
In flaming torments, might not settle in
The dregs oi discontent Staying to win
Some Bhodian castles, all the prisoners were
Sent with a guard into Sardinia, there
To moot their wretched thraldom From tho

rest

Argalia sever'd, soon hopes to be blest
With speedy death, though waited on by all
The hell-instructed torments that could fall
Within invention's reach ; but ho's not yet
Arrived to his period, his unmoved stars sit
Thus m tlioir orbs secured It was the use
Of th' Turkish pzide, which triumphs in th'

abuse

Of suffering Chribtians, once, before they take
The ornaments of nature off, to make
Their prisoners public to the view, that all
Might mock their miseries tibif* sight did cull
Janusa to her palace-window, where,
Whilst she beholds them, love resolved to bear
Her ruin on hoi tieaoherous eye-beams, till
Her heart infected giew , their orbs did fill,
As the most pleasing object, with the sight
Of him whoso sword open'd a way for the

flight

Of hor loved brother's soul At the first new
Passion had struck her dumb, but when it

grew

Tnto desire, she speedily did send
To have his name — which knows, luie dad

defend
Her heart ; besieged with lore;, she stgfcs, and

straight

Commands him to a dungeon • but love's bait
Cannot be so cast up, though to efface
His image from her soul she strives Tho

place

For execution she commands to be
'Gainst the next day prepared ; but rest and

she

Grow one BIOS about it • if she steal
A slumber from her thoughts* that doth reveal
Her passions m a dream, sometimes she

thought
She saw her brother's pale gnm ghost,, that

brought
His gnsly wounds to show hor, smear'd in

blood,

Standing before t&er sight , and by that flood
Those red streams wept, unplormg vengeance,

then,
Earagod, sho ados, " 0, let dmr die ! " B -

when

WILLIAM CHAMBSBLAYNE ] ARGALIA TAKEN* PBISCXBTER.

[FOURTH PEKTOD -

Her sleep-nnprison'd fancy, wandering in
The shades of darkon'd reason, did begin
To draw Argaka's image on tor soul,
Love's sovereign power did suddenly controul
The stiength oi those abortive embryos,

From smother'd anger The glad birds had

sung

A lullaby to night, tho lark was fled,
On dropping wings, up from his dewy bod,
To fan them, in the rising sunbeams, ore
Whose early reign Janusa, that could bear
No longer lock'd within her breast so great
An army of rebellious passions, beat
From reason's conquer' d fortress, did unfold
Her thoughts to Manto, a stout wench , whose

bold
Wit, join'd with zeal to servo her, had en-

dear'd

Her to her best affections Having elear'd
All doubts with hopeful promise,5', her maid,
By whose close wiles this plot must be con-
vey'd,

To secret action of her council makes
Two eunuch pandars, by whose help she takes
Argalia from his keeper's charge, as to
Suffer more torments than the rest should do,
And lodged Tung m that castle to affright
And soften his great soul with fear The light,
Which lent its beams into the dismal place
In which he lay, without presents the face
Of horror smear9 d in blood , a scaffold built
To be the stage of murder, blush'd with guilt
Of Christian blood, by several torments let
From th' imprisoning veins This object set
To startle his resolves if good, and make
His future joys more welcome, could not shake
The heaven-built pillars of his soul, that stood
Steady, though in the slippery paths of blood.
The gloomy night now sat enthroned in dead
And silent shadows, midnight curtains spread
The earth in black for what the falling day
Had blush'd in flic, whilst tho brave pns'ner

lay,

Circled in darkness, yet in those shades spends
The hours with angels, whose assistance lends
Strength to the wings of faith

He beholds
A glimmering light, whose near approach

unfolds
The leaves of darkness. While his wonder

grows

Big with amazement, the dun taper shows
False Manto enter'd, who, prepared to be
A bawd unto her lustful mistress, came,
Not with persuasive rhetoric to inflame
A heart congeaTd with death's approach.

* * * *

Most blest of men '
Compose thy wonder, and let only joy
Dwell in thy soul My coming's to destroy,
Not nurse thy trembling fears be but so wise
To follow thy swift fate, and thou mays* rise

Above the reach of danger In thy arms
Circle that power whose radiant brightness

charms
Fierce Ammurat's angor, when his descents

shine

In a full orb of forces , what was thin©
Ere made a prisoner, though the doubtful

state

Of her best Christian monarch, will abate
Its splendour, when that daughter of the

night,

Thy feeble star, shines in a heaven of light.
If life or hbeity, then, bear a shape
Worthy thy courting, swear not to escape
By the attempts of strength, and I will ireo
The iron bonds of thy captivity
A solemn oath, by that groat power ho served,
Took, and believed • his hopes no longer starved
In expectation From that swarthy seat
Of sad despair, his narrow jail, replete
With lazy damps, she leads birn to a room
In whose delights joy's summer seom'd to

bloom,

There left him to the brisk society
Of costly baths and Corsic wines, whoso high
And sprightly tempers from cool sherbets

found

A calm ally , here his harsh thoughts unwound
Themselves in pleasure, as not feanng fate
So much, but that he dares to recreate
His spirit, by unwieldy action tired,
With all that lust into no crime had nrod.
By mutes, those silent -mi-maters of sin,
His sullied garments were removed, and in
Their place such vanous habits laid, as pndo
Would clothe her f avountes with. *

Unruffled here by the rash wearer, rests
Fair Persian mantles, nch Solavonian vests.

Though on this swift variety of fato

He looks with wonder, yet lus brave eoul salo-

Too safe within her guards of reason, to

Be shook with passion that there's womo-

•frhi •nor jiQTflr

And strange approaching after such a storm,
This gentle calm assures him. *

His limbs from wounds but late rocovcr'd,

now

Refresh' d with liquid odours, did allow
Their suppled nerves no softer rest, but in
Such robes as wore their ornament within,
Veil'd o'er their beauty. * *

His guilty conduct now had brought him near
Janusa' s room, tho glaring lights appear
Thorough the window's crystal walls, the

strong

Perfumes of balmy incense mix'd among
The wandering atoms of the BOX did fly

* * The open doors allow

From 1649 to 1689 ] DEATH OF JAOTSA AND AMMURAT. [WILLIAM

A free access into tho room, where oome,
Such real forms he saw as would strike dumb
Tho Alcoran's tales of Paradise, the fair
And sparkhng gems i* the gilded roof impair
Their taper's fire, yet both themselves confess
Woak to those flames Janusa's eyes possess
With such a joy as bodies that do long
For souls, fiha.11 meet them in the doomsday

She that ruled princes, though not passions,

sato

Waiting her lover, on a throne whose state
Epitomized the empire's wealth , her robe,
With costly pnde, had robb'd the chequer'd

globe

Of its most fair and orient jewels, to
Enhance its value , captive princes who
Had lost their crowns, might there those gems

have Rcon.

Placed in a Boat near her bright throne, to

stir
His settled thoughts she thus begins " From

her

Tour sword hath so much injured as to shed
Blood so near Inn to mine, that it was fed
By tho same milky fountains, and within
One womb warm'd into life, is such a sin
I could not pardon, did not love commit
A rape upon my moroy all tho wit
Of man in vain inventions had been lost,
Ero thou redeem' d , which now, although it

cost

Tho price of all my honours, I will do .
Bo but so full of gratitude as to
Repay my oaro with love. Why dost thou

thus

Sit dumb to my discourse P it lies in us
To raise or ruin thce, and make my way
Thorough their bloods that our embraces

stay."

* * * #

To charm those sullen spirits that within
The dark cells of his conscience might have

boon

Yot by religion hid— that gift divine,
Tho soul's composure, music, did refine
Tho lazy air, whoso pohsh'd harmony,
Whilst dancing in redoubled echoes, by
A wanton song- was answor'd, whose each part
Invites tho hearing to betray tho heart
Having with all theso choice flowers strew' d tho

way

That loads to lust, to shun the slow decay
Of hifl approach, her sickly passions haste
To dio in action. "Oome," she ones, "we

waste
Tho precious minutes. Now thou know'fet for

what
Thou'rt sont for hither."

Bravo Argalia sits,
With virtue cool'd * * *

* » " And mutt my freedom then

At such a rate be purchased P rather, when

My life expires in torments, let my name
Forgotten die, than live in black-mouth'd

fame,

A servant to thy lust. Go, tempt thy own
Damn'd infidels to sin, that ne'er had known
The way to virtue not this cobweb veil
Of beauty, which thou wear'et but as a jail
To a soul pale with guilt, can cover o'er
Thy mind's deformity. # * *

Bent from these gilded pleasures, send me to
A dungeon dark as hell, where shadows do
Reign in eternal silence , let these noh
And costly robes, the gaudy trappings which
Thou mean'st to clothe my sin in, be exchanged
For sordid rags. When thy fierce spleen hath

ranged
Through all invented torments, choose the

worst

To punish my denial , less accurst
I so shall perish, than if by consent
I taught thy guilty thoughts how to augment
Their son in action, and, by giving ease
To thy blood's fever, took its loath'd disease."

* * * Her look,

Cast like a felon's * * *

Was sad ; with silent grief the room she leaves

William Clwmberlayne. — Bom 1619, Died 1689

584.— THE DEATH OF JACTUSA AND
AMMTTBAT.

Placed, by false Manto, in a closet, which,
Silent and sad, had only to enrich
Its roof with light, some few neglected beams
Sent from Janusa's room, which serve as streams
To watch intelligence , here he beheld,
While she who with his absence had expell'd
All thoughtful cares, was with her joy swell* d

high,

As captives are when calTd to liberty
Perfumed and costly, her fair bed was more
Adorn'd than shnnes which costly kings adore ,
Incense, in smoky curls, climbs to the fair
Boof , whilst choice music rarefies the an ,
Each element in more perfection hero,
Than in tho first creation did appear,
Tet lived in harmony the wing*d fire lent
Perfumes to the air, that to moist cordials pent
In crystal vials, strength , and those impart
Their vigour to that ball of earth, the heart.
The nice eye here epitomized might see
Rich Persia's wealth, and old Eome's luxury.

But now, hke Nature's now-made favourite,
Who, until ali created for delight
Was framed, did ne'or see Paradise, comes in
Deceived Argaha, thinking he had been
CaJl'd thither to behold a penitent

* * * * 24

AttBBfiLAYinB ] DEATH 0F JCASTUSA .ACND AMMtTBAT [FotTBTS 'PaBioix-

*• * Witt such a high

'Heroic scorn as aged saints that die,
Heaven's fav'ntes, leave the trivial, world — he

slights

That gilded pomp , no splendent beam invites
His serious eye to meet their objects in
% An amorous glance, reserved as he had been
* Before his grave confessor : he beholds
Beauty's bright magic, while its art unfolds
Great love's mysterious nddles, and commands
Captive Jannsa to infringe the bands
Of matrimonial. modesty. When all
Temptation fails, she leaves her throae to fall,
The acorn of greatness, 'at his feet *butpr*yer,
Like flattery, expires in'useless air,
Too weak to batter that firm confidence
Then* torment's "tlitaider could not shake.

From hence

•Despair, love's tyrant, had enforced her to
More wild attempts, had not her (Ammurat,

who,

Unseen, beheld all this, prevented, by
His Bight, the death of bleeding modesty.

Made swift with rage, the ruffled curtain flies
His angry touch — he enters — fbc'd his eyes,
From whence some drops of rage distil, on her
Whose heart had lent her face its character.
'Whilst he stood red with flaming anger, she
Looks pale with fear — passion's disparity
Dwelt in their troubled breasts ; his wild eyes

stood

Like comets, when attracting' storms of blood
Shook with portentous sad, the 'Whilst hers

sate
Like the dull earth, when trembling at the

fate

Of those ensuing- evils — heavy fix'd
Within their orbs Passions thus strangely

nuz'd,

No various fever e'er created in
The phrenzied brain, when sleep's sweet calm

had been
From her Soft throne deposed.

Sc having paused, his dreadful voice thus broke
The dismal silence . —
" Thou curse of my nativity, that more
Affects me than eternal wrath can do—
Spirits condemn* d, some' fiends, instruct me to
Heighten revenge to thy desert , but so
I should do more than mortals may, and throw
Thy spotted soul to flames Yet I will give
Its passport hence , for think not to outlive
This hour, this fatal hour, ordain'd'to see
More than an age before of tragedy "

* * Feanng tears should win

The victory of anger, Ammurat draws
His scimitar, which had in blood writ laws
For oonquer'diprovizioes, and with a s.vift
And cruel rage, ere penitence could lift
Her burthen* d soul in a repentant thought

Towards heaven, sheathes the cold steel in her

soft

And snowy breast 'with a loud groan she falls
Upon the bloody floor, half breathless, calls
'For his'tmtimely pity , tbut perceiving
The fleeting spirits, with her blood, were

leaving

'He* heart unguarded, she imploroatnai breath
Which yet remain' d, not to bewail her death,
But beg* his life that caused it — on her kneoa,
Struggling to rise. But now calm'd Ammuiat

frees
Her from disturbing death, in 'his lost gicat

work,
And thus declares some virtue in a Turk

" I have, brave Christian, by perusing thoo
In this great art of honour, learnt to bo,
Too late, thy follower this ring (with that
Gives Turn his signet) shall, when question' d at
The castle guards, thy safety be. And now
I see her blood's low water doth allow
Me only tune to launch my soul's black bark
Into death's rubric sea — for to the dark
And silent region, though wo hero * were by
Passion divorced, fortune shall not deny
Our souls to sail together From thy eyes
Bemove death's load, and see what sacrifice
My love is- offering." With that word, a stroke
Pierces his breast, -whose speedy pains invoke
Death's opiates to appease thorn, he sinks

down

By's dying wife, who, ere the cold flood drown '
Life in the deluge of her wounda, once more
Betrays her eyes to the light , and though they

wore

The weight of death upon their lidu, did keep
Them so long open, till thO'ioy sloop
Began to seize on him, and then who cries —
" 0 see, just heaven ' sec, see my Ammurat dies,
To wandei with me in tho unknown shade
Of immortality — But I have mode
The wounds that murthor'd both hiu hand

that gave

Mine, did but gently let mo blood to savo
An everlasting fevor Pardon me,
My dear, my dying lord. Eternity
Shall see my soul whitewash' d in tears ; but

oh i

I now feel time's dear want — they will not flow
Fast as my stream of blood Christian, fare-

well'

Whene'er thou dost our tiagic story toll,
Do not extenuate my crimes, but let
Them m their own black characters be sot,
Near Ammuml's bright virtues, that, read by
Th' unpractised lover, which posterity,
Whilst wanton winds play with our dust, shall

raise

On beauties , that the good may justice praise
By Ins example, and the bad by TMITIA
From vice's throne be soared to virtue's

* * * This,

She ones, is our last interview " — a* kiss

Front 1(349 to 1689 ]

A PANEGYBIC

[EDMUND WALLEB.

Thon joins their bloodless lips — each close the

Of the. other, whilst the parting spirit files
WtXham CJiamberlayne. — Bw n 1610, Died 1689.

585.— ON A GIRDLE

That winch her slender waist confinel
Shall now my joyf al tomplos bind ,
It was my hoav'n's ostrcmeBt sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer ,
•My Jo.Y» *ny grief, my hope, my love,
Did ill within this circle move '
A. narrow compass ' and yet there
Dwelt all tliat'H good, and all that's fan
(hvo mo but wluit thu ribbon bonnd,
'lake nil tho rofat the sun goes round

— Itoni, 1C05, Died 1G87

586.— ON LOVE.

r, in liasty word** or blown,
[ U<»lt discharges on our foes ,
And sorrow, too, finds Homo loliof
Cn ioaiN, which wait upon onr grief
So ev'iy pfufffion, but fond love,
Unto itf» own i odroHH doew mo\ o ,
Bui thai alone tho wiotch mclmcrt
To what ino\GuLH IUH own designs ,
MalttM lain lumont, .tnd high, and woep,
Dii-tonlci'd, tiomblo, fawn, am) ococp,
Postar<M which ii*iulev him dunpihod,
Whcru ho ourtoavoiu'H to be pmod,
For women (born to bo coniroll'd)
Htoo]) to Hie forward and iho bold ,
Affect tlio liaughty and iho proud,
Tho gay, tho frolic, and tho loud,
Who first tho gon'rous steed oppiowt,
Not knoolmg did saluto the boabt ,
But with high courago, life, and foico,
Approaching, baxn'd th* unruly horse

Unvii^oly wo tho WIHCI Easb
Pity, suppowng thorn opproHfc
"With tyrants' force, whoHO law IB will,
tty -which they govern, Hpoil, and kill ,
Riioli njmph, but morleiafcoly fair,
Command* wrtli no loss ngour liero
Should porno bravo Turk, that walks among
HIM twenty lapses, 'bright and young,
Uoliolil us many flnJL'uitw here,
Wilh modest gm«o and Bilent fear,
All to one fomalo jdol bond,
Whilo her high pride doeb scarce descend
To mark their follies, he would swear
That these her guard of ounuuhs wore,
And thai a more majestic quoon,
Or humbler slaves, lie had not seen.

All this with mdignation spoko,
l7i vain I straggled with tho yoke
Of mighty Love iliab couqu'nng look,
"When next beheld, like hglitmng strook

My blasted soul, and made me bow
Lower than those I pitied now.

So 'tho toll stag, upon the brink
Of some 'smooth stream, about -to dxmk,
Surveying there his armed head,
With shame remembers that he fled
The scorned dogs, resolves to try
The combat next , but if their cry
Invades again his trembling ear,
He straight resumes his wonted GOTO ,
Leaves the untasted spring behind,
And, wmg'd with fear, outflies the wind.

Efanvnd Waller — Bmn 1C05, Died 1687.

587— A PA3TEGYRIC TO THE LOED
PROTECTOR.

While with a strong and yet a gentle hand,
You bridle faction, and our hcoits command,
Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe,
Make us unite, and make us conquer too

Let partial spirits still aloud complain,
Think themselves mjur'd that they cannot

leign,

And own no liberty, but where they may
Without contiol upon then- fcllowb prey

Above the wa,ve& a& Neptune fchow'd his face,
To chide tho winds., and &avo iho Trogan race ;
So has your highness, raib'd above the rest,
Storms of ambition, to&&mg us, represt.

Tour drooping country, torn with civil halo,
Rebtor'A by you, is made a glonoufe state ,
The seat of empire, whoie the In&h come,
And iho unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom,

Tho sea 's our own and now all nations greet,
With bending sails, «ach vessel of our flaet •
Your power extends as far as winds can blow,
Or swelling' soils upon tho globe may go.

Heaven (that hath plao'd tins island to give

law,

To balance Europe, and her states to awe)
In this conjunction doth on Britain smile,
The greato&t leader, and the greatest i&le '

Whether this portion of the world were rent,
By the rude ocean, from tlio continent,
Or thus created , it was pure dew^n'd
To be the sacred refuge of mankind.

Hither th' oppross'd shall henceforth resort,
Justice to crave, and succoui, at your court ;
And then your highness, not for our's alone,
But for the world's protector shall be known

Fame, swifter than your winged navy* *kOB
Through every land, that near the ocean lies ;
Sounding your name, and tolling dreadful

news
To all that piracy and rapine use. „ . ^

WALLER ]

A PANEGYRIC.

[FOURTH PERIOD. —

With such a chief the meanest nation blest,
Might hope to lift her head above the rest
What may be thought impossible to do
By ns, embraced by the sea and yon P

Lords of the world's great waste, the ocean,

we

Whole forests send to reign upon the sea ;
And every coast may trouble, or relieve •
But none can visit ns without your leave.

Angels and we have this prerogative,
That none can at our happy seats arrive •
Wliile we descend at pleasure, to invade
The bad with vengeance, and the good to aid.

Our little world, the image of the great,
Like that, amidst the boundless ocean set,
Of her own growth hath all that nature craves,
And all that's rare, as tribute from the waves

As Egypt does not on the clouds rely,
But to the Nile owes more than to the sky ,
So, what our Earth, and what our Heaven,

Our ever-constant friend, the sea, supplies.

The taste of hot Arabia's spice we know,
Free from the scorching sun that makes it

grow

Without the worm, in Persian silks we shine ;
And, without planting, dnnk of every vine

To dig for wealth, we weary not our limbs ,
G-old, though the heaviest metal, hither swims.
Ours is the harvest where the Indians mow,
We plough the deep, and reap what others
sow.

Things of the noblest kind our own soil breeds,
Stout are our men, and warlike are our steeds
Borne, though her eagle through the world

had flown,
Could never make this island all her own

Here the third Edward, and the Black Prince

too,

Franco-conquering: Henry flounsh'd, and now
> yo&»

For whom we stay'd, as did the Grecian state,
Till Alexander came to urge their fate

When for more worlds the Macedonian ory'd,
He wist not Thetis in her lap did hide
Another yet a world reserVd for you,
To make more great than that he did subdue

He safely might old troops to battle lead,
Against th' unworhke Persian and the Mede,
Whose hasty flight did, from a bloodless field,
More spoils than honour to the victor yield

A race uuoonquer'd, by their clime made bold,
The Caledonians, arm'd with want and cold,
Have, by a fate indulgent to your fame,
Been from all ages kept for you to tame.

Whom the old Roman wall so ill confln'd,
With a new chain of garrisons you bind .
Here foreign gold no more shall make thorn

come,
Our English iron holds them fast at homo.

They, that henceforth must be content to

know

No warmer region than their wi* of snow,
May blame the sun , but must extol your grace,
Which in our senate hath allow' d them place.

Prefer'd by conquest, happily o'erthrown,
Falling they rise, to be with us made one .
So kind dictators made, when they come

home,
Their vanquished foes free citizens of Rome,

Like favour find the Irish, with like fato
Advanced to be a portion of our state ,
Whale by your valour, and your bounteous

mind,
Nations divided by the sea are join'd.

Holland to gain your friendship, is content
To be our out-guard on the continent .
She from her fellow-provinces would go,
Rather than hazard to have you her foe.

In our late fight, when cannons did diffuse,
Preventing posts, the terrour and the nows,
Our neighbour princes trembled at their roar ;
But our conjunction makes them Iromblo
more

Tour never-failing sword made war to coaso,
And now you heal us with the acts of poace ;
Our minds with bounty and with awe engage,
Invite affection, and restrain our rago

Less pleasure take brave minds in battles won.
Than in restoring such as are undone
Tigers have courage, and the rugged boar,
But man alone can, whom he conquers, spare,

To pardon, wilbng, and to punish, loth,

You strike with one hand, but you hoal with

both;

Lifting up all that prostrate lie, you grieve
You cannot make the dead again to livo

When Fate or errour had our ago misled,
And o'er this nation such confusion spread ;
The only cure, which could from Heaven como

down,
Was so much power and piety in one.

One- f whose extraction from an ancient lino
Gives hope again, that well-born men may

shine,

The meanest in your nature, mild and good :
The noblest rest secured in your blood.

Oft have we wonder' d, how you hid in peace
A mind proportion' d to such things as those j
How such a ruling sp'rit you could restrain,
And practise first over yourself to reign

From 1649 to 1689 ]

AT PBNSHUBST

[EDMUND WALLBB.

Your private life did a just pattern give,
How fathers, hnsbandb, pious sons, should

live,

Born to command, your princely virtues slept,
Like humble David's, while the flock he kept

But when your troubled oountiy call'd you

foith,
Your flfl.Tnmg courage and your matchless

worth,

Dazzling the eyes of all that did pretend,
To fierce contention gave a prosperous end

Still, as you rise, the state, exalted too,
Finds no distemper while 'tis chang'd by you ,
Chanj»'d like the world's great scene ' when

without noise,
The rising sun night's vulgai lights destroys

Hod you, some ages pa&t, this race of glory
Bun, with amazement wo should read your

story

But living virtue, all achievements past,
Moots envy still, to grapple with at last

This Ccosar found , and that ungratof ul age,
With losing him, went back to blood and

rage,

Mistaken Brutus thought to break their yoko,
But out the bond of union with that stroke

That sun once sot, a thousand moaner stars,
Gave a dim light to violence and wars ,
To such a tompost as now threatens all,
Did not your mighty arm prevent the fall

If Rome's great senate could not wield that

sword,
Which of the conquer 'd world had made them

lord,
What hope had ours, while yet their power

was new,
To rule victorious armies, but by you ?

You ' that had taught them to subdue their

foes,
Could order teach, and their high spirits

compose

To every duty could their minds engage,
Provoke their courage, and command their

rage.

So, when a lion shakes his dreadful mane,
And angry grows, if he that first took pom
To tame his youth, approach the haughty

Ho bonds to Trim, but frights away the rest

As the vcx'd world, to find repose, at last
Itself into Augustus' arms did cast ,
So England now does, with like toil opprest,
Her weary head upon your bosom rest.

Then let the Muses, with such notes as these.
Instruct us what belongs unto our peace '
Your battles they hereafter shall indite,
And draw the image of our Mars in fight ;

Tell of towns storm'd, of armies over-run,
And mighty kingdoms by your conduct won ;
How, while you thunder' d, clouds of dust did

choke
Contending troops, and seas lay hid in smoke.

Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse,
And every conqueror creates a Muse :
Here in low strains your milder deeds we sing*
But there, my lord' we'll bays and olive
bring

To crown your head, while you in triumph ride
O'er vanquish' d nations, and the sea beside ,
While all your neighbour pnnoes unto you,
lake Joseph's sheaves, pay reverence and bow,

Edmund Waller.— Boi n 1605, Died 1687.

588.— AT PENSHTJRST.

While in tlnis park I sing, the listening deer
Attend my passion, and forget to fear ;
When to the beeches I report my flame,
They bow their heads, as if they felt the same.
To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers
With loud complaints, they answer me in

showers

To thee a wild and cruel soul is given,
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the

heav'n f
LOVO'B foe profess'd ' why dost thou falsely

feign

Thyself a Sidney * from which noble strain
Ho sprung, that could so far exalt the name
Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame ;
That all we can of love or high desire,
Seems but the smoke of amorous Sidney's fire.
Nor coll her mother who so well does prove
One breast may hold both chastity and love.
Never can she, that so exceeds the spring
In joy and bounty, be supposed to bring
One so destructive. To no human stock
We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rook ;
That cloven rook produced thee, by whose side
Nature, to recompense the fatal pride
Of such stern beauty, placed those healing

springs
Which not more help than that destruction

brings

Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone,
I might, like Orpheus, with my num'rous moan
Melt to compassion , now my traitorous song
With thee conspires to do the singer wrong ,
While thus I suffer not myself to lose
The memory of what augments my woes ,
But with my own breath still foment the fire,
Which flames as high as fancy can aspire '
This last complaint the indulgent ears did

pierce

Of just Apollo, president of verse ,
Highly concern' d that the Muse should bring
Damage to one whom he had taught to sing :

WALLER ]

THE BUD

[FOUBTH PHBIOD —

Tims lie advised me " On yon aged tree
Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the sea,
That there with wonders thy diverted mind
Some truce, at least, may with this passion

find"
Ah, cruel nymph ' from whom her humble

swain

Flies for relief unto the raging mam,
And from the winds and tempests does expect
A milder fate than from her cold neglect '
Yet there he'll pray that the unkind may prove
Blest xn her choice ; and vows this endless

love

Springs from no hope of what she can confer,
Bat from those gifts which Heav'n has heap'd

on her

Edmund Waller— Bom 1605, Died 1687.

589^ THE BUD.

Lately on yonder swelling bush,
Big with many a coming rose,
This early bud began to blush,
And did but half itself disclose ;
I pluck* d it though no better grown,
And now you see how full 'tis blown.

Still, as I did the leaves inspire,
With such a purple light they shone,
As if they had been made of fiie,
And spreading so would flame anon.
AIL that was meant by air or tun,
To the young now'r my breath has done.

If our loose breath so much can do,
What may the same in forms of love,
Of purest love and music too,
When Flavia ifc aspires to move 9
When that which lifeless buds persuades
To was more soft, her youth invades p

E&mvaid Waller — JJofti 1605, Died 1687

590— SAT, LOVELY DEEAM !

A SONG

Say, lovely dream » where couldst thou find
Shades to counterfeit that face p

Colours of this glorious kind
Come not from any mortal place

In heav'n itself thou sure wert dress'd

With that angel-like disguise ,
Thus deluded, am I blest,

And see my joy with closed eyes.

But, ah ' this image is too kind

To be other than a dream ;
Cruel Sachanssa's mind

Ne'er put on that sweet extreme.

Fair dream T if thou intond'st mo grace,
Change that heavenly f aoo of thine ,

Paint despised love in thy face,
And make it t' appear like mmo

Pale, wan, and meagre, let it look,

With a pity-moving shape,
Such as wander by the brook

Of Lethe, or from graves escape

Then to that matchless nymph apjoar,
In whose shape thou slunost so ,

Softly in her sleeping car
With humble words ogress my woo

Perhaps from greatness, state, and pndo,

Thus surprised, Bhe may fall ;
Sleep does disproportion hide,

AT*JJ death resembling, equals all

Edmund Wall& — Born 1605, DW& 1687.

l( 591.— GO, LOVELY EOSE '

A SONG.

Go, lovely rose '

Tell her that wastes her time and mo,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to bo

Tell her, that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,

That, hadst thou sprung

In deserts, where no men abido,

Thou must have uncommendod died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired ,

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to bo admired.

Then die ' that she

The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee,

How small a part of time they sliaro

That are so wondxou& sweet and lair r

Edmund Walla —Born 1G05, Died 1087

592.— OLD AGE AND DEATH

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er ,
So calm are we when passions are no moro
For then we know how vain it was to boatft
Of fleeting tilings, too certain to bo lost.
Clouds of affection from our younger oyoB
Conceal that emptiness which ago descries

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay''1,
Lets in new Kght through rihm>* that tuz*u
has mads:

From 1649 to 1689.]

OF THE QUEEN.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,
As they draw near- to thejr eternal home
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they

•view,
That stand upon the threshold of the new

Edmund Waller— Bom 1C05, Died 1687.

593— TO AMORET

Fair ' that you may trnly know,
"What you unto Thyrsis owe ,
I will tell you how I do
SachariBsa love, and you.

Joy salutes mo, when I set
My blest cyos on Amoret
But with wonder I am strook,
While I on tho other look

If sweot Amoret complains,
I have sense of all her pains
But for Sacharishu, I
Do not only grieve, but die

All that of myself is mine,
Lovely Amoret ' is thine,
Sacharibsa's captive fain
Would untio his iron chaw ,
And, thoBQ scorching booms to shun
To thy gentle shadow run

If tho soul had free olcction
To diHposo of her affection ,
I would not thus long have borno
Haughty Saohanssa'H scorn
But 'tis fiure somo power above,
Which controln our wills m love f

If not a lovo, a strong desire
To create and HproM.that fire
In my buoawt solicits mo, »
BeautoouB Amorot ' for thoe*

"Tiw amazojuont moro than lovo,
Which hor riwliant eyos do move .
If less splendour wait on tlune,
Yet they so bomgnly shine,
I would turn my dazzled raght
To behold their milder light
But as hard 'tis to destroy
That high flame, as to enjoy •
Which how oas'ly I may do,
Heaven (as eas'ly scaled) does know '

Amoret ! as sweot and good
As the most delicious food,
Which* but tasted, does impart
Life and gladness to the heart.

Saohanssa's beauty 's wine,
Which to madncfit* doth«wchne .
Such a liquor, an no braonj
That is mortal can hustaan.

Scaaoe can I to Hpaven excuse
The dovotion, which I uaa
Unto that adored dame
For 'tis not unlike tho pairo,
Which I thither ouc&t to wjnd
So that if it could take end,
'Twould to Heaven itself be due,
To succeed hor, and not you :

Who already have of me

AH that's not idolatry •

Which* though not so fierce a, flame.

Is longer like to be the same.

Then smile on me, and I will prove
Wonder is shorter-lived than love

Edmund Wallei .—Born 1005,

594 — TO PHYLLIS.

Phyllis ' why -sliould we dejay
Pleasures shorter than the day p
Could wo (which we never can ')
Stretch our lives beyond their span,
Beauty like a shadow flies,
And our youth before us dies
Or, would youth and beauty stay,
Love hath wings, and will away
Love hath swifter wings than Time ;
Change in love to Heaven does cliinbj
Gods, that never change their, state,
Vary oft their love and hate.

Phyllis ! to this truth we owe
AH the love betwixt us two •
Let not you and I inquire,
What has been our past desire ,
On what shepherd you have smiled,
Or what nymphs I have beguiled .
Leave it to the planets too,
What we shall hereafter do •
For the joys we now may prove,
Take advioo of present lovo

Edmund Wallw—Born 1605, Died 1687.

595,-r-OF THE QUEEN.

The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs, to bmI4
Her humble nest, lies Silent in the field ,
But if (the promise of a cloudless day)
Aurora*, smiling, bids her ns* and play,
Thon straight she shows 'twas not for want of

voice

Or power to climb, she made so, low a choice •
Singing she mounts; her mry winga are

stretcVd
Towards hoayen, as if from heaven fcer note

So we, rofa.ff.iag from- the busy thnong,
TJso to restrain, th' ambition of our song j
But since tho light which now informs our age
Breaks from the court, indulgent to her rage.,
Thither my Muse, li]se»bold Prometheus, fliegj
To light her torch at Glonana's eyes
* * * *

For Mercy has, could Mercy's self be seen,
No sweeter look tjian Uus propitious queen
Such guard and comfort the distressed find,
From her large power, and from her larger
mind,

BDMTTND WALLER.]

ON MY LADY SYDNEY'S PICTURE [FOUBTH PEBIOIX-

That whom ill Fate would ruin, it prefers,
For all the miserable are made hers.
So the fair tree whereon the eagle builds,
Poor sheep from tempests, and their shep-
herds, shields

The royal bird possesses all the boughs,
But shade and shelter to the nook allows

Edmund Waller.— Born 1605, Died 1687.

596.— ON MY LADY SYDNEY'S PICTURE.

Such was Philoolea, and such Dorus' flame '
The matchless Sydney, that immortal frame
Of perfect beauty, on two pillars placed,
Not his high fancy could one pattern, graced
With such extremes of excellence, compose
Wonders so distant in one face disclose '
Such cheerful modesty, such humble state,
Moves certain love, but with as doubtful fate
As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see
Inviting fruit on too sublime a tree
All the noh flowers through his Arcadia found,
Amazed we see in this one garland bound
Had but this copy (which the artast toot
From the fair picture of that noble book)
Stood at Kalander's, the brave fnends had

jarr'd,

And, rivals made, th' ensuing story morr'd
Just Nature, first instructed by his thought,
In his own house thus practised what he taught.
This glorious piece transcends what he could

So much faq blood is nobler than T"fl iftk '

Edmund Waller.—Born 1605, Died 1687

597.— OF MY LADY ISABELLA PLAYING
THE LUTE

Such moving sounds from such a careless

touch '

So unconcern* d herself, and we so much '
What art is this, that with so little pains
Transports us thus, and o'er our spirits reigns p
The trembling strings about her fingers crowd,
Aad tell their joy for ev'ry kiss aloud
Small force there needs to make them tremble

so;
Touch'd by that hand, who would not tremble

too?
Hero love takes stand, and while she charm*

* the ear,

Empties his quiver on the list'mng deer.
Music so softens and disarms the mind,
That not an arrow does resistance find
Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize,
And acts herself the triumph, of her eyes j
So Nero once, with harp in hand, survey' d
His flaming Rome, and as it bura'd he play'd.

Edmund Waller.— Born 1605, Died 1687

598.— TO A LADY

SINGING- A SONG OF EI8 COMPOSING.

Chlons, yourself you so excel,

When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought,
That, like a spirit, with this spell

Of my own teaching, I am caught

That eagle's fate and mine are ono,
Which, on the shaft that made him dio,

Espy'd a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

Had Echo with so sweet a grace
Narcissus' loud complomta retum'd,

Not for reflection of his face,
But of his voice, the boy had bum1 J.

Edmund Trailer.— -Born, 1605, Died 1687.

599 —LOVE'S FABEWELL.

Treading the path to nobler ends,

A long farewell to love I gave,
Besolved any country and my fnends

All that remain' d of me should have

And this resolve no mortal damo,
Nonebutthose eyes could have o'erthrown ,

The nymph I dare not, need not name,
So high, so like herself alone

Thus the tall oak, which now aspires
Above the fear of private fires,

Grown and designed for nobler use,
Not to make warm , but build the house,

Though from pur meaner flames secure,

Must that which falls from heaven endure.

Ednvmd Wallet.— Bom 1605, Died 1687.

600— ON LOVING AT FEBST SIGHT.

Not caring to observe the wind,
Or the new sea explore,
Snatch'd from myself how far behind
Already I behold the shore '

May not a thousand dangers sleep
In the smooth bosom of this deep ?
No 'tis so reckless and so clear,
That the rich, bottom does appear
Paved all with precious things , not torn
From shipwreck' d vessels, but there born.

Sweetness, truth, and every grace,
Which tune and use are wont to teach,
The eye may in a moment reach
And read distinctly in her face.

to

L'AT.TiEGBO.

[MlIiTON.

Some other nymphs with colours faint,
And pencil slow, may Cupid paint,
And a weak heart in tune destroy ;
She has a stamp, and prints the boy ,
Can with a single look inflame
Tho coldest breast, the rudost tame

Efanund Waller— Ben n 1605, Died 1687.

601.— THE SELF-BANISHED.

It is not that I love you less,

Than when before your feet I lay ,

But to prevent the sad increase
Of hopeless love, I keep away

In vain, alas ' for everything
Which I have known belong to you

Your form does to my fancy bring,
And makes my old wounds bleed anew.

Who in the spring, from the new sun,

Already has a f over got,
Too late begins those shafts to shun,

Which Phoobus thxough his veins has shot.

Too late he would the pain assuage.
And to thick shadows does loiaro ,

About with T»™ he bears the rago,
And in "hip tainted blood the fire

But vow'd I have, and never mubt
Your banish' d servant trouble you ,

For if I break, you may mifetiuat
Tho vow I made — to lovo you too

Waller —Lorn 1605, Died 1687

602.— THE OTGKBT-PEECE, OB A PICTUBE
DBAWN IN THE DARK

Darkness, which fairest nymphs disarms,
Defends us ill from Mira's charms .
Mira can lay her beauty by,
Take no advantage of the eye,
Quit all that Loly's art can take,
And yet a thousand captives make.

Her speech is graced with sweeter sound
Than in another's song is found ;
And all her well-placed words are darts,
Which need no light to reach our hearts

As the bright stars and Milky-way,
Showed by the night, are hid by day ,
So we, in that accomplish' d mmd,
Hclp'd by the night, new graces find,
Which by the splendour of her view,
Dazzled before, we never knew

While we converse with her, wo mark
No want of day, nor think it dark
Her shining image is a light
Fix'd in our hearts, and conquers night.

Like jewels to advantage set,
Her beauty by the shade does get ,

There blushes, frowns, and cold disdain,
All that our passion might restrain,
Is hid, and our indulgent mmd
Presents the fair idea kind

Yet friended by the night, we dare
Only in whispers tell our care :
He that on her his bold hand lays,
With Cupid's pointed arrows plays ;
They with a touch (they are so keen ! )
Wound us unshot, and she unseen.
ALL near approaches threaten death ;
We may be shipwrecked by her breath
Love favour' d once with that sweet gale,
Doubles his haste, and fills his *tflt
Till he arrive where she must prove
The haven or the rook of love

So we th' Arabian coast do know
At distance, when the spices blow '
By the noh odour taught to steer,
Though neither day nor stars appear

Edmwnd Wall&r —Born 1605, toed 1687.

603 —L'ALLEGBO.

Hence, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn,

'Mongst homd shapes, and shrieks, and

sights unholy '
Find out some uncouth cell,

Where brooding Darkne&s spreads his jealous

wings,
And the night-raven sings ,

There under ebon shades, and low-brow* d

rocks,
As ragged as thy looks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell

But come, thou goddess "fo-rr and free,
In Heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth ;
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth,
With two sister Graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore •
Or whether (as some sager sing)
The frolic wind, that breathes the spring,
Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-maying ;
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew,
FilTd her with th.ee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek ;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it, as you go,
On the light fantastic toe ;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty ;

MILTON.]

[FOURTH PBBIOB —

And, if I give tiiee honour due,

Mirth, admit me of thy crow,

To live with, her, and live with thoe,

In unreproved pleasures free.

To hear the lark begin his flight,

And singing startle the dull Night,

From his watch-towei in the skies.

Till the dappled Dawn doth-nae ,

Then to come, in spite of sorrow,

And at my window hid good morrow,

Through ,tte Sfweetbner, or the -vine,

Or the twisted, eglantine •

While the cock, wrfcfculively dm,

Scatters the reeas oft Barkness <a*m

And to the stack, or the barn door,

Stoutly struts his dames before

Oft listening' how the- hounds and horn

Oheerly rouse the* slumbering' Mom,

From the side of some hoar lull,

Through the high wood echoing shrill :

Some»time walking, not unsoon,

By Hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,

Eight against the eastern gate

"Where the great Sun begins his state,

Bobed in flames, and amber light,

The clouds in thousand hveiies dipht ;

While the ploughman, near at hand.

Whistles o'er the furtirw'd land,

And the milkmaid smgeth blithe,

And the mower whets his scythe,

AnrL Q-yetffy shepherd tells his talo

Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,

"SKhilsi? the landscape round it measures ,

Russet lawns, and fallows gray,

Where the nibbling flocks do stray ;

Mbuntaing, on whose barren breaet

The labouring clouds do often rest ;

Meadows turn with daises pied,

Shallow brooks, and nvers wide •

Towers and battlements it sees

Bosom' d high in tufted trees,

Whore perhaps some beauty has*

The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.

Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,

From betwixt two aged oaks,

Whore Corydon and Thyrsis, mot,

Are at their savoury dinner set

Of herbs and other country xnespes,

Which the neat-handed, Phyllis dresses ;

And then in haste her bower she leayeFt,

With Thestylifi to bind' the sheaves ,

Or, if the eadier season lead,

To the tann'd haycock, in the mead.

Sometimes with secure dehghi

The upland hamlets wilLunnt^

When the merry bells ring ixmnd,

And the jocund rebecks sound

To many a youth and many a. maid,

Dancing in thQ'cheqner'd shade ,

And young1 and old come forth to play

On a surt*8hine holiday,

Till the hve-long daylight fail

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,

With stoaea toM,of many a feat,

How faery Mab the jnnkate eat ,

She was pinoh'd, and pull'd, she suad ,

And he, by friar's lantern led,

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat,

To earn hia cream-bowl duly sot,

When in one night, ere glunpso of mom,

His shadowy flail hath thresh' d the corn,

That ten. day-labourers could not end ,

Then lies him down the lubber fiend.

And, stretoh'd out all the chimney's length,

Basks at the fiie his hairy strength ,

And crop-full out of doors ho fling H

Ere the first cock his matin rings

Thus done the tales, to bod they croop,

By whispering winds soon, lulTd anloop

Tower' d cities please us- then,

And the busy hum of mem,

Where throngs of knights and barontf bold,

In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold,

With store of ladies, whose bright oyon

Bain influence, and judge tho prize

Of wit, or arms, while both contend

To win her grace, whom all commend*

There let Hymen oft appear

In saffron robe, with taper clear,

And pomp, and feast, and revelry,

With mask, and antique pageantry ;

Such sights as youthful poets dream

On summer eves by haunted stream

Then to the well-trod stage anon,

If Jonson's learned sock be on,

Or sweetest Shakspoare, Fancy's child,

Warble his native wood-notes wild

And ever, against oatrag cares,
Lap mo in soft Lydian aira,
Married to immortal verso ,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed and giddy cunning ,
The melting- voice through mazow ninning,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony ,
That Orpheus' self may heave his hoad
From golden slumber on a bod
Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won tho oar
Of Pluto, to have quite set froe
His half-regain'd Burydico.

These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to hvo.

Milton —Born 1608, DwcZ 1074*

604.— IL PENSEBOSO.

Hence, vain deluding Joys,

The brood of Folly, without father brod !

How little you bested,

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys '
Dwell in some idle brain*

And fancies fondwrbh gaudy shapes poasose,
As thick and numberless
As tho gay motes that people tho sunbeams ;
Or likesi hovering dreams,

JFYom 1649 to 1689]

IL PENSEB0SO.

[MlttTON,

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.
Bnt hod, thou goddess, sage and holy,
Had, divmest Melancholy '
Whoso saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight,
And therefore to our weaker view
O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue ;
Black, but such as in esteem
Prance Memnon's sister might beseem,
OP that starred Ethiop queen that strove
To set her beauty's praise above
The sea-nymphs, and their poweis offended
Yet thou art higher far descended
Thee bnght-hau'd Testa, long of yore,
To solitary Saturn bore ,
His daughter «he , in Saturn's leign,
Such mixturo was not held a stain
Oft in glimmering bowois and glades
He met her, and in &ecrot shades
Of woody Ida's inmost giove,
WTnlfat yet thoro was no fear of Jove
Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and domuro,
AH in a robe of darkest groin.
Flowing with majestic tiam,
And sable stolo of Cyprus lawn,
Over thy decent shoulders drawn
Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With ovon step, and musing gait ,
And looks commercing with the
Thy rapt POU! fitting in thine eyes
There, held in holy paswon still,
Forgot thysclt to marble, till
With a nod leaden downward coatr
Thou fix them on tho earth as fast •
And join with thoo calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears tho MURCB in a ring
Ayo round about Jove's altar sing -
And add to those rotirbd Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure :
But first, and ohiefost, with theo bring,
Him that von soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The cherub Contemplation ,
And the mute Silence lu&t along,
'Less Philomel will deign a song,
In her sweetest saddest plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke,
Gently o'er the accustom' d oak
Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of

folly,

Host musical, most melancholy '
Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among,
I woo, to hear thy even-song ,
And, missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering Moon,
littbng near her highest noon,
Like one that hod been led astray
Through the Heaven's wide pathless way ;
And oft, as if her head she foow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud
Oft, on a plat of rising ground*
I hear the far-off Curf era sound,

Over some wide-wecter?d shore,

Swinging slow with sullen roar

Or, if the air will not* permit,

Some still removfrd place will1 fit,

Where glowing embers through the room

Teach light to counterfeit a'glooin ,

Far from all resort of mirth,

Save the oncket on the Hearth1,

Or the belman's drowsy charm,

To bless the doorb from nightly harm.

Or let my lamp at midnight hour,

Be seen in some high lonely tower,

Wheie I may oft out-watch the Bear,

With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere

The spirit of Plato, to unfold

What worlds or what vast regions hold

The immortal mind, that hath forsook

Her mansion in tHig fleshly nook •

And of those demons that are found

In fire, air, flood, or under ground,

Whose power hath a true consent

With planet, or with element

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy

In scepter'd pall come sweeping by,

Presenting Thebes> or Pelops* line

Or the tale of Troy divine ,

Or what (though rare) of later ago

Ennobled hath tho buskin' d stage

But, O sad virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower '
Or bid the soul oi Orpheus sing
Such notes, as, warbled to tho &timg,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And mode Hell grant what love did seek !
Or call up him that left half -told
The story of Cambusoan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarsife,
And who had Canaco to wife,
That own'd the virtuous ring and glass ,
And of the wondrous horse of brass,
On which the Tartar king did ride
And if aught else great bards beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of turneys, and of trophies hung,
Of forests, and enchantments drear,
Where more IB meant than meets the car.

Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career,
TH11 civil-suited Morn appear,
Not tnok'd and frounced as she was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kercheft in a comely cloud,
While rocking- winds ore piping loud,
Or usher7 d with a shower still1
When the gust- hath blown his fill, •
Ending on the rustling leaves,
With minute drops from off the eaves*.
And, when the Sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, goddess, bung
To arch&d walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke,
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow' d haunt
There in close covert by some brook,
Where no prof&ner eye may look,

MILTON ] LYCIDAS

[FOUBTH PERIOD,—

Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honey' d thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring',
With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewyfeather'd Sleep ,
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in aery stream
Of lively portraiture display* d,
Softly on my eyelids laid
And, as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by some spirit to mortal good,
Or the unseen genius of the wood.

But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale,
And love the high-embowed roof,
With antique pillars massy proof,
And stoned windows richly dight,
Casting a flip? religious light
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced quire below,
In service high and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes

And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that Heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew ;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.

These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live

Milton — Born 1608, Died 1674.

605,— LYCIDAS.

Yet once more, 0 ye laurels, and once more,
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude
And, with forced fingers rude,
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year
Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,
Compels me to disturb your season due
For Lyoidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer
Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon his watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear

Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well,
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth

spring,

Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse
So may some gentle Muse
With lucky words favour my destined urn ,
And, as he passes, turn,
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud*

For we were nursed upon the self-same TriT^
Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and

rill

Together both, ere the high lawns appear' d
Under the opening eyelids of the Morn,
We drove afield, and both together heard
What tune the giay-fly winds her sultry horn,
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of

night,

Oft till the star, that rose, at evening bright,
Toward Heaven's descent had sloped his

westering wheel

Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute,
Temper' d to the oaten flute ,
Eough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven

heel
From the glad sound would not be absent

long,

And old Bamcetas loved to hear our song
But, O the heavy change, now thou art

gone,

Now thou art gone, and never must return !
Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert

oaves
With wild thymo and the gadding vino o'er-

grown,

And all their echoes, mourn
The willows, and the hazel copses green,
Shall now no more be seen
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
As killing as the canker to the rose,
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that

graze,
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe

wear,

When first the white-thorn blows ,
Such, Lyoidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear.
Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorse-
less deep

Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas P
For neither were ye playing on the stoop,
Where your old bards, the famous Druids,

he,

Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
Nor yet where Beva spreads her wizard stream
Ay me ' I fondly dream '
Had ye been there — for what could that have

done?
What could the Muae herself that Orpheus

bore,

The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,
Whom universal Nature did lament,
When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His gory visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ?

Alas ' what boots it with incessant core
To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's

trade,

And strictly meditate the thankless Muse P
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair ?
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth

raise

(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights and live laborious days ,

From 1649 to 168<J ]

LYCIDAS.

But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And thiTilr to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred

shears,
And slits the thin-spun life "But not the

praise,"
Phoabus replied, and touoh'd my trembling

ears;

" Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glistering foil
Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure

eyes,

And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ,
As he pronounces lastly on each deed, *
Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed."
0 fountain Arothuse, and thou honour'd

flood,
Smooth-siding Mmcius, crown'd with vocal

reeds!

That strain I heard was of a higher mood
But now my oat proceeds,
And listens to the herald of the sea
That came in Neptune's plea,
He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon

winds,
What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle

swain?

And question' d overy gust of rugged wings
That blows from off eaoh beaked promontory
They knew not of his story ;
And sago Hippotades their answer brings,
That not a blast wa& from his dungeon stray'd ,
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panopo with all her sisters play'd
It was that fatal and perfidious baik,
Built in the eclipse, and ngg'd with curses

dark,

That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.
Next Camus, reverend sue, went footing

slow,

His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge
lake to that sanguine flower inscribed with

woe
11 Ah ' who hath reft " (quoth ho) " my dearest

pledge?"

Last came, and last did go,
The pilot of the Galilean lake ,
Two massy keys ho boro of metals twain,
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,)
He shook his miter' d looks, and stern bespake :
" How well could I have spared for thee,

young swam,

Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ?
Of other care they little reckoning make,
Than how to scramble at the shearer's feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest ,
Blind mouths ' that scarce themselves know

how to hold
A sheep-hook, or have learn' d aught else the

least

That to the faithful herdman's art belongs '
"What recks it them P What need they ? They

aro sped ,

And, when they list, their lean and flashy

songs
Grate on their sciannel pipes of wretched

straw,

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But, Bwoln with wind and the rank mist they

draw,

Eot inwardly, and foul contagion spread •
Besides what the gnm wolf with pnvy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing fed .
But that two-handed engine at the door
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no-
more "

Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past,
That shrunk thy streams , leturn, Sicilian

Muse,

And call the vales, and bid them hither cast
Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues.
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing-

brooks,
On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely

looks;

Throw hither all your quaint enamelTd eyes,
That on the green turf suck the honey3 d

showers,

And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the pansy freaked with

jet,

The glowing violet,

The musk-rose, and the well-attired wood-
bine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive

head,

And every flower that sad embroidery wears :
Bid Amaranthus all ITIP beauty shed,
And daffodillies fill their cups with tears,
To strew the laureat hearse where Lyoid lies.
For, so to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts dally with false sur-
mise;
Ay mo I whilst thee the shores and sounding

seas

Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd,
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou, perhaps, under the whelming

fade,

Visit'st the bottom of the monstious world,
Or whether thou, to oui moist vows denied,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vision of the guarded mount
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold,
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with

ruth:

And, 0 ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no

more,

For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ;
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled

ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky :

MILTON.]

HYMN ON THE NATIVITY.

[FOURTH PEIUODJ—

So Lyoidas sunk low, bat mounted high,
Through the dear might of >"*" that walk'd

the waves ;

Where, other groves and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy looks he laves,
And hears the unexpre&sive nuptial song,
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain fam all the saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and, singing in their glory, move,
And wipe tho tears for ever from his eyes
Now, Lyoidas, the shepherds weep no more ;
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,
In thy large reoompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood
Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks

* and rills,
While the stall Morn went out with sandals

gray;

JBEe touch' d the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Done lay ;
And now .the Sun had, stretch* d out all the

hills,

And now was drppt into tho western bay :
At last he rose, and twitch' d his mantle blue
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

Hilton — Bofn 1608, Died 1674

606 — HYMN ON THE NATIVITY

It ^7as the winfcor wild,
While the heaven-born child

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ,
Nature, in awe to him,
Had doffd her gaudy trim,

With her great Master so to sympathize
It was no season then for her
To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour

Only with speeches fair
She woos the gentle air,

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow ,
And on her naked shazno,
Pollute with sinful blame,

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ,
Confounded, that her Maker's eyes
Should look so HOOT upon her foul deformities.

But he, her fears to cease,
•Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ,

She, crown' d with olive green, came softly

gliding

Down through the turning sphere,
His 'ready harbinger,

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing,
And, waving wide her myrtle wand,
She stnkes.a universal peace through Bea and

No war or battle's sound,
Was heaxd'the world around :
The idle spear and shield were high up
hung;

The hooked chariot stood
TJnstain'd with hostile blood ,

The trumpet spake not to tho armed throng ,
And kings sat still with awful eye,
As if they surely knew their sovereign lord was
by

But peaceful was the night,
Wherein the Prince of Light

His reign of peace upon the earth began
The winds, with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kiss'd,

Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
^Vjule birds of oftbm sit brooding on the charmed
wave

The stars, with deep amaze,
Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze,

Bending one way their precious influence ,
And will not take their flight,
For all the morning light,

Or Lucifer that often wam'd thenvthenoo ,
But in their glimmonng orbs did glow,
Until their Lord faT**6"^1? bospake, and bid thorn

And, though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
And hid his head for shame,
As his inferior flame

The new enlightened world no more should

need,

He saw a greater sun appear
Than his bright throne, or burning axletree,
could bear

The shopheids on the lawn,
Or ere the point of dawn,

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row ,
Full httie thought they then
That the mighty Pan

Was kindly come to live with them below ;
Perhaps their loves, 01 else their sheep,
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy

When such music sweet

Their hearts and ears did greet,

As never was by mortal finger strook,
Divinely-warbled voico
Answering the stringed noise,

As all their souls in blissful rapture took
The air, such pleasure loath to lose,
With thousand echoes still prolongs each
heavenly close.

Nature, that hoard such sound,
Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling,
Now was almost won,
To "kKiTiTr her part was done,

And that hei reign had hero its last fulfilling ;
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happxor

JgVowi 1649 to 1689]

ON THE 'NATIVITY.

[MlLTOBT.

At last surrounds their sight

A globe of circular light,
That with long beams the shamefaced night
array'd ;

The helmed cherubim,

And awarded seraphim,
Are seen in glittering- ranks with wings
display' d,

Harping in loud and solemn quire,

With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-
born heir.

Such music, as 'tis said,
Before was never made,

Bub when of old the sons of morning sung,
"While the Creator great
His constellations set,

And the well-balanced world on hinges hung,
And oast the dark foundations deep,
And bid the weltering wave s their oozy channel

King out, yo crystal spheres,
Once bless our human ears,

If ye have power to touch our senses so ;
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time ,

And let the base of Heaven's deep organ

blow,

And, with your ninefold harmony,
Make up full conceit to the angelic symphony.

For, if such holy song
Enwrap our fancy long,
Time will ran back, and fetch the ago of

gold;

And speckled Vanity
Will sicken -soon and die,
And loprous Sin will melt from earthly

mould ,

And Hell itself will pass away,
And loavo her dolorous mansions to the peering
day.

Tea, Truth and Justice then
Will down return to men,

Orb'd in a rainbow , and, like glories wearing,
Meroy will sit between,
Throned in celesfrul sheen,

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down

And Heaven, as at some festival,
Will open 'Wide tho gates of .her high palace
hall

But wisest Fate says no,
This must not yet be so,

The babe yet lies in smiling infancy,
'That on the bitter cross
Must redeem, our loss,

So both, himself and us to glorify :
Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep,
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder
through the* deep,

With such a hornd clang
As on Mount Sinai rang-,

While the red fire aad smouldering clouds

outbroke ;

The aged earth aghast,
With terror of that blast,

Shall from the surface to'the centre shake ;
When, at the world's last session,
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread
his throne.

And then at last our bliss,
Full and perfect is,

But now begins , for, from this happy day,
The old dragon, under ground,
In stroiter limits bound,

Not half so far casts his usurped sway ;
And, wroth to see his kingdom fail,
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail

The oracles ore dumb ,
No voice or hideous hum
Buns through the arched roof in words

deceiving.

Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos

leaving

No nightly trance, or breat^d spell,
Inspires the pole-eyed pnest from the.piophoiac
cell.

The lonely mountains o'er,
And the resounding shore*

A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ,
From haunted spring and dale,
Edged with poplar pole,

The parting Genius is with sighing sent ;
With flower-inwoven tresses torn,
The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled
thickets mourn.

In consecrated earth,
And on the holy hearth,

The Lars and Lemurs mourn with, midnight

plaint,

In urns and altars round, •

A drear and djmg sound
Affrights the Flamens at their service

quaint ,

And the chill marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar power foregoes his wonted

seat.

Peor and Baalim
Forsake their temples dim,

With that twice battered god of Palestine ;
And mooned Ashtaroth,
'Heaven's quean and mother both,

Now sits not girt with tapers* holy shine ,
The labyac Hammon shiinks his horn ,
In 'vain the Tynan maids their wounded
Thammuz mourn*

MILTON ]

PRAISE OF CHASTITY.

[FOURTH ITBBIOD.—

And sullen Moloch, fled,
Hath left in shadows dread

TTrg burning1 idol all of blackest hue ,
In Tain with cymbals' ring
They call the gnsly long,

In dismal danoe about the furnace blue :
The brutish gods of Nile as fast,
Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste

Nor is Osiris seen

In Memphian grove or green,

Trampling the unshower'd grass with low-
ings loud

Nor can he be at rest
Within his saored chest ;

Nought but profoundest hell can be his

shroud ;

In Tain with, timbrell'd anthems dark
The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp'd
ark.

He feels from Judah's land
The dreaded infant's hand,

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ;
Nor all the gods beside
Longer dare abide;

Not Typhon hnge ending ui snaky twine
Oox babe, to show bis Godhead true,
Can in his swaddling bands control the damned

So, when the sun in bed,
Curtain' d with cloudy red,

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
The flocking shadows pale,
Troop to the infernal jail,

Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave ;
And the yellow-skirted fays
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-
loved maze.

But see, the Virgin blest
Hath laid her Babe to rest ,
Time is, our tedious song should hexe have

Heaven's youngest-teemed star
Hath fix'd her polish' d car,
Her sleeping Lord with, handmaid lamp

attending;

And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harness' d angels sit in order serviceable

Milton —Born 1608, &wd 1674.

607 —PRAISE OF CHASTITY.

'Tis Chastity, my brother, Chastity ;
She that has that is clad in complete steel,
And like a quiver' d nymph with arrows keen,
May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd

heaths,

Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds,
"Where, through the sacred rays of Chastity,
No savage fierce, bandit, or mountaineer,

Will dare to soil her virgin purity •

Yea, there, where very desolation dwells,

By grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid

shades,

She may pass on with unblenoh'd majesty,
Be it not done in pride, or in presumption
Some say no evil thing that walks by night
In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen,
Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost,
That breaks his magic chains at curfew time;
No goblin or swart fairy of the mine,
Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Bo ye believe me yet, or shall I call
Antiquity from the old schools of Greece
To testify the arms of Chastity ?
Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow,
Fair silver-shafted queen, for ever chaste,
Wherewith she tamed the bnnded lionoas
And spotted mountain-paid, but set at nought
The frivolous bolt of Cupid , gods and men
Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen

o' th' woods.

What was that snaky-headed Gorgon, shield
That wise Minerva wore, unconquer'd virgin,
Wherewith she freezed her foes to congeal'd

stone,

But rigid looks of chaste austerity,
And noble grace that dash'd brute violence
With sudden adoration and blank awo ?
So dear to heaven is saintly Chastity,
That when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried angels lacquey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,
And in clear dream and solemn vision
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hoar,
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants
Begin, to cast a beam on th' outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,
And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,
Till all be made immortal.

Milton.— Born 1608, Died 1G74

608 —THE LADY'S SONG IN " COMTTS."

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen

Within thy aery shell,
By slow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-embroider' d vale,

Where the love-lorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth woll t
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likest thy Narcissus are P
0, if thou have
Hid them in some flowery cave,

Tell me but where,
Sweet queen of parley, daughter of tha

sphere !

So may'st thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all Heaven's
harmonies

Milton.— Bom 1608, Ihed 1674.

SONNET ON HIS BLINDNESS.

[MlLTON.

609 — THE SPIRIT'S EPILOGUE IN
COMUS.

To the ocean now I fly,
And those happy dimes that He
Where day never shuts his eye,
Up in the broad fields of the sky :
There I suck the liquid air
An amidst the gardens fair
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three
That sing about the golden tree :
Along the crisped shades and bowers
Bevels the spruce and jocund spiing ;
The Graces, and the rosy-bosom' d hours,
Thither all then bounties bring ,
There eternal summer dwells,
And west-winds, with musky wing,
About the cedar' d alleys fling
Nard and Cassia's balmy smells.
Ins there with humid bow
Waters the odorous banks, that blow
Flowers of more mingled hue
Than her purfled scarf can shew ;
And drenches with Elysian dew
(List, mortals, if your ears be true)
Beds of hyacinth and roses,
Wheie young Adonis oft zeposes,
Waxing well of his deep wound
In slumber soft, and on the ground
Sadly sits the Assyrian queen .
But far above in spangled sheen
Celestial Cupid, her fom'd son, advanced
Holds his dear Psyche sweet entrano'd,
After her wandering labouxs long,
Till free consent the gods among
Make her his eternal bndo,
And from hor fair unspotted side
Two blissful twins arc to be born,
Youth and Joy ; so Jove hath sworn.

But now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run,
Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bow*d welkin slow doth bend j
And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon

Mortals, that would follow me,
Love Virtue j she alone is free .
She can teach ye how to climb ,
Higher than the sphery clime ;
Or if Virtue feeble were,
Heaven itself would stoop to her.

Milton — Bom 1608, Died 1674.

610.— ON MAT MOBNING.

A SONG.

Now the bright morning Star, day's harbingers
Comes dynmng from the east, and leads with

her
The flow'ry May, who from her green lap

throws

The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose
Hail, bounteous May ' that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ;

Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing !
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

M^lton.—Born 1608, Died, 1674.

61 1.— SONNET TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are

still,

Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart
dost fill,

While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckow's bill,
Portend success in love ; 0 if Jove1 a will

Have hnk'd that amorous power to thy soft

lay,

Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretell mv hopeless doom in some grove nigh ;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why :
Whether the Muse or Love call thee his

mate,
Both t-Tif"n I serve, and of their train am L

Milton.— Born 1608, Died 1674.

612— SONNET ON AGE OF TWENTY-
THREE.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of

youth,
Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth

year!

My hasting days fly on with fall career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom
» showeth.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the

truth,

That I to manhood am arrived so near,
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
Tot, be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of

Heaven ;

All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.

Mtiton —Born 1608, Died, 1674.

613.— SONNET ON HIS BLINDNESS.

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and

wide,

And that one talent which is death to hide,

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more

bent 95

MILTON.]

SONNET ON HIS DECEASED WIFE

[FOURTH PERIOD —

To serve herewith, my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide ,
" Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask : but Patience to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, " God doth not

need

Either man's work or his own gifts t who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best ;

FIR state

Is kingly , thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest ;
They also serve who only stand and wait "
Milton.—Born 1608, JDiecZ 1674.

614.— SONNET ON HIS DECEASED

"WIFE

Methought I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
"Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband

gave
Bescued from death by force, though pale and

faint.
Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed

taint,

Purification in the old Law did save,
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind :
Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person

sinned,

So clear, as in no face with more delight
But, 01 as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my
night.

Bom 1608, Died 1674.

615.— SONNET ON THE LATE MASSAGEE
IN PIEDMONT.

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter* d saints, whose

bones

Lie scatter* d on the Alpine mountains cold ,
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of

old,
"When all our fathers worshipped stocks and

stones, -

Forget not ! in thy book record their groans
"Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient

fold

Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that roll'd
Mother with infant down the rooks. Their

moans

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
To heaven. Their martyr 'd blood and ashes

BOW

O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth

sway

The triple tyrant • that from these may grow
A hundred fold, who, having learned thy

way, .
Early may fly the Babylonian woe

8, Died 1674

616— SAMSON BEWAILING HIS
BLINDNESS AND CAPTIVITY.

A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on ;
For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade ;
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Believes me from my task of servile toil,
Daily in the common prison else enjoin' d me,
Where I a prisoner cham'd, scarce freely draw
The air imprison' d al&o, close and damp,
Unwholesome draught but here I feel amends,
The breath of heaven fresh blowing, pure and

sweet,
With day-spring born; here leave me to

respire —

This day a solemn feast the people hold
To Dagon their sea-idol, and forbid
Laboiiouti works , unwillingly this rest
Their superstition yields me; hence with

leave

Retiring- from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease,
Ease to the body some, none to the mind,
From restless thoughts, that like a deadly

swarm

Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone,
But rush upon me thronging, and present
Tunes past, what once I was, and what am

now.

0 wherefore was my birth from Heaven fore-
told

Twice by an angel, who at last in sight
Of both my parents all in flames ascended
From off the altar, where an offering burn'd,
As in a fiery column, charioting
Bos godlike presence, and from some great

act

Or benefit reveal' d to Abraham's race ?
Why was my breeding order' d and prescribed
As of a person separate to God,
Design' d for great exploits , if I must die
Betray'd, oaptived, and both my eyes put out,
Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze ,
To grind in brazen fetters under task
With this heaven-gifted strength P 0 glorious

strength,

Put to the labour of a beast, debased
Lower than bond slave ' Promise was that I
Should Israel from Philistiam yoke deliver ,
Ask for this gieat deliverer now, and find

him

Eyeless in Gaza, at the null with slaves,
Himself in bonds, under Philistian yoke.

* * # #

0 loss of sight, of thee I most complain f
Blind among enemies, O worse than chains,
Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age I
Light, the prime work of God, to mo is

extinct,

And all her various objects of delight
AnnulTd, which might in part my grief have

eased,

Inferior to the vilest now become
Of man or worm the vilest here excel me ;
They creep, yet see ; I, dark in light, exposed

From 1649 to 1689 ]

INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST.

[MILTON.

To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong-,
Within doors or without, still as a fool,
In power of others, never in my own ;
Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than

half

O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Inecoverably dark, total eclipse
Without all hope of day !
O first-created Beam, and thou great Word,
" Let there be light, and light was over all ,"
Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree P
The sun to me is dark
And silent a 3 the moon,
When she deserts the night,
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Since light so necessary is to life,
And almost He itself, if it be true
That light is in the soul,
She all in eveiy part ; why was the sight
To such a tender ball as the eye confined,
So obvious and so easy to be quench' d ?
And not as feeling through all paits diffused,
That she might look at will through every

pore?

Then had I not been thus exiled from light,
As in the land of darkness yet in light,
To livo a life half dead, a living death,
And buried . but, 0 yet more miserable f
Mysolf my sepulchre, a moving grave,
Bunod, yet not exempt
By privilege of death and burial,
Fiom worst of other evils, pains, and wrongs ;
But made hereby obnoxious more
To all the miseries of life,
Life in captivity

Among "mTynTT^fyn foOS.

Milton.— Born 1608, Died 1674

617.— TEAKSLATION OF HORACE
ODES, i. 5

What slender youth, bedewed with liquid

odours,
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,

Pyrrha ? For whom bind' at thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,
Plain in thy neatness ? Oh, how oft shall he
On faith and changed gods complain, and
seas

Bough with black winds and storms,

Unwonted, shall admire ' —
Who now enjoys thee, — credulous, — all gold,
Who, always vacant, always amiable,

Hopes thee, of flattering gales

TTnmindf ul Hapless they,
To whom thou untried seem'st fair ! Me, in

my vow'd
Picture, tho sacred wall declares to have hung

My dank and dropping weeds.

To the stern God of sea.

Milton — Born 1608a Died 1674.

618— ATHENS.

Look once more ere we leave this specular

mount,

Westward, much nearer by south-west behold
Where on the JEgean shore a city stands
Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil,
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence, native to famous wits
Or hospitable, in her sweet recess.
City or surburbon, studious walks and shades ;
See there the ohve grove of Academe,
Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird
Tnlls her thick-warbled notes the summer

long,

There, flowery hill, Hymottus, with the sound
Of bees' industrious murmur oft invites
To studious musing, there Ihssus rolls
TTia whispering stream within the walls then

•new

The schools of ancient sages ; his, who bred
Great Alexander to subdue the world,
Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next :
There shalt thou hoar and learn the secret

power

Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit
By voice or hand, and vaiious-measured verse,
JEolian charms, and Dorian lync odes,
And his who gave them breath, but higher

sung,

Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer calTd,
Whose poem Phoebus challenged for his own.
Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught
In chorus or iambic, teachers best
Of moral prudence, with delight received
In brief sententious piecepta, while they

treat
Of fate, and chance, and change in human

hfe;

High actions and hi&h passions best describing;
Thence to the famous orators repair,
Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence
Wielded at will that fierce democratic,
Shook the arsenal, and falmined over Greece,
To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne

.— Bow 1608a IHetZ 1674

619 —THE INVOCATION AND INTRO-
DUCTION TO PARADISE LOST.

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our

woe,

With loss of Eden, till one greater Man.
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That Shepherd, who first taught the chosen

seed,

In the beginning, how the Heavens and Earth
Rose out cf Chao9 Or, if Sion hill
Dehght the moroj and Siloa's brook that

fiow'd 25*

MILTON.]

SATAN'S ADDEESS TO THE SUN.

[FOURTH FEBIOD. —

Fast by the oracle of God , I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song-,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above the Aoman mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples the upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know' at j thou from the

first

Wast present, and, with mighty wings out-
spread,

Dove-like sat' at brooding on the vast abyss
And mad'st it pregnant what in me is dark
Illumine ; what is low raise and support ;
That to the height of this great argument
I may assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.

Say first, for Heaven hides nothing from

thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell j say first, what

cause

Moyd our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favour' d of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his will
For one lestraint, lords of the woild besides P
Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt P
The infernal Serpent , he it was, whose guile,
Stirr'd up with envy and revenge, deoeiVd
The mother of mankind, what time his pnde
Had oast TV™, out from Heaven, with all his

host

Of rebel angels : by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
If he oppos'd ; and, with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God,
Bais'd impious war in Heaven, and battle

proud,
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty

power
Hurl'd headlong flaming from the ethereal

sky,

With hideous rum and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition , there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
"Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.

.— Bora 1608, Died 1674

620.— SATAN'S ADDBESS TO THE SUN.

O thou, that, with surpassing jg-lory orown'd,
Look'st from thy sole dominion like the God
Of this new world , at whose sight all the

stars

Hide their dimmish" d heads , to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy

•name,

0 Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what

state

1 fell, how glorious once — above thy sphere j
Till pnde and worse ambition threw me down,
Warring in heaven against heaven's matchless

king.

Ah, wherefore p He deserv'd no such return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none, nor was his service hard.
What could be less than to afford him praise,
The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks ?
How due ' — yet all his good prov'd ill in me,
And wrought but malice , lifted up so high,
I 'sdamed subjection, and thought one step

higher

Would set me highest, and in a moment quit
The debt immense of endless gratitude,
So burdensome still paying, still to owe •
Forgetful what from him I stall received ;
And understood not that a grateful mind
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
Indebted and discharged what burden then ?
0, had his powerful destiny ordain' d
Me some inferior angel, I had stood
Then happy ; no unbounded hope had raised
Ambition ' Yet why not ? — some other power
As great might have aspir'd, and me, though

mean,

Drawn to his part , but other powers as great
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within.
Or from without, to all temptations arm'd.
Hadst thou the same free will and power to

stand?
Thou hadst • whom hast thou, then, or what

to accuse,

But heaven's free love dealt equally to all ?
Be then his love accurst, since love or hate,
To me alike, it deals eternal woe
Nay, curs' d be thou, since against his thy

will

Chose freely what it now so justly rues
Me miserable ' — which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath and infinite despair ?
Which way I fly is hell , myself am hell ,
And, in the lowest deep a lower deep
Still threatening to devour me opens wide ;
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven
O, then at last relent , is there no place
Left for repentance, none for pardon loft P
None left but by submission , and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduced
With other promises and other vaunts
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
The Omnipotent Ay me ' they littlo know
How dearly I abide that boost so vain ;
Under what torments inwardly I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of helL
With diadem and sceptre high advanced,
The lower still I fall , only supreme
In misery such joy ambition finds.
But say I could repent, and could obtain
By act of grace my former state ; how soon
Would height recall high thoughts, how soon

unsay
What feign' d submission swore ' Ease would

recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void.
For never can true reconcilement grow
Where wounds of deadly hate have piero'd so

deep,

From 1649 to 1689 ] ASSEMBLING OF THE FALLEN ANGELS.

Which would but lead me to a worse relapse
And heavier fall so should I purchase dear
Short intermission bought with double smart.
This knows my Punisher ; therefore as far
From granting' he, as I from begging peace .
All hope excluded thus, behold, instead
Of us outcast, exiTd, his new delight,
Mankind, created, and for him this world
So farewell hope, and with hope, farewell

fear,

Farewell remorse • all good to me is lost ,
Evil, be thou my good , by thee at least
Divided empire with heaven's Vmg I hold,
By thee, and more than half perhaps will

reign,
As man ere long and this new world shall

know.

Milton— Boin 1008, Died 1674

621.— ASSEMBLING OF THE FALLEN
ANGELS.

AH those and more came flocking ; but with

looks

Downcast and damp, yot such wherein ap-
pear'd
Obscure some glimpse of joy, V have found

their chief
Not in despoil t' have found themselves not

lost

In loss itself , which on his countenance cast
Liko doubtful hue but ho, his wontod pude
Soon recollecting, with high words that boro
Semblance of worth, not substance, gently

raised
Their fainting courage, and dispolTd their

fears
Then straight commands that, at the warlike

sound

Of trumpets loud and clarions, bo uprear'd
His mighty standard, that proud honour

claim' d

Azazol as his right, a choiub toll ;
Who forthwith from the glitt'nng staff un-

fuil'd

Th' imperial ensign, which, full high advonc'd,
Shone like a motoor f>ti earning to the wind,
With gems and golden lustre rich emblaz'd
Seraphic arms and fa optics, all the while
Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds
At which the umvoisal host up sent
A shout, that toro Hell's concave, and beyond
Frighted tho loign of Chaos and old Night
All m a moment through tho gloom were seen
Ten thousand banners rise into the air
With onent colours waving with them rose
A forest huge of spoors , and thronging helms
Appear 'd, and serried shields in thick array,
Of depth immeasurable • anon they move
In perfect phalanx to tho Doiian mood
Of flutes and soft recoiders, such as rois'd
To height of noble&t tompor heroes old
Arams to battle , and, instead of rage,

Deliberate valour breath'd, firm and unmov*d,
With dread of death, to flight or foul retreat ;
Nor wanting power to mitigate and 'suoge,
With solemn touches, troubled thoughts, and

chase
Anguish, and doubt, and fear, and sorrow, and

pain,

From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they,
Breathing united force, with fixed thought
Mov'd on in silence to soft pipes, that

charm* d
Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil; and

now

Advano'd in view, they stand, a horrid front
Of dyptf^fnl length, and dazzling arms, in

guise

Of warriors old with order' d spear, and shield,
Awaiting what command their mighty chief
Had to impose he through the armed files
Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse
The whole battalion, views their order due,
Their visages and statures as of Gods ,
Their number last he sums. And now his

heart
Distends with pride, and hardening in his

strength

Glories , for never since created man
Met such embodied force as, nam'd with

these,

Could ment more than that small infantry
Wan'd on by cranes, though all the giant

biood

Of Phlogra with th' heroic race were join'd,
That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each

side

Mix'd with anxdiar godR , and what resounds
In fable or romance of "Other's son,
Begirt with British and Armorio knights ;
And all who since, baptis'd or infidel,
Jousted in Aspramont or Montalban,
Domasoo or Morocco, or Trebisond ,
Or whom Biserta sent from Af nc shore,
When Charlemain with all his peerage fell
By Fontarabia Thus far these beyond
Compare of mortal prowess, yet obseiVd
Their dread commander, he, above the rest
In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tow'r , his form had not yet lost
All her original brightness, nor appear' d
Less than Archangel rum'd, and th' excess
Of glory obscur'd as when tho sun new risen
Looks through the horizontal misty air,
Shorn of his beams , or from behind the moon
In d™ eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monaiohs Daiken'd so, yet shone
Above them all th' Archangel but his face
Deep soars of thunder had intrench' d, and

core

Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows
Of dauntless courage and considerate pude,
Waiting revenge cruel his eye, but cast
Signs of remorse and passion to behold
The fellows of his crime, tho followers rather,
(For other once beheld in bliss) condemn* d
For ever now to have their lot in pain ,

MILTON.]

SATAN MEETS SIN AND DilATli [FOURTH PERIOD —

Millions of spirits for his fault amero'd
Of Heav*n, and from eternal splendours flung
For his revolt, yet faithful how they stood,
Their glory wither'd as when HeaVn's fire
Hath scath'd the forest oaks, or mountain

pines,
With singed top their stately growth, though

bare,
Stands on the blasted heath. He now pre-

par'd
To speak* whereat their doubled ranks they

bend
From wing to wing, and half enclose him

round

With all his peers . attention held them mute.
Thrice he assay* d; and thnoe, in spite of

scorn,
Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth , at

last
Words, interwove with sighs, found out then?

way.

Klton — Bom 1608, Died 1674

622.— SATAN MEETS SIN AJTO DEATH.

Meanwhile, the adversary of God and man,
Satan, with thoughts inflam'd of highest

Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of

Hell

Explores his solitary flight sometimes
He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the

left;
Now shaves with level wing the deep, then

soars

Up to the fiery concave towering high
As, when far off at sea, a fleet descried
Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds
Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles
Of Ternate and Tidoie, whence merchants

bring

Their spicy drugs , they, on the trading flood,
Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape,
Ply stemming mghly toward the pole : so

seem'd

Far off the flying fiend. At last appear
Hell bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof,
And thnce threefold the gates, three folds

were brass

Three iron, three of adamantine rock
Impenetrable, impoTd with circling fire,
Tet unconsum'd. Before the gates there sat
On either side a formidable shape ;
The one seem'd woman to the waist and fair ;
But ended foul in many a scaly fold
Yoluminous and vast ; a serpent arm'd
With mortal sting about her middle round
A cry of Hell-hounds, never ceasing, bark'd
With wide Cerberean months full loud, and

rung
A hideous peal 3 yet, when they list, would

creep,
If anght disturb' d their noise, into her womb,

And kennel there , yet there still bark'd and

howl'd,

"Within unseen. Far less abhorr'd than these
Vex'd Soylla, bathing in the sea that parts
Calabria from the hoarse Trinacnan shore ,
Nor uglier follow the night-hag, whon, colTd
In secret, ndmg through the air she comes,
Lur'dwith the smell of infant blood, to dance
With Lapland witches, while the labouring

Moon

Eclipses at their charms The other shape,
If shape it might be calTd that shape had

none

Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ,
Or substance might be call'd that shadow

seem'd,
For each seem'd either, black it stood as

night,

Fierce as ten furies, terrible as Hell,
And shook a dreadful dart , what seom'd his

head

The likeness of a kingly crown had on
Satan was now at hand, and from his seat
The monster moving onward came as fast
With horrid strides, Hell tiembled as he

strode
The undaunted fiend what this might be

admir'd

Adxmr'd, not fear'd , Ood and his Son except,
Created thing naught valued he, nor shunn'd ,
And with disdainful look thus first began •
" Whence and what art thou, execrable

shape,

That dar'st, though gran and terrible, advance
Thy miscreated front athwart my way
To yonder gates P through them I moan to

pass,

That be assur'd, without leave ask'd of thee
Retire, or taste thy folly, and learn by proof
Hell-born, not to contend with spirits of

Heaven "

To whom the goblin full of wrath replied
" Art thou that traitor-angel, art thou ho,
Who first broke peace in Heaven, and faith,

till then

Unbroken , and in proud rebellious arms
Drew after him the third part of Heaven's

sons
Conjur'd against the Highest , for which both

thou

And they, outcast from God, are here con-
demn'd

To waste eternal days in woe and pain *
And reckon' at thou thyself with spirits of

Heaven,
Hell-doom' d, and breath' st defiance here and

scorn,

Where I reign king, and, to enrage thoemore,
Thy kmg and lord P Back to thy punishment,
False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings,
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue
Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart
Strange horror seize thee, and pongs unfelt

before."

So spake the grisly terror, and in shape,
So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfold

From 1649 to 1689.]

ADDBESS TO LIGHT.

[MILTON.

More dreadful and deform. OIL the other

side,

Incens'd with indignation, Satan stood
Unternfied, and like a comet burn'd,
That fires the length of Ophiuchtis huge
In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair
Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head
Levell'd his deadly amfi , their fatal hands
No second stroke intend , and such a frown
Each cast at the other, as when two black

clouds,
With Heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling

on

Over the Caspian, then stand front to front,
Hovenng a space, till winds the signal -blow
To join their dark encounter in mid air
So frown' d the mighty combatants, that Hell
Grew darker at their frown , so match'd they

stood,

For never but once more was either like
To meet so great a foe , and now great deeds
Had been achiev'd, whereof all Hell had lung,
Had not the snaky sorceress, that sat
Fast by Hell-gate, and kept the fatal key,
Eis'n, and with hideous outcry rush'd between.

From her side the fatal key,
Sad instrument of all our woe, she took ,
And, towards the gate railing her bestial train
Forthwith the huge portcullis high up-drew,
Which but herself, not all the Stygian powers
Could onco have mov'd , then in the key-hole

turns

The intricate wards, and overy bolt and bar
Of massy iron or solid rook with ea&o
Unfastens On a sudden open fly,
With impetuous recoil and jomng sound,
The infernal doors, and on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook
Of Erebus Sho open'd, but to shut
ExcelTd her power ; the gates wide open stood,
That with extended wings a banner' d host,
Under spread ensigns marching, might pass

through

With horse and chariots rank* din loose array ;
So wide they stood, and like a furnace mouth
Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame.
Before their eyes in sudden view appear
Tho secrets of the hoary deep ; a daik
Illimitable ocean, without bound,
Without dimension, where length, breadth,

and height,
And time, and place, are lost ; where eldest

Night

And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold
Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise
Of endless wars, and by confusion stand,
For Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry, four champions

fierce,

Strive hero for mastery, and to battle bring
Their embryon atoms , they around the flag
Of each his faction, in their several clans,
Light-arm' d or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift,

or slow,
Swarm populous, unnumber'd as the sands

Of Barca or Gyrene's torrid soil,

Levied to 'side with warring winds, and poise

Their lighter wings. To whom these most

adhere,

He rules a moment Chaos umpire sits,
And by decision more embroils the fray,
By which he reigns • next him high arbiter
Chance governs all Into this wild abyss
The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave,
Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,
But all these in their pregnant causes mix'd
Confus'dly, and which thus must ever fight,
Unless the Almighty Maker them oidain
His dark materials to cieate more worlds ;
Into this wild abyss the wary fiend
Stood on the brink of Hell, and look'd a

while,

Pondering his voyage . for no narrow frith
He had to cross.

Milton — Bom 1608, Died 1674

623.— ADDEESS TO LIGHT.

Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven, first-
born,

Or of the Eternal coeternal beam,
May I express thee unblam'd'' since God is

light,

And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hear'st thou rather, pure ethena] stream,
Whose fountain who shall tell p Before the

Sun,
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the

voice

Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I revisit now with bolder wing,
Escap'd the Stygian pool, though long detained
In that obscure sojourn, while, in my flight,
Through utter and through middle daikness

borne,

With other notes than to the Orphean lyre,
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night ,
Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture

down

The dark descent, and up to re-ascend,
Though hard and rare , thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sovran vital lamp but thou
Bevisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vam
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ;
So thick a drop serene hath quench' d their

orbs,

Or dun suffusion veiTd. Yet not the mote
Cease I to wander, where the Muses haunt
dear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song , but chief
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath,
That wash thy hallow1 d feet, and warbling

flow,
Nightly I visit , nor sometimes forget

MILTON.]

THE ANGKEIIC WORSHIP.

Tbose other two, equaU'd with me in fate,
So were I equall'd with them in renown,
Blind Thamyns, and blind Maaomdes,
And Tiresias, and Phinena, prophets old .
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move
Harmonious numbers , as the wakeful bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid,
Tunes her nocturnal note Thus with the year
Seasons return ; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ,
But cloud instead, and ever-durmg dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a universal blank
Of Nature's works, to me expung'd and ras'd,
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out
So much the rather thou, celestial Light,
Shine inward, and the mind through all her

powers
Irradiate : there plant eyes, all mist from

thence

Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.

JftZfon.--BcM n 1608, Died. 1674.

624— THE ANGELIC WORSHIP.

No sooner had the Almighty ceas'd, but

all

The multitude of angels, with a shout
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet
As from blest voices, uttering joy, Heaven

rung

With jubilee, and loud Hosannas filTd
The eternal regions . lowly reverent
Towards either throne they bow, and to the

ground

With solemn adoration down they cast
Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold ,
Immortal amarant, a flower which once
In Paradise, fast by the tree of life,
Began to bloom ; but soon for man's offence
To Heav*n removed where first it grew, there

grows,

And flowers aloft shading the fount of life,
And where the river of bliss through midst of

Heaven

Bolls o'er Elysan flowers her amber stream *
With these that never fade the spirits elect
Bind their resplendent looks mwreath'd with

beams;
Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the

bright

Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone,
Impurpled with celestial roses smil'd
Then, ctown'd again, their golden harps they

took,

Harps ever tun'd, that glittering by their side
Lake quivers hung, and with preamble sweet
Of oparmmg symphony they introduce

Their sacred song, and waken raptures high ;
No voice exempt, no voice but woll could join
Melodious part, such concord is m Heaven.

625.— PARADISE.

So on he fares, and to the border comes

Of Eden, where delicious Paradise,

Now nearer, crowns with hor inclosure green,

As with a rural mound, the champaign head

Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides

With thicket overgown, grotesque and wild,

Access denied , and overhead upgrew

Insuperable height of loftiest shade,

Cedar and pine, and fir, and branching palm,

A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend,

Shade above shade, a woody theatre

Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their

tops

The verd'rous wall of Paradise up-sprung •
Which to our general sire gave prospect large
Into his nether empire neighboring round
And higher than that wall a circling row
Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit,
Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue,
Appeared, with gay enameTd colours mrc'd •
Of which the sun more glad impress' d his

beams

Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow,
When G-od hath shower* d the earth . so lovely

seem'd

That landscape , and of pure, now puior air
Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires
Vernal delight and joy, able to drive
AH sadness but despair , now gentle gales
Panning their odoriferous wings, dispense
Native perfumes, and whisper whence they

stole
Those balmy spoils as when to thorn who

sail

Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past
Mozambio, off at sea north-west winds blow
Sabean odours from the spicy shore
Of Araby the bleat , with such delay
Well pleas'd they slock their course, and

many a league,
Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old Ocean

smiles

JfiZton— JSbrn 1608, Dvecfc 1674.

626.— ADAM AND EYE

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall,
Godlike erect, with native honour clad
In naked majesty, seem'd lords of all :
And worthy seem'd ; for in their looks divine

From 1649 to 1689.]

EVE'S EECOLLECTIONS.

[MlLTON.

The image of their glorious Maker shone,
Truth, wisdom, sanotitnde severe and pure,
(Severe, but in tine filial freedom plac'd,)
Whence true authority in men , though both
Not equal, as their sex not equal seem'd ;
For contemplation he and valour form'd ;
For softness she and sweet attractive grace ;
He for God only, she for God in him.
His fair large front and eye sublime declared
Absolute rule ; and hyaomthine looks
Hound from his parted foielock manly hung
Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders

broad;

She, as a veil, down to the slender waist
Her unadorned golden tresses wore
DishevolTd, but in wanton imglets wav'd,
As thfc Tine curls her tendiils, which implied
Subjection, but reqmr'd with gentle sway,
And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,
Yielded with coy submission, modest pride,
And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay
Nor those mysterious parts were then con-
ceal'd>

Then was not guilty shame dishonest shame
Of Nature's works, honour dishonouiable,
Sin-bred, how have ye troubled all mankind
With shows instead, mere shows of seeming

pure,

And banish* d from man's life his happiest life,
Simplicity and spotless innocence '
So pass'd they naked on, nor shunn'd the

Of God or angel , for they thought no ill

So hand in hand they pass'd, the loveliest pair,

That ever since in love's embraces mot

Adam the goodliest man of men since born

His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve

Under a tuft of shade that on a green

Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain

side

They sat thorn down : and, after no more toil
Of their sweet gardening labour than sumVd
To recommend cool Zephyr, and made ease
More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite
More grateful, to their supper-fruits they

fell,

Nectarine fruits which the compliant boughs
Yielded them, side-long as they sat recline
On the soft downy bank damask'd with flowers
The savoury pulp they chew, and in the

nnd,
Still as they thirsted, scoop the brimming

stream;

Nor gentle purpose, nor endearing smiles
Wanted, nor youthful dalliance, as beseems
Fair couple, link'd in happy nuptial league,
Alone as they. About them frisking play'd
All boasts of the Earth, since wild, and of all

chose

In wood or wilderness, forest or den ,
Sporting the lion ramp'd, and in his paw
Dandled the kid , bears, tigers, ounces, pards,
GambolTd before them , the unwieldly ele-
phant,
To make them mirth, us'd all his might, and

wreath'd

His lithe proboscis ; close the serpent sly,
Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine
His bxaided train, and of his fatal guile
Gave proof unheeded , others on the grass
Coueh'd, and now fill'd with pasture gazing

sat,

Or bedward ruminating ; for the Sun,
Declin'd, was hastening now with prone career
To the ocean isles, and in the ascending scale
Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose.

Milton.— Born 1608, Died 1674.

627 —EVE'S RECOLLECTIONS.

Thus Eve replied • " O thou for whom
And from whom I was form'd, flesh of thy

flesh,

And without whom am to no end, my guide
And head ! what thou hast said is just and

right

For we to Him indeed all praises owe,
And daily thanks , I chiefly, who enjoy
So far the happier lot, enjoying th.ee
Pre-eminent by so much odds, while thou
Like consoit to thyself canst no where find.
That day I oft remember, when from sleep
I first awak'd, and found myself repos'd
Under a shade on flow'rs, much wond'nng

where
And what I was, whence thither brought, and

how
Not distant far from thence a murm'niig

sound

Of waters issued from a cave, and spread
Into a liquid plain, then stood unmov'd,
Pure as the expanse of Heav'n, I thither

went
With unezpeneno'd thought, and laid me

down

On the green bank, to look into the clear
Smooth lake, that to me seem'd another sky.
As I bent down to look, just opposite
A shape within the wat'ry gleam appear' d,
Bending to look on me I started back,
It started back ; but pleas' d I soon return' d,
Pleas' d it re turn' d as soon with answ'nng

looks

Of sympathy and love there I had fix'd
Mine eyes fall now. and pm'd with vain desire,
Had not a voice thus wain'd me: 'What

thou seest,
What there thou seest, fair creature, is thy-

self.

With thee it came and goes , but follow me,
And I will bring thee where no shadow stays
Thy coming, and thy soft embraces , ho
Whose image thou art ; him thou shalt enjoy,
Inseparably thine , to him shalt bear
Multitudes like thyself, and thence be call'd
Mother of human race ' What could I do,
But follow straight^ invisibly thus led ?

MILTON ]

MORNING IN PARADISE.

[FOURTH PEBIOD. —

Till I espied thee, faar indeed and tall,
Tinder a plantain , yet mothought less fair,
Leas winning- soft, less amiably mild,
Than that smooth wat'ry image . back I

turn'd;
Thou following cry'dst alond, *lReturn, fair

Eye,
Whom, fly'st thon ? whom thou fly' st of him

thon art,

His flesh, his bone : to give thee being I lent,
Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart,
Substantial Me, to have thee by my side
Henceforth an individual solace dear ,
Fart of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim
My other half/ With that thy gentle hand
Seiz'd mine , I yielded, and from that time

see

How beauty is excell'd by manly grace
And wisdom, which alone is truly fair."

So spake our general mother, and with eyes
Of conjugal attraction, umeprov'd,
And meek surrender, half embracing, lean'd
On our first father , TmJf her swelling breast
Naked met his, under the flowing gold
Of her loose tresses hid , he in delight
Both of her beauty and submissive charms,
SmiTd with superior love, as Jupiter
On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds
That shed May flow*rs , and press' d her matron

lip
With kisses pure

Milton.— Born 1608, Died 1674

628— MORNING IN PARADISE.

Now morn her rosy steps in th' eastern dune
Advancing, soVd the eaith with orient pearl,
When Adam waked, so custom'd, for his

sleep

Was aery-light from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapouis bland, which the only

sound

Of leaves and fuming iitts, Aurora's fan,
Lightly diapers' d, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on ev'ry bough , so much the more
His wonder was to find unawaken'd Eve,
With tresses disoompos'd and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest - he on his side
Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial

love,

Hung over her enamour' d, and beheld
Beauty, which, whethei waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces ; then with voice
Mild as when Zephyrus or Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whisper'd thus

"Awake,

My fairest, my espou&'d, my latest found,
HeavVs last best gift, my ever new delight,
Awake* the mortars: shines, and the fresh

field
Calls us, we lose th? prime, to mark how

spring

Our tender plants, how blows the citron

grove,
What drops the myrrh, cud what the balmy

reed,

How nature paints her colours, how the bee
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet "

To the field they haste.
But first, from under shady arb'rous roof
Soon as they forth wore come to open sight
Of day-spring, and the sun, who scarce up-

nsen,
With wheels yet hovering o'er the ocean

brim,

Shot parallel to th' earth his dewy ray,
Discovering in wide landscape all the east
Of Paradise and Eden's happy plains,
Lowly they bow'd adoring, and began
Their orisons, each morning duly paid
In various style ; for neither various stylo
Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise
Their Maker, in fit strains pronounced or

sung

TJnmeditated, such prompt eloquence
Flowed fiom their lips, in piose or numerous

verse,

More tunable than, needed lute or harp
To add more sweetness , and they thus began :
" These are thy glorious works, Parent of

good,

Almighty ' thine this universal frame,
Thus wond'rous fair ; thyself how wondrous

then1

Unspeakable, who siti'st above those heav'ns
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works , yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power

divine.

Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels f for ye behold Him, and with songs,
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle His throne rejoicing , yo in heav'n,
On earth join, all ye creatures, to oxtol
Hun first, l-friti last, "H^™ midst, and without

end '

Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st tho smiling

morn
With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy

sphere

While day arises, that sweot hour of prime.
Thou sun f of this world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge Him thy greater ; sound His

prase
In thy eternal course, both when thou

climb' st,
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when

thou fall'st
Moon' tha/fc now meet'st the orient sun, now

fly'st
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that

flies

And ye five other wand'ring fires ' that move
In mysUo dance not without song, resound

Piom 1649 to 1689.]

EVENING- IN PARADISE.

[MILTON.

His praise, who out of darkreaa call'd np

light.

Air, and ye elements ' the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion ran
Perpetual circle, multiform , and mix,
And nourish all things , let your ceaseless

change

Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
TTe mists and exhalations ' that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author nae ,
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolour'd

sky,

Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs,
"R.^amg- or falling, still advance His praise
His praise, ye winds 1 that from four quarters

blow,
Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye

Pines'

With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that marble as ye now,
Melodious murmurs, woiblmg tune His

praise

Join voices, all ye living souls , ye birds
That singing up to Hcav'n-gate ascend,
Boar on your wings and in your notes His

praise

Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
Tho earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep,
Witness if I be silent, morn or oven,
To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my bong, and taught His

praise

Hail, universal Lord ' be bounteous still
To give us only good , and, if tho night
Have gather' d aught of evil or conceal' d,
Dispense it, as now light dispels the dark "
So prayed they innocent, and to their

thoughts

Firm peace recover' d soon and wonted calm.
On to their morning's rural work they haste
Among sweet dews and flow'ra, where any

row

Of fruit-trees over-woody reach' d too far
Their pamper' d boughs, and needed hands to

check

Fruitless embraces or they led the vine
To wed her elm, she, 'spoused, about him

twines

Her marriageable arms, and with her brings
Her dow'r, th' adopted clusters, to adorn
His barren leaves

JBom 1608, Died 1674

629 — EVENING- IN PAEADISE.

Now come still evening on, and twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad ,
Silence accompanied for beast and bird,
They to their grassy couch, these to their
nests,

Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale ;
She all night long her amorous descant sung ;
Silence was pleas'd- now glow'd the firma-
ment

With living sapphires ; Hesperus that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length
Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.
When Adam thus to Eve • " Fair Consort,

th" hour

Of night, and all things now retir'd to rest,
Mind us of like repose, since God hath set
Labour and rest, as day and night, to men
Successive , and the timely dew of sleep
Now falling with soft slumb'rous weight, in-
clines

Our eye-lids • other creatures all day long
Rove idle unemploy'd, and less need rest ,
Man hath his doily work of body or mind
Appointed, which declares his dignity,
And the regard of Heav'n on all his ways ;
While other animals unactive range,
And of their doings God takes no account.
To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east
With first approach of light, we must be

risen,

And at our pleasant labour, to reform
Ton flow'ry arbours, yonder alleys green,
Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown,
That mock our scant manuimg, and require
More hands than ours to lop their wanton

growth
Those blossoms also, and those dropping

gums,

That lie bestrewn, unsightly and unsmooth,
Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease
Meanwhile, as Nature wills, night bids us

rest."
To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty

adorn' d :

" My Author and Disposer ; what thou bidst
Unorgued I obey • so God ordains ,
God is thy law, thou mine : to know no more
IB woman's happiest knowledge and her praise.
With thee conveismg I forget all time •
^11 seasons and their change, all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the

sun,

When first on this delightful land he spreads
His onent beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and

flower,
Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile

earth

After soft show'rs , and sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild , then silent night,
With #"« her solemn bird, and t^ia fair moon,
And these the gems of Heav'n, her starry

train;

But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun
On this delightful land, nor heib, fruit,

flower,
Glist'nng with dew, nor fragrance after

showers,

MILTON ]

THE MESSIAH.

Nor grateful evening1 mild, nor silent night,
With **iy* her solemn bird, nor walk by moon,
Or gktt'ring stailight, without thee is sweet
But wherefore all night long shine these P for

whom
This gloxious sight, when sleep hath shut all

eyes p "

To whom our general ancestor replied :
" Daughter of God and Man, accomplish' d

Eve,
These have their course to fi-mgK round the

earth

By morrow evening, and from land to land
In order, though to nations yet unborn,
Mrnist'rmg light prepared, they set and rise ,
Lest total darkness should by night regain
Her old possession, and extinguish hf e
In nature and all things, which these soft

fires

Not only enlighten, but with kindly heat
Of various influence, foment and waim,
Temper or nourish, or in part shed down
Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow
On earth, made hereby apter to receive
Perfection from the sun's more potent ray
These, then, though unbeheld in deep of night,
Shine not in vain, nor think, tho' men were

none,
That Heav'n would want spectators, God want

praise

Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when we

sleep:

All these with ceaseless praise His works be-
hold
Both day and night. How often from the

steep

Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard
Celestial voices to tho midnight air,
Sole or responsive each to other's note,
Singing their great Creator ? oft in bands,
While they keep watch, or nightly rounding

walk,

With Heav'nly touch of instrumental sounds
In full harmonic number join'd, their songs
Divide the night, and lift our souls to

Heaven."

Thus talking hand in hand alone they pass'd
On to their blissful bow'r, it was a place
Chos'n by the sovereign Planter, when he

rram'd

All thing's to man's delightful use , the roof
Of thickest covert was inwoven shade
Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew
Of firm and fragrant leaf , on either side
Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub,
Fenc'd up the verdant wall j each beauteous

flower,

Ins al hues, roses, and jessamine,
Bear'd high their flounsh'd heads between,

and wrought

Mosaic , underfoot the violet,
Crocus, and hyacinth, with nch inlay
Broider'd the ground, more colour1 d than with

stone
Of costliest emblem: other creatures here,

Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter

none;
Such was their awe of Man. In shadier

bow'r,
More sacred and soquestcr'd, though but

feign'd,

Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymph,
Nor Faunus haunted Here in close recess,
With flowers, gailands, and sweet-smelling

herbs,

Espoused Eve deck'd first her nuptial bed,
And heavenly choirs the hymensaan sung,
What day the genial Angel to our sire
Brought her, in naked beauty more adorn'd,
More lovely than Pandora, whom tho gods
Endow' d with all their gifts, and, 0 too like
In sad event, when to the unwiser son
Of Japhet, brought by Hermes, she onqnar'd
Mankind with her fair looks, to bo aveng'd
On him who had stole Jove's authentic fire
Thus, at their shady lodge arriv'd, both

stood,

Both turn'd, and under open sky ador'd
The God that made both sky, air, earth, and

heaven,
Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent

globe,
And starry pole "Thou also mad'st the

night,

Maker omnipotent, and thou the day,
Which we in our appointed work omploy'd
Have fimsh'd happy in our mutual help
And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss
Ordaon'd by thee, and this delicious place
For us too large, where thy abundance wants
Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground
But thou host promis'd from us two a raco
To £11 the earth, who shall with us extol
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,
And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep "
Milton.— Born 1C08, J)i,od 1674.

630 —THE MESSIAH.

He, o'er his sceptre bowing, rose
From the right hand of glory where ho sat ,
And the third sacred morn began to shine,
Dawning through Heaven Forth rush' d with

whirlwind sound
The chariot of Paternal Deity,
Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel

undrawn,

Itself instinct with spirit, but convoy'd
By four cherubic shapes , four faces ooch
Had wondrous , as with stars, their bodies all
And wings were set with eyes , with eyes the

wheels

Of beryl, and careering fires between ,
Over their heads a crystal firmament,
Whereon a sapphire throne, inlaid with pure
Amber, and colours of the showery arch,
He, in celestial panoply all arm'd

From 1649 to 1689 ]

EXPULSION FBOM PARADISE.

[MlLTON.

Of radiant Urun, work divinely -wrought,

Ascended , at his light hand Victory

Sat eagle-wing' d, beside hung him his bow

And quiver with three-bolted thunder stor1 d ,

And from about fa*n fierce effusion rolTd

Of smoke, and bickering flame, and sparkles

dire :

Attended with ten thousand thousand saints,
He onward came ; far off his coming shone
And twenty thousand (I their number heard)
Chariots of God, half on each hand, were seen-
He on the wings of cherub rode sublime
On the crystalline sky, in sapphire thron'd,
Illustrious far and wide

Milton.— Born 1608, Died 1674

63 1 . — TEMPEKANCE.

Well observe
The rule of Not too much; by temperance

taught,
In what them oat'st and drink' st, seeking

from thence

Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight ,
Till many years over thy head leturn,
So may'st thou live , till, like upe fruit, thou

drop

Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease
Gather'd, not harshly pluck'd; for death

mature

This is Old Age , but then, thou must outlive
Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which

will change

To withor'd, weak, and gray ; thy senses then,
Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forego,
To what thou hast , and, for the air of youth,
Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign
A melancholy damp of cold and dry
To weigh thy spinta down, and last consume
The balm of life.

Milton.— Born 1608, Died 1674

632 —EXPULSION FBOM PARADISE.

He ended ; and the Archangel soon drew

nigh,

Not in his shape celestial, but as man
Clad to meet man , over his lucid arms
A military vest of purple flow'd,
Livelier than Melibcean, or the gram
Of Sarrah, worn by kings and heroes old
In tiipe of truce , Ins had dipt the woof ,
His starry helm unbuckled show'd him prime
In manhood where youth ended , by his side,
As in a gliRt'nng zodiac, hung the sword,
Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spoor.
Adam bow'd low, he kingly, from his state

Inclin'd not, but Ms coming thus declared :— —
"Adam, Heaven's high behest no preface

needs
Sufficient that thy pray'rs are heard, and

death
Then due by sentence when thou didst trans-

gress,

Defeated of his seizure many days,
Giv'n thee of grace, wherein thou may'st

repent,

And one bad act with many deeds well done
May'st oover : well may then thy Lord ap-

peas'd
Bedeem thee quite from Death's rapacious

But longer in this Paradise to dwell
Permits not , to remove thee I am come,
And send thee from the garden forth to till
The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter

soil"

He added not, for Adam at the news
Heart-struck with chilling gripe of sorrow

stood,

That all his senses bound ; Eve, who unseen,
Yet all had heard, with audible lament
Discover' d soon the place of her retire.
" O unexpected stroke , worse than of

death'
Must I thus leave thee, Paradise P thus

leave
Thee, native soil! these happy walks and

shades,
Fit haunt of gods? where I had hope to

spend,

Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day
That must be mortal to us both O flowers !
That never will in other climate grow,
My early visitation, and my last
At even, which I bred up with tender hand
From the first opening bud, and gave ye

names'

Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial

fount?

Thee lastly, nuptial bow'r, by me adorn' d
With what to sight or smell was sweet, from

thee

How shall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower world, to this obscure
And wild p how shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, acoustom'd to immortal fruits ? "
Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild —
" Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign
What justly thou hast lost; nor set thy

heart,

Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine :
Thy going is not lonely ; with thee goes
Thy husband , fa™ to follow thou art bound ;
Where he abides, tfr^T*: there thy native

soil"

Adam by this from the cold sudden damp
^Recovering, and his scatter' d spirits return' d,
To Michael thus his humble words ad-

dress'd
" Celestial, whether among the thrones, or

nam'd

ANDREW MARVELL ]

THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN.

[FOURTH PEKJLOD. —

Of them the highest, for such of shape may

seem

Prince above princes, gently hast thou told
Thy message, which might else in telling

wound,

And in performing end us ; what besides
Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair,
Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring ;
Departure from that happy place, our sweet
Recess, and only consolation left
Familiar to our eyes, all places else
Inhospitable appear and desolate,
Nor knowing us, nor known : and if by prayer
Incessant, I could hope to change the will
Of Him who all things can, I would not cease
To weary Krni with my assiduous ones •
But pray'r against His absolute decree
No more avails than breath against the wind,
Blown stifling back on him that breathes it

forth

Theiefore to His great bidding I submit.
This most afflicts me, that, departing hence,
As from His face I shall be hid, deprived
His blessed countenance; here I could fre-
quent

With worship place by place where He vouch-
safed

Presence divine, and to my sons relate,
" On this mount He appear* d, under this tree
Stood visible, among these pines His voice
I heard, here with Him at this fountain talk'd ."
So many grateful altars I would rear
Of grassy turf, and pile up eveiy stone
Of lustre from the brook, in memory,
Or monument to ages, and thereon
Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and

flowers

In yonder nether world where shall I seek
His bright appearances, or footstep trace ?
For though I fled Him angry, yet recalled
To life prolonged and promis'd race, I now
Gladly behold though but His utmost skirts
Of glory, and far off His steps adoie."

Now too nigh

Th' Archangel stood, and from the other hill
To then: fix'd station, all in bright array,
The cherubim descended , on the ground
Gliding meteorous, as evening mist
Eis'n from a nver o'er the marish glides,
And. gathers ground fast at tho lab'rer's heel
Homeward returning. High in front ad-

vanc'd,
The brandish'd sword of God before them

blaz'd

Fierce as a comet 5 which with tornd heat,
And vapours as the Libyan air adust,
Began to parch that temp'rate clime whereat
In either hand the hast'mng Angel caught
Our ling'nng parents, and to the eastern gate
Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast
To the subjected plain ; then disappear* d.
They, looking back, all the eastern side bo-
held
Of Paradise, so late their happy scat,

Wav'd over by that flaming brand, the gate
With dreadful faces throng' d and fiery arms :
Some natural tears they dropt; but wip'd

them soon.
The world was all before them, where to

choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their

guide.
They hand in hand, with wond'ring steps and

slow,
Through Edon took their solitary way

Milton.— Born 1608, Died 1671

633 —THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN.

How vainly men themselves amaze,
To win the palm, tho oak, or bays .
And their incessant labours see
Crown' d fiom some single herb, or tree,
Whose short and nanow-vcrgcd shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid ,
While all the flow'rs, and trees, do close,
To weave the garlands of repose.

Fair Quiet, have I found theo here,
And Innocence, thy sister dear P
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men
Your sacred plants, if here below,
Only among the plants will grow.
Society is all but rude
To this delicious solitude*

No white nor red was ever seen
So am'rous as this lovely green.
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,
Cut in these trees theix mistress' name.
Little, alas, they know or heed,
How far these beauties her exceed '
Fair trees ' where'er your barks I wound,
No name shall but your own be found.

What wond'rous life in this I lead '
Bipe apples drop about my head.
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wmo.
The nectarine, and curious peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach.
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Insnar'd with flow'rs, I fall on grass.

Meanwhile the muid from pleasure loss

Withdiaws into its happiness

The mind, that ocean where each kind

Does straight its own resemblance find;

Yet it creates transcending these,

Far other worlds and other seas ,

^•nujfnifl^ng aJi that's made

To a green thought m a green shade.

Fiom 1G49 to 1C89.]

THE NYMPH AND HER FAWN.

[ANDREW MABVEIX.

Here at the fountain's sliding foot,
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
Casting the body's vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide ,
There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whet » and claps its silver wings,
And, till piepar'd for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light

Such was the l*appy garden state,
While man there walk'd without a mate :
After a place so pure and sweet,
What other help could yet be meet '
But 'twas beyond a mortal's fahare
To wander solitary there
Two paradises aie in one,
To live in paradise alone

How well the skilful gard'ner drew
Of flowers and herbs this dial new '
Where, from above, the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run
And, as it woiks, th' industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we.
How could such sweet and wholesome hours
Be reckoned, but with heibs and floweis P

Andrew Mwrvell. — Eorn 1620, Died 1678

^4 —THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS.

Where the remote Bermudas ride
In th' ocean* s bosom unespied,
From a small boat that row'd along,
The listening winds received their song.
" What should we do but sing His praise
That led us through the watery maze
TTnto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own ?
Wheio He the huge sea monsters racks,
That lift the deep upon their backs ;
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms and prelates' rage
He gave ns this eternal spring
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us m care,
On daily visits through the air
He hangs m shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranate's close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows.
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet
But apples, plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars, chosen by His hand,
From Lebanon He stores the land ;
And makes the hollow seas that roar,
Proclaim the ambergris on shoze.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The Gospel's peail upon our coast ,
And in those rocks for us did frame
A temple whore to sound his name

Oh let our voice His praise exalt,
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexic bay."
Thus sang they m the English boat
A holy and a cheerful note,
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the tune.

Andrew Xfarvell—Bwn 1620, Died 1678.

635— YOUNG LOVE.

Come, little infant, love me now,
While thine unsuspected years

Clear thine aged father's biow
From cold jealousy and fears.

Pretty, surely, 'twere to see
By young Love old Tune beguiled ;

While our sportangs are as free
As the nurse's with the child.

Common beauties stay fifteen ;

Such as yours should swifter move,
Whose fan? blossoms are too green

Yet for lust, but not for love.

Love as much the snowy lamb,
Or the wanton kid, does piize,

As the lusty bull or ram,
For his morning sacrifice.

Now then love me : Tune may take

Thee before thy time iway,
Of this need we'll virtue make,

And leain love before we may.

So we win of doubtful fate ;

And if good to us she meant,
We that good shall antedate ;

Or, if in, that ill prevent.

Thus do kingdoms, frustrating

Other titles to their crown,
In the cradle crown their king,

So all foreign claims to drown

So to mako all rivals vain,
Now I crown thee with my love ;

Crown me with thy love again,
And wo both shall monarchs prove.

Antiitew Mat veil— Horn 1620, Died 1678.

636.— THE NTMPH COMPLAINING FOR
THE DEATH OF HER FAWN.

The wanton troopers riding by
Have shot my fawn, and it will die
Ungentle men ' They cannot thrive
Who loll'd thee Thou ne'er didst, alive,

SAMUEL BUTLER ]

ACCOMPLISHMENTS OF HUDEBRAS. [FOURTH PERIOD, —

Them any harm ; alas ' nor could
Thy death to them do any good
I'm sure I never wish'd them ill,
Nor do I for all this , nor will
But, if my simple pray'rs may yet
Prevail with Heaven to forget
Thy murder, I will join my tears
Bather than foil. But 0 my fears I
It cannot die so. Heaven's king
Keeps register of everything,
And nothing may we use in vain ;
Ev'n beasts must be with justice slain ;
Else men are made their deodands.
Though they should wash their guilty

hands

In this warm life-blood, which doth part
Prom thine, and wound me to the heart,
Yet could they not be clean ; their stain
Is dyed in such a purple grain,
There is not such another in
The world to offer for their sin.

Inconstant Sylvio, when yet
I had not found Turn counterfeit,
One morning1, I remember well,
Tied in this silver chain and bell,
Gave it to me • nay, and I know
What he said then — I'm sure I do.
Said he, " Look how your huntsman heie
Hath taught a fawn to hunt his deer."
But Sylvio soon had me beguiled :
This waxed tame, while he grew wild,
And, quite regardless of my smart,
Left me his fawn, but took his heart.

Thenceforth I set myself to play
My solitary time away
With this , and very well content
Could so mine idle life have spent ;
For it was full of sport, and light
Of foot and heart, and did invite
Me to its game , it seem'd to bless
Itself in me How could I less
Than love it ? Oh, I cannot be
Unkind to a beast that loveth me t

Had it liv'd long, I do not know
Whether it, too, might have done so
As Sylvio did , his gifts might be
Perhaps as false, or more, than he.
For I am sure, for aught that I
Could in so short a tune espy,
Thy love was far more better than
The love of false and cruel man.

With sweetest TnilTr and sugar first

I it at mine own fingers nurs'd ,

And as it grew so every day,

It wax'd more white and sweet than they.

It haa bo sweet a breath ' and oft

I blush'd to see its foot more soft,

And white, bhall I say ? than my hand—

Than any lady's of the land !

It was a wondrous thing how fleet
'Twas on those little silver feet
With what a pretty skipping grace
It oft would challenge me the race ,
And when 't had left me far away,
'Twould stay, and run again, and stay ;
For it was nimbler much than hinds,
And trod as if on the foui winds.

I have a garden of my own,

But so with roses overgrown,

And lilies, that you would it guess

To be a little wilderness ;

And all the spring-time of the year

It loved only to be there.

Among the beds of lilies I

Have sought it oft, where it should lie ;

Yet could not, till itself would rise,

Find it, although before mine eyes ;

For in the flaxen lilies shade,

It like a bank of hlies laid

Upon the roses it would feed,

Until its lips ev*n seem'd to bleed ;

And then to me 't would boldly trip,

And print those roses on my lip.

But all its chief delight was still

On roses thus itself to fill •

And its pure virgin lips to fold

In whitest sheets of lilies cold.

Had it liv'd long, it would have been

Lilies without, roses within.

Andrew McvrveU.—Born 1620, Died 1678

637.— ACCOMPLISHMENTS OF
HUDEBBAS.

When civil dudgeon first grew high,
And men fell out, they knew not why :
When hard words, jealousies, and fears,
Set folks together by the ears,
And made them fight, like mad or drunk,
For Dame Religion as for punk ,
Whose honesty they all durst swear for,
Though not a man of them knew where-
fore-

When gospel-trumpeter, surrounded
With long-ear'd rout, to battle sounded,
And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic,
Was beat with fist, instead of a stick :
Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling,
And out he rode a-colonelling.

A wight he was, whose very sight would
Entitle him, mirror of knighthood ;
That never bow*d his stubborn knee
To anything but chivalry ;
Nor put up blow, but that which laid
Bight-worshipf ul on shoulder-blade :
Chief of domestic knights and errant,
Either for chartel or for warrant
Great on the bench, great on the saddle,
That could as well bind o'er, as swaddle :

From 1649 to 1689.]

BEUGION OF HUDIBBAS.

[SAMUEL BTJTLBE.

Mighty he was at both of these,
And styled of war as well as peace
(So some rats, of amphibious nature,
Are either for the land or water).
But here our authors make a doubt,
Whether he were more wise or stout ;
Some hold the one, and some the other :
But howsoe'er they make a pother,
The difference was so small, his brain
Outweigh' d his rage but half a grain ;
Which made some take T"T" for a tool
That knaves do work with, call'd a fool
For 't has been held by many, that
As Montaigne, playing- with his oat,
Complains she thought him but an ass,
Much more she would Sir Hudibras
(For that *s the name our valiant knight
To all his challenges did write)
But they're mistaken very much ;
JTis plain enough he was no such .
We grant, although he had much wit,
He was very shy of using it j
As being loath to wear it out,
And therefore bore it not about ;
Unless on holidays, or so,
As men their best apparel do j
Beside, 'tis known he could speak Greek
As naturally as pigs squeak ;
That Latin was no more difficile,
Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle
Being nohln both, he never scanted
His bounty unto such as wanted ,
But much of either would afford
To many, that had not one word.

He was in logic a great critic,
Profoundly skill' d in analytic ;
He could distinguish and divide
A hair 'twixt south and south-west side ,
On either which he would dispute,
Confute, change hands, and still confute ;
He'd undertake to prove by force
Of argument a man 's no horse ;
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a lord may be an owl,
A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,
And rooks committee-men and trustees.
He'd run in debt by disputation,
And pay with ratiocination
All this by syllogism, true
In mood and figure, he would do.
For rhetoric, he could not ope
TKa mouth, but out there flew a trope ,
And when he happened to break off
I* th* middle of his speech, or cough,
H' had hard words, ready to show why,
And tell what rules he did it by .
Else, when with greatest art he spoke,
You'd think he talk'd hke other folk ,
For all a rhetorician's rules
Teach nothing but to name his tools
But, when he pleased to show 't, his speech
In loftiness of sound was nch j
A Babylonish dialect,
Which learned pedants much affect .

It was a party-colour' d dress

Of patch' d and piebald languages ;

"Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,

Like fustian heretofore on satin.

It had an odd promiscuous tone,

As if he had talk'd three parts in one ;

Which made some think, when he did

gabble,

Th' had heard three labourers of Babel;
Or Cerberus himself pronounce
A leash of languages at once.
This he as volubly would vent
As if his stock would ne'er be spent ;
And truly, to support that charge,
He had supplies as vast and large :
For he could coin or counterfeit
New words, with little or no wit ;
Words so debased and hard, no stone
Was hard enough to touch them on ;
And when with hasty noise he spoke 'em,
The ignorant for current took 'em ;
That had the orator, who once
Bid nil his mouth with pebble stones
When he harangued, but known his phrase,
He would have used no other ways.

Samuel Butler. — Born 1612, 2hed 1680.

638.— RELIGION OF HUDIBEAS.

For his religion, it was fit

To match his learning and his wit.

'Twas Presbyterian true blue ,

For he was of that stubborn crew

Of errant saints, whom all men grant

To be the true church militant ,

Such as do build their faith upon

The holy text of pike and gun ,

Decide all controversies by

Infallible artillery,

And prove their doctrine orthodox

By apostolic blows and knocks ;

Call fire, and sword, and deaelation,

A godly thorough reformation,

Which always must be earned on,

And still be doing, never done ;

As if religion were intended

For nothing else but to be mended

A sect whose chief devotion lies

In odd perverse antipathies ,

Tn falling out with that or this,

And fifflfyg somewhat still fl.miHq •

More peevish, cross, and splenetic,

Than dog distraught or monkey sick ;

That with more care keep holiday

The wrong, than others the right way ;

Compound for sins they are inclined to,

By damning those they have no mind to.

Still so perverse and opposite,

As if they worshipp'd God for spite 5

The self -same thing they will abhor

One way, and long another for ,

Freewill they one way disavow,

Another, nothing e^e allow , 9K

SAMUEL SUTLER ] PERSONAL APPEABAUCE OF HUDIBBAS. [FOURTH PEBIOD.—

All piety consists therein

In them, in other men all em ;

Bather than fail, they will defy

That which they love most tenderly ,

Quarrel with minced pies, and disparage

Their best and dearest fnend, plum-pox-

ridge,

Fat pig and goose itself oppose,
And blaspheme custard through the nose
Th' apostles of this fierce religion,
Like Mahomet's, were ass and widgeon,
To whom our knight, by fast instinct
Of wit and temper, was so link'd,
As if hypocrisy and nonsense
Had got th' advowson of his conscience.

BaffWMlButl&r.--B<yryi 1612, Died 1680.

639— PEBSOKAL APPEARANCE OF
HUDIBBAS.

TTia tawny beard was th' equal grace
Both of his wisdom and his face ;
In cut and dye so like a tile,
A sudden view it would beguile ;
The upper part thereof was whey,
The nether, orange, mix'd with gray.
This hairy meteor did denounce
The fall of sceptres and of crowns ;
With grisly type did represent
Declining age of government ;
And tell, with hieroglyphic spade,
Its own grave and the state's were made,
lake Samson's heart-breakers, it grew
In time to make a nation rue ,
Though it contributed its own fall,
To wait upon the public downfall ;
It was monastic, and did grow
In holy orders by strict vow ,
Of rule as sullen and severe,
As that of rigid Cordelier ;
*Twas bound to suffer persecution,
And martyrdom with resolution ,
T oppose itself against the hate
And vengeance of th' incensed state,
In whose defiance it was worn,
Still ready to be pull'd and torn ;
With red-hot irons to be tortured,
Beviled, and spit upon, and martyr'd ;
Maugre all which 'twas to stand fast
As long as monarchy should last ,
But when the state should hap to reel,
'Twos to submit to fatal steel,
And fall, as it was consecrate,
A sacrifice to fall of state ,
Whose thread of hf e the fatal sisters
Did twist together with its whiskers,
And twine so close, that Time should never.
In life or death, their fortunes sever ,
But with his rusty sickle mow
Both down together at a blow.
# * - «

His doublet was of sturdy buff,
And though not sword, yet cudgel proof ;
Whereby 'twas fitter for his use,
Who fear'd no blows but such as bruise
His breeches were of rugged woollen,
And had been at the siege of Bullen;
To old Inng Harry so well known,
Some writers held they were his own ;
Though they were lined with many a pieoo
Of ammunition, bread and cheese,
And fat black puddings, proper food
For warriors that delight in blood ,
For, as we said, he always choso
To carry victual in his hose,
That often tempted rats and mice
Th* ammunition to surprise ,
And when he put a hand but in
The one or t' other magazine,
They stoutly on defence on't stood,
And from the wounded foe drew blood ;
And till they were storm' d and beaten out,
Ne'er left the fortified redoubt ;
And though knights-errant, as some think,
Of old did neither eat nor drink,
Because when thorough deserts vast,
And regions desolate they pass'd,
Where belly-timber above ground,
Or tinder, was not to be found,
Unless they grazed, there's not one word
Of their ptovision on record ,
Which made some confidently write
They had no stomachs but to fight.
'Tis false; for Arthur wore in hall
Bound table like a f arthingal ;
On which, with shirt pull'd out behind,
And eke before, his good knights dined ,
Though 'twas no table some suppose,
But a huge pair of round trunk hose,
In which he earned as much meat
As he and all the knights could eat ;
When laying by their swords and

truncheons,
They took their breakfasts or their

luncheons.

But let that pass at present, lest
We should forget where we digross'd,
As learned authors use, to whom
We leave it, and to the purpose come.

His puissant sword unto his side,
Near his undaunted heart, was tied,
With basket hilt that would hold broth,
And serve for fight and dinner both ,
In it he melted lead for bullets
To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets,
To whom he bore so fell a grutch,
He ne'er gave quarter t* any such
The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,
For want of fighting, was grown rusty,
And ate into itself, for lack
Of somebody to hew and hack •
The peaceful scabbard where it dwolt,
The rancour of its edge had felt ;
For of the lower end two handful
It had devour'd, it was so manful,
And so much scorn' d to laik in case.
As if it durst not show its face.

From 1649 to 1689 ]

HFDIBRAS AND THE BABBLE.

[SAMUEL BTTTLER.

In many desperate attempts

Of warrants, exigents, contempts,

It had appear' d with courage bolder

Than Serjeant Bum invading shoulder :

Oft had it ta'en possession,

And prisoners too, or made them ran.

This sword a dagger had his page,
That was but little for his age ,
And therefore waited on him so
As dwarfs npon knights-errant do
It was a serviceable dudgeon,
Either for fighting, or for dzudgmg .
*When it had stabb'd or broke a head,
It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread ,
Toast cheese or bacon, though it were
To bait a mouse-trap, would not care :
'Twould make clean shoos, and in the earth
Set leeks and onions, and so forth :
It had been 'prentice to a brewer,
"Where this and more it did endure,
But left the trade, as many more
Have lately done on the same score.

Samuel Butlw. — Born 1612, Died 1680

640.— HUDIBBAS COMMENCING BATTLE
"WITH THE RABBLE.

This said, with hasty rage he snatch' d
His gunshot, that in holsters watch'd,
And bending cock, ho levell'd full
Against in' outside of Talgol's skull1,
"Vowing that he should ne'er stir further,
Nor henceforth cow nor bullock murder :
But Pallas came in shape of Bust,
And 'twist the spring and hammer thrust
Her gorgon shield, which made the cock
Stand stiff, as 'twere transform' d to stock.
Meanwhile fierce Talgol, gathering might,
With rugged truncheon charged the Knight ;
But he with petronel upheaved,
Instead of shield, the blow received:
The gun recoil'd, as well it might,
Not used to such a kind of fight,
A-nf\ shrunk from its great master's gnpe,
Knook'ddownand stunn'dmthmoital stripe.
Then Hudibras, with furious haste,
Drew out his sword ; yet not so fast
But Talgol first, with hardy thwack,
Twice bruised his head, and twice his back ,
But when his nut-brown sword was out,
With stomach huge he laid about,
Imprinting many a wound upon
His mortal foe, the truncheon ;
The trusty cudgel did oppose
Itself against dead-doing- blows,
To guard his leader from fell bane,
And then revenged itself again.
And though the sword (some understood)
In force had much the odds of wood,
'Twas nothing so both sides were bolano't
So equal, none knew which was vahant'st ,
For wood, with honour b'ing engaged,

Is so implacably enraged,
Though iron hew and mangle sore,
Wood wounds and bruises honour more.
And now both knights were out of breath,
Tired in the hot pursuits of death,
Whilst all the rest amazed stood still,
Expecting which should take, or Trill,
This Hudibras observed , and fretting,
Conquest should be so long a-gettrng,
He drew up all his force into
One body, and that into one blow;
But Talgol wisely avoided it
By cunning sleight , for had it hit
The upper part of Trim, the blow
Had slit as sure as that below

Meanwhile the incomparable Colon,
To aid his friend, began to fall on ;
Him Ralph encounter' d, and straight grew
A dismal combat 'twixt them two ,
Th' one arm'd with metal, th* other with

wood,

This fit for bruise, and that for blood,
With many a stiff thwack, many a bang,
Hard crabtree and old iron rang,
While none that saw them could divine
To which side conquest would incline ;
TJntil Magnano, who did envy
That two should with so many men vie,
By subtle stratagem of brain
Perform' d what force could ne'er attain ;
For he, by foul hap, having found
Where thistles grew on barren ground,
In haste he drew his weapon out,
And having cropt them from the root,
He olapt them underneath the tail
Of steed, with pucks as sharp as nail :
The angry boast did straight leaent
The wrong done to his fundament,
Began to kick, and fling, and wince
As if he'd been beside his sense,
Striving to disengage from thistle,
That galTd him sorely under his tail j
Instead of which, he threw the pack
Of Squire and baggage from his back ;
And blundering still, with smarting rump,
He gave the Knight's steed such a thump
As made Tnm reel The Knight did stoop,
And sat on further side aslope ;
This Talgol viewing, who had now
By flight escaped the fatal blow,
Ho rallied, and again fell to't ;
For catching foe by nearest foot,
He lifted with such might and strength,
As would have hurl'd him thnce his length,
And dash'd his biaans (if any) out ;
But Mars, that still protects the stout,
In. pudding-time came to Trig aid,
And under him the Bear convey* d;
The Bear, upon whose soft fur-gown
The Knight with all his weight fell down
The friendly lug preserved the giound,
And headlong Knight, from bruise or wound ,
lake featherbed betwixt a wall,
And heavy brunt of cannon-ball.
As Sanoho on a blanket fell,
And had no hurt, ours fared as well ...

SAMUEL BUTUCB.]

HUDIERAS AOT> THB BABBLE.

[POUBTH PERIOD.^

la body, though his mighty spirit,
B'ing heavy, did not so well bear it.
The Bear was in a greater fright,
Beat down, and worsted by the Knight ;
He roar'd, and raged, and flung about,
To shake off bondage from his snout :
His wrath inflamed, boil'd o'er, and from
His jaws of death he threw the foam ;
Fury in stranger postures threw him,
And more than ever herald drew him,
He tore the earth which he had saved
Prom squelch of Knight, and storm' d and

raved,

And vex'd the more, because the harms
He felt were 'gainst the law of arms :
For men he always took to be
His friends, and dogs the enemy ;
Who never so much hurt had done Tifrn,
As his own side did falling on him :
It grieved him to the guts that they
For whom he'd fought so many a fray,
And served with loss of blood so long,
Should offer such fofaiTnari wrong 5
Wrong of unsoldier-like condition,
For which he flung down his commission ;
And laid about htm till his nose
Prom thrall of ring and cord broke loose.
Soon as he felt ^iTn«ft|f enlarged,
Through thickest of his foes he charged,
And made way through th' amazed crew ;
Some he o'erran, and some o'erthrew,
But took none , for by hasty flight
He strove t' escape pursuit of Knight,
Prom whom he fled with as much haste
And dread as he the rabble chased :
In haste he fled, and so did they,
Each and his fear a several way.

Crowdero only kept the field,
Not stirring1 from the place he held,
Though beaten down, and wounded sore
I' th' Fiddle and a leg that bore
One side of him, not that of bone,
But much its better, th* wooden one.
He spying Hudibras lia strew' d
Upon the ground, like log of wood,
With fnght of fall, supposed wound,
And loss of unne, in a swound,
In haste he snatch' d the wooden limb
That, hurt i' th' ancle, lay by him,
And fitting it for sudden fight,
Straight drew it up, t1 attack the Knight ,
Por getting up on stump and huokle
He with the foe began to buckle,
Vowing to be revenged for breach
Of Crowd and skin, upon the wretch,
Sole author of all detriment
He and his Piddle underwent.

But Balpho (who had now begun
T* adventure resurrection
Prom heavy squelch, and had got up
Upon his legs, with sprained crap),
Looking about, beheld permcion
Approaching Knight from fell musician ;
He snatch'd his whmyard up, that fled
When he was falling off his steed
(As rats do from a falling house),

To hide itself from rage of blows ;
And, wmg'd with speed and fury, flew
To rescue Knight from black and blue ;
Which ere he could achieve, his sconce
The leg encounter' d twice and once,
And now 't was raised to smite agen,
When Balpho thrust himself between :
He took the blow upon his arm,
To shield the Knight from further harm,
And joining wrath with force, be&tow'd
On th' wooden member such a load,
That down it fell, and with it bore
Crowdero, whom it propp'd before.
To him the Squire right nimbly run,
And setting conqu'nng foot upon
His trunk, thus spoke What dosp'rate

Made thee, thou whelp of Sin,*to fancy

Thyself, and all that coward rabble,

T' encounter us in battle able ?

How durst th', I say, oppose thy Cnrship

'Gainst arms, authority, and worship,

And Hudibras or me provoke,

Though all thy limbs were heart of oak,

Andth' other half of thee as good

To bear out blows as that of wood ?

Could not the whipping-post prevail,

With all its rhetoric, nor the jail,

To keep from flaying scourge thy skin

And ankle free from iron gin P

Which now thou shalt— but first our care

Must see how Hudibras does fare

This said, he gently raised the Knight,

And set Mm on his bum upright

To rouse him from lethargic dump,

He tweak' d his nose, with gentle thump

Knook'd on his breast, as if 't had been

To raise the spirits lodged within ,

They, waken' d with the noise, did fly

Prom inward room to window eye,

And gently op'ning hd, the casement,

Look'd out, but yet with some amazement

This gladded Balpho much to see,

Who thus bespoke the Knight. Quoth ho,

Tweaking his nose, Ton are, groat Sir,

A self-denying conqueror ,

As high, victorious, and great,

As e'er fought for the churches yet,

If you will give yourself but leave

To make out what y' already have ;

That's victory. The foe, for dread

Of your nine-worthiness, is fled,

All save Crowdero, for whose sake

You did th' espoused cause undertake ;

And he lies pns'ner at your foot,

To be disposed as you think meet,

Either for life, or death, or sale,

The gallows, or perpetual jail ,

Por one wink of your powerful eye

Must sentence fam to live or dio.

His fiddle is your proper purchase,

Won in the service of the churches ;

And by your doom must be allow'd

To be, or be no more, a Crowd ;

Por though success did not confer

Ju&t title on the conqueror ;

From 1649 to 1689 ] HUDIBBAS CONSUMING THE LAWYER. [SAMUEL BUTLEB.

Though dispensations were not strong

Conclusions, whether nght or wrong j

Although Outgoings did confirm,

And Owning were but a mere term ;

Yet as the wicked have no nght

To th* creature, though usurp'd by might,

The property is in the saint,

From whom th' injuriously detain 't I

Of him they hold their luxuries,

Their dogs, their horses, whores, and dice,

Their nots, revels, masks, delights,

Pimps, buffoons, fiddlers, parasites ;

All which the saints have title to,

And ought t' enjoy if they 'ad their due.

What we take from 'em is no more

Than what was ours by nght before ;

For we are their true landlords still,

And they our tenants but at will

At this the Knight began to rouse,

And by degrees grow valorous *

"He stared about, and seeing none

Of all his foes remain but one,

He snatch' d his weapon, that lay near "him,

And from the ground began to rear him,

Vowing to make Crowdero pay

For all the rest that ran away

But Ealpho now, in colder blood,

His fury mildly thus withstood

Great Sir, quoth he, your mighty spirit

Is raised too high , this slave does morit

To be the hangman's business, sooner

Than from your hand to have the honour

Of his destruction , I that am

A nothingness in deed and name,

Did scorn to hurt his foifeit carcase,

Or ill entreat his Fiddle or case

Will you, great Sir, that glory blot

In cold blood, which you gain'd m hot 9

Will you employ your conquering sword

To break a Fiddle, and your word ?

Samuel Butler.— Bom 1612, Died 1680.

641 — VICARIOUS JUSTICE.

Justice gives sentence many tunes
On one man for another's crimes ,
Our brethren of New England use
Choice malefactors to excuse,
And hang the guiltless in their stead,
Of whom the churches have less need ;
As lately 't happened . In a town
There lived a cobbler, and but one,
That out of doctrine could cut use,
And mend men's lives, as well as shoes.
This precious brother having slam,
In tunes of peace, an Indian,
Not out of malice, but mere zeal,
(Because he was an Infidel,)
The mighty Totiapottymoy
Sent to our elders an envoy,
Complaining sorely of the breach
Of league, held forth by Brother Patch,

Against the articles in force
Between both churches, his and ours,
For which he craved the saints to render
Into his hands, or hang th' offender
But they maturely having weigh'd
They had no more but Trim o' th' trade,
(A man that served them in a double
Capacity, to teach and cobble,)
Eesolved to spare him . yet, to do
The Indian Hoghan Moghan too
Impartial justice, m his stead did
Hang an old weaver that was bedrid.

Samuel Butler.— Bow 1612, Died 1680.

642.— HUDIBBAS CONSULTING THE
LAWYEB

An old dull sot, who toll'd the dock

For many years at Bridewell-dock,

At Westminster, and Hicks's-hall,

And Ivicdus docfaus play'd in all ,

Where in all governments and times,

He'd been both fnend and foe to cranes,

And used to equal ways of gaining,

By hind' ring justice, or Tnfl.TnfcnTrmg' •

To many a whore gave privilege,

And whipp'd, for want of quarterage,

Cart-loads of bawds to prison sent,

For being behind a fortnight's rent ;

And many a trusty pimp and crony

To Paddle-dock, for want of money ;

Engaged the constable to seize

All those that would not break the peace ,

Nor give him back his own foul words,

Though sometimes commoners, or lords,

And kept 'em prisoners of course,

For being sober at ill hours ;

That in the morning he might free

Or bind 'em over for his fee ;

Made monsters fine, and puppet-plays,

For leave to practise in their ways ;

Farm'd out all cheats, and went a share

With th' headborough and scavenger ,

And made the dirt i' th1 streets compound

For taking up the public ground ,

The kennel and the king's highway,

For being unmolested, pay ;

Let out the stocks, and whipping-post,

And cage, to those that gave him most ;

Imposed a task on bakers* ears,

And, for false weights, on chandelers ;

Made victuallers and vintners fine

For arbitrary ale and wine ,

But was a kind and constant friend

To all that regularly offend,

As residentiary bawds,

And brokers that receive stol'n goods ;

That cheat in lawful mysteries,

And pay church duties and his fees

But was implacable and awkward

To all that interloped and hawker' d.

To this brave Tn^-n the knight repairs
For counsel in his law-affairs,

SAMUEL BUTLEB ] HDTHBRAS CONSULTING THE LAWYER [FOUBTH PERIOD.—

And found fa'™ mounted in his pew,
With books and money placed, for shew,
lake nest-eggs to make clients lay,
And for his false opinion pay
To whom the Knight, with comely grace,
Pat off his hat, to put his case ;
Which he as prondly entertained
As th' other courteously strain' d ;
And, to assuie him 't was not that
He look'd for, bid him put on 's hat.

Quoth, he, there is one Sidrophel,
Whom I nave oudgell'd — Very well.
And now he brags to 've beaten me—
Better and better still, quoth he.
And TOWS to stick me to a wall,
Where'er he meets me — Best of all
'Tis true the knave has taken 's oath
That I robb'd him — Well done, in troth.
When he's confess'd he stole my cloak,
And pick'd my fob, and what he took ;
^yylk^ftli was the cause that made me bang

him,
And take my goods again— —Marry, "ha-Tig-

Trim

Now, whether I should beforehand

Swear he lobb'd me p — I understand.

Or bring my action of conveision

And trover for my goods ? — Ah, whoreson r

Or, if *t is better to ondite,

And bring TT»T> to his trial ? — Right.

Prevent what he designs to do,1

And swear for th' state against him ? — True.

Or whether he that is defendant

In this case has the better end on 't ;

Who, putting in a new cioss-bill,

May traverse th' action ? — Better stilL

Then there's a lady too — Ay, marry I

That's easily proved accessary ,

A widow who by solemn vows

Contracted to mo, for my spouse,

Combined with him to break her word,

And has abetted all — Good Loid '

Suborn' d th' aforesaid Sidiophel

To tamper with the dev'l of hell,

Who put m' into a hoind feai,

Pear of my life — Make that appear.

Made an assault with fiends and men

TTpon my body — Good agen.

And kept me in a deadly fright,

And false imprisonment, all night

Meanwhile they robb'd me, and myhorso,

And stole my saddle — Worse and worse

And made me mount upon the bare ridge,

T' avoid a wretcheder miscarriage.

Sir, (quoth the lawyer,) not to flatter ye,
You have as good and fair a battery
As heart can wish, and need not shame
The proudest man alive to claim ,
For i they've used you as you say,
Marry, quoth I, God give you joy ,
I would it were my case, I'd give
More than I'll say, or you'll beheve :
I would so trounce her, and her purse,
I'd make her kneel for better or worse :
For matrimony, and hanging here,
Both go by destiny so clear,

That you as sure may pick and choose,
As cross I win, and pile you lose
And if I durst, I would advanco
As much in ready maintenance,
As upon any case I've kuo\vn ,
But we that practise daio not own .
The law severely contrabands
Our taking bus' ness off men's hands
'Tis common barratry, that bears
Point-blank an action 'gainst our oars,
And ciops them till theio is not leather
To stick a pin in, left of either ,
Por which some do the summor-sonlt,
And o'er the bar, like tumblers, vault .
But you may swear, at any rato,
Things not in natuie, for the state ;
Por in all courts of justice here
A witness is not said to swear,
But make oath , that is, in plain terms,
To forge whatever he affirms

I flha-Tik' you (quoth, the Knight) for

that,

Because 'tis to my purpose pat —
Por Justice, though she's painted blind,
Is to the weaker side inclined,
Like Chanty , else right and wrong
Could never hold it out so long,
And, like blind Fortune, with a sleight,
Conveys men's interest and right
Prom Stiles' s pocket into Nokos's,
As easily as Hocus Pocus ;
Plays fast and loose, makes men obnoxious,
And clear again hko luccius docUiu>
Then, whether you would take her life,
Or but recover her for your wife,
Or be content with what she has,
And let all other matters pass,
The bus'ness to the law's alone,
The proof is all it looks upon ;
And you can want no witnesses
To swear to anything you please,
That hardly got their mere expenses
By th' labour of their consciences,
Or letting out to hiio their ears
To affidavit customers,
At inconsiderable values,
To serve for jurymen, or tallies,
Although retain'd in th' hardest mattery
Of trustees and administrators.

For that (quoth ho) lot mo alone ,
We 've store or such, and all our own,
Bred up and tutor' d by our Teachers,
The ablest of conscienco-strotchcis.

That's well, (quoth he,) but I should

guess,

By weighing all advantages,
Tour surest way is first to pitch
On Bongey for a water-witch ,
And when ye 've hang'd the conjuror,
Ye 've time enough to deal with her.
In th' int'nm spore for no trepans
To draw her nock into the bans ;
Ply her with love-letters and billots,
And bait 'em well, for quirks and quillets,
With trains t' inveigle and surprise
Her heedless answers and replies ,

JVom 1649 to 1689.]

THE ELEPHANT INT 'rmg MOON.

[SAMUEL BUTLER.

And if she miss the mouse-trap lines,

They '11 serve for other by-designs ,

And make an artist understand

To oopy out her seal, or hand ,

Or find void places in the paper

To steal in something to entrap her ;

Till with her worldly goods, and body,

Spite of her heart, she has endow' d ye :

Betain all soits of witnesses,

That ply i' th' Temple, under trees,

Or walk the round, with Knights of th'

Posts,

About the cross-legg'd knights, their hosts,
Or wait for customers between
The piUar-iowa in Lincoln's Inn ,
Where vouchers, forgers, common-bail,
And affidavit-men, ne'er fail
T' expose to sale all sorts of oaths,
According to their ears and clothes,
Their only necessary tools,
Besides the Gospel and their souls
And whon ye* re furnish' d with all purveys,
I shall be ready at your service

I would not give (quoth Hudibras)
A straw to understand a case,
Without the admirable skill
To wind and manage it at will ,
To veer, and tack, and steer a cause
Against the weathergage of laws,
And ring the changes upon cases,
As plain as no&ee upon faces,
As you havo well instructed mo,
For which you've earn'd (here 'tis) your
fee
Samuel Butler.— Bom, 1612, Died 1680.

643.— THE ELEPHANT IN THE MOON.

A learn' d society of late,

The glory of a foreign state,

Agreed upon a summer's night,

To search the moon by her own light ;

To take an invent'ry of all

Her real estate, and personal ,

And make an accurate survey

Of all her lands, and how they lay,

As true as that of Ireland, where

The sly surveyors stole a shire ,

T* observe hei country how 'twas planted,

With what eh' abounded most, or wanted ,

And make the prop'rost observations

For settling of new plantations,

If the society should incline

T* attempt so glorious a design.

This was the purpose of their meeting,
Tor which they chose a time as fitting,
When, at tho full, her radiant light
And influence too were at their height.
And now the lofty tube, the scale
With which they heav'n itself assail,
Was mounted full against the moon,
And all stood ready to fall on,
Impatient who should have the honour •
To plant an ensign first upon her.

When one, who for his deep belief
Was virtuoso then in chief,
Appro v'd the most profound, and wise,
To solve impossibilities,
Advancing gravely, to apply
To th1 optic gloss his judging eye,
Cried, Strange ' then remforc'd Tna sight
Against the moon with all his might,
And bent his penetrating brow
As if he meant to gaze her through :
When all the rest began t' admire,
And, like a train, from him took fire,
Surpns'd with wonder, beforehand,
At what they did not understand,
Cried out, impatient to know what
The matter was they wonder'd at.
Quoth he, Th' inhabitants o' th' moon,
Who, when the sun shines hot at noon,
Do live in cellars under ground,
Of eight miles deep and eighty round
(In which at once they fortify
Against the sun and th' enemy),
Which they count towns and cities there,
Because their people's civiller
Than those rude peasants that are found
To live upon the upper ground,
CalTd Prevolvans, with whom they are
Perpetually in open war ;
And now both armies, highly enrag'd,
Are in a bloody fight engaged,
And many fall on both sides slam,
As by the gloss 'tis clear and plain
Look quickly then, that every one
May see the fight before 'tis done.

With that a great philosopher,
Admir'd and famous far and near,
As one of singular invention,
But universal comprehension,
Applied one eye and half a nose
Unto the optic engine close ,
For he hod lately undertook
To prove and publish in a book,
That men whose nat'ral eyes are out,
May, by more powerful art, be brought
To see with th' empty holes, as plain
As if their eyes were in again '
And if they chanc'd to fail of those,
To make an optic of a nose,
As clearly it may, by those that wear
But spectacles, be made appear,
By which both senses being united,
Does render them much better sighted.
This great man, having fix'd both sights
To view the formidable fights,
ObserVd his best, and then cned out,
The battle's desperately fought ;
The gallant Subvolvam rally,
And from their trenches make a sally
Upon the stubborn enemy,
Who now begin to route and fly.
These suly ranting Prevolvans
Have ev'ry summer their campaigns,
And muster, like the warlike sons
Of Itawhead and of Bloodybones,
As numerous as Solan geese,
I' th' inlands of the Oicades,

SAMUEL BUTLER ]

THE ELEPHANT IN THE MOON".

[FOTJBTH PEBIOD. —

Courageously to make a stand,

And face their neighbours hand to hand,

Until the long'd-for -winter's come,

And then return in triumph home,

And spend the rest o' th' year in lies,

And vap'ring of their Yiotories ,

From th' old Arcadians they're believ'd

To be, before the moon, derived,

And when her orb was new created,

To people her were thence translated .

For as th' Arcadians were reputed

Of all the Grecians the most stupid,

Whom nothing in the world could bung

To civil Me, but fiddling,

They still retain the antique course

And custom of their ancestors,

And always sing and fiddle to

Things of the greatest weight they do.

"While thus the learn' d man entertains
Th* assembly with the Prevolvans,
Another, of as great renown,
And solid judgment, in the moon,
That understood her various soils,
And which produc'd best gennet-moyles,
And in the register of fame
Had enter'd his long-living name,
After he had por'd long and hard
I* th' engine, gave a start, and star'd —

Quoth he, A stranger sight appears
Than e'er was seen in all the spheres ,
A wonder more unparallel'd
Than error mortal tube beheld j
An elephant from one of those
Two mighty armies is broke loose,
And with the horror of the fight
Appears amaz'd, and in a fright •
Look quickly, lest the sight of us
Should cause the startled beast t* emboss.
It is a large one, far more great
Than e'er was bred in Afnc yet,
From which we boldly may infer
The moon is much the fruitfuller.
And since the mighty Pyrrhus brought
Those living castles first, 'tis thought,
Against the l&omans in the field,
It may an argument be held
(Arcadia being but a piece,
As his dominions were, of Greece),
To prove what this illustrious person
Has made so noble a discourse on,
And amply satisfied us all
Of th' Prevolvans' original.
That elephants are in the moon,
Though we had now disoover'd none,
Is easily made manifest,
Since, from the greatest to the least,
All other stars and constellations
Have cattle of all sorts of nations,
And heaven, hke a Tartar's hoard,
With great and numerous droves is stor'd ,
And if the moon produce by nature
A people of so vast a stature,
'Tis consequent she should bring forth
Far greater beasts, too, than the earth
(As by the best accounts appears
Of all our great'st discoverers),

And that those monstrous creatures there,
Are not such rarities as here

Meanwhile the rest had had a sight
Of all particulars o* the fight,
And ev'ry man, with equal care,
Perus'd of th* elephant his share ,
When one, who, for his excellence
In height'nmg words and shad'wmg sense,
And magnifying all he writ,
With curious microscopic wit,
Was magnified himself no less
In home and foreign colleges,
Began, transported with the twang
Of his own tnllo, thus t' harangue :

" Most excellent and virtuous friends,
This great discovery makes amends
For all our unsuccessful pains,
And lost expense of time and brains ,
For, by this sole phenomenon,
We've gotten ground upon the moon,
And gaan'd a pass, to hold dispute
With all the planets that stand out ;
To carry this most virtuous war
Home to the door of every star,
And plant the artillery of our tubes
Against their proudest magnitudes
To stretch our victories beyond
Th' extent of planetary ground,
And fix our engines, and our ensigns,
Upon the fix'd stars' vast dimensions
(Which Archimede, so long ago,
Durst not presume to wish to do),
And prove if they are other suns,
As some have held opinions,
Or windows in the empyreum,
From whence those bright offluvias come
Like flames of fire (as others guess)
That shane i' th' mouths of furnaces.
Nor is this all we have achiev'd,
But more, henceforth to be bohev'd,
And have no more our best designs,
Because they're ours, believ'd ill signs.
T out-throw, and stretch, and to enlarge,
Shall now no more be laid t' our charge ;
Nor shall our ablest Yirtuosis
Prove arguments for coffee-houses ;
Nor those devices, that ore laid
Too truly on us, nor those made
Hereafter, gam belief among
Our strictest judges, nght or wrong
Nor shall our past misfortunes moro
Be charg'd upon the ancient score,
No more our making old dogs young
Make men suspect us still i' th' wrong ;
Nor new invented chariots diaw
The boys to course us without law ,
Nor putting pigs t' a bitch to nurse,
To turn 'em into mongrel curs,
Make them suspect our skulls arc brittle,
And hold too much wit, or too little ;
Nor shall our speculations, whether
An elder-stick will save the leather
Of schoolboy's breeches from the rod,
Make all we do appear as odd.
This one discovery's enough
To take all former scandals off :

From 1649 to 1689]

THE ELEPHANT IN THE MOON.

[SAMUEL BUTUBB.

But since the world 's incredulous

Of all our scrutinies, and us,

And with, a prejudice prevents

Our best and worst experiments

(As if they were destm'd to miscarry,

In concert tried, or solitary),

And since it is uncertain when

Such wonders will occur again,

Let us as cautiously contrive

To draw an exact narrative

Of what we ev'ry one can swear

Our eyes themselves have seen appear,

That, when we publish the account,

We all may take our oaths upon't "

This said, they all with one consent
Agreed to draw up th' instrument,
And, for the gen'ral satisfaction,
To print it in the next transaction ,
But whilst the chiefs were drawing up
This strange memoir o' th' telescope,
One, peeping in the tube by chance,
Beheld the elephant advance,
And from the west side of the moon
To th' east was in a moment gone.
This being related, gave a stop
To what the rest were drawing up j
And ev'ry man, amaz'd anew
How it could possibly be true,
That any beast should run a race
So monstrous, in so short a apace,
Eesolv'd, howc'er, to make it good,
At least as possible as he could,
And rather his own eye? condemn,
Than question what he 'ad seen with them.

While all were thus resolv'd, a man
Of great renown there, thus began —
" 'Tis strange, I grant, but who can say
What cannot be — what can — and may ?
Especially at so hugely vast
A distance as this wonder's plao'd,
Where the least error of the sight
May show things false, but never right ;
Nor can we try them, so for off,
By any sublunary proof :
For who can say that Nature there
Has the same laws she goes by here P
Nor is it like she has mfus'd,
In ev'ry species there produc'd,
The same efforts she does confer
Upon the same productions here,
Since those with us, of sev'ral nations,
Have such prodigious variations,
And she affects so much to use
Variety in all she does
Hence may b' inferred that, though I grant
We've seen i' th' moon an elephant,
That elephant may differ so
From those upon the earth below,
Both in his bulk, and force, and speed,
As being of a different breed,
That though our own are but slow-pac'd,
Theirs there may fly, or run as fast,
And yet be elephants no less
Than those of Indian pedigrees "

This said, another of great worth,
Fam'd for his learned works put forth,

Look'd wise, then said .— " All this is true,

And learnedly observ'd by you ;

But there 's another reason for 't,

That f alls but very little short

Of mathematio demonstration,

Upon an accurate calculation;

And that is — as the earth and moon

Do both move contrary upon

Their axes, the rapidity

Of both their motions cannot be

But so prodigiously fast,

That vaster spaces may be past

In less time than the beast has gone,

Though he'd no motion of his own,

Which we can take no measure of,

As you have clear'd by learned proof.

This granted, we may boldly thence

Lay claim t' a nobler inference,

And make this great phenomenon

(Were there no othei) serve alone

To clear the grand hypothesis

Of th' motion of the earth from this."

With this they all were satisfied,
As men are wont o* ih' bias'd side,
Applauded the profound dispute,
And grew more gay and resolute,
By having overcome all doubt,
Than if it never had fall'n out ;
And, to complete their narrative,
Agreed t* insert this strange retrieve.

But while they were diverted all
With wording the memorial,
The footboys, for diversion too,
As having nothing else to do,
Seeing the telescope at leisure,
Tura'd virtnosis for their pleasure :
Began to gaze upon the moon,
As those they waited on had done,
With monkeys' ingenuity,
That love to practise what they see ;
When one, whose turn it was to peep,
Saw something in the engine creep,
And, viewing well, discover'd more
Than all thfl learn' d had done before.
Quoth he • — " A little thing is slunk
Into the long star-gazing trunk,
And now is gotten down so nigh,
I have "hym just against mine eye."

This being overheard by one
Who was not so far overgrown
In any virtuous speculation,
To judge with mere imagination,
Immediately he mode a guess
At solving all appearances,
A way far more significant
Than all their hints of th' elephant,
And found, upon a second view,
His own hypothesis most true ,
For he had scarce applied his eye
To th' engine, but immediately
He found a mouse was gotten in
The hollow tube, and, shut between
The two glass windows in restraint,
Was swelTd into an elephant,
And prov'd the virtuous occasion
Of all this learned dissertation :

SAMTTEL BUTLER ]

MISOETiTi A WEOUS THOUGHTS

[FOURTH PBBIOD.—

And, as a mountain heretofore
Was great with child they say, and bore
A silly mouse , this mouse, as strange,
Brought forth a mountain in exchange.

Meanwhile, the rest in consultation
Had penn'd the wonderful narration,
And set their hands, and seal?, and wit,
T' attest the truth of what they Jad writ,
"When this acours'd phenomenon
Confounded all they 'd said or done
For 'twas no sooner hinted at,
But they all were in a tumult straight,
More furiously enrag'd by far,
Than those that in the moon made war.
To find so admirable a hint,
When they had all agreed to havo seen't,
And wore engag'd to make it out,
Obstructed with a paltry doubt

* # * #

This bemg resolv'd, they, one by one,
Beview'd the tube, the mouse, and moon ;
But still the narrower they pned,
The more they were unsatisfied,
la no one thing they saw agreeing,
As if they 'ad sev'ral faiths of seeing ;
Some swore, upon a second view,
That all they 'ad seen before was true,
And that they never would recant
One syllable of th* elephant ;
Avow*d his snout could be no mouse's,
But a true elephant's proboscis.
Others began to doubt and waver,
Uncertain which o* th' two to favour,
And knew not whether to espouse
The cause of th' elephant or mouse.
Some held no way so oithodox
To try it, as the ballot-box,
And, like the nation's patriots,
To find or make the truth by votes :
Others conceiv'd it much more fit
T1 unmount the tube and open it,
And, for their private satisfaction,
To re-examine the transaction.
And after, explicate the rest
As they should find cause for the best

To this, as th' only expedient,
The whole assembly gave consent ;
But ere the tube was half let down,
It cleared the first phenomenon ,
For, at the end, prodigious swarms
Of fiies and gnats, liko men in arms,
Had all pass'd muster, by mischance,
Both for the Sub- and Prevolvans
This being discover d, put them all
Into a fresh and fieicer brawl,
Asham'd that men so grave and wise
Should be chaldes'd by gnats and flies,
And take the feeble insects' swarms
For mighty troops of men at arms ;
As vain as those who, when the moon
Bright in a crystal river shone,
Threw casting nets as subtily at her,
To catch and pull her out o' the water.
But when they had unscrew*d the glass,
To find out whore the impostor was,

And saw the mouse that, by mishap,
Had made the telescope a trap,
Amaz'd, confounded, and afflicted,
To be so openly convicted,
Immediately they get them gone,
With this discovery alone,
That those who greedily pursue
Things wondeiful, instead of true,
That in their speculations choose
To make discoveries strange news,
And natural history a gazette
Of tales stupendous and fai-fet ;
Hold no truth worthy to bo known,
That is not huge and overgrown,
And explicate appearances,
Not as they are, but as they please ;
In vain strive nature to suborn,
And, for their pains, are paid with scoin.

Samuel Sutler.— Bom 1612, DM 1G80.

644 — MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS.

The truest characters of ignorance
Are vanity, and pnde, and airoganco ;
As blind men used to bear their noses higher
Than those that have their oyes and sight
entire

All wit and fancy, like a diamond,
The more exact and curious 'tis ground,
Is foro'd for eveiy carat to abate
As much in value as it wants in weight.

Love is too great a happiness
For wretched mortals to possess 5
For could it hold inviolate
Agam&t those cruelties of fate
Which all felicities below
By ngid laws are subject to,
It would become a bliss too high
For perishing mortality ,
Tianslate to earth the joys above,
For nothing goes to Heaven but Lovo.
All love at first, like generous wine,
Ferments and frets until 'tis fino ,
Foi when 'tis settled on the Ice,
And from the impurer matter free,
Becomes the richer still the older,
And proves the pleasantor the colder.

As at the approach of winter, all
The leaves of great trees use to fall,
And leave them naked, to engage
With storms and tempests when they rage,
While humbler plants are found to wear
Their fresh green liveries all the yeax ,

From 1649*o 1689]

INVITATION TO ITiAATT WALTON.

[CHARLES COTTON.

So when their glonous season's gone
With gieat men, and hard times come on,
The greatest calamities oppress
The greatest still, and spare the less.

In Borne no temple was so low
As that of Honour, built to show
How humble honour ought to be,
Though there 'twas all authority

AE smatterers are moie brisk and pert
Than those that undeistand an art ,
As little sparkles shine more bnght
Than glowing coals that give them light.

Samuel Butler. — Born 1612, Died 1680

645.— TO HIS MISTEESS.

Bo not unjustly blame

My guiltless breast,
For venturing to disclose a flame

It had so long supprest
In its own a&hes it design' d

For ever to havo lain ;
But that my sighq, hko blasts of wind,

Mado it bioak out again.

Samuel Butler — Born 1612, Died 1680.

64.6 —THE NEW TEAR.

Hark ! tho cook ciows, and yon bnght star

Tells us tho day himself 's not far ;

And see, wheie, breaking from the night,

He gilds the western foils with light.

With him old Janus doth appear,

Peeping into the future year,

With such a look as seems to say

Tho prospect is not good that way.

Thus do we rise ill sights to soe,

And 'gainst ourselves to prophesy ,

When the prophetic fear of things

A more tormenting mischief bungs,

More full of soul-tormenting gall

Than direst mischiefs can beiall

But stay I but stay ' methmks my sight,

Better mf orm'd by clearer light,

Discerns sereneness in that brow,

That all contracted seem'd but now.

His reversed face may show distaste,

And frown upon the ills are past ;

But that which this way looks is clear,

And smiles upon the New-born Year.

He looks, too, from a place so high,

Tho year lies open to his eye ;

And all tho moments open are

To the exact discoverer

Tot more and more he smiles upon
The happy revolution.
Why should we then suspect or fear
The influences of a year,
So smiles upon us the first morn,
And speaks us good as soon as born ?
Plague on't ' the last was ill enough,
This cannot but make better proof ;
Or, at the worst, as we brush' d through
The last, why so we may this too ,
And then the next in reason should
Be super-excellentiy good :
For the worst ills, we daily see,
Have no more perpetuity
Than the best fortunes that do fall ;
Which also brings us wherewithal
Longer their being to support,
Than those do of the other sort :
And who has one good year in three,
And yet repines at destiny,
Appears ungrateful in the case,
And merits not the good he has.
Then let us welcome the new guest
With lusty brimmers of the best :
Mirth always should good fortune meet,
And renders e'en disaster sweet :
And though the princess turn her back,
Let us but line ourselves with sack,
We better shall by far hold out
Till the next year she face about

Cliai Ics Cotton —Bom 1630, Died 1687.

647 —INVITATION TO IZAAK WALTON.

Whilst in this cold and blustering clime,
Where bleak winds howl, and tempests roar,

We pass away the roughest tune
Has been of many years before ;

Whilst from the most tempestuous nooks
The dullest blasts our peace invade,

And by great rams our smallest brooks
Are almost navigable made ;

Whilst all the ills are so improv'd
Of this dead quarter of the year,

That even you, so much belov'd,
We would not now wish with us here:

In this estate, I say, it is

Some comfoit to us to suppose,
That in a better clime than this,

You, our dear fnend, have more repose ;

And some delight to me the while,
Though nature now does weep in lam,

To think that I have seen her smile,
And haply may I do again

If the all-ruling Power please

We live to see another May,
We'll recompense an age of these

Foul days in one fine fishing day.

CHABLES COTTON ]

THE RETIREMENT.

POUKTH PBBIOD. —

"We then shall have a day or two,

Perhaps a week, wherein to try
"What the best master's hand can do

With the most deadly Tnlling fly.

A day with not too bright a beam ;

A warm, but not a scorching sun $
A southern gale to curl the stream ;

And, master, half one work IB done.

Then, whilst behind some bush we wait

The scaly people to betray,
We'll prove it just, with treacherous bait,

To make the preying trout our prey ,

And think ourselves, m such an hour,
Happier than those, though not so high,

"Who, lake leviathans, devour
Of meaner m^n the smaller fry.

This, my best fnend, at my poor home,
Shall be our pastime and our theme ;

But then — should you not deign to come,
You make all this a flattering dream

Charles Ootton.-—Boin 1630, Died 1687.

648 — THE RETIREMENT.

Farewell, thou busy world, and may

We never meet again ,
Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray,
And do more good in one short day
Than he who his whole age out-wears

Upon the most conspicuous theatres,

Where nought but vanity and vice appears.
Good God ' how sweet are all things here '
How beautiful the fields appear '

How cleanly do we feed and lie '
Loid r what good hours do we keep !
How quietly we sleep '

What peace, what unanimity '
How innocent from the lewd fashion,

Is all our business, all our recreation '

Oh, how happy here's our leisure !
Oh, how nmooent our pleasure '
O ye valleys I O ye mountains !
0 ye groves, and crystal fountains !
How I love, at liberty,
By turns to come and visit ye f

Dear Solitude, the soul's best friend,
That man acquainted with himself dost make,
And all his Maker's wonders to intend,
With thee I here converse at will,
And would be glad to do so stall,
For it is thou alone that keep'st the soul
awake.

How calm and quiet a delight

Is it, alone,
To read, and meditate, and wnte,

By none offended, and offending none !

To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own

And, pleasing a man's self, none other to
displease.

0 my beloved nymph, fair Dove,
Princess of nvers, how I love

Upon thy flowery banks to lie,
And view thy silver stream,
When gilded by a summer's beam !
And in it all thy wanton fry,

Playing at liberty ;
And with my angle, upon them
The all of treachery

1 ever learn'd, industriously to try !

Such streams Rome's yellow Tiber cannot

show;

The Iberian Tagus, or lagurian Fo,
The Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine,
Are puddle water all compared with thine ;
And Loire's pure streams yet too polluted are
With thine, much purer to compare ;
The rapid Garonne and the winding Seine
Are both too mean,

Beloved Dove, with thee

To vie priority ;

Nay, Tame and Isis, when oonjoin'd, submit,
And lay their trophies at thy silver feet.

O my beloved rooks, that rise

To awe the earth and brave the skies,

From some aspiring mountain's crown,

How dearly do I love,
Giddy with pleasure, to look down ;
And, from the vales, to view the noble heights

above '

0 my beloved caves ! from dog-star's heat,
And all anxieties, my safe retreat ,
What safety, privacy, what tiue delight,

JTL the ftyfafimfl.! night,

Your gloomy entrails make,

Have I taken, do I take '
How oft, when gnef has made me fly,
To hide me from society,
E'en of my dearest friends, have I,

In your recesses' friendly shade,

All my sorrows open laid,
And my most secret woes intrusted to your
privacy '

Lord ' would men let me alone,
What an over-happy one

Should I think myself to be ;
Might I in this deseit place
(Which most men in discourse disgrace)

lave but imdisturb'd and free !
Here, in this despis'd recess,

Would I, maugie winter's cold,
And the summer's worst excess,
Try to live out to sixiy full years old;

And, all the while,
Without an envious eye

On any thriving tinder fortune's smile,
Contented live, and then contented die

Charles Cotton,— Born, 1630, Died 1687.

From 1G49 to 1689 ] A VOYAGE TO IRELAND IN BTJELESQE. [OHABLBS COTTON.

649— A VOYAGE TO IRELAND IN
BTOLESQUE.

CANTO I.

The lives of frail men are compared by the

Or onto short journies, or pilgrimages,

AB men to there •"»!• do come sooner or

later,
That is, to their ends (to be plain in my

matter) ;
From whence, when one dead is, it currently

follows,
He has run his race, though his goal be the

gallows;

And this 'tis, I fancy, sets folks so a madding,
And makes Tn«T\ and women so eager of

gadding;
Truth is, in my youth I was one of these

people
Would hare gone a great way to have seen an

high steeple,
And though I was bred 'mongst the wonders

o' th' Peak,
Would have thrown away money, and ventured

my neck

To have seen a great hill, a rook, or a cave,
And though there was nothing so pleasant and

brave

But at forty years old you may (if you please)
Think me wiser than run such errands as

these;

Or had the same humour still ran in my toes,
A voyage to Ireland I ne'er should have

chose,
But to tell you the truth on't, indeed it was

neither
Improvement nor pleasure for which I went

thither,

I know then you'll presently ask me for what ?
Why, faith, it was that makes the old woman

trot;
A-nrl therefore I -feTi-mlr I'm not much to be

blamed
If I went to the 3>lace whereof Nick was

ashamed.

0 Coryate I thou traveller famed as Ulysses,
In such a stupendous labour as this is,
Como lend me the aids of thy hands and thy

feet,
Though the first be pedantic, the other not

sweet,

Yet both are so restless in peregrination,
They'll help both my journey, and eke my

relation
'Twas now the most beautiful time of the

year,
The days were now long, and the sky was now

clear,

And Way, that fair lady of splendid renown,
Had dress'd herself fine, in her flower' d tabby

gown,
When about some two hours and a half after

noon,
When it grew something late, though I thought

it too soon.

With a pitiful voice, and a most heavy heart,
I tuned up my pipes to sing " IntJi to dqpwrt?9
The ditty concluded, I call'd for my horse,
And with a good pack did the jument en-
dorse,

Till he groan' d and he f— • d under the burden,
For sorrow had made me a cumbersome

lurden:
And now farewell Dove, where I've caught

such brave dishes

Of over-grown, golden, and silver-scaled fishes ;
Thy trout and thy grailmg may now feed

securely,
I've left none behind me can take 'em so

surely;

Feed on then, and breed on, until the next year,
But if I return I expect my arrear
By pacing and trotting betimes in the

even,
Ere the sun had forsaken one ha-lf of the

Heaven,

We all at fair Oongerton took up our inn,
Where the sign of a Tang kept a fang and his

queen
But who do you tfnirfc came to welcome me

there?
No worse a man, marry, than good master

mayor,
With his staff of command, yet the man was

not lame,
But he needed it more when he went, than he

came;

After three or four hours of friendly potation
We took leave each of other in courteous

fashion,
When each one, to keep his brains fast in Ms

head,
Put on a good nightcap, and straightway to

bed.
Next morn, having paid for boil'd, roasted,

and bacon,
And of sovereign hostess our leaves kindly

taken,
(For her king (as 'twas rumour'd) by late

pouring down,
This morning had got a foul flaw in his

crown,)

We mounted again, and full soberly riding,
Three miles we had nd ere we met with a

But there (having over-night plied the tap

well)
We now must needs water at place call'd

Holmes Chapel
" A hay '" quoth the foremost, " ho I who

keeps the house ? "
Which said, out an host comes as brisk as a

louse,
His fo^ comb'd as sleek as a barber he'd

been,
A cravat with black ribbon tied under his

chin,
Though by what I saw in Trrm, I straight 'gan

to fear
That knot would be one day slipp'd under his

CHAJJLEU COTTON ] A VO STAGE TO IRELAND IN BURLESQUE [FOURTH PERIOD —

Quotli lie (with low cong£) *6 What lack you,

my lord f "
" The best liquor," quoth I, "that the house

-will afford "
"You shall straight," quoth he, and then

calls out, " Mary,

Come quickly, and bring* us CL quart of Canaiy "
" Hold, hold, my spruce host ? for 'i th' mom-

ing so early
I never drink liquor but what's made of

barley "
Which words were scarce out, but, which

mads me admire,

My lordship was presently ton' d into 'squire
*' Ale, 'squire, you mean P" quoth he nimbly

again,
" What, must it be purl'd P"— " No, I love it

best plain"
" Why, if you'll diink ale, sir, pi ay take my

advice,
Here's the best ale i' th' land, if you'll go to

the price ,

Better, I sure am, ne'er blew out a stopple ;
But then, in plain truth, it is sixpence a

bottle "
" Why, faith," quoth I, " fnend, if your liquor

be such,
For the best ale in England it is not too

much *
Let's have it, and quickly." — " O sir T you may

stay,

A pot in your pate is a mile in your way
Come, bring out a bottle here presently, wife,
Of the best Cheshire hum he e'er drank in his

life."
Straight out comes the mistress in waistcoat

of silk,

As clear as a milkmaid, as white as her
With visage as oval and sleek as an egg,
As straight as an arrow, as right as my leg :
A curtsey she made, as demure as a sister,
I could not forbear, but alighted and kiss'd

her

Then ducking another with most modest mien,
The first word she said, was, " Will 't please

you walk in P'*
I thank'd her ; but told her, I then could not

stay,
For the haste of my bus'ness did call me

away.

She said, she was sorry it fell out so odd,
But if, when again I should travel that road,
I would stay there a night, she assured me the

nation

Should nowhere afford better accommodation
Meanwhile my spruce landlord has broken the

cork,
And oall'd for a bodkin, though he had a

fork;
But I show'd Trim a screw, which I told my

brisk gull
A trepan was for bottles had broken their

scull;
Which, as it was true, he believed without

doubt,
But 'twas I that apply'd it, and pull'd the

cork out.

Bounce, quoth the bottle, the work being

done,
It roar'd, and it smoked, like a new-fired

gan»
But the shot miss'd us all, or else we'd been

routed,
Which yet was a wonder, we were so about

it
Mine host poui'd and fill'd, till he could fill

no fuller
"Look here, sir," quoth ho, "both for nap

and for colour,
Sans bragging, I hate it, nor will I o'er

do't,
I defy Loek, and Lambhith, and Sandwich to

boot."
By my troth, he said truo, for I speak it with

tears,
Though I have been a toss-pot these twenty

good years,
And have drank so much liquor as made me

a debtor,
In my days, that I know of, I never drank

better .
We found it so good, and wo drank so pro-

foundly,
That four good round shillings were whipt

away roundly ,
And then I conceived it was time to be

jogging,
For our work had been done, had we stay'd

t'other noggin.
From thence we set forth with more mottlo

and spright,
Our horses were empty, our coxcombs were

O'er Dellamore forest we, tantivy, posted,
Till our horses weie basted as if they wore

roasted
In truth, we pursued might have been by our

haste,
And I think Sir George Booth did not gallop

so fast,
Till about two o'clock after noon, God be

blest,
We came, safe and sound, aft to Chester i' th*

west
And now in high time 'twas to call for some

meat,
Though drinking does well, yet some time we

must eat ;
And i* faith we had victuals both plenty and

good,
Where we all laid about us as if wo wore

wood
Go thy ways, mistress Anderton, for a good

woman,
Thy guests shall by thee ne'or be tum'd to a

common,

And whoever of thy entertainment complains,
Let him lie with a drab, and bo pox'd for his

pains.
And here I must stop the career of my

Muse,
The poor jade is weary, 'las f how should she

choose P

From 1649 to 1689 ] A VOYAGE TO IRELAND IN BUBLESQUE. [CHASLES COTTON.

And if I should farther here spur on my

course,
I should, questionless, tire both my wits and

my horse
To-night let us rest, for 'tis good Sunday's

even,
To-morrow to church, and ask pardon of

Heaven
Thus far we our tune spent, as here I have

ponn'd it,
And odd kind of life, and 'tis well if we mend

it,
But to-morrow (God willing) we'll have t' other

bout,
And better or worse be't, for murder will

out,
Our future adventures we'll lay down before

ye,

For my Muse is deep swoin to use truth of the

CANTO II.

After seven hours' sleep, to commute for pains '

taken,
A "mtva of "hvmflQiTj^ one would ffii'"^ might

But riding, and drinking hard, were two such

spells,

I doubt I'd slept on, but for jangling of bells,
Which, ringing to matins all over the town,
Made me leap out of bed, and put on my

gown,
With intent (so G-od mend me) I have gone to

the choir,

When straight I perceived myself all on a £re ;
For the two fore-named things had so heated

my blood,

That a little phlebotomy would do me good :
I sent for chrnirgion, who came in a tnoe,
And swift to shed blood, needed not be called

twice,

But tilted stiletto quite thorough the vein,
from whence issued out the ill humours

When having twelve ounces, he bound up my

arm,
And I gave t»™ two Georges, which did Trim

no harm:

But after my bleeding, I soon understood
It had cool'd my devotion as well as my

blood ;

For I had no more mind to look on my psalter,
Than (saving your presence) I had to a

halter!

But, like a most wicked and obstinate sinner,
Then sat in my chamber till folks came to

dinner*
I dined with good stomach, and very good

cheer,
With a very fine woman, and good ale and

beer;
When myself having stuff d than a bagpipe

more full,
I fell to my smoking until I grew dull ,

And, therefore, to take a fine nap thought it

best,
For when belly foil is, bones would be at

rest •

I tumbled me down on my bed hke a swad,
Where, O ' the delicious dream that I had '
Till the belts, that had been my morning

molesters,
Now waked me again, chiming all in to

vespers;
With that starting up, for my -man I did

whistle,
And comb'd out and powder' d my locks that

were grizzle ,
Had my clothes neatly brush' d, and then put

on my sword ,

Resolved now to go and attend on the word
Thus tiick'd, and thus trim, to set forth I

begin,
Neat and cleanly without, but scarce cleanly

within ;
For why, Heaven knows it, I long •fa™ had

been

A most humble obedient servant to sin :
And now in devotion was even so proud,
I scorned (forsooth) to join pray'r with the

crowd ;

\ For though courted by aH the bells as I went,
I was deaf, and regarded not the compliment,
But to the cathedral still held on my pace,
As 'twere, scorning to kneel but in the best

place.
I there made myself sure of good music at

least,
But was something deceived, for 'twas none

of the best,

But however, I stay'd at the church's com-
manding

Till we came to the " Peace passes all under-
standing,"
Which no sooner was ended, but whir and

away,
Like boys in a school when they've leave got

to play,
All save master mayor, who still giavely

stays
Till the rest had left room for his worship

and 's mace

Then he and his brethren in order appear,
I out of my stall, and fell into his rear ,
For why, 'tis much safer appearing, no

doubt,

In authority's tail, than the head of a rout
In "ft11" reverend order we marched from

pray'r;
The mace before me borne as well 03 the

may'r ;
Who looking behind "M™> and seeing most

plain

A glorious gold belt in the rear of his train,
Made such a low conge, forgetting his place,
I was never so honour' d before in my days
But then off went my scalp-case, and down

went my fist,
Till the pavement, too hard, by my knuckles

was kiss'd ,

CHARLES COTTON ] A VOYAGE TO TCTTiANP IN BUBLBSQUE. [FOTOTH PHBIOD.—

By which, though thick-skull* d, he must under-
stand tins,

That I was a most hnmble servant of his ;
Which also so wonderful kindly he took,
(As I well perceived both b* his gesture and

look,)
That to have me dogg'd home he straightway

appointed,

Resolving, it seems, to be better acquainted.
I was scarce in my quarters, and set down on

crupper,
But his man was there too, to invite me to

pnpper :

I start up, and after most respective fashion
Gave his worship much thanks for his kind in-
vitation ;
But begg'd his excuse, for my stomach was

small,

And I never did eat any supper at all ;
But that after supper I would kiss his hands,
And would come to receive his worship's

commands,

Sure no one will say, but a patron of slander,
That this was not pretty well for a Moor-
lander :

And since on such reasons to sup I refused,
I nothing did doubt to be holden excused ;
But my quaint repartee had his worship

possess'd
With so wonderful good a conceit of the

rest,
That with mere impatience he hop'd in his

breeches
To see the fine fellow that made such fine

speeches:
" Go, sirrah !" quoth he, " get you to him

again,

And will and require, in his Majesty's name,
That he come ; and tell him, obey he were

best, or
I'll teach Trim to know that he's now in West

Chester."

The man, upon this, comes me running again,
But yet minced his message, and was not so

plain;

Saying to me only, " Good sir, I am sorry
To tell you my master has sent again for

you,

And has such a longing to have you his guest,
That I, with these ears, heard him swear and

protest,
He would neither say grace, nor sit down on

Nor open his napkin, until you do come."
With that I perceived no excuse would avail,
And, seeing- there was no defence for a flail,
I said I was ready master may'r to obey,
And therefore desired hi™ to lead me the

way
We went, and ere Malkin could well lick her

ear,
(For it but the next door was, forsooth) we

were there ,
Where lights being brought me, I mounted

the stairs,
The worst I e'er saw in my life at a mayor's

But every thrng else must be highly com-
mended.

I there found his worship most nobly at-
tended,

Besides such a supper as well did convince,
A may'r in his province to be a great prince ;
\q }yj ga,t ja Tiifl chair he did not much vary
In state nor in face from our eighth English

Harry;

But whether his face was awe]!' d up with fat>
Or puffd up with glory, I cannot tell that.
Being enter' d the chamber half length, of a

pike,

And cutting of faces exceedingly like
One of those little gentlemen brought from

the Indies,

And screwing myself into Congo's and cringes,
By then I was halfway advanced in the

room,
HIS worship most rev'rendly rose from his

bum,
And with the more honour to grace and to

greet me,
Advanced a whole step and a half for to meet

me;

Where leisurely doffing a hat worth a tester,
He bade me most heartily welcome to Chester,
I thank'd him in language the beat I was.

able,

And so we forthwith sat us all down to table.
Now here you must note, and 'tis worth ob-
servation,
That as his chair at one end o* th* table had

station,
So sweet mistress mayoress, in just such

another,
Like the fair queen of hearts, sat in state at

the other,
By which I perceived, though it seemed a

nddle,
The lower end of this must be just in the

middle
But perhaps 'tis a rule there, and one that

would mind it
Amongst the town-statutes 'tis likely might

find it
But now into th' pottage each deep his spoon

daps,
As in truth one might safely for burning one's

chaps,
When straight, with the look and the tone of

a scold,
Mistress mayoress complain'd that the pottage

was cold ,
" And all long of your fiddle-faddle," quoth

she,
"Why, what then, Goody Two-Shoes, what if

it be?
Hold you, if you can, your tittle-tattle^'

quoth he
I was glad she was snapp'd thus, and guess' d

byth' discourse,
The may'r, not the gray mare, was the bettor

horse,

And yet for all that, there is reason to fear,
She submitted but out of respect to his year .

From 1649 to 1689.J A VOYAGE TO IRELAND IN BTJBLESQTJE. [CHARLES COTTON

However, 'twas well she had now so much

grace,
Though, not to the man, to submit to his

place,

Tor had she proceeded, I verily thought
My turn would the next be, for I was m fault •
But this brush being past, we fell to our diet,
And eVry one there filTd his belly in quiet.

Supper being ended, and things away taken,
Master mayor's curiosity *gan to awaken ;
Wherefore, Toa-Trpg me draw something nearer

"hig chair,

He wilTd and required me there to declare
My country, my birth, my estate, and my

parts,

And whether I was not a master of arts ,
And eke what the bus'ness was had brought

me thither,
"With what I was going about now, and

whither

Giving me caution no lie should escape me,
For if I should trip he should certainly trap

me.

I answer' d, my country was famed Stafford-
shire;
That in deeds, bills, and bonds, I was ever

writ squire ;
That of land I had both sorts, some good, and

some evil,
But that a great part on't was pawn'd to the

Devil,
That as for my parts, they were such as he

saw;
That, indeed, I had a small smatt'ring of

law,
Which I lately had got more by practice than

By sitting- o' th* bench whilst others were

pleading;
But that arms I had ever more studied than

aits,
And was now to a captain raised by my

deserts ;
That the bus'ness which led me through

Palatine ground

Into Ireland was whither now I was bound ,
Where his worship's great favour I loud will

proclaim,

And in all other places wherever I came.
He said, as to that, I might do what I list,
But that I was welcome, and gave me his

fist;
When, having my fingers made crack with his

gnpes,
He oall'd to his man for some bottles and

pipes

To trouble you here with a longer narra-
tion

Of the several parts of our confabulation,
Perhaps would be tedious , I'll therefore remit

ye

Even to the most rev' rend records of the city,
Where, doubtless, the acts of the may*rs are

recorded,
And if not more truly, yet much better

worded

In short, then, we piped and we tippled

Canary,
Till my watch pointed one in the circle

horary,

When, thinking it now was high time to de-
part,
His worship I thank' d with a most grateful

heart;

And because to great men presents are accept-
able,
I presented the may'r, ere I rose from the

table,

With a certain fantastical box and a stopper ,
And he having kindly accepted my offer,
I took my fair leave, such my visage adorning,
And to bed, for I was to nse early i* th*

CANTO m.

The Sun in the morning disclosed his light,
With complexion as ruddy as mine over

night,
And o'er the eastern mountains peeping up 'a

head,

The casement being open, espied me in bed ;
With his rays he so tickled my lids that I

And was half ashamed, for I found myself

But up I soon start, and was dress'd in a

trice,
And call'd for a draught of ale, sugar, and

spice;

Which having turn'd off, I then call to pay,
And packing my nawls, whipp'd to horse, anl

away

A guide I had got, who demanded great vails
For conducting me over the mountains of

Wales-
Twenty good shillings, which sure very large

is;
Yet that would not serve, but I must bear his

charges;

And yet, for all that, rode astride on a beast,
The worst that e'er went on three legs, I pro-

test:

It certainly was the most ugly of jades,
His hips and his rump made a right ace of

spades;
His sides were two ladders, well spur-gall' d

withal;
His neck was a helve, and his head was a

mall,
For his colour, my pains and your trouble I'll

spare,
For the creature was wholly denuded of

hair,
And, except for two things, as bare as my

A tuft; of a mane, and a sprig of a tail ,
And by these the true colour one can no more

know,
Than by mouse-skins above stairs, the merkm

below, 27

CHARLES COTTON ] A VOYAGE TO ERELAND BT BUI&LESQUE. [FOTTRTH PERIOD. —

How such as the beast was, even snob, was the

xider,
With a head like a nutmeg, and legs like a

spider ;

A voice like a cricket, a look like a rat,
The brains of a goose, and the heart of a cat.
Even such was my guide and his beast , let

them pass,

The one for a horse, and the other an ass.
But now with our horses, what sound and

what rotten,
Down to the shore, you must know, we were

gotten;
And there we were told it concern' d us to

ride,

Unless we did mean to encounter the tide ;
And then, my guide lab'nng with heels and

with hands,
With two up and one down hopp'd over the

sands,
Till his horse, finding1 the labour for three legs

too sore,

Fol'd out a new leg, and then he had four
And now by plain dint of hard spurring and

whipping,
Dry shod we came where folks sometimes take

shipping •
And where the salt sea, as the Devil were

in't,
Came roaring t* have hinder* d our journey to

Flint;

But we, by good luck, before him got thither,
He else would have carried us no man knows

whither
And now her in Wales is, saint Taph be her

speed,
Qott splutter her taste, some Welsh ale her

had need,

For her ride in great haste, and * *
For fear of her being catoh'd up by the

fishes :
But the lord of Fhnt castle's no lord worth a

louse,
For he keeps ne'er a drop of good drink in his

house;
But in a small house near unto't there was

store

Of such ale as (thank God) I ne'er tasted be-
fore;
And surely the Welsh are not wise of their

fuddle,
For this had the taste and complexion of

puddle.
From thence then we march'd, fall as dry as

we came,
My guide before prancing, his steed no more

lame,

O'er Trills and o'er valleys uncouth and un-
even,

Until, "twirt the hours of twelve and eleven,
More hungry and thirsty than tongue can well

tell,

We happily came to St Winifred's well
I thought it the pool of Bethesda had been,
By the cripples lay there ; but I went to my

inn

To speak for some meat, for so stomach did

motion,

Before I did farther proceed in devotion :
I went into th' kitchen, where victuals I

saw,
Both beef, veal, and mutton, but all on't was

raw,
And some on't alive, but soon went to

slaughter,
For four chickens were slain by my dame and

her daughter ;
Of which to saint Win, ere my vows I had

paad,

They said I should find a rare fricasse'e made -
I thank'd them, and straight to the well did

repaor,
Where some I found cursing, and others at

pray'r,
Some dressing, some stripping, some out, and

some in,
Some naked, where botches and boils might

be seen ,
Of which some were fevers of Yenus, I'm

sure,

And therefore unfit for the virgin to cure •
But the fountain, in truth, is well worth the

sight,
The beautiful virgin's own tears not more

bright ,

Nay, none but she ever shed such a tear,
Her conscience, her name, nor herself were

more dear
In the bottom there lie certain stones that

look white,
But streak' d with pure red, as the morning

with light,
Which tiiey say is her blood, and so it may

be,
But for that, let who shed it look to it for

me

Over the fountain a chapel there stands.
Which I wonder has 'scaped master Oliver's

hands .
The floor's not ill paved, and the margin o' th'

spring

Is enclosed with a certain octagonal nng ,
From each angle of which a pillar does rise,
Of strength and of thickness enough to

suffice

To support and uphold from falling to ground
A cupola wherewith the virgin is crown* d
Now 'twirt; the two angles that fork to tho

north,
And where the cold nymph does her basin

pour forth,
Under ground is a place where they bathe, as

'tis said,
And 'tis true, for I heard folks' teeth hack in

then: head,
For you are to know that the rogues and

the .* *
Are not let to pollute the spring-head with

their sores

But one thing I chiefly admired in the place,
That a saint and a virgin endued with such

grace,

From 1649 to 1689.] '

AGAINST FALSE PRIDE.

[EABIi OF

Should yet be so wonderful kind a well-wilier
To that whoring- and filching trade of a

miller,

As within a few paces to furnish the wheels
Of I cannot tell how many water-mills
I've studied that point much, you cannot

guess why,
But the virgin was, doubtless, more righteous

than I.
And now, for my welcome, four, five, or six

lasses,

With as many crystalline, liberal glasses,
Did all importune me to drink of the water
Of Saint Wmifreda, good Thewith's fair

A while I was doubtful, and stood in a muse,
Not knowing, amidst all that choice, where to

choose
Till a pair of blaok eyes, darting full in my

sight,
From the rest o* th* fair maidens did carry

me quite ,
I took the glass from her, and whip, off it

went,

I TKalf doubt I fancied a health to the saint :
But he was a great villain committed the

slaughter,

For St Winifred made most delicate water.
I slipp'd a hard shilling into her soft hand,
Which had like to have made mo the place

have profaned ,
And giving two more to the poor that were

there,
Did, sharp as a hawk, to my quarters repair.

My dinner was ready, and to it 1 fell,
I never ate better moat, that I can tell ,
When having frg-lf dined, there comes in my

host,

A catholic good, and a rare drunken toast
This T"1^""^ by hia drinking, inflamed the Boot,
And told me strange stones, which I have

forgot ,
But this I remember, 'twas much on's own

life,
And one thing, that he had converted his

wife
But now my guide told me it time was to

go.

For that to our beds we must both ride and

row;

Wherefore calling to pay, and having ac-
counted,
I soon was down stairs, and as suddenly

mounted

On then we travel!' d, our guide still before,
Sometimes on three legs, and sometimes on

four,

Coasting the sea, and over Tnllfl crawling,
Sometimes on all four, for fear we should fall

in,
For, underneath, Neptune lay skulking to

watch us,
And, had we but slipp'd once, was ready to

catch us.

Thus in places of danger taking more heed,
And in safer travelling mending our speed,

Bedland Castle and Abergoney we pass'd,
And o'er against Connoway came at the last •
Just over against a castle there stood,
0' th' right hand the town, and o' th1 left

hand a wood ,
'Twirt the wood and the castle they see at

high water
The storm, the place makes it a dangerous

matter,
And besides, upon such a steep rook it is

founded,
As would break a man's neck, should he 'scape

being drowned :
Perhaps though in time one may make •frTiQT*

to yield,

But 'tis pretti'st Cob-castle e'er I beheld
The Sun now was going t* unharness frig

steeds,
When the ferry-boat braskmg her sides 'gaanst

the weeds,

Came in as good tune, as good tune could be,
To give us a cast o'er an arm of the sea ;
And bestowing our horses before and abaft,
O'er god Neptune's wide cod-piece gave us a

waft;

Where scurvily landing at foot of the fort,
Within very few paces we enter*d the port,
Where another King's Head invited me down,
For indeed I have ever been true to the

crown.

Charles Cottcm.— Born 1630, Died 1687.

650.— AGAINST FAJLSE EETDE.

On sure foundations let your fabric rise,
And with attractive majesty surprise ;
Not by affected meretricious arts,
But strict harmonious symmetry of parts j
Which through the whole insensibly must

pass

With vital heat, to animate the mass.
A pure, an active, an auspicious flame,
A-nd bright as heaven, from whence the

blessing came.

But few— O few ' souls pre-ordain'd by fate,
The race of gods, have reaoh'd that envied

height.

No rebel Titan's sacrilegious crime,
By heaping "b?^8 on hills, can hither climb •
The grisly ferryman of hell denied
JEneas entrance, till he knew his guide.
How justly then will impious mortals fall,
Whose pride would soar to heaven without a

call
Pride (of all others the most dangerous

fault)
Proceeds from want of sense, or want of

The men who labour and digest things most,
Will be much apter to despond than boost ,
For if your author be profoundly good,
'Twill cost you dear before he's -understood

OE BOSCOMMON.] AN AUTHOB SHOULD BE SINCERE. [FOURTH PERIOD —

How many ages since has Virgil writ '
How few are they who understand him yet '
Approach his altars with religious fear ;
No vulgar deity inhabits there
Heaven shakes not more at Jove's imperial

nod

Than poets should before their Mantuan god.
Hail mighty Maro ' may that sacred name
Kindle my breast with thy celestial flame,
Sublime ideas and apt words infuse ;
The Muse instructs my voice, and thou inspire

the Muse <

JBorl of JBoscommott.— Bow 1638, Died 1684.

651.— AN AUTHOR SHOULD BE
SINCERE.

I pity, from my soul, unhappy men,
CompelTd by want to prostitute the pen ,
Who must, like lawyers, either starve or

plead,
And follow, right or wrong, where guineas

lead!

But you, Pompilian, wealthy pamper' d heirs,
"Who to your country owe your swords and

cares ;

Let no vain hope your easy mind seduce,
For rich ill poets are without excuse.
'Tis very dangerous tampering with the Muse,
The profit's small, and you have much to lose,
For though true wit adorns your birth or

place,
Degenerate Lues degrade the attainted race

No poet any passion can excite,
But what they feel transport them when they

wnte.

Have you been led through the Cumc&an cave,
And heard th' impatient maid divinely lave ?
I hear her now , I see her rolling eyes ;
And panting, Lo, the god, the god' she

cries
"With words not hers, aaad more than human

sound,
She makes th' obedient ghosts peep trembling

through the ground

But though we must obey when Heaven com-
mands,

And man in vain the sacred call withstands,
Beware what spirit rages in your breast ;
For ten inspir'd, ten thousand are possessed .
Thus make the proper use of each extreme,
And write with fury, but correct with phlegm.
As when the cheerful hours too freely pass,
And epaxkbng wine smiles in the tempting

glass,

Your pulse advises, and begins to beat
Through every swelling vein a loud retreat .
So when a Muse propitiously invites,
Improve her favours, said indulge her nights ;
But when you find that vigorous heat abate,
Leave off, and for another summons wait.

Before the radiant sun, a glimmering lamp,
Adulterate measures to the sterling stamp
Appear not meaner than mere human lines,
Compared with those whose inspiration shines
These, nervous, bold; those, languid and

There, cold salutes ; but here, a lover's kiss
Thus have I seen a rapid, headlong tide,
With foaming waves the passive Saone divide,
Whose lazy waters without motion lay,
While he with eager force urg'd his impetuous

way'
Ewl of Ro8cortvmon.--Born 1633, Died 1684

652.— A QUACK.

A quack (too scandalously mean to name)
Had, by man-midwifery, got wealth and

fame;

As if Luoma had forgot her trade,
The labouring wife invokes his surer aid
Well-season'd bowls the gossip's spirits raise,
Who, while she guzzles, chats the doctor's

praise,

And largely, what she wants in words, supplies
With maudlin eloquence of trickling eyes.
But what a thoughtless animal is Tnp.*n i
(How very active in his own trepan ')
For, greedy of physicians' frequent fees,
From female mellow praise he takes degrees ,
Struts in a new unlicensed gown, and then
From saving women falls to ln.lh.ng men
Another such had left the nation thin,
In spite of all the children he brought in.
HIB pills as thick as hand grenadoes flew,
And where they fell, as certainly they slew :
His name struck everywhere as great a damp,
As Archimedes' through the Roman camp
With this, the doctor's pride began to cool ,
For smarting soundly may convince- a fool
But now repentance came too late for grace ,
And meagre famine stared hjrn m the face
Fain would he to the wives be reconciled,
But found no husband left to own a child.
The friends, that got the brats, wore poinon'd

too ,

In this sad case, what could our vermin do P
Worried with debts, and past all hope of bail,
Th' unpitied wretch lies rotting in a jail ;
And there with basket-alms, scarce kept aJivo,
Shows how mistaken talents ought to thrive.

Earl of Ro8common.^-Sorn 1633, Died 1684.

653 —ON THE DAT OF JTOGMENT.

That day of wrath, that dreadful day,
Shall the whole world in ashes lay,
As David and the Sibyls say.

From 1649 to 1689 ]

SONG

[EABL OF EOCHESTHB.

What horror will invade the mind,

When the strict Judge, who would be kind,

Shall have few venial faults to find !

The last load trumpet's wondrous sound,
Shall through the rending tombs rebound,
And wake the nations under ground

Nature and Death shall, with surprise,

Behold the pale offender rise,

And view the Judge with conscious eyes

Then phafl., with universal dread,
The sacred mystic book be read,
To try the living and the dead.

The Judge ascends his awful throne ;
He makes each secret sin be known,
And all with shame confess their own

O then, what interest shall I make

To save my last important stake,

When the most just have cause to quake P

Thou mighty formidable King,
Thou mercy's unexhausted spring,
Some comfortable pity bring r

Forget not what my ransom cost,
Nor let my dear-bought soul be lost
In storms of guilty terror tost

Prostrate my contrite heart I rend,
My God, my Father, and my Fnend,
Do not forsake me in my end '

Well may they curse their second breath,

Who nso to a reviving death.

Thou great Creator of mankind,

Let guilty man compassion find.

Ewrl of Roscommon —Born 1633, Died 1684.

654— SONG

While on those lovely looks I gaze,

To see a wretch pursuing,
la raptures of a bless'd amaze,

His pleasing, happy nun ,
'Tis not for pity that I move,

His fate is too aspiring,
Whose heart, broke with a load of love,

Dies wishing and admiring

But if this murder you'd forego,

Tour slave from death removing,
Let me your art of charming know,

Or learn you mine of loving
But whether life or death betide,

In love 'tis equal measure ,
The victor lives wath empty pnde,

The vanquish' d die with pleasure
Ecwl of Rochester.— Born 1647, DWK& 1680

655 —CONSTANCY.

A SONG-.

I cannot change as others do,

Though you unjustly scorn ;
Since that poor swain that sighs for you,

For you alone was born
No, Phillis, no ; your heart to move

A surer way I'll try ;
And, to revenge my slighted love,

Will still love on — will still love on, and
die.

When fcOTd with gnef Amyntas lies,

And you to mind shall call
The sighs that now unpitied rise,

The tears that vainly fall,
That welcome hour that ends this smart

Will then begin your pain,
For such a faithful, tender heart

Can never break— can never break in
vain.

Earl of Rochester— Born 1647, Died 1680.

656— SONG.

Too late, alas r I must confess,
You need not arts to move me ,

Such charms by nature you possess,
'Twere madness not to love you

Then spare a heart you may surprise,

And give my tongue the glory
To boast, though my unfaithful eyes

Betray a tender story.

Earl of Rochester.— Born 1647, Died 1680.

657 —SONG.

My dear mistress has a heart

Soffc as those kind looks she gave me,
When, with, love's resistless art,

And her eyes, she did enslave me*
But her constancy 's so weak,

She's BO wild and apt to wander,
That my jealous heart would break,

Should we live one day asundei.

Melting joys about her move,

•ftvnrng pleasures, wounding blisses ;
She can dress her eyes in love,

And her lips can warm with kisses.
Angels listen when she speaks ,

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder
But my jealous heart would break,

Should we live one day asunder.

Sari of Rochester— Born 1647, Died, 1680

JOHN

PALAMON AND ABCITE.

[FotntTH PEBIOD.-

658~BEASON.

Dim as the borrow' d beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers,
Is Beason to the soul , and as on high
Those rolling fires discover but the sky,
Not light us here; so Beason's glimmering

ray

Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,
But guide us upward to a better day.
And as those nightly tapers disappear,
When day's bright lord ascends our hemi-
sphere,

So pale grows Beason at Beligion's sight ;
So dies, and so dissolves, in supernatural
hght.

Jbfcn- Dryd&n,.—Bom 1631, Died 1700

659.— PALAHONANDABOITE; OB, THE
KNIGHT'S TALE.

BOOK I.

In days of old, there hv'd, of mighty fame,
A variant pnnce, and Theseus was his name :
A chief, who more in foabs of arms excell'd,
The rising nor the setting Sun "beheld
Of Athens he was lord , much land he won,
And added foreign countries to his crown
In Scythia with the warrior queon he strove,
Whom first by force he conquered, then by

love,
He brought in triumph back the beauteous

dame,

With whom her sister, fair Emiha, came
With honour to his home let Theseus ride,
With Love to friend, and Fortune for his

guide,

And his victorious army at his side
I pasa their warlike pomp, their proud array,
Their shouts, their songs, their welcome on

the way

But, were it not too long, I would recite
The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight
Betwixt the hardy queen and hero knight ,
The town besieg'd, and how much blood it

cost

The female army and th' Athenian host ;
The spousals of Hippohta, the queen ;
What tats and turneys at the feast were

seen,

The storm at their return, the ladies' fear :
But these, and other things, I must forbear
The field is spacious I design to sow,
With oxen far unfit to draw the plow •
The remnant of my tale is of a length
To tire your patience, and to waste my

strength,

And tnviaL accidents shall be f orboin,
That others may have time to take their

uLLTJJL 3

As was at first enjoin'd us by mine host,
That he whose tale is best, and pleases most,
Should win his supper at our common cost
And therefore where I left, I will pursue
This ancient story, whether false or true,
In hope it may be mended with a now.
The pnnoe I mentioned, full of high renown,
In this array drew near th' Athenian town ,
When, in his pomp and utmost of his pndo,
Marching, he chanc'd to oast his eye aside,
And saw a choir of mourning dames, who lay
By two and two across the common way .
At his approach they rais'd a rueful cry,
And beat their breasts, and held their hands

on high,

Creeping and crying, till they seiz'd at last
His courser's bndle, and his feet embrac'd
" Tell me," said. Theseus, " what and whence

you are,

And why this funeral pageant you prepare ?
Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds,
To meet my triumph in ill-omen' d weeds P
Or envy you ray praise, and would destroy
With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy *
Or are you injur'd, and demand relief *
Name your request, and I will ease your

grief"

The most m years of all the mourning tram
Began (but swooned first away for pain) ,
Then scarce reoover'd spoke " Nor envy we
Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory;
'Tis thine, 0 king, th' afflicted to redress,
And fame has filTd the world with thy

success

We, wretched women, sue for that alono,
Which of thy goodness is refus'd to none
Let fall some drops of pity on our grief,
If what we beg be just, and wo deserve

relief-

For none of us, who now thy grace implore,
But held the rank of sovereign queen before ,
Till, thanks to giddy Chance, which never

bears,
That mortal bliss should last for length of

years,

She cast us headlong from our high estate,
And here in hope of thy return we wait
And long have waited in the temple nigh,
Built to the gracious goddess Clemency
But reverence thou the power whoso name it

Believe th' oppress'd, and wipe the widow's

tears,

I, wretched I, have other fortune seen,
The wife of Capaneus, and onoo a queen
At Thebes he fell, curst be the fatal day '
And all the rest thou soest in this array
To make their moan, their lords in battle lost
Before that town, besieg'd by our confederate

host*

But Creon, old and impious, who commands
The Theban city, and usurps the lands,
Denies the ntes of funeral fires to those
Whose brea-aiess bodies yet he calls his foes.
ITnburn'd, unbury'd, on a heap they lie ,
Such is their fate, and such his tyranny ;

From 1649 to 1689.]

PALAMON AND ABCITE.

[JOHN DBYDBN.

No friend has leave to bear away the dead,
But with their lifeless limbs his hounds are

fed."
At this she shriek* d aloud; the mournful

tram

Echo'd her grief, and, groveling- on the plain,
With groans, and hands upheld, to move his

mind,

Besought his pity to their helpless kind '
The prince was touch' d, his tears began to

flow,

And, as his tender heart would break in two,
He sigh'd, and could not but their fate

deplore,

So wretched now, so fortunate before
Then lightly from his lofty steed he flew,
And raising, one by one, the suppliant crew,
To comfort each, full solemnly he swore,
That by the faith which knights to "knighthood

bore,

And whate'er else to chivalry belongs,
He would not cease, till he reveng'd their

wrongs
That Greece should see perform' d what he

declai'd,

And cruel Cieon find his just reward
Ho said no moie, but, shunning all delay,
Bode on , nor enter'd Athens on his way
But loft his sister and Tn« queen behind,
And wav'd his royal banner in the wind
"Wheie in an argent field the god of war
"Was drawn triumphant on his iron caj* ,
Bed was his sword, and shield, and whole

attiro,
And all the godhead seom'd to glow with

fiio,
Ev'n the ground glitter' d where the standard

flew,
And tho green grass was dy'd to sanguine

hue

High on his pointed lance his pennon bore
TTia Cretan fight, the conquer' d Minotaur :
The soldiers shout around with geneious

rage,

And in that victory their own presage
He praia'd their ardour , inly pleas'd to see
His host the flower of Grecian chivalry.
All day he march7 d , and all th' ensuing

night;

And saw the city with returning light.
The process of the war I need not tell,
How Theseus cpnquer'd, and how Creon

fell

Or after, how by storm the walls were won,
Or how the victor sack'd and burn'd the

town

How to the ladies he restor'd again
The bodies of their lords in battle slain •
And with what ancient rites they were

mterr'd;

All these to fitter times shall be deferred ,
I spare the widows' tears, their woeful cries,
And howling at their husbands' obsequies ;
How Theseus at these funerals did assist,
And with what gifts the mourning dames

dismiss* d

Thus when the victor ol^'P had Creon

slain,
And conquer 'd Thebes, he pitch* d upon the

plain

TTia mighty camp, and, when the day return* d,
The country wasted, and the hamlets burn'd,
And left the pillagers, to rapine bred,
Without control to strip and spoil the dead.

There, in a heap of slain, among the rest
Two youthful knights they found beneath a

load oppress' d
Of slaughter' d foes, whom first to death they

sent,
The trophies of their strength, a bloody

monument.
Both fair, and both of royal blood they

seem'd,
Whom kinsmen to the crown the heralds

deom'd ;

That day in equal arms they fought for fame ,
Their swords, their shields, their surcoats,

were the same.
Close by each other laid, they press* d the

ground,
Their manly bosoms pierc'd with many a

gnesly wound,

Nor well alive, nor wholly dead they were,
But Rome faint signs of feeble life appear :
The wandering breath was on the wing to part,
Weak was the pulse, and hardly heav'd the

heart

These two were sisters' sons , and Arcite one,
Much fam'd in fields, with valiant Palamon
From these their costly arms the spoilers

rent,

And softly both convey *d to Theseus' tent :
Whom, known of Creon' a line, and cur'd with

care,

He to his city sent as prisoners of the war,
Hopeless of ransom, and condemn' d to lie
In durance, doom'd a lingering death to die
This done, he march'd away with warlike

sound,

And to his Athens turn'd with laurels crown'd,
Where happy long he nVd, much lov*d, and

more renown' d

But in a tower, and never to be loos' d,
The woeful captive kinsmen are enclos'd.
Thus year by year they pass, and day by

day,

Till once, 'twas on the morn of cheerful May,
The young Emilia, fairer to be seen
Than the fair lily on the flowery green,
More fresh than May herself in blossoms

new,

For with the rosy colour strove her hue,
Wak'd, as her custom was, before the day,
To do th* observance due to sprightly May •
For sprightly May commands our youth to

The vigils of her night, and breaks their

sluggard sleep ,
Each gentle breast with kindly warmth she

moves ;
Inspires new flames, revives ozbnguish'd

loves.

JOHN

PAT, AMOK AND AEOITB.

[FOUJBTK PERIOD. —

658.— REASON.

Dim as the borrow' d beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers,
la Reason to the soul , and as on high
Those rolling fires discover but the sky,
Not light us hero; so Reason's glimmering

ray

Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,
But guide us upward to a better day
And as those nightly tapers disappear,
When day's bright lord ascends our hemi-
sphere ,

So pale grows Reason at Religion's sight ,
So dies, and so dissolves, in supernatural
light.

JbTw- Drydem.—Bomi 1631, Died 1700

659.— PA LA WON AM) ABOITE ; OR, THE
B3TCGKHT'S TALE.

BOOS I

In days of old, there hv'd, of mighty fame,
A valiant prmoe, and Thosous was hut name •
A chief, who moro in foabs of arms exooll'd,
The rising nor the setting Sun boheld
Of Athens he was lord , much land he won,
And added foreign countries to his crown
In Scythia with the wornor queen ho strove,
Whom first by force ho conquered, then by

lovo,
He brought in triumph back the beauteous

dome,

With whom hor sister, fair Emilia, came
With honour to his home lot Theseus udo,
With Lovo to friend, and Fortune for his

guido,

And his victorious army at his side
I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array,
Thoir shouts, thoir songs, their welcome on

the way

But, wore it not too long, I would recite
The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight
Betwurt the hardy quoon and horo kruaht ;
The town besieg'd, and how xnuoh blood it

cost

The fomalo army and th* Athenian host ,
The spousals of Hippohta, the quoou ,
What tilts and tourneys at tho feast wore

The storm at their return, tho ladies' fear •

But these, and other things, I must forbear.

The field is spacious I demgn to sow,

With oxen far unfit to draw the plow

The remnant of my tale is of a length

To tare your patience, and to waste my

And trivial accidents shall be f orborn,
That others may have time to take thoir
turn ,

As was at first onjoin'd us by mino host,
That he whose talo is host, and ploaaos most,
Should win his supper at our common cost
And therefore whore I loft, I will puisne
This ancient story, whothor false or tiuo,
In hope it may bo monclod with a now.
The prince I mentioned, fall of high renown,
In this array drew near th* Athenian town ,
When, in his pomp and utmost of hiw pri<lo,
Marching, he chanc'd to oast his oyo aside,
And saw a choir of mourning damos, who lay
By two and two ooroaw llio common way .
At his approach they rairf'd a rueful cry,
And beat their breasts, and hold their hittidn

on high,

Creeping and crying, fall they soiz'd at last
His courser* s bndlo, and his foot ombiiu-M
" Toll me," saidTaosouB, " whab and wlumeo

you oro,

And why this funeral pageant you prepare r*
Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds,
To meet my triumph in ill-omon'd woodn P
Or envy you my praiRO, a.nd would destroy
With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy ?
Or are you injur'd, and demand rohof ?
Name your requdst, and I will ease your

griof"

The most m years of all the mouininpr train
Began (but swooned first away for pain) ;
Then scarce locover'd spoke i " "Nor onvy wo
Thy great renown, nor grudge Ihy victor j ;
'Tis thine, 0 king, th' afflicted to rodroHH,
And fame has filTd tho world with thy

success

Wo, wretched womon, suo for that alono,
Which of thy goodnoHS is rohin'd to nono
Lot fall some drops of pity on our griof,
If what we bog bo 3ust, and wo doHorvu

relief

For nono of us, who now thy grace unplotp,
But hold tho rank of Rovoroicrn quoon Iwfoio ,
TiU, thanks to giddy Chance, which iiovor

bears,
That mortal bliss should last for Imijytk of

years,

Sho cast TIB headlong from our high oHtato,
And here in hope of thy rotnrn wo wait
And long have waited in tho tomplo mfrh,
Built to tho graciouH gxxldoHH (lo money
Bub reverence thou tho power whowj niuuo it

bears,
Believe th1 oppress' d, and wipo tho widow'H

tears,

I, wretched I, have other fortune* noon,
Tho wife of CVpancnib, and oncn a quoon. :
At ThobcH ho full, carat bo thn lu,Ul day '
And all tho rent thou «ot)Ht 111 iUm urtuy
To make thoir moan, thoir lords ui battlo lont
Before that town, beHiog'cl by our confederate

host-

But Croon, old and impious, who commands
Tho Thoban city, and UHTirpH tho land**,
Denies tlio ritoH of funeral firoH to lliOHO
Whose breathless bodies ycl ho oallH JUH foon.
Unburn'd, unbury'dy on a heap they lie ,
Such is thoir fate, and such Ha tyranny ;

r

*Vo?M 1640 to 1689.]

PAT.ATVTfYNT

AECITE.

[JOHN

No friend Has leave to boar away the dead,
Bui with their lifeless limbs his hounds ore

fed."
At this sho shriek' d aloud; the mournful

train

Echo'd hor grief, and, groveling on the plain,
With groans, and hands uphold, to movo his

mind,

Besought his pity to their helpless kind '
The prince was touch* d, his tears began to

flow,

And, as his tender heart would break in two,
Ho sigh'd, and could not but thoir fate

deploio,

So wretched now, so fortunate before.
Then lightly from his lofty stood he flow,
And rawing, one l>y one, the suppliant crow,
To comfort each, lull solemnly ho uworo,
That by the faith which knights to knighthood

bore,

And wlmto'or else to chivalry belongs,
lie would not ceotio, till ho icveng'd their

wrongs
That Groove should see porform'd what ho

doolar* d ;

And cruel Croon find his just reward
II o wud no more, but, nUmming all delay,
Jiodo on ; nor ontor'd Athens on his way
Hut loft IUH Hwtor and MH queen behind,
And wav'd liin royal banner in the wind •
Wlicro in an argent field the Rod of war
Was drawn triumphant on IUH iron cai ,
14o<l wan IHH sword, and Hluold, and whole

attn o,
And all tho godhead hooux'd to glow with

firo ;
J'Vii tho ground glittur'd whore tho Htundard

flow,
Aud tho grtioxi graHH WOH dy'd to Honguino

huo.

High on hiH pointod lanoo hin pennon boro
Kin Oretau fight, tho conquer' d Minotaur .
Tho BoldiotH nhout around with generous

rago,

And in that victory thoir own prowago
Ho prain'd thoir ardonr ; mly ploaH'd to HOC
HIH hoHt tho flower of Grecian chivalry.
All day ho march' d ; and all th* ensuing

night ,

And saw tho city with returning light.
Tho process of tho war I uood not toll,
How ThoHOus conquor'd, and how Croon

fell.

Or aftor, how by ntorm tho walls were won,
Or how the victor aack'd and burn'd tho

town

How to tho ladioH ho rostor'd again
The bodioH of their lords in battle slain •
And with what ancient rites thoy wore

intorr'd;

All those to fitter times shall bo doferr'd ;
I spare tho widows' tears, thoir woeful cries,
And howling at thoir husbands' obsequies ,
How ThoHouH at those funerals did assist,
And with what gifts tho mourning dames

Thus when the victor chief had Croon

And conquer' d Thebos, he pitch' d upon the

plain

]3!ip mighty camp, and, when the day return' d,
Tho country wasted, and the hamlets burn'd,
And left the pillagers, to rapine bred,
Without control to stnp and spoil the dead.

There, in a heap of slain, among the rest
Two youthful knights they found beneath a

load oppross'd
Of slaughter' d foes, whom first to death they

sent,
Tho trophies of thoir strength, a bloody-

Both fair, and both of royal blood they

soom'd,
Whom kinsmen to tho crown tho heralds

doom'd ;

That day in equal arms thoy fought for fame ,
Thoir swords, their shields, their surcoats,

wore the same
Close by each other laid, thoy press' d the

ground,
Thoir manly bosoms pioro'd with many a

griosly wound,

Nor well olive, nor wholly dead they were,
But some faint signs of feeble life appear *
Tho wandering breath was on tho wing to part,
Weak was the pulse, and hardly hoav'd the

heart

Those two wore sisters' hons ; and Aroito one,
Much fam'd m fields, with valiant Folamon
From those their costly arms tho spoilers

rent,

And Hoitly both convoy 'd to Theseus' tent
Whom, known of Croon's lino, and cur'd with

OHIO,

Ho to hiH city sent OB prisoners of tho war,
IIopoloss o± ransom, and condemn' d to ho
In durance, doom'd a lingering death to die.
Thiu done, ho zaarch'd away with warlike

Round,

And to his Athena turn'dwith laurels orown'd,
Whore happy long ho Hv'd, much lov'd, and

more renown' d.

But in a tower, and never to bo loos' d,
Tho woeful captive kinsmen are enclos'd
Thus year by year they pass, and day by

day,

Till onco, 'twas on tho morn of cheerful May,
The young Emilia, foil or to bo soon
Than the fair lily on tho flowery green,
More fresh than May herself in blossoms

now,

For with the rosy colour strove hor hue,
Wak'd, as hor custom was, before tho day,
To do th' observance due to sprightly May .
For sprightly May commands our youth to

keep
Tho vigils of hor night, and breaks thoir

sluggard sleep ;
Each gentle breast with kindly warmth she

moves ;
Inspires now flames, revives oxtinguish'd

loves.

JoBnsr DRYDEN.]

PALAMON AND ABCITE.

[FOURTH PBJBIOD. —

In this remembrance, Emily, ere day,
Arose, and dress'd herself in rich array ;
Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair,
Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair ,
A ribband did the braided tresses bind,
The rest was loose, and wanton* d in the wind
Aurora had but newly chas'd the night,
And purpled o'er the sky with blushing- light,
When to the garden walk she took her way,
To sport and trip along in cool of day,
And offer maiden vows in honour of the

May.

At every turn she made a little stand,
And thrust among the thorns her lily hand,
To draw the rose , and every rose she drew,
She shook the stalk, and brush' d away the

dew-

Then party-colour* d flowers of white and rod
She wove, to make a garland for her head
This done, she snog and carol' d out so clear,
That men and angels might rejoice to hear •
Ev'n wondering Philomel forgot to smg,
And learn'd from her to welcome-in the

Spring
The tower, of which before was mention

made,
Within whose keep the captive knights wore

laid,

Built of a large extent, and strong withal,
Was one partition of the palace wall
The garden was enclosed within the square,
Whore young Emilia took the morning air.

It happen' d Palamon, the prisoner knight,
Restless for woe, arose before the light,
And with his gaoler's leave desir'd to breathe
An air more wholesome than tho damps be-
neath .

This granted, to the tower he took his way,
Cheer' d with the promise of a glorious day ;
Then oast a languishing regard around,
And saw with hateful eyes the temples

crown'd

With golden spires, and all tho hostile ground
He sigh'd, and turn'd his oyos, because ho

knew

'Twas but a larger gaol he had in view •
Then look'd below, and, from the castle's

height,

Beheld a nearer and moro pleasing sight,
The garden, which before he had not soon,
In Spring's now livery clod of whito and

green,
Fresh flowers in wide parterres, and shady

walks between
This view'd, but not onjoy'd, with arms

across

He stood, reflecting on his country's loss ;
Himself an object of the public scorn,
And often wish'd he never had been born.
At last, for so his destiny requir'd,
With walking giddy, and with thinking tir'd,
He through a little window cast his sight,
Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty

light:

But ev*n that glimmering serv'd Vniy to descry
Th' inevitable charms of Emily,

Scarce had ho soon, but, soiz'd with sudden

smart,

Stung to the quick, ho felt it at his heart ;
Struck bhnd with over-powering light he

stood,

Then started back amoz'd, and cry'd aloud.
Young Aroite hoard, and up ho ran with

haste,

To help hw friond, and in his arms ombrac'd ;
And osk'd him why ho look'd so deadly wan,
And whence and how his change of chuor

Or who had done th' offence ? " But if," said

he,

" Your grief alono is hard captivity,
For love of Heaven, with patience undergo
A cureless ill, since Fate will have it BO :
So stood our horoscope in chains to ho,
And Saturn in ihe dungeon of the sky,
Or other baleful aspect, rul'd our birth,
When all tho friendly stars wore under

Earth •

Whate'or betides, by Destiny 'tis dono ;
And bettor beoi liko men than vainly sock to

shun."

" Nor of my bonds," said Palaraon again,
" Nor of unhappy planets I complain ,
But when my mortal anguish cauH'd mo cry,
That moment I was hurt through cither oyo ;
Piero'd with a random shaft, I faint away,
And perish with insensible decay •
A glance of some now goddess gave tho

wound,

Whom, like Aotcon, unaware I found.
Look how she walks along yon shady wpaco,
Not Juno moves with moro majcHtio grace ;
And all tho Cyprian quoon is in her face.
If thou art Venus (for thy charms oonf cm
That face was form'd in Heaven, nor art thou

less ;

Disguis'd in habit, undisguift'd in Hhapo),
O help us captives from our chains t' oHoapor ;
But if our doom bo past, in boncta to IMS
For hf o, and in a loathwomo dungeon dies,
Then bo thy wrath appoaH'd with our diHftrncw,
And show compassion to tho Thoban race,
OpprosH d by tyiant power ! " While yot ho

Arcito on Emily hod fixM IIIH look ,
Tho fatal dart a ready pOHHogo found,
And deep within his heart infix' d tho wound
So that if Palamon wore wonxwlod HOTO,
Arcito was hurt as nmali an ho, or moro.
Then from hiB inmoHt soul lie Hitfh'd, and

said,

" Tho beauty I behold haa struck mo (load .
Unknowingly Rho HtnkoH, and killn by ohonac,
Poison is in her oyos and death in every

glance

0, 1 muHt ask, nor ank alono, but move
Her mind to mercy, or mnwt dio for lovo "
Thus Arcito, and thuw Palamon replies
(Eager hifl tone, and ardent wore hit* OVOH),
" Speak' at thou in earnest, or in jesting vcmP "
" Jesiang," said Arcito, " Buita but ill with

pain."

From 1640 to 1680.]

PALAMOtf A1TO AftCITE.

[JOHN

" It suits far worse " (said Palamon again,
And bont his brows) " with men who honour

weigh,
Thoir faith to broak, their friendship to

betray,

But worst with thoe, of noble lineage bom,
My kinsman, and in arms my brother sworn
Have we not plighted each onr holy oath,
That one should bo the common good of both ,
One soul should both inspire, and neither

prove

His fellow's hindrance in pursuit of love ?
To this before the Gods wo gave our hands,
And nothing but our death can break the

bands

This binds thoo, then, to fmther my design,
As I am bound by vow to iurthcr thine
Nor canst, nor dar'st thou, traitor, on the

plain

Appoaoh my honour, or thine own maintain,
Since thou art of iny council, and the friend
Wliowo faith I truat, and on whoso care de-
pond
And would* at thou court my lady's lore.

which!
Much rather than roloano would choose to

die?

But thon, false Arcito, never ahalt obtain
Thy ba<l proboueo , I told thoo fiiwt my pain,
tfor firHt my love began ore thine was born ,
Thon, OH my council, and my bi other sworn,
Art bound V aHHiwi my oldorHlnp ot right,
Or jUBtly to bo doom'd a porjui'd knight "

Thim Palamon but Aroito, with dimUm,
Tn haughty language, thiiH reply M again
"Forttworxi thyHolf: tho traitor' H odioiiH

namo

T firat roturn, and then dwprovo tliy claim.
If love bo paHHion, and thai paHHion nurHt
With Htrong dowroH, I lov'd tho lady first
Cannt thou protend doniro, whom ssool inflam'd
To worHlup, and a power ooloHtial nam'd ?
Thixxo was devotion to tho blowt above,
I Haw tho woman, and dowi-'d her lovo ;
FiTHt owu'd my paHHion, and to thoo commend
Th' important secret, a» my ohowon friend
Suppose (which yot I graiit not) tliy doniro
A moment eldor thou my rival fire ,
Can chance of Koomg first thy titlo provo ?
And know' Hi thou not no law IB inado for

lovo?

Law in to things which to froo choice relate ,
Lovo IH not 111 our choice, but in our fate ,
LawH arc but ponitive ; love's power, we HOG,
TB Nature's sanction, and her first decree
Each day we broak tho bond of human IUWH
"For lovo, and vindicate the common oauwj
LawH for defence of civil rights aro plao'd,
Love throws the fences down, and makes a

general waste ,
Maids, widows, wives, without diHtmotion

fall'
Tho swooping dolugo, lovo, comes on, and

coverH all

If then, tho laws of friendship I transgross,
I keep the greater, while I break tho Ions ,

And both aro mad alike, since neither can

Both hopeless to be ransom'd, never more
To see tho Sun, but as ho passes o'er "
Like .ZKbop'a hounds contending for the

bone,

Each pleaded right, and would be lord alone :
The fruitless fight continued all the day,
A cur came by and snatch'd tho piize away.
" As courtieifl thoiefore justlo for a grant,
And, when they break their friendship, plead

their want,

So thou, if Fortune will thy suit advance,
Lovo on, nor envy mo my equal chance ,
For I must lovo, aud am icsolv'd to try
My fate, 01, lading in th' adventure, dio "
Groat was their strife, which hourly was

renew'd,

Till each with mortal hate his rival viow'd :
Now fnonds no more, nor walking hand in

hand,

But when they met thoy made a surly stand,
And glar'd like angry lions as they pass'd,
And wiuh'd that every look might be their

last
It chano'd at length, Pinthous came t' at-

tend

This woithy Theseus, his familiar friend ;
Their lovo in oarly infancy began,
And rose as childhood iipon'd into man
Companions of tho wai, and lov'd HO well,
Thai whon one diod, as ancient stories tell,
HIB fellow to redeem him wont to hell.

But to pursue my talo To welcome homo
His warlike biothor IH Piiithous como
Arcite o1 ThoboH was known in arms long

since,
And honour'd by this young Thospahan

prince

ThosouH, to gratify his friend and guost,
Wlio made our Arcito's freedom his request,
Bostor'd to liberty tho captive knight,
But on those hard conditions I recite •
That if hereafter Ajoito should bo found
Within the compass of Athenian ground,
By day or night, or on whato'or protonco,
HIB head should pay the forfeit of th' offence.
To this Pinthous for his friend agreed,
And on his promise was tho pusouor freed
TTnploas'd and pensivo hence ho takes his

way,

At his own peril ; for his life must pay
"Who now but Aroite mournw his bitter fate,
Finds his dear purchase, and repents too

latoF
"What have I goin'd," ho said, "inpuson

pent,

If I but change my bonds for banishment P
And, bamah'd from hor sight, I suffer more
In freedom than I felt in. bonds bof ore
Foro'dfrom hor presence, and condemned to

hvo-

TJnwelcome freedom, and nnthank'd ropnovo
Heaven is not but whore Emily abides,
And where she's absent all is hell bonidos.
Next to my day of birth, was that accurst

JOHN

PALAMON AND ABOITE.

[FOURTH PERIOD.-

Soarco hod ho soon, but, aoiz'd with sudden

smart,

Stung to tho quick, ho folt it at hw heart ,
Struck blind with ovor-powonng light ho

stood,

Then started back amaz'd, and cry'd aloud.
Young1 Azoito hoard, and up ho ran with

hasto,

To help his friond, and in hi» arms embraced ;
And ask'd him why ho look'd so deadly wan,
And whence and how his change of clioor

began,
Or who had dono th' offence ? " But if," «aid

ho,

" Tour grief alono is hard captivity,
For love of Heaven, with patience undergo
A cureless ill, smco Fato will have it HO :
So stood our horoscope in chains to lio,
And Saturn in tho dungeon of tho ttky,
Or other baleful aspect, rul'd our birth,
When all tho friendly starn wero under

Earth*

Whate'or botidos, by Destiny 'tiB dono ;
And bettor boar like men than vainly Hook to

shun"

" Nor of my bonds," said Palamon again,
" Nor of unhappy planets I complain ;
But when my mortal anguinh caus'd mo cry,
That moment I was hurt through oithor oyo ;
Piero'd with a random Hhafl, I faint away,
And peruh with insensible decay
A glance of some now goddess gave tlm

wound,

Whom, liko Actoon, unaware I found.
Look how she walkH along yon Hluuly space,
Not Juno move? with more majontio grace ,
And all the Cyprian qucon IH in her face.
If thou art VonnH (for thy charms confuwB
That face was form'd in Heaven, nor art thou

IOHR,

Disguis'd in habit, undinguiH'd in Hhapo),
0 help UB captives from our eliainn t' PHUAJW ;
But if our doom be past, in boudn to lio
For life, and m a loathsome dungoon dio,
Then bo thy wrath appoanM with our diHgnico,
And show companion to tho Tlioban rwo,
OpproHtul by tyrant power ! " While yot ho

spoke,

Arcito on Emily had fixM IUH look ;
Tho fatal dart a ready pawaga found,
And deep within his heart mfix'il tho wound •
So that if Palamon woro wovmdwl HOW*,
Arcite WOH hurt art nmcih OH ho, or mom.
Then from hiH imnoHt HOU! ho HighM, and

said,

" Tho bounty I bohold has Htrnolc mo cloiul :
Unknowingly Hho striken, and killH by olmnw,
Poison is in her eyot* and (loath in ovary

glance

0, 1 must ask, nor auk alono, hni movo
Her mind to mercy, or muHt <Ho for lovo."
Thus Arcito, and thus Palamon replies
(Eager IUH tono, and ardent wore hiH oyoH>,
*s Speak' «t thou m oarnost, or in jesting veinP"
"Jesting," said Aroito, "suits but ill with

pain."

In this remembrance, Emily, ere day,
Arose, and dress'd herself in rich array ;
Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair,
Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair ,
A ribband did the braided troasoa bind,
The rest was loose, and wanton* d in the wind
Aurora had but newly ohaa'd the night,
And purpled o'er the sky with blushing light,
When to the garden walk she took her way,
To sport and trip along in cool of day,
And offer maiden vows in honour of tho

May

At every turn she made a little stand,
And thrust among the thorns her Inly hand,
To draw the rose , and every roso she drew,
She shook tho stalk, and brush' d away tho

dew:

Then party-colour'd flowers of white and rod
She wove, to make a garland for her head •
This done, she sung and carol' d out so clear,
That men and angels might rejoice to hear :
Ev'n wondering Philomel forgot to sing,
And learn'd from her to welcome-in the

Spring
The tower, of which before was mention

made,
Within whose keep the captive knights woro

laid,

Built of a largo extent, and strong withal,
Was one partition of the palace wall
The garden was enolos'd within the square,
Where young Emilia took the morning air.

It happen' d Palamon, the prisoner knight,
Restless for woe, arose before tho light,
And with his gaoler's leave dosur'd to breathe
An air more wholesome than the damps be-
neath :

This granted, to the tower ho took his way,
Cheer' d with the promise of a glorious day ,
Then oast a languishing regard around,
And saw with hateful oyos the temples

crown'd

With golden spires, and all tho hostile ground
He sigh'd, and turn'd his eyes, because ho

knew

'Twos but a larger gaol ho had in view
Then look'd below, and, from the castle's

height,

Beheld a nearer and more pleasing sight,
The garden, which before ho hod not seen,
In Spring's new livery clod of white and

green,
Fresh flowers in wide parterres, and shady

walks between
This viow'd, but not onjoy'd, with arms

across

He stood, reflecting on his country's loss ;
Himself an object of the public scorn,
And often wiah'd he never had been born.
At last, for BO his destiny required,
With walking giddy, and with thinking tur'd,
He through a little window oast his sight,
Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty

light:

But ev*n that glimmering serv'd "Mxn. to descry
Th* inevitable charms of Emily.

XC4D to 1G89,]

PALAMON AND ARCITE.

[JOHN DBTDBHT.

" It suits far worse " (said Polamon agaan,
And bont Ins brows) " with men who honour

weigh,
Thoir faith to break, their friendship to

botiay,

But worst with thee, of noble lineage born,
My kinsman, and in arms my brother sworn.
Have we not plighted each our holy oath,
That one should bo the common good of both ,
One soul should both inspire, and neither

prove

His fellow's hindrance in pursuit of love ?
To this before the Gods wo gave our hands,
And nothing but our death c^n break the

bands

This binds thoo, then, to furtlier my design,
As I am bound by vow to further thine >
Nor canst, nor dar'st thou, traitor, on the

plain

Appoaoh my honour, or thine own maintain,
Since thou art of my council, and the fiicnd
Whoso faith I tiURt, and on whose core de-
pend •
And woidd'st thou court my lady's love,

which I
Much rather than roloaHG would choose to

OioP

Bnl thou, falHO Arcito, never ahalt obtain
Thy bod prolcueo , 1 told thee fiiat my pain,
For firHt my love bogjui ore thine was born ,
Thou, an my council, and my brother HWOIII,
Art bound t* aHHiHt my oldorHhip oi nght,
Or juHtiy to bo doom'd a poijur'd knight "

Thus Pulamon . but Arcito, with disdain,
In haughty language, UIUH roplyM again
"• ForHworu thyttclf : the traitor' H ocliouw

namo

I firwt return, and then (Improve thy claim.
If love bo pa««on, and that POHHIOZL nurHt
With strouff dOHiroH, I lov'd the lady first
Canst thou pretend doHiro, whom zeal inflam'd
To worwlup, and a power coleHtial nam'd ?
Thino waa devotion to the blont above,
I saw the woman, and donir'd her love ,
Fjurat owu'd my passion, and to thoo commend
Th' important Hoorot, au my chosen friend.
Suppose (which yet I grant not) thy doHire
A moment elder than my rival fire ;
Can chunoo of seeing first thy title prove ?
And know' «t thou not no law in made for

lovef

Law IH to things which to free choice relate ;
Lovo is not in our choice, but in our fate ;
Laws are but powitivo ; love's power, we woo,
Is Nature's sanction, and her first docroo
Klaoh day wo break the bond of human laws
For love, and vindicate the common cause.
Lawn for defence of civil nght« are pJUic'd,
Love throws the fences down, and mokes a

general waste ,
MaidH, widows, wives, without distinction

fall
The swooping- deluge, love, comes on, and

covortt all.

If then the laws of friendship I transgress,
I keep the greater, while I break the loss ;

And both are mad alike, since noithor con

possess

Both hopeless to be ransom' d, never more
To see the Sun, but as he passes o'er "
Like JEsop's hounds contending for the

bone,

Each pleaded light, and would bo loid alone .
The fruitless fight continued all the day,
A cur came by and snatch'd the prize away.
" As courtiers therefore juatle for a grant,
And, when they break their friendship, plead

their want,

So thou, if Fortune will thy suit advance,
Lovo on, noi envy mo my equal chance ,
For I must love, and am rcsolv'd to try
My fate, or, failing in th' adventure, die "
Great was their strife, which houily was

renew' d,

Till each with mortal hate his rival viow'd •
Now friends no more, nor walking hand in

hand,

But when they met they made a surly stand,
And glar'd like angry lions as they pass'd,
And wish'd that every look might be their

last.

It chano'd at length, Pinthous came t* at-
tend

This worthy Theseus, his familiar f nond ,
Their love in early infancy began,
And roue as childhood ripon'd into man
Compaaiiontj of the war, and lov'd so well,
That when ono died, as ancient stones tell,
HIB follow to redeem him went to hell

But to puiHuo my tale To welcome home
HIM warlike brothoi IH PiiithouB come
Aicito ot Thebes was known in arms long

binco,
And honour' d by this young Thessalian

prince.

ThosouH, to gratify his friend and guest,
Who made our Arcito's freedom his request,
Bestor'd to liberty the captive knight,
But on. these hard conditions I recite :
That if heroaftor Arcito should bo found
Within the compass of Athenian ground,
By day or night, or on whate'or pretence,
His head should pay the forfeit of th' offence.
To this Pinthous for his friend agreed,
And on his promise was the prisoner freed
Unploas'd and pensive hence ho takes his

way,

At his own peril , for his hf o must pay.
Who now but Arcito mourns his bitter fate,
Finds hi R dear purchase, and repents too

late?
"What have I gain'd," ho said, "inpiison

pent,

If I but change my bonds for banishment P
And, banish' d from her sight, I suffer moio
In freedom than I felt in bonds before
Poro'd from her presence, and condemn' d to

hvo

Unwelcome freedom, and unlhank'd reprieve
Heaven is not but whore Emily abides,
And whore she's absent all is hell besides.
Next to my day of birth, was that accurst

JOHN

PALAMON AND AJXCITE

[FOURTH PBBIOP. —

Which bound my friendship to Pirithous first
Had I not known that prince I still had boon
In bondage, and had still Emilia soon ,
For, though I novoi can hor giaoe deserve,
"Tis lecompenso enough to see and serve

0 Palamon, my kinsman and my fiiond,
How much more happy fates thy lovo attend '
Thino is th* adventuio, thi.no the victory ;
Well has thy fortune turn'd tho daoo for thoe
Thou on that angel's face may 'at food thine

eyes,

In prison — no , but blissful Paradise '
Thou daily seest that sun of beauty shine,
And lov'st at least in love's eadremost lino

1 mourn in absence, love's eternal night,
And who can tell but since thou hast hor

sight,

And art a comely, young, and valiant knight,
Fortune (a various power) may cease to

frown,
And by some ways unknown thy wishes

crown?

But I, the most forlorn of human kind,
Nor help can hopo, nor remedy can find ,
But, doom'd to drag my loathsome life in

care,

Foi my reward, must end it in despair.
Fire, water, air, and earth, and forco of fatos
That governs all, and Heaven that all creates,
Nor art, nor Nature's hand can ease my

gnof ,

Nothing1 but death, tho wretoli'h last relief
Then farewell youth, and all tho joys that

dwell
With youth and life, and life itself farewell '

* But why, alas ' do mortal men in vam
Of Fortune, Fate, or Providence complain *
God gives ub what he knows our wanlta re-

quire,

And better things than those which we dosiro
Some pray foi nohes, riches they obtain , -
But, watch' U by lobbois, for their wealth aio

Some pray from prison to bo hood , and

oomo,

When ffoilty of thoir vows, to fall at homo ,
Mmrdor'd by those thoy trusted with their

life,

A favour' d servant, or a bosom wife
Such dear-bought blossmga happen every day,
Because we know not for what thingn to

pray

Like drunken sots about tho street wo roam ,
Well knows the sot he has a certain homo,
Yet knows not how to find th' uncoitain

place,

And blunders on, and staggers every pace.
Thus all seek happiness , but fow can find,
For far the greater part of men are blind.
This IB my case, who thought our utmost

good

Was in one word of freedom understood
The fatal blessing came, from prison free,
I starve abroad, and lose tho sight of Emily "

Thus Arcite . but if Arcite thus deplore
His sufferings, Palamon yot suitors more

For whon ho know his rival freed and gone,
Ho swells with wiath— ho makes outrageous

moan,
He frets, ho fumes, he stares, ho stamps the

ground,

The hollow tower with clamours rings around:
With briny tears ho bath'd hiH Totter' d foot,
And dropt all o'or with a^ony of sweat.
" Alas ' " he cried, " I wrotoh in prison pino,
Too happy rival, while tho fruit IH thmo :
Thou liv'st at largo, thou draw'wt thy native

air,
Pleas'd with thy fioodoxn, pioud of my

despair
Thou mayut, since thou hant youth and

courage 30111' d,

A sweet behaviour, and a solid mind,
Assemble ours, and all the Thoban race,
To vindicate on Athens thy disgrace ;
And after, by some treaty made, POHHOHH
Fan Emily, the pledge of lasting peace
So thine shall bo tho beauteous prizo, while I
Must lanefuish in (loapoir, in prutcm dio.
Thus all th' advantago of tho strife IH tliino,
Thy portion doublo joys, and double HorrowH

mine "

The lajjo of jealousy then fir'd hw soul,
And his f a0o kindled like a burning cosil :
Now cold Despair, succeeding in hor Htoad,
To livid paleness turns tho glowing rod.
His blood, scarce liquid, creeps within his

veins,
lake water which tho freezing .wmd eon-

strains.

Then thus he Raid • " Eternal doition,
Who rule tho world with abuoluto decrees,
And write whatever time hhall bnnu to puss,
With ponR of adamant, on plates of linuw ;
What, in tho race of human kind yom* «aro,
Boyond what all hut foJlnw-oroatiuotf iiru <H
Ho with tho rest is liabln to psun,
And like tho sheep, his brother boaHt, in

slain.

Cold, hunger, prisons, illH without a euro,
All those he must, and guiltless,
Or does your jutitioo, power, or

fail,

Whon tho good suffer, and tho bud pi o vail ?
What worse to wrotchoil Virttu» could bofull,
If Fate or giddy Foituno govwu'd all P
Nay, worHo than other bcastn IH our oHtato »
Them to PUIHUO thoir ploonnroH you cjroato ,
We, bound by harder IU.WH, muHt curb out

will,

And your commandH, not our dosiroH, fulfil ,
Then whon tho creature IH imjuntly Hliiin,
Yot after death at leant ho fouls no pain ,
But man, in lifo Mtroharg'd with woo bnfoio,
Not freed whon dead, IH docnn'd to nuffor

more

A sorpont shoots KIH ntuig at unaware ;
An ambuBh'd thief forolayn a travollor ;
Tho man lies murder' d, while tho thief and

snake,
One gamtt tho thickets and one thndu tho

brake.

Prom 1649 to 1689.]

PALAMON AND ABOITB.

[JOHN DRYDHW

This lot divines decide , bub well I know,
Just or unjust, I have my sharo of woo,
Through Saturn seated in a luckless place,
And Juno's wrath, that persecutes my raoo ,
Or Mara and Venus, in a quartalo, move
My pangs of jealousy for Aroito's love "

Let Palamon, opproRH'd in bondage, mourn,
While to hiH oxil'd nval wo return.
By this, the Sun, declining from his height,
The day had shorten' d, to prolong the night
The lengthened night gave length of misery
Hotb to the captive lover and the free
For Palamon in endless prison mourns,
And Arcito forfeits life if he returns
The bamsh'd never hopes his love to see,
Nor hopes the captive loid his liberty
'Tis hard to say who sufforH greater pains,
One sees his love, but cannot broak his

chains,

Ono free, and all hit* motions uucontrolL'd,
Beholds whato' or ho would, but what ho would

behold

Judge OH you plocwo, for I will haste to toll
What fortune to tho banish' d knight befell
When Aroito was to Thebes return' d again,
Tho IOHH of hot ho lov'd lonow'd his pom,
What oonld bo worse than never more to woo
HIH liTo, hiH HOU], his charming Emily F
Ho rav'd with all tho modnoHH of denpair,
lie roarM, ho boat IUH bioaat, ho tore bin

hair.

Dry Horrow in IUH stupid oyon appoarn,
For, wanting noiiriHhmont, ho wanted toais •
HIH oyo-ballH m thoir hollow Hockolw wmk
JJcrofl of nloop, ho loathoH IUH moat and

(Irinlv %

Ho withorH at IUH hoai i, and lookn as wan
AH tho palo Hpoofcro of a xnnrdor'd man,
That palo turns yellow, and IUH face receives
Tho faded hue of saploHH boxen loavoH
In solitary grovoH ho makes IUH moan,
Walks early out, and over is alone
Nor, mix'd m mirth, m youthful pleasures

But Righn when HongH and uiHtrumontu ho

hoars

His HpintK are so low, hiH vowo IH drown'd,
flo hoiirH aH from afar, or m a HWOOD,
Like tho (loaf nmrmurH of a distant wound
LTncomb'd bin lookH, and squalid IUH attiro,
Unlike tlio trim of Love and gay DOHITO ,
But full of muBoful mopingH, which presage
Tho Iowa of reason, and conclude in rage.
This when ho had ondur'd a year and more,
Now wholly changed from what ho was be-

fore,

It happen' d onoo that, slumbering OH ho lay,
He dream' d (his dream began at break oC

day)

That Hormoa o'er his head in air appear' d,
And with soft words his drooping spirits

cheer 'd
His hat, adorn'd with wings, disolos'd the

prod,
And in hia hand ho boro tho sloop-compelling

rod,

Such as he seem'd, when, at his sire's com-
mand,

On Argus' head he laid the snaky wand
"Arise," he said, "to conquering Athens

go,

There Pate appoints an end to all thy woo "
The fright a woken* d Arcite with a start,
Against his boaom bounced his heaving

heart,
But soon ho said, with scarce recovered

breath,

" And thither will I go, to moot my death,
Sure to bo slam, but death is my desure,
Since in Emilia's sight I shall expire "
By chance ho apy'd a minor while ho spoke,
And gazing there beheld his alter' d look ,
Wondering, he saw his features and his hue
So much wore chang'd that scarce himself he

know.

A suddon thought then starting in hiH mind,
" Since I in Aroite cannot Arcito find,
The world may search in vain with all their

eyes,

But novor penetrate through this disguise
Thanks to the change which gnof and sickness

give,

In low estate I may securely live,
And see, unknown, my mistress day by day "
He said, and clothed himself in coarao anay
A laboiiimg hind in show then foith he wont,
And to th' Athenian towora his jomnoy bent •
Ono H<]iuro attended m tho Rome diHguise,
Made consciouH of hiw master's enterprise
ArnvM at AthonH, Boon ho camo to cotirt,
Unknown, niwiuoation'cl, in that tluck rewort •
Pr<jffonng for hiro his aervioo at tho gato,
To <lru.(lgo, (Traw water, and to run or wait

So fair bofoU him, that for httle gain
Ho Hoiv'd at fiiwt Emilia's chamberlain,
And, watchful oil advantages to spy,
Wan Htill at hand, and in hiH master's eye
And as hia bonoa woro big, and sinews strong,
Kef art 'd no toil that could to slaves belong,
But from doop wells with engines wator drew,
And us'd hiH noble handa tho wood to how
He pass'd a year at least attending thus
On Emily, and oall'd Philostratus
But novor was thoro man of hiw dogroo
So much estocm'd, so well bolov'd a» ho
So gentle of condition was ho known,
That; through the court hia courtesy was

blown,

All think him worthy of a greater place,
And recommend him to the royal grace,.
That, ozeroifcj'd within a higher sphere,
His virtues more conspicuous might appear.
Thus by the general voice was Arcito prais'd,
And by great Theseus to high lavour rods' d .
Among his menial servants first enroll' d,
And largely ontortam'd with sums of gold
Besides what secretly from Thebes was t cat,
Of his own income, and his annual rent ,
This well employed, ho purchas'd friends and

fame,
But cautiously conceal' d from whence it

came. •

JOHN DRYXHBN]

PALAMON AND AECITB

[FOURTH Pjaiiioi) —

Thus for three years he kv'd with large in-
crease,

In arms of honour, and esteem in peace ;
To Theseus' person he was ever near ;
A-nd Theseus for his virtues held "him dear.

BOOK II.

While Aroite lives in bliss, the story tarns
Where hopeless Palamon in prison mourns
For six long years immur'd, the captiv'd

knight
Had dragg'd his chains, and scarcely seen the

light

Lost liberty and love at once he bore ,
His prison pam'd fam much, his passion more.
Nor dares he hope his fetters to remove,
Nor ever wishes to be free from love.

But when the Ruth revolving year was run,
And May within the Twins receiv'd the Sun,
Were it by Chance, or forceful Destiny,
Which forms in causes first whatever shall bo,
Assisted by a friend, one moonless night,
This Palamon from prison took his flight
A pleasant beverage he propar'd before
Of wine and honey, mix'd with added stoic
Of opium , to hiR keopor this he brought,
Who swallow* d unaware the sloopy draught,
And snor'd secure tall morn, his senses bound
In slumber, and in long oblivion drown' d.
Short was the night, and careful Palamon
Sought the next covert ore tho rising Sun.
A thick-spread forest near the city lay,
To this with lengthened strides he took his

way

(For far ho could not fly, and foar'd the day)
Safe from pursuit, ho meant to shun tho light,
Till tho brown shadows of tho friendly night
To Thebes might favour his intended flight.
When to his country como, his next design
Was all tho Theban race in arms to join,
And war on Thosous, till ho lost his life
Or won the beauteous Emily to wife
Thus while his thoughts tho lingering day

begrtdo,

To gentle Arcitc lot us turn our stylo ,
Who littlo droamt how nigh ho was to core,
Till treacherous Fortune caught ^itr> in tho

snare.

Tho moining-lark, tho mossongor of Day,
Saluted in her song tho morning gray ;
And soon tho Sun arose with booms so bright
That all th' horizon laugh' d to eoo tho joyous

sight,

He with his tepid rays tho rose renews,
And licks the drooping loaves, and dries tho

dews,

When Aroite left his bed, rosolv'd to pay
Observance to the month of merry May •
Forth on his fiery steed betimes ho rodo,
That scarcely prints the turf on which he

trod
At ease he seem'd, and, prancing o'er tho

plains,
Turn'd only to the grove his horse's reins,

The grove I nam'd before , and, lighted thoie,
A woodbine garland sought to crown his hair;
Then turn'd his face against tho rising day,
And rais'd his voico to welcome in tho May
" For thoe, swoet month, tho groves groon

livenos woar,

If not the first, tho fairest of tho year *
For thoe tho Graces load tho dancing HOUTH,
And Nature's roady pencil paints tho floworw ,
When thy short reign is paat, tho fovonuh

Sun
The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly

on.

So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight,
Nor goats with vonom'd tooth thy londnlw

bite,
As thou shalt guide my wandering foot to

find
The fragrant greens I seek, my browH to

bind"
His vows address5 d, within tho grove ho

stray'd,

Till Fate, or Fortune, noar tho plaoo convoy'd
His steps whoro secret Palamon was laid.
Full little thought of him tho gentle knight,
Who, flying death, hod thoro conceal1 d hi*

flight,
In brakes and brambles hid, and Hhunning

mortal night :

And loss he know him for hin hated foo,
But foar'd him as a man ho did not know.
But as it has boon said of ancient yearn,
That fields are full of oyos, and woodH have

oars,

For this tho wise are over on their guard,
For, unforeseen, thoy nay, la nnpropiir'd.
Uncautious Arcito thought himself alone,
And loss than all suspected Palamon,
Who, listening, hoard him, while ho HoaichM

tho grove,

And loudly Bung his roundelay of lovo
But on the sudden fttopp'd, and hilonl Htotxl,
As lovers often muno, and ohango thcur mcxxl ;
Now high aa Hoavou, and thon ILH low OH

holl;

Now up, now down, as buokotH in a well •
For Vonus, like her day, will cluingo hor

ohoor,

And seldom slxall wo HOG a Friday Hoar
Thus Aroito, having sung, with altar' d lino
Sunk on tho ground, and from IUH bottom

drow

A desperate nigh, accnumg IToavon and Fato,
And angiy Juno'H unrelenting- halo
" Ours' d bo tho day when firnt T <lwl appoar,
Lot it bo blotted from tho calendar,
Lost it pollute tho mouth, and powon all tho

Still will tho jealous queen ptmmo our race P
Cadmus ifl doad, tho Thoban city waH ,
Tet ceasefl not hor halo * for all who como
From Cadmttfl aro involv'd in CadmuH* doom.
I suffer for my blood unjunt decree I
That punishes another's orimo on mo.
In moan estate I Rorvo my mortal foe,
The man who caus'd my country's overthrow.

From 1649 to 1689.]

PAT.AMOV

ABCITB.

[JOHN

This is not aJl ; for Juno, to my shame,
Has foro'd mo to forsake my former name •
Aroito I was, Philostratus I am
That side of Heaven is all my enemy :
Mars ruin'd Thebes, his mother ruin'd me.
Of all the royal race remains but one
Rondos myself, the unhappy Palamon,
Whom Theseus holds in bonds, and will not

froo,

Without a crime, except his km to me
Tot those, and all the rest, I could endure ,
But love's a malady without a cure
Fierce love has piero'd mo with hw fiery dart,
Ho files within, and hisses at my heart.
Your eyes, fair Emily, my fate pvusuo ,
I Hufler foi the rest, I die for you.
Of uuoh a goddess no time loaves record,
Who bum'd the temple whore she was ador'd;
And lot it burn, I never will complain,
Ploas'd with my suffoiuigH, if you know my

pain "

At thiH a sickly qualm his heart assail' d,
HIM oars ring inward, and his senses fail'd.
No word miSH'd Palamon of all ho spoke,
But soon to deadly palo he ohang'd hit* look
Ho trembled every limb, and felt a smart,
AH if cold steel had glided through his heart .
No longer staid, but starting from his place,
DiHcovor'd utood, and show'd his hostile

face*

" False traitor, Aroito ; traitor to thy blood,
Bound by thy sacred oath to sock my good,
Now art ihou found forwwoin, for Emily ,
And dar*wt attempt l)or love for whom I die.
So howt thou cheated Thowous with a wile,
Against thy vow, rotuining to boguilo
Under a borrow' d name • OH false to me,
So f alao thou art to him who not thoo froo .
But rosi at&ur'd that either thou fiholt die,
Or O!HO renounce thy claim in Emily :
For though unarm* d I am, and (freed by

chance)

Am hero without my sword or pointed lance •
Hope not, baao man, unquostioii'd hence to

go,

For I am Palamon, thy mortal foo "
Aroito, who hoard hiH talc, and know the

His sword unwhoatli'd, and fiercely thus be-

gan*

"Now by the gods who govern Heaven above,
Wort thou not weak with hunger, mad with

love,

That word hod boon thy last, or in this grove
ThiM hand should force thoe to renounce thy

love.

The surety which I gave thoo, I defy
Fool, not to know that love endures no tie,
And Jove but laughs at lovers' perjury.
Know I will serve the fair in thy despite,
But since thou art my kinsman, and a knight,
Here, have my faith, to-morrow in this grove
Our arms shall plead the titles of our love .
And Heaven so help my right, as I alone
Will come, and kcop the cause and quarrel

both unknown

With arms of proof both for myself and

thee,
Choose thou the best, and leave the worst to

me.

And, that a better ease thou may'st abide,
Bedding and clothes I will this night provide,
And needful sustenance, that thou may'st be
A conquest better won, and worthy me."
His promise Palamon accepts ; but pray'd
To keep it better than the first he made.
Thus fair they parted till the morrow's dawn
For each had laid his plighted faith to pawn
0 Love ' thou sternly dost thy power main-
tain,

And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign,
Tyrants and thou all fellowship disdain.
This was in Aroite prov'd, and Palamon
Both in despair, yet each would lovo alone
Arcite return' d, and, as in honour ty'd,
HTB foe with bedding and with food supply' d ;
Then, ere the day, two suits of armour sought,
Which borne before him on his steed ho

brought :
Both were of shining steel, and wrought so

pure,

As might the strokes of two such arms endure*
Now, at the time and in th' appointed place,
The challenger and challenged, face to face,
Approach , each other from afar they knew,
And from afar their hatred chang'd their hue
So stands the Thracian herdsman with his

spear,

Full on the gap, and hopes the hunted boar,
And hoars him rusthng in the wood, and sees
HIB course at distance by the bending trees,
And thinks, hero comes my moitol enemy,
And either he must fall in fight, or I
ThiB while he thinks ho lifts aloft his dart ;
A generous dullness seizes every part ;
The veins pour back the blood, and fortify the

heart.
Thus pale they meet ; their eyes with fury

burn ;

None greets ; for none the greeting wJl re-
turn:

But in dumb surliness, each arm'd with care
His foe profost, as brother of the war
Then both, no moment lost, at once advance
Against each other, arm'd with sword and

lance:
They lash, they foin, they pass, they strive to

bore

Their corslets, and the thinnest parts explore.
Thus two long hours in equal arms they stood,
And wounded, wound; till both were bath'd

in blood ,

And not a foot of ground had either got
As if the world depended on the spot.
Fell Axoite like an angry tiger far'd,
And hko a lion Palamon appear' d
Or as two boors whom love to battle draws,
With rising bristles, and with frothy jaws,
Thoir adverse breasts with tusks oblique they

wound,
With grunts and groans the forest rings

around

JOHN

PALAMON AND ARCITE

[FOURTH PERIOD. —

So fought the knights, and fighting must

abido,
Till fate an umpire sends Ihoir difference to

decide

The power that minifltors to God's decrees.
And executes on earth what Heaven foro-

Call'd Providence, or Chance, or Fatal Sway,
Comes with resistless force, and finds or makes

her way.

Nor kings, nor nations, nor united power,
One moment can retard th' appointed hour
And some one day, some wondrous chance

appeals,

Which happen* d not in centuries of years
For sure, whatever we mortals halo, or love,
Or hope, or fear, depends on powers above ,
They move our appetites to good or ill,
And by foresight necessitate the will
In Theseus this appeals , whose youthful joy
Was beasts of chase in forests to destroy
This gentle knight, inspir'd by jolly May,
Forsook his easy couch at early day,
And to the wood and wilds pursued his way
Beside him rode Hippolita the queen,
And Emily attir'd in lively green,
With horns, and hounds, and all the tuneful

cry,

To hunt a royal hart within the covert nigh
And as he follow' d Mars before, so now
He serves the goddess of the silver bow
The way that Theseus took was to the wood
Where the two knights m cruel battle stood •
The lawn on which they fought th' appointed

place
In which th' uncoupled hounds began the

chase.

Thither forth-right he rode to rouse the prey,
That, shaded by the fern, in harbour lay ,
And, thence dislodg'd, was wont to leave the

wood,

For open fields, and cross the crystal flood
Approach'd, and looking underneath the Sun,
He saw proud Aroito and fierce Palamon
In mortal battle doubling- blow on blow,
lake lightning flom'd their faulchionu to and

fro,
And shot a> dreadful gloom so strong they

strook,
There seem'd less force roqtur'd to fell an

oak:

He goz'd with wonder on their equal might,
Look'd eager on, but knew not either knight
Eesolv'd to learn, he spurr'd his fiery steed
With goring rowels to provoke his speed.
The minute ended that began the race,
So soon he was betwixt them on the place ;
And with his sword unsheath'd, on pain of

life,
Commands both combatants to cease their

strife,

Then with imperious tone pursues his threat
" What are you ? why in arms together met ?
How dares your pride presume against my

laws,
As in a listed field to fight your cause ?

Unosk'd the royal grant ; no marshal by,
As knightly ritea loquiro , nor judge to try ?"
Then Palamon, with scarce recover \l breath,
Thus hasty spoke • "Wo both deserve the

death,
And both woiild die, for look the world

around,

A pair so wretched is not to l>o found
Our life's a load , enoumber'd with the charge,
Wo long to hot th* imprison* d HOIT! at lorcro.
Now, as thou art a sovereign jud^o, doorou
The iightful doom of death to him and mo,
Lot neither find thy grace, for grace IH oruolty
Mo first, O kill mo first, and euro my woo ;
Then Rhoath the sword of justice on my foo
Or kill him first , for when hw iiatao IH hoard,
Ho foremost will receive hi* duo reward.
Aroite of Thebes is he , thy mortal foo •
On whom thy grace did liberty bestow ,
But first contracted, that, if over found
By day or night upon th' Athenian ground,
His head should pay the forfeit , HOC ToturiiM
The perjur'd knight, his oaih and honour

scorn' d ;

For this is he, who, with a borrow' d namo
And proffer' d service, to thy palace come,
Now call'd Philostralus retoin'd by thoo,
A traitor trusted, and in high dogroo,
Aspiring to the bod of boautoous Kinily
My part remains : from Thobos my buth I

own,

And call mysoK th' unhappy Palamon
Think mo not like that man ; HUQLCO no ilui-

graco
Can force me to renounce the honour of my

race

Know me for what I am I broke my chain,
Nor promis'd I thy prisoner to remain .
The love of hborty with Mo IH given,
And life itself th' inferior gift of heaven
Thus without crime I fled ; but faithcr know,
I, with this Arcito, am thy mortal foo
Then give mo death, since I thy life imrmic ,
For safeguard of thyself, death IH my due1
More would' st thou know? I love bn»hl

Emily,

And for her sake and in hor night will die
But kill my rival too , foi ho no IOHH
Deserves , and I thy righteous doom will

blORB,

Assur'd that what I lose, ho never Khali poH-

To this reply'd tho frtorn Athenian prmoo,
And sourly smil'd " In owning your offonco
You judge yourself ; and I but koop record
In place of law, while you pronounce tho

word*

Take your desert, tho death, you have decreed,
I seal your doom, and ratify tho dood •
By Mars, the patron of my arum, you dio."
Ho said • dumb Sorrow Hoiz'd tho HtondorR-by.
The queen, above tho rest by nature good
(The pattern form'd of porfoct womanhood),
For tender pity wopt when sho began,
Through the bright quire th' uif ootioun virtue

ran

From 1649 to 1689]

PAT.ATVTON

A&dTE.

[JOHN

All dropt tlioir tears, ev*n the contended maid,
And thus among1 themselves they softly said
" What eyes can suffer this unworthy sight '
Two youths of royal blood, renown' d in fight,
Tho mastership of Heaven in face and mind,
And lovers, far beyond their f aithloss kind
See bheir wide streaming' wounds , they neither

came

For pnde of empire, nor desire of fame •
KingH for kingdoms, madmen for applause ,
But love for love alone, that crowns the lover' H

cause."
Tliw thought, which ever bribes the beauteous

kind,

Such pity wrought in every lady's mind,
They loft their steeds, and prostrate on the

place,
From the fierce king, nnplor'd th* offondorH

grace.

Ho paus'd awhile, stood silent in his mood
(For yet hit) rage was boiling in his blood) ,
But soon hiH tender mind th* impression felt
(As softest metals are not slow to melt
And pity soonest runs in softest minds) :
Then reasons with himself; and first ho

finds

HJH passion oast a mist before his sense,
And either made, or magnify1 d th' offence
" Offonoe ! of what P to wliom P who judg'd

the cause P

Tho priHOnor freed himself by Nature's laws
Born froo, ho sought his right the man ho

freed

WOH porjtir'd, but his love oxous'd the deed "
ThtiH pondering, ho look'd under with his

oyoH,
And Haw the women's toais, and heard their

enow,
Whi«li tnov'd compassion more : he shook his

bead,

And Hoftly sighing to himBolf ho Raid •
" OUTDO on th' unpardomng ptiuco, whom

tears con draw

To no remorse ; who rules by lions' law ,
And deaf to prayers, by no HcrbmiHwon bowM.
JEtondt) all alike , the penitent and proud."
At this, with look serene, lie raiw'd his head ;
Kaason rosum'd her place, and passion fiod
Then thus aloud he spoke " Tho power of

Lpvo,
In Earth, and sea.9, and our, and Heaven

abovo,

ftuleq, unresisted, with an awful nod ,
By daily miraclef* doolar'd a god •
Ho bliuds the wise, gives eye-sight to tho

blind,
And moulds and stamps anew the lover* H

mind*

Itohold that Aroito, and thiR Polamon,
Freed from my fetters, and in safety gone,
Wliat hindor'd cither in their native Boil
At ease to reap tho harvoftt of their toil ;
But Love, their lord, dul otherwise ordain,
And brought them m their own doqpite again,
To suffer death desorv'd ; for well they know,
*Tte m my power, and I then: deadly foe ;

The proverb holds, that to be wise and love,
Is hardly granted to tho gods above
See how the madmen bleed, behold tho gains
With which then* master, Love, rewards their

pains;

For seven long years, on duty every day,
Lo their obedience, and their monarch's pay
Yet, as in duty bound, they serve Trim on ;
And, ask tho fools, they think it wisely done,
Nor ease, nor wealth, nor life itself regard,
For 'tis their maxim, love is love's reward.
This is not all . the fair for whom they strove
Nor knew before, nor could suspect their love,
Nor thought, when she beheld the fight from

far,

Her beauty was th' occasion of tho war.
But sure a general doom on man is past,
And all are fools and lovers, first or last .
This both by others and myself I know,
For I have serv'd their sovereign long ago ,
Oft have been caught within the winding

train

Of female snares, and felt the lover's pom,
And learn' d how for the god can human hearts

constrain.

To this remembrance, and the prayers of those
Who for th' offending warriors interpose,
I give their forfeit lives, on this accord,
To do me homage as their sovereign lord ;
And as my vassals, to their utmost might,
Assist my person, and assort my right "
Tliin freely sworn, the knights their grace ob-

tain'd,
Then thus the long his secret thoughts ex-

plain'd-

" If wealth, or honour, or a royal race,
Or each, or all, may win a lady's grace,
Then, either of you knights may well deserve
A princess born ; and such is she you serve .
For Emily is sister to tho crown,
And but too well to both her beauty known ;
But should you combat tin you both were

dead,

Two lovers cannot share a single bed-
As therefore both are equal in degree,
The lot of both be left to Destiny.
Now hoar th' award, and happy may it prove
To her, and him who best deserves her love
Depart from hence in peace, and free as air,
Search the wide world, and whore you pleapo

repair,

I Jut on tho day when this returning Sun
To- tho same point through every sign hag

run,
Then each of you his hundred knights shall

bring,

In royal lists to fight before the king ;
And then the knight whom Fate or happy

Chance

Shall with his friends to victory advance,
And grace his arms RO far in equal fight,
From out the bars to force his opposite, ^
Or kill, or majke frr™ recreant on tho plain,
The pnzo of valour and of love fchoU gain ;
Tho vanquished party shall their claim release,
And tho long jars conclude in lasting poaoo.

JOHN DRYDBN]

PAIiAMON AND ARCITE.

[FOUBTH PBBIOD. —

The charge be mine t' adorn the chosen

ground,

The theatre of war, for champions so renown' d ;
And take the patron's place of either knight,
With eyes impartial to behold the fight ,
And Heaven of me so judge, as I shall judge

aright.

If both are satisfied with this accord,
Swear by the laws of knighthood on my

sword."

Who now but Palaxnon exults with joy ?
And ravish' d Aroite seems to touch the sky ;
The whole assembled troop was pleas' d as

well,

Extol th' award, and on their knees they fell
To bless the gracious king. The knights,

with leave
Departing from the place, VP last commands

receive ;

On Emily with equal ardour look,
And from her eyes their inspiration took •
From thenoe to Thebes' old walls pursue their

way,

Each to provide his champions for the day.
It might be deom'd, on our historian's

part,

Or too much negligence or want of art,
If he forgot the vast magnificence
Of royal Theseus, and his large expense.
He first encloa'd for lists a level ground,
The whole circumference a mile around ;
The form was circular; and all without
A trench was sunk, to moat the place about.
"Within, an amphitheatre appear' d,
Baas' d in degrees, to sixty paces rear'd ,
That when a man was plao'd in one dogiee,
Height was allow'd for him above to see.
Eastward was built a gate of marble white .
The like adorn' d the western opposite.
A nobler object than this fabno was,
Home never saw , nor of so vast a space :
For, rich, with spoils of many a conquer' d

land,

All arts and artists Theseus could command,
"Who sold for hire, or wrought for bettor

fame,

The master-painters, and the carvers, camo.
So rose within the compass of the year
An age's work, a glorious theatre
Then o'er its eastern gate was rois'd, abovo,
A temple, sacred to the Queen of Love ,
An altar stood below ; on either hand
A pnest with roses crown' d, who hold a myrtle

wand

The dome of Mars was on the gato oppos'd,
And on the north a turret was onclos'd,
Within the wall, of alabaster white,
And crmson coral, for the Queen of Night,
Who takes in sylvan sports her chaste delight.

Within these oratorios might you see
Rich carvings, portraitures, and imagery
Where every figure to the life expressed
The godhead's power to whom it was

address'd.

In Venus' temple on the sides were seen
The broken slumbers of enamour' d men,

Prayers, that even spoke, and pity seem'd to

call,

And issuing sighs, that smok'd along the wall,
Complaints, and hot desires, the lover's hell,
And scalding tears, that wore a channel whoro

they fell;

And all around wore nuptial bonds, the tics
Of love's assurance, and -a train of lies,
That, made in lust, conclude in perjuries.
Beauty, and Youth, and Wealth, and Lnxurv,
And sprightly Hopo, and short-enduring Joy ,
And sorceries to raiso th' infernal powers,
And Bigds, fram'd in planetary hours *
Expense, and Afterthought, and idle Caro,
And Doubts of motley hue, and dark Despair ;
Suspicions, and fantastical SUTOUHG,
And Jealousy suffus'd, with jaundice in h«»r

eyes,

Discolouring all she view'd, in tawny drawM,
Down-look'd, and with a cuckoo on her lint.
Oppos'd to her, on t'other side advance
The costly feast, the carol, and tto danoo,
Minstrels and music, poetry and play,
And balls by nights, and tournamontf) by day.
All theso were painted on the wall, ami

more,

With acts and monuments of times before ;
And others added by prophetic doom,
And lovers yet unborn, and IOVOM to oomo ;
For there th' Idahan mount, aiid Cithoron,
The court of Venus, was in colours drawn ,
Before the palace-gato, in careless dross,
And loose array, sat portrosn Idleness ;
There, by the fount, NaroissuH pm'd alone ;
There Samson was, with wwor Solomon,
And all the mighty names by love undono.
Medea's charms were there, Carcoan foastH,
With bowls that turn'd onamour'd youth to

boasts
Here might bo soon that boauty, wealth, and

wit,

And prowess, to the power of love submit .
The spreading snare for all mankind iH laid .
And lovers all betray, and are betray' d.
Tho goddosn' self some noblo hand had

wrought ;
Smiling Hhe soom'd, and full of pleasing

thought :

From ocean as she firttt began to rino,
And smooth'd the ruffled BOOH and clear' d tho

She trod the brine, all bare bolow tho brooHt,
And tho green waves but ill conocal'd tho

rest;

A lute she hold, and on her head won Moon
A wreath of roses rod and myrtlcm groon ,
Her turtles fann'd tho buxom air abovo,
And, by his mother, stood an infant Lovo,
With wings unnodg'd ; his cyon wore bandod

o'er,

His hands a bow, hit* back a quivor boro,
Supply'd with arrows bright and koon, a

deadly store.

But in the dome of mighty Mara tho rod
With different figures all tho sides wore

spread,

JBVom 1640 to 1689.]

PAItAMON AND ABC1TE.

[JOHN DRYDEN.

This temple, IOSR in form, with equal giaoo,
Wan imitative of tho firwt in Thrace
JPoi that cold region was tlio lov'd abode,
And Hovoioign mansion of tho wamor god
Tho landscape wan a forest wide and baie,
Whoio neither boast, nor human land repair ;
Tlio fowl, that ficont afar, the borders fly,
And shun the bitter blast, and wheel about

tho «ky

A cake of Bcurf hos baking on the ground,
And pnckly stubs, instead of trees, are

found,
Oi woods with knots and knares doform'd and

old;

HoiulloflH the most, and hideous to behold :
A rattling tompoHt through tho branches went,
That Htnpp'tl them baro, and one solo way

thoy bont

Heaven f 1*020 above, BOVGIO, tho clouds con-
goal,
And through tho cryHtal vatdt appear'd tho

Htunding hail.

Such WIIH tlio faco without j a mountain fetood
Threatening from high, and overlooked tho

wood'

Boncath tho lowering brow, and on a bont,
Tlio tomplo Htood of Marn armipotont •
Tho frame of buruinh'd utool, that oast a glaro
Fioin far, and Hcom'd to thaw tho freezing

air.

A Htraight long entry to tho toinplo led,
Blind with high walln, atul Horrour over

head-

Tlumoo iHHUOcT mtoh a Want, and hollow roar,
AH tliroutou'd from tlio hmgo to hoavo tho

door ;
In through tliivfc door a northern light there

Hhono;

'TwtiH all it had, for wiudowH there wore nouo ,
Tho gate waH adamant, eternal frame !
Which, how'd by MarH himHolf, from Indian

quarrioH oamo,

Tito labour of a god ; and all along
Tongh iron platen wore oloncli'd to make *t

Htrong.

A tim about was every pillar there ,
A poliHhVl mirror Hhono not half HO clear.
There Haw T how the Hooret folon wrought,
And TrottHon labouring in the traitor'Hthought
And midwife Timo tho npon'd plot to murder

brought.

Tlioro tho rod Anger diir'd tho pallid Poor ;
Next ntood Hyi>ocriHy, with holy leer,
Hoft Hmihng, and demurely looking down,
Hut hid tho dagger underneath tho gown .
Th' aHHaHHinating- wife, tho houHehold fiend,
And, far tho blackout there, tho traitor-fnond.
On t'other Bide there stood Dofitruction bare,
UzipuuiHhod Kapino, and a waste of war.
Content, with nliariion'd kmvou, in cloiFiters

drawn,

And all with blood bespread the holy lawn.
Loud monaooR wore hoard, and foul Disgrace,
And bawhng infamy, in language base •
Till Honso was lost in sound, and Silence fled

tho place

Tho slayer of himself yet saw I there,
Tho goro congeal' d was clotted in his "hair •
With eyes half clos'd, -oad gaping mouth ho

lay,
And giim, as when ho breath'd his sudden soul

away.

In midst of all tho dome, Misfortune sate,
And gloomy Discontent, and fell Debate,
And Madness laughing in his ireful mood,
And arm'd complaint on Theft, and ones of

Blood

There was tho murder' d corpse, in covert laid,
And violent Death in thousand shapes dis-

play'd,

Tho city to tho soldiers' rage rosign*d ,
Successless wars, and Poverty behind ;
Ships burnt in fight, or fore* d on rocky shores,
And the rash hunter strangled by tho boars -
The new-born babe by nurses oveilaid,
And tho cook caught within the raging fire he

made.

All ills of Mars's nature, flame and steel ;
Tho gasping charioteer, beneath the wheel
Of his own car ; tho ruin'd house, that falls
And intercepts her lord betwixt the walls ;
The whole diviwon that to Mars pertains,
All trades of death, that deal in steel for

gams,
Wore there tho butcher, armourer, and

Who foiges fiharpon'd faulchicns, or tho

scythe

Tho Hcarlot Conquowt on a tower was plac'd,
With Hhontn, and Holdiers* acclamations

gxao'd
A pointed sword hung threatening o'er his

head,

Sustum' d but by a slender twine cf thread.
There naw I MotH'b ides, tho Capitol,
Tho fcoor in vain foretelling Cooaar's fall ;
Tho last txiumvirfl, and the wars they move,
And Antony, who lost the world for love
ThoRO, and a thousand more, the fane adorn ;
Their fates wore pointed ere the men woro

bom,

All copied from tho Heavens, and ruling force
Of tho rod star in his revolving course
Tho form of Mars lugh on a ohanot stood,
All shoath'd 111 arms, and gruffly look'd tho

god'

Two geomantio figures wore dteplay'd
Above hifl head, a warrior and a moid •
One when direct, and one whon retrograde
Tir'd with deformities of death, I haste
To the third tomplo of Diana chaste.
A sylvan scene with TOTIOUS greens was drawn,
Shades on tho sides, and on tho midst a lawn
Tho nilvor Cynthia, with her nymphs around,
Pursued tho flying doer, the woods with horns

resound

Calisto there stood manifest of shame,
And, tura'd a bear, the northern star became .
Hor son was next, and, by peculiar grace,
In tho cold circle hold tho second place •
Tho stag Aoteon in tho stream had Bpy'd
Tho naked huntress, and, for seeing, dy'd •

JOHN DRYDJHN]

PAT.AMON ASTD ABOTTE.

[FOURTH PEBXOD.—

The charge be mine t' adorn tho chosen

ground,

The theatre of war, for champions so renown'd ;
And take the patron's place of either knight,
With eyes impartial to behold the fight ;
And Heaven of me so judge, as I shall judge

aright.

If both are satisfied with this accord,
Swear by the laws of knighthood on my

sword."

Who now but Palamon exults with joy P
And ravish' d Aroite seems to touch the sky ;
The whole assembled troop was pleas' d as

well,

Extol th' award, and on their knees they fell
To bless the gracious king. Tho knights,

with leave
Departing from the place, his last commands

receive ,

On Emily with equal ardour look,
And from her eyes their inspiration took •
From thence to Thebes' old walls pursue their

way,

Each to provide his champions for the day.
It might be deem'd, on our historian's

part,

Or too much negligence or want of art,
If he forgot the vast magnificence
Of royal Thosous, and his large expense.
He first enolos'd for lists a level ground,
The whole circumference a mile around;
The form was circular , and all without
A trench was sunk, to moat the place about.
Within, an amphitheatre appear' d,
Rais'd in degrees, to sixty paces rear'd ;
That when a man was plac'd in one degree,
Height was allow' d for him above to see
Eastward was built a gato of marble white :
The like adorn' d tho western opposite.
A nobler object than this fabric was,
Borne never saw , nor of so vast a space :
For, nch with spoils of many a conquer'd

land,

.Al^L arts and artists Theseus could command,
Who sold for hire, or wrought for better

fame,

Tho master-pointers, and tho carvers, ocuno.
So rose within tho compass of the year
An age's work, a glorious theatre.
Then o'er its eastern gate was raia'd, above,
A temple, sacred to the Queen of Love ,
An altar stood below , on either hand
A priest with roses crown' d, who hold a myrtle

wand

The dome of Mars was on tho gate oppos'd,
And on the north a turret was enolos'd,
Within tho wall, of alabaster white,
And crmson coral, for tho Queen of Night,
Who takes in sylvan sports her chaste delight

Within those oratorios might you soe
Eioh carvings, portraitures, and imagery :
Where every figure to tho life expressed
The godhead's power to whom it was

address'd.

In Venus' temple on the sides were seen
The broken slumbers of enamour' d men,

Prayers, that oven spoke, and pity scorn' d to

call,

And issuing sighs, that smok'd along1 tho wall,
Complaints, and hot dosirea, tho lover's hell,
And scalding tears, that wore a channel whoro

they fell,

And all around wore nuptial bonds, tho tics
Of love's assurance, and a tiam of IIOH,
That, made in lust, conclude in porjurioH
Beauty, and Youth, and Wealth, and Latin y,
And sprightly Hopo, and short-enduring Joy ;
And sorceries to raino th' infernal powcrH,
And sigils, fram'd in planetary hours •
Expense, and Afterthought, and idle Care,
And Doubts of motley hue, and dark Despair ,
Suspicions, and fantastical SuriniHO,
And Jealousy suffus'd, with jaundice in hor

eyes,

Discolouring all she viow'd, in tawny drossM,
Down-look'd, and with a cuckoo on hor lint.
Oppos'd to hor, on t'other side advance
Tho costly feast, tho carol, and the dance,
Minstrels and music, pootry and play,
And balls by nights, and tournamontH by day.
All thoHG wore painted on tho wall, ami

more,

With acts and monuments of timow before ;
And others added by prophetic doom,
And lovers yet unborn, and lovos to como ,
For there th' Idalian mount, autl Cilhoron,
The court of Venus, was in colours drawn ,
Before the palace-gate, in caroloHB dross,
And loose array, sat portress Idlonons ;
There, by tho fount, Naroistmn pm'd alono ;
There Samson was, with wiHor Solomon,
And all tho mighty named by lovo uudono.
Medea's charms woro thoro, Circoan ioastrt,
With bowls that turn'd onamonr'd youth to

boosts
Horo might bo soon that beauty, wealth, and

wit,

And prowess, to tho powor of lovo mibmit •
Tho spreading snare for all mankind IH laid :
And lovers all betray, and are betray' d.
Tho goddess1 self some noblo hand had

wrought ;
Smiling sho soom'd, and fall of ^loaning*

thought .

From ocean as she first began to XIHQ,
And smooth' d the ruffled BOOM and clear' d the

Sho trod tho brine, all bare below tho breast,
And tho green waves but ill concool'd tho

rest;

A luto sho hold, and on hor lioad wo# Boon
A wreath of rosos rod and myrtloH groon ,
Hor turtles fann'd tho buxom idr abovo,
And, by his mother, stood an infant Lovo,
With wings unfiodg'd ; his oyoH woro banded

o'er,

His hands a bow, hit* back a quiver bore,
Supply' d with arrows bright and keen, a

deadly store.

But in the dome of mighty Mars tho rod
With different figures all tho sides woro

spread;

From 1649 to 1089.]

PALAMOar AJTO AEOITB.

[JOHN

This temple, loss in form, with equal grace,
Wan imitative of tho first in Thrace
Foi that cold region was tho lov'd abode,
And Hovoioign mansion of the waxrior god
Tho landscape was a forest wide and baio,
Whore neither boast, nor human kind repair ,
Tho fowl, that acent afai, the borders fly,
And shun tho bitter blast, and wheel about

tho sky

A cake of Hourf HOH baking1 on the ground,
And piickly stubs, instead of trees, are

found,
Oi woods with knots and knaios deform' d and

old;

Headless tho most, and hideous to behold •
A rattling tompcht through tho blanches wont,
That ntnpp'd them bare, and one solo way

they bont
Hoavozi froze above, severe, tho olouds con-

And through tho crystal vatdt appeared tho

standing hail

Suuh wan the face without ; a mountain stood
Tin oat omiitf from high, and ovorlook'd tho

wood'

litmoatli iho lowering brow, and on a bont,
Tho temple stood of Mars aimipotont
Tho framo of bunuHh'd stool, that oast a glare
From far, and scoin'd to thuw the freezing

air

A straight long entry to tho iomplo led,
Blind with high walls, and Jlorrour over

hoa<l

Tlumco iHHUcd wwli a bloni., and hollow roiir,
AH tluroaton'd from tho lunge to hoavo tho

door ,
In through that door a northern light thoro

Hliono ,

Twan alt it liad, for windows thoro were none ,
Tho gate WON adamant, otornal frame '
Wliioh, how'd by MOTH himself, from Indian

quarries oamo,

Tim labour of a god ; and all along
Tongh iron platow wore clench' d to make It

Htrong.

A tun about was every pillar there ,
A polish* d mirror nhono not half HO clear
Thuro Haw I how tho Hooret felon wrought,
And Treason labouring in tho traitor'sthonght
And midwife Tiino tho npon'd plot to murder

biought.

Thoro tho rod Anger dar'd tho pallid Tear ,
Next stood Hypocrisy, with holy leer,
Hoft smiling, and demurely looking down,
Tint hid tho dagger underneath tho gown
Th* aHHasHinatmg wife, tho household fioud,
And, far tho blackest thoro, tho traitor-friend.
On t'other side there stood Destruction bare,
Unpunished Rapmo, and a waste of war
Contest, with Hharpon'd knives, in cloisters

drawn,

And all with blood bespread tho holy lawn.
Loud monacoH wore heard, and foul Disgrace,
And bawling infamy, in language bane
Till sense was lost m sound, and Silence fled

tho place

Tho slayer of himself yet saw I there,
The gore congeal1 d was clotted in his hair :
With eyes half olos'd, «d gaping mouth ho

lay,
And grim, as when ho breath'd his sudden soul

away

In midst of all tho dome, Misfortune sate,
And gloomy Discontent, and fell Debate,
And Madness laughing in Ins ireful mood,
And arm'd complaint on Theft, and ones of

Blood

There was tho murder' d corpse, in covert laid,
And violent Death in thousand shapes dis-

play'd;

Tho city to tho soldiers' rage resign' d ;
Successless wars, and Poverty behind ,
Ships burnt in fight, or foro'd on rooky shores,
And tho rash hunter strangled by the boars
Tho new-born bubo by nurses overlaid,
And the cook caught within the raging fixe he

made

All ills of Mars' s nature, flame and steel j
The gasping charioteer, beneath the wheel
Of his own car , the ruin'd house, that falls
And intercepts her lord betwixt the walls ,
Tho whole diviHion that to Mars pertains,
All trades of death, that deal in steel for

gains,
Wore there the butcher, armourer, and

smith*
Who forges sharpon'd faulchions, or tho

scythe

Tho Hoarlot Conquest on a tower was plao'd,
With shouts, and soldiers' acclamations

grao'd
A pointed swoid hurg threatening o'er his

head1

Sustain' <1 but by a slender twine cf thread.
There saw I Mars' t> idow, tho Capitol,
The &cor in vain foretelling Csosar's fall ;
The last triumvirs, and tho wars they move,
And Antony, who lost the world for love.
Those, and a thousand more, the fane adorn ;
Their fates wore pointed ere the men woro

bom,

All copied from the Heavens, and ruling force
Of the rod star in his revolving course
Tho form of Mars Ingh on a chariot btood,
All sheath' d in arms, and gruffly look'd tho

god

Two goomantio figures were display'd
Above his head, a wamoi and a maid
One when direct, and ono when retrograde
Tir*d with deformities of death, I ha&te
To tho third temple of Diana chaste.
A sylvan scene with -mrious greens was drawn,
Shades on tho sados, aud on the midst a lawn
Tho silver Cynthia, with her nymphs around,
Pursued tho flying door, the woods with horns

resound

Calisto there citood manifest of shame,
And, tnrn'd a bear, the northern star became
Her son was norfc, and, by peculiar grace,
In the cold circle hold tho second place
Tho stag Acteon in tho stream had spy'd
The naked huntrorffl, and, for seeing, dy'd .

JOHN

PALAMON A3STD ABCITB.

[FOUBTH PEJftlOD. —

His hounds, unknowing of his change, pursue
The ohase, and their mistaken master slow.
Penoian Daphne loo was there to soo,
Apollo's love before, and now his troo
Th' adjoining fane th' assembled Greeks ox-

And hunting of the Calydoman beast
Oomdes' valour, and liis onvy'd prize ,
The fatal power of Atalanta's eyes ,
Diana's vengeance on the victor shown,
The murdross mother, and consuming son ;
The Volsoian queen extended on the plain j
The treason punish* d, and the traitor slam
The rest were various huntings, well design' d,
And savage beasts destroy' d, of every kind
The graceful goddess was array* d in green ,
About her feet were httlo boogies seen,
That watoh'd with upward eyes the motions

of their queen

Her legs were buskin'd, and the left before
In act to shoot, a solver bow she bore,
And at her back a painted quiver wore.
She trod a wexmg moon, that soon would

wane,

And drinking borrowed light, be fill'd again j
With downcast eyes, as seeming to survey
Tho dark dominions, hoi alternate sway
Before her stood a woman in her throes,
And call'd Luoina's aid, her burden to dwcloae
All these the painter diow with such com-
mand,
That Nature snatch'd the pencil from his

hand,

Asham'd and angry that his art oould feign
And mend the tortures of a mother's pain.
Theseus beheld the fanes of every god,
And thought his mighty cost was well bo-

stowU

So princes now their poets should regard ,
But few can write, and fewer can reward

Tho theatre thus rais'd, the lists enolos'd,
And all with vast magnificence dispos'd,
We leave the monarch pleas' d, and haste to

bring
The knight? to combat, and their arms to

sing.

BOOK III.

The day approach'd when Fortune should

decide

Th' important onterprizo, and givo the bride ,
For now the rivals round the world had

sought.

And each his rival, well appointed, brought
The nations, far and near, contend in choice,
And send the flower of war by public voice ;
That after, or before, wore never known
Such ohiefB, as each an army soem'd alone
Beside the champions, all of high degree,
Who knighthood lov'd, and deeds of chivalry,
Throng* d to the lists, and onvy'd to behold
The names of others, not their own, enroll1 d.
Nor scorns it strange j for every noble knight

Who loves the fair, and is ondu'd with might,
In such a quarrel would be pioud to fig-lit
There breathes not Hcarco a man on JBntiHh

ground

(An isle for love and arms of old rtmownM)
But would have sold his life to purchase lame,
To Palamon or Armto Hont IUH name
And had the land Holoctocl of tho host,
Half had come hence, and Jut tho •world

provide tho roHt

A hundred kniglitw with Piilumon ilioro <»VHO,
Appiov'd in fitfht, and mon of might \ u»m«» ,
Their arm** woio several, an their luliou {

wore,

But furnish' d all alike with Hword and spour.
Some wore coat armour, imitating1 twain,
And next their Hkins woie Htubboni trim, fa of

mail;

Some wore a breast-plate and a light juppon,
Then? horses cloth' d with rich capariHcm ;
Some for defence would leathern buckloru

use

Of folded hides, and others shields of pruoo.
One hung a polo-axe at hut Haddlo-bow,
And one a heavy inaco to shun tho foe
One for his logs and knees provided well,
With jamboaux aim'd, and double platoH of

steel

This on his helmet woro a lady's glove,
And that a alcove embroidered by Inn lovo.
With Palamon, above tho rost in place,
Lyourgus came, tho surly king of Thraco ;
Black was his beard, and manly was hiH face ;
The balls of his broad eyes rollM in IUH head,
And glar'd betwixt a yellow and a rod :
He look'd a lion with a gloomy Htaio,
And o'er his eyebrows hung hit* matted hair .
Big-bon'd, and largo of limbs, with HIIIOWH

strong,
Broad-shoulder' d, and hw armn wore lound

and long,
Four milkwhito bulls (tho Thrawan TWO of

old)

Wore yok'd to draw his car of ImniiMli'd gold.
TJpnght he stood, and boro aloft IUH nlnold,
Conspicuous irom afar, and ovorlookM tho

field.

Bos surcoat WOH a boar-hkin on IUK back ,
His hau hung long bohuid, and #lc»»Hy ntvou

black

His ample forehead boro a coronal,
With Rparkhng dianioiidn and with rubi(M

net,
Ton brace, and more, of #roy houudH, Hiiosry

fair,
And IflJIan stogH, ranloono, and com Mfd around

his chair,
A mabch for pardn in flight, in gi-apliti^ for

iQie boar ,
With golden muzzles all thoir moutliH woro

bound,

And collarw of tho some thoir ncokw aurronurl.
Thus through the fioldri LycurgUH took IUH

way.
His hundred knights attend in pomp and proud

array.

Prom 1649 to 1689.]

PALAMON AND ABOITE.

[JOHN DBYDEN.

To match this monarch, -with strong Aroito

camo

Ejmotmis, king* of Inde, a mighty name,
Oil a bay courser, goodly to behold,
Tho trappings of his horse adorn'd with

barbarous gold.

Not Mars bestrode a stood mth greater grace ,
His surooat o'er his arms was cloth, of Thraoo,
Adorn* d with pearls, all orient, round, and

groat :

Hit* saddle was of gold, with emeralds sot.
His shoulders large a mantle did attire,
With rubies thick and sparkling as the fire
His amber-colour' d looks in ringlets run,
With graceful negligence, and shone against

the Sun ;

His noHO wan aquiline, his eyes wore blue,
Buddy his lips, and fresh and fair his hue
Some sprinkled freckles on his face wore soon,
WhoHO dunk sot off tho whiteness of i the

Hkin

His awful presence did the crowd surprise,
Nor durst tho rash spectator moot his oyos,
EyoH that confoHS'd him born for tangly sway,
So fierce they flash'd intolerable day.
HIM ago in Nature's youthful prime appear' d,
And juHt began to bloom hit) yellow board.
"Whene'er ho spoke, hiu voice was hoard

around,

Loud an a trumpet, with a silver sound .
A laurel wreath' d his temples, fronh and green,
And myrtle sprigs, tho marku of love, wore

mix'd botwoon

Upon hift fint he boro, for his dohght,
An eagle well reclaim' d, and lily white

HIH hundred knights attend him to tho war,
All arm' d for battle ; savo their heads wore

bare.

WorclH and devices blaz'd on every shield,
And pleasing was tho terror of tho field.
For kings, and dukes, and barona you might

HOG,

Liko sparkling stars, though different m de-
gree,
All for th' increase of arms, and love of

chivalry.

Before tho king tamo leopards led tho way,
And troops of lions innocently play
So Bacchus through tho oonquox'd Indies

rode,
And beasts in gambols fnsk'd before tho

honoHt god.

In this array tho war of elite sido
Through Athens pass'd with military pride.
At prime, they ontor'd on tho Sunday morn ,
Bioh tapestry spread the streets, and flowers

the posts adorn.

The town was all a jubilee of feasts ,
So Theseus will'd, in honour of
Himself wiih open arms tho king ombrac'd,
Then all the rest in there degrees wore grao'd.
No harbinger was needful for a night,
For ovory house was proud to lodge a knight

I pass tho royal treat, nor must relate
Tho gifts bostow*d, nor how tho champions

sate

Who first, or last, or how the knights ad-

dress'd

Their vows, or who was fairest at the foast ;
Whose voioo, whose graceful dance, did most

surprise;

Soft amorous sighs, and silent love of eyes.
The rivals call my Muse another way,
To sing their vigils for th* ensuing day.
'Twas ebbing darkness, past the noon of night,
And Phosphor, on the confines of the light,
Pronus'd the Sun, ere day began to spring ,
The tuneful lark already stretch' d her wing,
And, flickeimg on her nest, made short essays

to sing*

When wakeful Palomon, preventing day,
Took to the royal lists his early way,
To Venus at her fane, in her own house, to

pray

There, falling on his knees before her shnne,
He thus implor'd with prayers her power

divine.

" Creator Venus, genial power of love,
The bliss of men below and gods above '
Beneath the sliding Sun thou runn'st thy race,
Dost fairest shine, and best become thy place.
For thee the winds then eastern blasts for-
bear,
Thy month reveals the spring, and opens all

tho year

Thee, Goddess, thee tho storms of winter fly,
Earth smiles with flowers renewing, laughs the

sky,
And birds to lays of love their tuneful notes

apply

For thee the lion loaths tho taste of blood,
And roaring hunts his female through the

wood

For thoo Iho bulls rebellow through the groves,
And tempt tho stream, and pyynjf their absen

loves.

'Tifl thine, whato'er is pleasant, good, or fair .
All nature is thy province, life thy care
Thou mad'st the world, and dost the world

repair.

Thou gladder of the mount of Oytheron,
Increase of Jove, companion of the Sun ,
If o'or Adonis touch' d thy tender heart,
Have pity, goddess, for thou know1 at the

smart.

Alas I 1 have not words to tell my gxief ,
To vont my sorrow would be some relief ;
Light sufferings give us leisure to complain ;
We groan, but cannot speak, in greater pain.
0 goddess, tell thyself what I would say,
Thou know'st it, and I feel too muoh to pray.
So grant my suit, as I enforce my might,
In love to be thy champion and thy knight ;
A servant to thy sex, a slave to thee,
A foe prof ost to barren chastity
Nor ask I fame or honour of the field,
Nor choose I more to vanquish than to yield ,
In my divine Emilia make me blest,
Let fate, or partial Chance, dispose tho rest
Find thou tho manner, and tho moans pro-
pare,

Possession, more than conquest, is my oare.

28*

JOHN DRYDBN.]

PAT.ATMYTNT AND ABCITE

[FOURTH PERIOD. —

Mara is the warrior's god , in Him it lios,

On whom "he favours to confer tho pnzo ,

With smiling aspect you serenely move

In your fifth orb, and rule the realm, of love

The Pates but only spin the coarser clue,

The finest of the wool is loft for y^u.

Spare mo but one small portion of the twine,

And lot the sisters cut below your lino

The rest among the rubbish may they sweep,

Or add it to the yarn of some old miser's heap.

But, if you this ambitious prayer deny

(A wish, I grant, beyond mortality),

Then let mo mnk beneath proud Arcite's arms,

And I, once dead, let Krer possess her charms "

Thus ended he ; then, with observance due,

The saorod incense on her altar threw

The curling1 smoke mounts heavy from the

fires,

At length it catches flame, and in a blaze ex-
pires;

At once the gracious goddess gave the sign,
Her statuo shook, and trembled all the shrine*
Pleas' d Palamon the tardy omen took,
For, since the flames pursu'd the trailing

smoke,

Ho knew his boon was granted , but the day
To distance driven, and joy adjourn'd with

long delay*
Now Morn with rosy light had streak' d the

sky,

Up rose the Sun, and up rose Emily ,
Addressed her early steps to Cynthia's fane,
In state attended by her maiden train,
Who boro tho vests that holy ntes require,
Incense, and odorous gums, and covor'd fire
The plenteous horns with pleasant moad they

crown,
Nor wanted aught besides in honour of tho

Moon.
Now whilo tho temple smok'd with haJlow'd

steam,

Thoy wash tho virgin in a living stream
The socrot ceremonies I conceal,
Uncouth, perhaps unlawful, to reveal ;
But such they woio as pagan use requir'd,
Perform' d by women when tho men rotir'd,
"Whoso eyes profano their chaste mysterious

ntofl

Might turn to scandal, or obscene dohghtH
Well-moaners think no harm , but for tho roHt,
Things floored they pervert, and silence IB tho

best

Her shining hair, Tmcomb'd, was loosely spread,
A crown of moHtloBS oak adorn'd her head
When, to the shrine approach'd, tho flpotlonn

maid

Had kindling fires on either altar laid
(Tho rites wore Buch as wore obflorv'd of old,
By Statiufl m his Theban story told),
Then kneeling with her hands across her

breast,

Thus lowly she proforr'd her chaste request
"0 goddess, haunter of tho woodland

green,
To whom both Heaven and Earth and Seas

are seen%

Queen of tho nether skios, wheio half tho

year
Thy silver beams descend and light tho gloomy

sphere,

Goddess of maids, and conscious of our hoartw,
So keep me from tho vcmgoanco of thy clartn,
Which Niobo's devoted IHHUO folt,
Whon hisHing through tho Hkioa the feather' d

deaths wore dealt,
As I dosiio to live a virgin life,
Nor know tho namo of mothoi or of wifo
Thy votross from my tender yoaiH I am,
And love, like thco, tho woocta and «ylvau

game.
Like death, thou know'nt, I loathe tho nuptial

state,

And man, the tyrant of our HOX, I hato,
A lowly servant, but a lofty inato.
Whore love is duty on tho female Kido,
On theirs more sensual gust, and nought with

surly pndo.

Now by thy triple shape, as thou art ROOII
In Heaven, Earth, Hell, and ovorywhocu a

queen,

Grant this my firnt dosiro . — lot diHCord CCOHO,
And make botwirb tho rivalH lasting peace ,
Quench their hot firo, or far from mo tumovu
Tho flame, and torn it on aomo otlu»r love ;
Or, if my frowning stars have so decreed,
That one must bo rejected, ouo miocood,
Make "hfrn my lord, within whom faitliful

breast

Is fix'd my imago, and who IOVOH mo l>OHt,
But, oh' ev'n that avert ' I ohooHO it not,
But take it as tho least unhappy lot
A maid I am, and of thy vurgm iraiu ;
Oh ' let mo still that spotloHH namo return '
JProquont tho forests, thy chaste will obqy,
And only mako tho boantn of oluwo my

proy."

Tho flames ascend oil oithor altai clear,
Whilo thus tho blamoloHH maid addrowu'd her

prayer.
Whon, lo ! tho burning firo thut nliono HO

bnght

Mow off, all suddon, with oxtiuguiHlfd light,
And loft ono altar dark a little Hparo,
Which turn'd Rolf -kindled, and rmu'vv'd tho

Tho other viotor-flamo a moment ntood,
Thon foil, and lifoloHH loft th' oxtuiguishM

wood ,

For ovor lost, th' m-ovocablo Jitfht
Forsook tho blackening coalH, and muik to

night*

At oithor end it whistled OH it How,
And as iho brandri wore green, HO droppM tho

dow,

Infooted as it foil with Hwoal of Hauffiiina lino
Tho maid irom that ill omou tuniM lutr

oyos,
And with loud shrioku and clamour* ront tho

Nor know what signified tho boding sign,
But found tho poworu dlnploaa'd, and fear'd
tho wrath divino.

From 1649 to 1689.]

PALAMON AOT) ABCITE.

[JOHN DBYDBN

Then shook tho sacred shrine, and sadden

light
Sprung thiough the vaulted roof, and made

the temple bright.

The power behold ' the power in glory shone,
By her bent bow and her keen arrows known,
Tho rent, a huntress issuing from the wood,
Itoohning on her cornel spear she stood.
Thou gracious thus began: "Dismiss thy

fear,
And Heaven's unohang'd decrees attentive

hoar
More powerful gods have torn thoo from my

Hide,

Unwilling to resign, and doom'd a biido ,
Tho two contending knights are woigh'd

above ;
One Mars protootH, and one the queen of

love,
Uut which the man, is xn the Thunderer's

broaHt ;
Thin ho pionouno'd, 'tin ho who loves thoo

bOHt.

Tho firo that onoo oxtmot roviv'd again,
l«\)i<5Hhow« the love allotted to remain.
Farowoll i " who Haad, and vanish' d from the

place ;
The nhoaf of arrows shook and rattled in the

Ajtfiimt at thin the royal virgin stood
DiHftloim'cl, and now no moio a Rwtor of the

wood j

Hut to ilio parting goddortH tlniH who pray'd
u Propitious htill bo prcHont to my aid,
Nor qmio abandon your onoo favoui'd maul."
Thon wghing who lotuni'd, but fonil'd be-

twixt,
Witli hopes, and fears, and JOVH, with Ronoww

mixl.

Tho noxt returning planetary hour
Of Maw, who Hliar'd tho heptarchy of power,
II IH HtnpH bold Arcito to tho temple bont,
T' a/1 or o with pagan rxten the power armi-

potont ,

Tlum proHtrato, low before bin altar lay,
And rain'd HH manly voice, and thxin began to

pray
" Strong god of aroiH, whoHO iron sceptre

ttways

Tho freezing north and Hyperborean Roan,
And Scythian eoldH, and Thraoia's winter

ooa«t,
Where Htandthy atcodfl, and thou art honour' d

Thoro most, but everywhere thy power IH

known,

Tho fortune of the fight is all thy own ;
Terror IR thine, and wild amazement, flung
Fiom out thy chariot, withers ov'n tho strong,
And diHarray and nhamof ul rout onmio,
And force in added to tho fainting crow
Acknowledged as thou art, accept my prayer,
If aught I have achiov'd deserve thy care ,
If to my utmost power with sword and shield
I darfd the death, unknowing how to yield,
And, falling in my rank, still kept tho field

Then let my arms prevail, by theo sustain' d,
That Emily by conquest may be gam'd.
Have pity on my pains , nor those unknown
To Mars, which, when a lover, were his own.
Yenus, the,, public care of all above,
Thy stubborn heart has softened into love *
Now by her blandishments and powerful

charms,

When yielded she lay curling in thy arms,
Ev'n by thy shame, if Bhamo it may be call'd,
When Vulcan had thee in his not enthrall' d
O envy*d ignominy, sweet disgrace,
When every God that saw thee wish'd thy

place'

By those dear pleasures aid my arms in fight,
And make mo conquer in my patron's right
For I am young, a novice in tho trade,
The fool of love, unprctctis'd to persuade,
And want tho soothing arts that catch the

fair,
But, caught myself, lie struggling in the

snare;

And she I love, or laughs at all my pain,
Or knows her worth too well, and pays me

with disdain.

For sure I am, unless I win m arms,
To stand excluded from Emilia's charms
Nor can my strength avail unless by thoo
Endued by force I gain the victory ,
Then for tho fire which warm'd thy gon'rous

heart,

Pity thy subject's paina and equal smart
So bo tho morrow's sweat and labour mine,
Tho palm and honour of tho conquest thine
Then shall the war, and stern debate, and

strife

Immortal, bo tho business of my hf e ,
And in thy fane, the dusty spoils among,
Uigh on tho burnish' d roof my banner shall

bo hung,
Hiank'd with my champion's bucklers, and

below,
With arms rovers' d, th' achievements of my

foe;

And while those limbs the vital spirit feeds,
While day to night and night to day succeeds,
Thy smoking altar shall be fat with food
Of incense, and the grateful steam of blood ;
Burnt-offerings morn and evening shall be

thine,

And fires eternal in thy temple fehino.
Tho bush of yellow beaid, this length of hair,
Which from my birth inviolate I boar,
Guiltless of steel, and from tho lazor free,
Shall fall a plenteous crop, roworv'd for theo
So may my arms with victory bo blest,
I ask no more , let Fate dispose tho rowt "
The champion coas'd , there followed in the

close

A hollow groan, a murmuring wind ai OHO ,
Tho rings of iron, that on tho doorn woio

hung

Sent out a 3amng sound, and harnhly rung ,
Tho bolted gates flew open at tho blant,
Tho storm rushed in, and Aicito stood

JOHN DBYDEN ]

PAT.AMON AND ABCITE.

[FOUJRTH

Th.6 flames were blown aside, yet shone they

bright,

Fann'd by the wind, and gave a ruffled light.
Then from the ground a scent began to rise,
Sweet-smelling as accepted sacrifice
This omen pleas'd, and as the flames aspiro
With odorous incense Aroite heaps the fire ;
Nor wanted hymns to Mars, or heathen

charms ;

At length the nodding statue clash' d Jwn anus,
And with a sullen sound and feeble cry
Half sunk, and half pronouno'd, the word of

victory.
For this, with soul devout, he thank' d the

And, of success secure, roturn'd to his abode.
These vows, thus granted, raised a strife

above,

Betwixt the god of war, and queen of lovo
She, granting first, had right of time to

plead •

But he had granted too, nor would recede
Jove was for Venus ; but he fear'd his wife,
And seem'd unwilling to decide the strife
Till Saturn from his leaden throne arose,
And found a way the difference to compose
Though sparing of tag grace, to mischief

bent,

He seldom does a good with good intent
Wayward, but wise, by long experience taught
To please both parties, for ill ends he sought ,
3Tor this advantage age from youth has won,
As not to be outridden, though outrun.
By Fortune he was now to Venus trin'd,
And with stern Mars in Capricorn was join'd ,
Of him disposing in his own abode,
He sooth' d the goddess while he gull'd the

god:
" Cease, daughter, to complain, and stint the

strife,

Thy Palamon shall havo his promised wife ,
And Mars, the lord of conquest, in the fight
With palm and laurel shall adorn his knight
Wide is my course, nor turn I to my place,
Till length of time, and move with taidy

pace.

Man feels me when I press th' othexiol plains,
My hand is heavy and the wound remains.
Mine is the shipwreck in a watery sign,
And in an earthy, the dark dungeon mine.
Cold, shivering agues, melancholy icaro,
And bitter, blasting winds, and poison' d air,
Are mine, and wilful death, resulting from

The throtbng quinsey 'tis my star appoints,
And rheumatisms ascend to rack the joints ,
When churls rebel against their native prinno,
I arm, their hands, and furnish the pretence ,
And, housing in the lion's hateful sign,
Bought senates and deserting troops are

mane.

Mine is the privy poisoning ; I command
Unkindly seasons and ungrateful land
By me kings1 palaces are push'd to ground,
And miners crush' d beneath their mines ore

found.

'Twas I slew Samson when the pillar' d hall
Fell down, and cnuh'd the many with tho

fall.

My looking is tho fire of pestilence,
That sweeps at once the people and tho

Now weep no more, but trust thy grondsiro's

art,
Mars shall be pleas' d, and thou perform thy

part.
'Tis ill, though different your complexions

are,

The family of Heaven for men should war."
Th' expedient pleas'd whore neither lost hw

right,

Mars had the day, and Venus had tho night.
The management they left to Chronos' core ;
Now turn we to th' effect, and sing tho war.
In Athena all was pleasure, mirth, and

play,

All proper to the spring and sprightly May,
Which every soul inspw'd with such delight,
'Twos jesting all the day, and love at night.
Heaven smil'd, and gladded was tho heart of

man,
And Venus hod tho world as when it firHt

began

At length in sleep their bodies they compoflo,
And dreamt tho future fight, and early rose.
Now scarce tho dawning- day began to

sprang,
As at a signal given tho streets with clamours

ring

At once the crowd arose ; confus'd and high
Ev'n from tho Heaven was hoard a shouting

cry,

For Mars was early up, and rous'd the Hky.
The gods came downward to behold tbo

wars,
Sharpening their sights and loaning from their

stars.
Tho neighing of tho generous horno was

hoard,

For batUo by tho busy groom proparM ;
Bustling of harness, rattling of tho Hluold,
Clattonng of armour, furbmh'd for tho field,
Crowds to tho caHtlo mounted up tho htroot,
Battering tho pavement with thoir courHurV

foot;

The greedy flight might thoro devour tho gold
Of glittering1 armw, too dazzling to behold ;
And polish' d stool that cant tho view anido,
And crested morions, with thoir plumy pride.
Knights, with a long retinue of their wquirofl,
In gaudy liveries march, and quaint attiroH.
One lac'd tho holm, another hold tho lanoo,
A third tho Hhining buoklor did advance.
Tho courser paw'd tho ground with

foot,
And snorting foam'd, and ohamp'd tho goldon

bit.

The smiths and armourers on palfreys riclo,
Files in their hands, mid hammorfl at thoir

side,
And nails for loosen' d spoors, and thongs for

shields provide*

From 1649 to 1689,]

PALAMON AITC) ABOITE

[JOHN

The yeomen guard the streets in eoomly

bands,
And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels

in their hands.
The trumpets, next the gate in order

plao'd,

Attend tho sign to sound the martial blast ,
The palace-yard is fill'd with floating tides,
And tho last comers boor the former to tho

Tho throng is in the midst ; the common ciow
Shut out, tho hall admits the better few ,
In knots they btand, or in a rank they walk,
Serious in aspect, earnest in their talk,
Factious, and favouring this or t' other side,
AH their strong fancy or weak reason guide ,
Their wagers back their wishes, numbers

hold

With tho fair freckled king and bcftrd of gold;
So -vigorous are his eyes, such rays they

cant,

So prominent his eagle's beak is plac'd.
But moot their looks on the black monarch

bond, •

HIB riHing muscles and his brawn commend,
Hit* double-biting axe and beaming spear,
Koch, asking a gigantic force to rear.
All upoko as partial favour mov'd the mind,
And, safe themnolvos, at others' cost divin'd
Wak'd by tho cries, th' Athenian chief

aroHo,

The knightly forms of combat to dispose ;
And panning through th' obsequious guards, he

Huto

ConHpicuouH on a throne, sublime in state ;
Thoro for tho two contending knights he sent :
Arm'd cap-o-peo, with roveronoo low they

bent,

Ho Hmil'd on both, and with superior look,
Alike their offer' d adoration took.
The people press on every Hido to see
Their awful prince, and hear his high decree
Then, signing to their heralds with his hand,
They gave hiH orders from their lofty stand.
Silonco is thrice enjoin' d ; then thus aloud
The king-at-arms bespeaks tho knights and

listening ciowd •
"Our sovereign lord has pondor'd in his

mind

The moans to uparo tho blood of gentle kind ;
And of his grace and inborn clemency,
He modifies his first aevaro decree,
Tho keener edge of battle to rebate,
Tho troops for honour fighting, not for hate.
Ho wills not death should terminate their

strife,
And wound*, if wounds ensue, be short of

hfo;

But issues, ere tho fight, his dread command,
That slings afar, and pomards hand to hand,
Be banish' d from the field ; that none shall

dare

With shortened sword to stab in closer war ,
But in fair combat fight with manly strength,
Nor push with biting point, but striko at

length*

The tourney is allow'd but one career,

Of the tough ash with the sharp-grinded

spear,
But knights unhors'd may rise from off the

plain,

And fight on foot their honour to regain ,
Nor, if at mischief takon, on the ground
J3e filajTij but prisoners to tho pillar bound,
At either barnor plac'd , nor (captives made)
Bo freed, or arm'd anew the fight invade.
The chief of either side, bereft of life,
Or yielded to his foe, concludes the strife
Thus dooms the lord now valiant knights

and young
Fight each his fill with swords and maces

long."

The herald ends. The vaulted firmament
With loud acclaims and vast applaubo is

rent-
" Heaven guard a prince so gracious and so

good,

So just, and yet so provident of blood '"
This was the general cry. The trumpets

sound,

And warlike symphony is heard around,
The marching troops through Athens take

their way,

The great earl-marshal orders their array.
The fair from high the passing pomp be-
hold,

A rain of flowers is from the windows roll'd.
The casements oie with golden tissue spread,
And horses' hoofs, for earth, on silken tapestiy

tread;

The king goes midmost, and the rivals ride
In equal rank, and dose his either side.
Next after these, there rode the royal wife,
With Emily, the cause and the reward of

strife.

The following cavalcade, by three and three,
Proceed by titles marehalTd in degree
Thus through the southern gate they take

their way,

And at the list arnVd ere prime of day.
There, parting from the king, the chiefs

divide,
And, wheeling east and west, before their

many ride.
Th' Athenian monarch mounts his throne on

high,

And after "hfm the queen and Emily
Next these tho kindred of the crown are

grao'd

With nearer seats, and lords by ladies plac'd.
Scarce were they seated, when, with clamours

loud,

In rushed at once a rude, promiscuous crowd ,
The guards, and then each other, overbear,
And in a moment throng the spacious theatre
Now chang'd the jawing noise to whisperb

low,

As winds forsaking seas more softly blow ;
When at the western gate, on which tho oar
Is plac'd aloft that bears the god of war,
Proud Aroite entering arm'd before his train,
Stops at the barrier, and divides the plain.

JOHN DBYDEN.]

PAT.AMON AOT) ABCITB.

[FOURTH PERIOD. —

Bed was Ms banner, and display' d abroad
The bloody colours of his patron god

At that self moment enters Palamon
The gate of Venus and the rising sun ,
Wav*d by the wanton winds his banner flies,
All maiden white, and shares the people's

eyes

From east to west, look all the world around,
Two troops so match* d were never to bo

found;

Suoh bodies built for strength, of equal age,
In stature siz'd , so proud an equipage ;
The nicest eye could no distinction make,
Whoro lay th' advantage, or what side to

take.

Thus raag*d, the herald for the last pro-
claims

A silence while they answer' d to their names,
For so the king doorood, to shun the care,
The fraud of musters ialso, the common bane

of war.
Tho tale was just, and thon tho gates wore

olos'd,
And chief to chief, and troop to troop op-

pos'd.

The heralds last rotir'd, and loudly cry'd,
The fortune of tho field bo fairly try'd.
At this, the challenger with fierce defy
Pfcg trumpet sounds , tho ohallong'd makes

reply:
"With clangor rings tho field, resounds tho

vaulted sky*

Their vizors closed, their lances in tho rest,
Or at tho helmet pointed, or tho crost ,
They vanish from the barrier, speed tho race,
And, spurring, see decrease the middle space
A cloud of smoke envelops either host,
And all at once tho combatants are l<xst
Darkling they join adverse, and shook un-
seen,
Coursers with coursers justliug, men. with

men,

As, labouring in eclipse, awhilo they stay,
Till tho next blast of wind icntorcs tho day
They look anew the beauteous foim of nght
Is ohang'd, and war appears, a gmly Night
Two troops in fair array ono moment whow'd,
The next, a field with fallen bodion fitrow'd
Not half tho number m their scats ore found,
But men and steeds lie groveling on the

ground*
The points of spears arc stuck •vvjlhin tho

shield,
The steeds without their riders ftcour tho

field.
The knights unhoia'd, on foot ronow tho

fight;
Thie glittering faulohions oast a gleam. mg

light;
Hauberks and holms are how'd with many a

wound,
Oat spins the streaming blood, and dyos tho

ground.

The mighty maces with such haste descend,
They break the bones, and make tho solid

armour bend.

This thrusts amid tho throng with furious

force ,
Down goes at once tho horwoman and tlio

horse,

That courser stumbles on tho fallen Htcod,
And, floundering, tlirows tho rider o'er hi ,

head

Ono rolls along, a foot-ball to lun f OOK ;
Ono with a broken truncheon doalu Inn
This halting, this dwablod with his wound,
In triumph loci, is to tho pillar bound ,
"Whore, by tho king's award, ho numb ubit'o,
There goos a captive led on t1 other mdo
By fits they coano , aud, loaning on tlio lanco,
Take breath awhilo, and to now uglxt ad-
vance

Full oft tho rivals mot, and noithoi Hpar'd
His utmost force, and each forgot to wan I
Tho head of this was to tho naddlo bout,
Tho othor backward to tho crupper mint
Both wore by turns unhors'd, tho jealous

blows

Fall thick aud heavy, when on foot tiioy close.
So doop their faulohions bito that ovory

stroke
Pioro'd to tho quick, and oqual wonndu thoy

gave and took

Borne far asunder by tho tidoH of xnon,
Like adamant and stool thoy moot again

So when a tiger sucka tho bullook'n blood,
A famiBh'd lion, issuing from tho wood,
Boars lordly fierce, and uhallougOH tho food .
Bach claims possession, neither will obey,
But both their paws aro fanton'd on tho proy,
Thoy bite, they tear, and while 111 vain thoy

stnvo,
Tho swains oomo arm'd between, arid both to

distance dnvo
At length, as Fate forodoom'd, and till

thingu tond

By Gourne of tune to their appointed end .
So when tho Sun to woBt WOH iar doolm'd,
And both afrofth in mortal battle jom'd,
Tho strong Emotiius came in Aroito'n aid,
And Palamon with odds wns overlaid •
For, turning short, ho struck with all liih

might

Full on tho liolmot of th1 unwary knight
Doop wan tho wound , ho Hta^gor'd witli tlio

Mow,

And turn'd him to hin mioxpofltod foo ,
Whom with such forco ho wtruok, ho MIM

him down,

And cloft tho circle of IIIM golden (,rown.
But Arcito'H men, who now prcvailM in fight*
Twice ton at onoo Hiirround tiu\ Hin^lo knight -
O'orpowor'd, at length, thoy forco him to the*

ground,

Unyioldod aH ho waH, and to tho pillar bound ;
And king Lyonrguti, whilo ho fought in vain
His fnond to froo, waw tumbled on bho plain.
Who now IftmontH but Valamon, conipoll'd
No moro to try tho fortune of tho fiold I
And, worse than death, to view with hateful

oyes
His nval'B conquest, and renounce tho prize !

JFrow 1649 to 1C89 ]

PAIiAMON AND ABCITE.

[JOHN DJRYDHN.

Tho royal judge on his tribunal plao'd,
Who had behold tho fight from first to last,
Bad cease the war ; pronouncing from on high,
Arcito of Thobos had won the beauteous Emily.
Tho sound of trumpets to the voice reply'd,
And round tho royal Hats the heraldn ory'd,
"Arcito of Thobos has won the beauteous

biido "
Tho people rend the skies with vast

applause ,

All own tho chief, when Fortune owns tho cause.
Arcito IB own'd ov'n by tho gods above,
And conquering Mars insults the queen of love
So laugh'd ho, when tho rightful Titan fail'd,
And Jove's UHurping arms in Heaven piovail'd ;
Latigh'd all tho powers who favour tyranny ,
And all tho atanding army of tho sky
But YontiH with dejected eyes appcaiw,
And, weeping, on tho lints diHialTd her tears ,
I for will rofuu'd, which griovon a woman moHt,
And, m her champion foil'd, tho cauao of

TJOVO IH lout

Till Saturn said, a Fair daughter, now bo still,
Tho bluwtoriug fool has satisfy' d hia will ,
Ilin boon in grvon ; his knight has gain'd the

day,

Hut lost tho prize, ill' arrears are yet to pay
Thy hour in oomo, and mine tho care shall bo
To ploimo thy knight, and aet thy promise

iroo."

Now wlulo tho horaldrt run tho IwtH around,
And Aroilo, Arcito, llouvuu and JBarth

roHomwl ,

A ttiiraolu (nor IOHH it could bo oall'd)
'Llioir joy with imoxpootnA HOTXOW pall'd.
Tho victor knight luwl laid his holm aside,
Part for kin oaHO, tho greater part for pride
JJaro-hoadcxl, popularly low ho bow'd,
And paid tho Habitations of tho crowd.
Then, spurring at full Hpood, ran endlong on
Whore ThowouH sate on hiH imperial throne ;
FurioxtH ho drove, and upward cant IUH eye,
Whore next the quoou wan plao'd hiH Emily,
Then passing to tho saddle-bow ho bent .
A sweet regard tlio gracious virgin lent
(For women, to tho bravo an easy prey,
Still follow .Fortune whore nhe loadH tho way)
JuHt then, from earth sprung out a flashing

fire,

By Pluto Hont, at Salurn'a bod doHiro
The startling steed woa awss'd with sudden

fright,
And bounding, o'er tho pummel oast tho

knight:

"Forward ho flow, and, pitching on his head,
Ho quivor'd with MH foot, and lay for dead
.Black was hiH countenance in a little space.
For all tho blood was gathered in hin face.
Help was at hand they roar'd him from tho

ground,
And from his cumbrous arms his limbs

unbound ,
Then lanc'd a vein, and watch' d returning

breath ;
It came, but clogg'd with symptoms of his

death.

The saddle-bow the noble parts had prest,
All bruis'd and mortify'd his manly breast
"BTiffli still entranced and in a litter laid,
They bore from field and to his bed convey' d.
At length he wak'd, and, with a feeble cry,
The word he first pronouno'd was Emily
Meantime the king, though inwardly he

mourn'd,

In pomp triumphant to the town return'd.
Attended by the chiefs who fought the field
(Now friendly mix'd, and in one troop com*

poll'd)

Compos'd his looks to counterfeited ohoer,
And bade them not for Arcite's life to fear
But that which gladded all tho wamor-tram,
Though most were sorely wounded, none were

slam.
Tho surgeons soon despoil' d them of their

arms,
And some with salvos they euro, and some

with charms ,

Foment the bruises, and the pains assuage,
And heal their inward hurts with sovereign

draughts of sage.

The long m person visits all around,
Comforts the sick, congratulates the sound ,
Honours tho princely chiefs, rewards the rest,
And holds for thrice three days a royal feast
None was disgrao'd , for falling is no shame,
And cowardice alone is loss of fame.
Tho venturous knight is from tho saddle

Uurown,

But 'tw tho fault of fortune, not his own
If crowds and palms tho conquering side

adorn,

Tho victor under better stars was born
Tho bravo man seeks not popular applause,
Nor, overpower 'd with arms, deserts his

cause,
Unsham'd, though foil d, ho does tho best ho

can •

Force IH of brutes, but honour is of man.
ThuH Theseus smil'd on all with equal graco ,
And oaoh was set according to his place.
With ease wore reoonoil'd the differing parts,
For envy never dwells in noble hearts
At length they took their leave, tho time ox-

Well pleas' d, and to their several homos

retur'd.
Meanwhile tho health of Aroito still im-

pairs,
From bad proceeds to worso, and mocks the

leeches' cares ,

Swoln is his breast, his inward pains increase,
All moons aro uu'd, and all without HUCGOSU
Tho clotted blood lies heavy on his heart,
Corrupts, and there remains in spite of ait
Noi breathing veins, nor cupping, will pio-

vail,

All outward remedies and inward fail ,
Tho mold of Nature's fabric is destroy' d,
Her vessels discompos'd, her virtue void ;
Tho bellows of his lungs begin to swell,
All out of frame is every feocrot cell,
Nor can tho good receive, nor bad expel.

JOHN DRYDEN.]

PALA.TVTON AND ABCITE

[FOUJ4TH PlGIiTOD —

Thoso breathing organs, thus within opprpst,
With venom soon distend tho sinews of his

breast.

Nought profits him to save abandoned life,
Nor vomit's upward aid, nor downward laxa-
tive.

The midmost region batter' d and destroy' d,
When Nature cannot work, th* effect of ait is

void.

For physio can but mend our orazy state,
Patch an old building, not a new create.
Aroite is doom'd to die in all his pride,
Must leave hid youth, and yield his beauteous

bnde,

Gain'd Hardly, against rig-lit, and uncnjoy'd.
When 'twas deolar'd all hope of life was past,
Conscience (that of all physio works tho last)
Cans' d nun to send for Emily in haste.
With her, at his desire, came Palamon :
Then, on his pillow rais'd, he thus begun
" No language can express tho smallest part
Of what I feel and suffer in my heart,
For you, whom best I love and valuo most.
But to your service I bequeath my ghost ,
Which, from this mortal body when unty'd,
Unseen, unheard, shall hover at your Bide,
Nor fright you waking, nor your sleep offend,
But wait officious, and your stops attend
How I have lov'd, excuse my faltering tongue,
My spirits feeble and my pains are strong •
This I may say, I only grievo to dio
Because I lose my charming Emily .
To die, when Heaven had put you in my

power,

Fate could not choose a more malicious hour '
What greater ourse could envious Fortune

give,

Than just to die when I began to live »
Vain men ; how vanishing a bliss we crave ,
Now warm in love, now withering in the

grave.

Never — O never more to see the Sun ;
Still dark, in a damp vault, and still alone f
This fate is common, but I lose my breath
Near bliss, and yet not bloss'd before my

death.

Farewell ' but take me dying in your arms,
'Tis all I con enjoy of all your charms •
This hand I cannot but in death resign ,
Ah, could I live ' but while I livo 'tis mine.
I feel my end approach, and, thus ombrac'd,
Am pleas' d to die, but hear me speak my

last.

Ah ! my sweet foe, for you, and you alone,
I broke my faith with mjur'd Palamon
But Love the sense of right and wrong con-
founds ,
Strong Love and proud Ambition have no

bounds.
And much I doubt, should Heaven my life

prolong,

I should return to justify my wrong :
For while my former flames remain within,
Eepentanoe is but want of power to sin,
With mortal hatred I pursu'd his life,
Nor he, nor you, wsre guilty of the erbrif e :

Nor I, but as I lov'd ; yet all combin'd,
Your beauty, and my impotence of mind,
And his concurrent name, that blow my fire ,
For still our kindred souls had one desire
Ho had a moment's right in point of time ,
Had I seen first, then his had been tho crime.
Fate made it mine, and {ratify 'd hin light,
Nor holds this Earth a more deserving- knight,
For virtue, valour, and for noble blood,
Truth, honour, all that is oompnfl'd in #oo<l ,
So help me Heaven, in all tho world is none
So worthy to bo lov'd as Palamon
Ho lovos you too, with Huch an holy firo,
As will not, cannot but with life oxpiro •
Our vow'd affections both havo often tryM,
Nor any love but yours could ours divide.
Then, by my love's inviolable band,
By my long suffering, and my short command,
If o'er you plight your VOWB when I am ffono,
Have pity on the faithful Palamon."
This was his last, for Death came on

And exerois'd bolow his iron roign ;
Thou upward to the scat of life ho goon •
Sense fled before him, what ho touch1 d ho

froze •

Yet could ho not his closing eyes withdraw,
Though loss and loss of Emily he Haw ;
So, speechless, for a little space ho lay,
Then grasp'd the hand he held, and High'd IUH

soul away.

But whither went his soul let such rclatn
Who search the secrete of the future state
Divines can say but what thomnolvoH boliovo,
Strong proofs they havo, but not demonstra-

tive-

For, wore all plain, then all sides must agree,
And faith itself be lost in certainty
To hvo uprightly then is Bare tho boHt,
To save ourselves, and not to damn tho WHt.
The soul of Aroiie wont whoro lioathonH go,
Who better live -than wo, though IOSH thoy

know.

In Palamon a manly griof appoarn ;
Silent he wept, asham'd to H!IOW hiH
Emilia shriek' d but once, and then,
, With Borrow, sunk upon her lover1 H l
Till Thosous in his arniB oonvoyM with cure*,
Far from so sad a wght tlio Hwoonfotf fair
'Tworo losi of timo her Borrow to iclato ;
111 boarn tho HOX a youthful lovor'H fain,
Whon just approaching- to tho nuptial niatu •
But, like a low-hung cloud, it roinn HO font,
That all at once it falls, and cannot last.
Tho face of things iw channel, and Athoiw now,
That laugh'd BO late, becomoH tlio HCOTJO of woo
Matrons and muidn, both HCXOH, ovary Hiatc,
With team lament tho knight* H untimely ftito.
Nor greater grief in falling Troy woti HOCH
For Hector's death ; but Hector won not then,
Old men with dust deform'd their hoary hair,
Tho women boat their broantn, their choolcH

they tare
" Why would1 st thon go," with ono conaoiit

they cry,
" When thou had'sb gold enough, and Emily?"

From 1649 to 1689.]

PALAJ10N AND ABOITE.

[JOHN DRYDEN.

Theseus himself, who should have cheer 'd

tho grief

Of others, -wanted now the same relief.
Old Egous only could revive his son,
Who various changes of tho world had known.
And strange vicissitudes of human fate,
Still altering-, never in a steady state ;
Good after ill, and after pain delight ;
Alternate like tho scenes of day and night :
" Since every man who lives is born to die,
And none can boast sincere felicity,
With equal mind what happens let us boar,
Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond

our caro.

Like pilgrims to th' appointed place wo tend ,
Tho world's on inn, and death tho journey's

end.
Ev'n kings but play ; and when their part is

done,
Some other, worse or bettor, mount the

throne/*

With wordH like those the crowd was satisfy'd,
And HO thoy would have boon had Theseus

dy'd

But ho, tholr king, was labouring in MB mind,
A fitting place for funeral pompH to find,
Which woio m honour of the dead doragn'd.
And, after long debate, at last ho found
(AH Love itself had mark'd tho spot oi

ground)
That grovo for over groon, that conscious

laud,

Whoro ho with Valamon fought hand to hand
That whoro ho fod hm amorous doHirofl
With Hoft complaintH, and felt his hottest

flrori,
There other flames might waste hin earthly

part,
And burn hifl limbs whoro love had burn'd his

heart.
ThiH onoo rosolv'd, tho poaflonts wore on-

join'd

Soro-wood, and firs, and dodder' d oaks to find.
With Hounding axes to the grove thoy go,
Fell, split, and lay the fuel on a row,
Yulcunian food : a bior is next propor'd,
On which the lifeless body should bo roar'd,
Cover' d with cloth of gold, on which wan laid
Tho corpse of Arcito, in like robes array 'd.
White gloves wore on hut hands, and on his

head

A wreath of laurel, mix'd with myrtle Rproad.
A sword koon-odg*d within his nght ho hold,
Tho warlike emblem of tho conquer' d field :
Bare was hit* manly visage on the bior .
Monao'd his countenance , ov'n in death

severe.

Then to tho palace -hall they bore the knight,
To Ho in solemn state, a public sight
Groans, ones, and howlings fill the crowded

place,

And unaffected sorrow sat on every face.
Sad Palamon above tho rest appears,
In Hablo garments, dew*d with gushing tears
His auburn locks on either shoulder flow*d,
Which to the funeral of his friend he vow'd

But Emily, as chief, was next his side,
A viigin- widow, and a mourning bndo
And, that the princely obsequies might bo
Performed according to his high degree,
The steed, that bore fa™ living to the fight.
Was trapp'd with polish* d steel, all shining

bright,
And cover' d with th' achievements of the

knight

Tho ndors rode abreast, and one his shield,
His lance of cornel-wood another held ;
Tho third his bow, and, glorious to behold,
The costly quiver, all of burmsh'd gold
The noblest of the Grecians next appear,
And, weeping, on their shoulders bore the

bier,
With sober pace they march' d, and often

staid,
And through tho master-street the corpse

convoy 'd.

The houses to their tops with black were spread,
And ev'n the pavements were with mourning

hid.

Tho right side of the pall old Egeus kept.
And on the left the royal Theseus wept ;
Each bore a golden bowl, of work divine,
With honoy fill'd, and milk, and mix'd with

ruddy wine.

Then Palamon, the kinsman of the slam
And after fa™ appear' d tho illustrious train,
To grace tho pomp, came Emily the bright
With cover* d fire, the funeral pile to light.
With high devotion was tho service made,
And all tho ntos of pagan-honour paid
So lofty was tho pilo, a Parthian bow,
With vigour drawn, must send the shaft

below.

Tho bottom was full twenty fathom brood,
With crackling strawbonoathin duo proportion

strow'd

The fabno soem'd a wood of rising green,
With sulphur and bitumen cast between,
To feed the flames : the trees were unctuous

fir,

And mountain ash, the mother of the spear ;
Tho mourner yew and builder oak were there
The beooh, the swimming alder, and the plane,
Hard box, and linden of a softer gram,
And laurels, which the gods for conquering

chiefs ordain.
How thoy wore rank'd, shall rest untold by

mo,
With nameless nymphs that liv'd in every

tree,

Nor how the Dryads, or the woodland train,
Dishontod, ran howling o'er tho plain :
Nor how the birds to foreign seats ropair'd,
Or beasts, that bolted out, and saw the forest

bar'd-
Nor how the ground, now clear'd, with ghastly

fright
Beheld the sudden Sun, a stranger to tho light.

The straw, as first I said, was laid below
Of chips and sere-wood was the second row ;
Tho third of greens, and timber newly iolTd
The fourth high stage the fragrant odours held,

JOHN

PAT.AMON AND ABOITB.

[FOURTH PERIOD. —

And pearls, and precious stones, and riot.

array,

In midst of which, embalm' d, the body lay.
The service sung, the maid with mourning

oyos
The stubble fir'd; the smouldering flames

arise,

This office done, she sunk upon the ground ;
But what she spoko, recover' d from hor

swoon,

I want the wit in moving words to dress ,
But by themselves the tender sex may guess.
While the devouring fire was burning fast,
Bich jewels in the flame the wealthy cast ,
And some their shields, and some thoir lances

threw,
And gave their warrior's ghost, a warrior's

duo

Full bowls of wine, of honey, milk, and blood,
Were pour'd upon the pile of burning wood,
And hissing flames receive, and hungry liok

the food
Then thrice tho mounted squadrons nde

around
The firo, and Aroito's namo they thrioo

resound ,

Hail, and farewell, they phontod ihrico amain,
Thrice facing to tho loft, and thrice they

turn'd again ,
Still as they turn'd, they boat their clattering

shields ,
The womon mrc their cries , and Clamour fills

the fields,

The warlike wakes continued all tho night,
And funeral games were played at now return-
ing light,
Who, naked, wrestled boat, besmear' d with

oil,

Or who with gauntlets gave or took tho foil,
I will not toll you, nor would you attend ,
But briefly haste to my long fctory's end
I pass the lost tho year was fully

moum'd,

And Palamon long since to Thebes return' d
When, by tho Grecians' general consent,
At Athous Thesous hold hi** pailiiunont •
Among tho laws that pans' d, it wan decreed,
That conquer' d Thebes from bondage uhould

bo freed ;

Eosorving homago to lh' Athenian throne,
To whwh tho sovereign Bummon'd Palamon.
Unknowing of tho cauac, ho took hin way,
Mournful in mind, and still in black an ay
Tho monarch mounts tho thxono, and, plao'd

on high,
Commandn into the court tho beauteous

Emily,

So oall'd, sho oamo ; tho senate rose, and paid
Becoming reverence to tho royal maid
And first soft whispers through th1 assembly

wont
With silent wonder then they watch'd th'

event

All huflh'd, the kmg aroso with awful grace,
Deep thought was in his breast, and counsel in

his face

At length, he sigh'd j and, having first pre-

par'd

Th' attentive audience, thus his will doolai'd
"The Cause and Spxing of Motion, from

above,

Hung down on Earth tho goldon chain of lovo
Groat was th' effect, and high WOK hit* uvtout,
Whon poaoo among tho jarring HOO<!H ho sent,
Firo, flood, and oarth, and air, by HUB woro

bound,
And lovo, the common link, tho now creation

crown'd
Tho chain still holds , for, though tho forma

dooay,

Eternal matter novor wears away .
The same first Mover coitain bouudH haw

plao'd,

How long those perishable forms shall laHt
Nor can. they last boyond the tuno aHHigu'd
By that all-sooing and all-making Mind .
Shorten their hours thoy may; for will it} froo;
But never pass th' appointed destiny.
So wen oppress" d, when woary of their broath,
Throw off the burden, and suborn tlioir Uoutli
Then, since those f ormti begin, and have thoir

end,

On eomo unaltor'd COTUSQ thoy snro depend
Parts of the whole are we , but God tlio

wholo

Who gives UH life and animating HOU! :
For nature cannot from a part derive
That bomg, which tho wholo can only give •
Ho perfect, wtablo , but imperfect wo,
Subject to change, and different in degree ;
Plants, boasts, and man , and, as our orgiuiH

aro,

We more or loss of his perfection flluiro
But by a long doncent, th* oUioruil firo
Corrupts , and forms, tho mortal part expire
As ho withdraws hifl virtue, HO thoy I>OHH,
And tho samo matter makon uiiothor IEUIHH j
This law th' Omniscient power WUH ploiw'd to

give,

That evory kind should by HUCCOHHIOTI livo '
That individual die, hiH will ordnniw,
The propagatod spociOH ntill rouiaiiiH
Tho monarch oak, tho patriarch of tho tronw,
Shoots nmngup, and nproadn l>y H!O\V dogroouj
Throe oonttuioH ho grown, and tin o<> ho stays
Supremo in Htato, and jn throo xnoro rtowiyn ;
So woarn tlio paving pebble in tho Htroot,
And townn and toworrt thoir fatal periods

moot

So rivors, rapid onoo, now nakod lio,
Foisakon of thoir HpringH, and loavo tluur

channolK dry.

So man, at nrnt a diop, dilaton with Iwiat,
Then, form'd, tho littlo heart boginH to bout ;
Secret ho foodu, unknowing JLU tho coll ;
At length, for hatching ripe, ho broakH tlio

shell,

And struggles into broath, and cnoH for aid ;
Then, helplosn, in his mother' H lap IH laid
Ho creeps, ho walku, and, iRHiiing into mau,
Grndgos thoir life, from whonoo his own \

began

*V«ni 1649 to 1689.]

MAC-FLECKNOE.

[JOHN DBTDHN.

Kockloss of laws, affects to rolo alone,
Anxious to roign, and restless on the throne •
First vogetive, then feds, and reasons last ,
J&ioh of throe souls, and lives all three to

waste.
Some thus ; but thousands more in flower of

ago

For few arnvo to run the latter stage
S\mk m the first, in battle some aio slain,
And others wholm'd beneath the stormy

mam.

What makes all this, but Jupiter the king1,
At whoso command wo perish, and we

spring P

Thou 'tis ota best, since thus ordain'd to die,
To moke a vntuo of necessity,
Take what ho given, since to rebel IB vain ,
The bad grows bettor, which wo well sustain ,
And could we choose the tune, and choose

aright,

"TiH bent to dio, our honour at the height.
When wo have douo our ancestors uo shame,
But Horv'd our friends, and well socur'd our

fame;

Tlion Hhould we wish our happy life to close,
And leave no more for Fortune to dispose
So Hhould wo make our death a glad relief
From future Hhaxno, from BioknoBB, and from

t grief.

Enjoying wlulo wo live the present hour,
And dying in our oxocllnnoo and flower,
Thou round our death-bed every triond should

run,

And joyoiiH of our oonrjtiOHt oarly won
Whilo tho malioimiH world with OIIVIOUH toarn
Should grudge our hapi>y end, and winh it

iSinco tbon our Arcito IH with lionour (load,
Wliy Hhould wo mourn, tluit lio RO soon ia

frood,

Or call untimely wliat the godw decreed P
With griof a« junt, a friond may ho doplor'd,
From a /oul priHon to f roc air rostor'd.
Ought ho to tluink IUH kmnman or hirt wife,
Oonld toar» raoall him into wratohod liio P
Tlioir Morrow hurt thcmiHclvuH j on him in

lOHt,

And, worHO than both, ofTondH MB happy

ghoHt

What then remains, but, after pant annoy,
To take tho good vioiHHitudo of joy P
To thank tlxo gracious gods for what they

givo,

T'OHHOHH our nonltf, and, while wo live, to live P
Ordain we then two Borroww to combine,
And in oiio point th' oxtromoH of gnof to join;
That thonco remitting joy may bo renew' d,
AK jomng notes in harmony conclude
Then 1 propone that Palamon Hhall bo
Tn marriage joined with beauteous Rnuly ;
For which already I have gain'd th* annont
Of my free people in full parliament
Long love to her has borne the faithful

knight,
And well douorv'd, had Fortune dono him

right

'Tin time to mend her fault , since Emily
By Aroite's death from former vows IB free
If you, fair sister, ratify th' accoid,
And take him for your husband and your

lord,

'Tis no dwhonour to confer your grace
On one descended from a royal race
And wore he less, yet years of service past
From grateful souls exact reward at lost •
Pity is Heaven's and yours , nor can she find
A throne so soft as in a woman's mind "
He saxd she blush' d; and, as o'eraw'd by

might,
Seem'd to give Theseus what aho gave the

knight

Then turning to the Thoban thus he said *
" Small arguments are needful to persuade
Tour temper to comply with my command , "
And speaking thus, ho gave Emilia's hand*
SmiTd Venus, to behold her own true knight
Obtain the conquest, though ho lost the fight ;
And bless'd with nuptial bliss the sweet

laborious night

Eros, and Antoros, on either side,
One fir'd the bridegroom, and one warm'd the

bxido,

And long-attending Hymen, from above,
Showor'd on the bod the whole Idalian grove
All of a tonour was their after-Mo,
No day diHColour'd with domestic strife ;
No jealousy, but mutual truth bekev'd,
Secure ropono, and kindnons undocoiv'ci.
Tims Heaven, boyond the compass of his

thought,
Sent him the blessing ho RO dearly bought.

So may the quoon of love long duty bless,
And all true lovoru find the same success

Jolm 3>ifden — Born 1031, Died 1700.

660.— MAC-FLEOKNOE.

All human things ore subject to decay ;
And, when Fato summons, monorchs must

obey.
This Flocknoo found, who, like Augustus,

young

"Was calTd to empire, and had govern' d long ;
In pioso and verse was own'd, without

dispute,

Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute
Thin aged pnnco, now flouriHhing in peace,
And blest with issue of a large increase,
Woin out with buH'nosH, did at length debate
To settle the succession of the state ,
And pond'rmff which of all hiB sons was fit
To reign, and wage immortal war with Wit,
Cried, 'Tis resolved , for Nature pleads, that

he

Should only rule who most resembles mo.
Shadwoll, alone, my perfect imago bear*,
Mature in dulnesa trom TUB tender years :
Shadwoll, alone, of all my HOUS, was he
Who stands confirm' d m full stupidity.

JOHN

JktAC-PLEOKNQB.

[FOURTH PBBIOD.-

The rest to some faint meaning make pretence ,
But Shadwell never deviates into scnso
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
Strike through, and make a lucid interval ,
But ShadwelTs genome night admits no ray;
Trm rising fogs prevail upon the day
Besides, his goodly fabric fills the oyo,
And seems design' d for thoughtless majesty ;
Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the

plain.

And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign.
Heywood and Shirley were "but typos of thoo,
Thou last great prophet of Tautology '
Ev'n I, a dunce of more renown than they,
Was sent before but to prepare thy way ,
And, coarsely olad in Norwich drugget, came
To teach the nations in thy greater name.
My warbling lute, the lute I whilom strung,
When to King John of Portugal I sung,
Was but the prelude to that glorious day,
When thou on silver Thames didst cut thy

way

With well-tim'd oars before tho royal barge,
Swell' d with the pnde of thy celestial charge ,
And, big with hymn, commander of a host,
The hke was ne'er in Epsom-blankets toss'd.
Methmks I see the new Anon sail,
Tho lute still trembling underneath thy nail.
At thy well-sharpen' d thumb, from shore to

shore,

The trebles squeak for fear, the bases roar ;
About thy boat the little fishes throng,
As at the morning toast that floats along.
Sometimes, as prince of thy harmonious band,
Thou wield'st thy papers in thy thrashing

hand.

St. Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time ;
Not e'en the feet of thine own Psyche's

rhyme

Though they in number as in sense excel ;
So just, so like Tautology they fell,
That, pale with envy, Singleton forswore
The lute and sword, which he in triumph

bore,

Ajid vow*d he ne'er would act ViUenus more
Here stopp'd the good old sire, and wept

for joy,

In silent raptures of the hopeful boy
AIL arguments, but most his plays, persuade,
That for anointed dulness he was made

Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind
(The fair Augusta, much to fears inckn'd)
An ancient fabric, raised t' inform tho sight,
There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight,
A watch-tower once ; but now, so fate

ordains,

Of all the pile an empty name remains • # #
Near these a nursery erects its head,
Where queens aro forxn'd, and future heroes

bred,
Where unflodg'd actors loam to laugh and

cry,

Where infant punks their tender voices try,
And little MaTrimmH tho gods defy.
Great Fletcher never aoads m buskins hero,
Nor greater Jonsoa dares in socks appear ,

But gentle Simian just reception finds
Amidst this monument of vanish* d minds ;
Pure clinches tho suburban inuso uffordH,
And Panton waging harmless war with words.
Heio Flecknoo, as a place to fame well-
known,

Ambitiously doHign'd Ha ShadwolVs throno
For ancient Pokkor prophoHied, long Hinco,
That iu this pile should roign a mighty prince,
Born for a Roouigo ot wit, an<l noil of hi'iiHO ;
To whom true dulnoss should boino Pnychon

owe,
But worlds of misora from hut i>on should

flow,

HumonHtH and hypocritoH it should produce ;
Whole Eaymond families, and tribes of

Bruce.
Now empress Fame had published tho

renown

Of ShadwelTs coronation through tho town.
Eons' d by report of Fame, the nations moot,
From near Bun ffint and distant Wailing

Street;

No Persian carpets spread th' imperial way,
But scatter' d limbs of mangled pools lay j * *
Bilk'd stationers for yoomon stood propar'd,
And Herringxnan was captain of tho guard*
The hoary prince in majesty appear' d,
High on a throne of his own labours roar'd.
At Ms right hand our young AsoaniuH sat,
Borne' s other hope, and pillar of tie state ;
His brows thick fogs, instead of glories,

grace,

And lambent dulness play*d around hiH face.
As Hannibal did to tho altars coxno,
Sworn by his sure a mortal foe to Some,
So Shadwell swore, nor should his vow bo

vain,

That he, till death, true dulnoss would main-
tain,

And, in his father's right, and roalm'H dofonco,
No'or to have peace with Wit, nor truco with

Sense.

The fang himself the sacred unction nifulo,
As king by office, and OH pnout by trade.
Lot his sinister hand, instead of boll,
He placed a mighty mug of potent alo ;
" Love's Kingdom" to hiB right ho did

convoy

At onoo hiB Rooptro and his rule of Hway ;
Whoso righteous loro tho prince had praotin'd

young,

And from whoso loins recorded Pnyoho »pi ung *
His temploH last with poppion wore o'ornproad,
That, nodding, scorn' d to connoorato hi» hood.
Just at tho point of timo, if famo not ho,
On his loffc hand twolvo rov'rond OW!H did fly.
So Romulus, 'tis sung, by Tiber's brook,
Presage of sway from twice MX vulturoH took.
Th' admiring throng loud acclamation* xnoko,
And omons of h*H future empire tako
The firo thon shook tho honoarn of hia hood,
And from hifl brows dampH of oblivion shod
Full on the filial dulncsB . long ho stood,
Bepclluig from his broant tho raging god ;
At length burst out in this prophetic mood •

From 1649 to 1689.]

ALEXANDERS FEAST.

[JOHN DBYDBN.

"Hoav'n bloss my son, from Ireland lot

him reign,

To far Baibadoes ozx the western moon ;
Of his dominion may no ond bo known,
And groator than, his father's bo his throne ,
Beyond Love's Kingdom let V"y. stretch his

pen'"

Ho paus' d ; and all the people cried, Amen.
Then thus continued he " My son, advance
Still in now impudence, now ignorance,
Success lot othora teach, learn thou, from

mo,

"PangH without birth, and fruitless industry
"Lot Virtuosos in five years bo writ ;
Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit
Lot gentle George in triumph tread the

stage,

Make Doxunant betray, and Lovoit rage ;
Lot Cully, Cook-wood, Fopling, charm the pit,
And, in their folly, show the writer's wit
Yet Htill thy f OO!H shall stand in thy defence,
And justify their author's want of sense.
Lot 'em bo all by thy own model made
Of dubious, and desire no foreign aid,
That they to future ages may be known,
Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own
Nay, let thy men of wit, too, bo the same,
All full of thoo, and diifnng but in name
But lot no alien Sodloy interpose,
To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom proso
And, when false flowers of rhot'nc thou

wouldHl cull,

Trust nature, do not labour to bo dull ,
But wntu thy bout, aud top; and, m each

lino,

Sir Normal's oratory will be thine
Sir Formal, though unsought, attends thy

And UOOB thy northern dedications fill.

Nor let false friends Hoduoo thy mind to

fame,

By arrogating JoxiHon'H hostile name,
Lot father Flooknoo fire thy mind with praise,
And undo Ogloby thy envy raise.
Thou art my blood, whore Jonaon has no

part .

What Hhore have we in nature or in art ?
Whore (lid hit* wit on learning fix a brand,
And rail at arts ho did not understand H
"Whore made ho lovo in Prinoo Nicondor's vein,
Or Hwopt the dust in Psycho's humble strain P
When did hu muse from Fletcher scones

purloin,
AH thou whole Etheroge dost transfuse to

thinoP

But BO tronrf us'd as oil and waters flow ;
Ittfl always floats above, thine ranks below.
This iH thy province, this thy wondrous way,
"Now humours to invent for each now play •
This iH that boasted bias of thy mind,
By wluoh one way to dulnoss 'tw inolm'd ,
Wluch makes thy writings lean on one side

still,

And, in all changes, that way bonds thy will
Nor lc*t thy mountains-belly mako pretence
Of likeness ; thane's a tympany of sense

A tun of man in thy large bulk is wnt j
But sure thou'rt but a kilderkin of wit
Like mine, thy gontie numbers feebly creep
Thy feagio muse gives smiles; thy comic,

With whate'oi gall thou sett* st thyself to

write,

Thy inoffensive satires never bite.
In thy felonious heart, thou venom lies,
It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies.
Thy genius colls theo not to purchase fame
In keen Iambics, but mild Anagram.
Leave writing plays, and choose for thy

command

Some peaceful province in Acrostic land.
There thou may'st wings display, and altars

raise,
And torturo one poor word ten thousand

ways

Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit,
Sot thy own songs, and sing them to thy

lute"
He said but his lost words were scarcely

heard,

For Bruce and Longvil had a trap prepar'd ;
And down they sent the yet declaiming bard.
Sinking, he left his drugget robe behind,
Borne upwards by a subterranean wind,
The mantle fell to the young prophet's port,
With double portion of his father's art.

Jolm Dryfon — Born 1681, Died 1700.

66 1.— ALEXAOTEB'S FEAST.

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
By Philip's warlike son ;

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero sate
On his imperial throne :

His valiant peers were plao'd around ;
Their brows with, roses and with myrtles
bound*

(So should desert in arms be crown* d)
The lovely Thais, by his side,
Sato, like a blooming eastern bnde,
In flower of youth and beauty's pnde

Happy, happy, happy pair '

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the bravo deserves the fair.

OHOBUS.

Happy, happy, happy pair !

Nono but the brave,

Nono but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

Timothous, plao'd on high
Amid the tuneful quixo,
With flying fingers touch* d the lyro i

JOHN DBYDEN]

ALEXANDER'S FEAST

[FOURTH PBBIOD.—

The trembbng notes ascend tho sky,
And heavenly ioys inspire
The song began from Jove,
Who left his bhssf ul scats above
(Such is the power of mighty love)
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god
Sublime on radiant spires ho rode.
When ho to faar Olympia press' d .
And while ho sought her snowy breast
Then, round hor slender waist ho curl'd,
And stamp' d an image of himself, a sovereign

of the world.

Tho listening crowd admire the lofty sound,
A present deity, they shout around
A present deity the vaulted roofs rebound .

With ravish' d ears

The monarch hears,

Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.

CHORUS

With ravish'd oars
The monarch hoars,
Assumes tho god,
Affects to nod,
And seems to shake tho spheres,

The praise of Bacchus then, the sweet musician

sung-

Of Bacchus ever fair and over young
The jolly god in triumph comes ,
Sound the trumpets, boat tho drums ,
Flush' d with a purplo grace
He shows his honest face ,
Now give the hautboys broath ho comes, ho

comes
Bacchus, ever fair and young,

Drinking joys did first ordain ,
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Dunking is tho soldier's pleasure
Rich the treasure,
Sweet tho pleasure ,
Sweet IB pleasure after pain.

CHOKUfl

Bacchus' blessings arc a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure

Rich the treasure,

Swoet tho pleasure ,
Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Sooth'd with the sound, tho king grow vain ,

Fought all his battles o'er again ,
And thrice he routed all his foes , and thnco

he slow the slam.
The master saw tho madness rtao ;
His glowing chooks, his ardont oyos ,
And, whilo he Hoavon and Earth defy'd,
Changed his hand, and chock' d his pride.

He chose a mournful Huso

Soft pity to mfuflo
He sung Darius great and good,

By too severe a fate,

Fallen, fallen, fallon, fallon,
Fallen fiom IUH high estate,
And woltring m his blood ,
Deserted, at his utmost noocl,
By those liw former bounty fed
On tho baro earth oxpoa'd ho IIOH,
With not a friond to oloso lun oyos
With downcast looks tho joyloHB victor

sate,
Revolving in his aHorod BOU!

Tho various turnH of Cluuioo below r
And, now and then, a High ho Htolo ,
And tears bogau to How

CHOKUS

Revolving m his altor'd BOtil

The various turns of Chaimo Iwlow;

And, now and then, a High ho Htolo ,
And tears bogan to flow.

The mighty master mnilM, to aoo
That lovo was in tho noxt dogroo :
'Twas but a kindred flotuul to movo,
For pity melts fcho mind to lovo.
Softly sweot, m Lydian moanuroH,
Soon he sooth'd hia son! to plouuuros.
War, he sung, i« toil and tronblo ;
Honour but an empty bubblo ,
Novor ending, Btill bognminpr,
Fighting still, and still destroying- ;

If the world bo worth thy winning,
Think, O think, rl worth enjoying •
Lovoly ThaiH ait» beside theo,
Tako the good tho godn provido tho<*
Tho many rond tho wkiOH with loud applanst* ;
So Love was crown' d, but Music, won tho

cause

Tho pnnco, unable to conceal Ins pum,
Gaz'd on tho fair
Who cauft'd hw caio,
And Hiffh'd twwl look'd, w«hVl an<l

look'd,

SighM ancl look'd, and ragUM ii^ilu ,
At length, with lovo and whio at onoo

Tho vanquished vujtor Hunk iijuni her

CHlOttlTH

Tho princo, nniiblct to «on<»(»«J hn juuii,
Qax'd on tlw ftiir
Who cauwM hm oarf»,
And HityhM and lookM, HitfUM and

look'd,

Sigh'd and looVrt, and HighM ajpun :
At length, with lovo and wiiio at

The vanquiHh'd victor Htmk upon h<*r livnoht.

Now wtriko tho goldon lyro again
A louder yot, and yot a loudtnr Htrain.
Break his bands of «locp asunder,
And rouHO him, like a rattling peal oi
thunder.

From 1G49 to 1C8D ]

CHARACTEB OF SHAFTESBUBY.

[JOHN

Hark, hark, tlio homd sound
Has raifi'd up his hoad !
As awak'd from tho dead,
And amaz'd, ho stares around.
DEtavengo, rovongo, Timothous cries,
Soe tho Funes anso
Soe tlio snakes that thoy roar,
How thoy hiss in their hair ;
And tho sparkles that flash from their oyes!

Behold a ghastly band,
{ Each a torch in his hand '

I Thoso aro Grecian ghosts, that in battle were
1 filain,

And unbnry'd remain
Inglorious on tho plain :
Grivo tho vongoanoo duo
To tho valiant orow.

Bohold how thoy tofaH thoii torches on high,
How thoy point to the Persian abodes,
And glittering temples of thoir hostile gods.
Tho prmoos applaud, with a funouH ioy ,
And tho king noia'd a flamboau with zoal to
clowtroy ,

Thai* led tho way,
To light him to his prey,
And, like another Holon, fir'd another Troy

CHORUS.

And tho king aoiz'd a Hamboau with zoal to

Thaw lod tho way,
To light him to IUH proy,
And, like another llolon, fir'd another Tioy.

ThuH, long ago,
Ere hoaving bollowH loarn'd to blow,

Wliilo organw yot woro mnto ,
TimothouH, to his broatliing1 fluto,

Ami Hounding lyio,
swell tho soul to rugo, or kindlo soft

At loat divino Cecilia oanio,
InvontroHB of tho vooal fyamo ;
Tlio sweet onthuHiaHt, from lior Hocrod utoro,

EnlargM the former narrow bounds,

And added longth to nolomix sounds,
With Nature' B mother- wit, and aria unknown

before,
Lot old Timothous yield tho prize,

Or both divide tho crown ,
Ho raiH'd a mortal to tho Hkio.s ;

She drow au augol down

GRAND CHORUS

At last divino Cecilia came,
InvontroHH of tho vooal fuuno ;
Tlio swoot onthuRiast, from hor sacred store,
Knlarg'd tho foimor narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With Nature's mothor-wit, and arts unknown
beforo.

Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown ,
Ho rais'd a mortal to tho skies j

She drew an angel down.

Jb7m Dn/cten,.— Born 1631, IHed 1700,

662. — OHABAOTEB OP SHAJFTESBTTBY.

Of these the false Achitophel was first,
A name to all succeeding ages curst ;
For close designs and crooked counsels fit ;
Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit ,
Bestiess, unfix'd in principles and place ;
In power unpleas'd, impatient of disgrace :
A fiery soul, which, working out its way,
Fretted the pigmy body to decay,
And o'er-mform'd the tenement of clay.
A daring pilot in eactremity ;
Pleas'd with the danger when the wares went

high,

He sought the storms , but, for a calm unfit,
"Would steer too nigh the sands to boast BIB

wit

Great wits are sure to madness near allied,
And thin partitions do their bounds divide ;
Else why should ho, with wealth and honour

blost,

Refuse his ago tho needful hours of rest ?
Punish a body which ho could not please ;
Bankrupt of life, jet prodigal of ease ?
And all to leave what with his toil he won,
To that unfoathor'd two-logg'd thing, a son ,
Got, while his soul did huddled notions try,
And born a shapoloss lump, like anarchy.
In friendship falno, implacable in hate ,
RoRolv'd to rum or to rule the state
To compass this, the triple bond he broke,
The pillars of the public safety shook,
And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke
Then seized with fear, yet still affecting fame,
TTsurp'd a patriot's all-atoning name.
So easy still it proves, in factious tunes,
With public zoal to cancel private crimes ,
How safe is treason, and how sacred ill
"Where none can sin i> gainst tho people's will !
"Whore crowds can wink, and no offence be

known,

Since in another's guilt they find then own I
Yet famo desorv'd no onomy can grudge ,
The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge.
In Israel's courts no' or sat an Abethdin
With more discerning oyos, or hands more

clean,

Unbrib'd, unsought, tho wretched to rodross,
Swift of despatch, and easy of access
Oh ' had he been content to servo tho crown
With virtues only proper for tho gown ,
Or had tho ranknoss of tho soil boon frood
IFrom cookie, thai oppress* d tho nohlo seed ,
David for him his tuneful harp had Htiung,
And heaven had wanted one immortal song.

20

JOHN DBTDBN.] CHARACTER OF THE DUKE OF BtTOKINGHAM [FOURTH PBKIOD —

But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand ,
And fortune's ice prefers to virtue's land.
Aohitophel, grown weary to possess
A lawful fame, and lazy happiness,
Disdain.' d the golden fruit to gather free,
And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree.

John Di yden.—Born 1631, Died 1700.

663.— CHARACTER OF VILLIERS, DUKE
OF BUCKINGHAM.

Some of their chiefs were princes of the land:
In the first rank of these did Zunri stand,
A Tnn.Ti so various that ho seem'd to be,
Not one, but all mankind's epitome
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong,
Was ev*rything by starts, and nothing long ;
But, in the oourse of one revolving moon,
Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon;
Then all for women, poantmg, rhyming.

Besides ten thousand freaks that died in

Blest madman ' who could eVry hour employ
"With something new to wish, or to onjoy.
Bailing and praising were his usual themes ;
And both, to show his judgment, in extremes;
So over-violent, or over-civil,
That ev'ry -m^ -with him was God or devil.
In squandering wealth was his peculiar art ;
Nothing went unrewarded but desert •
Beggar'd by fools, whom still ho found too

He had his jest, and they had his estate ;
He laugh* d himself from court, then sought

relief

By forming parties, but could ne'er bo chief ;
For, spite of him, the ww.ght of business fell
On Absalom and wise Aohitophel
Thus, wicked but in will, of means bereft,
He left not faction, but of that was left

John Drydon.—Born 1G31, Died 1700.

664.— THEODORE AND HONORIA,

Of flJl the cities in Romanian I^T^I?

The chief, and most renown'd, Ravenna

stands,

Adorn* d in ancient tunes with arms and arts,
And rich inhabitants, with generous hearts ;
But Theodore the brave, above the rest,
"With gifts of fortune and of nature bless'd,
The foremost place for wealth and honour

Bald,
And all in feats of chivalry exoelTd.

This noble youth to madness loVd a dame
Of high degree, Honona was her name :

Fair as the fairest, but of haughty mind,
And fiercer than became so soft a kind ,
Proud of her birth (for equal she had none),
The rest she scorn'd, but hated him alone
His gifts, his constant courtship, nothing

gain'd;

For she, the more ho lov'd, tho morodiwdoin'd.
He hv'd with all tho pomp ho could dovino,
At tilts and tournaments obtamM the prize,
But found no favour in his laxly' B oyou •
Relentless as a rock, tho lofty moid
Turn'd all to poison that ho did or said ;
Nor prayers, nor team, nor offer' d vows, could

move;
The work wont backward, and tho more ho

strove
T' advance his suit, tho farther from her

love.

Wearied at length, and wonting remedy,
Ho doubted oft, and oft rosolv'd to dio ;
But pride stood ready to prevent tho blow :
For who would die to gratify a £ oo ?
His generous mind disdain' d so moan a fato ;
That pass'd, his next endeavour was to hate.
But vainer that relief than all tho rest.
The less ho hop'd, with more desire ponstissM ;
Love stood tho siege, and would not yield hit*

breast.
Change was tho next, but change docoiv'd hit*

care*

He sought a fairer, but found nono so fair.
He would have worn her out by slow degrees,
As men by fasting starve th' untam'd dinoaso :
But present lovo roquir'd a present ease.
Looking, he feeds alone his famish9 d oyos,
Feeds lingering death, but looking not, ho

dies

Yet still ho chose the longest way to fato,
Wasting at onoo his life and hit* ontato

His friends behold and pitied him m vain :
For what advice can case a lover's pain ?
Absence, the best expedient thoy could find,
Might savo tho fortune, if not euro tho mind :
This means thoy long proposed, but littio

goin'd ;
Yet, after much pursuit, at length obtained.

Hard you may think it won to gxvo consont,
But struggling with IIIB own doniros ho wont,
With large expense, and with a pompous

train,

Provided as to visit France and Spain,
Or for somo distant voyage o'er tho main*
But love had chpp'd his wings, and cut him

short;

Confin'd within tho purlieus of tho court,
Throe miles ho wont, no farther could re treat ;
His travels ended at his country-Heat :
To Chassis' pleasing plains ho took his way,
There pitch' d his tents, and there rosolv'd to

stay.

Tho spring was in the prime \ the neighbour-
ing grove

Supplied with birds, the choristers of lovo y
Music unbought, that minister*d delight
To morning walks, and lull'd his cares by

night*

From 1640 to 1C80 ]

THEODORE AND HONOT3IA.

[JOHN DBYDBN.

There ho discharg'd his friends, but not th'

expense

Of frequent treats and proud magnifloenoo
Ho hv'd as Tangs lokro, though more at

largo

From public business, yot with equal chargo ,
With house and heart still open to receive ;
As well content as lore would giro fa™

leave
Ho would havo hv'd moio froe ; but many a

guest,
Who could forsake tho friend, pursu'd tho

feast.

It hapi ono morning-, as his fancy led,
Boforo his usual hour ho loft hw bed ,
To walk within a lonely lawn, that stood
On ovory side nurroundod by a wood •
Alone ho walk'd, io ploawo his pensive mind,
And nought tho doopost solitude to find.
'Twos m a grovo of spreading pines ho

stray 'd ,
Tho winds within tho quivering branches

play'd,

And dancing tioofl a mournful musio mado.
Tho ]>laco rfcHolf was suiting to his care,
Uncouth and Ravage, as tho cruel fair.
Ho wonder' d on, unknowing where ho went,
Lo«t in tho wood, and all on love intent ,
The day already half his race had run,
And trammon'd him to duo repast at noon,
But love could feel no hunger but IIIB own.
Whilst listening to tho murmuring loaves he

stood

More than a mile immors'd within tho wood,
At onco tho wind was laid; tho whispering

Hound
Was dumb ; a rifling earthquake rook'd tho

ground;

With deeper brown tho grovo was over-
spread;

A Huddoa horror fioiz'd his giddy head,
And Ha ears tinkled, and his colour fled }
Nature was in alarm , sonic danger nigh
Seom'd threaton'd, though unseen to mortal

eye.

UnuB d to fear, ho summon'd all his soul,
And stood collected in himself, and whole ;
Not long • for soon a whirlwind rose around,
And from afar ho hoard a screaming sound,
As of a dame distress' d, who criod for odd,
And fiU'd with loud laments the secret shade.
A thicket close beside tho grovo there

stood,
With briers and brambles chok'd, and dwarf-

iflh wood;
Prom thence tho noise, which now, approaching

near,

With more distinguish' d notes invades his ear ;
Ho rais'd his head, and saw a beauteous

maid,
With hair diahovelTd, issuing through tho

shade;
Stripp'd of her clothes, and ev'n those parts

reveal' d

Which modest nature keeps from sight con-
ceal'd.

Her faco, her hands, her naked limbs were

torn,
With passing through the brakes and prickly

thorn,
Two mastiffe gaunt and grim her flight

pursu'd,

And oft their fastened fangs m blood imbru'd;
Oft they came up, and pinch' d her tender

side.

Mercy, 0 moroy, heaven ' she ran and cried.
When heaven was nam'd, they loos'd their

hold again,
Then sprang she forth, they followed her

Not far behind, a knight of swarthy face,
High on a coal-black steed, pursu'd the chase ;
With flashing flames his aident eyes were

fiira,

And in his hand a naked swoid he held ;
He cheer'd the dogs to follow her who fled,
And vow*d revenge on her devoted head.

As Theodore was born of noble kind,
The brutal action rous'd ihig manly mind ;
MoVd with unworthy usage of the maid,
He, though unarm1 d, resolv*d to give her aid.
A sapling pine he wrenoh'd from oufc thfr

ground,

The readiest weapon that his fury found.
Thus furnish' d for offence, he cross' d the way
Betwixt tho graceless villain and his prey,
The knight came thundering ona but, from

afar,

Thus in imperious tone forbade the war :
Coaee, Theodore, to proffer vain relief ,
Nor stop tho vengeance of so just a grief ,
But give mo leave to seize my dostm'd prey,
And lot eternal justice take tho way :
I but revenge my fato, disdain'd, betray1 d,
And suffering death for this ungrateful maid.
Ho said, at once dismounting from, the

stood;

For now the hell-hounds with superior speed
Had roach* d ithe dame, and* fastening on her

side,
Tho ground with issuing streams of purple

dyed,

Stood Theodore, surpns'a in deadly fright,
With chattering teeth, and bristling hair

Yet arm'd with inborn worth, Whate'er,

said he,

Thou art, who know'st me bettor than I thee,
Or prove thy rightful cause, or be defied '
The spectre, fiercely storing, thus replied :
Know, Theodore, thy ancestry I claim,
And Guido Cavalcanti was my name.
One common sire our fathers did beget ;
My name and story some remember yet
Thee, then a boy, within my arms I laid,
When for my sue I lov* d this haughty maid ;
Not less ador'd in life, nor serv'd by me,
Than proud Honoria now is lov*d by thee.
What did I not her stubborn heart to gam ?
But all my vows were answer* d with disdain :
She ecorn'd my sorrows and despis'd my

pain, 29*

JOHN

THEODORE AND HONOBIA.

[FOURTH PERIOD. —

Long time I dragg'd my days in fruitless

care,
Then, loathing life, and plung'd in deep

despair,

To finish my unhappy life, I foil
On this sharp sword, and now am damn'd in

hell
Short was her joy , for soon th> insulting

maid
By heaven's deoroe in this oold grave was

laid.

And as in unropented sin she died,
Doom'd to the same bad place, is punish' d for

her pnde ,

Because she deem'd I well deserved to die,
And made a merit of her cruelty.
There, then, we met , both tried, and both

were cast,

And this irrevocable sentence pass'd
That she, whom I so long pursued in vam,t
Should suffer from my hands a lingering pain :
Ifcenew'd to life, that she might daily dio,
1 daily doom'd to follow, she to fly ;
No moro a lover, but a mortal foe,
I soot her hfe (for love is none below) ;
As often as my dogs with better speed
Arrest her night, is she to death decreed,
Then with this fatal sword, on which I died,
I pierce her open back or tender side,
And tear that harden' d heart from out her

breast,
Which, with her entrails, makes my hungiy

hounds a feast

Nor lies she long, but, as her fates ordain,
Springs up to life, and fresh to second pain,
Is sav*d to-day, to-morrow to be slam

This, vers'd in death, th* infernal knight

relates,

And then for proof fulfill' d the common fates ;
Her heart and bowels through her back ho

drew,
And fed the hounds that holp'd Trim to

pursue ;
Stern look'd tho fiend, as frustrate of his

wdl,

Not half suffio'd, and groody yot to kill.
And now the soul, expiring through tho

wound,

Had left tho body breathless on tho ground,
"When thus the grisly spec-bio spoke again
Behold the fruit of ill-rewarded pain
As many months as I sustain7 d hor hate.
So many years is sho condemn' d by fato
To daily death ; and every several placo,
Conscious of hor disdain and my disgrace,
Must witness hor juat punishment and be
A scene of triumph and revenge to me '
As in this grove I took my last farewell,
As on this very spot of earth I fell,
As Friday saw me die, HO sho my prey
Becomes even hero, on this lovolving day.
Thus, while ho spoke, the virgin from tho

ground

Upstarted fresh, already clos'd the wound,
And unconcern' d for all she felt before,
Precipitates her flight along the shore ;

Tho hell-hounds, as ungorg'd with flown and

blood,
PUTBUO their prey, and sock thoir wonted

food,
The fiend remounts his courser, mends hw

pace,

And all the vision vaniflh'd from tho placo.
Long stood tho noble youth oppiowa'd with

awe,

And stupid at tho wondrous things ho Haw,
Surpassing1 common faith, transgroHHinjr

nature's law.
He would have boon awloop, and wiuh'd to

wake ;
But dreams, he know, no long impioswion

make,
Though strong at fir at; if vision, to what

end

But such as must his future state portend ?
His love tho damsel, and himHolf tho fiend.
But yot, reflecting that it could not bo
From heaven, which cannot impious not1*

decree,

Eosolv'd within himself to shun tho snare
Which hell for his destruction did pioparo ;
And, as his better genius should direct,
Pi om an ill cause to draw a good effect.
Inspired from heaven, ho homeward took

his way,

Nor palTd his now design with long delay ;
But of his train a trusty servant went
To call his friends together at hiH tent.
They came, and, usual salutations paid,
With words premeditated thus ho Raid
What you have often counsel!' d, to lomovo
My vain pursuit of unrogaidod love,
By thrift my sinking fortune to repair,
Though late, yot is at last become my oaro
My heart shall bo my own , my vast oxponno
Boduo'd to bounds by timely proviJonco.
This only I require invite tor mo
Honoria, with hor father's* family,
Her friends, and mine, tho cause I Khali

display

On Friday next, for that'rt IV appointocl clay.
Well pleased were all hw frioudH, the lank

was light ,

Tho father, mother, daughter, tlioy invilo ;
Hardly tho damo wan drawn to thiH ropoHt,
But yet icsolv'd, bocauHO it wan tho JoHt.
Tho day wo# como, tho #w»stn umtwl curno*
And with tho ront ill' moxoiablo damo.
A feast propar'd with lioiouH oxponM,
Much cost, moro care, and mottl inugi)ifirnncG.
Tho placo ordam'd wan in tliat haunted

grove

Whoro tho revenging ghost purwuM hit* lovo ;
Tho tables m a pioud pavilion fiproad,
With floworH bolow, and IIHHUO overhead ;
The rest in rank, Honoria chief m placo,
Was artfully contnv'd to wot hor faoo
To front tho thicket, on<l bohold the chose.
Tho feast was eorv'd, tho time HO woll fore-
cast,
That just when the doaort and fruitt* wore

plao'd,

to 1689]

THEOJDOBB AND HONOJRIA

[JOHN

Tlio fiend's alarm began • the hollow sound
Sung in the leavoa, tho foiost shook around,
Air blacken' d, rolTd the thunder, groan'd tho

giound.

Nor long I>cfcr3 tho loud laments arise
Of one diHtroba'd, and mastiffs' mingled

C1108 ,

And firwt tho dame came rushing through tho

wood,
And next tho famish'd hounds that sought

then* food,
And gnp'd her fla^iks, and oft ossay'd then:

jaws in blood

Last came tho fusion on his sable stood,
Arm'd with hw naked swoid, and urg'd his

dogs to speed

She ran, and cued, her flight directly bent
(A guest unbidden) to the fatal tent,
The scone of death, and placo oidain'd for

X>uniHlnnont

Loud was tho noine, aghast was every gnowt ,
Tho women. HhriokM, tho men foibook tho

f «ant ,
Tho hounds at nearer distance hoarsely

buy'd,

The hunter elowo puiBu'd tho visionary maid,
She rent the heaven with loud laments,

imploring aid

Tho gallants, to protect tho lady's right,
Thoir falchions brandish' d at the grisly

sprite

High on IILH Htiirmw ho provok'd tho fight ,
Thou on tho crowd ho cant a furious look,
And wilhoi'd all their strength before ho

spoke
Back, on your IIVOH ' Let bo, said lie, my

And lot my vengeance take the dostanod

way;

Vain are yoxir arum, and vainer your defence,
Against th' eternal doom of Providence :
Mine IH th' ungrateful maid by heaven

doHigu'd ;
Mercy who would not give, nor mercy shall

nho find.

At thin tho former tale again ho told
With thundering tone, and dreadful to

behold
Sunk were their hearts with horror of the

crime,

Nor needed to be warxi'd a second timo,
But bore each other back; gome know tho

face,

And all had heard tho much lamented oaso
Of him who fell for love, and this tho fatal

place.

And now th1 infernal minister advono'd,
Soiz'd tho duo victim, and with fury launched
Hoi back, and. piercing through her inmost

heart,

Drew backward, as before, th' offending port ,
Tho rooking entrails next; he toxo away,
And to hiH meagre mastiffs made a prey
Tho pale aRHwtants on each other stai'd,
With gaping mouths for issuing words pre-

paid,

Tho sinH-born teounds»<upon' the palate hung,
And died imperfect on tho faltering tongue.
The flight was general , but tho female band
(A helpless tram) in more confusion stand .
With horror shuddering, on a heap they run,
Sick at the sight of hateful justice dono ,
For conscience rung th' alarm, and made tho

case their own

So, spread upon a lake with upward eye,
A plump of fowl behold their foe on high
They close then: trembling troop, and all

attend

On whom tho sousing eagle will descend
But most tho proud Honoria fear'd th'

event,

And thought to her alone tho vision sent
Hor guilt presents to her distracted mind
Heaven's justice, Theodore's revengeful kind ,
And the same fate to the same sin assign' d ,
Already sees herself the monster's prey,
And feels her heait and entrails torn away
'Twas a mute scene of sorrow mix'd with

fear,

Still on tho table lay th* unfinished cheer ,
The knight ^-TW^ hungry mastiffs stood around •
The mangled dame lay breathless on the

ground :

When on a sudden, re-inspir'd with breath,
Again she rose, again to suffer death,
Nor staid tho hell-hounds, nor tho hunter

staid,

But follow' d, as before, the flying maid ;
Th' avenger took from eaith th' avenging

sword,
And mounting light as air, ih*g sable steed he

spurr'd.
The clouds dispoU'd, the sky resum'd her

light,

And nature fetood recover'd of her fright
But fear, the last of ills, remain' d behind,
And hoiror heavy sat on every mind.
Nor Theodore encourag'd more the feast,
But sternly look'd, as hatching in his breast
Some deep designs, which, when Honona

vieVd,

Tho fresh impulse her former fright renow'd ,
She thought herself the trembling dame who

fled,
Aaid him the grisly ghost that spun'd th'

infernal stood ,

Tho more dismay' d for when the guests with-
drew,

Thoir courteous host, saluting all the crew,
Regardless pass'd her o'er, nor grac'd with

kind adieu ,

That sting infix' d withm her haughty mind,
The downfall of hoi empire she cbLvm'd,
And her proud hoart with secret sorrow pin'd
Homo as they went, tho sad discourse

renow'd

Of tho relentless dome to death pursu'd,
And of tho sight obscene so lately viow'd.
None dost arraign tho iighteous doom she

boio,
Bv'n they who pitied moat, yet blom'd hor

more ,

JOHN DBYDBN ] PRESENT ENJOYMENT RECOMMENDED. [FOURTH FEBIOD —

Tho parallel thoy needed not to name,

But in the dead they damn'd tho living

damo.

At every little noise she look'd behind,
For still the knight was present to her mind ,
And anxious oft she started on tho way,
And thought the horseman ghost came thund-
ering- for his prey.

Betuxn'd, she took her bed with little rest,
Bat in short slumbers dreamt the funeral

feast,

AwaVd, she turn'd her side, and slept again ;
Tho same black vapours mounted in her

brain,
And the same dreams return' d with double

pain.
Now foro'd to wake, because afraid to

sleep,

Her blood all fevei'd, with a furious leap
She sprang from bed, distracted in her mind,
And foar'd, at every step, a twitching sprite

behind.
Darkling and desperate, with a staggering

pace,

Of death afraid, and conscious of disgrace,
Fear, pride, remorse, at once her heart

assail'd ,

Pride put remorse to flight, but fear prevail' d.
Fnday, the fatal day, when next it oamo,
Her soul forethought the fiend would change

his game,

And her pursue, or Theodore be slain,
And two ghosts join their packs to hunt her

o'er the plain.

This dreadful image so possess' d her mind,
That, desperate any succour else to find,
She ceas'd all farther hope, and now began
To make reflection on th' unhappy xaan •
Rich, bravo, and young, who past expression

lov'd,

Proof to disdain, and not to bo romov'd ,
Of all tho men lenpoctod and odmir'd,
Of all the dames, except herself, dosir'd
Why not of her p preforr'd above tho rest
By mm with knightly deeds, and open lovo

profoss'd *•
So had another boon, whoro he his vows

address' d
This quell' d hor prido, yet other doubts

lemain'd,

That, onco foflflfl-^fag, she might be disdain1 d.
The fear was just, but greater fear pro vail' d
Fear of hor life by hellish hounds assail'd.
He took a lowering leave : but who can toll
What outward hate might inward lovo

conceal ?

Her sex's arts flho know and why not, then,
Might deep dissembling have a place in

men P

Hero hope began to dawn ; i o -olvM to try,
She fix'd on this hor utmost remedy
Death was behind, but hard it was to die ;
'Twos time enough at lost on death to coll,
The precipice in sight , a Hhrub was all
That kindly stood betwixt to brook tho fatal

fall.

One maid she had, bolov'd above tho rest
Secure of her, the secret who confosHM ,
And now tho cheerful light hor foai-H dmpoll'd ,
She with no winding turnw tho tiulh con-

coal'd,

But put tho woman off, an<l Htood invoalM
With faults confosB'd commiHhion'd hor to

go.

If pity yet hod plaoo, and reconcile hor foe ,
Tho welcome moHBogo made, wus noon ro-

ceiv'd,
'Twos to bo wish'd, and hop'd, but H<iar«o

behov'd ,

Fate floom'd a fair occasion to proHont ,
Ho knew tho aox, oud foai'd nlio might

ropont,

Should ho delay the moment of coiiRont.
There yet remain1 d to gain hor friend* (a

care

Tho modesty of maidens woll might spare);
But she with fluch a zeal tho causo ombrao'd
(As women, whoro they will, are all in haste),
The father, mother, and tho kin botddo,
Wore overborne by fury of tho tide ;
With fun consent of all aho chang'd hor fitato ;
Resistless in hor lovo, an in hor hato.
By her example warn'd, tho rest bowaro ;
Moro easy, loss imponous, wore tho fair ,
And that ono hunting, which tho dovil

design* d
For one fair fomalo, lost him half tho kind

Jolvn D*ydcn.—Bom 1031, Dictd 1700.

665 —ENJOYMENT OP THE PBESENT
HOUR RECOMMENDED

Enjoy tho present smiling hour,
And put it out of Fortuno'H pow'r
Tho tido of business, liko tho running nirciwn,
Is sometimes high, and nomotimoH low,

And aJLwayn in extreme.
Now with a noifloleHS, gontlo oonm»
It keopn within tho middle bod ,
Anon it lifts aloft tho hood,
And boars down all boforo it with impotnoua

forco ,

And trunks of troon como rolling down ;
Shoop and their foldn toff<»tlu^r drowji .
Both hound aud homoHtotwl into MHH aro

bonio ,
And rockH aio from thoir old foundation**

torn,

And woodn, mado thin with wiudn, . thoir
scattor'd houonrri mourn.

Happy tlio man, and happy ho alone,

Ho who can call to-day hiH own

Ho who, soouro within, can Hay,
To-morrow do thy worst, for 1 liavo liv'd
to-day.

From 1649 to 1689 ]

THE SPLENDID SHILLING.

[JOHN PHILJU -.

Bo fair or foul, or ram or shine,
The joys I have possoss'd, in spito of fate, aro

•mi rip,

Not hoavon itself upon, the past has power,
But what has boon, has beon, and I have had
my hour

Fortune, that with malicious joy

Poos man, hor slave, oppress,
Ptoud of hoi office to destroy,

Is seldom pleas' d to bloss
Still various, and inconstant still,
But with an inclination to bo ill,

Promotes, degrades, delights in strife,

And makes a lottery of life
I can onjoy hor whilo she 's kind ,
But whon slio dances in the wind,

And shakos hor wings, and will not stay,

I puff tho prostitute away
The httlo or the much sho gavo is quietly
roaign'd

Content with poverty, my HOU! I arm ;

And •virtue, though in rags, will keep me

What is 't to me,

Who novor sail in hor unfaithful soa,
If HtormB aiiwo, and clouds grow black ;
If tho most split, and throatou wreck P
Thon lot tho groody merchant f oar

For hiH ill-gotten gain ,
And pray to <*odn that will not hoar,
Wlulo tho debating winds and bdlown boar

TFiH wealth into the main.
For mo, woouro from Fortune' H blowH,
Secure of what T cannot lono,
In my small pinnaoo I can nail,
Contoxmuug all tho blustering roar ;

Aiwl running with a merry gulo,
With friendly Htart* my safety nook,
Withm Homo little winding crook,
And aoo tho storm a<*horo.

John Drydcn—Born 1631, Vied 1700

666.— THE SPLENDID SHILLING

" . . . Sing, hoavonly Mnso '

Things unattomptod yet, in proso or rhyme,"

A shilling, brooches, and chimeras duro

Happy the man, who, void of cares and strife,
In HjJkon or in leathern purso retains
A Splendid Shilling * ho nor hears with pain
Now oyHtors cry*d, nor sighs for cheerful alo ;
But with his friends, whon nightly mists

arise,

To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-hall repairs •
Whore, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton

oyo
TranHiK'd Ms soul, and kindled amorous

flames,

Chloe, or Phillis, he each circling glass
Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love
Meanwhile, ho smokes, and laughs at merry

tale,

Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint.
But I, whom griping Penury surrounds,
And Hunger, sure attendant upon Want,
With scanty offals, and small acid tiff,
(Wretched repast >) my meagre corpse sustain :
Then solitary walk, or doze at home
In garret vile, and with a warming puff
Regale chill' d fingers . or from tube as black
As winter chimney, or well-polish' d jet,
Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent
Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size,
Smokes Cambro-Bnton (vers'd in pedigree
Sprung from Oadwallador and Arthur, kings
Full famous in romantic tale) when he
O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff,
Upon a cargo of fam'd Oestxian cheese,
High over-shadowing rides, with a design
To vend his wares, or at tit' Arvoman mart,
Or Maridunum, or the ancient town
Yclep'd Breohinia, or where Vaga's stream
Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil I
Whence flow neotaroous wines, that well may

vie

With Massic, Setin, or renown' d Falern.
Thus whole my joyless minutes tedious

now,

With looks demure, and silent pace, a Bun,
Ilomble monster ' hated by gods and men,
To my aerial citadel ascends,
With vocal liool thrice thundering at my gate,
With hideous accent thnoo he calls , I know
The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound
What should I do ? or whither turn P

Amaz'd,

Confounded, to the dark rocoss I fly
Of wood-hole; straight my bristling hairs

erect

Through sudden fear ; a chilly sweat bedews
My shuddering limbs, and (wonderful to

toll')

My tongue forgets her faculty of speech ;
So horrible he seems I His faded brow,
Entrench'd with many a frown, and conic

beard,
And spreading band, admir'd by modern

saints,

Disastrous acts forebode ; in his right hand
Long scrolls of paper solemnly ho waves,
With characters and figures dire insonb'd,
Grievous to mortal eyoa (yo gods, avert
Such plagues from righteous men ') Behind

hira stalks

Another monster, not unliko himself,
Sullen of aspect by the vulgar oall'd
A catchpolo, whoso polluted hands tho gods,
With force incredible, and magic charms,
First have endued • if ho his ample palm
Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay
Of debtor, straight his body, to tho touoli
Obsequious (as whilom knights wore wont),
To some enchanted castle is convoy* d,
Whore gates impregnable, and coercive chains

SIB CHARLES SHDLBT ]

TO A VBEY YOUNG LADY.

[FOURTH PERIOD. —

In durance fltrict detain him, till, in foim
Of money, Pallas seis tho captive freo

Beware, ye debtors ' when ye walk, beware,
Be circumspect oft with insidious ken
The caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft
Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy oavo,
Prompt to enchant Home inadvertent wretch
With his unhallow'd touch. So (poets sing)
Gtamalkin, to domestic vermin sworn
An everlasting foe, with watchful eye,
Lies nightly brooding1 o'er a ohmky gap,
Protending her fell claws, to thoughtless

mice

Sure ruin So her disemboweled web
Araohno, in a hall or kitchen, spreads
Obvious to vagrant flies she seciot stands
Within her woven cell tho humming prey,
Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils
Inextricable, nor will aught avail
Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue >
The wasp insidious, and tho buzzing drone,
And butterfly, proud of expanded wings,
Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares,
Useless resistance make , with eager strides,
She towering flies to her expected spoils ,
Then, with envenom* d jaws, tho vital blood
Dnnkfl of reluctant foes, and to her cave
Their bulky carcasses triumphant drags
So pass my days But when nocturnal

shades

This world envelop, and th' inclement air
Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts
With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of

wood,

Mo, lonely silting, nor tho glimmering light
Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous tftlk
Of loving friend, delights • distress' d, forlorn,
Amidst; the horrours of the tedious night,
Daiklmg I sigh, and feed with dismal

thoughts
My anxious mind* or sometimes mournful

verse

Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades,
Or deaporato lady near a purling stieam,
Or lover pendant on a willow-tree.
Meanwhile I labour with eternal drought,
And restless wish, and rave, my parched

throat

Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose
But if a slumbor haply dooh invade
My weary limbs, my fancy 'H still awake,
Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream,
Tipples imaginary pots of ale,
In vain , awake I find tho settled thirnt
Still gnawing, and tho pleasant phantom

curse
Thus do I live, from pleasure quite

debarr'd,
Nor taste tho fruits that the Sun's genial

rays

Mature, John-apple, nor tho downy peach,
Nor walnut in rough-furrow' d coat fiooufo,
Nor medlar, fruit delicious in decay ,
Afflictions great I yet greater still remain
My galligaskins, that have long withstood
The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts,

By tune subdued (what will not time subdue?)
A honid chasm dinelou'd with onfioo
Wide, discontinuous , at which tho wmdw
Eurus and Austor, and iho dreadful force
Of Boreas, that congoalu tho Cronian wavoR,
Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasta,
Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship,
Long sail'd secure, or through th' TKgoon

deep,

Or tho Toman, till cmit-miff noar
Tho Lilyboan shore, with hidoouH ernHli
On Soylla or Charybdin (dtmgoroiiH rooks ')
She utrikos rebounding , wlionoo tho uliattor'd

oak,

So fierce a shock unable to withHtand,
Admits the Hoa • in at the gaping* Hido
Tho crowding waves gttHh with impetuous

rage,

IRosistloRR, overwhelming ; horrors noizo
The mariners ; Death in their oyon appears,
They stare, they lave, they pump, they swoai,

they pray •
(Vain efforts ') still tho battering waves runh

in,

Implacable, till, doing' d by tho foam,
Tho ship sinks foundering in the vant abysw.

John Philips.— Born 167C, Died 1708.

667.— TO A VBBY YOUNG LADY.

Ah, Chloris ' that I now could sit

As unconcorn'd, as when
Your infant beauty could begot

No pleasure, nor no pain,

When I the dawn lined io admiro,
And praised the coming day ,

I little thought tho growing lire
Must take myioni away

Your charms in harmlosH childhood lay,

Like motalH hi tho mmo,
Ago from no fa«o took moro away,

Than youth concooTd in thine

But as your charms inwmHibly

To their perfection piCHt,
Fond Love, as unporcoivod did fly,

And in my bosom rent

My passion with your beauty ff*ow,

And Cupid at my heart,
Still as hw mother favour' d you,

Threw a new flaming dart

Each gloried in their wanton part .

To make a lover, ho
Employed tho utmost of hiH art,

To make a Beauty, she.

1'Vow 1G49 to 1C89 ]

THE SEEDS OF LOVE [Mas. FLBETWOOD HABEROUAM.

Though now I slowly bond to lovo

Uncortam of my fato,
If your fair self my chains approve,

I shall my freedom hato.

Lovorn, Iiko dying men, may well

At first diaoidor'd be,
Sinco none alive can truly tell

What fortune they must see.

«

Sir Clwles Sedlcy.—Born 1639, Died 1701,

G68— SONGK

Love still lias something of the floa,
From whence hin mother rose ,

No time IUH HlavcH fiom doubt can free,
Noi give their thoughtH lopose.

They arc becalm' d in clearest days,,

And in rough weather tofls'd ;
They wither under cold delays.

Or are in tompCHta lost.

One while they scorn to touch the port,

Then utraight into the main
Some angry wind, in cruel Hport,

The voHHol driven again.

At firwt Dindain and Pride they fear,
Which if thoy chance to 'Hcapo,

Bivulw and Jb'oluohood soon appear,
In a more cruel Hhape.

By such degree* to joy thoy come,

And are HO long withstood ;
So wlowly they receive the HUH,

It hardly does them good.

'Tifl cruol to prolong a pain ;

And to defer a joy,
Believe me, gentle Colemenc,

Offends the winged boy.

An hundred thousand oaths your fears,

Perhaps, would not remove ,
And if I gazed a thousand yoaaH,

I could not deeper lovo.

Sir Qlwles 8e<Hcy.—Bom 1639, Died 1701.

669— COSMELIA'S CHASMS.

Gosmftlia'g charms inspire my lays,
Who, fair in Nature's scorn,

Blooms in the winter of her days,
Like Glastenbury thorn.

Coamolia 's cruel at threescore ;

Like bards in modern plays,
Four acts of life pass guiltless o'er,

But in the fifth she slays.

If e'er, in eager hopes of bliss,

Within her arms you fall,
The plaster'd fair returns the kiss —

Like Thisbe — thiough a wall.

Svr Glwrles Sedlcy.—Born 1639, Died 1701.

070.— SONG.

Phillis, men say that all my vows

Are to thy fortune paid ;
Alas I my heart ho littlo knows,

Who thinks my love a tiadc.

Were I of all those woods the 1 ord,
One bony from thy hand

More real pleasure would afford
Than all my large command.

My humble lovo has learned to live
On what the nicest maid,

Without a conscious blush, may gi^e
Beneath, the myitle shade.

Sir

&dley.—JBorn 1G30, Died 1701.

671.— THE SEEDS OF LOVE.

I sowed the seeds of love, it was all in the
Bpxmg,

In April, May, and June, likewise, when small
birds thoy do sing,

My garden 's well planted with flowers every-
where.

Yet I had not the liberty to ehooso for myself
the flower that I loved so dear.

My gardener ho stood by, I asked him to

choose for me,
Ho chose me the violet, the lily, and pink, but

those I refused all three ;
The violet I forsook, because it fades so soon,
The hly and the pink I did o'orlook, and I

vowed I 'd stay till June.

In June there 's a rod rose-bud, and that 's the-

flower for me '
But often have I plucked at the red rose-bud

till I gained the willow-tree ;
The willow-tree will twist, and the willow-tree

will twine,— ,

Oh! I wish I was in the dear youth's arms

that once had the heart of mine

THOMAS FLATMAN.]

FOB THOUGHTS

[FOUBTH PERIOD —

My gardener he stood by, ho told mo to take

groat oaro,
For in tho middle of a rod rose-bud thoro

grows a sharp thorn thoro ,
I told him I 'd take no oaro till I did fool tho

}

And often I plucked at tho rod rose-bud till I
pioiood it to tho heart.

r 11 mako me a posy of hyssop, — no other I

can touch, —
That all the world may plainly soe I lovo one

flower too much ,
My garden is run wild ! whore shall I plant

anew —
For my bed, that onoo was covered with

thyme, is all overrun with ruo p

Mrs. Meo-bwood Habersr/iom.— About 1689.

672.— FOB THOUGHTS

Thoughts ? what are they ?

They are my constant fnends ;

Who, when harah f ato its dull brow bonds,

Uncloud me with a smiling ray,

And in the depth of midnight force a day

"When I retire and nee

The busy throngs of company,

To hug myself in privacy,

O the discourse, tho pleasant talk

'Twrct us, my thoughts, along a lonely walk !

You like the stupif ying wine,

The dying malefactors sip,

"With shivonng lip,

T* abate the rigour of their doom

By a loss troublous cut to thoir long home,

Mako me slight crosses though they piled up

lie,
All by th' enchantments of an ocstacy

Do I desire to HOG
The throne and majesty
Of that proud one,

Brothei and undo to tho stars and sun,
Those can conduct mo whore such joys lesido,
And waft me cross the main, sonu wind and
tide

Would I descry

Those radiant mansions 'bovo tho sky,

Invisible by mortal eye,

My thoughts, my thoughts can lay

A shining track there to,

And nimbly fleeting go ;

Through all the olovon orba can shove away ,

These too like Jacob's ladder ore,

A most angelic thoroughfare.

The wealth that shines

In the Oriental mines,

Those sparkling goms which nature keeps

Within her cabinet the deeps,

Tho verdant fioldw,

The raiitien tho rich world yields,

Bare structure**, whoBo each gilded spire,

Glimmers like lightning, which while men

admiro

Thoy deem tho noiffhb'ring sky on fire
Thoso can I gazo upon, and glut mine oyon
With myriads of vanotioH,
As on tho front of Pisgah I
Can th* Holy Land through those my optics

spy.

Contemn wo then

Tho peevish rago of men,

Whose violence no' or can divoroo

Our mutual amity,

Or lay so damn'd a curse

As non-addressoR 'twixt my thoughts and mo,

For though I sigh in ironH, they

Use their old freedom, readily obey,

And when my bosom friondw doHort mo Htay.

Come then, my darlings, I'll embrace

My pnvilego make known

The high prerogative I own

By making all allurements give you place ,

Whose swoot society to mo

A sanctuary and a shield shall bo

'Gainst tho full quivora of my doHtmy.

Tliomas Flatonm — Born 1G35, Dictl 1088.

673.— DYING

When on my sick-bod I languish,
Full of sorrow, full of angniHh ,
Fainting, gasping, trombling, crying,
Panting, groaning, upoochloHH, clyinj? —
Mcthinks I hoar Homo gentle Hpirit Hay —
"Be not ioarful, come away ' "

Tliomaa Flatm<tn.—Born 1635, DM 3088.

674 —THE THOUGHT OF DEATH.

Oh ' tho Rod day

"When friondn Hhall whako thoir hoadn, and
Kay —

" Oh, miHorablo mo ' "
Hark ' how ho groana , look how ho puntH for

breath ,
Soo how ho struggles with tho panffH of

Death » •

When thoy Rhall Hay of those poor ftyon,

How hollow and how dim thoy bo ;
Mark how his broafit doth Hwoll and HHO

Against his potont onomy '
When some old friend shall fllip to my bed-
side,

Touch my chill face, and thonco shall gently
slide;

Frmn 1649 to 1G8D.]

CUSTOM

[JOHN

And when his next companions say —

" How doth ho do ? What hopes r> ' shall turn

away,

Answering only with a lift-up hand —
u Who can his fato withstand ? "
Then Hhall a gasp or two do moro
Thau o'er my rhetoric oould before ,
Persuade the peevish world to trouble mo no

more

Thomas Flatman — Born 1635, Died 1688.

675 — AN EVENING- HTMN.

Sloop, downy Bleep, oomo close my eyes,
Tired with beholding vanities ,

Woloomo, ftwoot ttloop, that diivoa away
The toiln and f ollum of the day

On thy* Boft bowom will I ho,
Forpot tlio world and learn to die

O iHraol'K watchful Shepherd, spread
Tliiuo angel tents around my bod.

and thick darkness Toil thy throne,
Itn awful glories all unknown
Oh ! dart from Ihonep one cheering ray,
And turn iny midnight into day.

ThuH, when the morn, in crimson drest,
Breaks from the chambers of the oast,

My grateful HOIIRH of prawo whall WHO
Like fragrant mcmino to the Hkioa

T/icwm* J'7<ii»Miu— limn 1G35, Bw& 1688.

676.— HYMN TO THE AIMGHTT.

Croat God, whoHo wcoptro rulofl the earth,

Distil Thy fear into my heart,
That being1 wrapt with holy mirth,

I may proclaim how good Thou art :
Ojxm my U]>H, that I may wing
Full praiwoH to my Clod, my King.

Croat God, Thy garden is defaced,

The wflodH thrive there, Thy flowers decay ;
0 call to mind Thy promise past,

Bostoro Thou them, cut those away •
Till then lot not the woods have power
To starve or stint the poorest flower

In all extremes, Lord, Thou art still
The mount whereto my hopes do flee ;

0 make my soul detest all ill,
Because so much abhorred by Thoe :

'Lord, let Thy gracious trials show

That I am just, or make mo so.

Shall mountain, doHort, boast, and tree,
Yield to that heavenly voice of Thane ;

And nhall that voice not startle mo,
Nor Htir thw stone— this heart of mino ?

No, Lord, till Thou now bore mine ear,

Thy voice IB lost, I cannot hear.

Fountain of Light, and living breath,
Whose mercies never fail nor fade,

Fill me with Me that hath no death,
Fill me with life that hath no shade ,

Appoint the remnant of my days,

To see Thy power, and sing Thy praise.

Lord, God of Gods, before whose throne
Stand storms and fire, O what shall we

Beturn to heaven, that is our own,
When all the world belongs to Thee ?

We have no offering to impart,

But praises and a wounded heart

0 Thou, that sitt'st in heaven, and eeo'st
My deeds without, my thoughts within ,

Bo Thou my prince, bo Thou my priest, —

Command my soul, and cure my SETV •
How bitter my afflictions be

1 care not, so I nse to Thee.

What I possess, or what I crave, .

Brings no content, great God, to me,
Tf what I would, ox what I have,

Be not possest and blest in Thee .
What I enjoy, oh, make it mine,
In making me—that have it — Thine.

Whore winter fortunes cloud the brows
Of auinmor friends — when oyes grow
strange ,

When phghtod faith forgets its vows —
When earth and all things in it change

O Loid, Thy mercies fail me never, —

Whon once Thou lov'st, Thou lov'st for ever

Great God, whose kingdom hath no end,
Into whoso secrets none can dive,

Whose mercy none can apprehend,
Whoso justice none can feel, and live •

What my dull heart cannot aspire

To know, Lord, teach me to admire.

3olm Quarles.—Born , DM 1665.

677 —CUSTOM

Custom, the world's great idol, wo adore ,
And knowing this, we seek to know no

moro,

What education did at first receive,
Our npen'd age confirms us to believe.
The careful nurse, and priest, are all wo

need.

To learn opinions, ana our country's creed .
The parent's precepts early are instill' d,
And spoil' d the man, while they instruct the

child

To what hard fate is human kind betray' 1,
When thus implicit fate a virtue made ;
When education more than truth prevails,
And nought is current but what custom seals !

r

JOHN POMPIOST]

THE

Prnior> —

Thus, from the tune wo first began to know,
We live and learn, but not the wiHor grow.

Wp seldom use oui libeity aricfht,
Nor judge of thing* by umvoiHal light
Oui prepossessions and affections bind
The soul in chaina, and loid it o'er the

mind ,

And if self-interest bo but in the case,
Our unexaminod prmoiploH may pans '
Good Heavens ' that man should thus himself

deooive,

To learn on credit, and on trust believe '
Better the mind no notions had retain' d,
But still a fair, unwritten blank remain' d
For now, who truth from falsehood would

discern,

Must first disrobe the mind, and all unlearn.
Errors, contracted in unmindful youth,
When once removed will smooth the way to

truth ;

To dispossess the child the mortal liven,
But death approaches ere the man arrives
Those who would learning's glorious king-
dom find,
The dear-bought purchase of the trading

mind,

From many dangers must themselves acquit,
And more than Soylla and Charybdis meet.
Oh ' what an ocean must be voyaged o'er,
To gain a prospect of the shining shore 1
Resisting rooks oppose th' inquiring soul,
And adverse waves retard it as they roll.
Does not that foolish deference we pay
To men that lived long since, our passage

What odd, preposterous paths at first wo

tread,
And learn to walk by stumbling1 on the

dead'

First we a blessing from the grave implore,
Worship old tuns, and monuments adore '
The reverend sage with vast esteem we

prize-
Ho lived long since, and must bo wondrous

wise1

Thus are we debtors to the famous dead,
For all those orroia which their fancies

bred;

Errors, indeed ' for real knowledge staid
With those first times, not farther was con-
vey'd

While light opinions are much lower brought,
For on the waves of ignorance they float
But solid truth scarce ever gams the shore,
So soon it sinks, and ne'er emerges more.

Suppose those many dreadful dangers past,
Will knowledge dawn, and bless the mind at

last?

Ah ! no, 'tis now environ' d from our eyes,
Hides all its charms, and undiscovered lies '
Truth, like a single point, escapes the sight,
And claims attention to perceive it right !
But what resembles truth is soon descried,
Spreads like a surface, and expanded wide '
The first man rarely, very rarely finds
The tedious search of long inquiriag minds :

But yet what 'H worse, wo know not what wo

err;
What nuitkdooH tiuth,wluit blight distinction

boar?
How do wo know that wh»it wo know IH

truop „

How tfhall wo falnohootl fly, and tnith

PUTHIIO P

Lot none then hero lus orriam knowledge-

botwt ,

"Tin all but probability at most
Thia is the easy pmcluiHo ol tho mind,
The vulgar'a treasure, which we soon may

find'

Tho truth lies hid, and ore wo can explore
The ghttoung gem, our fleeting lito IH o'er.

Jolm PowJ rot.— Horn 1(H>7, Died 1703.

678 — THE WISH.

If Heaven tho grateful liberty would give
That I might chooHO iny method how to live ;
And all those hourn propitious fate Hhonhl lend.
In bliHuf ul ease and satisfaction upend
Near some fair town I'd have a private scat,
Built uniform, not little, nor too groat ,
Bettor, if on a rimng ground it stood ,
On this side fields, on tliat a neighbouring-

wood.

It should within no other things contain
But what are uwoful, nocosHaiy, plain,
Methinks 'tis nauseous, and I'd no'or endure,
Tho needless pomp of gaudy furmturo
A little garden grateful to tho oyo,
And a cool nvulet run murmuring by ,
On whose delicious banks a utatoly row
Of shady limoa or aycamoroH nhould jyrow ;
At th' end of which a Hilent Htudy pliwod,
Should bo with all tho noblest authorn graced
Horace and Virgil, in whowo mighty liticw
Immortal wit and solid learning hhinon ;
Sharp Juvenal, and amoroiiH Ovid too,
Who all tho turn« of IOVO'H noft piiHHion know;
Ho that with judgment roadw Inn charming

linos,

In which strong1 ait with Htrongor naliiro joint).
Must giant his fancy docH tho bent excel ,
His thotiffhtH HO tender, and oxprchH'cl HO well;
With all those modernH, men of htoiwly HOMO,
Esteom'd for loaimng and for eloquence.
In aorao of those, as fancy Hhould twlviHO,
I'd always take my morning exoroiHQ ;
For sure no xninutoH bring UH more content
Than thoso in ploawnff tiHoful Htudien apont.

I'd have a clear and competent ofttate,
That I might hvo genteelly, but not groat 5
As much as I could moderately Hpond,
A little more sometimes, t' oblige a friend*
Nor should the sons of poverty ropmo
Too much at fortune, they should taste of
mine,

JFVom 1640 to 1689 ]

SONG

OF DORSET

And all tliat objects of true pity wore,
Should bo relieved with what my wants could

sporo;

For that our Maker has too largely given
Should be return' d in gratitude to Heaven.
A frugal plenty should my tablo spread ,
With healthy, not luxurious, dishes spread ;
Enough, to satisfy, and something more,
To food tho stranger and the noighbourmgpoor
Strong meat indulges vice, and pampering food
Creates diseases, and inflames the blood.
But what 's sufficient to make nature strong,
And tho bright lamp of life continue long,
I'd freely tako ; and, as I did possess,
Tho bounteous Author of my plenty bless

John Powfrok—Bom 1GC7, DM 1703.

Our tears we Jll send a speedier way,
The tide shall bring them twice a-day.
With a fa, Ac.

679— SONG.

Wino, WHIG in a morning,
MakoH us frolic and gay,

That like oaglos wo soar,
In tho pndo of tho day ;

Gouty Hotn of tho night
Only find a docay.

'Tin tho Hun ripofl tho grapo,
And to drinking gives light

Wo imitato him,
When by noon wo 'ro at height ;

Thoy ntoal wino, who tako it
"Whim ho 'H out of sight

Boy, fill all the glafwoH,
Fill thorn up now ho Hhinos ,

Tho higher ho riHOH
Tho more ho refines,

tfor wmo and wit Toll
AH tlioir maker doclinos.

Tluntuta Brown. — Morn

1704.

680.— -SONG.

To al] you ladioa now at land,

Wo mon at soa indite j
But first would havo you understand

How hard it is to write
Tho Muses now, and Neptune too,
Wo muwt imploro to write to you,
With a fa, la, la, la, la.

For though tho Muses should provo kind,

And fill our ompty brain ,
Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind,

To wavo tho azure main,
Our papor, pon, and ink, and wo,
Boll up and down our ships at soa.
* With a fa, &c.

Thon if wo wiite not by each post,

Think not wo are unkind ,
Nor yot oonclurto our ships aro lost,

By Dutchmen, or by wind

I The king, with wonder and surprise,

Will swear the seas grow bold ;
i Because the tides will higher nse,

Than e'er they used of old :
I But let him know, it is our tears
1 Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs.
With a fa, &c

Should foggy Opdam chance to know

Our sad and dismal story ,
The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,

And quit their fort at G-oree
For what resistance con they find
From men who *vo left their hearts behind ?
With a fa, <fcc.

Let wind and weather do its worst,

Be you to us but kind ,
Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,

No sorrow we shall find
'Tis then no matter how things go,
Or who 's our friend, or who 's our foe
With a fa, &o

To pass our tedious hours away,

Wo throw a morry mam ;
Or else at feenous ombre play ,

But why should wo in vain
Each other's ruin thus pursue P
Wo woro undone when wo left you.
"With a fa, &o

But now our fears tempestuous grow,

And cast our hopes away
Whilst you, regardless of our woo,

Sit careless at a play
Perhaps, permit somo happier man
To ]CIHH yotir hand, or fliit your fan.
With a fa, &o.

Whon any mournful tune you, hear,

That dies in every noto ;
As if it sigh'd with each man's care,

For being so remote j
Think how often love we 've made
To you, when all those tunes were play'd.
With a fa, &c.

In justice you cannot rofuso

To think of our distress,
When we for hopes of honour lose

Our oeitain happiness ,
All those designs are but to prove
Ourselves more woithy of your lovo.
With a fa, &o.

And now wo fve told you all our loves,

And likewise all our fears,
In hopes this declaration moves

Somo pity from your tears ,
Lot 's hoar of no inconstancy,
Wo have too much of that &,t soa
With a fa, &o.

Earl o/ Dorset— 3&mlG37, Died 1700

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE ] HOMER AND VIRGIL

[FOURTH PERIOD —

681.— HOMER AND VIRGIL

By painful stops at last we labour up

Parnassus' hill, on whoso bright airy top

The opio poets so divinely show,

And with just pudo behold the rest bolow.

Heroic poems have just a pretence

To bo the utmost stretch of human sense ,

A work of such inestimable worth,

There are but two the world has yet brought

forth——

Homer and Virgil ; with what sacred awe
Do those mere sounds the world's attention

draw'

Just as a changeling seems bolow the rest
Of men, or rather as a two-legg'd beast,
So these gigantic souls, amaz'd wo find
As much above the rest of human kind '
Nature's whole strength united ' endless fame,
And universal shouts attend their name '
Read Homer once, and you can road no more,
For all books else appear so mean, so poor,
Verse will seem prose , but still peimst to read,
And Homer will bo all the books you need
Had Bossu nover writ, tho world had still,
Like Indians, view'd tins wondioits piece of

skill,

As something of divine tho work admiz'd,
Not hopo to bo instructed, but inspir'd ;
But he, disclosing sacred mysteries,
Has shown where all their mighty magic lies ,
Dofecrib'd the seeds, and in what order sown,
That have to such a vast proportion grown.
Sure from some angel he the secret knew,
"Who through this labyrinth has lent the clue.

But what, alas ' avails it, poor mankind,
To see this promis'd land, yet stay behind ?
The way is shown, but who has strength to go?
Who can all sciences profoundly know P
Whose fancy flies beyond weak reason's sight,
And yet has judgment to direct it right ?
Whose just discernment, Virgil-like, is such,
Nover to say too little or too much ?
Let such a man begin without delay ;
But he must do beyond what I can say ,
Must above Tasso's lofty hoaghts prevail ,
Succeed when Spenser, and ev'n Milton fail.

Duke of BuchinghamsJiMrc. — Bom 1649, Died

1721.

682.— TO THE EVENING- STAJR.

Bright star I by Venus fix'd above,
To rule the happy realms of Love ,
Who in the dewy rear of day,
Advancing thy distingmsh'd ray,
Dost other lights as far outshine
As Cynthia's silver glories thine ;
Known by superior beauty there,
As much as Pastorella here.

Exert, bright Star, thy friendly light,
And guide me through the dusky night !

Defrauded of her beams, the Moon
Shines dim, and will bo vanished soon.
I would not rob tho shepherd's fold ,
I seek no miter's hoaidod gold ,
To find a nymph I 'm forced to &tiay,
Who lately btolo my heart away.

Gcorye St^mcy —Hum IGCtt, J)wi 1707.

083— SONG.

Of all tho torments, nil tho earos
With which our lives aro c'urwt ,

Of all tbo plaguoH a lover hours,
Sure rivals are tho worwt,

By partnois in each other kind

Afflictions easier grow ,
In love alono wo hate to find

Companions of our woo.

Sylvia, for all the pangs yon sea
Aro lab'nng in my breast,

I beg not you would favour mo,
Would you but slight tho rowfc

How great aoo'or your ngours arc,
With thorn alono I '11 coi>o ;

I can onduro my own despair,
But not anothoi's hope

WMam

^-JBortip 1GG3, DM 1709.

684.— SONG-

Fair and soft, and gay and young,

All charm — she play'd, sho dancod, hho sung :

There was no way to 'scape tho dart,

No care could guard tho lover' H hejurt.

*' Ah, why," onod I, and dropp'd a tear,

Adoring, yet despairing o'er

To have her to myself alono,

" Why was such awootnoss mado for one ? "

But, growing bolder, in hor oar
I in soft numbers told my oaro :
Sho heard, and raised mo from hor foot, '
And seem'd to glow with equal hoat.
Like heaven's, too mighty to oxproxH,
My joyfi oould but bo known by gnona ;
"Ay, fool," said I, " what havo I dono,
To wish hor mode for more than on© 1 "

But long sho had not boon in view,
Before hex eyos their beams withdrew ;
Ere I had reckon' d half her charms,
Sho sunk into another's arms.
But sho that onco could faithless bo,
Will favour him no more than mo :
He, too, will find he IB undone,
And that she was not made for one.

Robert

1G49 to 1689 ]

PICTURE OP A WITCH.

[THOMAS OTWAY.

685 —SONG.

Coolia is cruel Sylvia, thou,

I must confess, art kind ,
But in her cruelty, I vow,

I more repose can find
Tor, oh ' thy fancy at all games does fly,
Fond of address, and willing to comply.

Thus ho that loves mtist bo undone,

Each way on rocks wo fall ,
Either you will be kind to none,

Or woiso, bo kind to all.
Vain aio our hopes, and endless is our care ,
Wo must bo jealous, or wo must despair

Robwt QouU—Aloui 1689

686.— THE OLD MAN'S WISH

If I live to grow old, for I find I go down,
Txjt HUH ho my fate . in a country town,
May I have a warm house, with a stone at

the gate,

And u cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate
May I govern my passion with an

absolute sway,
And grow wiser aiid better, as my

Htrongth wears away,
Without gout or ntono, by a gentle
decay.

Near a Hhady grove, and a murmuring brook,
With the ocean at distance, whereon I may

look;

With a spacious plain, without hedge or stile,
And an easy pod-nag to ndo out a mile.
May I govern, <fec.

With Horace and Petrarch, and two or throe

more
Of the best wits that reign' d in the ages

before ;
With roast mutton, rather than vou'son or

teal,
And clean, though coarse linen, at every

meal.
May I govern, &o.

With a pudding on Sundays, with stout hum-
ming liquor,

And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar ,
With Monte Fiascono or Burgundy wine,
To drink the king's health as oft as I dine.
May I govern, Ac.

With a courage undaunted may I face my last

day,
And when I am dead may the better sort

say—
" In the morning when sober, in the evening

when mellow,
He 's gone, and [has] left not behind him his

fellow

For he govern' d his passion with an

absolute sway,
And grew wiser and bettor, as ids

strength wore away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle

decay."

Dr. Walter Pope.— About 1689.

687 —A BLESSING

Then hear me, bounteous Heaven,

Pour down your blessings on this beauteous

head,

Where everlasting sweets are always springing,
With a continual giving "hand let peace,
Honour, and safety always hover round her
Feed her with plenty ; let her eyes ne'er see
A sight of sorrow, nor her heart know mourn-
ing;
Ciown all her days with joy, her nights with

rest,
Harmless as her own thoughts , and prop her

virtue,

To bear the loss of one that too much loved ;
And comfort her with patience an our parting.

Thomas Otway — Born 1651, Died 1685.

688— PARTING.

Where am I ? Sure I wander 'midst enchant-
ment,

And never more shall find the way to rest.
But 0 Monimia f art thou indeed resolved
To pum&h mo with everlasting absence ?
Why turn' at thou from me P I'm alone already 1
Mothmkfi I stand upon a naked beach
Sighing to winds and to the seas complaining;
Whilst afar off the vessel sails away,
Where all the treasure of my soul's embnrk'd!
Wilt thou not turn ? 0 could those eyes but

speak!
I bhould know all, for love is pregnant in

them '
They swell, they press their beams upon mo

still'
Wilt thou not speak P If wo must part for

ever,

Give me but one kind word to th-mlr upon,
And please myself with, while my heart is

Thomas Oto>ay.-~Born 1651, Died 1685.

689.— PICTURE OF A WITCH.

Through a dose lane as I pursued my journey,
And meditating on the last night's vision,
I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown
double,

THOMAS OTWAT ]

SONG.

[FotJiiTH PERIOD. —

Picking dry sticks, and mumbling1 to herself ;
Her eyes with scalding ilioum wore galTd and

rod,
And palsy shook hor hood , her hands seemed

wither' d ,

And on hor crooked flhouldor had she wrapp'd
The tattor'd remnant of an old stuped

hanging,
Which soived to keep hor carcass from the

cold.

So there was nothing of a piece about her.
Hor lower weeds wero all o'er coarsely

patched
With different coloured rags — blaok, rod,

white, yellow,

And seem'd to speak variety of wretchedness.
I ask'd her of the way, which she informed

mo ;

Then craved my charity, and bade mo hasten
To save a sister.

Thomas Otway, — Born 1C51, Died 1685.

690.— SONG

Come, all ye youths whose hearts e'er bled

By cruel beauty's pride,
Bring each a garland on his head,

Lot none his sorrows hide
But hand in hand around me move,
Suigmg the saddest tales of lovo ;
And see, when your complaints ye join,
If all your wrongs can equal mine.

The happiest mortal once was I,

My heart no sorrow knew ,
Pity the pain with which I dio,

But ask not whence it grow ;
Tot if a tempting fair you find,
That 's very lovely, very kmd,
Though bright as hoavon whoso stamp she

boarn.
Think on my fate and shun hor bnaios.

TJwmas Otway — Horn 1651, Died 1C85

691 — DESCRIPTION OF MOBNING.

Wiah'd Morning's come , and now upon the

plamH,
And distant mountains, whore thoy food their

flocks,

The happy ahophoids loavo their homely hut«,
And with thoir pipes proclaim the now-boin

day.
The lusty swoon comes with his woll-filTd

scrip
Of healthful viands, which, when hunger

calls,

With much content and appetite ho oats,
To follow in the field his daily toil,
And dross the grateful globe that yields him

fmt*

Tho beasts that under the warm hedges slept,
And woathor'd out the cold bluak night, arc

up;
And, looking towaids the neighbouring I

pastures, raino
Their voice, and bid their fellow-brutes good

morrow.

Tho ohooiful birdH, too, on tho tops of troow,
Assemble all in choirn , and with their notoa
Salute and welcome up tho lining HUH.

TJioma* Otwm/. — Abmil 1089.

i 692.— SPEECH.

Speech is morning to the mind ;

It spreads tho beauteous images abroad,

Which else lie furled and clouded in tho noul.

Nathaniel Lco.—A'bout 1080.

693. — LOVE.

I disdain
All pomp whon thou art by. far bo the

noise
Of kings and courts from UH, whoHO gentle

souls

Our kinder stars have steer 'd another way.
Froo as tho foiost-birdH we'll pair together,
Fly to tho arbours, grots, and flowory mootta,
And, in soft murmurs, interchange our woulh
Together drink tho cryHtal of tlio Htroani,
Or taste tho yollow fruit which anlumu yu»l<ln ,
And whon tho goldon evening oalta UH homo,
Wing to our downy noHt, and Hloop till morn.

NaAlwmel [jw.—

1G80.

694— SEUP-MURPMft.

What torments are allotted UIOHO wwl
Who, groaning with tho burdni of (loHptur,
No longer will ondiiro tho oaroH of Hfo,
Dut boldly Hot thomnolvoH at liberty,
Thiough tho daik cavoH of death to wander

on,

lake wilder* d traveller^ without a guide ;
Eternal roverH in tho gloomy ma/.o,
Whoro Hcarco the twilight of an infant morn,
By a faint glimmer oheok'riug through tho

trees,

Beflects to dismal view the walking ghosts,
That never hope to roach tho bloHsod fields.

Nathaniel Lee — About 1G80.

From 1649 to 1689 ]

SONG.

[SiE Gtao

695 —WISHES FOB OBSCURITY.
How rniRorablo a thing is a groat man,
Tako noisy vexing gioatness they that pleaso ;
Give mo obscure and safe and silent ease
Acquaintance and commc*roe let me have

nono

"With any powerful thing but Time alone .
My rest let Time bo fearful to offend,
And creep by mo as by a slumbering friend ,
Till, with eaeo glutted, to my bed I steal,
AB men to sleep after a plenteous meal.
Oh, wrotohed ho who, call'd abxoad by power,
To know himself can never find an hour '
Strange to himself, but to all others known,
Londn every ono his life, but usos none ;
So, e'er he tastod life, to death ho goes,
And himself loses ore himself ho knows

John Crou.w — About 16C5

696.— PASSIONS.

Wo oft by lightning read in darkest nights ;
And by your passions I read all your natures,
Though you. at other tamos can keep thorn
dark.

Jb7wi Groiwic. — About 1665

697.— LOVE IN WOMEN.

ThoHO ore gioat manniH, mi, it in confess' d ;
Too stately for a woman* H nanow breast
Poor love is lout in men's capociouw minds ;
In OUTH, it fills tip all tho room it finds.

JQ)W Orowne. — About 1665.

698.— INCONSTANCY OF THE
MCTLTITTJDE.

I'll not fiuoh favour to rebellion show,
To woar a crown the people do bestow ;
Who, when their giddy violence IB past,
Shall from tho king, the Adored, revolt at

last;
And then the throne they gave they shall

invade,
Ajad fioorn tho idol which themselves have

made.

JoJun Qrowne. — About 1665.

699.— WAKRIOBS.

I hate these potent madmen, who keep all
Mankind awako, while they, by their great

deeds,

Axe drumming- hard upon this hollow world,
Only to make a sound to last for ages.

Jb7wi Qrowne. — About 1665.

700.— INCONSTANCY OP LOVE.

How long must women wish in vain

A constant love to find ?
No art can fickle man retain,

Or fix a roving mind.

Yet fondly we ourselves deceive,

And empty hopes pursue •
Though false to others, we believe

They will to us prove true.

But oh ! the torment to discern

A perjured lover gone ,
And yet by sad experience learn

That we must still love on

How strangely are we fool'd by fate,
Who tread the maze of love ,

When most desirous to retreat,
We know not how to move.

Tlwmas S7iadwelL—Bom 1640, Died 1692,

701.— SONG.

Ladies, though to your conquering eyes
Love owes his chiefest victories,
And borrows those bright arms from you.
With which he does tho world subdue ,
Yet you. yourselves are not above
Tho empire nor tho griefs of love.

Then rack not lovers with disdain,
Lotit love on you revenge their pain ;
You arc not free because you're fair,
The boy did not his mother spare .
Though beauty be a killing dart,
It is no armour for the heart.

flir Goo. EtJicrege—Born, 1636, Died 1694.

702.— SONG.

See, how fair Oozinna lies,
Kindly calling with her eyes :
In the tender minute prove her;
Shepherd, why so dull a lover *
Prithee, why so dull a lover P

In her blushes see your shame, —
Anger they with love proclaim ,
You too coldly entertain her
Lay your pipe a little by ;
If no other charms you try,
You will never, never gain her.

While the happy minute is,
Court her, you may get a loss,
May be, favours that ore greater :
Leave your piping , to her fly ,
When the nymph for love is mgh,
Is it with a tune you treat her "

30

SIB GEO ETIIKBEOOB ]

SONG.

[FOURTH PBRIOD.-

Dull Amintor » flo, 0 ' fio
Now your Shophordo^n is nigh
Can you. pa^s your timo no bettor ?

Sir Goo. Ethercgc — JJorn, 163G, DtecJ 1694.

703.— SONG.

When Phillis watch' d tor harmloss sheep,

Not one poor lamb was made a proy ;
Tot she had oause enough to weep,

Her Billy hoaxt did go astray :
Thou flying to the neighbouring grove,

She loft the tender flock to rove,
And to the winds did breathe her love.
She sought in vain
To ease her pain ;

The heedless winds did fan her fire ;
Venting her grief
Gave no relief ,

But rather did increase desiie.
Then sitting with her arms across,

Her soirows streaming fiom each eye ,
She fbc'd her thoughts upon her loss,
And in despair roaolved to die.

#«• Hco Etlicrege.—Born, 1G36, Died, 1G94.

704.— SONG.

A outgo upon that faithless maid
"Who tot hor sex's liberty betrayed ;
Born free as man to love and range,
Till nobler nature did to custom change ;
Custom, that dull excuse for fools,
Who think all virtue to consist in rules.

Prom love our fottors nevor sprung,

That smiling god, all wanton, gay, and young,

Shows by his winqs ho oaniiot be

Confined to artlonH sJavory ,

"But hero and tlioio at random rovos

Not fiac'd to glittoiing couita or shady groves.

Then sho that conwtancy profows'd
Was but a well diHHomblor at the bout ,
And that imaginary sway
Sho floom'd to give in feigning to obey,
Was but tho height of prudont art
To deal with greater liboity hor heart.

A.#7wt 2te7w.— jBorifr 1630, Died 1G89.

705.— SONG.
Love in fantastic triumph sat,

Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd,
For whom fresh painw ho did croato,

And strange tyrannic power ho showU

From thy bnght oyos ho took hw
Which round about in sport he hurlM ,

But 'twas from raino ho took doairon
Enough t' undo tho amorouH world.

From me ho took IUH Highs and tears,

From thoo his prido and cruelty ,
From mo hia langiiislimont and fears,

And every lolling dart from theo
Thus thou and I tho god havo arm'd,

And set him up a doity ,
But my poor heart alone in harm'd,

Whilo thino'tho victor IH, and free

Aylvrn Bthn —Uoni 1C30, T>M 1G8D.

706.— FROM A POEM ENTITLED
"AMAOTA."

I have an oyo for her that's fair,
Aft oar for hor that sings ;
Tet don't I caro for goldon hair,
I acorn tho portion looh'ry bringa '
To bawdy Beauty. I'm a churl,
And hato, though a melodious girl,
Her that is nought but air

I havo a heart for hor that's kind,
A lip for hor that smilos ;
But if her mind bo like tho wind,
I'd rather foot it twenty milOH.

Is thy voico mellow, is it smalt P

Art Venus for thy beauty P

If kind, and tart, and flhaHto thou art,

I'm bound to do thoo duty.

Though, pretty Mall, or bonny Kuto,

Hast thou ono hair adultorato,

I'm blind, and doaf, and out of hoart.

Amanda, thou art kind, wull-brod,
JIarruomonH, H woolly kind ,
If thou wilt wod my viigin bod,
And taftto my love, thou'ri to my miud ,
Take htindH, lipn, hoari, aud OJOH,
Are all too moan a Hacriiioo.

N. llooh —Muut IQBti,

707.— TO THE NICIHTINGAL10.

Why, httlo oliarmor of tlio air,
Dost thou in munio spend tho morn,
While I thuH languiHli in doHpair,
Opprofffl'd by Oynthia'H hate and floorn P
Why dost thou Ming and hoar mo ory Jf
Toll, wanton songfltor, toll mo why

From 1649 to 1689.]

THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGEB.

^ANONYMOUS.

Great to tho oar, though small to sight,

Tho happy lover's door delight .

Fly to tho bowers whore such are laid,

And there bestow thy serenade

Haste thoo from sorrow, haste away,

Alas, theie's danger' in thy stay,

LoHt hoaimg me so oft complain

Should moke thoe change thy cheerful strain.

Then ooaso, thou charmer of the air,
No more in music spend tho morn
With me that languish in despair,
Oppressed by Cynthia's hate and scorn,
And do not this poor boon deny,
I ask but silonco while I die

Pliilvp Ayrcs.— About 1089.

708— ON THE SIGHT OF HIS
MISTRESS'S HOUSE.

To view those walls oaoh night I come alone,
And pay my adoration to tho stone ;
"Whence joy and peace are inflroncod on mo,
For 'tiB tho temple of my deity.

Aa nighttt and days an anxious wretch by

stealth
Creeps out to view tho place which hoards hia

wealth,
So to thiH hotwo, that keeps Jtrom mo my

heart,
I come, look, traverse, woop, and then depart.

WArp Ayrw.— About 1089.

709.— THE YOUNG MAN'S WISH.

If I could but attain my wjmh,

I'd have each day one wholoHomo diHh,

Of plain moat, or fowl, or fiwh

A glaHfl of port, with good olil boor.
In winter iimo a fire burnt oloar,
Tobacco, pipoH, an cosy chair.

In some clean town a snug rotroat,
A little garden 'fore my gate,
With thousand pounda a year estate.

Afier my house expense was clear,

Whatever I could have to spare,

Tho neighbouring poor should freely share

To keep content and peace through life,
I'd have a prudent cleanly wife,
Stranger to noino, and eke to strife.

Then I, when blest with such estate,
With such a house, and such a mate,
Would envy not tho worldly groat.

Let them for noisy honours try,

Let them seek worldly praise, while I

Unnoticed would live and dio

But since dame fortune Js not thought fit
To place me in affluence, yet
I'll be content with what I get.

He's happiest far whose humble mmd,
Is unto Providence resigned,
And thmketh Fortune always kind

Then I will strive to bound my wish,
And tako, instead of fowl and fish,
Whate'er is thrown into my dish.

Instead of wealth and fortune great,
Garden and house and loving mate,
I'll rest content in servile state.

I'll from each folly strive to fly,
Each virtue to attain Til try,
And live as I would wish to dio.

Anoivynwus. — Before 1689

7IO.—THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER

DEATH.

Thou wealthy man of largo possessions here,
Amounting to some thousand pounds a year,
Extorted by oppression from the poor,
The tune IB como that thou shalt bo no more ,
Thy house theiofore in order set with speed,
And call to mind how you your life do lead.
Let true repentance bo thy ohiofest care,
And for another world now, now prepare.
For notwithstandiag all your heaps of gold,
Tour lands and lofty buddings mamlold,
Tako notice you must die this very day j
And therefore kiss your bags and come away.

BIOH MAN.

(Ho started straight and turned his head

aside,
Whoro seeing pale-faced Death, aloud he

cnod),
Loan famished sluvo » why do you Ijhreaton

so,
Whence come you, pray, and whither must

DEATH.

I como fiom ranging lound the universe,
Through courts and kingdoms far and near I

paws,
Whore rich and poor, distressed, bond and

free,

Fall soon or late a sacrifice to me
From crowned kings, to captives bound m

chains

My power reaches, sir; tho longest xoigns
That over were, I put a period to ,
And now I'm como in fine to conquer you

30*

ANONYMOUS ]

THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER

PERIOD. —

BICE MAN

I can't nor won't believe tliat you, pale

Death,

Wore sent this day lo atop my vital breath,
By reason I in perfect health remain,
Free from diseases, sorrow, grief, and pain ;
No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I,
And do yon say that I am drawing- nigh
The latter minute ? sure it cannot be ,
Depart, therefore, you are not Bent for mo '

DEATH.

Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know,

The tender grass and pleasant flowers that

grow

Perhaps one minute, are the next out down P
And BO is man, though famed with high

renown

Have you not heard the doleful passing boll
Ring out for those that were ahve and well
The other day, in health and pleasure too,
And had as little thoughts of death as you P
For lot me toll you, when my warrant 's

sealed,
The sweetest beauty that tho earth doth

yiold

At my approach shall turn OB pale as load ,
'Tia I that lay them on their dying bod
I kill with dropsy, phthisic, atone, and gout ;
But when my raging fevers fly about,
I strike tho man, perhaps, but over-night,
Who hardly lives to see the morning light ,
I'm sont each hour like to a mmblo page,
To infants, hoary heads, and middle ago ,
Time after time I swoop the world quite

through ;
Then it's in vain to think I'll favour you.

RICH MAN.

Proud Death, you see what awftd sway I boor,
For when I frown none of my servants dare
Approach my presence, but in corners liido
Until I am appeased and pacified
Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe
Nor did I over f oar the force of law,
But ovor did my enomioM subdue,
And Daunt I after all submit to you P

DEATH.

'Tis very true, for why, thy daring soul,
Which never could endure tho leant control,
I'll throat thoe from thin earthly tenement,
And thou shalt to another world bo went

HIGH MAN

What ' must I die and leave a vast estate,
Which, with my gold, I purchased but of late ?
Besides what I hod many years ago •• —
What ' must my wealth and I bo parted BO P
If you your darts and arrows muwt lot fly,
Go search the jails, where mourning debtors

ho;
RolooHG them from their aonow, giiof, and

woo,
For I am rich and therefore loth to go*

I'll search no jailn, but tho right mark I'll

hit,

And though you arc unwilhug to submit,
Yet die you rmiHt, no other friend can do, —
Pioparo yourself to go, I'm como for you
If you hod all the woild and ton timo» more,
Yet die you mutst, — thoio'n niilhonw gone-

before ,

Tho gioatoHt kings on earth yield and obey,
And at my foot their crownH and Hccptron lay -
If crowned heads and right ronownod peoiw
Die in tho piune and bloHHomw of their years,
Can you suppose to gain a longer Hpooo P
No ' I will send you to anotVor place.

KICK KAN.

Oh ' stay thy hand and bo not BO flovoro,
I havo a hopeful son and daughter dear,
All that I bog IH but to lot mo livo
That I may thorn in lawful marriage givo .
They being young when I am laid in tho

grave,
I fear they will bo wrongod of what they

havo

Although of mo you will no pity take,
Yet spare mo for my little infants' Hake,

DEATH,

If such a vain OXGUHO as this might do,

It would bo long oro mortal** would g0

The shades of death , for every man would find
Something to say that ho might stay bohind.
Yet, if ton thousand arguments they'd UHO,
Tho destiny of dying to OXCUHO,
They'll find it IB in vain with mo to Htnvo,
For why, I part tho dearoHt fnondH ahvo ?
Pool parents dio, and leave their oluldroni

small

With nothing to Hupport thorn horo withal,
But tho land hand of grociouw Providonoo,
Who IB their father, fnond, and rfolo defence.
Though I havo held you long in disrepute,
Yet after all here with a sliarp saluto
I'll put a period to your dayM and yourfl,
Causing your oyon to flow with dying toarn.

men MAN.

[Then with a groan ho made thin nod com-
plaint1] •

My heart IH dying, and my epiritB faint ;
To my cloHo chamboi lot ino bo convoyed ;
Faiewoll, false world, for tliou hast mo be-
trayed.

Would I had novor wrongod tho fathorloHH,
Nor mourning widows whan in Had distress j
Would I hod ne'er boon guilty of that tun,
Would J had novor known what gold hod

boon,

For by tho same my heart was drawn away
To Hooroh for gold • but now thin very day
I find it IH but like a Blonder rood,
Which faila mo most when most I stand in
nood;

#01689.]

THE CATHOLICK.

[ANONYMOTTS.

For, woo is me 1 the time is come at last,

Now I am on a bed of sorrow oast,

Wheie in lamenting tears I weeping ho,

Because my sins make me afraid to die .

Oh i Death, bo pleased to spare mo yet awhile,

That I to God myself may reconcile,

For true repentance some small time allow ,

I never feared a futuie state till now '

My bags of gold and land I'd freely give,

For to obtain the f avour hero to live,

Until I hare a sure foundation laid

Lot mo not die before nay peace be made !

DEATH.

Thou hast not many minutes here to stay,
Lift up your hoait to God without delay,
Imploio hia pardon now for what is past,
Who knows but Ho may save your soul at
last?

KICK HAN

I'll water now with tears my dying bod,
Botoio the Lord my sad complaint I'll spioad,
And if He will vouchsafe to pardon mo,
To die and leave thin world I could be free
Falno world ! false world, faiowell ! farewell '

adieu!

I find, I find, there is no trust in you '
For when upon a dying bod wo ho,
Your gilded baits are naught but misery.
My youthful KOII and loving daughter dear,
Take warning by your dying f athoi hero ,
Let not the world deceive you at this rate,
For fear a Had lopontanco comet} too lato
Sweet babe**, I little thought the other clay,
I should HO suddenly bo snatched away
By Death, and leave you weeping here behind,
But life 'H a most uncertain thing, I find.
When in tho grave my head IH lain full low,
Pray lot not folly prove your overthrow 5
Servo yo tho Lord, obey hit* holy will,
That Ho may have a blosHuig for you Htill.
[Having saluted them, he turned atudo,
These wore tho very words before ho died]

A painful hfo I ready am to loavo,
Whoroioro, in mercy, Lord, f my soul
rocoivo.

Anonymous. — Ite/orc 1G89

711.— SMOKING SPIBITTTALIZED. *

PART I.

This Indian wood, now withered quite,
Though green at noon, cut down at night,

Shows thy decay ,

An flesh is hay

Thus think, and smoke tobaooo.

Tho pipe, so hly-hko and weak,
Docs thus thy mortal state bespeak j

Thou art e'en such, —

Gone with a touch .

Thus thuxk, and smoke tobaooo.

And when the smoke ascends on high,
Then thou behold'st the vanity

Of worldly stuff,

Gone with a puff-

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And when tho pipe grows foul within,
Think on thy soul denied with sin ,

For then tho fire

It does require

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And seest the ashes cast away,
Then to thyself thou mayest say,

That to the dust

Return thou must

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

Anonymous — Be/mo 1689.

PART II.

| Was this small plant for thee cut down ?
; So was the plant of great* renown,

Which Mercy sends

For nobler ends.

Thus think, and smoke tobaooo.

Doth juice medicinal piooeod
From such a naughty foreign wood P

Then what's -the power

Of Jesse's flower c

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

Tho promise, like tho pipe, allays,
And by the month of faith conveys,

What viitue flows

From Sharon's rose

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

In vain tho uahghted pipe you blow,
Your pains m outward means are so,

Till heavenly fire

Tour heart inspire

Thus think, and smoke tobaooo.

Thus smoke, like burning incense, towers,
So should a praying heart of yours,

With ardent cries,

Surmount the skies

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

Mpfc Erslme —About 1750.

712— THE OATHOUOK.
I hold as faith

What Rome1 s church

soith
Where the Evng *s

head
The flock 's nualed

What England's clvwrcfa
allows

My conscience dis-
avows

That church can have
no shame

That holds the Pope
supreme.

ANONYMOUS J

THE THREE KNIGHTS

[VOUKTH PKBTOD —

Whore tlie afaar'« There's service scarce

drost divine

The people 's "bleat With table, bread, and

wine
He's but an asso Who the conwiwiwn

flies
Who shuns the mnssc Is catJiolick and wise

Anonymous. — 1C55.

713 —THE THREE KNIGHTS

There did throe knights oomo from the west,

With the high and the lily oh '
And these three knights courted one ladyo,

As the rose was so sweetly blown.

The first knight came wag all in white,
And asked of her if who'd bo his delight*

The next knight tamo waft all in green,
And asked of her if she'd bo his queen.

The third knight came was all in rod,
And asked of hoi if she would wed.

" Thon have you asked of my father dear ?
Likewise of her who did mo boar ?

And have you asked of my brother John 9
And also of my sister Anno ? "

" Yes, I've asked of your father dear,
Likewise of hoi who did you boar.

And I've askod of your sister Anne,

But I have not asked of your brother John "

Far on the road as they rode along,

There did they moot with her brother John.

She Htoopod low to kins lum swoot,
Ho to her heart did a dagger moot.

"Ride on, lido on,*' cried the RorviuiTman,
" MothinkH youx brido aho lookw wondrous
wan "

"I wish I wore on yonder stilo,

For there I would Hit and blood awlulo.

I winh I wore on yonder lull,
There I'd alight and make my will "

" What would you givo to your faiihoi dear t"
" Tho gallant stood which doth mo boar "

" What would you give to your mother

dear P "
" My wedding shift which I do wear ,

But sho must waah it voiy clean,

For my heart's blood stickH ni ovory sotun "

" WTiat would you givo to your sister Anno P"
" My gay gold ring, and my foalhorod foja."

"What would you givo to your brother

John ? "
" A rope, and a gallows to hong him on,1'

" What would you give to your brother Jolm'a

wife?"
" A widow's weeds, and a (juiot hfo "

Anonymous. — Jttcfvrc 1680.

714.— THE BUND BEGGAR OP
BEDNALL GREEN.

PAJRT I.

This Rong 'a of a beggar who long lo«t his

sight,
And had a fair daughter, most ploanant ami

bnght,

| And many a gallant brave suitor hud flho,
And none was so comely as pretty BOBBOO.

And though Hho was of complexion most fair,
And seeing fllio wan but a beggar IUH heir,
Of ancient houHokoopors doHpiH&d was Hho,
Whoso sons came as suitors to pretty BOHHOO.

Wherefore in groat sorrow fair BOHHGO did

say
" Good father and mother, lot mo now go

away,

To seek out my fortune, whatever it bo."
This suit thon was granted to piotty BOHSOG.

This BOHSOO, that wan of a beauty moHt bright,
They clad in grey ruHHot , and Into m the

night

!From father and mother alono parloil Hho,
Who sigh6d and HobbM for judtty HOHHCU.

Sho wont till sho camo to 8tratf<ml-at-How,
Thon Rho know not whithor or whitth way

to go,

With toarn sho lamontod horHnxl <l<»Htmy ,
So wad aud HO hoavy wan pretty Jt«!4f't'(u

Sho kopt on hor jonrnoy until it WIIH <lay,
And wont unto Kumford, along iho highway ;
Au<l at tho ECuiff'H ArniH onlorttthi<%i(l waw

HllO,

So fair and woll-fdvourod wan prolty UOHHOO.

Sho hod not boon thoro ono montli at an end,
But mafltci au<l nnstroKH an<l all waH her

friend •
And ovory bravo gallant that onuo did hor

HOC,
Was Htrtughtway hi lovo with pretty Bounce.

Groat giftH thoy did Read hor of wlvcr and

ffold,
And in thoir HongH daily hor love thoy oc-

toUod :

Hor beauty was biassed in every dogroo,
So fair and so comely was protty Bosseo.

From 1649 to 1689 ] THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GBEEN

[ANONYMOUS.

Tho young men of Bumf ord in her had their

joy,
She showed herself courteous, but nevor too

coy,
And at their commandment still she would

bo,
So fair and so comely was pretty Bossee.

Four suitors at onco unto her did go,

They oiared her favour, but still she said no ;

"I would not have gentlemen marry with

mo'"
Yet over they honoured pretty Bessee

Now one of them was a gallant young knight,
And ho come unto her disguised in the night ;
Tho second, a gentleman of high degree,
Who wooed and suM for pretty Bosseo

A merchant of London, whoBO wealth was not

small,

Wan then the third suitor, and proper withal ;
Her mastor'H own son the fourth man must

bo,
Who swore he would die for pretty Bessoe.

" If that thou wilt marry with mo," quoth the

knight,

" I'll mako thoo a lady with joy and delight ,
My heart IH onthraUM in thy fair beauty,
Tlion grant mo thy favour, my pretty Bowaee,"

Tho gentleman Raid, " Come, marry with me,
In HilkH au<l m velvet iny BOHHOO Hholl bo ,
My liooit IIOH diHtracted, oh ! hoar me," quoth

ho,
" And ft rant mo thy love, my door pretty

IJOH80G."

" Lot me bo thy husband," the morohant did

Hay,
" Thou flholt live in London most gallant and

ffay.
My shipa shall bring homo lich jewels for

thoo,
And I will for over love pretty Boflsoo."

Then BOHHOO H!IQ highcd and thun Hho did nay
" My father and mother 1 moan to obey ,
First got their good will, and bo faithful to

me,
And you nhall onjoy your door pretty Bossoo "

To every one of them that answer she made,
Therefore unto her they joyfully said
" This thing to fulfil wo all now agree,
But whoro dwells thy fathoi, my pretty
Besnoo ? "

" My father," quoth she, "is soon to bo seen .
Tho silly blind beggar of Bodnall Green,
That daily mtu begging for charity,
Ho w the kind father of pretty Bossoo

His marks and his token are knowon full

well,

JTo alwayn is led by a dog and a boll ,
A poor Hilly old man, God knowoth is he,
Yet he's tho true father of pretty Besseo."

" Nay, nay," quoth the merchant, " thou art

not for me."
" She," quoth the innholdci, " my wife shall

not be "
" I loathe,'* said the gentleman, ** a beggar's

degree,
Therefore, now farewell, my pretty Bessee."

" Why, then," quoth tho knight, " hap better

or worse,
I weigh not true love by tho weight of the

purse,

And beauty is beauty in every degree,
Then welcome to me, my dear pietty Bessee."

With thee to thy father forthwith I will

go"
" Nay, forbear," quoth his kinsman, " it must

not be so •

A poor beggar's daughter a lady shan't be ,
Then take thy adieu of thy pretty Bessee."

As soon then as it was break of the day,
The knight had from Eumford stole Bossee

away;
The young men of Eumford, so sick as may

be,
Bode after to fetch again pretty Besseo.

An swift as the wind to udo they were seen,
Until they came near unto Bednall Gieen,
And as the knight lighted most courteously,
They fought against him for piotty Bessee

But rescue came presently over tho plain,
Or olso tho knight there for hiu love had been

slam ,
Tho fray being ended, they straightway did

see
His TnTtpmfM'i oomo railing at pretty Bessee*

Then bespoke tho blind beggar, "Although I

bo poor,

Bail not against my child at my own door,
Though she be not decked in velvet and pearl,
Yet I will drop angels with theo f 01 my girl ;

And then if my gold should better her

birth,

And equal the gold you lay on tho earth,
Then neither rail you, nor grudge you to see,
Tho blind beggar's daughter a lady to be

But first, I will hoar, and have it well

known,
Tho gold that you diop it shall be all your

own"

With that they replied, " Contented wo bo ' "
" Then hero's," quoth tho boggor, " for pretty

Bessoo ' "

With that an angel ho dropped on tho ground,
And dropped, in angels, full throe thousand

pound,

And oftentimes it proved most plain,
For the gentleman's one, tho beggar dropped

twain,

ANONYMOUS ]

THE BLIND BEGGAB OP BEDNALL CiUEJBN. [Foxm-rn PMBIOD.—

So that tho whole plooo wherein they did sit,
With gold was covo^d every whit
The gentleman having1 dropped all his store,
Said, "Beggar ' your hand hold, for I have no
more."

" Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright,
Thon many my gnl," quoth ho to the

knight,
"And then," quoth ho, *•! will throw you

down,
An hundred pounds more to buy her a gown "

The gentlemen all, who his treasuie had soon,
Admired the beggar of Bednall Green ,
And those that had been her suitors before,
Their tender flesh for anger they toio

Thus was the fair Bossee matched to a

And made a lady in others' despite
A fairer lady there never was seen
Than the blind beggar's daughter of Bodnall
Green.

But of her sumptuous marriage and feast,
And what fine lords and ladies there prest,
The second part shall sot forth to your sight,
With marvellous pleasure and wished-for
delight

Of a blind beggar's daughter so bright,
That late was betrothed to a young knight,
All the whole discourse therefore you may

woe
But now comes the wedding of pretty Bossoo

PART II.

It was in a gallant palace most bravo,
Adorned with all the cost they could have,
This wedding it was kept most sumptuously,
And all for the lovo of piotty BOF.UOO

And all kind of dainties and dedicates Kwoot,
Was brought to their banquet, OH it was

thought moot,

Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,
Against the bravo wedding of piotty BOHHCO

The wedding through England was spread by

report,

So that a great number thereto did resort
Of nobles and gentles of every degree,
And all for the fame of pretty BOHHOO.

To church then away wont thin gallant young

knight,
His bndo followed after, an angel most

bright,
With troops of ladies, the like was ne'er

seen,
As went with sweet BORSOO of Bodnall Green

This wedding being solemnized then,
With music performed by wkilf ullowt men,
The nobles and gentlemen down at the side,
Each one beholding bho beautiful bride.

But after the sumptuous dinner won dono,

To talk and to i canon a number bo<?uii,

And of the blind beggar1 H daughtoi moat

bright ,
And what with his daughter ho gave to the

knight

Thon spoke the nobles, " Much marvel have

wo

This jolly blind beggar wo cannot yot HOC ' "
" My lords," quoth the brulo, " my father «o

base
Is loth with hit* proHonoo thono wtatos to

diHgraoo "

" The prawe of a woman in qnontion to bung,
Before her own face IH a flattering thing ;
But we think thy father's bammofm," quoth

they,
" Might by thy boauty bo clean put away "

They no sooner this pleasant word apoko,
But in comes the beggar in a Milken cloak,
A velvet cap and a feather had ho,
And now a musician, iornooth, ho would bo.

And being led in from catching of harm,
Ho had a dainty lute under hiri artn,
Said, " Ploaao yon to hoar any nmttio oi mo,
A song I will sing you of pretty BOHHOO "

With that his lute ho twongcM straightway,
And thereon began mont sweetly to play,
And after a lesson was played two or throe,
Ho strained out thin wong most delicately —

" A beggar's daughter did dwell on a i*r<um,
Who for her boauty may woll bo a quoon,
A blithe bonny lanw, and dainty WOH H!IO,
And many one calli'd her piotty liossoo

Her father ho hod no goods nor no landrt,
But bogged for a penny all day with his han<ln,
And yot for her xnainago gavo thouHandn

till 00,

Yet still ho hath somewhat for pretty BOHHOO,

And hero if any one do her (
Her father is ready with might and with main
To prove she IH come of noblo dogroo,
Therefore lot none flout at my piotty UOHHOO."

With that tho lor* Is and the company round
With ahoarty laughter wore roody to K wound,
At laht said tho lor<lH, " I^uli well wo may HOO,
Tho bride and the bridogroozu'H beholden to
thoo."

With that tho fair bndo all blunlimg did i-ino,
With crystal wator aU m Ivor bright oyoH,
" Pardon my fathor, bravo uobloH," quoth nhe,
' That through blmd uifoutiou thiiH doatu
upon mo "

"If this be thy father," tho nobloH (Ud Hay,
"Woll may ho bo proud of this happy day,
Yet by hiH countenance well may wo HOO,
His birth with his fortune could novor ogreo ;

iolGSO]

LORD DELAWARE

And therefore, blind beggar, we pray thoe

bowiay,

And look to us then the truth thou dost say,
Thy birth aud thy parentage what it may be,
E'en for the love thou bearest pretty Bessee."

" Then give mo leave, yo gentles each one,
A song more to sing and thon I'll begone,
And if that I do not win good report,
Then do not give mo ono groat for my sport —

When first our king his fame did advance,
And sought hw title in delicate France,
In many places groat perils passed he ,
But then wan not boin my pretty Bessoo

And at those WHIR went ovoi to fight
Many a brave duke, a loid, and a knight,
And with them young Monford of coinage so

fioc,
But thon was not born my pretty Bessee

And thoio did young Monford with a blow on

the laoe

Lose both Ins eyes in a very short apace ,
Hit* life had boon gone away with hut sight,
Had not a young woman gone forth m the

night.

Among tho said men, hoi fanoy did move,
To search and to nook foi hor own true love,
Who Hoomg young Monford there gasping to

clio,
Sho uavM his life through her chanty.

And then all our vietuiilfl in beggar's attire,
At tho hands of good people we thon did

require ;

At last into Kngland, a^ now it in Boon,
We came, and xomiimM in Bodnoll Green

And thus wo have livttf in Fortune's despite,
Though poor, yet contented with humble

dolight,

And m my old years, a comfort to me,
God sent mo a daughter called pretty Bessee

And thus, yo nobles, my song I do end,
Hoping by tho muno no man to offend ,
Full forty long winters thus I have boon
A silly bhnd beggar of Boduall Croon "

Now when tho company, every ono,
Did hoai tho htrange tale ho told in his song,
They were amaswVl, an well they might bo,
Both at tho blind beggar and pretty Bessoo.

With that tho fair bride they all did embrace,
Saying, " You are come ot an honourable race,
Thy father likewise is of high dogieo,
And thou art right worthy a lady to bo "

Thus was tho foattt ended with joy and

delight,
A happy bridegroom was made tho young

knight,

Who lived in groat "joy and felicity
With his fair lady, dear pretty Beesoo

Anonymous — Bpfmo 1C8D.

715— LOBD DELAWARE.

In tho Parliament House, a great roufc has

been there,
Betwixt our good Kmjj and the Lord

Delaware

Says Lord Delaware to his Majesty full soon,
" Will it please you, my liege, to grant me a

boon? "

"What's your boon," says the King, "now

let me understand P "
" It's, give mo all tho poor men we've starving

m this land ,

And without delay I'll hie mo to Lincolnshire,
To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang

them all there

For with hempen cord it's better to stop each

poor man's breath,
Than with famine you should see your subjects

starve to death "
Up starts a Dutch Lord, who to Delaware did

say,
"Thou deserves to be stabbed! ' then ho

turned himself away ,

" Thou deserves to be stabbed, and tho dogs

have thine ears,
For insulting our King in this Parliament of

poors "
Up sprang a WoUh Lord, the brave Duke of

Devonshire,
" In young Delaware's defence, I'll fight this

Dutch Lord, my sire ,

Foi he is mtho right, and I'll moke it so

appear •
Hun I daro to single combat, for insulting

Delaware."
A stage was soon erected, and to combat they

went,
For to kill, or to bo killed, it was either' s full

intent.

But tho very first flourish, when the heralds

gave command,
The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward

on his hand ,
In suspense ho paused awhile, scanned his foe

before he stroke,
Then against tho King's armour, his ben

sword ho brake

Thon he sprang from the stage, to a soldier in

tho ring,
Saying, " Lend your sword, that to an end

this tragedy we bring .
Though he's fighting mo in armour, while I

am fighting bare,
Even more than this I'd venture for young

Lord Delaware "

Leaping back on the stage, sword to buckler

now resounds,
Till he left the Dutch Loid a blooding in his

wounds

ANONYMOUS ]

Ilifc] GOLDEN GLOVE

[PouuTir PERIOD —

This seeing, cues tho King to his

without delay,
" Call Devonshire down, — toko tlio doad man

away ' "

" No," says bravo Dovon&luro, " I'vo fought

him as a man,
Since he's dead, I will koop tlio trophies I havo

won,
For he fought mo in your armour, while I

fought him bare,
And the same you must win back, my liege,

if ever you them wear."

God bless the Church of England, may it

prosper on each hand,
And also every poor man now starving in this

land;
And while I pray success may crown our

King upon his throne,
Til wish that every poor man may long enjoy

his own.

Anonymous. — Before 1C89.

716— THE GOLDEN GLOVE

A wealthy young squire of Tomworth, we

hear,

Ho courted a nobleman's daughter so fair;
And for to marry her it was his intent,
All friends and relations gave their consent

The time was appointed for the wedding-day,
A young farmer chosen to give her away j
As soon as the faimor the young lady did spy,
He inflamed her heart, "O, my heart1" she
did cry.

She turned from tho squire, but nothing she

said,

Instead of boinpr maniod who took to hor bed ,
Tho thought ol tho farmer soon run in hoi

mind,
A way for to have him who quickly did find

Coat, waistcoat, and hrooohoH she then did

put on,
And a hunting she went with hor dog and her

gun;
She hunted all round whore the farmer did

dwell,
Because in hor heart she did love lum full

well-

She oftentimes fired, bat nothing aho killed,
At length tho young farmer came into tho

And to discourse with him it was hor intent,
With her dog and her gun to meet him who
went.

" I thought you had boon at tho wedding,"

she cried
" To wait on the Rquire, and give him hia

bride "

" No, sir," siud tlio f IULUIQI, " it tho truth 1

may toll,
I'D. not givo hor away, for I love her too well "

" Suppose that the lady nhould grant you hor

love,
You know that tho squire your rival will

prove"
"Why, then," nays tho farmer, "I'll tuko

sword in haml,
By honour I'll gam hor whon hlio Hliall

command/ '

It ploasM tho lady to find him HO bold ,

She gave him a glove that won llowoiud with

gold,

And told him she found it when coming alonp,
As she was a hunting with her dog and gun

Tho lady wont homo with a heart full of love,
And gave out a notice that nho'd lent a tflovo ,
And said, " Who has found it, and bringn it

tome,
Whoever he in, ho my huHband «hall bo "

The farmer wan pleased when ho hoard of the

news,

With hoait full of joy to tho lady lie tfotin
" Dear honoured lady, I've picked \\\) your

glove,
And hope you'll bo ploafeod to gwinl mo your

love."

" It's already granted, I will bo your bride ;
I love tho awoot breath of a i armor," she

cried
" I'll bo inistrosw of my dairy, and milking my

cow,
While my jolly busk farmor IH wliintlmtf at

plough "

And whon nho wan married H!UJ told of lic»r fun,
How she wont a hunting with her dog and

gun

"And now I've got linn no fiiHl in my tmaro,
I']! enjoy him for over, I vow and declare* ' "

Anitiitjni'Hib, — Mj/»i/r HJHO.

717— KINCi JAMNH F. AND TUB
TJNKMflt.

And now, to bo brief, loi'n I>IIHH over tlio re,4,
Who seldom 01 novor wero given to ji»Hi,
And como to King- Jamie, ilio iirnt t)t our

throne,
A ploawantor inoiuurch miro nev«»r wiw known.

As ho waH a Iranimf? tb« Kwift fallow-de<ir,
Ho dropped all IIJLH noblon , and whon ho #ot

clear,

In hope of norno panthno away he did rido,
Till he came to an alohouwo, hard by a wood-

side.

2'Vow 1G4J) to 1689.]

THE KEACH I* THE CREEL

[ANONYMOUS.

And there with a, tinkler he happened to moot,
And him in kind sort he so froeiy did greet
" Pray thoo, good fellow, what hast in thy jug,
Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly
hugP"

" By the mass ' " quoth the tinklor, " it's

nappy brown ale,
And for to drink to thee, feiend, I will not

fail,

For although thy jacket looks gallant and fine,
I think that my twopence as good is as thiuo."

*e By my soul ' honest fellow, the tiuth thou

hast spoke,"
And straight ho sat down with the tinklor to

joke,
Thoy drank to the King, and thoy pledged to

each other ,
Who'd KOCH 'em had thought thoy were bi other

and bi other.

AH thoy woro a-drinking the King pleased to

way,
" What UOWH, honest fellow P come toll mo, I

pray."

" There's nothing of news, boyond that I hoar
The King's on tho border a-ohasing the doer

And truly I wiah I so happy may be,
Whilst ho 18 a-hunting, tho King I might soo ;
For although I've travelled th'o laud many

wayH,
I novor havo yot soon a King in my days."

Tho Kmg, with a hoarty brisk laughter,

replied,
*e I tell thoo, good follow, if thou canut but

ndo,
Thou Hlialt got up behind ino, aud T will thoo

bring
To tho presence of Jauuo, tliy bovoroigu

King."

" But ho'll bo surrounclod with nobloH HO gay,
And how ahall wo toll him how. them, HIT, I

pray ? "
" Thou'lt oasily kon lum when onco tliou art

thoro;
Tho King will bo oovorod, htenobloH all bare "

Ho got up behind him, and likowiHG hiw Hack,
HIH budget of leather, and tools at hiu back ,
Thoy rodo fall thoy came to tho merry gi con-
wood,

His nobles oamo round him, bareheaded thoy
Htood

Tho tinklor then sooing so many appear,
He flloly did whisper tho King m his oar •
Saying, " They're all clothed so gloriously gay,
But which amongst them is the King, sir, I
prayP"

Tho King did with hoariy good laughter, reply,
" By my soul I my good follow, it's thou or
it's I '

The rest are bareheaded, uncovered all

round." —
With his bag and his budget he fell to the

ground,

Like one that was frightened quito out of his

wits,

Then on his knees he instantly gets,
Beseeching for mercy ; the Kmg to him said,
" Thou art a good fellow, so be not afraid.

Come tell thy name P " " I am John of the

Dale,

A mender of kettles, a lover of ale."
" Else up, Sir John, I will honour thee here, —
I make thee a knight of three thousand a

year f "

This was a good thing for the tinkler indeed ,
Then unto the court he was sent for with.

speed,
Where great store of pleasure and pastime

was seen,
In the royal presence of Kmg and of Queen

Sir John of the Dale he has land, he has fee,
At the court of the king who so happy as he ?
Yet still in his hall hangs the tinkler's old

sack,
And the budget of tools which he bore at his

back.

Anonytnous. — JEfrJbfd 1689.

718— THE KEACH I' THE OBEEL.

A fair young May wont up tho street,

Some white fish for to buy ,
And a bonny dork's fa'n i' luvo wi* her,

And he's followed her by and by, by,
And he's followed her by and by.

*' 0 ' whoio hvo ye my bonny lass,

I pray thoo tell to me ,
For gin tho nicht wore ever sao mirk,

I wad come and visit thoe, thee ,

T wad come and visit theo "

" 0 ' my father he aye locks tho door,

My milker keeps the key ,
And gin ye were over sic a wily wicht,

To canna win in to mo, mo ,

Te canna win in to mo "

But the dork ho had ae truo brother,

And a wily wicht was ho ,
And ho has made a lang ladder,

Was thirty uteps and throe, three ,

Was thirty steps and throe

He has made a oleek but and a creel —
A crcd but and a pin ,

And he's away to the chunley-top,
And he's letten tho bonny cloxk in, m ,
And he's letten the bonny clerk in

ANONYMOUS ]

SIB JOHN BARLEYCORN.

[FOURTH PBBXOD.—

The auld wife, bomg not asleep,

Tho' lato, lato was tho hour ,
c< I'll lay my lifo," qno' tho silly auld wife,

"ThoroN a man i' our dochtoi's bower,
bowor ,

Thoro's a man i' our dochter's bowor "

Tko auld man ho gat owro tho bod,
To ^ce it tho thing was true ,

But sho's to/en tho bonny clork in hor arms,
And covered him owro wi* bluo, bluo ,
And covered him owro wi' blue

" 0 ' whero are yo gann now, father ? "
Rhe says,

" And whore are yo gaun aao lato ?
Yo've disturbed me in my evening prayers,

And 0 ' but they were sweit, swoit ,

And 0 i but they wore awe it."

" 0 I ill betide yo, silly auld wife.

And an ill death may yo doe ;
Sho has the muoklo Inuk in hor arms,

And she's prayin' for you and uio, me ;

And she's prayin' for you and uio "

The auld wife being not asleep,
Thou something inair waH Haid ,

" I'll lay my life," quo' tho Hilly auld wife,
" There's a man by our dochlor's bed,

bod,
There's a man by our dochtor's bod "

Tho auld wife aho gat owro the bed,

To ROD if tho thing was truo ;
But what the wrack took the auld wife's fit °

For into the creel she flow, flow ,

For into tho creel she flew

The man that was at tho chimloy-top,

Finding tho croel was fn',
He wrappit tho rape round his loft shouthor,

And fast to him ho diow, diow ,

And fast to him he drow

" 0, help ' 0, help ' O, huiny, noo, help '

0, holp ' 0, hutiny, do '
For him that ye ayo wishod mo at,

He's carryin' ino off just noo, noo ,

He's carrym' mo off junt noo."

" 0 ' if tho foul thief's gotten yo,

I wish ho may keep hiH hand ,
For a' the loo lang winter aiohl,

Ye'll never ho in your bed, bod ,

Ye'll novor ho in your bod "

He's towod her up, he's lowed hor down,
He's towed hor through an1 through ,

" 0, Gudo ' assist," quo' tho silly auld wife,
" For I'm just dopartm' noo, noo ,
For I'm just dopartm' uoo "

He's towed hor up, he's towod hor down,
He's gion hor a rioht down fa',

Till every nb i1 the auld wifo'n side,
Played nick naok on tho wa*, iva' ;
Played nick naok on the wa\

0 ' tho bluo, tho bonny, bonny bluo,
And I wish tho bluo may do wool ,
And oveiy auld wife that'H sao jealous o'

her dochtor,
May Hho got a good koaoh i' the oiool,

creel,
May aho got a good koaoh i' tho crool '

s — />>/<» r IC-tO

719— SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN.

Thore oamo throo men out of tho Wont,

Their victory to try ;
And they have taken a Holmnn oath,

Poor Barleycorn nhould die.

They took a plough and ploughed him in,
And harrowed clods on his head ,

And thon thoy took a rtolcnm oath,
Poor Bailoyoorn was dead.

There ho lay Hleopmg in the ground,
Till rain from tho wky did fall •

Thon Barleycorn sprung up IHH head,
And so amassed them all

Thore ho remained till Mulmimmnr,
And looked both palo and wan ,

Then Barleycorn ho got a board,
And so became a man.

Thon thoy flont men with Roythow HO nharp,

To cut him off at knoo ,
And thon poor little Bnaloyoorn,

Thoy served him barbarously

Thon thoy sont mon with pitohforku Hlumg
To piorco him through the hoiwt ;

And hko a dreadful tragedy,
Thoy bound him to a curt.

And thon thoy brought him to a bam,

A priHonor to ondnro ,
And so they fete-hod him out a<*uin,

And laid him on tho floor.

Thon thoy sot mon with holly olul>H,
To boat tho flo,slx from IIIH bonos ;

But the millor ho sorvod him WONO tlian

that,
For he ground luin botwivt t>vo Htonos.

0 ' Barloyoorn IH tho ohotcoHt grain

That ovoi WOH HOWU on land f
It will do moro than any grain,

By tho turning of your hand

It will mako a boy into a man,

And a man into an UHM ;
It will change your gold into silver,

And your silver into brass.

It will mako tho huntHman hunt tho fox,

That novor wound IUH horn ;
It will bring tho tmkor to tho stocks,

Thai people may him scorn.

iom 1019 to 1689 ]

THE BRAVE EARL BRAND, &0.

[ANONYMOUS

It will pat sock into a glass.

And claret in tho can ,
And it will cause a man to drink

Till he neither can go nor stand

Anonymous — Before 1649.

720.— THE NOBLEMAN'S GENEROUS
KINDNESS.

A nobleman lived in a Tillage of late,

Hard by a poor thrasher, •whoso charge it was

For he had seven children, and most of them

small,
And nought but his labour to support them

withaL

Ho never was given to idle and lurk,

For this nobleman saw him go daily to work,

With hiH flail and his bag, and his bottle of

beer,
As cheerful as those that have hundreds a

year,

Thus careful, and constant, each morning he

wont,

Unto hiH daily labour with joy and content ,
So jocular and jolly he'd whistle and sing,
As blithe and as brisk as tho birds in the

spring.

One morning, this nobleman taking a walk,
He mot thiH poor man, and he freely did talk ,
He aakod him [at first] many questions at

large,
And thon began talking concerning his ohaige

" Thou host many children, I very well know,
Thy labour is hard, and thy wages aro low,
And yet thou art cheerful; I pray toll me

true,
How can you maintain them as well as you

do?"

" I carefully carry homo what I do earn,
My daily expenses by this I do loain ,
And find it 18 possible, though we bo poor,
To still keep the ravenous wolf fiom tho door

" I roap and I mow, and I hanow and sow,

Sometimes a hedging and ditching I go j

No work comes amiss, for I thrash, and I

plough,
Thus my broad I do earn by the sweat of my

brow

" My wife she is willing to pull in a yoke,
Wo hve hke two lambs, nor each other

We both of us strive, like the labouring ant,
And do our endeavours to keep us from want

"And when I come homo from my labour at

night,
To my wife and my children, in whom I

delight ;

To see them, come round me with prattling

noise, —
Now those are the riches a poor man enjoys.

" Though I am as weary as weary may be,
The youngest I commonly dance on my knee ;
I find that content is a moderate feast,
I never repine at my lot in the least "

Now the nobleman hearing what he did say,
Was pleased, and invited frim home the next

day;
His wife and his children he charged him to

bring ,
In token of favour he gave *"» a ring.

He thanked his honour, and taking his leave,
He went to his wife, who would hardly

believe

But this same story himself he might raise ,
Yet seeing the ring she was [lost] in amaze

Betimes in the morning the good wife fche

arose,
And made them all fine, in the best of their

clothes ,
The good man with his good wife, and children

sma.11,
They all went to dine at the nobleman's hall

But when they came there, as truth does*

icport,

All things woro piepared in a plentiful sort ;
And they at the nobleman's table did dine.
With all kinds of dainties, and plenty of wine-

The feast being over, he soon lot thorn know,
That ho thon intended on them to Ve rtow
A f arm-houso, with thirty good acres of land ,*
And gave them the writings then, with hia
own hand.

" Because thou art careful, and good to thy

wife,

I'll make thy days happy the rest of thy life ,
It shall bo tor ever, for thee and thy heirs,
Because I beheld thy industrious cares."

No tongue thon is able in full to express

The depth of <frhQ?'»* joy, and true thankful-
ness j

With many a curtsey, and bow to tho
ground, —

Such noblemen there are but few to be found.

Anonymous. — Before 1649.

721.— THE BRAVE EARL BRAND AND
THE KING OP ENGLAND'S
DAUGHTER

0 did you ever hear of the brave Earl Brand,

Heylilhe, ho lillie lallie ;
He's courted the king's daughter o' fair
England,

T the brave nights so early !

ANONYMOUS ]

THE JOYIAi HUNTER OF BROMSGJtiOVE. [Fouiwni PEIAIOD.—

She was scarcely fifteen years that tide,
When sae boldly she came to his bod-sido.

" 0, Earl Brand, how fain wad I see
A pack of hounds let loose on the lea."

*e O, lady fair, I have no stood but one,
But then shalt ndo and I will run."

" O, Earl Brand, but my father has two,
And thou shalt have the best of tho'."

Now they have ridden o'er moss and moor,
And they have met neither noh nor poor ;

Till at last they met with old Carl Hood,
He's aye for all, and never for good.

" Now Earl Brand, an ye lovo mo,
Slay *flMii old Carl and gar IKiyn, doe."

" 0, lady fair, but that would bo sair,
To slay an auld Carl that wears grey hair.

My own lady fair, I'll not do that,
I'll pay horn hia fee "

" O, where have ye ndden this leo lang day,
And where have ye stown this faar lady
away?"

" I have not ridden this lee lang day,
Nor yet havo I stown this lady away ;

For she is, I trow, my sick sister,

"Whom I havo been bringing £ra' Winchester."

" If she's been siok, and nigh to dead,
What makes her wear the ribbon so red ?

If she's boon siok, and liko to olio,

What makes her wear the gold soo high ? "

When came the Carl to the lady's yett,
He rudely, rudely rapped thereat.

" Now whoro is tho lady of this hall P "
" She's out with her maids a playing at the j
ball." I

" Ha, ha, ha f yo aro all miHta'on, [

Ye may count your maidonfl owro again, i

I mot her far beyond tho lea

With the young JSarl Brand his loman to bo."

Her father of his bosi men armed fifteen,
And they're ndden after thorn bidono

Tho lady looked owre her loft RhouMor then,
Says " O Earl Brand wo ore both of us ta'on "

" If thoy oomo on mo one by ono,

You may stand by till tho lights bo done ;

But if thoy come on mo ono and all,
You may stand by and see mo fall "

They came upon him ono by ono,
Till fourteen battles ho haw won ,

And fourteen men he has tliom slain,
Each affcer each upon tho plow.

But the fifteenth man behind stole lonnd,
And dealt him a doop and a deadly wound.

Though ho was wonndod to tho doid,
He sot his lady on her stood.

They rode till thoy came to tho river Douno,
And there they lighted to WOHU his wound.

" 0, Earl Brand, I see your hoart'H blood ' "
" It's nothing but tho glont and my Hoarlot
hood "

Thoy rode till they came to liin mothor'w yott,
So faint and feebly ho rapped thereat.

" 0, my Bon 's slain, ho IH falling to swoon,
And it's all for tho sake of an Knglwh loon "

" 0, say not so, my dearest mother,
But marry her to my youngest brother——

" To a maiden true he'll give his hand,

Hey lillio, ho ffllio lallio ;
To the king's daughter o* fair England,
To a pnzo that was won by a slam bi other's
brand,

I* tho bravo nights so early ! "

Anonymous. — Jiefmo 1649.

722— THE JOVIAL HUNTEB OF
BBOMSGBOVE

Old Sir Robert Bolton hod throo sons,
Wind well thy horn, flood, hnntor j

And ono of thorn WOH Sir JtynliiH,
For ho was a jovial liuntor.

Ho ranged all round down by tho wood Hido,
Wind well thy horn, good hnntor,

Till in a troo-lop a gay liicly ho Hpiod,
For ho wan a jovial hnntor.

" Oh, what doHt thoo moan, fair lurty," Haul ho,
Wind well thy horn, flood htmtor ,

"Tho wild boar'H Icillod niy lord, uncl IIOH

thirty mon gorod,
And thon bcowt a jovial linutor."

" Oh, what slmll T do tliiH wild boar for to

MOO r1 "

Wind woll thy horn, good him lor ;
" Oh, thoo blow a blast and ho'll («>mo nuto

thoo,
As thou booHt a jovial hunter."

Thon ho l)lowod a blast, fall north, oa«t, woHt,

and Houth,

Wind woll thy horn, pood Inmtor ;
And tho wild boar thon hoard him f nil in his

don,
As ho wan a jovial hnntor

From 1649 to 1G89.]

THE USEFUL PLOW.

[ANONYMOUS.

Then ho made the boat of his speed unto him,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter,

[Swift flew the boar, with his tasks smeared

with gore],
To Sir Ryalaa, the jovial hunter.

Then the wild boar, being so stout and so

strong,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter ,
Thrashed down tho trees as he ramped lam

along,
To Sir Byalas, the jovial hunter.

"Oh, what dost thoe want of me*" wild

boar, said he,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter ;
" Oh, I think in my heart I can do enough for

thoo,
For I am the jovial hunter."

Then they fought four hours in a long summer

day,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter ,
Till tho wild boar fain would have got him

away
From Sir Byalas, tho jovial hunter

Thon Sir Byalas drawod his broadsword with
might,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter ,
And ho fairly out tho boar's head off quite,

For ho wan a jovial huntor

Tlion out of tho wood tho wild woman flow,
Wnitl well thy horn, good hunter ,

" Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast alow,
For lliou boost a jovial huntor.

** Tlioro aro thxoo things, I demand thorn of

thoo,"

Wind well thy horn, good huntor ,
*' Itrn thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay

My,
AH thou boost a jovial hunter."

** Tf thoflo throo things thou dost attk of me,"

Wind woll thy hoin, good huntor ;
"Tt'H juflt as my sword and thy nook oan

For I am a jovial huntor."

Thon into his long looks tho wild woman flow,
Wind woll thy horn, good hunter ;

Till sho thought in her hoart to toar him

through,
Though ho was a jovial huntor.

Thon Sir Byalas drawod his broadsword again,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter ,

And ho fairly split hor head into twain,
For ho was a jovial hunter.

In Bromsgrovo church, the knight he doth lio,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter ,

And Iho wild boar's hoad is pictured thereby,
Sir JRyalas, tho jovial huntor.

Anonymous* — Before 1649.

723— -LADY ALICE.

Lady Alice was sitting in her bower window,
At midnight mending her pjuoif ,

And there she saw as fine a corpse
As ever she saw in her life.

" What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six man
tall?

What bear yo on your shoulders P "
" We bear the corpse of Giles Collins,

An old and in.ua lover of yours."

" O lay him down gently, ye six men tall,

All on the grass so green,
And to-morrow when the sun goos down,

Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen

"And bury me in Saint Mary's Church,

All for my love so truo ;
And make me a garland of marjoram,

And of lemon thyme, and rue "

Giles Collins was bnned all in the east,

Lady Alice all in the west ;
And the roses that grew on Giles Gollins's
grave,

They reached Lady Alice's breast.

Tho priest of the parish he chanced to pass,
And he severed those roses in twain.

Sure never were seen such true lovers before,
Nor o'er will there be again

Anonymous — B<tfor& 1689.

724— THE USEFUL PLOW,

A country life is sweet '
In moderate cold and heat,

To walk re. the air, how pleasant and fair !
In every field of whoat,

The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers,
And every meadow's brow ,

To that I say, no courtier may

Compare with they who clothe in grey,
And follow tho useful plow

They rise with the morning lark,
And labour tdl almost dark ;

Then folding their sheep, they hasten to

sloop;
Whilo every pleasant park

!Noxt morning is ringing with birds that aro

singing,
On each green, tender bough

With what content, and merriment,

Their days are spent, whoso minds are bent
To follow tho useful plow

Tho gallant that drosses fine,
Azxd drinks his bottles of wine,

Were he to be tried, his feathers of pride,
Which deck and adorn his back,

Are tailors' and mercers', and other men
dressers,

ANONYMOUS.]

THE FARMER'S BOY.

[FOURTH PERIOD. —

For which they do dun thorn now
But Ralph and Will no comptora fill
For tailor's bill, or garments stall,

But follow the useful plow

Their hundieds, without remorse,
Some spend to keep dogs and horse,

Who never would give, as long* as they live,
Not two-pence to help tho poor ;

Their wives are neglected, and harlots

respected ,
This grieves the nation now ,

But 'tis not so with us that go

Where pleasures flow, to reap and mow,
And follow the useful plow.

Anonymous. — Before 1689.

725 —THE FARMER'S BOY.

The sun had set behind yon hills,

Across yon dreary moor,
Weary and lame, a boy there cams

Tip to a farmer's door
" Can you tell me if any there bo

That will give me employ,
To plow and sow, and reap and mow,

And be a farmer's boy P

" My father is dead, and mother is loft

With nvo children, great and small;
And what is worse for mother still,

I'm tho oldest of them all.
Though little, I'll work as hard as a Turk,

If you'll give me employ,
To plow and sow, and reap and mow,

And be a farmer's boy.

" And if that you won't me employ,

One favour I've to ask, —
Will you shelter mo till break of day,

From this cold wintoi's blast ?
At break of day, I'll trudge away

Elsewhere to seek employ,
To plow and flow, and reap and mow,

And bo a farmer's boy."

" Come, try tho lad," the mustross said,

**Let him no further sock."
" 0, do, dear father f " tho daughter cried,

While tears ran down her cheek .
" He'd work if he could, BO 'tis hard to want
food,

And wander for employ ;
Don't turn him away, but let him stay,

And bo a farmer's boy*"

And when the lad became a man,

Tho good old farmer died,
And left tho lad the farm he had,

And his daughter for his bride*
The lad that was, the farm now has,

Oft smiles and thinks with joy
Of the lucky day he came that way,

To bo a farmer's boy.

Anonymous. — Before 1689.

726 — THE MOW.

Now our work 'H done, thus wo foawt,
After labour comon our tost ,
Joy shall reign in every broawt,
And right welcome is otwli guowt •

After harvest mornly,
Merrily, merrily , will wo Hinp now,
After the harvest that hoapn up the mow.

Now the plowman ho fchall plow,
And shall whiHtlo OH ho go,
Whether it bo fair or blow,
For another barley mow,

O'er tho furrow merrily :
Mornly, merrily, will wo Hing now,
After tho harvest, tho fruit of tho plow.

Toil and plenty, toil and OOHO,
Still the husbandman ho BOOB ;
Whether when the winter freeze,
Or in summer's gentle breeze $

Still he labours merrily,
Merrily, merrily, after the plow,
Ho looks to the harvest, that gives UH tho

mow

Anonymous. — Before 1089.

727.— THE HITCHIN MAY-BAY SONG*

Remember us poor Mayors all I

And thus do wo begin
To lead our liven in rightoouHnoHH,

Or else wo die in sin

Wo have boon rambling all tho night,

And almont all tho day ;
And now returned back again,

Wo have brought you a bxanoh of May.

A bianoh of May wo liavn brought you,
And at your dooi it stands

It IB but a Hpiout,

But it's well budded ont
By tho work of our LonVrt liaiwlH.

The hodgon and trccw thoy are no groou,

AR green as any look ;
Our heavenly Fathor ho watoiod thorn

With his heavenly dow HO Hwcot.

Tho hoavouly gate** are open wido,

Our patliH aro beaten plain ;
And if a man be not too far gone,

Ho may return again.

The life of man is but a upon,

It flourishes like a flower ;
We are hero to-day, and gone to-morrow,

And wo aro dead in an hour.

Tho moon shmos bright, and tho Btars give a
liffht,

A little before it is day ;
So God bless you all, both great and email,

And send you a joyful May I

from 1649 to 1689.]

THE NEW-MOWN HAY.

[ANONYMOUS.

728— THE HAYMAKER'S SONG,

In the merry month, of June,

In the prime tune of the year ;
Down in yonder meadows

There runs a nver clear :
And many a little fish

Both in that river play ;
And many a lad, and many a lass,

Go abroad a-makmg hay

In come the jolly mowers,

To mow the meadows down ,
With budget and with bottle

Of ale, both stout and brown
All labouring- mon of courage bold

Como hero their strength to try ;
Tlvoy sweat and blow, and out and mow,

For the grass outs very dry

Hero's nimble Bon and Tom,

With pitchfoik, and with rake ;
Here's Molly, Liz, and Susan,

Como here their hay to make.
Wmlo sweot, jug, jug, jug '

Tho nightingale doth sing,
From morning unto even-song,

As they aro hay-making.

And when that bright day faded,

And the sun WOK going down,
There was a merry piper

Approached from the town
Ho pulled out his pipo and tabor,

So flweotiy ho Aid play,
Which made all lay down their rakos,

And leave off making hay.

Then joining in a dance,

They jig it o'or tho green ,
Though tired with their labour,

No one loss was seen.
But sporting liko some faonea,

Their dance they did pursue,
In loading up, and casting off,

Till morning was in view.

And when that bright daylight,

The morning it was come,
They lay down and rested

Till tho rising of the sun
Till the rising of the sun,

When the merry larks do sing,
And each lad did rise and tako his law,

And away to hay-making.

Anonymous. — &fitro 1089.

729.— THE GABDEN-GATE.

Tho day was spent, tho moon shono bright,

Tho village dock struck eight ,
Young Mary hastened with delight,

Unto tho garden-gate :
But what was there that mado her sad ? —
Tho gate was thoro, but not the lad,
Which mado poor Mary say and sigh,
" Was over poor girl so sad as I ? "

She traced the garden here and there,

The village olook struck rone ;
Which made poor Mary sigh, and say,

" You shan't, you shan't be mine !
You promised to meet at the gate at eight,
You ne'er shall keep me, nor make me wait,
For I'll let all such creatures see
They ne'er shall make a fool of me I "

She traced the garden here and there,

The village olook struck ten ,
Young WilLam caught her in his arms,

No more to part again
For he'd been to buy the ring that day,
And 0 ' he had been a long, long way , —
Then, how could Mary cruel prove,
To banish the lad she so dearly did love ?

Tip with the morning sun they rose,

To church they went away,
A-nfl all the village joyful were,

Upon their wedding-day :
Now in a oot, by a nver side,
William and Mary both reside ; ••
And she blesses the night that she did wait
For her absent swam, at the garden-gate.
Anonymwis. — Before 1680.

730.— THE NEW-MOWN HAY.

As I walked forth one summer's morn,

Hard by a river's side,
Whore yellow cowslips did adorn

The blushing field withpndo,
I spied a damsel on tho grass,

More blooming than the may ;
Her looks the Queen of Love surpassed,

Among the new-mown hay.

I said, " Good morning, pretty maid,

How came you here so soon P "
" To keep my father's sheep," she said,

" The thing that must be done :
While they are feeding 'mong the dew,

To pass the tune away,
I sit me down to knit or sew,

Among the new-mown hay."

Delighted with her simple tale,

I sat down by her side ;
With vows of love I did prevail

On her to be my bride
In strains of simple melody,

She sung a rural lay ;
The little lambs stood listening- by,

Among the new-mown hay

Then to the church they went with speod,

And Hymon joined thorn there ;
No more her ewes and lambs to feed,

For she's a lady fan*
A lord he was that married her,

To town they came straightway
She may bless the day ho spied hor tlioio,

Among tho now-mown hay

Anonymow — lie/ore 1680
31

ANOSTVKOUH J

BEGONE DULL CAliK.

731.— BEGONE PULL CABE.

Begone dull caro !

I prithee begone from me
Bogone dull caro '

Thou and I oan never agroo.
Long: while thou hast boon tarrymg hero,

And fain thoa wouldnt mo kill ,
JBnt i' faith, dull oaro,

Thou never shalt havo thy will.

Too much caro

Will make a young man grey ,
Too much oaro

Will turn, an old man to clay
My wife shall dance, and I will rang,

So merrily pass the day ,
For I hold it is the wisest thing,

To drive dull oaro away.

Hence, dull caro,

I'll none of thy company ;
Honoo, dull caro,

Thou art no pair for mo
We'll hunt the wild boar through tho wold,

So merrily pass tho day ,
And thon at night, o'er a cheerful bow

We'll drive dull caro away

Anotiymo VLB. — Ih'Joro 1680

732. — WHEN THE KENX* COMES HOME
IN PEACE AGAEST

Oxford and Cambridge shall agroo,
With honout crown' (1, and dignity ,
For learned mon shall thon take place,
And bod l>o Hiloncocl with dfogiuco

They'll know it to bo but a casualty
That hath HO long diRturb'd their brain T

For I din muoly toll that all thiugH will go

woll
When tho King- ooincH homo in po.wo again

Ch-oron government shall hottled bo,

And thon I hope wo shall agioo

Without their help, whoso high-brain1 d zoal

Hath long diHtorb'd tho common weal ;
Greed out of dato, and oobblorH that do prate

Of wars that Kfall diwturb their brain ,
The which you will HOC, when tho time it whall
be

That the King comes homo in poaoo again

Though many now are much in debt,

And many ohopu are to bo lot,

A goldon tune is drawing near,

Men shops shall take to hold their ware ,
And then all our trade shall flourishing bo
made,

To which ere long we shall attain ;
For still I oan tell all things will bo well

When ihe King- comes home in peace again.

Maidens Hhall enjoy their unites,
And honOHt mon thou lont ostatoH ,
Women aliall ha\o wliat they do look,
Thoir kuHbandrt, who aio coming back.

When the wars have an ond, thon J and my

friend
All subjcotH' froodom Hhall obtain ;

By which I can toll all things will bo well
When wo enjoy nwoot poaoo again

Though people now walk in great iVar
Along tho countiy ovoiywhoro,
ThioYOH nliall tlxou tromblo nt the lav ,
And justice Hhall koup Uicuu in awo

Tho Fronchioa whall floo with thoir tnwhci «»,
And tho fooH of tho Kinjr anhiuucd rotniun

Tho which you Hhall HOO. \vhon tlio tiiuo it

shall bo
That the King comet* homo in poaoo again.

Tho Parliament must willing bo,
That all tho world may plainly HOC
How they do labour Htill for peauo,
That now thono bloody wars may COOHO ;

For thoy will gladly Hpond their HVOH !>o

defend
The King in all MH right to reign

So thon I oan toll all thiugH will bo woll
When we onjoy nwoot poaco again.

Whon all those things to pariK Hhall <JOIHC
Then farewell musket, pt(^k, and drum ,
The lamb shall with tho lion food,
Which wore a happy time iudoe<L

0 lot us pray we may all HOO tho day
That poaco may govern in IUH name,

For then I can tell all tliingH will bo woll
Whon the King comon homo in poaco ugain

ul 108 It

733—1 LOVE MY KING AND COUNTRY
WKLL

I lovo my King and country well,

Religion and tho lawn ;
Which I'm ma<l at tho heart tli.tt o'or wo did

aell

To buy tho good old oaiiio.
ThoHO nnuatural warn
And brotlu^rly jars
Aro no dolijjht or joy to mo ,
But it IH my doHiro
That tlio warn Hliould oxpirt1,
And tho King and liin roaluin

I novor yet did take up aruiH,

And yet I dare to <lyo ;
Uut T'U not bo hoduood by ]ihiuiaticu] ohurmfi
Till I know a roanon why.

Why tho King and the BtiUo

Should fall to debate
I ne'er could yet a roanon HOC,

But I find many one

Why the wars Bhould bo doiio,
And the Kingf and his roulznu agroo.

Fron* 1649 to 1689 ]

THE NEW UTANY.

[ANONYMOUS

T love the King and the Parliament,
But I love them both together
And when they by division asunder ore rent,
I know 'tis good for neither.

Whichsoe'or of those

Be notorious,
I'm sure for us no good 'twill be,

For our plagues will increase

Unless we have peace,
And the King and his realms agree.

The King without them can't long stand,

Nor they without the King ;
'Tis they must advise, and 'tis he must

command.

For their power from ms must spring.
"KM a comfortless Hway
When none wJl oboy ,
If the King han't hia light, which way

shall we?

They may vote and make laws,
But no good they will cause
Till the King and Mfl realms agree

A pure loligion I would have,

Not coixt with human wit ,
And I cannot endure that each ignoiant

knave

Should daio to meddle with it.
The tricks of the law
I would fain withdraw,
That it maybe ahko to each degree •
And I fain would have such
As do meddle so much,
Whoa the King and the Church agree

Wo have pray'd and pray'd that the wars

might ooane,

And we bo free men made ;
I, would fight, if my fighting would bring any

peace,

But war is become a trade.
Our sorvantH did ndo
With aworda by their side,
And made their masters footmen be ;
But we'll be no more slaves
To the beggars and knaves
Now the Kmg and the realms do agree.

Anonymoius — Between 1642 aauL 1G84.

734 — THE TTJB-PEEACEEB

With face and fashion to be known,
With eyes aJl white, and many a groan,
With neck awry and snivelling tone,
ATI/I liandkerchief from nose now-blown,
And loving cant to sister Joan ;
'TiH a new teacher about the town,
Oh ' the town's new teacher '

With cozening laugh, and hollow cheek,
To get new gatherings every week,

With paltry sense as man can speak,
With some aTpp.11 Hebrew, and no Greek,
With hums and haws when wtuff 's to seek ,
'Tis a now teacher, &c.

With hair out shorter than the brow,
With little band, as you know how,
With cloak like Paul, no coat I trow,
With surplice none, nor girdle now,
With hands to thump, nor knees to bow ;
'Tis a new teacher, &o.

With shop-board breeding and intrusion,
By some outlandish institution,
With Calvin's method and conclusion,
To bring all things into confusion,
And far-stretched sighs for more illusion;
'Tis a now teacher, &o

With threats of absolute damnation,
But certainty of some salvation
To his new sect, not every nation,
With election and reprobation,
And with some use of consolation ,
'Tus a new teacher, &c.

With troops expecting Trim at door
To hear a sermon and no more,
And women follow Vwi good store,
And with great Bibles to turn o'er,
Whilst Tom writes notes, as bar-boys scoie,
'Tis a now teacher, &o.

With double cap to put his head in,

That looks like a black pot tipp'd with tin ;

While with antic gestures he doth gape and

gnn;

The sisters admire, and he wheedles them in,
Who to cheat their husbands •fchTnlg no sm ,
'Tis a new teacher, &o.

With groat pretended spiritual motions,
And many fine whimsical notions,
With blind zeal and large devotions,
With broaching rebellion and raising com-
motions,
And poisoning the people with Geneva

'Tis a new teacher, &c.
Samuel Butler— Between 1042 and 1684

735.—THE NEW LTTANT.

From an extempore prayer and a godly ditty,
From the churlish government of a city,
From the power of a country committee,
Libera nos, Domino

From the Turk, the Pope, and the Scottish

nation*

From being govern* d by proclamation,
And from an old Protestant, quite out of

fashion,

Libera, <&c<

ANONYMOUS ]

THE OLD PBOTESTANT'S LITANY [FOURTH

From meddling with those that aio oat of oui

reaches,
From a fighting priest, and a fcoldioi that

preaches,
From an ignoramus that writes, and a woman

that teaches,

Libora, <fco

From the doctrine of deposing of a king,
From the Directory, or any such thing,
From a fine new marriage without a ring,
Libora, &c

From a city that yields at the first summonH,
From plundering goods, either man or

woman's,

Or having to do with the House of Commons,
Libera, &o

From a stumbling horse that tumbles o'er and

o'er,

From ushering a lady, or walking before,
From an English-Irish rebel, newly come o'er,
Libera, &c.

From compounding, or hanging in a silken

altar,
From oaths and covenants, and being pounded

in a mortar,

From contributions, or free-quarter,
Libera, &c.

From mouldy bread, and musty boor,
From a holiday's fast, and a Friday's cheer,
From a brother-hood, and a she-cavalier,
Libera, &o

From Nick Neuter, for you, and for you,
From Thomas Turn-coat, that will never prove

true,
From a reverend Rabbi that's worse than a

Jew,

Libora, &c

From a country justice that still lookb big,
From swallowing up the Italian fig,
Or learning of the Scottish jig,
Libera, &o.

From one that euros not what he saith,
Fiom trusting one that never payoth,
From a private preacher and a public faith,
Laboia, £o

From a vapouring horse and a Itomulhootl in

buff,
Fiom roaring Jack Caveo, with money httlo

enough,

From beads and such idolatrous stuff,
Libera, &o.

From holydays, and all that'H holy,

From May-poles and fiddlers, and all that'H

jolly,

From Latin or learning, since that in folly,
Libera, &o.

And now to make an end of all,
I wish tho Koundhoads had a fall,
Or else woro hanged in Goldsmiths' Hall
Amon. Bonedicat Dominus.

Anov^inous.— Between 1642 and 1(584.

736— THE OLD PROTESTANT'S LITANY.
That thou wilt bo pleased to grant onr

From being taken in a
From believing of the printed lion,
From the Devil and from tho Excise,
Libera, &c.

From a broken pate with a pint pot,
From fighting for I know not what,
And from a friend as fithe as a Scot,
Libora, £c,

From one that speaks no sense, yet talks all

that ho can,

From an old woman and a Parliament man,

From an Anabaptist and a Presbyter man,

Libora, &o.

From Irish rebels and Welsh hubbub-men,
From Independents and their tub-men,
From sheriffs' bailiffs, and thoxr club-men,
Libera, &o.

And quite destroy all tho viporH* nent«,
That England and her true religion molontH,
To rogamufl, audi not*.

That thou wilt bo pleased to censure with pity
Tho present estate of our onco f amouH city ,
Let her still bo govern' <! by xnon junt and
witty,

To rogaimiH, &o

That thou wilt bo ploaKorl to oonmdor tho

Tower,
And all other prisons in tho Parliament^

power,
Whore King Charlow IIIH friondtt find thoir

welcome but Hour,

To rogamuM, &o

That thou wilt bo pleased to look on tho grief
Of tho King'H old servants, and Houd them

relief,
Restore to tho yeomen o' th* Guard chinoH of

boat.

To rogamuH, Ac

That thou wilt bo pleased very quickly to bnu. ,
Unto his just rights our HO mueh-wrong'd

King,

That ho may bo happy m everything,
To rogamuft, &o.

That Whitehall may Rhino in its pristine Infltro,
That tho Parliament may make a general

That knaves may bo puutah'd by mon who aro
To rogamua, &o.

From 1649 to 1689.1

HEY, THEN", UP GO WE

[ANONYMOUS.

That now tho dog-days aro fully expired,
That those cuisod curs, which our patience

havo tired,

May suffer what is by true justice required,
Te rogamus, &o

That thou wilt bo pleased to incline conqu'ring
Thomas

(Who now hath both city and Tower gotten
from us),

That he may be just in performing1 his pro-
mise,

Te rogamus, &c.

That our hopeful Prince and our gracious

(Whom we hero m England long tune havo

not seen)
May soon be restored to what they have

been,

To rogamus, &c.

That tho rest of the royal issue may be
From thoir Parliamentary guardians sot free,
And be kept according to their high degree,
To rogamus, &c.

That our ancient Liturgy may be restored,
That tho organs (by bGetaries so much ab-

horr'd)
May sound divine praisoH, according to tho

word,

To rogamus, &c

That tho ring in marriage, tho cross at tho

font,
Which tho Devil and tho Roundheads so much

affront,

May bo used again, as boforo thoy woro wont,
Te rogamuH, &o.

That Episcopacy, used m its right kind,

In England once more entertainment may

find,
That Scots and lowd factions may go down

the wind,

Te rogamus, Ac.

That thou wilt bo pleased again to restore
All things in duo order, as they woro before,
That the Church and tho State may bo vox'd,
no more,

To rogamus, &o.

That all the King's fnonds may on joy their

And not be kept, as thoy have boon, at low

rates,
That tho poor may find comfort again at their

Te rogamus, Ac.

That thou wilt all our oppressions remove,
And giant us firm faith and hope, join'd with

truo love,

Convert or confound all which virtue reprovo,
Te rogamus, &c.

That all peevish socts that would live tm-

controlTd,
And will not be govorn'd, as all subjects

should,
To Now England may pack, or live quiet i' th'

Old,

Te rogamus, &c.

That gracious l^mg Charles, with Thi« children

and wife,
Who long tune have suffer' d through this civil

strife,

May end with high honour their natural life,
Te rogamus, &o

That they who have seized on honest men's

treasure,

Only for their loyalty to God and to Csssar,
May in time convenient find measure for

measure,

Te rogamus, &o.

That thou all these blessings upon us wilt

send,

We are no Independents, on Thee we depend,
And as we believe, from all harm us defend ,

To rogamus, &c.
Arwnyinous. — Between 1642 cmd 1684.

737 —HEY, THEN, UP GO WE

Know this, my brethren, heaven is clear,

And all the clouds ore gone ,
Tho righteous man shall flounbh now,

Good days aro coming on
Then come, my brethren, and be glad,

And eke rejoice with me ;
Lawn sleeves and rochets shall go down,

And hey, then, up go wo

We'll break the windows which the whore

Of Babylon hath painted,
And when the Popish saints aro down

Then Barrow shall bo sainted ;
There's neither cross nor crucifix

Shall stand for men to see,
Rome's trash and trumpery shall go down,

And hey, then, up go we.

Whatever the Popish hands have built

Our hammers shall undo ;
We'll break their pipes and burn their copes,

And pull down churches too ,
We'll exorcise within tho groves,

And toaoh beneath a iiee ;
We'll make a pulpit of a cask,

And hey, then, up go we.

We'll put down universities,

Where learning is profest,
Because they practise and maintain

The language of tho Beast ,
We'll dnvc tho doctors out of doois,

And all that learned be ;
We'll cry all aits and learning down,

And hey, thon, up go wo.

ANONYMOUS ]

THE CAMEROSTTAN- CAT

[FOURTH PKitroD.—

We'll down with deans and probonds too,
l And I rejoyce to toll ye

Wo then shall got oui fill of pig1,

And capons for the bolly
We'll burn the Fathers' weighty tomes,

And make tho School-men fleo ,
Wo'U down with all that smells of wit,

And hoy, thon, tip go we

If once the Andehrif»tian crew

Bo crash* d and overthrown,
We'll teach the nobles how to stoop,

And keep tho gentry down
Good manners have an ill report,

And torn to pride, wo floe,
We'll therefore put good manners down,

And hoy, thon, np go wo.

Tho name of lords shnll be abhorr'd,

For every man 's a brother ,
No reason why in Church and State »

One man should rule another ;
But when tho change of government

Shall set our fingers free,
We'll make those wanton sisters stoop,

And hoy, thon, up co we

What though the King and Parliament

Do not accord together,
Wo have more cauno to bo content,

This it* our sunshine weather •
For if that reason should take place,

And they should onoo agrea,
Who would bo in a Roundhead'^ rase,

For hoy, thon, up go we

What should wo do, then, in thi« case

Lot's put it to a venture ,
If that wo hold out woven years' space

We'll sue out our indenture
A time may come to make us mo,

And time may set us frco,
Except tho gallows claim hi& due,

And hoy, thon, uj> go wo

738 —THE CAMERONTAN CAT

There was a Cameraman oat

Was hunting for a proy,
And in tho house she catoh'd a mouse

tTpon the Sabbath-day.

Tho Whiff, being offended

At sneh an act profane,
Lay by his book, tho cat ho took,

And bound her in a chain

" Thou damned, thou cursed creature,

This deed so dark with thoo,
Think'st thou to bring to hell bolow
Mjr holy wife and mo P

Assure thyself that for tho deed
Thou blood for blood shalt pay,

For killing of tho Lord's own mouHe
Upon tho Sabbath-day "

Tho presbyter lat<l by tho book,

And earnestly ho prtiyM
That tho great HIII tho cut had done

Might not on him be laid

And straight to execution

Poor PuHHy she was drawn,
And high hang'd up upon a tree —

The preacher sung a psalm.

And whon tho work was ended,
They thought tho cat near (load,

Sho gave a paw, and then a mew,
And stretched out her hoatl

" Thy name," «aid he, " shall certainly

A beacon still remain,
A terror unto evil ones
For evermore, Amen "

Anowywou* — Iltxtiw&i 1G42 ami 1684.

739-— I THANK YOIT

Tho hierarchy is out of dato,

Our monarchy was sick of late,

But now 'tis grown an excellent state

Oh, God a-meroy, Parliament t

Tho teachers know not what to say,
Tho 'prentices have leave to play,
Tho people have all forgotten to pray ;

Still, God a-morcy, Parliament f

Tho Roundhead and tho Cavalier
Have fought it out almost sovon year,
And yot, methinkn, they are novor the near
Oh, God, &e.

Tho gentry are HeqnoHtorM all ;
Our wives you find at (JolclHimtli TI«U,
For there they moot with tlie dcwl and all ;
Still, floci, &i>

Tho Parliament are grown to that height
They core not a pin what IUH Majonty with ;
And they pay all tlujir debts with tlio ptiblio
faith

oh, a«>a, &«.

Tliough all wo have he.re in l>rouglit to

nought,

In Ireland wo have whole lonlnhipH bought,
There wo Hliall one day Im noh, 'iw thought •
Still, God, &o.

Wo must forsake our father and mother,

And for tho State undo onr own brothor,

And never leave murthoriag one another .

Oh, God, &c.

Fn»* 1649 to 1089 ]

THE ROUNDHEAD

[ANONTOOUS.

Now tho King- is caught and the devil is dead,
Fairfax must bo disbanded,
Or elso lie may chance be Hotham-ed.
Still, God, &c

They hare made King Charles a glorious king,
He was told, long ago, of such a thing ,
Now ho and his subjects have reason to sing,
Oh, God, &c

Anonymous — Between 1642 and 1084

740 — THE PURITAN

With faco and fashion to be known,
For one of sme election ,
With eyes all white, and many a groan,
With neck aside to diaw in tone,
With harp in 's noso, or ho IH none
See a new teacher of the town,
Oh the town, oh the town'w now teacher !

With pato cut shorter than the brow,
With little ruff starch'd, yon know how,
With cloak like Paul, no capo I trow,
With Rurplico none , but lately now
With hands to thump, no knooa to bow
Soo a now toachor, &o.

With coz'nmg cough, and hollow cheek,
To got now gathoringH ovoiy wook,
With paltry change of ami to cle,
With some small Hebiow, and no Gicok,
To find out woxita, whon ntuff 'a to seok
Soo a now toiwjhor, &<•

With Hhop-board brooding and intrusion,
With Homo outlanfliHh institution,
With CJrHino'n catoohimn to muHo.on,
With syntom'8 method for confusion,
With grounds Htrong laid of moro illusion
Soo a new teacher, <fec.

With rights indifferent all damned,
And made unlawful, if commanded ,
Good works of Popery down banded,
And moral laws from him estranged,
Except the Habbath still unchanged
See a now teacher, &o.

With speech unthought, quick revelation,
With boldness in predestination,
With threats of absolute damnation,
Yet yea and na/tj hath some salvation
For his own tnbo, not eveiy nation
Soe a now teaoher, &o

With after license oast a crown,
When bishop new had put him down ,
With tricks calTd repetition,
And doctrine newly brought to town
Of teaching1 men to hang and diown
Soe a new teacher, &o

With flesh-provision, to keep Lent,
With shelves of sweetmeats often spent,

Which new maid bought, old lady sent,
Though, to be saved, a poor present,
Yet legacies assure to event :
Soo a new teaoher, &o.

With troops expecting him at th' door,
That would hear sermons, and no more ,
With noting tools, and sighs great store,
With Bibles great to turn them o'er,
While he wrests places by the score
See a new teaoher, &o

With running text, the name forsaken,
With for and but, both by sense shaken,
Cheap doctrines forced, wild uses taken,
Both sometimes one by mark mistaken ,
With anything to any shapen
Sec a new teacher, &c

With new-wrought caps against the canon,
For taking- cold, tho' sure he have nono ,
A sermon's end, where ho began one,
A new hour long, when 's glass had run one,
New use, new points, now notes to stand on -
See a now teacher, &o.

John Cleveland— Between 1642 and 1684.

741 —THE ROUNDHEAD.

What creature 's that, withhis short hairs,
His little band, and huge long oars,

That this now faith hath founded v
Tho saints themselves were never such,
The prelates ne'er lulod half so much ,

Oh f auch a rogue 's a Roundhead

•

What's ho that doth tho bishops hate.
And counts their calling reprobate,

'Cause by the Pope propounded ,
And thinks a zealous cobbler better
Than learned Usher in ev'ry letter *•

Oh ' such a rogue 's a Roundhead.

What's he that doth high treason say.
As often as his yoa and nay,

And wish the King confounded ,
And dares TBflriTii-»;iin that Mr Pun
Is fitter for a crown than him ?

Oh f such a rogue 's a Roundhead

What's he that if ho chance to hear
A little piece of Comnon Pi ay or,

Doth think his conscience wounded ,
Will go five miles to preach and pray,
And meet a sister by tho way ?

Oh ' such a rogue 's a Roundhead.

What's ho that met a holy sister,
And in a haycock gently ktsa'd her P

Oh ' then his zeal abounded
'Twas underneath a shady willow,
Her Bible served her for a pillow,
And there he got a Roundhead
Samuel Butler —Betwe&n, 1642 and 1684

ANONYMOUS ] PRATPLE YOUR PLEASURE UNDER THE ROSE [FoxiHTH PERIOD --

742 — PRATTLE YOUR PLEASURE
UNDER THE ROSE.

There is an old proverb which all ono wor.a

knows,

Anything may bo spoke, if 't bo under tho rose
Then now let us speak, whilst wo are in tholimt,
Of the state of the land, and th' enormities

in't.

Under the rose bo it spoke, there w a number

of knaves,

More than over wore known m a State before ,
Bat I hope that their mischiefs have digg'd

their own graves,
And we'll never trust knaves for their Hakes

any more.

Under the rose bo it spoken, tho city *s an ass
So long to tho public to lot their gold rnn,
To keep tho King out ; but 'tis now come to

pass,
I am sure they will lose, whosoever has won.

Under the rose bo it spoken, there' s a company
of men,

Trainbands they are called — a plague con-
found 'cm —

And when, they are waiting at "Westminster
Hall,

May their wives be beguiled and begat with
cluld all!

Under the rose be it spoken, there's a damn'd

committee
Sits in hell (Goldsmiths' Hall), m tho midst of

tho city,

Only to sequester tho poor Cavaliers —
The devil take their tiouta, and tlio hangman

their oars •

Under tho rose be it spoken, if you do not

repent

Of that hoiriblo sin, your pure Parliament,
Pray stay till Sir Thomas doth bring in tho

King,
Then Derrick may chance have 'cm all in a

string.

Under tho rose bo it spoken, lot tho synod

now leave
To wrest the whole Scripture, how HOU!H to

deceive:
For all they have spoken or taught will ne'er

save 'em,
Unions they will leave that fault, hell 's sure

have 'em !

Anonymous* — Between 1642 m<l 1684.

743 —THE CAVALIER'S FAREWELL TO
HIS MISTRESS,

Fair Fidelia, tempt no more,
I may no more thy deity adore
Nor offer to thy shrine,
I serve one more divine
And farr more great than you :

I mu^t go,

Lust tho ioo

Gaino the canto and win tho day.
Let's march biavoly on,
Charge ym in tho van,
Our cauRO God'n is,
Though thoir oddn w

Ton to one.

Toinpt no more, I may not yooltl
Altho* thine oyow
A kingdomo may Mirpmo .
Leave off thy wanton toilon,
Tho high-born Prince of Wales*
Is mounted in tho field,
Whore tho royall gentry flookc.

Though alone

Nobly boino
Of a ne'er decaying stooko.

Cavaliers, be bold,

Bravely keep your hold,

He that loytorn

Is by traytors

Bought and sold.

One kiflno more, and then farewell j

Oh no, no more,

I prithoo givo mo o'er, —
Why cloudest thou thy boamoH ?
I see by these oxtroamoH
A woman's heaven or hell.
Pray the King may have hiH owno,

And tho Queen

May be seen

With her baboa on England' H throne,
Rally up your mon,
One frhflJl vanquish ten,
Victory, wo
Come to try thee

Once agon

John Adtuukon — Jletuwn 1C42 and 1084

744.— THE COBBLER AND THE VICAtt
OF BRAY.

In BedfordHhiro there dwelt a knight,

Hir Samuel by name,
Who by hi» foatH in civil broiln

Obtain'd a mighty fame

Nor was ho much lows WIHO and utout,

lint lit m both roHpoctn
To Jiamblo Hturdy Cavaliers,

And to (support tho Hoots.

Thin worthy knight wan one that Bwore

Ho would not out MH board
.Till thiH ungodly nation wafl

From Jongs and binhopH oloarM :

Winch holy vow ho firmly kopt,

And most devoutly woro
A gnzly meteor on liin faco

Till they wore both no more.

*Voift 1649 to 1689 ] THE COBBLEB AND THE VICAB OF BEAT.

[ANONYMOUS.

HIH worship was, in short, a man
Of such exceeding worth,

No pen or pencil can describe,
Or rhyming bard set forth.

Many and mighty things ho did
Both sober and in hquoi, —

Witness the mortal fray between
The Cobbler and the Vicar ,

Wluch by his wisdom and his power

He wisely did prevent,
And both the combatants at once

In wooden durance pent

Tho manner how these two fell out
And quarrell'd in their ale,

I shall attempt at large to show
Jfn the succeeding tale.

A strolling cobbler, who was wont
To trudge from town to town,

Happen'd upon his walk to meet
A vicar in his gown.

And as they forward jogg'd along,

Tho vicar, growing hot,
PITH! osk'd the cobbler if he knew

Whore they might take a pot P

" Yen, marry that I do," quoth he ;

" Here is a house hard by,
That far exceeds all Bedfordshire

IPor ale and landlady."

" Thither lot's go," tho vicar said ;

And when they thither camo,
He liked tho liquor wondrous well,

But bettor far tho damo.

And she, who, liko a cunning jilt,
Know how to please her guest,

Used all her little tricks and arts
To entertain tho priest.

The cobbler, too, who quickly saw

Tho landlady's design,
Did all that in his power was

To manage the divine*

With smutty jests and merry songs
They chatm'd the vicar so,

That ho determined for that night
No further he would go

And boing firfc, tho cobbler thought

'Twas proper to go try
If ho could get a job or two

His charges to supply.

So going out into tho street,
He bawls with all his might—

" If any of you tread awry
I'm here to set you right.

I can repair your leaky boots,
And underlay your soles ,

Backsliders, I can underprop
And patch up all your holes."

Tho vicar, who unluckily

The cobbler's outcry heard,
Prom off the bench on which ho sat

With mighty fury rear'd

Quoth he, " What priest, what holy priest

Can hear this bawling slave,
But must, in justice to his coat,

Chastise the saucy knave ?

What has this wretch to do with souls,

Or with backsliders either,
Whose business only is his awls,

His lasts, his thread, and leather P

I lose my patience to be made

This strolling varlet's sport ;
Nor could I think this saucy rogue

Could serve me in such sort."

The cobbler, who had no design

The vicar to displease,
Unluckily repeats again —

" I'm come your soals to ease •

The inward and the outward too

I can repair 'and mend ;
And all that my assistance want*

I'll use them like a friend."

The country folk no sooner heard

The honest cobbler's tongue,
But from the village far and near

They round about him throng

Some bring their boots, and some their shoes,

And some their buskins bring
The cobblei sits him down to work,

And then begins to sing.

" Death often at the cobbler's stall

Was wont to make a stand,
But found the cobbler singing still,

And on the mending hand ;

Until at length he met old Time,

And then they both together
Quito tear the cobbler's aged sole

From off the upper leather

Even so a while I may old shoes

By care and art maintain,
But when the leather 's rotten grown

All art and care is vain."

And thus the cobbler stitch'd and sung,

Not thinking any harm ;
Till out the vicar angry came

With ale and passion warm.

«' Dost thou not know, vile slave ' " quoth he,

" How impious 'tis to jest
With sacred things, and to profane

The office of a priest P

How dar'st thou, most audacious wretch!

Those vile expressions use,
Which make the souls of men as cheap

As soals of boots and shoes P

ANONYMOUS ]

THE COBBLER AND THE VIOAB OF BBAY [FoirwrH PKUIOD —

Such roprobatoa as yon betray

Our character and gown,
And would, if you had onco the power,

Tho Church itnolf pull dowm "

The cobbler, not aware that lie

Had done or naid amiss,
Roply'd, " I do not undeihtand

What you can moon by tluH

Tho' I but a poor cobbler bo,

And stroll about for broad,
Nono bottei IOVOH the Church than I

That ever woro a head

But smco you are so good at names.
And make no loud a pother, *

Til toll you plainly I'm aft aid
You're but some cobblnig brother.

Como, vicar, tho' you talk BO biff,

Our trades are near akin ,
I patch and cobble outward noalB

AH you do those -within

And I'll appeal to any man
That undorstandH tho nation,

If I han't done more good than you
In my respective station

Old leather, I must needs confohs,
I've sometimes used an now,

And often pared the soal HO noar
That I havo spoil' d tho Hhoo

You vicars, by a different way,

Have done tho very same ,
For you havo pared your doetrmon HO

You made religion lame

Your principles you've quite cJiHOwn'd,
And old ones changed for now,

That no man can distingmuli light
Which arc the false or true

I dare bo bold, yon'io on<» of those

Havo took the Covenant ;
With Cavaliers are Cavalier,

And with the saints a wunt "

The vicar at this sharp iclmkc
Begins to storm and swear ,

Quoth ho, " Thou vilo apowfcato wretch '
Dost thou with mo compare '•*

I that have caro of many ROU!H,
And power to damn or Have,

Dar'at thou thyself compare with mo,
Thou vile, ungodly knave r

I wish I had theo somewhere cluo,
I'd quickly make thoo know

What 'tiH to mako comparisons,
And to revile mo BO

Thou art an enemy to tho State,

Some priest in masquerade,
That, to promote tho Pope's designs,

Has learnt the cobbling trade *

Or O!HO some spy to Cavaliers,

And art by them went out
To cany false intelligence*,

And scatter lies about in

But whilst tho viear full of ire

Was railing at thiH into,
HIH worship, good 811 Samuel,

O'orlightod at the gate.

And asking of tho landlady

Th' occasion of tho Htir ,
Quoth she, u If you will give mo leave,

I will inform you, BIT

TliiH cobbler happening to o'orlnko

Tho vicar in hit* walk,
In friendly sort thoy forward march,

And to each other talk

Until tho parnon first proponed

To stop and take a whot ;
So cheek by jolc thoy hithor camo

Like travellers well met.

A world of hoalthft and jests wont round,

Somotimo.s a merry itilo ;
Till thoy resolved to stay all night,

So well thoy liked my alo.

Thus all things lovingly wont on,

And who ao groat aft thoy ,
Before an ugly accidont

Began this mortal fray

Tho case I take it to bo thin,—

Tho vicar being- fixt,
Tho cobbler chanood to cry his trade,

And in his cry ho mixt

Somo harmloHH wordw, which I twppoHo

Tho vicar falHely thought
Might bo cloRign'd to bautor him,

And ucauduhasu hih coat "

" If tliat bo all," quoth ho, "go out

And bid thom both oomu in ;
A dozen of your nappy alo

Will Hot Tom light itgaiii

And if tho ale nhoultl cluiuoo to fail,

For HO perhaps it may,
I liavo it in my poworn to try

A more effectual way.

Those vicarH aro n wilful tnlw>,

A roHfcloHX, htuMxnn <5n»w ,
And if thoy aro nob hnmblod <iuitx),

Tho State thoy will undo

The cobbler IH a cunning knavo,

Tluti goon about by Htnalth,
And wo i dd, inntead of imtnditig Hhoofl,

Eopair tho Commonwealth.

However, bid *om both «oino in,

This fray munt havo an end ;
Such little foudn an thono do oft

To greater mischief B tend.'1

from, 16 19 to 1689 ] THE COBBLER AJSTD THE VICAR OF BEAT

[ANONYMOUS

Without xnoro bidding out she goes

And told them, by her troth,
" There was a magistrate within

That needs must see 'em both

But, gentlemen, pray distance keep,

And don't too testy bo ,
HI words good manners still corrupt

And spoil good company "

To this the vicar first replies,

" I fear nc-jnagistiato ,
For let *om make what laws they will,

I'll still obey the State

Whatever I can say or do,

I'm sure not much avails ,
I shall still bo Vicar of Biay

Whichever side prevails

My conscience, thanks to Heaven, is come

To RTLcli a happy pass,
That I can take the Covenant

And never hang an ass

I've took HO many oaths before

That now without remorse
I take all oaths the State can make,

As moorly things of com no

Go therefore, dame, the justice toll

HIM summons I'll obey ,
And furthoi yon may lot him know

I Vicar am of Bray "

"I find indeed," tho oobbloi waitl,

" I am not much mistaken ,
This vicar knows the roady way

To save hw reverend bacon

Thm w a hopeful priest nulood,

And well deserves the ropo ,
Bather than IOHO his vicarage

Ho'd swear to Turk or Pope

For gam ho would hiw GocT dony,

His country and IU.H King ,
Swear and forswear, rocant and lye,

Do any wicked thing "

At this tho vicar sot hin tooth,

And to the cobbler flow ,
And with his sacerdotal fist

Gave him a box or two

Tho cobbler soon roturn'd tho blows,

And with both head and heel
So manfully behaved himself,

Ho made the vicar reel

Groat was tho outcry that was made,

And in tho woman ran
To toll his worship that tho fight

Betwixt them was began

" And is it so indeed p" quoth he ,
" I'll make the slaves repent "

Then up he took his basket hilt,
And out enraged he went

Tho country folk no sooner saw

The knight with naked blade,
But for his worship instantly

An open lane was made ,

Who with a stein and angry look
Ciied out, " What knaves are fcheso

That in the face of justice dare
Dibturb the public peace *

Vile rascals ' I will make you know

1 am a magwtiate,
And that as such I bear about

Tho vengeance of the State

Go, seize them, Ealph, and bring them m,

That I may know the cause,
That first induced them to this rage,

And thus to break the laws "

Ralph, who was both hit* &quire and elerk,

And constable withal,
I1 th* name o' th' Commonwealth aloud

Did for assistance bawl

The words had hardly pas&'d hia month

But they secure them both ,
And Ralph, to show his furious zeal

And hatred to the cloth,

Buns to the vicar through the crowd,

And take** him by tho throat
" How ill," says he, " doth this become

Your oharaotei and coat '

Was it for thw not long ago

You took tho Covenant,
And in most Holomn manner swore

That you'd become a saint p "

Aud here he gave him such a pinch

That 'made tho vicar shout —
" Good people, I shall murder' d be

By this ungodly lout.

He gripes my throat to that degree

I can't his talons bear ;
And if you do not hold his hands,

He'll throttle mo, I fear."

At this a butcher of the town

Steps up to Ralph in ue, —
" What, will you squeeze his gullet through,

You son of blood and fire P

You are the Devil's instrument

To execute the laws ,
What, will you murther the poor nun

With your phanatick claws P "

At which the squire quits his hold,

And lugging out his blade,
Full at the sturdy butcher's pate

A furious stroke ho mode

A dismal outcry then began

Among the country folk ,
Who all conclude the butcher slain

By such a mortal stroke

ANONYMOUS.]

THE COBBLEK AND THE VICAIfc OF BKAY. [FOURTH PERIOD. —

But here pood foituno, that has Ml

A friendbhip for the bravo,
I* th' mok misgnidofl tlio fatal blow,

And does the butohor save.

The knight, who heard the noise within,

Buns out with might and main,
And Hoomg Ralph amidst tho orowd

In danger to bo slaui,

Without regard to ago or BOX

OH basket-hilt soply'd,
That in an instant throe or four

Lay bleeding at his side.

And greater mischiefs in his rage

This furious knight had done,
If he had not prevented been

By Dick, tho blacksmith's son,

Who catch* d his worship on tho hip,

And gave him such a squelch,
That he some moments breathless lay

Ere ho was hoard to belch

Nor was tho squire in better case,

By sturdy butcher ply'd,
Who from the shoulder to the flank

Had soundly swinged his hide

Whilst things in this confusion stood,
And knight and squire disarm9 d,

Tip comes a neighbouring gentleman
The outcry had alarm1 d j

Who riding up among the crowd,

The vicar first he spy*d,
With sleeveless gown and bloody band

And hands behind him ty'd.

" Bless mo," says ho, "what means all this ?"

Then turning round his eyes,
In the same plight, or in a worse,

Tho cobblor bleeding spies.

And looking further round he Haw,

Like one in doleful dump,
The knight, amidst a gaping mob,

Sit ponsivo on hia rump

And by hiH tide lay Ralph hit* squire,

Whom butcher fell had maul'd ,
Who bitterly bemoan' d his fate,

And for a surgeon call'd

Surprised at first he paused awhile,

And thon accosts the knight, —
" What makes you here, Sir Samuel,

In this unhappy plight P "

At this the knight gave 's breast a thump,

And stretching out his hand, —
" If you will pull me up," he cried,

"I'll try if I can stand

And then I'll let you know the cause ;

But first take care of Ealph,
Who in my good or ill SUCCORS

Doth always stand my half."

In hhort, he got hut worship up

And lot him in tho door ,
Whore ho at length xolatcs tho tulo

As I have told before.

When ho had hoard tho stoiy out,

The gentleman replies, —
" It is not in my province*, sir,

Your worship to advino

But were I in your worship'** ploco,

Tho only thing I'd do,
Was first to reprimand tho fools',

And thon to lot thorn go.

I think it firrtt advinablo
To take them from tho rabble,

And lot them como and both sot forth
Tho occasion of the squabble.

This is tho Vicar, sir, of Bray,

A man of no repute,
Tlio scorn, and scandal of hi« tnbo,

A loose, ill-manner' d brute.

Tho cobblor 'a a poor strolling wretch
That monds my servants' shoos ;

And often calls an ho gooH by
To bring me country news."

At this his worship grip'd his beard,

And in an angry mood,
Swore by tho laws of chivalry

That blood required blood.

" Besides, I'm by tho Commonwealth

Entrusted to chastiHO
All knaves that straggle up and down

To raise such mutinies

However, since 'tiH your request,
They shall bo call'd and hoard ;

But neither Ralph nor I can grant
Such rancals Hhould be clear' d "

And BO, to wind tho tale up Bhort,
They were call'd in together ,

And by the gentleman worn ankM
What wind 'twas blew them thither,

" Good alo and handsome landladies
Yon might have nearer homo ;

And therefore 'tis for something more
That you HO far are oomo,"

To which tho vioar answor'd first, —

" My living is HO small,
That I am foiccd to Htroll about

To try and got a call."

" And," quoth tho cobbler, " I am forced
To leave my wife and dwelling,

T' OHcapo tho dongor of being proHH'd
To go a colonollmg.

Thoio's many an honest jovial lad

Unwarily drawn in,
That I have reason to suspect

Will scarce got out again.

4Yom 1649 to 1689 ] THE COBBLEE AND THE VICAR OF BRAY.

[ANONYMOUS.

The proverb says, Harm watch harm catch,

I'll out of danger keep,
For he that sleeps in a whole skin

Doth most securely sleep.

My business is to mend bad soals
And stitoh up broken quarters *

A cobbler's name would look but odd
Among a list of martyrs."

" Faith, oobbler," quoth the gentleman,

" And that shall be my case ,
I will neither party join,

Let what will come to pass.

No importunities ox threats

My firfc resolve shall rest ,
Come here, Sir Samuel, whore's his health

That loves old England best

I pity those unhappy fools

Who, ere they were aware,
Designing and ambitious mon

Have drawn into a snare

But, vicar, to oomo to the case, —

Amidst a senseless crowd,
What urgod you to such violence,

And made you talk so loud ?

Passion I'm AUTO does ill become

Your character and cloath,
And, tho' tho cause bo no' or so just,

Brings scandal upon both

Vicar, I spoak it with regret,

An inadvertent priest
Renders himself ridiculous.

And everybody's jest"

Tho vioar to be thus rebuked

A little tune stood muto ;
But having gulp'd his passion down,

Replies, — " That cobbling brute

Has treated mo with such contempt,

Such vile expressions used,
That I no longer could forbear

To hear myself abused

The rascal had the insolence

To give himself the he,
And to aver h' had done more good

And saved more soals than I.

Nay, farther, sir, this miscreant

To tell me was so bold,
Our trades were very near of kin,

But his was the more ell

Now, sir, I will to you appeal

On such a provocation,
If there was not sufficient cause

To use a little passion ? "

" Now," quoth the cobbler,
I'll prove it to his face,

AH this is mere suggestion,
And foreign to the case

1 with your leave

And since he calls so many name?

And talks so veiy loud,
I will be bound to make it plain

'Twas he that raised the crowd.

Nay, farther, I will make 't appear

He and the priests have done
More mischief than the cobblers far

All over Christendom.

All Europe groans beneath their yoke,

And poor Great Britain owes
To them her present miseries,

And dread of future woes.

The priests of all religions are,

And will be still the same,
And all, tho9 in a different way,

Are playing the same game."

At •fc'hia the gentleman stood up,— •

" Oobbler, you run too fast ,
By thus condemning all the tnbe,

You go beyond your last

Much mischief has by priests been done,

And more is doing still ;
But then to censure all alike

Must be exceeding ill.

Too many, I must needs confess,

Are mightily to blame,
Who by their wicked practices

Disgrace the very name

But, cobbler, stall the major port

The miner should conclude ;
'To argue at another rate 's

Impertinent and rude."

By this tune all the neighbours round

Were flook'd about the door,
And some wore on the vicar's side,

But on the cobbler's more

Among the rest a grazier, who

Had lately been at town
To sell his oxen and his sheep,

Brim-fall of news came down.

Quoth he, "The priests have preach' d and
pra/d,

And made so damn'd a pother,
That all the people are run mad

To murfcher one another

By their contrivances and arts
They've play'd their game so long,

That no man knows which side is right,
Or which is in the wrong

Tm sure I've Sxnithfield market used

For more than twenty year,
But never did such murmurings

And dreadful outcries, hear.

Some for a church, and some a tub,

And some for both together ,
And some, perhaps the greater part,

Have no regard for either

ANONIMOUH "]

THIS L'OlirijTES AND THE VICAB OF BJfcAY FOURTH PHKIUH —

Some tor a king, and some lor u<;\e ,

And some have hoiikeuuc;H
To mend the Commonwealth, ami i wke

An empire of oil kings.

What's worse, old Noll is marching of'',
And Dick, his heii-apparo'it,

Succeeds liiin in the government,
A very lame vicegerent.

He'll reign but littto time, poor iool,
But sink beneath the Htato,

That -will not fool to rwle the fool
'Bovo common horseman's weight

And rulers, when they loso the power,

lake horses ovorweigh'd,
Must oitKor fall and brook their LJI*JCH,

Or else turn perfect jade."

Tlio vicar to be twice rebuked

No longer could contain ;
But thus replies, — " To knaves LV y^i

All arguments arc yuan.

The Church must UHQ her «u'ii i* F»«-li,

Tho other will not do ,
The clergy waste their breath uiwl tuu«i

On miscreants like yon.

You are HO stubborn and ho proud,

tio dull and propoHsost,
That no instructions con prevail

How well soo'or addroht.

"Who would reform such ropiobatcn,
Hunt drub them aoundly first ,

I know no other way but that
To moke them wine or just "

" Fie, vicar, fie," his patron wud,

" Sure that is not the way ;
Yon should instruct your uuditom

To suffer or obey

Those wore the doctnnts th^t of old
The learned fathers tanght. ,

And 'twas by them the Church
Was to perfection brought.

Come, vicar, lay your feuds

And calmly take your <iip ;
And lot UH try in friendly wise

To make the matter up.

That's certainly the wisw <»o«r*o9

And bettor too by far ,
All men of prudence strive 1o <juen *

The sparku of civil war.

By turiouti heats and ill odw*o

Our noighbourR are midoixi,
Then let us timely caution take

From their destruction,

if we would turn our heads about.
And look towards forty-one,

We soon sK-aW see what little jara
Those cruel wara began.

A one-eyed cobbler then was one

Of that robollious croxv,
That did m Charles the mmi.}i*ri blood

Their wicked hands imbrue.

I mention this not to dei»ie,o

This cobbler's reputation,
Whom I have always houcht iV.imd,

And iLsofiil m liin station

JBxit this I urge to lot you seo

Tho danger of a fight
IJotwoon a cobbler and a priost,

Though IKS wore ne'er so right.

Tho views am a numerous tribe,

Ho arc the cobblers too ;
And if a general quarrel rise.,

What must the country do J

Our outward and our inward soul*

Must quickly want repair ;
And all the neighbourhood around

Would the misfortune share."

"Sir," quoth the grower, "J believo

Our outward soals indeed
May quickly want the AobblorV heli>

To bo from loakingn freed

But for our inward souls, 1 think
They're of a worth too groat

To bo committed to the earo
Of any holy cheat,

Who only servos his God for gam,

Religion IK ILLS trodo ;
And 'faB by such as those our (Jhurrh

So scandalous is made.

Why should I trust my soul with nn<t
That preaches, swears, and prays,

And the next moment contradicts
Himself m all ho suys F

IliH solemn oaths he looks upon.

As only words of course *
Which hko their wives our fathers took

For bettor or for worse.

But ho takes oaths as some take \v »-N,

Only to servo lus ease ;
And rogues and w — H, it is well krim\ u.

May part whene'er they pleaw»,'*

At this tho cobbler bolder gnw,
And stoutly thus roply'd, —

'* If you're so good at drubbing, sir,
Your manhood shall bo tryM.

What I have said I will maintain,

And farther prove witliol —
I daily do moro good than you

In my respective call.

I know your ohawwvfcor," quoth he,
" You proud inttulting vicar,

Who only huff and domineer
And quarrel in yoxir liquor.**

From 1649 to 1689 ] COUNTRY SONG, " THE BESTQEATION "

[ANONYMOUS.

The honest gentleman, who saw

'Twould come again to blows,
Commands the cobbler to forbear,

And to the vicar goes.

" Vicar," says he, " for shamo give o'or

And mitigate your rage ;
You scandalize yonr cloth too much

A cobbler to engage.

All people's eyes are on your tnbo,

And every little ill
They multiply and aggravate,

And will because they will

But now let's call another cause,

So lot this health go round ,
Be peace and plenty, truth and light, *

In good old England found "

Quoth Ealph, " All this IB empty talk,

And only tonda to laughter ,
If thcHo two varlots should bo spaied,

Who'd pity tw hereafter ?

Your worship may do what you pica&e,

Hut I'll have satisfaction
For drubbing and for damages

In this ungodly action.

I think that you can do no IORB

Than nond thorn io the HtocJts ,
And I'll aHHint the constable

In using- in then hockw

Thoro lot 'cm Hit and fight it out,

Oi Hoold till they are f nonds ,
Or, what is bettor much than both,

Till I am made amends."

"Balph," quoth the knight, "that's well
adviaod,

Let them both hither go,
And you and the flub-magistratc

Take care thai it bo MO.

Let them be look'd in face to face,

Bare buttocks on the ground ;
And let them in that posture Hit,

Till thoy with UH compound

Thus fixt, we'll leave them for a tune,

Whilst we with grief relate,
How at a wake this knight and squire

Got each a broken pate."

Anonymous. — Between 1642 cwwZ 1684

745.— A COUNTEY SONG, INTITULED
THE BESTOBATION.

Come, come away

To the temple, and pray,

And sing with a pleasant strain ,

The Bchismatiok 's dead,

The liturgy 's read,
And the King enjoyes his own again

The vicar is glad,

The cleik is not sad,
And the parish cannot refrain

To leap and rejoyce

And lift up their voyce,
That the King enjoyes his own again*

The country doth bow

To old justices now,
That long aside have been lain ,

The bishop 's lostored,

God is rightly adored,
And the King onjoyos his own again.

Committee-men fall,

And majors generall,
No more doe those tyrants xeign ;

There's no sequestration,

Nor new doounaticto,
Tor the King enjoyes the sword again.

The scholar doth look

With joy on his book,
Tom whistles and plows amain ,

Soldiers plunder no more

As they did horetofoie,
For the King onjoyes the sword again

The citizens trade,

The moichants do lade,
And send their ships into Spam ;

No pirates at soa

To make them a prey,
For the King onjoyes the sword again

The old man and boy,

The clergy and lay,
Their joyes cannot contain ,

'Tis bettor than of late

With the Church and the State,
Now the King enjoyes the sword again

Let's render our praise

For these happy dayes
To God and our sovereign ,

Your drinking give o'er,

Swear not as before,
For the King bears not the sword in vain.*

Fanaticks, be quiet,

And keep a good diet,
To cure your crazy brain ,

Throw off your disguise,

Go to church and be wise,
For the King bears not the sword in vain

Let faction and pride

Be now laid aside,
That truth and peace may reign ,

Let every one mend,

And there is an end,
For the king bears not the sword in vain,

Anomjinous — 1661

ANONYMOUL, J

THE LOYAL SOLDIEB

[FOURTH PERIOD,—

746— THE LOYAL SOLDIER

When in the Bold of Mars wo lie,

Amongst those martial wights,
Who, nevor daunted, arc to d.yo

For King and oountrio's rights ,
As on Belona's god I wait,

And hor attendant bo,
Yet, being absent from my mate,

I live in misery.

When lofty winds aloud do blow,

It snowoth, hail, or rain,
And Charon in his boat dotli row,

Yet steadfast Til remain ;
And for my shelter m Homo barn creep,

Or under some hedge lye ,
Whilst such as do now strong castlefl keep

Knows no such misery

When down in straw wo tumbling lye,

With Morpheus' charms asloop,
My heavy, sad, and momnful eye

In security so deep ,
Then do I dream within my arms

With thoe I sleeping lye,
J?hon do I dread or fear no harmw,

Nor feel no misery.

When all my joys are thus eompleat

The cannons loud do play,
The drums alarum straight do beat,

Trumpet sounds, horse, away !

Awake I then, and nought can find

But death attending me,
And all my joys are vaiuHht quite, —

This is my misery.

When Hunger oftentimes I fool,

And water cold do drink,
Yot from my colours I'll not Htoal,

Nor from my King will nlirink ;
No traytor base shall make mo yield,

But for the canwo I'll bo •
This is my love, pray Heaven to whiold,

And farewell miHory

Then to our arms we straight do fly,

And forthwith march away ;
Few towns or cities we oomo nigh

Good liquor us deny ;
In Lethe deep our woes wo oteop —

Our loves forgotten bo,
Amongnt tho jovialst wo ring,

ffiftftg tip all misery.

Propitious fate, then be more kind,

Grim death, lend mo thy dart,
0 sun and moon, and oko tho wind,

Great Jove, take thou our part ,
That of those JBoundhoads and thoHO war*

An end that we may BOO,
And thy great name we'll all applaud,

And hang all misery.

. — 1086.

THE JOTH PERIOD,

FEOM 1689 TO 1727.

FTIHESE thirty-eight years produced a Glass of writers in proso and poetry, who, during "die
JL whole of the eighteenth century, were deemed the boat, or nearly the best, that the
country had over known The central period of twelve years, which compose the leign of Anne
(1 702-14), was, mdeod, usually styled the " Augustan Era of English Literature," on account of
its supposed resemblance in intellectual opulence to the reign of the Emperor Augustus. This
opinion has not boon followed or confirmed in the present age The praise due to good sense,
and a correct and polished style, is allowed to the prose writers, and that duo to a felicity in
painting artificial life, is awarded to the poets , but modem critics seem to have agreed to
paRR ovor those qualities as of secondary moment, and to hold in greater estimation the
writings of the times preceding the Restoration, and of our own day, as being more boldly
original, both in stylo and in thought, more imaginative, and more sentimental The " Edin-
burgh Review" appears to stato the prevailing sentiment in the following sentences —
" Speaking generally of that generation of authors, it may be said that, as poets, they had no
force or greatness of fancy, no pathos and no enthusiasm, and, as philosophers, no compre-
honsivonoHS, dopth, or originality They are sagacious, no doubt, neat, clear, and reasonable ,
but, foi tlio most part, cold, timid, and superficial " The some critic represents it as their
chief praiHO that they corrected the indecency, and polished the pleasantry and sarcasm, of the
vicious school introduced at tho Restoration. " Writing," ho continues, " with infinite good
sonso, and groat grace and vivacity, and, above all, writing for tho first timo in a tone that
was peculiar to tho uppor ranks of society, and upon subjects that were almost exclusively
interesting to thorn, they naturally figured as tho most accomplished, fashionable, and perfect
writers which tho world had ovor seen, and made tho wild, luxuriant, and humble sweetness of
our earlier authors appear rudo and untutored in the comparison " While there is general
truth in these remarks, it must at the same time be observed, that the age produced several
writers, who, each in his own lino, may be called extraordinary. Satire, expressed in forcible
and copious language, wan coitainly earned to its utmost pitch of excellence by Swift. The
poetry of elegant and artificial life was exhibited, in a perfection never since attained, by
Pope The art of describing the manners and discussing the morals of the passing age, was
practised for tho first time, with unrivalled felicity, by Addison And with all the licentious-
ness of Oongrevo and Farquhar, it may be fairly said that English comedy was in their hands
what it had never boon before, and has scarcely in any instance been since — Chambers5
" Cyclopedia of English Literature," vol. i , p 534

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

" Matthew Prior, a distinguished poet, was
born in 1664, in London according to one
account, according to another, at Wimborne,
in Dorsetshire. His father dying when he
was young, an uncle, who was a vintner, or
tavern-keeper, at Charing Cross, took him

under his care, and sent him to Westminster
School, of which Dr Busby was then master.
Before he had passed through the school, his
uncle took him home, for the purpose of bring-
ing him into his own business , but the Earl
of Dorset, a groat patron of letters, having
found him one day reading Horace, and being
pleased with his conversation, determined to

BIOQBAPHIOAIi NOTICES

[FIFTH PBBIOD —

give him an university education. He was
accordingly admitted of St. John's College,
Cambridge, in 1682, proceeded bachelor of
arts UL 1686, and was soon after elected to a
fellowship. After having proved his poetic
talents by some college exorcises, he was in-
troduced at conit by tho Earl of Dorset, and
was so effectually rooommondod, that, in 1690,
ho was appointed secretary to the English ple-
nipotentiaries who attended the congress ^at
tho Hague Being now enlisted in tho service
of the court, his productions were, for some
years, chiefly directed to courtly topics, of
which one of tho most considerable was an
Ode presented to King William in 1695, on
the dA^th of Queen Mary In 1697, ho was
noxmittted secretary to tho commiflsioners for
the treaty of JByswiok, and, on ^ his return,
was made secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of
Ireland. He wont to Franco in tho following
year, as secretary, first to the Earl of Port-
land, and then to tho Earl of Jersey ; and being
now regarded as one conversant in public
affairs, he was summoned by King William to
Loo, where ho hud a confidential audience. In
tho beginning of 1701 ho sat in Parliament for
East Gnnsteod.

"Prior had hitherto been promoted and acted
with tho Wnigs , but tho Tones now having
become the prevalent party, he turned about,
and ever after adhered to them. Ho oven
voted for the impeachment of those lords who
advised that partition treaty in which ho had
been officially employed. * Like most converts,
ho embraced his now friends with much zeal,
and from that time almost all his social con-
nections wore confined within the limits of his

' Tho successes in the beginning of Queen
Anne's reign were celebrated by the poets on
both sides , and Prior sung the victories of
Blenheim and Bozruhos ho afterwards, how-
over, joined in tho attack of the great general
who had been his theme It will not bo worth
while hore to take notice of all his changes UL
the political world, except to mention tho dis-
graces which followed the famous congress of
TJtreoht, in which he was deeply engaged. For
the completion of that busmoaa ho was left in
Franco, with the appointment*) and authority
of an ambassador, though without tho title,
the proud Duke of ShrowBbury having refused
to bo ]oinod in commission with a man BO
meanly born. Prior, however, publicly as-
sumed the character till ho was superseded by
tho Earl of Stair, on tho accession of Qoorgo I,
The Whigs being now in power, ho was wol-
comod, on his return, by a warrant from tho
House of Commons, under which ho was com-
mitted to tho custody of a mesHengor. Ho
was examined before tho Privy Council respect-
ing his share in tho peace of Utrecht, was
treated with rigour, andWalpolo moved an
impeachment against kirn, on a charge of high
treason, for holding clandestine conferences
with the French plenipotentiary. His name

was orceptod from an act of giaco panned in
1717 , at length, however, he was diHclmrgod,
without being brought to trial, to end hw dayw
in retirement

" Wo are now to consider Prior among tho
poetical characters of the time En IUH w n tings
is found that incongruous imxtuio of light and
rathor mdooent topics with giavo, and ovon
religious ones, which was not* uncommon at
that ponod. In tho faculty of tolling a story
with OOHO and vivacity, ho yioldH only to Swift,
compared to whom IUH humonr XH ocoamoiially
strained and quaint. HIM songs and amatory
pieces are generally ologaut and oloHHioal. Tho
most popular of hifl HOHOUH compendious aro,
'Honry and Emma, or tho Nut- ttrown Maid,'
modernized from an aiitiquo original, and
' Solomon,' the idea of which IB takou from
the Book of EocleHiaKtes. ThoHo aro har-
monious in their vornifioation, Hploiulul ami
correct in their diction, and copiouH in poetical
imagery; but thoy exert no powerful oflbtrt, on
the feelings or the fancy, and aro cmfoohlud
by prolixity. His * Alma,' a piece of pliilo-
sophical pleasantry, WOH written to conHolo
himself when under confinement, and dwplayB
a considerable share of reading, AH to IUH
elaborate effusions of loyalty and patriotimn,
they seem to have sunk into total flotftoot.

" The life of Prior wa» out short by a lingor-
ing illness, which closed his dayn at Wimpolo,
the seat of Lord Oxford, in September, 1721,
in the fifty-eighth yoar of his age/' — A
" Select Bnt. Boots/1 p. 239.

JOSEPH ADDJSON.

"Joseph Addison was tho <8on of llio Bo-
vorond Lancelot Addwon, at whoHO parHoua#o
at Mhlston, near Ambronbury, Wiltnhiro, ho
was born in 1072 At tho ago of fiftoim In*
was entered of QUOOH'H Oolitic, Oxford,
where he dintintfniHhod himHfllf by IUH pro-
ficiency m classical literature, Qspwuilly in
Latin poetry. Tie WOH aftorwanls ulwtrtl a
demy of Mu^dalon Collngo, whnro ho took tho
degrees of bachelor and maHtoi of artn. In
his twenty-HOOond y<»ar ho tweamo an author
in hw own language, imbliHhing a short <w»py
of vorhOH aVldroHHod to tho votoran poet,
Drydon. Other pioooH in VWHO and proso
succpodod , and m 1(«)5 ho opoiKid tho camir
of his fortune at* a litortiry man, by a compli-
mentary poem on one of the uumpaitfiiH of
King William, addressed to tho Tjord-koopcr
Somors. A ponwion of ,£300 from tho crown,
which his patron obtained for him, enabled
him to indulge his inclination for travel , and
an epistolary poem to Lord Halifax in 1701,
with a prose relation of hat* travolH, published
on his return, aro diHtingitishod by tho Hpiiit
of liberty which thoy breathe, and which,

From 1689«o 1727]

BIOGKRAPHIOAL NOTICES.

during life, was his ruling passion The moat
famous of bis political poems, ' Tho Cam-
paign/ appeared in 1704. It was a task
kindly imposed by Lord Halifax, who inti-
mated to him that the wnter should not lose
his labour. It was accordingly rewarded by
an immediate appointment to the post of
commissioner of appeals

" This will be the proper place for consider-
ing the merits of Addison in his character of
a writer in verse. Though Dryden and Pope
had already secured the first places on the
British. Parnassus, and other rivals for fame
were springing to view, it will scarcely be
denied that Addison, by a decent mediooiity
of poetic language, rising occasionally to
superior efforts, has deserved that degree of
praise, which, in general ebtimation, has been
allotted to him. It cannot bo doubted that
playful and humorous wit was the quality in
which ho obtained almost uniivalled pre-
eminence $ but the reader of IIJB * Poem to Sir
Godfrey Kneller,' will discover, in, the com-
parison of the painter to Phidias, a very happy
and elegant resemblance pointed out in "hip
verso His celebrated tragedy of 'Cato,'
equally remarkable for a correctness of plan,
and a sustained elevation of style, then un-
usual on the English stage, was further dis-
tinguished by the glow of its sentiments in
favour of political liberty, and was equally
applauded by both patties.

" A very short account will suffice for the
remainder of his works. His connection with
Stoolo engaged him in occasionally writing in
the 'Xatler,' the 'Spectator,1 and the
'Guardian,' in which his productions,
BOUOUS and humorous, conferred upon him
immortal honour, and placed him deservedly
at the head of his class Some other peri-
odical papers, decidedly political, were traced
to Addiflon, of which the 'Freeholder' was
ono of tho moat conspicuous. In 1710 he
married the Countess Dowager of Warwick,
a connection which is said not to have been
remarkably happy. In tho following year he
was raised to the office of one of tho principal
secretaries of state , but finding himself ill
suited to the post, and in a declining state of
health, he resigned it to Mr Craggs. In
reality, his constitution was suffering from on
habitual excess in wine , and it is a lamentable

circumstance that a person so generally free
from moral defects, should have given way to
a fondness for tho pleasures of a tavern life.
Addison died in June, 1719, leaving an only
daughter by the Countess of "Warwick." — See
Sponce's "Anecdotes", Iiord Mocaulay ; Dr.
lie-older, Dean, of Peterborough ; Abbe Plulip-
peaux, of Hois ; Lady M. W. Montagu; Dr
Drake; Bkor's "Lect. on Rhetoric and
BoUes-Iiottros " , Thackeray's " English Hu-
mourists of tho Eighteenth Cent." , Professor
T. B. Shaw , Dr. Young , Professor C. D.
Cleveland; Dr. Hurd, Robert Chambers,
Dr. Anderson, Maunder, Professor G. "W.

Greene. We may say that Baskerville pub-
lished a splendid edition of Addison's works
in 1761, of which the genial Dibdin says :
" He who hath the Baskerville edition, hath
a good, and even a glorious, performance.
It is pleasant, and, of course, profitable, to
turn over the pages of these lovely tomes at
one's TusculTun, on a day of oppression from
heat, or of confinement from ram." Bohn had
also published a beautiful edition. See Alli-
bone's "Crit. Diet of Eng. Iat."; Camp-
bell's "Spec."; Shaw, Spaldmg, Angus. ,

JONATHAN SWIFT.

Jonathan Swift, born 1667, died 1745:
" When we come to the name of Swift we feel
ourselves again approaching an Alpine region.
The air of a stern mountain-summit breathes
chill around our temples, and we feel that 'if
we have no amiability to melt, we have alti-
tude at least to measure, and strange1 pro-
found secrets of nature, like the ravines of
lofty hills, to explore. The men of the six-
teenth and seventeenth centuries maybe com-
pared to Lebanon, or Snowdon, or Berilo-
mond, towering grandly over fertile valleys,
on which they smile — Swift to the tremendous
Bomsdale Horn in Norway, feheddmg abroad,
from a brow of four thousand feet high, what
seems a scowl of settled indignation, as if re-
solved not to rejoice even over the wide-stretch-
ing deserts which, and nothing but which, it
everlastingly beholds Mountains all of them,
but what a difference between such a mountain
as Shokspere and such a mountain as Swift '

" Instead of going minutely over a path so
long since trodden to mire as the life of
Swift, let us expend a page or two in seeking
to form some estimate of his character and
genius. It is refreshing to come upon a new
thing in the world, even though it bo a strange
or even a bad thing, and certainly, in any age
and country, such a being as Swift must have
appeared on anomaly, not for his transcendent
goodness, nor for his utter badness, but be-
cause the elements of good and evil wero
mixed in him into a medley so astounding, and
in proportions respectively so large, yet un-
equal, that the analysis of the two seemed to
many competent only to the Great Chemist,
Death, and that a sense of the disproportion
seems to have moved the man himself to in-
extinguishable laughter, — a laughtev which,
radiating out of fo.g own rciTignl.^ heart as a
centre, swept over the circumference of all
beings within his reach, and returned crying,
* Give, give,' as if he were demanding a uni-
versal sphere for the exercise of the savago
scorn which dwelt within him, and as if he
laughed not more * consumedly* at others than

he did at himself.

32*

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[FIFTH PERIOD —

" Bro spooking of Swift as a man, lot na say
something about his genius That, liko his
character, was intensely peculiar It was a
compound of infinite ingenuity, with very
little poetical imagination, of gigantic strength,
with a propensity to incessant trifling, of
passionate purpose, with the clearest and
coldest expression, as though a furnace wore
fuelled with snow. A Brobdignagian by size,
he was for over toying with. Lilliputian slings
and small craft One of the most violent of
party men, and often fierce as a domouioo in
temper, his favourite motto was Vivo In &a</o-
tellc The creator of entire now worldw, wo
doubt if his works contain more than two or
three linos of genuine poetry Ho may bo
compared to one of the locusts of the Apoca-
lypse, m that he had a tail like unto a Hoor-
pion, and a sting in his tail , but his ' face is
not as the face of man, las hair is not as the
hair of women, and on his head theio IB no
crown like gold.' All Swift's creations are
more or loss disgusting Not one of them is
beautiful. Hib Lilliputians are amazingly life-
like, but compare them to Shakspero'n fairies,
such as Poasoblossom, Cobweb, and Mustard-
seed ; his Brobdignagians are excrescence** like
enormous warts ; and his Yahoos might have
been spawned ra the nightmare of a drunken
butcher The same coarseness characterises
his poems and his ' Tale of a Tub.' Ho might
well, however, in his old ago, exclaim, in refe-
rence to the latter, c Good God ' what a genius
I had when I wrote that book' ' It is the
wildest, wittiest, wickedest, wealthiest book
of its size in the English language Thoughts
and figures swarm in every corner of its pages,
till you think of a disturbed nest of angry ants,
for all the figures and thoughts are black and
bitter One would have imagined the book to
have issued from a mind that had been gather-
ing gall as well as sense in an antenatal state
of being.

"Swift, in all his writings— sermons, poli-
tical tracts, poems, and fictions — is essentially
a satirist Ho conwibtod originally of throe
principal parts, — sense, an intense feeling of
the ludicrous, and wolfish passion , and those
were sure, in certain circumstances, to ferment
into a spirit of satire, ' strong as death, and
cruel as the grave.' Born with not very much
natural benevolence, with little purely pootio
feeling, with funous passions and unbounded
ambition, ho was entirely dependent for his
peace of mind upon success. Had he become,
aa by his talents he was entitled to be, tho
prime minister of his day, ho would havo
figured as a greater tyrant in tho cabinet than
even Chatham But as ho was piovontod from
being the first statesman, ho became tho first
satirist of his tune From vain efforts to
grasp supremacy for himself and his party, he
retired growhng to his Dublin den, and there,
as Hainan, thought scorn to lay his hand on
Mordecai, but extended his murderous purpose
to all the people of tho Jews,— and as Nero

wished that Rome had one nook, that lio
might destroy it at a blow, — HO fcJwiit was
stung by hw personal disappointment to hurl
out scorn at man and wispic'ion at his Maker.
It was not, it miiHl bo notuwl, the evil wlno.h
was in man which excited hiH hatred un<!
contempt , it was man himself. Ho WOH not
inoioly, as many aie, <liK#UHto<l with tho holfiHh
and malignant olomontH wludi aio mmglod in
man'H nature and character, and ditiposod t<>
trace thoin to any causo Have a Divnio will,
but ho believed man to bo, an a wholo, the-
work and child of the devil ; and ho told the
imaginary creator and creature to Ihou facw,
what ho thought tho tiuth, — * Tho devil i« aw
ass' Hia was tho very madnosH of Mam-
chrism. That horony hold that tho devil WOH
one of two aboriginal eroutivo poworrt, hut
Swift seoined to believe at timo« that ho WOH
tho only God. J<Vom a Yahoo man, it WUH
difficult to avoid tho inference of a demon
deity. It IH very laughable to find wnturH- in
Blachwood and cluowlmro striving to provo
Swift a Christian, OH if, wliatcver woro hm
profession**, and however ainooro he might be
often in those, tho whole tendency of hiH
writings, hw perpetual and unlimited ahutw o£
man's body and soul, hw doiuul of every
human virtue, tho filth ho pourw upon every
phase of human nature, and tho doctrine** h«
wsinnatos — that man has follon indeed, Imt
fallen, not from the angel, but from tho animals
or, rather, is just a bungled "bruto,— woro not
enough to show that either hiH notions woro
grossly orronoouH and perverted, or that ho
himself deserved, liko another Nobuchadnoamr,
to bo driven from men, and to havo a beast' K
heart given unto him. SomotimoH lie rcmimdn
us of on impure angol, who has nurpriHod man
naked and asleep, looked at him with micro-
scopic eyes, ignored all IUH peculiar marku of
fallen dignity and incipient gotlhood, and m
hoartioHH rhymoH roportod accordingly.

" Swift belonged to tho name school as Popo,
although tho fommmo olomont which WOH in
tho latter modified and mellowed IUH foolingH.
Popo wan a more HuoooHHful and a happior man
than Swift Ho WOH muoh Hmallor, too, m Koni
as well OH in body, and his gall-organ WOH pro-
portionally IOHH Popo'H fouling to humanity
was a tiny malice , Hwift'H booamo, at length, a
block malignity Popo alwayH romindH UH of
an injured and pouting horo of LiUiput, ' doing-
woll to bo angry ' under tho gourd of a pookol-
flap, or Hquoalmg out hw gnof H from tho oontro
of an empty HnulT-box , Swift to a man, nay,
monster of minauthropy Jn minute and mi-
croscopio viHion of human infirmiiioH, Popo
oxcolfi oven Swift , but then you always con-*
coivo Swift loaning down a giant, though
gnarled, ntaluro to bohold them, while Popo in
on thoir lovol, and has only to look straight
before him. Pope' H wrath ia alwayH moafltaod ,
Swift's, as in tho c I^gion-Olnb/ is a whirl-
wind of ' black fire and horror/ in tho breath
of which no flesh con live, and agauxst which

From 1689 to 1727.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

genius and virtue themselves furnish no
shield.

" After a31, Swift might, poihaps, hare put
in tho plea of Byron —

* All my faults pei chance thou knowost,
All my madness none can know.'

There was a black spot of madness in his
'brain, and another black spot in his heart ,
and the two at last met, and closed up his
destiny in night Lot human nature forgive
its most determined and systematic reviler,
for the sake of the wretchedness in which he
was involved all his hfo long- He was born
(in 1CG7) a posthumous child , ho was brought
up an object of chanty, ho spent much of
his youth in dependence , ho had to leave his
Irish college without a degree , ho was flat-
tered with hopes from King William and the
Whigs, which woio not fulfilled , he was con-
demned to spend a great part of his hfo in Ire-
land, a country ho detested, ho was involved —
partly, no doubt, through his own blame — in
a succession of fruitless and miserable in-
tnguos, alike of love and politics; ho was
soured by want of success in England, and
spoiled by enormous popularity in Ireland,
he was tried by a kind of religious doubts,
which would not go out to piayor or fasting ;
ho was haunted by tho fear of tho droadiul
•calamity which at last befell him , his senses
and bin soul loft him oxio by one , ho became
iirnt giddy, then deaf, and Ihon mad; his
madnoHH was of tho mont terrible sort — it was
a * wlont rage , * for a year or two lie lay
.<lnml) , and at last, on tho 19th of October,

' Swift expired, a driveller and a show,1

leaving his money to found a lunatic asylum,
and his works as a many-volumed legacy of
CUTHO to mankind ' ' — Gilfillan's " Less-known
Brit Poets," iii. 4.3-47 See AiMn's " Select
Brit. Poots" , Shaw's " Hist. Eng. lit"

ALEXANDEE POPE.

" Alexander Pope, an English poet of great
ommonco, was bom in London in 1C88 His
father, who appears to have acquired wealth by
trade, was a Roman Catholic, and being disaf-
fected to thepohtiofl of King William, ho retired
to Binfiold, in Windsor Forest, whore he pur-
chased a small house, with some acres of land,
and lived frugally upon the fortune he had
•saved Alexander, who was from infancy of
a delicate habit of body, after learning to
read and write at homo, was placed about his
eighth year under tho care of a Romish pnest,
who taught fa™ the rudiments of Latin and
Greek. His natural fondness for books was

indulged about this period by Ogilby's trans-
lation of 'Homer,' and Sandys' s of Ovid's
6 Metamorphoses,' which gave him so much
delight, that they may bo said to have made
him a poet. He pursued his studies under
different priests, to whom he was consigned.
At length he became the director of his own
pursuits, the variety of which proved that he
was by no means deficient in industry, though
his reading was rather excursive than method-
ical. From his early years poetry was adopted
by him as a profession, for his poetical read-
ing was always accompanied with attempts at
imitation or translation , and it may be affirmed
that he rose at once almost to perfection in
tins walk His manners and conversation
wero equally beyond his years , and it does
not appear that he ever cultivated friendship
with any one of his own age or condition

" Pope's ' Pastorals ' wore first printed in a
volume of Tonson's 'Miscellanies' in 1709,
and were generally admired for the sweetness
of the versification and the lustre of the
diction, though they betrayed a want of
original observation and an artificial cast of
sentiment in fact, they were anything rather
than real pastorals In the mean tune he
was exercising himself in compositions of a
higher class, and by his ' Essay on Criticism,'
published two years aftorwaids, he obtained a
great accession of reputation, merited by the
comprehension of thought, the general good
sense, and the frequent beauty of illustration
which it presents, though it displays many of
tho inaccuracies of a juvenile author In
1712, his * JBapo of the Lock,' a mook heroic,
made its first appearance, and conferred upon
him the best title ho possesses to tho mont of
invention Tho machinery of the 'Sylphs'
was afterwards added, an exquisite fanoy-
pioco, wrought with unrivalled skill and
beauty. Tho ' Temple of Fame,' altered from
Chaucer, though partakuig of the embarrass-
ment of tho original plan, has many passages
which may rank with his happiest efforts

" In the year 1713, Pope issued proposals for
publishing a translation of Homer's ' Iliad,'
tho success of which soon removed all doubt
of its making an accession to his reputation,
whilst it afforded an ample remuneration for
his labour. This noble work was published
in separate volumes, each containing four
books ; and the produce of the subscription
enabled him to take that house at Twickenham
which ho made so famous by his residence and
decorations He brought hither his father
and mother; of whom the first parent died
two years afterwards The second long sur-
vived, to be comforted by the truly filial ittton-
tions of her son. About this period he
probably wrote his ' Epistle from Elowa to
Abolard,' partly founded upon the extant
letters of these distinguished persons. He
has rendered this one of the most impressive
poems of which love is the subject ; as it is
likewise the most finished of all his works of

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

(.FIFTH PERIOD —

equal length, in point of language and versifi-
cation Tho exaggeration, however, which ho
has given to the most impassioned expressions
of Eloisa, and IUH deviations from tho true
story, have boon pomtod out by Mr Bomng-
ton in his * Lives of tho Two Lovers '

"During tho years in which ho was chiefly
engaged with tho * Iliad/ ho published several
occasional workn, to which ho usually prefixed
very elegant prefaces ; but tho doHiro of farther
emolument induced him to extend his transla-
tion to tho ' Odysrfoy,' in which task ho on-
gaged two inferior hands, whom ho paid out of
the produce of a now subscription lie himself,
however, translated twelve books out of the
twenty-four, with a happiness not inferior to
his ' Iliad ' , and tho transaction, conducted
in a truly mercantile spirit, was tho source of
, considerable profit to him. After tho appear-
ance of tho ' Odyssey,' Pope almost solely made
himself known as a satirist and moralist In
1728 ho published the throe firHt books of the
' Dunciod,' a kind of mock heroic, tho object
of which was to overwhelm with indelible
ridicule all his antagonist**, together with
some other authors whom spleen or party led
him to rank among the dunoos, though they
hod given him no personal offence, Notwith-
standing that the diction and versification of
this poem arc laboured with tho greatest caro,
wo shall borrow nothing from it Its imagery
is often extremely gross and offensive; and
irritability, ill-nature, and partiality, are so
prominent through the whole, that whatever
ho gains as a poet, ho loses as a man. Ho
has, indeed, a claim to tho character of a
satirist in this production, but none at all to
that of a moralist.

" Tho other selected pieces, though not en-
tirely free from tho same defects, may yet be
tolerated , and his noble work, called tho
'Ensay on Man,' which may stand in tho
first class of ethical poems, does not deviate
from tho stylo proper to itn topic. This piece
gave an example of tho poet's extraordinary
power of managing argumentation in verso,
and of compressing his thoughts into clauses
of the most energetic brevity, at* well as of
expanding them into passagon distinguished by
every poetic ornament. The origin of this
essay is, however, generally ascribed to Lord
Bolingbroko, who was adopted by tho author
as his ' guide, philosopher, and friend ' , and
there IB little doubt that, with respect to man-
kind in general, Pope adopted, without always
fully understanding, tho system of Boling-
broko

" On his works in proso, among which a col-
lection of letters appears conspicuous, it is
unnecessary hero to remark His life WOK not
prolonged to thn period of old age ; an oppres-
sive asthma indicated on early decline, and
accumulated in&rmitiOM incapacitated h*gi from
pursuing the plan he hod formed for now
works After having complied, through the
instigation of a Catholic friend, with the cere-

monies of that religion, ho quietly expired on
May 30th, 17U, at ^tho ago of fiity-wx Ho
waw interred at Twickenham, whore »i monu-
ment was erected to his memory by tho com-
mentator and legatee oL IIIH writings, Bishop
Warburton.

" Itogardod as a poet, wlulo it IH allowed
that Pope wan deficient m invention, hi« other
qualifications will wareoly bo disputed; and
it will generally bo admitted that no JflngliHli
wiiter has carried to a greater degree eor-
rectnofls of versification, Htiougi.li and Hplou-
dour of diction, and tho truly poetical power
of vivifying and adorning every Hubjoot.thntho
touched r.Hio popularity of his productions
has boon proved by their constituting a Hehoo]
of JKngliKh poetry, which in part continues to
tho present time "— Aikin's "Select Unt.
Poets," pp. 345, JJ4C.

THOMAS TICTOQLL.

This poet is now "ohiofly remembered from
lus connection with Addition* Ho wan born at
Bridekirk, near Carlisle. In April, 1701, ho
became a member of Queen's College, Oxford.
In 1708, ho was made M.A., and two yoarn
after was chosen TPollow Ho hold IIIH Fellow-
ship till 1726, when, marrying in Dublin, lio
necessarily vacated it Ho attracted Addinon' H
attention first by sorao elegant linen in praifie
of Bosamond, and then by tho * Prospect of
Peace,' a poem m which Tiokoll, although
called by Swift WhiggiummuH, for once took
the Tory Hide Tins poem Ad<hnon, in Hpito
of its politics, prawed lughly in tho Njwrkttttr,
which led to a lifelong JnendHhi]) botwoon
thorn Tickoll commoncod contributing to tho
flprrtittttr, among othor things publwlung thorn
a poem entitled tho ' Royal I*rogroHH ' Homo
time after, ho produced a truncation of tho
first book of tho Thad, wluuh Adduvm dwlanxl
to bo snpoiior to Popo'H ThiH le,d Iho latter
to imagine that it WOH AddiHou'n own, although
it is now, wo boliovo, certain, from tlio MS.,
which still oxiHtH, that it was a voritablo pro-
duction of TiokoH'H. Whou Addwon wont
to Iiolimd, as secretary to Lord Sundorland,
Tickell accompanied him, and WILH omplovod
ui public buHinoHH. "Whon AdtUnon bwMtnio
Hocrotary of State, he mode Tu^koll Under-
secretary; and whon ho died, ho loft him tho
charge of publinlmig hi« worku, with an
oarnoHt roootnmon<lation to tho caro of Oraggn.
Tiokoll taithfwlly performed tho tawk, pre-
fixing to them an ology on hin departed friend,
which w now his own ohiof title to fame. In
3725, ho was mode secretary to tho Lordn-
Justioos of Ireland, a placo of great trust and
honour, and which ho retained to his death.
Thus event happened at Bath, in tho year

From 1689 to 1727 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

" His genius was not strong, but elegant and
refined, and appears, as we have just stated,
to best advantage in his linos on Addison's
death, which aie warm with genuine love,
tremulous with sincere sorrow, and shine
with a sober splendour, such as Addison's
own exquisite taste would have approved." —
Gilfillan's " Less-known Brit Poets," vol ui.,
pp 29, 80.

SIB SAMUEL G-ABTH

Sir Samuel Garth, died 1718—1719 He
was a native of Yorkshire, educated at Peter
House, Cambridge, took the degree of M.D
in 1691, and was admitted follow, Juno 26,
1C93 Iu 1087 ho commenced a dispute be-
tween the physicians and apothecaries, the
apothocanoH opposing the design of the phy-
sicians to furnwh the poor with advice gratis,
and medicines at prune cost To hold the
apothocanoH up to public reprobation and
ridicule, Garth published, in 1699,. 4to, his
satirical poem of the " Dispensary," which
pleased the town so much, that it went
through three editions in a few months. See
AUibono's "Grit Diet Eng Lit", Dr. John-
son's " Lives of the Poets " , Gilfillan's " Less-
known Brit Poets "

BISHOP KEN

Bishop Ken, bom 1637, died 1710. He
wan educated at Wiuchowtor School, whence
ho removed to New College, Oxford, whore
he was elected follow About 1680 ho
wan appointed chaplain to the Ptinoess
of Orange, whom ho accompanied to Hol-
land He afterwards wont with Lord
Dartmouth to Tangier**, and on his return,
was made chaplain to Charles II., whom he
attended in his lost lUnosH, but wan hindered
iioiu exorcising the dutioH of hiH function by
the Jtomish priests The hang, who had a
groat rofiard for him, nominated him to the
biHhoprio of Bath and Wells, which was con-
firmed by JamoB EC. Ken was one of the
seven bishops sent to the Tower for resisting
the tyranny of his sovereign. Ho however
refused to take the oathn at the Revolution,
for which ho was deprived Queen Anno
granted him a pension of J2200 per annum,
and he was universally esteemed for his
amiable manners, childlike simplicity, and
unaffected piety A meeker and a bravei
man never lived, and by his pure and holy
life he has thrown a lustre on the bench of
bishopn Ho published several works of
piety, and wrote some exquisite hymns, and
also on epic poem, entitled " Edmund " He
was born at Borkhampstoad, Herts, and died
in Wiltshire See Beeton's "Diet Univer.
Biog"

NAHUM TATE

Nahum Tato, an Irish poet , he was
appointed Laureate in 1692. He wrote " Pa-
nacea," a poem on tea , ten dramatic pieces, a
number of poems on various subjects, and, in
conjunction with Biady, translated the Psalms
into metre Born at Dublin, 1G52; died in
London, 1715. See Beeton's "Diet. TJniv.
Biog"

SIR BICHABD BLACKMOBE.

Sir Eiohard Blackmoie, bom 1658 (?), died
1729 He was a physician, hod an extensive
practice, knighted by William III , and wrote
several epic poems, of which the " Creation"
has been admitted into the collections of the
British Poets Johnson remarks, that "Black
more, by the unremitted enmity of the wits,
whom he provoked more by his virtue than his
dulness, has been exposed to worse treatment
than he deserved," and he adds that uthe
poem on ' Creation ' wants neither harmony
of numbers, accuracy of thought, nor elegance
of diction" Shaw's "Hist Eng. Lit.";
Alhbone's «eCnt. Diet Eng Lit"

AMBROSE PHILIPS

Ambrose Philips, born 1675, died 1749.
" Educated at St John's College, Cambridge,
was a inond of Addibon and Steele, but was
violently attacked by Pope He wrote three
tragedies and some Pastorals, which were
much admired at the time, but are now
deservedly forgotten. 'The pieces of Philips
that please best,' observes Johnson, care
those which, from Pope and Pope's adherents,
procured him the name of ' Nomby Pamby,'
the poems of short lines, by which ho paid
his court to all ages and characters, from
Walpole, the ' steorer of the realm,' to Miss
Pultoney in the nursery The numbers are
smooth and sprightly, and the diction is
seldom faulty They aie not much loaded
with thought, yet, if they had been written
by Addison, they would have had admirers.' "
—Shaw's "Hist Eng. Lit," p 312.

JOHN GAT

John Gay, born 1688, died 1732 " Gay was
the second son of John Gay, Esq , of Eiithel-
stook, near Great Tomnorfcon, Dovonbhire
His parents died during hib infancy, and after
receiving his education at Uornbtaplo, the

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[FIFTH PERIOD —

poot was placed apprentice to a silk-morcor
in London The Duchess of Monmouth in
1712 (by which timo G-ay had appeared as a
poot) made him her private secretary, and he
attracted the notice and friendship of Pope
and the other leading htorary men of the time
c Gay was the general favourite of the whole
association of wits , bnt they regarded him
as a playfellow rather than as a partner/
His connections with tho Tory party excluded
him from the patronage of tho house of
Brunswick , but after tho loss of an illusory
wealth in tho wreck of tho South Sea Scheme
in 1720, the compelled industry of the
luxurious and indolent poot loalizod for him
a tolerable competency. Sheltered in tho
last years of his life under tho hospitable roof
of his noble patrons, the Duke and DuchoHH
of Quoensbury, and in the enjoyment of an
affectionate correspondence with his friends,
Pope and Swift, he suddenly died of fever in
1732 Tho death of this single-hearted man
was deeply lamented

" Gay is best known by his Fables and his
' Beggar's Opera ' The former bear tho first
rank in tho language of their class of writing ,
the latter, though tho applications of its
political satire are obsolete, and its morality
not especially commendable, still, by tho
vigour and liveliness of its portraitures,
retains its place on the stage. It bamnhed
the affectations of the Italian Opera, as his
Pastorals, written in ridicule of those of
Ambrose Philips, effectually suppressed tho
false taste in that species of composition.

"Tho stylo of Guy is fluent, lively, and
natural. His genius is not of a high order,
but is eminently adapted to tho subjects it
has selected Ho may bo termed the inventor
of the English Ballad Opera. Tho mont
popular of his ballads is * Black-eyed Susan/ "
— Sorymgoour'H "Poetry and Poets of Britain,"
pp 29G-7 Seo Campbell's • Spec " , A1L-
bone's " Crit. Die Bng Lit " , Dr Johnson's
"Info of Gay"; Haalitt's "Loot Eng
Poets", "Biog. Brit", Swift's Works;
Pope's Works, Spencer's "Anecdotes";
" Mischief arising from the Beggar' w Opera " ,
" Lon Gent Mag ," vol adiu ; Howitt'H
"Homos and Haunts of Eminent Brit
Poets"; Thackeray's "Humorists of tho
Eighteenth Cent."

THOMAS PABNELL.

Thomas Parnoll, born 1679, died 1717.
" An agreeable poet, wan descended from an
ancient family in ChoHhiro His father, who
was attached to the cau«o of the Parliament
in the civil warn of CharloR I., withdrew to
Ireland after tho restoration, where he pur-
chased an estate. Hia oldest son, Thoman,
was bom at Dublin, in 1G79, and received

his school education in that city. At an
oaily ago ho was removed to the rollogo,
whore ho was adnuttod to the dogroo of MA.
in 1700, took deacon's order** in tho Hamo
year, and was ordained pnont throe yearn
afterwards In 1705 ho was prosontod to tho
archdeaconry of Cloghor, and about tho wimo
time mamod a lady of groat beauty and
merit Ho now Iwgnu to mako thoKo f roijuont
excursions to England, in which tho mont
desirable part of hin life wow thenceforth npent
His first connection wore principally with
tho WliigH, at that time in pow<»r , and Ad-
dmon, Congrovo, and Htouln arc namod
amonc? his chief companions When, at tho
latter part of Qnoon Aimo'n r<»i#n, Iho Tonon
wore triumphant, Parnoll dwrtod IUH Former
friends, and associated with Hwift, Popo,
Gay, and Arbuthnot. Swift mtroduood him
to Lord-Troaauror Harloy, and, witli the
dictatorial air which lie wan fond of awnm*
ing,inHiHtod upon tho Treasurer' H going with MH
staff in hin hand into the antichambor, whoro
Parnoll was waiting to welcome lum. It in
said of this poot, that ovory yoar, an noon aw
ho had collected tho routs of MH ontaie, and
the rovonuo of hiw bonoficoH, ho oamo ovor to
England, and spent some months, living in
an elegant utylo, and rather impairing than
improving his fortune. At this timo lie waH
an assiduous preacher in the London pulpitn,
with the intention of rising to notico; but
tho change of tho ministry at Quoon Axw<»'«
death put an end to his more brilliant pro-
spects m tho church By ineanH, howuvw,
of Swift's recommendation to Aroliliwhop
King, ho obtained a piobond, and tho valuable
living of FinglaBB

" His domoBtic happinoHR rocoivo<T a HOVOW*
shook in 1712, by tho (loath of IUH bolovod
wife , and it was tho ofloot on IUH Hpinfcn of
this affliction which Itnl lum into wirh a
habit of intomporanco in wmo an Hhorioiiwl
his days. ThiH, at least, in tho glow put
upon tho circumKtanco by IUH liiHi/orian, (j oil-
smith, who roproHontH luiu 'an in HOUIO
mcoHuro a martyr to conjugal fidnlity.' Hut
it can Koarccly bo doubted, that thin mo<lo of
life had aboody boon for mod whon IUH v<«ry
unoquol *»pintH had required tho aid of a ghiHH
for hin support. Ho died at ( Jhowtor, on IUH
way to Ireland, in July, 1717, in tho thirty-
eighth yoar of hit* ago, and waH buried in
Ti-mity Church, in that wty

" Parnoll was tho author of Hovontl piooott,
both in proHO and vorHo ; but it IH only by tho
latter that ho is now known. Of tliono a
collection was publwhod by Popo, with a
dedication to tho Marl of Oxford. Thoir
characters are oaHo, KprightlinoHH, fanoy,
cloamoKB of language, and molcxly of vortuftaft-
tion, and though not ranking among the
most finished productions ot the Jiritinh
muse, they claim a place among tho mont
pleasing. A large addition to thoso was
made in a work printed in Dublin, in 1758, of

From 1689 to 1727 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

which Dr Johnson says, ' I know not
•whence they oamo, nor have ever enquued
whither they are going ' "—Allan's " Select
Brit. Poets," p, 221.

MATTHEW GREEN.

Matthew Groon, born 1696, died 1737.
"His parents were respectable Dissenters, who
brought him up within the limits of the sect
HIH learning was confined to a little Latm ,
but, from the frequency of his classical al-
lusions, it may bo concluded that what he
read when young, he did not forgot The
austerity in which ho was educated had tho
effect of mspuing him with settled ditgubt ,
and ho flod from the gloom of dissenting
worship whon ho was no longer compelled to
attend it Thus sot loose from tho opinions
of his youth, he speculated very fieoly on
religious topics, and at length adopted the
Hystom of outward compliance with established
foims and inward laxity of belief. He seems
at one time to have been much inclined to
tho principles of Quakoiism ; but ho found that
itn practice would not agree with one who lived
* by pulling off tho hat.* Wo find that he had
obtained a place in tho Custom house, the
duties of which ho IH said to have discharge^
with great diligence and fidelity It is further
attested, that ho was a man of groat probity
and HwootuoHH of disposition, and that his
convocation abounded with wit, but of the
most inoffonsivo kind lie sooms to have
boon subject to low spiritH, an a relief from
winch ho composed his principal poem, c Tho
Spleen '

" Tho poomfl of Groon, which wore not made
public till after UIH doath, consist of ' The
Spleen'; 'Tho Grotto'; 'Versos on Bar-
clay's Apology ' , ' Tho Seeker,1 and some
smaller pieces, all comprised in a small
volume. In manner and Hubjoot they are
Rome of tho most original in our language
They rank among tho eany and familiar, but
are replete with uncommon thoughts, new
and Htuking images, and those associations
of remote ideas by some unexpected simili-
tudes, in which wit principally consists Few
poems will bear more repeated perusals , and,
with thoso who can fully enter into them,
they do not fail to become favorites " — Allan's
« Select Bzit. Poets," p 310.

AHNE. COUNTESS OF WINOHELSEA

Anne Countess of Wincholsoa, died 1720,
was the daughter of Sir William Kmgsmill of
Sidmonton, in tho county of Southampton,
maid of honour to tho Duchess of York, and
wife to Heneage Earl of Winohel&ea A col-

lection of her poems was printed in 1713;
several still remain unpublished.

"It is remarkable," says Wordsworth,
" that excepting tho e Nocturnal Boverie,' and
a passage or two in the ' Windsor Forest * of
Pope, the poetry of the period intervening
between tho publication of 'Paradise Lost'
and c The Seasons ' does not contain a single
new image of external nature." — Campbell's
" Specimens," p. 705

WILIIAM SOMEEVILLE.

William Somerville, born 1692, died 1742,
was descended from an ancient family. He
possessed an estate of £1,500 per annum,
was amiable and hospitable, and united
elegant and refined pursuits with the active
amusements which he has so graphically de-
scribed in his " Chaso " , but from deficiency
in economy and temperance, was driven, ac-
cording to Shenstone's account, to drink
himself into pains of body in order to get rid
of thoso of the mind. Campbell's " Spec "

BAMSAY.

Ho was born 1686, died 1758 He was
of a happy, jovial, and contented humour,
and rendered great services to the litera-
ture of his country by reviving the taste
for tho excellent old Scottish poets, and by
editing and imitating tho incomparable songs
and ballads current among tho people He
was also tho author of an original pastoral
poem, the 'Gentle (or Noble) Shepherd,1
which grow out of two colognes ho had
written, descriptive of the rural life and
scenery of Scotland. The complete work
appeared in 1725, and consists of a series of
dialogues in verso, written in the melodious
and picturesque dialect of the country, and
interwoven into a simple but interesting
love-story The pictures of nature given in
this charming work, equally faithful and
ideal, the exact representation of real peasant
life and sentiment, which Bamsay, with the
true instinct of a poet, knew how to make
strictly true to reality without a particle of
vulgarity, and the light but firm dohnoations
of character, render this poem far superior
in interest, however inferior in romantic
ideality, to the 'Pastor Fido,' the 'Galatea,'
or the * Faithful Shepherdess ' The songs ho
has occasionally interspersed, though they
may sometimes bo out of place by retarding
the march of events, are often eminently
beautiful, as are many scattered through
Bamsay' s voluminous collections, in which ho
combined the revival of older compositions
with imitations and originals of his own The
treasures of tenderness, beautiful description,
and sly humour which Bamsay transmitted

BIOGT&APHICAL NOTICES.

[FIFTH PKRIOD —

from Dunbar, James T , David Lyndsay, and a
thousand namclcsH national bnrdw, wore con-
centrated into ono Rploudod fooim in ilio
writings of tlio author of * Tarn O'Shantor.' "
—Shaw's "Hist ting Lit,"pp 311-2

ELIJAH FENTON

Elijah Fonton, born 1083, died 1730. A
native of Sholton, Staffordshire, odncatod at
JORUS College, Cambridge, is bout known as
the assistant of Popo in tho translation of
tho " Odysaoy " Johnnon and Worton state
that ho translated only tho Iwt, 1th, 19th,
and 20th books, but tho Earl of Orrery
asserts that ho really translated double tho
numbor of bookR that Popo has ownod *' HIM
reward was a trifle, an arrant tuflo," writes
tho Earl in a letter to Mr. Donoombo Ho
has ovon told mo that ho thought Popo feared
him more than ho lovod him Ho had no
opinion of Pope's heart, and declared him, in
tho words of Bishop Attorbnry, "Mons
ourva in coiporo onrvo." Ho was for aome
time master of tho froo Grammar School,
Sevonooks, Kont, and subHoquontly tutor to
Lord Broprhill, son of his fnond tho Earl of
Orrery He published "Poomn on Several
Ocscaflions," 1717, " Marianne," a tragedy.—
AUibono's " Gnt, Diot. Eng. Lit " , Johnson's
"laves of the Eng. Poets", Bowles* od.
of Pope.

EDWAED WABJX"

Edward Ward, born 1C67, died 1731
" Edward (familiarly called Nod) Ward was a
low-bom uneducated man, who followed tho
tiado of a publican Ho IH Haid, however, to
have attracted many eminent porHona to his
house by IUH colloquial power** OR a landloid,
to have had a general acquaintance among
authorH, and to have boon a groat retailor of
literary anecdotes In those timoH tho tavern
wan a less discreditable haunt than at present,
and his literary acquaintance miqht probably
bo extensive Ton thick volume** attest tho
industry or oacoothen of thiH facotious pub-
lican, who wrote his very will in verso Ilin
favonnto measure is iho Hudibrastic. HIH
works give a complete picture of tho mind of a
vulgar but aouto cockney. HIH Honlomeut in
the pleasure of eating and drinking, and hi» wit
and humour aro oqually gross j but hw do-
sonptions aro still ounouH and full of hfo,
and aro worth preserving, an dohnoationn of
the manners of tho timoR " — Campbell's " Spo-
cunens," p. 350

BARTON BOOTH,

Barton Booth, born 1681, died 1733, an
eminent English author. He wrote those

chaiming stanaas, " Swoi«t aio tlio oliarniH of
her I love " Ho loft a dramatic i»oco
entitled " Tlio Death of jOido," 171f\ 8vo
Tho memoirs oi Rootlx woro published in
London, 17IJ3 , also by Thcop Oibbor, ^uwi
by Mr Victor. — AUibouo'n u Orifc JDict. Kuff.
Lit."

JOHN OLTOITXON.

John Oldmixon, l>ora KJ73, diod 17-iii.
"Eidiculodm tho Taller un<Ior tho nam« of
Omikron, tho unborn p<w*t, and cmo of lh«
hcrooH of tho *Dun<»iad,' who mountM tho side*
of a lighter in ordor to plnngo wii.h mom
offbct IIw paity vmilonoo waH n^wardiMl
with tho place of collector of tho onntoniH at
tho port of Bndgewator " — Campbell* H " Hpe
oimons."

BR GEOEOE BEWELL*

Dr George Scwoll, diod Fob 8, 172f».
Ho was the author of " Sir Wftl^i JiiiloiKh,"
a tragedy , several papers iii tho fifth volamo
of the Tatlor, and ninth of the Spectator , a
life of John Philips, and Hovoriil other thm#H.
Ho was a physician at Hampwtead, with v<»ry
little practice, and chiefly HubHiKtod on tlio
invitations of tho neighbouring gontlomon, to
whom his amiable character mado him ac-
ceptable, but at hi« death not a frjond or
relative came to commit hiH loinainn to tlio
dust He was buriod in the moanoHt maiiTKT,
under a hollow troo, that was onco psut of
tho boundary of Hut clmpcb-yiu<i ol II amp-
stead. No memorial was placed o\<»i hm
remains. — CornpbolTH *' »Si)oci«u»iiH," p IW>.

THOMAS SOUTH BRNK.

TliomaR SotiUiowi<», born in UuMin,
(hod 17J.C. " Ho htiulKHl tint Jaw m tho
Temple, hut qiutto<l that prolusion for tho
army Tho clone of hiu hf» won tmnqnil
and Hurround(»d witli cornpoUntno. Southoruo
was the authoi of ten pln.yn, ibo tmmt
oonHpiououH of whidh aro i\m trajro.lhw of
'iHabclla, or tho Fatal Mairiutfo,' and th(»
pathetic drama of * Orootioko.' Tlio HiifforintfH
of tho ffonorous and unhappy Afriojtn, torn l»y
the Hlavti-trado from his <iouutry and IIIH
home, and hm lovo for Imoinda, fumiHli pfood
maioruilw to tho pathotic ^cniuH of Houthoruo,
who was tho firnt KngliHli author to hold up
to execration tho omul tins of that infernal
troino that HO long1 roiuainod a Hiituzi iipou
our country. The dwtreMH in ' iHulxtlla ' i«
alHO earned to a biffh do^roo of intouwty, and
tondernosfl and patho» may bo aHwortod to be
tho primary churwstomtKM <jf Houthcrno'a
dramatic gomus "— Shaw'a " lliHt. Enff. Lit."

Prom 1689 to 1727 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

NICHOLAS BOWE.

Nicholas Bowe, born 1673, diod 1718 "He
was descended from 2111 ancient family in
Devonshire, was tho son of John Bowe,
Esquire, a barrister of reputation and
orfcensivo practice. Being placed at West-
minster School, under Dr Busby, he
pursued the classical studies of that place
with credit At the age of sixteen he
was removed from school, and entered a
student of tho Middle Temple, it being his
father's intention to bring mm up to his own
profession • but tho death of this parent,
when Nicholas was only nineteen, freed him
from what he probably thought a pursuit
foreign to his disposition , and he turned his
chief studios to poetry and polite literature
At the age of twenty-five ho produced his
first tragedy, c The Ambitious Stepmother , '
which was afterwards succeeded by ' Tamer-
lane', 'The Fair Penitent'; 'Ulysses',
'Tho Boyal Convert1, 'Jane Shore', and
' Lady Jane Qaoy ' Of these, though all have
their merits, tho third and tho two lost alone
keep possession of the stage, but 'Jane
Shore ' in particular never fail a to be viewed
with deep interest His plays, from which
are derived his principal claims upon pos-
terity, are chiefly founded on the model of
French tragedy , and in his diction, which is
poetical without being bombastic or affected ,
in his versification, which is singularly sweet ,
and in tirades of sentiment, given with force
and elegance, ho has few competitors

" As a miscellaneous poet, Bowo occupies but
an inconsiderable place among hw coun-
trymen; but it has been thought proper to
give some of his songs or ballads m tho pas-
toral strain; which have a touching sim-
plicity, scarcely excelled by any pieces of tho
land His principal efforts, however, were
in poetical translation, and his version of
Lucan's Pharsolia has been placed by Dr
Johnson among the greatest productions of
English poetry/' — Allan's "Select Brit.
Poets," p 230.

GEOBGE LILLO

George LHlo, born 1093, died 1739, "is in
many respects a remarkable and singular
literary figure He was a jeweller in London,
and appears to have been a prudent and
industrious tradesman, and to have accu-
mulated a fair competence His dramatic
works consist of a peculiar species of what
may be called tragedies of domestic life.
The principal of them are c George Barnwell,'
whe ' Fatal Curiosity,' and « Arden of Faver-
sham.' lollo composed sometimes in verse
and sometimes in prose , he based his pieces
upon remarkable examples of crime generally

in the middle ranks of society, and worked
up the interest to a high pitch of intensity.
In c George Barnwell ' is traced the career of
a London shopman — a real person — who is
lurod by the aitifioes of an abandoned woman
and the force of his own passion first into
embezzlement, and then into the murder of
on uncle The hero of the play, like his
prototype in actual life, expiates his offences
on the scaffold. Tho subject of the * Fatal
Curiosity,' Lillo's most powerful work, is
far more dramatic in its interests. A couple,
i educed by circumstances, and by the absence
of their son, to tho lowest depths of distress,
receive into their house a stranger, who is
evidently in possession of a large sum while
he is asleep, they determine to assassinate
him for the purpose of plunder, and after-
wards discover in their victim their long-lost
son. It will be remembered that the tragic
story of ' Aiden of Faversham,' a tissue of
conjugal infidelity and murder, was an event
that really took place in the reign of Eliza-
beth, and had furnished materials for a very
popular drama, attributed, but on insufficient
evidence, to Shakspere among other play-
wrights of tho tune It was again revived
by Lillo, and treated in his characteristic
manner—a manner singularly intense in
spirit, though prosaic in form Indeed, the
very absence of imagination in this writer
may have oontubuted to tho effect ho pro-
duced, by augmenting the air of reality in his
conceptions Ho has something of the gloom
and sombre directness which we see in
Webster or Tourneur, but he is entirely
devoid of tho wild fantastic fancy which
distinguishes that great writer. He is real,
but with the reality, not of Walter Scott, but
of Defoe."— Shaw's " Hist Eng Lit ," pp.
265-6.

SIB JOHN VASTBBTTGH

Sir John Vanbrugh, born 1666, died 1726,
"was the oldest son of Mr Giles Yan-
brugh of London, merchant , he was born in
the parish of St. Stephen's, Wnlbrook, 1666.
Ho received a very liberal education, and at
tho ago of nineteen was sent by his father to
France, where he continued several years.
In 1703 he was appointed Clarenoieuz long
of arms, and m 1706 was commissioned by
Queen Anne to carry the habit and ensigns
of the order of the garter to King George the
First, then at Hanover He was also made
comptroller-general of the board of works,
and surveyor of the gardens and waters In
1714 he received the order of knighthood,
and in 1719 married Henrietta Mara,
daughter of Colonel Tarborough. Sir John
, died of a quinsey at his house in Scotland-
yard, and is interred in the family vault under

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES

[FIFTH PHRTOD.-

ihe church of St Stephen Walbrook Ho
loft only ono son, who foil at tho battle of
Fontenoy." — Campbell's " Spocimona," p. 345.

GEOBGE FABQUHA&

George Farquhar "was bom at Lon-
donderry in Ireland in 1(>78, and in his
personal as well as his literary olia-
racter ho oxomplifios tho merits and tho
defects of his nation Ho rocoivod some
education at college, but at tho early ago of
eighteen embraced the profession of an aotoi
Having accidentally wounded ono of his
comrades in a fencing-match, ho quitted tho
stage and served for some time in tho army,
in tho Earl of Orrery's regiment His mili-
tary experience enabled him to give very
lively and faithful representations of guy,
rattling- officers, and fiunishocl him with
materials for ono of his pleanantoBt comedies
His dramatic productions, which wcco mostly
written after his return to hw original
profession, are moro numerous than those
of his predecessors, and consist of sovon
plays 'Love and a Bottle,' the 'Constant
Couple,1 tho ' Inconstant,' tho 'Stage
Coach,* tho 'Twin IZavalfl,' tho 'Bo-
cnuting Officer,' and tho 'Boanx' Stra-
tagem * Theso woro produced in rapid suc-
cession, foi tho literary caroor of poor
Farquhar was comprosHod into a short spaco
of time — between 1G98, whon tho first of tho
abovo pieces was acted, and tho authoi's
early death about 1708 Tho ond of this
briof course, which terminated at the ago of
thirty, was clouded by ill health and poverty,
for Farquhar was induced to marry a lady
who gave out, contiory to truth, that sho was
possessed of somo fortune

" The woiks of Farquliar aro a faithful re-
flexion of his gay, loving, vivaciouH character ,
and it appears that down to his early death,
not only did they go ou increasing in joyous
animation, but oaJiibit a constantly aug-
menting skill and ingenuity in constiucUon,
his last works being incomparably Ms boHt
Among them it will bo unnecessary to dwell
minutely on any but tho * Constant Couple '
(tho intiiguo of which IH extremely animated),
tho ' Inconstant,' and chiofly tho ' liocruitmg
Officer' and tho 'Beaux' Stratagem1 In
Forquhar's piocos wo aro delighted with tho
overflow of high animal spirits, generally
accompanied, as in nature, by a certain
frankness and generosity Wo readily pardon
the peccadillos of hiH personages, as we
attribute their escapades loss to mnato de-
pravity than to the heat of blood and tho
effervescence of youth. His heroes often
engage in deceptions and tricks, but there is
no trace of the deep and deliberate rascality
which we see in Wyohorloy's intrudes, or of

tho thorough scoundiolmm of Vanbiugh's
sharpers. The 'Beaux' Straiagum* IH deci-
dedly the best-construeted of our author1 H
plays; and the expedient of tho twoombarrosMid.
gentlemen, who come down into tho country
disguised as tho master and Ins servant,
though not porliaps very probable, is ox-
tromoly woll conducted, and furnishes a sorios
of lively and amusing adventures Tho con-
trast between Archer and Aimwoll and I )i«k
Amlot and Brass in Vaubrugh's * < *onfo-
deracy,' shows a higher moral tono in Far-
quhai, as compaied with his prorloeossor , and
the numerous chai actors with whom they aro
brought in contact — Bonifooo thn landlord,
Cherry, Squiro Hullon, and tho iuimitablo
Scrub, not to mention (Ubbot tho highwayman,
and Father Foigard tho Irish-Froncih Jesuit —
are drawn with uovor-failmg vivacity. Pos-
sogos, expressions, nay, sometimes wholn
scenes, may bo found among tho dramas of
Farquhar, stamped with that rich humour
and oddity which engrave them on tho
memory. Thus Boniface's laudation of his
alo, ' as the saying is,' Squire Hull on '« inimi-
table conversation with Sciub. 'What divy
of tho week is it 5 Scrub. Sunday, sir, Bui.
Sunday ? Thon bring mo a dram t ' And
Scrub's suspicions • * I am sure they aro
talking of me, for thoy laughod oonsumoilly ' '
— such traits prove that Farquhar poMsossod
a truo comic genius. Tho Returns iu tho
"Recruiting Officer,' whoio Sergeant Kite
inveigles tho two clowns to onlist, and thoso
in which Captain Plume figures, are also of
high mont In thoso plays upon which I
have not thought it noooHsary to insist;, as tho
' Constant Couple ' and tho * Incousiani,' tho
reader will not fail to find sooncs worked up
to a groat brilliancy of conuo cfTtM't as, for
example, tho admirable mfinnicw between Hir
Harry Wildair and Lady Lnrewt*]!, whon tho
onvious co<iuott(» ondoavours to niako him
jealous of his wife, and ho drives hor almost
to madness by dilating on his conjugal
liappinoss Throughout Kaiqulmr's plays tho
predominant quality is a gay tfomaHlVi whinh
moio than pomponsatcs for his loss elaborate
brilliancy in sparkling ropartoo JIo s<»oms
always to writo from his heart ; and thnro-
fore, though wo shall in vain s<»ok in his
dramas for a very high standard of morality,
his writings aro froo from that inhuman tone
of blackguard hoartlossnoss whtoh disgraces
tho comio htoratme of tho time." — Shaw's
"Hiat Eng. Lit.," pp. 255-7.

GBOBOB QttANVILM,

Lord Lanndowno, born 106*7, died 1735. A
noble imitator, in an aristocratic* Bonne, of
Waller, and bottor known. " as Qranville the
polite, than Granville the poet."

FIFTH PERIOD.

From 1689 to 1727

747.— AN ODE.

Man ' foolish nrian f

Scarce know' at thou how thyself began ,
Scarce hast thon thought enough to prove

thou art ;
Yet steeled with studied boldness, thoudarest

try

To Bond thy doubting reason's dazzled eye
Through tho mysterious gulf of vast immen-
sity.
Much thou canst there discern, much thence

impart.
Vain wretch ' suppresB thy knowing pride ;

Mortify thy learned lust '
Vain are thy thoughts, while thou thyself art

dust.

Lot Wit her sails, her oars lot Wisdom lend ,

Tho holm lot politic Experience guide

Yet coaHo to hope thy short-lived bark shall

ndo
Down spreading Fate's unnavigablo tide

What, though still it farther tend P

Still 'tis farther from its end ,
And, in tho bosom of that boundless sea,
fcltili finds its error lengthen with its way
With daring pndo and insolent delight
Your doubts roHolvod you boast, your labours

crowned ,

And "EYPHKA ' your god, forsooth is found
Incomprehensible and infinite.
But is ho therefore found P vain searcher ' no
JJot your imperfect definition show,
That nothing you, tho weak dofinor, know.

Say, why should tho collected main

Itself within itself contain P
Why to its caverns should it sometimes creep,

And with delighted silence sleep
On tho loved bosom of its parent deep ?

Why should its numerous waters stay
In comely discipline, and fair array,
Till winds and tides exert their high command P

Thon prompt and ready to obey,
' Why do tho rising surges spread
Their opening ranks o'er earth's submissive

head,

Marching through different paths to different
lands P

Why does the constant sun
With measured steps his radiant journeys

run?

Why does he order the diurnal hours
To leave earth's other part, and rise on ours ?
Why does he wake the correspondent moon,
And fill her willing lamp with liquid light,
Commanding her with delegated powers
To beautify the world, and bless the night P

"Why does each animated star
Love the just hunts of its proper sphere P

Why does each consenting sign

With prudent harmony combine
In turns to move, and subsequent appear,
To gird tho globe, and regulate the yeai p

Man does with dangerous curiosity

Those unfathomed wonders try
With fancied rules and arbitrary laws
Matter and motion ho 10 strains ,
And studied linos and fictions circles draws
Then with imagined sovereignty
Lord of his now hypothesis ho reigns.
He reigns* how long1 till some usurper

rise,
And he, too, mighty thoughtful, mighty

wise,

Studies new lines, and other circles feigns
From this last tod again what knowledge
flows p

Just as much, perhaps, as shows,
That all his predecessor's rules
Were empty cant, all jargon of the Schools ,
That he on the other's ruin rears his

throne;
And shows his friend's mistake, and thence

On earth, in air, amidst the seas and skies,
Mountainous heaps of wonders rise ,
Whose towering strength will ne'er submit

To Reason's batteiics, or the mines of Wit .

Yet still inquiring, still mistaking man,

Each hour repulsed, each hour dare onwaid

press,

And levelling at God his wandering guess,
(That feeble engine of his reasoning war,
Which guids his doubts, and combats his
despair,)

MATTHEW PBIOB.J

A SONG

[FIFTH

Laws to his Maker tho learned wrotch can

give:
Can bound tint nature, and proscribe that

will,

Whose pregnant word did either ocoan fill
Can toll us whence all being's oro, and how

they move and live.

Through either ocoan, foolish man '

That pregnant word sent forth again,

Might to a world extend each atom there ,

For every drop call forth a sea, a heaven for

every star

Let cunning Earth her fruitful wonders

hide,

And only lift thy staggering reason up
To trembling Calvary's astonish1 d top ,
Then mock thy knowledge, and confound thy

pnde,

Explaining how Perfection suffered pain,
Almighty languished, and eternal died i
How by her patient victor Death was slain ;
And earth profaned, yet blessed with

deioido.
Then down with all thy boasted volumes,

down,

Only reserve the sacred one :
Low, reverently low,

Make thy stubborn knowledge bow ;
Weep out thy reason's and thy body's

eyes;

Deject thyself, that thou may'st rise ,
To look to Heaven, be blind to all below

Then Faith, for Season's glimmering light,

shall give

Her immortal perspective ,
And Grace's presence Nature' s loss retrieve .
Then thy enlivened soul shall see,
That all the volumes of philosophy,
With all their comments, never could invent

So politic an instrument,
To roach the Heaven of Heavens, tho high

abode,

Where Moses places his mysterious God,
As was that ladder which old Jacob roared,
When light divine had human darkness

cleared ,

And his enlarged ideas found tho road,
Which Faith had dictated, and Angola trod.

Matthew Pnor—Born, 1664, Dwd 1721.

748.— A SONG.

In vain you toll your parting lover,
Tou wish fair winds may waft him over.
Alas 1 what winds can happy prove,
That bear me far from what I lovo '
Alas1 what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain,
From slighted vows, and cold disdain '

Bo gentle, and in pity chooao
To wwh the wildest tempests loose

That, thrown again upon tho coast,
Where firHt my shipwrecked heart waa lost,
I may once moro repeat my pain ,
Once more in dying1 notcH complain
Ot alighted VOWR, and cold diwdain.

Matthew Z'rtor —Jiurn 1GG4, Died 1721.

749.— THE DESPAIRING SUKPHHIU)

Alexis shunned hut follow Hwama,
Their rural sports, and jocund HtramH,

(Heaven guard us all from Cupid' H bow ')
Ho lout his crook, he loft JUB flookw ,
And wandering through tho lonoly rooks,

He nourished endless woo*

Tho nymphs and shepherds round him oamo :
His grief some pity, others blame,

Tho fatal cause all kindly nook ;
He mingled his concern with their*,
He gave them back their friendly tears,

Ho aighod, but would not npoak.

Clorinda oamo among the rest ;
And she too kind concern expressed,

And asked tho reason of hin woo ;
She asked, but with an air and imon,
That made it eanily foreseen,

She feared too much to know.

The shepherd raised his mournful head ;
And will you pardon mo, ho said,

While I tho cruel truth reveal ;
Which nothing from my broant whould tear,
Which never should offend your ear,

But that you bid me toll P

'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain,
Since you appeared upon tho plam ;

You are tho cause of all my euro :
Your oyoH ton thousand dangurH dart,
Ton thouwand tormcnln vox my heart,

I lovo and I donpair

Too much, AloxiH, I have hoard ,

'Tin what T thought , 'tin what I fonmd :

And yot I pardon you, she cried ,
But you nhall prcmuHO no' or atftuu
To broatho your VOWH, or Hpoak your pam :

He bowed, clioywl, and died'

Mwtotow Crtor.—lbrn 1004, DM mi.

750.— THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS,

Celui and I tho other day
Walked o'or tho Houd-hillB to tho Hoa ;
The sotting nun adorned tho count,
HIM boamH entire, hia fteiccmoHH lent ;
And on tho norfaoo of tho doop,
Tho windK lay only not aaloop.

From 1689 to 1727 J

CUPID MISTAKEN".

[MATTH23W PBIOB.

The nymph did like the scene appear,
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair ;
Soft f eU her words, as flew the air : •
With secret joy I heard her say,
That she would never miss one day
A walk so fine, a sight so gay

But, oh the change ' the winds grow high ;
Impending tempests charge the sky ,
The lightning flies , the thunder roars ;
And big waves lash the frightened shores.
Stiuck with the horror of the sight,
She turns her head, and wings her flight ;
And trembhng vows, she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore, or view the mam.

Once more at least look back, said I ;
Thyself in that large glass descry ;
When thou art in good humour dressed,
When gontlo reason rules thy breast,
The sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thoo
'Tis then, that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of lovo ,
I bless my chain, I hand my oar ;
Nor think on all I left on shore.

But whon vain doubt, and groundless fear
Do that dear foolish bosom tear;
Whon the big lip, and watery eye
Toll me, the rising storm is nigh ;
'Tis thon, thou art yon angry mam,
Deformed by winds, and dashed by ram ;
And tho poor sailor, that must try
Its fury, labours loss than I.

Shipwrecked, in vain to land I mako ;
While Lovo and Fato still drive me back ;
"Forced to doto on thoe thy own way,
I chide thco first, and thon oboy.
Wretched when from thoe, voxod when nigh,
I with thoo, or without thoo, die !

MMUw JPrwwv— Born, 1664, IHoZ 1721.

751.— OTJPID AND GANYMEDE.

In Heaven, one holiday, you road
In wise Anaoroon, Ganymede
Drew heedless Cupid in, to throw
A T»f"X to pass an hour, or so ,
Tho littlo Tcojan, by the way,
By Hermes taught, played all the play.

The god unhappily engaged,
By nature rash, by play enraged,
Complained, and sighed, and mod, and

fretted;

Lost every earthly thing he betted
In ready-money, all the store
Picked up long since from Danae's shower j
A snuff-box, set with bleeding hearts,
Rubies, all pierced with diamond darts ;
His nine-pins made of myrtle- wood
(The tree in Ida's forest stood) ;
His bowl pure gold, tho very some
Which Paris gave the Cyprian dame .
Two table-books in shagreen covers ,
Pilled with good verse from real lovers ;
Merchandise rare ! a billet-doux,

Its matter passionate, yet true ;
Heaps of hair-rings, and ciphered seals ;
Each trifles ; serious bagatelles.

What sad disorders play begets '
Desperate and mad, at length he sets
Those darts whose points make gods adore
His might, and deprecate his power ,
Those darts, whence all our joy and pain
Arise . those darts — Gome, seven's the main,
Ones Ganymede , the usual tnok ;
Seven," slur a six ; eleven, a nick.

HI news go fast 'twas quickly known,
That simple Cupid was undone.
Swifter than lightning Venus flew :
Too late she found the thing too true.
Guess how the goddess greets her son :
Come hither, sirrah ! no, begone ;
And, hark ye, is it so indeed?
A comrade you for Ganymede !
An imp as wicked, for his age,
As any earthly lady's page ,
A scandal and a* scourge to Troy ;
A pnnoe's son ! a blackguard boy ;
A sharper, that with box and dice
Draws in young deities to vice.
All Heaven is by the ears together,
Since first that little rogue came hither \
Juno herself has had no peace :
And truly I've boon favoured less •
Tor Jove, as Tame reports (but Fame
Says things not fit for me to name),
Has acted ill for such a god,
And taken ways extremely odd.

And thou, unhappy child, she said
(Her anger by her grief allayed),
TJnhappy child, who thus hast lost
All the estate we e'er could boast ;
Whither, O whither wilt thon run,
Thy name despised, thy weakness known ?
Nor shall thy shrine on earth be crowned ;
Nor shall thy power in Heaven be owned ;
When thou, nor man, nor god canst wound.

Obedient Cupid kneeling oned,
Cease, dearest mother, cease to chide :
Gany 's a cheat, and I'm a bubble :
Tet why this great excess of trouble?
The dice were false the darts are gone s
Tet how are you or I undone P

The loss of these I can supply
With keener shafts from Cloe's eye •
Fear not we e'er can be disgraced,
While that bright magazine shall last.
Tour crowded altars still shall smoke ;
And man your friendly aid invoke : ,
Jove shall again revere your power,
And rise a swan, or fall a shower.

MM&uo Prior.— Born, 1664, Ihed 1721.

752.— CUPID MISTAKEN.

As after noon, one summer's day,
Yenus stood bathing in a nver,

Cupid a-shooting went that way,
New strung his bow, new filled his quiver.

MATTHEW PKIOR]

MERCURY AND CUPID

[FIFTH PFT-T'!

With skill ho chose hifl ahaipoat clart,
With all his might his bow ho drew ,

Swift to his beauteous parent's heait
The too well-guided arrow flow.

I faint ' I dae ' the goddess cried ,

0 cruel, oouldnt thon find none other,
To wiook thy spleen on ? Parricide I

Like Nero, them hast alain thy mother

Poor Cupid sobbing Rcarco could speak ;
Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye •
Alas ' how easy my mistake ;

1 took you for your likeness Cloo.

r.— Born 1664, Died 1721.

753.— MEECTJRY AND CUPID

In sullen humour one day Jovo
Sent Hermes down to Ida's grove,
Commanding Cupid to deliver
His store of darts, his total quiver ;
That Hermes should the weapons break,
Or throw them into Lothe'fl lake.

Hermes, you know, must do his errand •
He found his man, produced his warrant ,
Cupid, your darts — this very hour —
There's no contending against power.

How sullen Jupiter, just now,
I think I said ; and you'll allow,
That Cupid was as bad as ho
Hoar but the youngster's repartee.

Come, kinsman (said the little god),
Put off your wings, lay by your rod ;
Retire with me to yonder bower,
And rest yourself for half an hour ;
'Tis far indeed from hence to Heaven,
But you fly f ant , and 'tis but seven.
We'll take one cooling cup of nectar ;
And drink to this celestial hector —

Ho break my dart, or hurt my powoi '
He, Loda's swan, and Danao's shower '
Go, bid him his wife's tongue roHtrain,
And mrad his thunder, and hiH ram —
My darts ' 0 certainly I'll give them
From Cloo's eyes ho shall locoivo thorn.
There's one, the bent m all my quiver,
Twang ? through hiH very heart and liver,
Ho then shall pine, and sigh, and rave :
Good lord ! what bustle shall wo have !
Neptune must straight bo sent to sea,
And Mora summoned twice a day •
One must find shells, and t'other flowers,
For cooling grots, and fragrant bowers,
That Cloe may bo served in state
The Hours must at her toilet wait
Whilst all the reasoning fools below
Wonder their watches go too slow
Lybs must fly south, and Enron east,
For jewels for her hair and breast ,
No matter though their cruel haste
Sink cities, and lay forests waste ;
No matter though this fleet bo lost ;
Or that lie wind-bound on the coast.

What whispering m my mother' H oar T
What care, that Juno should not hour T
What work among you scholar godn '
Phoebus must wnto him amorouH odos :
And thou, poor couum, mvwt oompoHo
HIH letters in HiibmiHsivo prose ,
Whilst haughty Cloo, to sustain
The honour of my mystic reign,
Shall all his giftH and VOWH dmdain ;
And laugh at yonr old hully'n pain.

Dear coz , HOU! Iluimos m a flight,
For Heaven's Hako, keep ywu darts! good

night.
Matthew Viwt — Jtoift IGM, Died 1721,

754.— THE OAKLAND.

The pride of every grove I choHO,
The violet swoet, and lily fair,

The dappled pink, and bluHliing rono,
To dock my charming Cloo*H hair

At morn the nymph vouchsafed to piano
Upon her brow the various wroath ;

The floworH IOHS blooming than her faco ;
The scent IOHH fragrant than her "breath.

The flowers she wore along the day ;

And ovoiy nymph and shepherd Haul,
That in her hair they looked more gay

Than glowing in their native bed.

Undressed at evening when sho found
Their odomw lost, their colours pant ;

Sho changed her look, and on tho ground
Her garland and her eye she cant.

That eye dropped sonHo distinct and dear,
As any MUSO'H tongue oould Hpoak,

When from its lid a poorly ttnir

Ban trickling- down her beautoonH check.

Dissembling what I know too well,
Mv love, my life, naid I, explain

ThiH change of humour , pr'ythoo, toll :
That falling t oar— What cloo« it moan P

Sho flighod ; wlio Himloci , and to the floworw
Poniting, tho lovoly moralwt wml :

See, friend, m nomo few fleet mg houirt,
fcSoc yonder, wliat a change IK xnado.

All mo ' tho blooming prido of May,
And that of beauty arc but one ,

At morn both flouriHh bnglit and gay,
Both fade at evening, pale, and gone.

At dawn poor Rtolla rlannoA and wnng ;

Tho amorous youth around her bowed ;
At night her fatal knoll wan rung ;

I saw, and kisHod her in her nhroud.

Such as sho is, who died to-day,
Such I, alas ! may bo to-morrow ;

Go, Damon, bid thy MUBO display
Tho justice of thy Cloo's sorrow.
Matthew Prior.— torn 1664, DM 1721,

HENBY AND EMMA.

[MATTHEW PBIOJB.

755 —HENBY AND EMMA

TO CLOBI.

Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at whoso command
(Though low my voice, though artless be my

hand)

I take the sprightly rood, and sing, and play,
Caicloss of what tho censuring world may say
Bught Cloo, object of my constant vow,
Wilt thou awhile unbend thy sonous brow ,
Wilt thou with pleasuio hoar thy lover's

And with one heavenly smile o'erpay his

pains p

No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid bo old ,
Though since her youth three hundred yoais

htivo loll'd

At thy clehoio she shall again bo laibod ,
And her reviving oharms in lasting verse be

praised

No longer man of woman shall complain,
Tliat ho may love, and not bo loved again ,
That wo in vain the fickle sex pursue,
"Who cliaiicro the constant lover for tho now.
Whatever has boon wnt, whatever said,
Of female paHPion feigned, or faith decayed
Hcmooforbh Hhall in my VOTBO refuted stand,
J-Jo Haul to winds, or wnt upon tho sand
And, while my notes to future tunoH proclaim
Uneonquorod love, and ovor-duiing flame ,
O fairont of tho Hex ' bo thou my Muse
Deign on my work thy influence to diffuse ,
Lot mo pai take the blosaingH I rehearse,
And giant uio, love, tho jutrl icward of voi&o '
AH beauty's potent queen, with every giaco
That ouoo WOH JWiuma's, has adorned thy face ,
And as her Hon has to my bosom dealt
That constant flame, which faithful Honry

felt,

O let tho Htory with thy life agree,
Lot men onco moro tho bright example BOO ;
What Emma was to him, bo thou to mo
Nor Hond mo by thy frown from her I love,
Distant and sad, a bomnhod man to rove
But oh ' with pity, long-entreated, ciown
My paina and hopos , and whon thou say'st

that one
Of all mankind thou lov'st, oh ' tlhiTik on mo

alone
Whore beauteous THIS and her husband

Tamo

With mingled waves for over flow tho same,
In tunes of yoro on ancient baron lived ,
Oroat gifts boatowod, and great i aspect re-
ceived

Wlion dreadful Edward with succobsful care
Led hiH free Britons to tho Gallic war,
This lord had hooded his appointed bands,
In firm allegiance to his king's commands ;
And (all due honours faithfully discharged)
Had brought back his paternal coat enlarged
With a new mark, the witness of his toil,
And no inglorious part of foreign spoil.
From tho loud camp retired and noisy

court,
In honourable ease and rural sport,

Tho remnant of his days he safely passed ,
Nor found they lagged too slow, nor flew too

fast.

He made his wish with his estate comply,
Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die.

One child he hod, a daughter chaste and

fair,

His age's comfort, and his fortune's heir ;
They called her Emma, for the beauteous

dame,
Who gave the virgin birth, had borne the

name;

The name tho indulgent father doubly loved ,
For in tho child the mother's charms im-
proved
Yet as, when httle, round his knees she

played,
Ho colled her oft in spoit his Nut-brown

Maid,
The friends and tenants took the fondling

word

(As still they please, who imitato their lord) ;
Usage confirmed what fancy had begun ,
The mutual terms aiound tho ifl-T1^ were

known;
And Emma and the Nut-brown Maid were,

one.

As with hoi stature, still her oharms in-
creased,

Through all the isle her beauty was confessed
Oh ' what perfection must that virgin share,
Who fairest is esteemed, where all are fair '
Fiom distant fehires repair tho noble youth,
And find ropoit for once had lessened truth.
By wonder first, and then by passion moved,
They came, they saw, they marvelled, and

they loved

By public praises, and by secret sighs,
Each owned the general power of Emma's

oyos

In tilts and tournaments the valiant strove,
By glorious deeds to purchase Emma's love.
In gentle verso the witty told their flame,
And graced their choicest songs with Emma's

name.

In vain they combated, in vain they wnt :
Useless their strength, and impotent their

wit.

Great Venus only must direct the dart,
Which else will never reach the fair one's

heart,
Spite of the attempts of forco, and soft effects

of art.

Great Yonus must prefer the happy one ,
In Henry's cause her favour must be shown ;
And Emma, of mankind, must love but HIT™.

alone

While these in public to the castle came,
And by their grandeur justified their flame ;
More secret ways the careful Henry takes ;
His* squires, his arms, and equipage forsakes,
In borrowed name and falso attire arrayed,
Oft he finds means to see the beauteous maid.
When Emma hunts, in huntsman's habit

diessed,

Henry on foot pursues tho bounding beast ,

33

MATTHEW I KIOT&

HENE-Y AND EMMA

[FIFTH PEKTOD, —

In his right hand his booohon polo ho boars,
And graceful at his siclo his horn ho wears
Still to tho g-lado, whoro who haa bent lior

way,

With knowing skill ho drives tho future prey ;
Bids her doohno tho hill, and shun tho brako,
And shows tlio path hor stood may safest

take,

Directs hor spear to fix tho glorious wound,
Ploabod iu hw toils to have hor triumph

crowned ,

And blows hor praises in no common sound.
A falconer Henry is, when Emma hawks ,
"With hor of toraola and of luros ho talks ,
Upon hxs wrmt the toworrag merlin stands,
JPractiHod to n«o, and stoop at hor oommandri
And when superior now tho bird has flown,
And headlong brought the tumbling quarry

down,

"With humble reverence ho aooostH tho fair,
And with the honoured feather dw»k<» hor hair
Tot still, as from tho sportive field she goes
His downcast oyo reveals his an ward WOOH ;
And by his look and sorrow is expressed,
A nobler game pursued than bird or boaHfc.

A shepherd now aJong the plain ho rovot,
And with his jolly pipo delights tho groves.
Tho neighbouring swains around tho stranger

throng,

Or to admire, or emulate his song ;
"While with, soft sorrow ho renowH his lays,
Nor heedful of their onvy, nor their praiso.
But, soon as Emma'a eyes adorn tho plain,
BIB notes he raises to a noblor strain,
With dutiful respect, and studious fear ,
Lest any careless sound offend hor ear.

A frantic gipsy now, the houso ho haunts,
And in wild phrases speaks dissembled wants.
With the fond maids m. palmistry ho deals
They tell tho secret first, which ho reveals ,
Says who shall wod, and who shall bo bo-

gtulod,
What groom shall get, and 'squiro mamtnin

the child.
But, when bright Emma would hor fortuno

know,

A softer look unbends his opening brow ,
With trembling awe ho ga^on on hor oyo,
And in soft ocoonls forms tlio kind reply ;
That she shall prove OH fortunate OH fair ,
And Hymen's choicest gifts are all reserved

for her.

Now oft had Henry changed Ms sly dis-
guise,

"Unmarked byall but beauteous Emma's eyes ;
Oft hod found means olono to see tho dame,
And at hor feet to broatho Ms amorous flame,
And oft tho pangs of absence to remove
By letters, soft interpreters of love
Tfll Time and Industry (tho mighty two
That bring our wishes nearer to our view)
Hade him perceive, that the inclining fair
Received hie vows with no reluctant oar ;
That Tenus had confirmed hor equal reign,
And dealt to Emma's heart a share of Henry's

pain.

While Cupid Himlcd, by kind occasion

blessed,

And, with tho secret kept, tho lovo iiKiraiHod ,
Tho amorous youth froquontu the mlont

groves ,

And much ho moditatoH, for much ho loves
Ho loves , 'tis true , and in beloved again :
Great are his joyw, but will they lon<* remain ?
Emma with HimloH rocoivos hm preHcut iluuio ,
But hinilinff, will H!IO ovor l>o the name '
Beautiful lookn aro rulod l>v flckln minds ;
And summer HOO& uro turned by midden

winds

Another lovo may gain hoi ea«*y youth .
Time cliangofl thought , ami Ihittory conqtiorH

truth •

O impotent ostate of hnnuuu lifo,
Wliore hope and foar maint«iin oi.<wial Htrife '
Whoro fleeting joy tlooH lasting doubt innpins
And most wo question what wo twoHt <hwiru !
Amongst thy voriouw giftn, jyroat Jloavon

bostow

Our cup of lovo unmixed ; forboar to throw
Bitter mgrodionts in ; nor ))all tho draught
With nauseous griof, for our ill-judgintf

thought

Hordty enjoys tho ploaaurablo tiuito ,
Or dooms it not amccro, or foarn il cannot

last.
With wishes raised, with joalouwoH op-

pressed

(Alternate tyrants of the human broaHt),
By ono groat trial ho ronolvos to prove
Tho faith of woman, and tho force of lovo.
If scanning Emma'H vartnoH ho may find
That boautoous frame enclose a steady mind,
Ho'U fix hi« hopo, of futuro joy HGUUIP ;
And hvo a wltivo to Hymen's liaitiiy power.
But if tho fair ono, aH ho ICMUH, IH fiail ,
If, poised aright m r(«inou'M 0411:1! wale,
Light fly hor merit, and her faults piuviul ,
His muid ho VOWH to fr<»o from uniorouH care,
Tho latent mwohiof from JUH heart to tear,
Rosiimo his axtiro armw, and Hhino tigiuu in

wai

South of tho oawtlo, in a veidnnt glade,
A spreading beech cxtoudH her Iriomlly nhtwU*;
Horo oft tho nymph IIIH breathing VOWH l«wl

Horo oft hor Hilonw hnxl hor hnarl declares L
AH active Hpnug awaked her infant I>U<IH,
And flomal lifo informed tlio vonlaiit woods,
Honry, in knots involving Knnua'H nam<s
Had htUf oxj)roHHod and half conooiilccl IUH

flamo,

Upon tluw tree ; and, a« tho tcmdor mark
Grow with tho year, and widwiwd with tho

bark,

Venus had hoard tho virgin's Ho{t oddroHH,
That, as tho wound, tho paHftion might

increase.

As potent Nature shed her kindly showers,
And decked tho various moadwith opening

flowers;

Upon this tree tho nymph* « obliging coro
Hod left a frequent wreath for Henry's hair ;

tt OH* J 080 to 1727.]

HENRY AND EMM&.

[MATTHEW 1'nxoa

Which as with gay delight the lover found,
Pleased with his conquest, with hor present

crowned,
Glorious through all tho plains he oft had

gone,

And to each swain tho mystic honour shown ,
Tho gift still praised, tho giver still unknown
His Roorot noto tho troubled Homy wiites,
To tho known troe tho lovely maid invites ,
Imperfect words and dubious terms express,
That unforeseen mischance disturbed his

peace ,

That ho must something to hor oar command,
On which her conduct, and his hfe depend

Soon OH tho fair ono had tho noto loceivod,
The remnant of tho day alone fiho grieved ,
For different this from every formoi note,
Which Vonns dictated, and Henry mote ,
Which told hor all his future hopes wore laid
On tho deai boHom of his Nut-brown Maid ,
Which alwayn blessed hor eyes, and owned

hor power ,
And bid her oft adieu, yot added more

Now niqht advanced. The house in sloop

were laid ;

Tho nurse experienced, and tho prying maid ;
And lant that npnto, which does incessant

haunt

Tho lover* H stops, tho ancient maiden-aunt.
To hor dear Henry Emma wings hoi way,
With qnicLxmod pace lopoiring forced delay ,
"For love, fiwitawtio power, tliat is afitud
To Htir abroad till wftiolifiihirw bo laid,
Undaunted then o'or cliJTK and valloyH stiays,
And loodH liw votitnoa safe through pathless

wayH

Not ArgnH with IHH hundred eyes shall find
Whoro Cupid goon, tliongh ho, poor guide l is

blind.

The moidon first arriving, «ont hor oyo
To a«k, if yet its chief delight wore nigh ;
With foar and with dowro, with joy and pain,
She sees, and mns to moot lum on tho plain
JBut oh ' his ntops pioolaun no lover's haste
On tho low ground IUH fixed regards are cast ,
HIH artful bosom heaves diHHomblod sighs ,
And tears fiubornod fall copous from Hs

eyes.

With OORO, alas ' wo credit what wo love j
HIH pswntod gno£ doow real sorrow move
In tho afflicted fair , adown hor cheek
Trickling tho genuine tears their current

break,
Attentive stood tho mournful nymph, the

man
Broke silence first, tho tale alternate ran

HENRY

Sincere, 0 tell mo, hast thou felt a pain,
Emma, beyond what woman knows to feign p
Haw thy uncertain bosom ever strove
With tho first tumults of a real love P
Hast thon now dreaded, and now blest his

sway,
By turns averse, and joyful to obey ?

Thy virgin softness hast thou e'er bewailed ;
AH Season yielded, and as Love prevailed P
And wept the potent god's resistless dart,
His killing pleasure, hip ecstatic smart,
And heavenly poison thrilling through thy

heart P

If so, with pity view my wretched state,
At least deplore, and then forget my fate ,
To some more happy knight reseive thy

chaims ,

By Fortune favouiod, and successful arms •
And only, as tho sun's revolving ray
"Brings back each year this melancholy day,
Permit one sigh, and set apart one tear,
To an abandoned exile's endless care.
For me, alas ' out-cast of human race
Love's ongoi only waits, and dire di&grace ,
For lo ' those hands in murthei are imbrued,
Theno tiemblmg foot by justice are pursued ,
Fate colls aloud, and hastens me away,
A shamoful death attends my longer stay ;
And I this night must fly from thee and love,
Condemned in lonely woods, a banished *»?••",

to rove.

EMMA

What is our bliss, that changeth with the

moon,

And day of life, that darkens ere 'tis noon ?
What is true pa&sion, if unblest it dies,
And whore is Emma's joy, if Henry flies ?
If love, alas ' be pain, the pain I boar
No thought can figure, and no tongue declare
Ne'er faithful woman felt, iior false ono

feigned,
The flainon which long havo in my bosom

roigtiod

Tho god of love himself inhabits there,
With all bs rage, and dread, and grief, and

caie,
His complement of stores, and total war.

0 ' cease then coldly to suspect my love ,
And let my deed at least my faith approve.
Alas ' no youth shall my endearments share ,
Nor day uoi uaght shall interrupt my care ,
No future story shall with truth upbraid
Tho cold mdifferenco of the Nut-brown Maid ,
Nor to hard banishment shall Henry run,
While careless Emma sleeps on beds of down.
View mo resolved, wheie'er thou lead* st, to go,
Friend to thy pain, and partnoi of thy woo ;
For I attest f air^TenuR and her son,
That I, of all mankind, will love but thoo

alone

HENRY.

Lot Prudence yet obstruct thy venturous

TOtf)
And take good heed, what men will think and

say,

That beauteous Em-ma vagrant courses took,
Her father's house and civil life forsook
That, full of youthful blood, and fond of man,
She to the woodland with an exile ran.
Reflect, that lessened fame is ne'er regained j
And virgin honour, once, is always stained

33*

MATTHEW PBIOK ]

HENBY AND BJ3OCA

[FIFTH PERIOD —

Timoly advised, the coming- evil fihun ,
Bettor not do tho deed, than woop it done.
No penanco can absolve our guilty famo ,
Nor toarfl, that wash out mn, can wash out

shame

Then fly tho sad effects of dowpoiato lovo ;
And loavo a banished man through lonoly

wooda to IOYO.

EMMA.

Lot J&mna's hapless caso bo falsely told
By tho rash young, or tho lU-naturod old ;
Lot orory tongue its various oonHures choose,
Absolvo with coldnosH, or with spite, accuse ,
Fair truth at last hor radiant beams will

raise,
And malice vanquished heightens virtue's

praise.

Lot thon thy favour but indulge iny flight,
O ' lot my presence make thy travolH light,
And potent Venus shall o^alt my name,
Above tho rumours of oonsoiious Fame
Nor from that busy demon's lotftiess power
Will ovoi Emma other grace implore,
Than that thia truth whould to tho world bo

known,
That I, of all mnaikind, have loved but theo

alone

HENllY.

But canst thou wield the sword, and bond

the bow,

With active force ropol tho sturdy foe P
When the loud tumult speaks tho battle

nigh,

And winged deaths in whistling arrows fly ,
Walt thou, though wounded, yet undaunted

stay,
Perform thy pait, and share tho dangoious

dayP
Thon, as thy strength decay H, thy heart will

fail,
Thy limbs all tiombhngr, and thy cheeks all

pale,

With fruitloHS sorrow, thou, inglorious maid,
Wilt woop thy saf oty by thy lovo botrayod
Thon to thy fiioud, by foes o'oichargod, deny
Thy little useless aiA, and coward fly
Then wilt thou GUI so the chance that made

thoe lovo
A banished man, condemned in lonely woods

to rove.

EMMA.

With fatal certainty ThalostriB know
Tc send tho arrow from tho twanging yew ,
And, groat in armo, and foromont m tho war,
Bonduca brandished high tho British spear
Could thirHt of vengeance and desire of fiunn
Excite tho female breast with maitml flame,
And shall not lovo's divinor power inspire
More hardy viitno, and more gouoious fire P

Near thoe, mistmht not, constant I'll abide,
And fall, or vanquish, fighting by thy Bide
Though my inferior strength may not aJlow,
That I should boar or draw tho wamor bow ,

With ready hand, I will tho shaft fmpply,
And joy to HOG thy victor airows fly
Touched in tho battle by the hostilo rwd,
Shouldst thou (butHoavenaveit it1)

thou blood ,
To stanch tho wound-., my finest lawn I'd

tear,
WaHh them with tears, and wipe them with

my hair ,
Blest, when my dangers and my tods havo

shown
That I, of all mankind, could lo\u but tlioo

alone,

Hl'JNKY.

But oauHt thou, tender maid, canst thou

BUHtiUll

Afllwitivo wont, or hunger's pnwwmg piun ?
Those limbs, in lawn and Hoftcmt silk army(»d,
IVom HunboamH yarded, and of winds afraid ,
Can they Ijoar angry Jovo ' <«wi they ivhist
The parching doe-stiir, and tho hloak north-

east P
When, ohilled by a<l verse MIOWH and beating

rain,
Wo tread with woury step* tho longsotm*

plain,
When with hard toil we seok our

food,
Bonios and acorns, from tho nuighbouring

wood ,

And find among tho cliffn no other houso,
But the thin coveit of Homo gathered boughs ;
Wilt thou not thon reluctant maul thiiwj oyo
Around tho dioaiy waste , and weeping try
(Though thon, alas ! that trial bo too lato)
To find thy father's hospitable gato,
And seats, whore ease and plenty lnoodinif

Those seats, wlionce long excluded thou must

mourn ,

That gati», for ovoi ban oil to thy return •
Wilt thou not then bowail ill-fatod loves
And hate a banished man, condemned in

woods to rove r1

EMMA

Thy rino of fortuno did T only wed,
From its doclino determined to reecnlo;
Did I but pmpoHO to einhatk \vith thco
On tho smooth surf iux) of a sunmier'H w»i ;
Whilo geutloxepliyrs'playin prosperotw gains,
And fortune's favour iills thu sw<»lling sails ;
But would forsako tlw ship, and niak(» tho

HllOJ (>,

AYhou tho winds wlustlo, and tho t<»mpofttH

roar ?

No, Henry, no • ono sacred oath has tiod
Our lovos ; ono dohtiny our life shall guido ;
Nor wild nor d«op our common way divide,
When froiu fcho cavo thoti nscst with tho

day,
To boat tho woods, and rouse tho bounding

prey;

Tho cave with moan and branches I'll adorn,
And choorful Hit to wait my lord's return.

mom 1639 to 1727]

HENRY AND EMMA

[MATTHEW PBIOB*

And, when thou frequent biing'st tho smitten

door

(For seldom, aroliois say, thy arrows on),
I'll fetch quack fool horn tlio neighbouring

wood,
And strike tho spaikhng flint, and dicas tho

food,

With humblo duty and officious haste,
I'll cull tho iurthost mead for thy repast ,
Tho choicest herbs I to thy board will bung,
And draw thy watoi from tho freshest spring ,
And, when at night with weary toil oppiossod,
Soft slvLinbors thou onjoy'st, and wholesome

rest,
Watchful I'll guaid thoo, and with midnight

piayor

Weary the gods to keep thoo in their caio ,
And joyoiw ask, at mom's lotuinmg ray,
If thou hast health, and I may bless the day
My thoughts Rh,ill fix, iny lato&t wiah depend,
On thoi», guido, guardian, kmsmin, father,

fnoiul

By all those saoi ed names bo Henry known
To .Kiunifc'H hoait , and grateful let 1*™ own,
That who, of all mankind, oould love but him

alouo1

I1EITBY

Vahily thou toll' at mo, what tho woman' b

(iUrl'O

Shall m tho wildno". •> of tlio wood pieparo
Them, ore tliou gooht, iuiluip]uorit oi thy kind,
Mast loavu the habil and tho HO\ behind
No longer nhall Lhy comoly UOHSOH bi eiik
In flowing riugloliH o v thy snowy nock ,
Or Hit bohind thy hu.ul, an ample louud,
In graoof ill braidw witli VJUIOUH ribbon bound
No longer Hhall the bodice, aptly laood,
From thy full bosom to thy nlondor wawt,
That air and harmony of Hliapo express,
Fine by dogroon, and beautifully less
Nor shall thy lowor garments oitiiil pltut,
From thy fair side dependent to thy foot,
Ariu thoir chaste beauties with a modest

pride.

And double every oharm thoy Rook to hide
Tho ambrosial plenty of thy shining hoar,
Oiopped off and lost, scuiuo lowoi than thy

our
Shall stand uncouth a horseman's coat shall

hide

Thy taper shape, and comeliness of side
Tho short trunk-hoao shall show thy foot and

knco

Licentious, and to common eye-sight free
And, with a bolder stride and looser air,
Mingled with men, a man thou must appear.

Nor solitude, nor gentle peace of muid,
Mistaken maid, flhalt thou in forests find ,
"lift long smoo Cynthia and her tram woro

thoio

Or guardian gods mode innocence then coio
Vagrants and outlaws shall offend thy view ,
For such must bo my friends, a hideous crow
By adverse fortune mixed in social ill,
Trained to assault, and disciplined to kill ,

Their common loves, a lewd abandoned pack,
The beadlo's lash still flagrant on their book
By hloth corrupted, by dwoider fed,
Made bold by want and prostitute for bread.
With such must Emma hunt the tedious day,
Assist their violence, and divide their proy :
With such sho must return at setting light,
Though not paitakor, witness of there night
Thy oar, mured to ohaiitable sounds
And pitying love, must feel the hateful

wounds

Of jest ob&cono and vulgar ribaldry,
The ill-bred question, and the lewd leply ,
Brought by long habitude from bad to worse,
Must hear tho frequent oath, the direful

curse,

That latest weapon of tho wretches' war,
And blasphemy, sad comrade of despair

Now, Emma, now the last reflection make,
What thou wouldst follow, what thou must

forsake •

By our ill-omened stars, and adverse Heaven,
No middle object to thy choice is given.
Or yield thy virtue to attain thy love ,
Or leave a ba.Tn.sTi.ed room, condemned in woods

to rove.

E3OIA

0 grief of heart ' that our unhappy fates
Force theo to Hiiffei what thy honour hates :
Mix thoo amongst the bod , 01 moke theo run
Too noai tho paths which viitue bids thee

shun

Yet with her Henry still lot Emma go ,
With him abhor tho vice, but bhore tho woe ;
And sure my little heart can never orr
Amidst tho worst, li Hemy still be there.

Our out w aid act is prompted fiom within;
And from tho Binnoi's mind proceeds the sin ;
By her own choice free virtue is approved,
Nor by the force of outward objects moved.
Who has assayed no danger, gams no praise.
In a small IH!O, amidat the widest seas,
Triumphant Constancy has fixed her seat,
In vain tho Syrens amg, the tempests beat
Their flattery slie rejects, nor fears then?

throat.

For thoe alone these litte charms I dressed :
Condemned them, or absolved them by thy

test.

In comely figure ranged my jewels &hono,
Or negligently placed for thee alono ,
Foi theo again thoy shall be laid aside ;
Tho woman, Hemy, shall put off her pride
Foi thoo • my clothes, my sex, exchanged for

thoe,

I'll mmgle with the people's wretched lee ,
0 fine extreme of human infamy J
Wanting tho scissors, with these hands I'll

tear

(If that obstructs my flight) this load of hair.
Black soot, or yellow walnut, shall disgrace
This little red and white of Emma's iaco
Those nails with scratches shall dofoim my

breast,
Lost by my look or colour be expressed

MATTHEW PRIOR]

HENRY AND HMMA

fl'^KTH PlJiiT03>

Tho mark of aught high-born, or over botlor

dressed

Yot m this commerce, under thin djHguino,
Lot mo be giatoful fltill to Henry's oyos ,
Lost to tho world, lot mo to him bo known
My fato I can absolve, if ho ahull own,
That, leaving all mankind, I lovo but him

alono

IIENJRY.

0 wildest thoughts of an abandoned mind '
Name, habit, parents, woman, loft bolund,
Evon honour dubious, thou prefer* at to go
Wild to tho woods with mo Haid Emma so ?
Or did I droam what Kinma novoi Raid t
O guilty error ' and O wrotohed maid r
Who&o roving fancy would resolve tho Hamo
With him, who next nhall tempt her cosy

fame,
And blow with ompty words the auwooptiblo

flamo.
Now why should doubtful terms thy mind

perplex,

Confess thy frailty, and avow tho BOX
No longer loose desire for constant lovo
Mistake , but say, sti« man with whom, thou

long'st to rovo

EMMA,

Arothoro not poisons, racks, and flames,

and swords,

That Emma thiiH mnat die by Henry's wordn P
Yet what could swordu or poinon, racks or

flamo,

But mangle and dinjoint thin biittlo frame '
More fatal Honry'rt worda, they murder

Emma's fame
And fall these sayings from that gentle

tongue,

Whore civil speech and soft porfluaHion hung ,
Whoso artful Hwoolnosa and liarmonious

strain,

Courting my giaeo, yet com ting it in vain,
Called tdffhH, andte.irH, andwwhos, to itn «ud ,
And, whilst it Henry's #lo\vm# fluino convoyed,
Still blame tho coldneHH of tho Nut-bio wu

Maul?

Lot onviotw joalouHy and oonkor'
Produce my octionH to wsvorost light,
And tax my opon day, or secret mght
Bid o'er my touguo Hpoak my unguarded

heart

Tho least inolmod to play tho wanton1 H pait F
Ditl o'er my eye one inward thought rovcal,
Which angels mi^ht not hoar, and vugum toll ?
And hast thou, Henry, m my conduct known
One fault, but that; which I muut never own,
That I, of all mankind, havo loved but thoo

alono ?

HBNRY

Vainly thou tal1 ' ,'i of loving mo alone •
Each man is man , and all our not IB one.
False are our wowlH, and fickle IH our mind j
Nor in love's ritual can wo over find
Yows mode to lont, or promiHos to bind.

By nature prompted, and for cmpiro inado,
Alike by Btroiifjfth 01 cunning- wo invado ,
When armed with ru#o wo juoroh agiiiust tho

foo,

Wo lift tho l>nttlo-axr, and draw tin* bow ,
When, fued with pansum, \voattacl. th<> fair,
Dolumvo m»h-» ami briUl<» V«>\VH wo bear,
Oni falHoho<xl and our arms lutv<» t»<iual two ,
AH thoy our oontinoMt or dt'liglit pnxluro
Tlio foohnh heart thou gav'nt, again r*»coi\ o,
Tho only boon dopartiiiK lovo can givo.
To 1)0 lows wroixjhod, bo no longer trim ;
What HtnvoH to fly thoo, why Hhoultbit thou

pr<»iw»nt flaitus indulgo a now ,
Single tho lowlioHi of tho amorous youth ;
AH!C for hiH vow , but hopo not for IIIH truth
Tho next man (and tho noxt thou nhalt

bolievo)

Will pawn hiH god«, mtondmg to <loociv« ,
Will kneel, nnploro, porHint, o'oroomo, and

leavo

Hence lot thy Onpid aim IUH arrowH right ;
Be WIHO and falno, Khun tronblo, .HouU (loll^ht;
Ohango thou the ilrnt, nor wait thy lovor'H

flight.
Wliy shouldrtt thou woop ? lot uiiiiiiro judgo

our OOHO ,

I saw thoo young and fair ; pnrHuod tlu» chaso
Of youth and beauty I anothor saw
Fairer and younger : yielding to tho law
Of our all-ruling mother, I pnrHiiotl
More youth, more beauty , bloHl vioiHHitudo '
My active hoart Htill koop.s itn pristino

flame,

Tho object altered, tho dtwiro the wimo
This yonuger, fairer, ploa*ls ln»r rightful

charznH ,

With proHont powt^r coinpolH mo to her «niH.
And much I iuar, from my HiibiccU-il mind
(If boauty'H iorco to constant lov<j <-au bind),
That yearn may roll, <vro in hot turn tho

maid

Shall woop tho fury of my lovo (IwaytMl ;
And woopinj? follow mo, as dhoti <lo *t now,
With idlo clamourH ot a broltni vow.

Nor can tho wildnom of thy wishoH orr
So -wido, to hopo that iliou inay,-»i live with

her
Lovo, woll thou kiiow'hi, no

Oupid avorwo r»yo«i,s dividod VOWH .

Them from thy foolinh lu»iiri, vain maid,

Honow, and an ill-Htarp<Ml love* ;
And loavo mo, with tho fair, at largo in wood.*
to lovo.

KMMA.

Are wo in life through ono groat error lod ,
IH each man porjurod, and oiich nymph bo-

trayod P

Of tho Huponor HC*X urt thou tho -womt F
Am I of mine tho mont complotoly ciirwod P
Tot lot mo go with thoo ; autl goiiff provo,
From what I -will oxiduro, how much I love.

From 1689 to 1727 ]

HENRY AND EMMA

[MATTHEW PBIOB.

This potont beauty, this tnumphant fair,
This happy object of our different care,
Her let mo follow ; hoi let me attend
A servant (she may scorn tho name of

friend)

What she demands, incessant I'll prepare ,
I'll weavo hor garlands, and I'LL plait her

My busy diligence shall dock her board
(For there at least I may approach my

lord),

And, when her Henry's softer hours advise
His servant's absence, with dejected eyes
Far I'll rooodo, and sighs forbid to use.
Tot, when increasing grief brings slow

disease ;

And ebbing life, on terms severe as those,
Will havo ita little lamp no longer fed ;
When Henry's mistress shows fa™ Emma

dead,

TtoRCuo my poor remains from vilo neglect
With vugm honours lot my hearse be decked,
And decent emblem , and at least persuade
Thin happy nymph, that Emma may be laid
Whore thou, dear author of my death, where

aho,

With frequent oye my sepulchre may see.
Tho nymph amidst hor joys may haply breathe
Ono pious sigh, reflecting on my death,
And tho sad fate which she may ono day

prove,

Who hopcw from Honry's vows oteinal lovo
And thou foiHWom, thou cruel, as thou art,
If Kmxna'H imago over touched thy heart ;
Thou sure inuht givo ono thought, and drop

ono tear

To hor, whom lovo abandoned io do.spair ,
To hor, who, dymg, on tho wounded stono
Bid it in lasting character;) bo known,
That, of mankind, she loved but tlieo

alone,

HENRY

Hear, solemn Jove ; and conscious Vonns,

hoar,
And thou, bright maid, behove mo whilst I

Rwoai,
No timo, no change, no future flamo, hliall

move

Tho woll-placod basin of my lasting lovo
O powerful virtue ' 0 victorious fair '
At least excuse a tnol too severe
l&ocoive tho triumph, and forgot tho war
No banished ™WP} condemned in woods to

rovo,

Introats thy pardon, and implores thy lovo •
No porjuiod knight doBuos to quit thy arms,
Fairest collection of thy BOX'S charms,
Ciown of my lovo, and honour of my youth !
Henry, thy Henry, with eternal truth,
AR thou mayst wish, shall all hi* life employ,
And found his glory in his Emma's -joy
In mo behold the potont Edgar's heir,
niuBtnous earl , him toirible in war
Lot Loyro confess, for she has folt his sword,
And trembling fled before the British lord

Him great in peace and wealth fair Deva

knows,

For she amidst his spacious meadows flows ,
Inclines her urn upon his fattened lands ,
And sees his numerous herds imprint her

sands.
And thou, my fair, my dove, shalt raise thy

thought

To greatness next to empire , shalt be brought
With solemn pomp to my paternal seat .
Where peace and plenty on thy word shall

wait

Music and song shall wake the marriage-day -
And, whilst tho pnests accuse the bride's

delay,

Myrtles and roses shall obstruct her way
Friendship shall stall thy evening feasts

adorn,
And blooming peace Hhn.11 ever bless thy

morn.

Succeeding years their happy race shall run,
And ago unheeded by delight como on j
While yet superior love shall mook his power,
And when old Time shall turn the fated

hour,

Which only can our well-tied knot unfold ;
What rests of both, one sepulchre shall hold
Hence then for ever from my Emma's

breast
(That heaven of softness, and that seat of

rest)
"io doubts and fears, and all that know to

movo

Tormenting grief, and all that trouble love,
Scattered by winds recede, and wild in forests

IOVO

EMMA

0 day the fairest sure that evor rose '
Period and end of anxious Emma's woos '
Sire of her joy, and source of her delight ;
0! winged with pleasure take thy happy

flight,
And'give each future morn a tmoture of thy

white

Yet tell thy votary, potont queen of love,
Henry, my Henry, will he never rove p
Will he bo ever kind, and just, and good ?
And IB there yet no mistress in the wood •*
None, nono there is, the thought was rash

and vain ,

A false idea, and a fancied pom
Doubt shall for over quit my strengthened

heart,

And anxious jealousy's corroding smart ,
Nor other inmate shall inhabit there,
But soft Belief, young Joy, and pleasing

Care

Hence let the tides of plenty obb and flow,
And fortune a various gale unheeded blow
If at my feot the suppliant goddess stands,
And sheds her treasure with unwearied hands;
Her present favour cautious I'll embrace,
And not unthankful use the proffered grace .
If she reclaims the temporary boon,
And tries hor pinions, fluttering to be gone ;

MATTHEW

AND EMMA.

PKUIOD. —

Sooxiro of mind, I'll obviate her jntont,
And unconcerned return tlio goods nlio lent
Nor happiness can I, nor xmsoiy fool,
!From any turn of hoi fantastic whool
Friendship's groat laws, and lovo'b superior

powois,

Must niaik the colour of my future hours.
Fiom tho events which thy commands create
I must my blowings or my soriows date,
And Henry's will muni dictate Emma's fate.
Yet while with close delight and inward

pride
(Which from tho world my careful soul shall

hide)

I see thoo, lord aud end of my desire,
Exalted high as virtue oan require ,
With power invested, and with pleasure

cheered ,

Sought by the good, by tho oppressor feared ,
Loaded and blest with all tho affluent sboro,
Which human vows at smoking shrines im-
plore ,

Grateful and humble grant mo to employ
My life subweiviont only to thy joy ;
And at my death to blosa thy kindness shown
To her, who of mankind could lovo but thoo
alone.

While thus the constant pair alternate

said,

Joyful above thorn and around them played
Angels and sportive lovon, a numerous crowd ,
Smiling they clapped their wings, and lew

they bowed

They tumbled all their httlo quivers o'er,
To choose propitious shafts, a precious stoio ,
That, when their god should take his future

darts,

To strike (however rarely) constant hoazts,
His happy skill might proper arms employ,
All tipped with ploasuio, and all winged with

joy
And those, thoy vowed, whobo lives should

imitate
Those lovers' constancy, should share their

fate
Tho queen of beauty stopped her biidlod

doves ;

Approved the little labour of tho IOVOH ,
Was proud and pleased tho mutual vow to

hoar;

And to tho triumph called tho god of war .
Soon as she calls, tho god IH always near.
Now, MOTH, she said, lot Fame exalt her

voice,

Nor lot thy conquests only bo her choice
.But, when she sings groat Edward from tho

field

Returned, tho hostile spear and captive shield
In Concord's tumplo huug, and Uollia taught

to yield,

And when, as prudent Saturn shall complete
Tho years designed to perfect Britain's state,
The swift-winged powor shall toko her trump

ogam,
To sing her favourite Anna's wondrous reign ;

To recollect unwearied Marll>oronj»irH toils,
Old HufiiH' hall unequal to IIIH wpoils ,
The liritwh noldior irom IUH high command
GloiiouH, and (.Saul thnco vanquinhod bj lus

hand

Lot her at least perform what T down it ;
With second breath tho "vocal hrasH unpin* ;
And toll tho nations, in no vulgar htram,
What wars JL manago, and what wreaths I

gam
And, when thy tumults uxul thy fights uro

post,

And when thy laurels at my foot aro cast,
Faithful mayst iliou, like* Hntihh Henry,

prove

And, Mmiua-liko, lot mo return iliy lovo.
.Renowned for tiuth, lot all thy M>US

appear ,

And constant beauty shall roward their earn
Mars smiled, and bowed, tho (typuau

deity

Turned to tho glorious rnlar of tlio hky ;
Aud thon, she smiling Haul, groat god of days
And vorno, bohold my dood, aud ning my

praiHO,

As on tho Biitish caith, my favourite* inle,
Thy gentle rays and KmdoHt mlluonco smile,
Through all her laughing fioldri aud verdant

groves,

Proclaim with j'oy thoHO momorablo IOVOH.
From every ammal <sourHo lot ouo gr<kat day
To celebrated sports and floral i>lny
Bo set aside ; aud, m tho softest lays
Of thy poetic sons, bo solomu praiHo
And everlasting marks of honour paid,
To tho true lovor and tho Nut-brown Maid

Matthew

— Htttit 1GG1, lh<><l 1721.

THIEF AND THM CX)K-

Who has o'or boon at Pariii must ueodn know

tho Grevo,

Tlio fatal rutroat of th' tinfortniiato bmvo ;
Where honour and justice most o<l<lly con-

tribute

To ease heroes' pains by a lialicr and giblmt j
Dcrry down, down, hoy dorry down.

There death broaks tho HluiokleH whuth forc-o

had put on;
And tho hangman ooinplotoH what tho judgo

but begun ;
There tho H<j.uiro of tho pad, aiul tlio kuight of

tho post,
Find thoir pams no moro balkod, and thoir

hopes uo moro crossed.

JDorry down, etc.

Groat olaimH aro there mnxlo, and groat nocrotw

are known ;
And tho king, and tho law, and the thief has

hiu own;

1 (389 to 1 737.]

PROTOGENES AND APELLES.

[MATTHEW PBIOB

But my hearers cry out What a deuce dost

thou ail 'r1

Cut off thy reflections, and givo us thy tale
Dorry down, etc

'Twos there then, in civil ro&poot to harah

laws,
And lor want of false witness, to back a bad

cause,
A Norman, though late, was obliged to

appear ,

And who to assist, but a grave Cordelier P
Dorry down, etc

The squire, whoso good grace was to open the

scono,
Seemed not in gioat haste, that the show

should begin ,

Now nttod the halter, now traversed the cait ,
And often took leave , but was loth to depart

down, etc

What fnghtons yon thus, my good son, says

the priest ,
You muidorod, are sorry, and have been oon-

O father1 my sorrow wall &oaico save my

bacon,
For 'twas not that I niurdorod, but that I

was taken

Doiry do\vn, otc

pr'ythoo ne'er tioiiblo thy head with
Hucli fancies ,
Kely on the aid you shall have fiom Saint

If the money you pi omihod be biought to the

choHt,
Tou have onJy to die j let the church do the

lost.

Dorry down, etc.

And what will folks say, if they see you

afraid,

It reflects upon mo, as I know not my tiado
Courage, fnond; to-day is youi period of

sorrow ,
And things will go bettor, believe mo, to-

morrow

Dorry down, etc

To-morrow ? our hero replied in a fright

Ho that's hanged befoie noon, ought to think

of to-night
Tell your beads, quoth the priest, and be

fairly trussed up,

For you surely to-night shall in paradise sup
Derry down, etc

Alas' quoth, the squire, howo'er sumptuous

the treat,

Parbleu, I shall have little stomach to oat ;
I &hould therefore esteem it groat favour and

grace,

Would you be so kind, as to go in my place.
Derry down, etc

That I would, quoth the father, and thank

you to boot ,
But our actions, you know, with our duty

must suit.

The feast, I proposed to you, I cannot taste ,
Foi this night, by our order, IB marked for a

fast.

Dorry down, etc.

Then turning about to the hangman, he said
Dispatch me I pr'ythoo, this troublesome

blade.

For thy cord, and my cord both equally tie ,
And we live by the gold tor which other men

die

Derry down, etc

Matthew Puar—Jtorn 1664, Died 1721.

757 — PBOTOGENES AND APELLES.

When poets wrote, and painters drew,
As nature pointed out the view ,
Ere Gothic forms were known in Greece,
To spoil tho well-proportioned piece ,
And in our verse ore monkish ihymes
Had jangled their fantastic chimes ,
JSio on the flowoiy lands of Rhodes
Those knights hod fixed their dull abodes,
Who know not much to paint or ^ rite,
Noi caiod to pray, noi dared to fight ,
Protogonos, histoiians note,
Livod tlioio, a burgess, scot and lot ,
And, as old Pliny's writings show,
Apolles did the some at Co
Agreed those points of time and place,
Proceed we in the present case

Piqued by Protogenos's fame,
From Co to Rhodes Apelles came,
To see a rival and a fnond,
Prepared to consuro, or commend ,
Here to absolve, and there object,
As art with condom might dizeet
Ho sails, ho lands, ho comes, he rings,
His servants follow with the things ,
Appears tho govornonte of the house ;
For such in Greece wore much in use -
If young or handsome, yea or no,
Concoins not mo or theo to know

Doos squire Protogenes live hero P
Yes, sir, says she, with gracious air,
And courtesy low , but ju&t called out
By lords peculiarly devout,
Who came on purpose, sir, to borrow
Our Venus, for tho feast to-morrow,
To grace the church 'tis Venus' day
I hope, sir, you intend to stay,
To see our Venus. 'Tis tho piece
The most renowned thioughout all Greece,
So like the original, they say
But I have no great ftlnll that way
But, &ii, at six ('tis now past throe)
Dromo must make my master's tea
At six, sir, if you please to come,
You'll find my master, sir, at home.

MATTHEW PRIOR.]

ABRA'S LOVE FOB SOLOMON.

PKUIOD —

Tea, says a cntio, big with laughter,
Was found some twoufcy at-o^ after ,
Authors, before they write, should ro.wl ,
'Tis vory tiuo, but we'll prooood

And, sir, at present would you please
To loave your name t Fair maidon, yow
Roach mo that board No sooner spoko
But done With ono judimonn stroke,
On the plain giound Apollos drow
A ouclo ro«rularly tino ,
And will you please, sweetheart, naid he,
To show your master thw from mo ?
By it ho presently will know
How pointers writo thoir uaraos at Co

Ho gave tho panncl to tho maid
Smiling and conrtoHymg, wr, she Haid,
I shall not fail to toll my mastor
And, sir, for f oar of all disaster,
I'll koop it my own solf , safe bind,
Says tho old proverb, and safo find.
So, sir, as suro as koy or lock —
Your servant, sir — at src o'clock

Again at six ApoIlfM oamo,
Found tho aauio prating civil damo
Sir, that my master has boon hero,
Will by tho board itself appear.
If Irom tho perfect lino bo found,
Ho has presumed to Hwoll tho round,
Or colours on tho draught to lay,
'Tis thus (ho ordered mo to say)
Thus wnto tho painters of this IH!O •
Lot those of Co remark the stylo

She said , and to his hand rontorod
Tho rival pledge, the missive board.
Upon the happy lino wore laid
Such obvious light, and easy shade,
That Paris' apple stood oonfest,
Or Leda's egg, or Cloo'H broast

Apollos viewed the finished pinco,
And hvo, Haul ho, the aits of (jjiooco '
Howo'or ProtosonoH and I
May in our ural talents vto ,
Howo'or our works may have oppressed
Who truest drow, or ooloui od best,
When ho behold my flowing lino,
Ho found at leant I could detail
And from his artful round 1 grant,
That ho with perfect skill oan paint

Tho dullest gonms cannot fail
To find tho moral of my talc
That tho distinguished pait of men,
With compass, pencil, swoid, 01 pon,
Should in life's visit loavo thoir nitmo,
In characters, which may proclaim,
That they with ardour strove to raiso
At onoo their arts, and oountry'H pruiso ;
And in thoir working, took gioat caro,
That all was full, and round, and fair

Mdtthcw Pmr — Horn HMtt, DM 1721.

758.— ABBA'S LOVE FOB SOLOMON

Another nymph, amongst tho many fair,
That made my softer hours thoir
care,

Before tho rest affected htill Co
And watchM my oyo, pr(*voiitin<> mvf
Abra, she «o was call'd, did soonont l
To grtice my prosonoo , Al>ra \v<mt th« last;
Abia was roadv on* 1 callM luti nanio ,
And, thougli I (uillM another, Abra uanio
Her equals iirrtt obncrvud h«»r '-fr<>\ving ssoal
Aud laughing, glossM that Abrii norvod so

woll.

To mo her actions did nulioodml dm,
Or wore romark'd but with IL connnon oyo ,
Till, moro tippnscMl of what tho rumour said,
More I ohsoivod pw.ulmr 111 tlu^ inaul
Tlio huti doohnod hiwl shot his wostoin ray,
Wlien, tiT<»d with buwmt*s« oi iho solonm djiy,
I purposed to milxnul tho ovomng hour^,
Aiidbantiuot pnvato in the wont on1 H bowur.H.
I oall'd briforo I sat to wash my hands
(For so tho precept of the law <u>mmandH) ,
Love had ordam'd that it WUH Abra1H turn
To mix tho swuots, and minihtcr tho urn
With awful homago, and submiHsivo drnail,
Tho maid approach' d, on my dtu^linuig hoad
To pour thu oils ; hho troiulilod an hlio

pour'd ,

With an unguarded look sho now dovonrM
My nearer faoe ; an<l now roitiiird lu»r <»y<»,
And hoavcd, and strove to hidtt, a

sigh
And whoiLce, said I, canst thou havo drond or

pain?

What can thy imagory of sorrow moan ?
Kocluded trom tho world and all it« oaro,
Hast thou to giiovo or joy, to hope or four?
For suro, I added, suro thy littlo hoaH
Ne'er felt lovo's angov, or rocunviMl Inn <lai-t
Abash'd she blushM, and with disnxltT

spoko :
Her rising shamo adoniM tho wordri it. bioko.

It tho qrcat master will dosoc»n«l to hear
Tho humble worioH ot UH ha»d»iaid'H eure ,
<) ' while H!IO tolls ii, Id lum ru>i. put on
Tho look that awo« tho iiatvmH from iho

throne '

O l lot not floftth Hororo ni glory ho
In tho king's frown and terror of hi« oyo '
Mino to oboy, thy |Kiri KS to nnliuti ;
And, though to inotitiou I>o io huffor pain,
If tho king Hmilo whilst I my wot* n»ei(,e,
If woopmg, J iind favour in his Might.,
Flow FtbHt, my town, full riHing hiu delight
<) ' wiinoHs oarth boueaih, atul hoavou

above '

For (»au f hido it ** I am wiek of lovo
It inadnuHH tnay UKJ namo of PUHMIOU boar,
Or lovo 1)0 call'd what i.s jmlood <loH)>iur.
Thou iSovcroigri J'owor, whom* wjcjrot will

control H

Tho inward bent and motion of our Houlrt ;
Why liast thou phwjod Hiujh miinito d(»gro(j(4
Itotwoeu tho oauso and c.uro of my diHooMo p
Tho mighty objool of that raging 11 ro,
In wliiuh, unj)iti()d, Abra must ox pirn
Had lie been born Homo simple Hhophord'H

heir,
Tho lowing herd or fleecy shoop his oaro,

FOR MY OWN MONUMENT

[MATTHEW

At mom with him I o'or tho hilla had run,
Scornful of ^vmtoi'tt frost and bninmer's sun,
Still asking -wheio ho mode luh Hock to rest at

noon,

"For him at night, tho door expected guest,
I had with hasty ioy prepared tho feast ;
And from tho cottage, o'er the distant plain,
Sent forth my longing oyo to meet the swam,
Wavering, impatient, toss'd by hope and

fear,

Till ho and joy together should appear,
And the loved dog docloie his mastoi near.
On my declining neck and open bieast
I should havo lull'd tho lovely youth to rest,
And from beneath hw head, at dawning day,
With softest oaio havo stolen my arm away,
To rise, anil fiom tho fold loloa&o hw sheep,
Fond of his flook, indulgent to hin sloop
Or if kind hctwoii, viopilioiw to my flame
(For sure from hoavou the faithful aidour

oamo),

Had bloHt my lifo, and dook'd my natal houi
With height of titlo, and extent of power,
Without a crime my passion had aspired,
Found tho loved prince, and told what I

doHirod

Then I hod come, preventing Sheba's queen,
To BOO tho couiohont of tho sons of men,
* To hoar tho cliiiiumiq poot'w amorous &ong,
And gather honey foiling from his tonguo,
To take tho flagrant kissoH of IIIH month,
Sweeter tluui broozeH ol her nutivo Honth,
Likening bin giMoe, IIIH poison, and Ins mien,
To all that qioat or boiuifcoouH I hod ween.
Soiono and bright Inn oyon, aw noliir beams
"Reflecting tompor'd light from crystal streamy ,
.Ruddy an gold hw chock , Inn bowom fair
As nilvor , tho curlM ringlotw of IIIH hair
Jthwk as iho lavon'H wing , hiH hp more rod
Than oaHtorn coral, or the noarlot thread ,
JKvon MH tooth, and white like a young flock
Coeval, nowly shorn, from tho clear brook
Recent, and branching on tho sunny rook
Ivory, with sapphires lutoiHporsod, explains
How white hit* handn, how blue tho manly

voms

Columns of pohnhM marble, firmly sot
On golden bonou, aio Inn legH and foot ,
KIH stature all maiustio, all divine,
Straight as tho palm-treo, strong as is tho

pine.

Saffron and myrrh are on hifl garments shod,
And ovoilasting sweets bloom round his head.
What utter I P whore am I ? wretched maid '
Die, Abia, die too plainly hast thou said
Thy soul's doHiro to meet his high embrace,
And blosHing stamp'd upon thy future race ,
To bid attentive nations bless thy womb,
With unborn monarohs charged, and Solomons

to come
Hoie o'er her speech her flowing oyes prevail .

0 f oolihh maid ' and oh, unhappy tale ! * >•

1 saw her , 'twas humanity , it gave
Some respite to tho sorrows of my slave,
Her fond excess proolaim'd her passion true,
And generous pity to that truth was due.

Well I introated her, who well deserved
I oaLL'd her often, for she always served.
Use made her person easy to my sight,
And ease insensibly produced delight
Whene'oi I revoll'd in the women's bowers
(For firrtt I sought her but at looser hours),
The apples she had gathered smelt most

sweet,

The cake she kneaded was the savoury meat
But fruits then? odour lost, and meats their

taste,

If gentle Abra hod not deck'd the feast
Dishonour 'd did the sparkling goblet stand,
Unless received from gentle Abra's hand ,
And, when the viigms form'd the evening

choir,

Raising then? voices to the master lyro,
Too flat I thought this voice, and that too

shrill,

One show'd too much, and one too little skill ,
Nor could my soul approve the music's tone,
Till all was hu&h'd, and Abra sung alone
Fairer she seem'd distinguished from the

rest,

And better mien disclosed, as better dreat
A bright tiaia round her forehead tied,
To juster bounds confined its using pnde.
The blushing luby on her snowy breast
Render' d its panting whiteness more confessed;
Bracelets of pearl gave roundness to her arm,
And every gem augmented overy charm.
Her sonsort pleased, her beauty still improved,
And she more lovely glow, as more beloved

MattJiew Piw— B<H» 1664, Died. 1721.

759 — EPITAPH EXTEMPORE.

Nobles and heralds, by your leave,
Here lies what once was Matthew Prior,

The son of Adam and of Eve ;
Can Stuart or Nassau claim higher »*

Matthew Pnor— Born 1664, Died 1721.

760.— FOR MT OWN MONUMENT

Afl doctors givo physio by way of prevention,

Matt, alive and in health, of his tombstone
took care ,

For delays are unsafe, and his pious inten-
tion

May haply be never fulfill' d by his heir

Then take Matt's word for it, tho scnlptoi is

paid,
That tho figure is fine, pray behove your own

eye,
Yet credit but lightly what moro may be

said,
For wo flatter ourselves, and teach marble to

he.

r

MATTHEW PRIOB ]

AN EPITAPH

KBTOJX —

Tot counting as far as to fifty his yoaifl,

HIM virtuoH and vices woro as other UIQU'H

aro,
High hopoH ho conceived, and ho Muothui'd

In a lifo party-colour' d, half "pleasure, lialf
care

Nor to bnmiGFM a drnclgo, iior to faction a

slave,
Ho strove to make intercut and fioudoui

aiyvoo ;

In public employments indnHtrious and grave,
And alono with Ins fiioiids, Lord ' how moiiy

waw ho.

Now in equipage atatoly, now humbly on foot,
Both fortunes he tried, but to neither -would

trust ,
And wlml'd in the lound as the whool tuinM

about,
Ho found richoR had wings, and know man

was but dunt

This verso, little polinhM, though mighty

sincere,

SetH neither hin titlon nor merit to view j
It HityH that his rohew collected ho hore,
And no moital yet known if thin may bo true

Fierce robborw there aro that infont the high-

way,
So Matt may bo kill'd, and AIM bones never

found,
Fotao witness at court, and fierce tonipostrf at

sea,
So Matt may yet chance to bo hang'd or be

diown'd

If his bones ho in earth, roll in Kea, fly in

air,
To Fate wo must yield, aud the thing is the

same,
And if passing thou giv'ht him a smile or a

tear,
Ho caron not — yet, puthoe, bo kind to liw

fame

lfani 1GG4, Dntl 1721

Their Moral an<l Kcoiunny

MoHt porfeftly they mn<l<» .uyi <»o ;

Jflaoh virtue* kojit it.s IHOJXM* bound,

Nor tiPspaHH'd on the other1 H i>iou»il.

Nor fame nor oonsuro they n"ffMid«»d,

They neither pmnOiM nor io\viinl(Ml.

Ho cared not what tho lootmau did ,

Hoi'maidn hhunoitlu^r praisnl 1101 chid •

Ho ovory Heivant took hm (*ouino,

And, bad at fnnt, tlu»v all J»H»W \\orso.

Hlothful diHordcr lillM Ins sLihl<»,

And Hlnttihli phsnty dwk'd li«»r tnl»l«»

Then boor was ht.ioug, tluur wnic \\a< i»oit;

Thoir moal wan latf»o, their graoo wiw shoit.

Viuxy {;av« the poor the rtntmatit meat,

Juht whon it j»row not (it to cat.

Thoy paid tho ohure.h and pariwli nitts

And took, but road not, tho receipt ,

For which they olaimM tlu»ir Huuday'H <hu%

Of Hhmibormg in tui upp<jr pew.

No inan'w dofeotH Hought thoy to Iviiow,

So never made thouiHelvoH a f«o

No man'H good <UiedH di<l thoy eomwend,

Ho nover rained thoniKctlvo.i a friend

Nor chcriKh'd thoy rolatious poor,

Tliat might decreiiHe their picsent Htoro ;

Nor bain noi hoiihe di<l they repiur,

i That might oblige then future heir.

| Thoy neither added nor eonfotmdod ;

1 They neither wanted nor abounded.
Nor tear nor Himlo did thoy employ
At nowH of public griof or joy.
"When bolln wore rung and boiifiron made,
It ank'd, they no* or douiud thoir aid *
Their jug waH to tho rmgorn <M\,n-wd,
Whoever cither died or marnod,
U'hoir billet at tho file was found,
"Whoever wan deponed or erownM.
Noi good, noi biwl, nor looln, noi wine,
Thoy woiild not loarn, nor could w\\ iso ;
Without love, liatrod, joy, or foar,
Thoy led — a kind of — an it weie ;
Nor wishM, nor oarod, nor laughM, uorcnod ?
And BO thoy lived, and HO they died.

rt Kir— Hunt KJ04, DM

761 —AN EPITAPH.

Intorr'd beneath this marblo

Lio sauntoimg Jack and idlo Joan

"While rolling threescore yearn and one

Did round this globe thoir courweM riui ,

If human things went ill or well,

If changing empires rone or fell,

The morning pawt, the evening came,

And found thiH couple junt the wxtno.

They wolk'd and ato, good folkH What then P

Why, then they walked and ato again ,

They soundly alopt the night away ,

They did just nothing all the day

Nor sister either had, nor brother ;

They Hoom'd just tallied for oaoh other,

762 -^ON BIHIIOP A

JiUIiVlN<i THM MTKK OF
liUOKINCUIAM, MIKJOXX

*' I havo no liopoH," tho duku lio Hays, and

dit»H ,
"In HUKJ and (sortiuti hoprH," thtj jirolato

Of tliOHo two loaruo<l pe«»in, 1 pr'ythoo, wty,

man,

AVlio IH the lyitig knave, tho priost or layman ?
I'he duke ho utands an infnlel uoutaHHcul,
" HO'H onr dear brothor," <iuoth iho lordly

prioHt.
Tho duke, though knavo, Htill " brother doar,'r

he crioH ,

And who can Hay tho reverend prolate MOB ?
Jfaft/1010 J+tor—Jtorib 1004, Mul

F~om 1689 to

AN ODE FOE ST CECILIA'S DAT.

[JOSEPH ADDISON.

763.— A SONG FOE ST. CECILIA'S DAT,
AT OXFORD.

Ceoiha, whose exalted hymns

With joy and wonder fill the blest,
In choirs of waibling seraphims,

Known and distinguished from the rest,
Attend, harmonious saint, and see
Thy vocal sons of harmony ,
Attend, harmonious saint, and hear our

prajois,

Enliven all our earthly aus,
And, as thou sing'st thy God, teaoh us to sing

of thoo ,

Tune ovoiy strmg and ovoiy tongue,
Be thou the Muse and subjoot of our
song.

ii.

Let all Cecilia's piaiso proclaim,
Employ the echo in her name,
Haik how the flutes and trumpets raise,
At bright Cecilia's name, their lays ,
The oigan labours in her praise
Cecilia's name does all our numbers graoo,
"From every voice the tuneful accents fly,
In soaring tioblos now it uses high,
And now it sinks, and dwells upon the base.
Cecilia' B name thiough all the notes we

sing,

The woik of every Hkilful tongue,
The Bound of ovory trembling string,
The sound and tiimnpli of our song.

III.

"For over consecrate the day
To music and Cecilia ,
Music, the greatest good that mortals

know,
And all of heaven wo havo below.

Music can noble hints impart,
Engender fury, kindle love ,
"With unsuspected eloquence can move,
And manage all the man with secret art.
When Orpheus strikes the ttombhng

lyre,
The streams stand still, the stones

admire,

The listening savages advance,
Tho wolf and lamb around him trip,
The bears in awkward measures leap,
And tigers mingle in the dance
Tho moving woods attended, as ho play'd,
And Ehodope was loft without a shade.

IV.

Music religious heats inspires,

It wakes the soul, and lifts it high,

And wings it with sublime desires,
And fits it to bespeak the Deity

Tho Almighty listens to a tuneful tongue,

And scorns well pleased and courted with
a song.

Soft movirg sounds and heavenly airs
Give force to every word, and recommend our
prayers.

When time itself shall be no more,
And all things in confusion hurl' 6%

Music shall then exert its power,
And sound survive the ruins of the world :

Then saints and angels shall agree

In one eternal jubilee :

All heaven shall echo with their hymns
divine,

And God "himself with pleasure see
The whole creation in a chorus join

CHOBTTS

Consecrate the place and day
To music and Cecilia.
Let no rough winds approach, noi dare

Invade the hallow' d bounds,
Nor rudely shake the tuneful air,

Nor spoil the fleeting sounds.
Nor mournful sigh nor groan he hoard,
But gladness dwell on every tongue ,
Whilst all, with voice and strings prepared,
Keep up the loud harmonious song,
And imitate the blest above,
In joy, and harmony, and lovo

JosepJiAddison — Born 1672, Died. 1709.

764— AN ODE FOR ST CECILIA'S DAT.

Prepare the hallow' d strain, my Muse,

Thy softest sounds and sweetest numbers

choose ,

Tho bright Cecilia's praise rehearse,
In warbling words, and gliding verse,
That smoothly run into a song,
And gently die away, and melt upon the

tongue.

First let the sprightly violin
Tho joyful melody begin,

And none of aU her strings be mute ,
While the sharp sound and shriller lay
In. sweet harmonious notes decay,
Softon'd and mollow'd by the flute
" The flute that sweetly can complain,
Dissolve the frozen nymph's disdain ,
Panting sympathy impaxt,
Till she partake her lover's smart."

CHORUS.

Next, let the solemn organ join
Behgious airs, and strains divine,
Such as may lift us to the skies,
And set all Heaven before our eyes

" Such as may bit us to the skies ;

So far at least till they

Descend with kind surprise,
And meet our pious harmony half-way "

Let then tihe trumpet's piercing sound
Our ravish' d eais with pleasure wound

JOSEPH APDISON ]

A LETTER FftOM ITALY.

rr.iti«T>, —

Tho soul o'crpowcrmor with delight,
AS with a quick uncommon lav,
A fltroak of lightning clears the day,

Anil flashes on the Might
Lot Echo too perform hnr part,
Prolonging every note with aifc,

And in a low expiring utrain

Play all the concert o'er again.

Suoh wore the tuneful notcH that hung
On bright Cecilia's charming tonguo
Notes that Hacrod hoatu uiHpirod,
And with religious ardour ilrod •
Tho lovo-Bick yoivfch, that long
His smother' d paHsion in hit* broaat,
No Boonor hoard tho warbling- damo,

But, by tho noorot influence turn'd,
Ho felt a now diviner flamo,

And with devotion burn'd.

With ravish' d BOU!, and lookn amazed,
Upon her beauteous face ho gazed ,

Nor mode his amorous complaint •
In vam her eyes hin lioart had charm'd,
Her heavenly voice her eyes disarm' d,

And changed tho lover to a Hoint.

aitAND OIIOUUH.

And now the choir complete* rojoicoH,
"With faombling «tringH and molting voices.
Tho tuneful ferment riHon high,
And works with mingled inolody :
Quick divimonfl run then roundB,
A thousand trills and quivering normdfl

In airy circles o'er us fly,
Till, wafted by a gentle breeze,
They faint and laugmnh by degrees,

And at a distance die

Juseph AcUkson.—J3orn 1672, Ihcd 1700.

765 —A LETTER FBOM ITALY.

While you, my lord, tho rural shades admire,
And from .Britannia1 H public poHtn rofuro,
Nor longer, her ungrateful KOIIH to ploaKo,
For their advantage sacrinVo your oaHO ;
Ho into foreign realms my fato convoys,
Through nations fruitful of irnmoital layn,
Whore the Boft Heanon and inviting clime
Conspire to trouble your ropOHO with rhyme
For whoroHoo'or I turn my ravitth'd oycw,
Ciay gilded BceneB and nliimng proftpootti HHO,
Pootio fioldw oncompoflB mo around,
And still I Boom to tread on clafmio ground ;
For hero tho Muse BO oft hot harp haw strung,
That not a mountain roarn its hood unKung,
Benown'd in verso oacli Khady thicket growa,
And every Btroam in heavenly numbers flows.
How am I pleased to search tho hills and

woods

For rising springs and colobratod floods '
To view the Nor, tuniultuoxiB in hia course,
And trace the smooth Olitumnus to his
source,

To HOC tho Muicio <haw his \viitoiy stcn.
Through tho Itmur wnuhn»n oi a frmttul -licni*,
And hoary Albula'K inft^tnd ti<lo
O'er tluk warm lxkd of suioLni", sulphur i»h«I«»

Firwl with a thousand uipiuroH I suitcy
Eridanus throiiuh tlo\\ory nu"ul«WH ntrny,
Tho king i»p iluoih1 th.it, rolhn«f o'or tho

plains,
Tho tow(»nnj> Alps of half thoir moistun*

draniH,
And proudly Mvoltt with ti wholo umlcr'.t

HllOWH,

Diflfcnbul.oH wealth and itlciii.v T,vh<iic he flout;.
misguided by UK* iunoiul

I look for hin-ainn innnorin.li/,(ul iu sori'r,

That lo,-.t in million mul oblivion Ho,

(Dumb an> tluur founiiiiins and tluur <'h:iunol ;

dry,)

Yot rnn for ovor by tho Mit'.(»'n skill,
And ni 1ho Hinoolh dcofvpiiuu inuntiur ,->fnl.

Momoiiino i to jjontlo Tilic»r I n*tins
And ilio famed rivor's c»iupty hhoro-* admiro,
Tliat, <lOHtiitiit» of htroiitfth, donvos itn ^»r)n^^l»
From thrifty urn« and an unfruitful Kourc*o,
Yet «ung HO ofton m pootin luyw,
With Hrorn tho Damilw and tlio Nil<* t urv««v<4 ;
So high tho <l«»athlosh Mtt: « ovultH Uor thwm1 f
Such was th<3 J>(^ius a poor in^loriuu »

stream,

That in Hibernian valos obnouroly Ktr.iyM,
And miobrtonwl in wild mMiiuIcni playM ,
Ml l»y your IIIIOH uud Ntitiwm*K word n«-

nown'd,

Its riHing billowH through tli<» world w»-oun<l,
Whoio'ei tho IUTO'H go<lliko uctn can piorco,
Or wlioio tho fame of an immortal vcr>o
Oh could tho Muu) my i.ivishM l>io;i {,

niHpiro
With waimth liko rourH, aii<l rais<» un oquul

firo,
UnnmnborM boautios in my VITHM

.nd Vngil'H Italy nhould yield to inino ! i

fcsoo how tho golden KTOYCXI around mo |

That Hlnwi tho coast of Itritaiu'u Htormy IH!O, i
Or when transplanted and preserved wiilt

onro, i

GnrHA tho cold clime, and Htarvn in northern

air.
TToro kindly warmth thoir mountaig jiiii'rt

To nobliT taHi.es, tuni more (txalicvl wonts :
W-von tlio rough rooks with tender myrtlo

bloom,

And tUHldori weodn neiul out a rich perfume*.
.Boar iri(», HOMO god, to Itaia'n gontlc^ HoatH,
Or cover mo in Umbna'H grenn rotw»atH ,
Whore western «ale.H eternally wwido,
And all tho HoaHonH laviwh all thoir prido
JBlosBomH, and fruitw, and floworH together

HMO,
And tho whole year in gay confuHion lio«.

Immortal glonon in my mind rovivo,
And in my soul a thousand passions Htrivo,

J?Vom 1689 to 1727.]

A LETTER FBOM ITALY.

[JOSEPH ADDISOT

When Bome'fl exalted beauties I descry
Magnifioont in piles of nun lie
^ITII amphitheatre's a-wf^7^ff height
Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
That on its public shows unpeopled Borne,
And held xinorowdod nations in its womb ,
Hero pillars rough with sculpture pierce the

RklOR,

And here the proud triumphal arches rise,
Where tho old Bomans' deathless acts dis-

play'd,

Their bane, degenerate progeny upbraid
Whole livers hero forsake the fields below,
And wondering at then height through airy

channels now.
Still to now scones my wandering Muse

retires,
And the dumb show of breathing rooks

admiios ,
Whore the smooth chisel all its force has

Hhown,

And soft on' d into nosh tho rugged stone
In Bolomn silence, a majestic band,
Heroes, and godn, and Roman control** stand ,
Stoin tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
And ompororH in Panan marble frown ;
While tho bright dames, to whom they humble

Rtiod,
Still show tho charms that thoir proud hearts

subdued

Pain wonld I "Raphael's godlike art rehearse,
And allow tho immortal labours in my verac,
Whoio from tho mingled Htrongthof shade and

light

A now creation IIROH to my night,
Such heavenly figures from Ins pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended ooloiira glow
From thomo to theme with secret pleasure

tOSH'd,

Amidst tho soft variety I'm lost •
Hero pleasing airs my ravwh'd Ronl confound
With circling1 notes and labyrinths of sound ;
Hero domes and temples rise in distant views,
And opening polaoos invito my Muso.

How has fand Heaven, adorn' d tho happy

land,

And Hoattor'd blessings with a wasteful hand f
Bnt what avail her unexhausted stores,
Her blooming mountains and her sunny

shores,
With all the gifts that heaven and earth

impart,

Tho smiles of nature and the charms of art,
Whilo proud oppression in her valleys reigns,
And tyranny usurps her happy plains p
Tho poor inhabitant beholds in vain
Tho reddening orange and the swelling

groin

Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines .
Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty

cursed,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.

0 Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright,
Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight '

Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign,
And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train ;
Eased of her load, subjection grows more

light,

And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight ,
Thou mak'st tho gloomy face of nature gay,
Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the

day

Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores,
How has she oft exhausted all her stores,
How oft in fields of death thy presence

sought,
Nor thinks tho mighty pnze too dearly

bought '

On foreign mountains may the sun refino
The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine.
With citron groves adorn a distant soil,
And the fat olive swell with floods of oil •
We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
In ten degrees of more indulgent skies,
Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine,
Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads

shine

'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,
And makes her bairen rocks and her bleak

mountains smile
Others with towering piles may please the

sight,

And in their proud aspiring domes delight ,
A nicer touch to the stretch' d canvas give,
Or teach their animated rocks to live
'Tis Butoin's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
And hold in balance each contending state,
To threaten bold presumptuous kings with

war,

And answer her afflicted neighbours' prayer
The Dane and Swede, roused up by fierce

alarms,

Bless tho wise conduct of her pious arms :
Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
And all tho northern world lies hush'd in

peace

Tho ambitious Gaul beholds with secret

dread

Her thunder onn'd at his aspiring head,
And fain her godlike sons would disunite
By foreign gold, or by domestic apito ,
But strives in vain to conquer or divide,
Whom Nassau's arms defend and counsels
guide

Fired with the name, which I so oft have

found
The distant climes and different tongues

resound,

I bndle an my struggling Muse with pain,
That longs to launch into a bolder strain.
But I've already troubled you too long,
Nor dare attempt a more adventurous song.
My humble verse demands a softer theme,
A painted meadow, or a purling stream ,
Unfit for heroes, whom immortal lays,
And lines like Yirgil's, or lake yours, should
praise.
Joseph Add-on — , Born 1672, Died 1709.

JOSEPH ADDISON ]

AN ODE,

[FIFTH PKBIOD— >

766— AN ODE

Tho spacious firmament on high,

With all tho blue othoioal hkyt

And spanned heavens, a shining framo,

Their groat Original proclaim

Tho unworn ttd Hun from day to day

Doos hiH Creator's power diHplay ;

And publishes, to every land,

Tho work of an almighty hand.

Soon as tho evening shades prevail,
Tho Moon takes tip tho wondrous talo ,
And nightly, to tho listening Eaith,
Kopoats tho story of hoi birth
Whilst all tho stars that lonnd hor burn,
And all tho planets, in their turn,
Confirm tho tidings an they roll,
And spread tho truth from polo to polo

What though, in solemn Rilonco, all
More round tho dark toirostrial ball ;
What though no real voioo, nor Hound
Amidst thoir radiant orbs bo found :
In reason's oar thoy all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice ;
For over Hinging as thoy alumo •
" Tho hand that mado us is divine "

JostyU Atldiwn.—ltor» 1G72, Died 1709.

767.— A HYMN".

When all thy moroios, 0 my God,

My rising1 soul surveys ,
Transported with tho viow, I'm lost

In wonder, lovo, and praiso

0 how ali all words with o<jual warmth

Tho gratitude declare,
That glowt* within my ravish' cl heart r

But thou canst road it thoio.

Thy providence my li/o suHtain'd,

And all my wants rodioHH'd,
Whon in tho silent womb I lay,

And hung upon tho breast

To all my woak complaints and ones

Thy moroy lont an oar,
Ere yot my fooblo thoughts had loarnt

To JCorm themselves in prayer.

Unnumbor'd comfortH to my soul

Thy tender oaro boslow'd,
Before my infant hoart concoivod

Ifrora whonoo those coinfoits flowed.

Whon in tho slippery pathw of youth

With hoodloss Htopn I ran,
Thine arm unseen convoy'd xno safe,

And lod mo up to man.

Through hidden dangers, toils, and death,

It gently oloar'd my way ;
And through tho pleaHing snares of vice,

*$Core to be loar'd than thoy.

When worn with sioknortw, oft luwt Tl"^,1
With health rcnowM my face T

And when in wns and NOXTOWH sunk,
Itovivod my Houl with graeo

Thy bountoouH hand -with worldly hlihH

HaH mado my oup run o'c»r,
And in a kind and faithful friond

HaH doubled all my Htoro.

Ton ihotiHatul thouHand pr<»ciouH gifts

My daily tliankH employ ;
Nor IH tho leant a cheerful lu»art,

That tantoH thoxo ffiftn with joy

Through every period of my hfo,

Thy goodness I'll purnuc ,
And after death, in distant worluX

ODho gloriouH thomo renew.

Whon nature fails, and day and night

Divide thy works no nioro,
My ever-grateful hoart, <) Lord,

Thy moroy shall adore.

Through all otormty, to Tlieo

A joyful Hong I'll raino ,
For, oh ' eternity *H too Hliort

To utter all thy praise.

Jiwqia Addwon.— -Hum 1072, DM 1700.

768.— AN ODE

How arc thy Horvants blcwt, O Ix>rd !

How sure IH thoir doionoo '
Eternal \viHrlom IH tlimr guulo,

Their help Omnipotonoo,

In foreign realms, and lands remote,

Supported by thy caro,
Through burning ohmcm I passM \uihurt,

And breathed in taintod air

Thy mercy swootonM <ivory noil,

Made every region plouKo ;
Tho hoary Alpiuo hillrt it wurmM,

And HmoothM the rryrrhouo

Tluuk, 0 my noul, dovoutly think,

How, with affrighted oy<w,
Thou Haw*st tlio wid<MixtMidod deep

In all its horrorH HSO

Confuwon dwelt in ovory fiwjo,

And foai in every hoart ;
Whon waves on wavon, and galphs oc
gulphs,

O'oroamo tho piloVs art.

Ynt then from all my griefs, 0 Lord,

l^y niorcsy net mo free ;
Wliilnt, in the confidence of prayer,

My soul took hold on Thee.

Mom 1689 to 1727.J

DESCRIPTION OF A OITT SHOWER [JONATHAN

For though in dreadful whirls we loams

High on the broken wave,
I know Thou wert not slow to hear,

Nor impotent to save.

Tho storm was laid, the winds retired,

Obedient to thy will ,
The sea that roar'd at thy command,

At thy command was still

la midst of dangers, fears, and death,

Thy goodness I'll adore ;
And praise Thee for thy meroies past,

And humbly hope for more.

My life, if Thou preserVst my life,

Thy sacrifice shall be ,
And death, if death must be my doom,

Shall join my soul to Thee

Joseph Adfoson. — Born 1672, Died 1709.

769. — A HYMN.

When rising from the bed of death,
O'orwholm'd with guilt and fear,

I see my Maker face to face ;
0 how shall I appear 1

If yet, while pardon may bo found,

And moroy may be sought,
My heart with inward hoiror shrinks,

And trembles at tho thought .

When Thou, 0 Lord, shalt stand disclosed

In majesty sovorc,
And flit in judgment on my soul ;

0 how shall I appear !

But Thou hast told tho troubled soul,

Who does her sins lament,
Tho timely tribute of hor tears

Shall endless woo prevent.

Thon see tho sorrows of my heart,

Ere yet it be too late ,
And add my Saviour's dying groans,

To give those sorrows weight

For never shall my soul despair

Hor pardon to procure,
Who knows thy only Son has died

To make that pardon sure*

Joseph Adfaon.—Bom 1672, 3>M 1709.

770.— PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIIJL.

The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed mo with a shepherd's care ;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard mo with a watchful eye
My noon-day walks He shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant j
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary wandering steps He leads :
Where peaceful nvers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.

Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall f ear no ill,
For Thou, O Lord, art with me still ,
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.

Though in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my wants beguile
The barren wildeiness shall smile.
With sudden greens and herbage crown'd,
And streams BharlT Tnurim'nT ftp around

Joseph Addison.—Born 1672, Died 1709.

771 . — MORNING-.

Now hardly here and there a hackney-coach
Appearing showed the ruddy morn's approach.
The slipshod 'prentice fiom his master's door
Had pared the dirt, and sprinkled round the

floor.
Now Moll had whirled her mop with dexterous

airs,

Prepared to scrub the entry and the stairs
Tho youth with broomy stumps began to

trace
The kennel's edge, where wheels had worn the

place.
i The small-coal man was heard with cadence

deep,

Till drown* d in shriller notes of chimney-
sweep •

Duns at his lordship's gate began to meet ;
And brick-dust Moll had eoream'd through half

the street

The turnkey now his flock returning sees,
Duly let out a-mghts to steal for fees ;
The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands,
And schoolboys lag with satchels in their

hands

Jonathan Swift,— Bowi 1667, Ihed 1745.

772— DESCRIPTION OF A CTTST
SHOWER.

Careful observers may foretell the hour

(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower,

While rain depends, the pensive cat gives

o'er

Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more.
Returning home at night, you'll find tho

Strike your offended sense with double stink.

34

JONATHAN SWIPT]

BAUCIS AOT> PHILEMON.

[FIFTH PERIOD —

If yon bo wiso, thon go not far to dino ;
You'll spend in coach-lino moro than savo in

wino

A coming shower your shooting corns presage,
Old aohoa will throb, your hollow tooth will

rage

Sauntering in coffoo-hoiiHo is Dulman floon j
Ho damns tho climate, and complains of

spleen.
Moanwhilo tho south, rising with dabbled

wings,

A sablo oloud athwart tho woHon flings,
That swOlod moro liquor than it oould con-
tain,

And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.
Brisk Susan whips her linon from tho ropo,
While tho first drizzling showor is borne

aslopo ,
Suoh iw that sprinkling, whioh somo careless

quean
Flirts on you from hor mop — but not so

oloan

You fly, invoke tho gods , then turning, stop
To rail, she, singing, still whirls on hor

mop
Not yot tho dust hod shunned tho unoquol

strife,

But, aidod by tho wind, fought Ml for lif o,
And wafted with its foo by violent gust,
'Twos doubtful whioh won rain, and which

was dust.

Ah ' whore must noody poet sook for aid,
When dust and rain at onoo hw ooat invade ?
Sole ooat, where dust cemented by tho rain
Erects Iho nap, and leaves a oloudy stain f
Now in contiguous drops tho flood comes

down,

Threatening with deluge this dovotod town
To shops in crowds tho daggled fomalow fly,
Protend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy
Tho Templar spruco, while every spout 'B a-

broach,

Stays till 'tis four, yot Rooms to call a coach
Tho tuckod-up flompHfcrcHfl walkn with haHty

strides,
While Htroams run down hor oiled umbrella's

sides

Hero various kindn, by various fortunon led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a hhtul
Triumphant ToriOH and doHpondmg Whi^s
Forgot their foudH, and jom to Have their

wigs.

Ttoxod in a chair tho boau impatient Hit.s,
Whilo HpoutB iun clattering o'or tho loof by

fita,

And over and anon with frightful din
Tho leather wounds , ho treinblon fiom

within
So when Troy chairmon bore tho wooden

stood,

Pregnant with QroekH impatient to bo freed
(Thoso bully OrookH, who, OH the modoniH do,
Instead of paying chairmon, run them

through),

Laocoon struck the outwido with his spear,
And each imprisoned hero quaked for f oar.

Now from all paitH the swelling

flow,
And boar their trophies with thorn as they

ff°

FiitliH of all hues and odours noom to toll
What Htreot they wailocl from by thoir night

and smell

Thoy, a« each torrent driven with rapid lorco.
From Smithfiold or Wt ' Pulohro'H Hhapo their

oourso,
And in huge confluence joined at Stiowlull

ridge,
Fall from tho conduit prcmn to Ilolboru

Bndgo
SwoopmgB from butchew' ntallH, dung, tfiit<7

and blood,
Browned puppies, linking Hpiatw, alldronohod

in mud,
Dead oats, and turnip-tops, coino tumbling

down, tho flood.

JonaMwn, 8mft.—tioru. 1G«7, J>M

773.— BAITCIS AND PJriLJRMON.

In ancient times, OH ntory tolln,
Tho saints would ofton leave their collK,
And stroll about, but hide their quality,
To try good people' B honpitality.

It happened on a winter night
(As authors of tho legend write),
Two brother hormitn, BaiutH by trade,
Taking their tour in masquerade,
DiHguiHed in tattered habitht went
To a small village down in ICeut ;
Whore, m tho HiiollorH* canting Htraiu,
Thoy boggod from dooi to <loor in vain ;
rrnod ovory touo might pity win,
But not a soul would lot thorn iu

Our wandering Haintu in woful Htato,
Treated at thin ungodly rate,
Having through all the villuppo pant,
To a Hmall cottage camo at lant,
Whore dwelt a good old lioiumt yooiuau,
Called in tho noig-hbourliood Philemon,
Who kindly did tho Hiuntn iuvifco
In hiH poor hut to paKH tho night.
And thon tho honpititblo HUC
Bid Goody BUVKUH incnd tho hio,
Whilo he fi c>m out tho ohmmoy took
A ihtoli of bacon off tho hook.
And frooly from tho fatt<»Ht Huio
Cut out largo HlicoH to bo fnod;
Thon Htop]>o<l aside to iot<;h thorn drink,
FiHod a largo ju^ up to tho brink,
And HHW it fairly twioo go round ,
Yot (what won woudorful) they found
'Twos KtiU ropluniHhod to tho top,
AH if they ne'er had touched a drop.
Tho good old couple woro amazed,
And often on each other gazed ;
For both wore frighted to tlw heart,
And just bogan to cry—" What art P "

Prom 1689 to 1727.]

BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.

[JONATHAN Swnrr.

Then softly turned aside to view,
Whether the lights were burning blue.
The gentle pilgrims, soon aware on't,
Told them their calling and their errant :
Good folks, you need not be afraid,
We are but saints, the hermits said ;
No hurt shall oome to you or yours ;
But, for that paok of churlish boors,
Not fit to live on Christian ground,
They and their houses shall be drowned -
While you, shall see your cottage rise,
And grow a churoh befoie your eyes.

They soaroe had spoke, when fair and soft
The roof began to mount aloft ;
Aloft rose every beam and rafter,
The heavy wall climbed slowly after

The chimney widened, and grew higher,
Became a steeple with a spue.

The kettle to the top was hoist,
And there stood fastened to a joist ;
But with the up-side down, to show
Its inclination for below •
In vain ; for some superior force,
Applied at bottom, stops its course ;
Doomed ever in suspense to dwell,
'Tis now no kettle, but a bell

A woodon jack, which had almost
Lost by disuse the art to roast,
A sudden alteration fools,
Increased by now intestine wheels
And, what exalts the wonder more,
The nnmbor made tho motion slower ,
The flior, which, though 't had leaden feet,
Turned round HO quick, you scarce could seo't.
Now, slackened by some secret power,
Can hardly move an inch an hour.
The jack and chimney, near allied,
Had never loft each other's side •
The chimney to a atooplo grown,
Tho jack would not bo left alone ,
But, up against tho stooplo reared,
Became a clock, and still adhered .
And still its love to household cares
By a shrill voice at noon declares ;
Warning the cook-maid not to burn
That roast meat, which it cannot turn

The groaning chair was scon to crawl
Like a huge snail, half up tho wall ,
There stuck aloft in public view,
And, with Rmall change, a pulpit grew.

The pornngoiH, that in a row
Hung high, and mode a glittering show,
To a less noble substance changed,
Wore now but leathern buckets ranged

The ballads pasted on the wall,
Of Joan of France, and English Moll,
Fair Bosamond, and Robin Hood,
Tho Little Obldion in tho Wood,
Now seemed to look abundance better,
Improved in picture, size, and letter ;
And high in order placed, describe
Tho heraldry of every tnbe

A bedstead of the antique mode,
Compact of timber many a load ;
Such as our grandares wont to use,
Was metamorphosed into pews ;

Which still their ancient nature keep,
By lodging folks disposed to sleep.

The cottage, by such feats as these,
Grown to a church by just degrees ;
The hermits then desire their host
To ask for what he fancied most.
Philemon, having paused a while,
Returned them thanks in homely style ;
Then said, My house is grown so fine,
Methinks I stall would call it mine :
I'm old, and fain would live at ease ;
Make me the parson, if you please.
He spoke, and presently he feels
TTift grazier's coat fall down his heels :
He sees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm a pudding sleeve :
Has waistcoat to a cassock grew,
And both assumed a sable hue ,
But being old, continued just
As threadbare and as full of dust
His talk was now of tithes and dues ;
Could smoke his pipe, and read the news :
Knew how to preach old sermons next,
Vamped in the preface and the text :
At (ihnstenings well could act his part,
And had the service all by heart :
Wished women might have children fast,
And thought whose sow had farrowed last :

And stood up firm for right divine :
Found hip head filled with many a system,
But classic authors — he ne'er missed them.

Thus having furbished up a parson,
Dame Baucis next they played their farce

on-

Instead of home-spun coifs, were seen
Good pinners, edged with Golberteen .
Her petticoat, transformed apace,
Became black satin flounced with lace.
Plain Goody would no longer down
'Twas madam in her grogram gown
Philemon was in great suprise,
And hardly could believe his eyes :
Amazed to see her look so pnm ;
And she admired as much at bfa*

Thus, happy in their change of life,
Were several years the man and wife :
When on a day which proved their last,
Discoursing o'er old stories past,
They went by chance, amidst their talk,
To the churchyard to fetch a walk ,
When Baucis hastily cned out,
My dear, I see your forehead sprout '
Sprout, quoth the man, what's this you tell

us?

I hope you don't believe me jealous ?
But yet, methinks, I feel it true ;

And really yours is budding too

Nay now I cannot stir my foot ;

It feels as if 'twere taking root

Description would but tire my Muse ,
In short, they both were turned to yews

Old Goodman Dobson, of the green,
Remembers he the trees hath seen ;
He'll talk of them from noon till night,
And goes with folks to show the sight ,

JONATHAN

VlflBSBS ON HIS OWJN DriATlF

1 KlFHI L*I41tLOl> — •

On Sundays, after evening- prayor,
He gathers all the pariah thoro ,
Points out tho place of either yew,
Hero Baucis, there Philemon grow,
Till once a parson of our town,
To mend hia barn, cut Baucis down ;
At which, 'Us hard to bo believed,
How much the other tree wan grieved ,
Oiow scrubby, died a-top, WOH ntnntod ;
So tho next parson stubbed and burnt it.

Jonatfian Stwft. — Born, 1667, Died 1745.

774.— VEESES ON HIS OWN DEATH.

As liochofoucault his mftTi?pfrB drew
From nature, I behove them true .
They argue no corrupted mind
TTI him , the fault is in mankind.

This Mip.TiTr\ more than all tho tost
Is thought too base for human broaHt :
*' In all distresses of our friends,
Wo first consult our private ondu ;
While nature, kindly bent to OOHO UH,
Points out some circumstance to pleaHO us."

If this perhaps your patience move,
Lot reason and experience prove

Wo all behold with envious eyes
Our equal raised above our size.
Who would not at a crowded show
Stand high himself, koep others low P
I love my friend as well as you ;
But why should he obHtruct my view ?
Then let mo have tho higher post ;
Suppose it but an inch at most.
If in a battle you should find
One, whom you love of all mankind,
Had some heroic action done,
A champion kill'd, or trophy won ,
Bather than thus be over-topi,
Would you not wwh his lauroln cropt P
Dear honest Ned IH in the gout,
Lies racked with pain, and you without
How patiently you hoar him jprotm '
How glad the case IB not your own '

What poet would noi gnovo to HOC
His brother write as well as ho **
.But, rather than they should excel,
Would wish his rivals all in holl P

Her end when Emulation
She turns to envy, stingH, and
Tho strongest friendship yioldH to prulo,
TTnloHH tho odds ho on our side.
Vain human kind ' fantastic race 1
Thy various follies who oau tiacc P
Self-lovo, ambition, envy, pride,
Thoir empire in our hearts divide.
Give others riohon, power, and station,
>Tis all to mo an usurpation.
I have no title to aspire ,
Yet, when you sink, I Hoom tho higher.
Jn Pope I cannot read a Inio,
But with a sigh I wish it xnmo

Whon ho can in ono couplet fix

More BOUHO tlian T can do in nix ,

It give** mo Kuoh a joalouH fit,

I cry, " Pox take him and hi« wit ! "

I gnovo to bo outdone by CJay

In my own humoroun bitmpr way.

Aibuthnot is no raoro my irioud,

Who darow to irony protend,

Which I was born to introduce,

Refined it firnt, and showed it* UHO.

St John, as well an Pultonoy, known

That I had Homo roputo for proHo ;

And, till they drove me out of date,

Could maul a mmiHtor of state

If they have mortified my pndo,

And made mo throw my pen a»wla ;

If with such talents Hoavou hath blotwM ' cm,

Have I not roonon to dote«t 'cm P

To all my foes, dear Fortune, HOU<!
Thy gifts, but nevor to my friend •
I tamely can endure the firnt ;
But this with envy makes mo burnt.

Thus much may nerve by way of proem •,
Proceed wo thoroforo to our poem.

Tho time is not remote when 1
Must by the courHO of natnie die ;
When, I foresee, my special fnondt*
Wall try to find tlioir private otwlM ,
And, though 'tis hardly undorHtood
Which way my death can do thorn good.
Yet thus, mothiixkB, I hoar thorn Hpoak .
ic See how the Dean begins to break 1
Poor gentleman, ho droppK apace I
You plainly find it in liitt faoo.
That old vertigo in his head
Will novor loavo him till lie's dead.
Besides, his memory docayn :
He recolloctH not what ho Hayn ,
Ho cannot call hin friend* to mind ;
Forgets tho place wlioro loni ho dinod ;
Phos you with Htonos o'or awl o*or ,
He told them fifty times before.
How doos ho fancy wo can Kit
To hoai his out-of-fonhion wit P
But ho takoH up with younger folkn,
Who for his wino will boar hw jokon.
Faith, ho muHt make IUH Htoricm HhoHor,
Or change his comracU'H onco a <iuartor ,
In half tho time ho talks them round,
Thoro must another Hot bo foniul.

For pootry, ho'w past hiw prime .
Ho taken on hour to find a rhyme ,
HIH nro IH out, hirt wit decayed,
JIiH fancy Hunk, hin MUHO a jado.
I'd have him throw away hin JHJII—
j But there' H no talking to Homo mon."

And thon their tondornoHn appoarH
By adding largely to my yoarn :
" HG'H older than ho wonl<l be rookonM,
And well romoinborn OharlOH the SocontL
Ho hardly drinks a pint of wino j
And that, I doubt, IH no good fdgn.
His stomach too begins to fail ;
Last yoar wo thought him strong and hale j
But now he's quite another thing :
I wish ho may hold out tjU Hprin^r*"

From 1689 to 1727.]

VERSES ON HIS OWN DEATH.

[JONATHAN SWIFT.

They hug themselves and reason thus •
" It is not yet so bad with us ' "

In suoh a case they talk in tropes,
And by their fears express their hopes.
Some great misfortune to portend,
No enemy can match a fnend
With all the kindness they profess,
The merit of a lucky guess
(When daily how-d'ye's come of course,
And servants answer, " Worse and worse ! ")
Would pleaso thorn bettor, than to tell,
That, " God bo praised, tho Dean is well."
Then ho who prophesied the bost,
Approves his foresight to the rest .
" You know I always fear'd the worst,
And offcon told you so at fiist "
Ho'd lathor chooso that I should dio,
Than his predictions provo a ho
Not ono foretells I shall zocover ,
But all agree to gave me over

Yot should some neighbour fool a pain
Juat in tlio parts whoro I complain ,
How many a message would ho send f
What hearty prayers that I should mend !
Inquire what icguncn 1 kept ?
What gave me oaso, and how I slept P
And more lament when I was dead,
Than all the snivellers round my bed

My good companions, never fear ;
Tor, though you may mistake a. year,
Though your prognostics run too tost,
They must bo verified at last.

Behold tho fatal day arrive r
" How is tho Dean P " — " He's just alive "
Now tlio departing prayer is road ,
Ho haidly breathes — tlio Dean is dead

Before tho passing-bell begun,
Tho news through half tho town is run.
*' Oh f may we all for death prepare 1
What has ho left ? and who's his heir ? "
•" I know no moro than what blio news is 5
'Tin all boquottth'd to public uses "
" To public uses ! thcro'H a whim '
What had tho public done for him P
Moro envy, avarice, and pndo
He gave it all — but first ho died.
And had tho Dean, in all the nation,
No woithy friend, no poor relation ?
So ready to do strangers good,
Forgetting his own flesh and blood ! "

Now Grub-street wits are all employ' d ,
With elegies the town is cloy'd
Some paiagraph in every paper,
To cuiao the Dean, or bless the Drapier.

Tho doctors, tender of their fame,
Wisely on me lay all tho blame.
" Wo must confess, his case was nice ;
But he would never take advice
Had he boen ruled, for aught appears,
He might have lived these bwenty years
For, when we open'd him, we found
That all his vital parts were sound "

From Dublin soon, to London spread,
'Tis toM. at couit, " the Dean is dead.*'
And Lady Suffolk, in bho spleen,
Buns laughing up to tell the queen

The queen, so gracious, mild, and good.
Ones, " Is he gone ' 'tis tune he should.
He's dead, you say ; then let him rot
I'm glad the medals were forgot
I promised him, I own ; but when ?
I only was the princess then •
But now, as consort of the king,
You know, 'tis quite another thing."

Now Ohartres, at Sir Bobert's levee,
Tells with a sneer the tidings heavy ,
" Why, if he died without his shoes,"
Ones Bob, " I'm sorry for the news •
Oh, were the wretch but living still,
And in bis place my good friend Will '
Or had a mitre on his head,
Provided Bolingbroke were dead ' "

Now Curll his shop from rubbish drains :
Three genuine tomes of Swift's remains '
And then, to make them pass tho glibber,
Revised by Tibbalds, Moore, and Gibber.
He'll treat me as he does my betters,
Publish my will, my life, my letters ,
Revive the libels born to die
Which Pope must bear as well as L

Here shift the scene to represent
How those I love my death lament.
Poor Pope will gneve a month, and Gay
A week, and Arbuthnot a day

St John "himself will scarce forbear
To bite his pen, and drop a tear
The rest will give a shrug, and cry,
" I'm sorry — but wo all must die ' "

Indifference, clad in wisdom's guise,
All fortitude of mind supplies
For how can stony bowels melt
In those who never pity f olt '
When we are lash'd, they kiss tho red,
Resigning to the will of Gtod

The fools, my juniors by a year,
Are tortured with suspense and fear ;
Who wisely thought my age a screen,
When death approach' d, to stand between :
The screen removed, their hearts are trembling ;
They mourn for me without dissembling.

My female friends, whose tender hearts
Have better learn' d to act their parts,
Receive the news in doleful dumps
" The Dean is dead (Pray what is trumps ?)
Then, Lord have mercy on his soul '
(Ladies, I'll venture for the vole )
Six deans, they say, must bear tho pall .
(I wish I knew what king to call )
Madame, your husband will attend
The funeral of so good a friend 9
No, madame, 'tis a shocking sight ,
And he's engaged to-morrow night
My lady Olub will take it ill,
If he should fail her at quadrille
He loved the Dean — (I lead a heart )
But dearest fnends, they say, must part
His tune was come , he ran his race ,
We hope he's in a bettor place."

Why do we gneve that fnends should die ?
No loss more easy to supply
One year is past , a different scene r
No farther mention of the Dean,

JONATHAN SWIFT ]

VERSES ON HIS OWN DEATH.

Who now, alas ' no more is mies'd,
Than if he never did oxiwt.
Whore's now tho favourite of Apollo ?
Departed — and his works muni follow ,
Must undergo tho common fate ,
His kind of wit in out of dato

Some country squire to Lintot goes,
Inquires for Swift in vorse and proflo.
Says Lintot, " I liavo lioard tho name ;
Ho died a yoar ago." — " Tho Bamo "
Ho soarchoR all tho shop in vain.
" Sir, you may find them in Duck-lane :
I sent thorn, with a load of bookn,
Last Monday to tho pastry-cook's.
To fancy thoy could live a yoar !
I find you're but a stranger horo.
The Doan was famous in his time,
And had a kind of knack at rhymo.
His way of writing1 now is pant :
Tho town has got a bettor taste.
I keep no antiquated staff;
But spick and span I have enough.
Bray, do but give mo leave to show 'em :
Here's Colloy Cibbor'a birth-day poem.
This ode you never yet have Keen,
By Stephen Duck, upon tho queen.
Then here's a letter finely penu'd
Against the Craftsman and his friend :
It clearly shows that all reflection
On ministers is disaffection.
Next, hero's Sir Robert's vindication,
And Mr Henley's latrb oration.
Tho hawkers have not got them yet :
Tour honour please to buy a sot ?
Hero's Wolflton's tracts, tho twelfth edition;
'Tis road by every politician :
The country members, when in town,
To all their boroughs send them down ;
You never mot a thing so smart ,
Tho courtiers have them all by heait •
Those maids of honour who can road,
Aio taught to UKO them for their creed.
The rovorond author 'H good intention
Hath boon rewarded with a ponwon
He doth an honour to hit* gown,
By bravoly running priest-craft down •
Ho shows, aH Hure aw God'w in Gloucester,
That Mofloft was a grand impontor ;
That all his miracle** wore chcatn,
Perform' d an jugglers do their f eatn
Tho church Iiad never tmch a wnlcir ,
A shame ho had not got a mitre ' "

SnppOHo mo dead , and then mippono.
A club OHHemblod at tho JtoHo ;
Whoro, from dihconrso of thin and that,
I grow tho Hubjoot of thoir chat
And while thoy tons my name about,
With favour some, and some without,
One, quite indifferent m tho nauHO,
My character impartial drawn.
" Tho Doan, of wo believe report,
Was never ill received at court,
Although, ironically grave,
He shamed the fool, and lanh'd tho knave ;
To steal a hint was never known,
But what ho wnt was all his own."

" Sir, I have hoard another utory ;
Ho was a most confounded Tory,
And grow, or he IB much boiled,
Extremely dull, bofoto ho dind."

" Can wo the Drapier thon forgot ?
I« not our nation in hm dolrf, F
'Twos ho that writ tho Drupiur'H loltorH ' " —

" Ho should huv<» loft them for IIIH bettors :
Wo had a hundred abler men,
Nor need dopoxul upon Inn pen —
Say what you will about hm rending,
You never can defend IIIH blooding ,
Who, in his Hatirofl i annnif? riot,
Could never loavo the worl<l in quioi ;
Attacking, when ho took tho whim,
Court, city, camp — all ono to him —
But why would ho, oxoopl ho nlobborM,
Offond our patriot, groat Nir Wobort,
Whoso counaolH aid tho wovovmgn power
To save tho nation every hour I
What HconoH of evil ho nnt avoid,
In satires, hbolfl, lying travoln ;
Not sparing his own clergy «loth,
But oats into it, like a moth ' "

"Porhapn I may allow tho Doan
Had too much wvliro in IVLH vein,
And soom'd determined not to Htarvo. it,
BocauHO no ago could mom doHorvo it.
Yet malice never won hin aim ;
Ho laah'd tho vice, but Hparod tho Tiauio.
No individual could rowont,
Whore thousand« equally wore nioant j
His satire pointH at no <iofoct,
But what all mortalH may correct ;
For ho abhorr'd tho HonHohwH tnbo
Who call it humour when thoy #ilx> •
Ho spared a hnnrp, or orook<»<l WOHO,
Whoso ownorH Hot not up for IMWUX.
True gonuino dulnonH mo vex I hm pity,
TTnloRB it oifor'd to bo witty.
Those who thoir ignorance ooufoHfc,
Ho no' or offended with a j<i«t ;
But laiiffh'd to hoar an idiot quo to
A vorwo fi om Honioo loani'd by rote.
Vice, if it o'er can bo abonhM,
Must bo or ridicnlod or Uufh'd.
If you roHont it, who'n to bltunn P
Ho neither known yon, 7i<»r your namo.
Should vu^o cxpo<'>t to 'wapo rehuk<s
Hooauwo itH owner IK a duku ?
HIM fueiidrihipH, wtill to lew rniifimul,
Woro alwnyH of i\w mi<l(lliu« kind ;
No fools of rank, or mongrel brood,
Who iuui would PIIMH for lordH iiidcMMl t ,

Wlioro titloH ffivo no rijyht or powor,
And 7>oorago in a wither1 d flower ;
Ho wotdd have domn'd it n diHpfrrwio,
If Hu<'h a wrotch h/wl known hiH fw«»,
On rural fiqiuron, that kiiigdoin*H bano,
Ho vented oft hiH wrath m vain j
*#*#*#* HquiroH to market bwnight,
Who Holl thoir HOU!H and *** * for nought :
The**** »»*» go joyful back,
To rob tho church, their tonantfl rook ;
Go snookH with ***** juwtioefi,
And keep tho peace to pick up foot* ;

JFVom 1689 to 1727 ]

VERSES ON HIS OWN DEATH,

[JONATHAN SWIFT.

In every job to have a stare,
A gaol ox turnpike to repair ;
And fcugii *###### to publics roads
Commodious to their own abodes

He never thought an honour done him,
Because a peer was proud to own fa™ ,
Would rather slip aside, and choose
To talk with wits m dirty shoes ,
And scorn the tools with stars and garters.
So often seen caressing Chartres.
He never courted men in station,
Nor persons held in admiration ,
Of no man's greatness was afraid,
Because ho sought for no man's aid.
Though trusted long m great affairs,
He gave himself no haughty airs
Without regarding private ends,
Spent all his credit for his friends ,
And only chose the wife and good ,
No flatterers , no allies in blood
But succour'd virtue in distress,
And seldom fail'd of good success ,
As numbora in their hearts must own,
Who, but for him, had been unknown.

Ho kept with princes due decorum ,
Tot never stood m awe before 'em
He follow' d David's lesson just ,
In princes never put his tru&t
And, would you make mm tiuly Hour,
Provoke him with a slave in power
Tho Irish senate if you named,
With what impationoo ho declaim' d 1
Fair liiBKttTY was all hiR cry ,
For hor ho stood pioparcd to die ,
For hor ho boldly stood alono ,
For hor he oft exposed his own
Two kingdoms, just as faction led,
Had sot a price upon hit* head ,
But not a traitor could bo found,
To Boll him for FOX hundred pound

Had ho but spared his tongno and pen,
He might have roso like other men
But power was never in his thought,
And wealth ho valued not a groat
Ingratitude ho often found,
And pitied those who meant the wound ,
But kept the tonour of his mind,
To merit well of human-kind ;
Nor made a sacrifice of tliono
Who still were true, to pleano his f OCR,
Ho labour' d many a fruitless hour,
To reconcile hia friends in power j
Saw miRohief by a faction brewing,
While they pursued each othei's rum
But, finding vain was all his care,
Ho loft the court in mere despair

And, oh ' how short are human schemes '
Here ended all our golden dreams
What St John's skill in state affaire,
What Ormond's valour, Oxford's cares,
To save their sinking country lent,
Was all destroy' d by one event
Too noon that precious life was ended,
On which alono our weal depended.
When up a dangerous faction starts,
With wrath and vengeance in their hearts ;

By solemn league and covenant bound,
To rum, slaughter, and confound ;
To turn religion to a fablo,
And make the government a Babel ;
Pervert the laws, disgrace the gown,
Corrupt the senate, rob the crown ,
To sacrifice Old England's glory,
And make her infamous in story
When such a tempest shook the land,
How could unguarded virtue stand '

With horror, gnef , despair, the Dean
Beheld the dire destructive scene :
His friends in exile, or the Tower,
Himself within the frown of power ;
Pursued by base envenom' d pens,

Far to the land of s and fens ;

A servile race in folly nursed,

Who truckle most, when treated worst.

By innocence and resolution,
He bore continual persecution ,
While numbers to preferment rose,
Whose merit was to be his foes ;
When ev*n his own familiar friends,
Intent upon their private ends,
Like renegadoes now he feels,
Against hiwi lifting up their heels*

The Dean did, by his pen, defeat
An infamous destructive cheat ;
Taught fools their interest how to know,
And gave them arms to ward the blow
Envy hath own'd it was his doing,
To save that hapless land from ruin ,
While they who at the steeiage stood,
And reap'd the profit, sought his blood.

To save them from their evil fate,
In him was held a crime of state
A wicked monster on the bench,
Whose fury blood could never quench ;
As vile and profligate a villain,
As modern Soroggs, or old Tressilian ;
Who long all justice had discarded,
Nor fear'd he God, nor man regarded ;
Vow'd on the Dean his rage to vent,
And make t™ of his zeal repent
But Heaven his innocence defends,
The grateful people stand his friends ;
Not strains of law, nor judges' frown,
Nor topics brought to please the crown,
Nor witness hired, nor jury piok'd,
Prevail to bring "him in convict

In exile, with a steady heart,
He spent his life's declining part ,
Where folly, pnde, and faction sway,
Remote from St John, Pope, and Gay "

" A ing, poor Dean ' his only scope
Was to be held a misanthrope
This into general odium drew him,
Which if he liked, much good may 't do him.
His zeal was not to lash our crimes,
But discontent against the times
For, had we made him timely offers,
To raise his post, or fill his coffers,
Perhaps he might have truckled down,
lake other brethren of his gown ,
For party he would scarce have bled —
I say no more — because he's dead —

JONATHAN SWIFT ]

THE GRAND QUESTION DEBATED.

PERIOD —

What writings has lio loft boliind ? "

" I hear they're of a different kind •
A few in verse ; but most in prose — "

" Some high-flown pamphlets, I nupposo —
AJ1 scribbled in tho wowt of times
To palliate his friend Oxford' « crimes ;
To praiso queen Ajano, nay more, defend her,
As never f avouring tho Protondor •
Or libels yet conceal' d from Might,
Against the court to show his wpilo
Perhaps his travels, part tho third ,
A lie at every wooond word —
Offensive to a loyal oar —
But — not one sermon, you mny swear "

" He knew an hundred ploawing stories,
With all tho turns of Whigs and Tories
Was cheerful to his dying day ;
And friends would lot him have his way

As for his works in verse 01 prowo,
T own myself no judge of those
Nor can I tell what critics thong-lit them ;
But this I know, all people bought them,
As with a moral view design' d
To ploa«o and to reform mankind •
And, if ho often nuns' d hw aim,
The world muHt own it to their Hhamo,
The praise is his, and theirn the blame
Ho gave tho little wealth ho had
To build a house for fooln and mad ;
To show, by one satiric touch,
No nation wanted it so much
That kingdom ho had left his dobtor ;
I wish it soon may have a bettor.
And, since you dread no further lashes,
Mothinks you nay forgivo his ashes."

Jonat7i,an Swift.— Bom 166*7, Diotl 1745

775— THE GRAND QUESTION
DEBATED.

Thus spoke to my lady tho knight full of

caro'

" Lot mo have yonr advice in a, weighty affair
This Hamilton's bawn, whilwt it HtickH 011 my

hand,

I lose by the houno what T got by the laud ;
But how to diHpOHo of it to tho bent bidder,
For a barrack or mall-house, wo now munt

consider*

First, lot mo suppose I malro it a malt-
house,
Hero I have computed tho profit will fall t1

us,
There's nine hnndrocl pounds for labour and

gram,
I increase it to twelve, so throe hundred

remain;
A handsome addition for wine and good

cheer,
Throe dishoH a day, and throo Uognhoads a

year-
With a dozen largo vousols my vault shall bo

stored ,
No little scrub joint shall como on my board ,

And you and tho Doan no moro shall oombmo
To stint mo at night to <mo bottle of wine ,
Nor shall I, for Iii« humour, permit yoa to

purloin
A Htono and a quarter of beef fiom my

surloin
If I make it a barrack, tho crown in my

tenant '
My dear, I have pondorM atpim and atyam

on't-
In poundage and drawl uuskrf 1 IOMO half my

rent ;

Whatever they give mo, T muwt bo ooutont,
Or join with tho court 111 every dnbato ,
And rather than that, I would losio my

owtato "
Thus ended tho kuight , thus hngiui hi* meek

wife-

" It munt, and it shall bo a barraok, my ufo,
I'm grown a moro mopuK ; no company

comoH,
But a rabblo of toiiuntH, and runty dtill

Bums ;
With parsons what lady can keep h<wol£

clean P

I'm all over daub.M when I hit by tho Doan
But if you will givo IIH a bunaok, my doai,
The captain, Tin HUIO, will alwayn conio

horo,

I then shall not value IUH DoaiiMlup a straw,
For tho captain, 1 warrant, will kocp him iu

awo,

Or should ho protond to bo bmk and alort,
Will toll him that chaplain* Hho\il<l not l>o iu>

port,
That mon of IUH coat nhould bo nundinpr their

prayorn,
And not among ladies to givo tlioinsolvos

airH."

Thus argnod my liwly, but iir^rnod m vain f
The kmght his opinion ronolvod to zuaiiitain.
But Hannah, who ImtonM to all that \VOH

past,

And could not onduro HO vulgar a tosto,
AH soon an hor ladynlup onll'd to bo drost.,
('nod, "JMculam, why Hiucjly my iniwior'H

pOriHQHt '

Sur Arthur tho maltHtor f how HUM it will

Mound '

I'd rathor tho bawu woro Hunk uiutor j^rouml.
But madam, I (^uoHH'd thoro would novoroomu

good,
Whon t naw him HO often with Darby and

Wood.
And now my dream '.H out ; for 1 WOH a-

droam'd
That T saw a hugo rat — () <loar, how C

And aFtot, inothought, I had lost my now

HhooH ,
And Molly, Hho naid, I Hhould hoar womo ill

nowH.
Door madam, had you but tho ttpirit to

ioaso,
You might have a barrack wlionovor you

ploano .

From 1689 to 1727.] THE GBAND QUESTION" DEBATED. [JONATHAN SWIFT.

And, madam, I always believed you BO stoat,
That for twenty denials you would not give

out

If I had a husband like him, I purtest,
Till ho gave me my will, I would give him no

rest,
And, rather than come in the same pair of

sheets
With such a cross man, I would lie in the

streets ,

But, madam, I beg you contrive and invent,
And woiry 1™ out, till ho gives his consent
Dear madam, whene'er of a bairaok I think,
An I were to be hang'd, I can't sleep a wink
For if a new ciotchet comes into my brain,
I can't get it out, though I'd novei so fain
I fancy already a barrack contrived
At Hamilton's bawn, and the troop is arrived ,
Of this, to be sure, Sir Arthur has warning,
And waits on tho captain betimes the next

'morning
Now soo, when they moot, how thoii honours

behave

* Noble captain, your servant ' — e Sir Aithur,

your slave ,

You honour me much' — 'The honour is
mino '— —

* 'Twas a Had rainy night ' — ' But tlio morning

is fine *

* Pray how does my lady ? ' — ' My wrto *a at

your aorvico *
f I think I have soon hor picturo by Jorvas '—

* Good morrow, good captain I'll wait on you

down.' —

* You sha'n't stir a foot ' — c You'll think mo a

clown '

' Foi Jill tho world, captain — " — ' Not half an
inch farther '-—

* You must bo oboy'd ' ' — ' Your servant, Sir

Arthur'
My humble rospoots to my lady unknown ' —

* I hope you wiIL uso my house as your own ' "

" Go bring me my bmook, and leave off your

prate,

Thou hast certainly gotten a oup in thy pate "
" Pray, madam, bo quiot , what was it I

said?
You had like to have put it quite out of my

head

Next day, to be sure, tho captain will come,
At the head of his troops, with trumpet and

Now, madam, observe how he marches in

state

Tho man with tho kottle-drum enters the gato :
Dub, dub, adub, dub. The trumpeters follow,
Tantara, tantara ; while all the boys hollow
See now comes tho captain all daub'd with

gold lace

0 la ' tho sweet gentleman ' look in his face ;
And soe how he ndes liko a loid of tho land,
With the fine flaming sword that he holds in

his hand ,
And hiH horse, the deoi ciotor, it prances and

Tears,
With ribbons in knots at its tail and its ears -

At last oomes the troop by the word of com-
mand,
Drawn up in our court , when the captain

ones, STAND!

Your ladyship lifts up the sash to be seen
(For sure I had dizen'd you put like a queen)
The ^captain, to show he is proud of the

favour,
Looks up to your window, and cocks up his

beavor
(His beaver is oock'd; pray, madam, mark

that,
For a captain of horse never takes off his

hat,

Bocause he has never a hand that is idle ,
For tho right holds the sword, and the left

holds the bridle )

Then nourishes thrice his sword in the air,
As a compliment due to a lady so fair ,
(How I tremble to fhniTr of the blood it hath

spilt;)
Then ho lowers down the point, and kisses the

hilt

Your ladyship smiles, and thus you begin
' Pray, captain, be pleased to alight and walk

in'

The captain salutes you with congee pro-
found.
And your ladyship curtsies half-way to the

ground
' Kit, run to youi master, and bid him come

to us,
I'm suio he'll be proud of the honour you do

us

And, captain, you'll do us the favour to stay,
And take a short dinner here with us to-day
You'ro heartily welcome ; but as for good

oheor,
You como in the vory worst time of the year :

If I had expected so worthy a guest '

'Lord' madam! your ladyship sure is in

jest
You banter mo, madam ; the kingdom must

grant '

' You officers, captain, ore so complaisant ' ' "
"Hist, hussy, I -JftiTiV I hear somebody

coming ••"
" No, madam , 'tis only Six Arthui a-

To shorten my tale (for I hate a long story),
Tho captain at dinner appears in his glory ,
The Dean and the doctor have humbled their

pride,
For the captain's mtreated to sit by your

side,
And, because he's their betters, you carve for

him first,

The parsons for envy are ready to burst.
The servants amazed are scarce ever able
To keep off theox eyes, as they wait at the

table ;

And Molly and I have thrust in our noso
To peep at the captain all in his fine clo'os.
Dear madam, be sure he's a fine-spoken man,
Do but hear on the clergy how glib his tongue

ran,

POPE]

THE MESSIAH

["FIFTH PKI roi> —

' And, madam,' says ho, * if Ruch dinners you

give,
You'll no7 or want for parnons aR long as you

live

I ne'er knew a paison without a good noso ,
But tho Devil's aH welcome whorovor ho goon
Q — fl — n mo ' thfty Incl UH reform and ropont,
But, z — a ' by tlioir lookn they never koop

Lent.
Mister curato, for all your gravo looks, I'm

afraid
Tou oast a sheep's oyo on her ladyship's

maid
I wiHh Hho would lond you her pretty wliito

hand
In mending your oaflsoo, and smoothing- your

band.
(For the Dean was BO Rlutbby, and look'd bko

a ninny,
That tho captain supposed ho was curate to

Jinny)

"Whenever you BOO a oassoo and gown,
A hundred to ono but it OOVOTH a clown.
Observe how a parson comes into a room ;
O— d — n mo ' ho hobbles an bad an my groom ,
A scholard, when just from his college broko

loose,

Can hardly tell how to ory bo to a goose ;
Tour Novedfl, and BluturckH, and Omurs, and

stuff,

By G — , they don't signify this pinch of snuff
To give a young- gentleman right education,
Tho army's tho only good school in the nation
My schoolmaster call'd mo a dunco and a

fool,
But at cuffs I was always tho cock of tho

school ;
I never could take to my book for tho blood

o' mo,
And tho puppy confosH'd he expected no good

o'mo
Ho caught mo ono morning coquetting lufl

wif o ,
But ho mauVd m^, I ne'er was HO maiil'd in

my life

So I took to tho road, and what'H very odd,
The first man I iobl)M WOH a parnon, by (ii — .
Now, madam, you'll think it a ntrango thing

to say,
But tho night of a book rnakoH mo hick to thin

day'
"Novor puioo I wan born did T hrar M>

much wit,
And, madam, I laugh'd till I thouglit I whould

split.
So then you look'd scornful, and Hnift at tho

Dean,
AB who Hhonld say, Now, am I Hkmny and

leant*
But ho durst not so much, as onoo open hiH

lips,
And tho doctor was plagroly down in tho

hips"

Thus merciless Hannah ran on in licr talk,
Till she hoard tho Doan call, " Will your lady-
ship walk P"

Her ladynhip answerw, " I'm just coming

down "
Then, tunuiig to Hannu.li, and forcing a

frown,
Although it wan plain in her heart hho was

glad,
Cued, " ItuRsy, why HUTO tho wonoh IH gone

mad1
How could thoso cliimoraH got into your

Como hither, and take tlun old gown fw yonr

But tho Doan, if this secret nhoTiM <xnrio to

his earn,
Will never have done with hw gilwn and JUH

joorn
For yonr life, not a word of tho matU»r, T

charge ye .
Give me but a barrack, a fig for tho dorgy."

Jonntluw Swift.— Horn 1007, Ihwl 1745.

77G— THK MESSIAH

To nymphw of Kolyma ! begin tho nong •

To heavenly themes Hublimor HtramH belong.

The moHHy fonzitiiinH and tho Hylvan

The dreams of Piudnn and iho Aonian

Delight no more — O fJuiu uiy voicu^

Who touched Isaiah'H halluwod lipH with

fire'

Bapt into future timon, tho bard bogun •
A Virgin ahall conceive, a Virgin boar a

Son'

From JGHHO'H root behold a branch aiiw»,
WhoHO hticrcd flower \viih fragrancu iilln iho

HklOH'

Tho ethereal spirit o'or its loaves Hliall nu>v<»,
And on it« top doHoonds tlio ni.vM.ic l)«\ro.
Ye hoavoiiH ' from liif^h iho dewy IICM-IJT your,
And in woft niloncu nlicd th<k kindly t- lumen,
Tho sick and weak tho licalui?: plant/ hhall

aid,
From HtormH a Hh<jltor, and from iicat a

nluwlo.
All cninoH shall coaH(s and aiunont fruudH

Hhall fail ,

Ttotuniitig JiiKiico lift al(»ft hor Main .
Peace o'or tho world lior olivo wand ('xic'iKt,
And white-rolled Imic»c<»iico fr<un h<»{wcn

Swift ily tho yoiiTH, mid HMO thn c\p(M't<'d

morn 1
Oh, Mprhiff to liyht, aiih]ii<-iouH Uul«i, bo

born!

See, natnro liawtow her oarhoHt

to

bnng,

With all tho moon no of tho breathing upringl
Sec lofiy Jjobiiaon, hin h<»ad advanoo I
See nodding forowtH on tho mountains danco f
See wpioy olondH from lowly Sharon WHO,
And Oarmol'H flowery top porfumo ili« Hkiow I
Hark ' a glad voice the lonely doHorl (
Prepare tho way ! a God, a God

From 1689 to 1727 ]

SATJUE.

[POPE.

I

A God, a Ood ' the vocal hills reply ,
The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity
Lo! earth receives him from the bending

Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys

rise,

With heads declined, ye cedars homage pay ;
Be smooth, ye rocks ye rapid floods, give

way'

The Saviour comes' by ancient bards fore-
told

Hoar him, ye deaf and all ye blind, behold '
Ho from thick films aim?! purge tho visual

ray,

And on the sightless eyeball pour tho day
'Tis he the obstructed paths of sound shall

clear,
And bid now nrasio charm the unfolding

ear
The dumb shall sing, tho lame his crutch

forogo,

And leap exulting like the bounding roe
No High, no murmur, the wide world shall

hoar,

From every face he wipes off every tear.
La adamantine chains shall death be bound,
And hell's grim tyiant fool the eternal

wound

As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Rooks freshest pasture, and tho puiofrt air ,
Explores the lofat, tho wandering sheep

directs,

By <lny O'CTKOOS them, and by night protects ,
Tho tender lambs he IOIHOH m IIIH arms,
Foods from his hand and in his bosom

warmn ,
Thus shall mankind hw guardian care

engage,

Tho promised father of tho future age.
"No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors moot with hateful eyes ;
Nor fields with gloaming steel be covered

o'or,

The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more •
But ufloloHfl lanoos into scythes shall bond,
And tho broad falchion in a ploughshare

end

Then palaces Khali nso , tho joyful son
Shall finiHh what his short-lived ure begun ,
Their vinos a shadow to their race shall

yield,
And tho same hand that sowed, Hhall reap

tho field.

Tho swain in barren deserts with surprise
SOOB lilies spring, and sudden verdure IIRO ,
And Htarts, amidst the thirsty wilds to hear
Now falls of water murmuring in his ear
On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes,
Tho groan reed trembles, and the buliu&h

nods
Waate sandy valleys, once perplexed with

thorn,

Tho apiry fir and shapely box adorn
To leafless shrubs the flowery palms suc-
ceed,
And odorous myrtle to the noisome woed

The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant

mead,

And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead :
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's

feet

The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake ;
Pleased the green lustre of the scales survey,
And with their f orky tongue shall innocently

Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem,

nse1

Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes '
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn !
See future sons and daughters yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding Me, impatient for the skies r
See baibaious nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend '
See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate

kings,

And heaped with products of Sabean springs
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains

glow.

See heaven its spaikhng portals wide display,
And bieak upon thee in a flood of day '
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn ,
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, ono unclouded blaze
O'erflow thy courts • tho Light himself shall

shine

Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine !
Tho seas shall waste, the skies in smoke

decay,

Books fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fixed his word, his saving power remains ,
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah

reigns!

Pope— Born 1688, Dwd 1744.

777 — SATIRE.

I've often wished that I had clear
For life, six hundred pounds a year,
A handsome house to lodge a f nend,
A river at my garden's end,
A terrace- walk, and half a rood
Of land, sot out to plant a wood.

Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase my store ,
But here a grievance seems to lie,
All this is mine but till I die ;
I can't but think 'twould sound more clever
To me and to my heirs for over

If I ne'er got or lost a groat,
By any trick, or any fault ;
And if I pray by Reason's rules,
And not like forty other fools
As thus, " Vouchsafe, oh gracious Maker '
To grant me this and t'other acre .
Or, if it be thy will and pleasure,
Direct my plow to find a treasure -

SATIRE

[FIFTH. PERIOD.-

But only what my station fits,
And to be kept in my right wits,
Preserve, Almighty Providence '
Just what you gave me, competence :
And let me in these shades compose
Something m verse as true as prose ;
Removed from all th' ambitious scene,
Nor puiFd by pride, nor sunk by spleen."

In short, I'm perfectly content,
Let me but Live on this side Trent ;
Nor cross the Channel twice a year,
To spend sis months with statesmen here

I must by all means come to town,
'Tis for the service of the crown.
" Lewis, the Dean -mil be of use,
Send for him up, take no excuse."
The toil, idie danger of the seas ;
Great ministers ne'er think of these ,
Or let it cost five hundred pound,
No matter where the money's found.
It is but so much more in debt,
And that they ne'er consider* d yet.

" Good Mr. Bean, go change your gown,
Let my lord know you're come to town."
I hurry me in haste away,
Not thinking it is levee-day ;
And find his honour in a pound,
Hemm'd by a triple circle round,
Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green
How should I thrust myself between ?
Some wag observes me thus perplext,
And enrnlrng whispers to the next,
" I thought the Dean had been too proud
To justie here among a crowd **
Another, in a surly nt,
Tells me I have more zeal than wit,
" So eager to express your love,
You ne'er consider whom you shove,
But rudely press before a duke "
I own, I'm pleased with this rebuke,
And take it kindly meant to show
"What I desire the world should know

I get a whisper, and withdraw :
"When twenty fools I never saw
Come with petitions fairly penn'd,
Desiring- 1 would stand their friend.

This, humbly offers me his case —
That, begs my int'rest for a place —
A hundred other men's affairs,
Like bees, are humming in my ears
'* To-morrow my appeal comes on,
Without your help the cause is gone " —
The duke expects my lord and you,
About some great affair, at two —
'* Put my lord Boluxgbroke in mind,
To get my warrant quickly signed :
Consider 'tis my first request " —
Be satisfied, I'll do my best —
Then, presently he falls to tease,
" Tou may be certain, if you please,
I doubt not, if his lordship knew —
And. Mr. Bean, one word from you — "

"Rs (let me see) three years and more,
(October next it will be four,)
Since Harley bid me first attend,
And ohose me for an humble friend;

Would take me in his coach to chat,

And question me of this and that ,

As, "What's o'clock?" And, "How's the

wind?"

« Who's chariot 's that we loft behind ?"
Or gravely try to read the hne%
Wnt underneath the country signs ;
Or, " Have you nothing new to-day
Prom Pope, from Parnell, or from Guy ? "
Such tattle often enteitoins
My lord and me as far as Staines,
As once a week we travel down
To Windsor, and again to town,
Where all that passes inter nos,
Might be pioolaim'd at Channg-Cross.

Yet some I know with envy swell,
Because they see me used so well
" How think you of our friend the Boon P
I wonder what some people mean ;
My lord and he are grown so great,
Always together, t&te-cL-t6te
What, they admire "h"" for his jokes —
See but the fortune of some folks ! "
There flies about a strange report
Of some express arrived at court ;
I'm stopt by all the fools I meet,
And catechised in every street
"You, Mr Beau, frequent the great,
Inform us, will the emp'ror treat P
Or do the prults and papers lie?* "
Faith, Sir, you know as much as I
" Ah, doctor, how you love to jest !
7Tis now no secret " — I protest
'Tis one to me — " Then tell us, pray,
When are the troops to have their pay ? "
And tho' I solemnly declare
I know no more than my lord-mayor,
They stand amazed, and think mo grown
The closest mortal ever known

Thus in a sea of folly toss'd,
My choicest hours of Me are lost ,
Yet always wishing to retreat,
Oh, could I see my country seat f
There, leaning near a gentle brook,
Sleep, or peruse some ancient book,
And there in sweet oblivion drown
Those cares that haunt the courb and

town

O charming noons ' and nights divine I
Or when I sup, or when I dine,
My friends above, my folks below,
Chatting and laughing oll-a-row,
The beans and bacon set before 'cm,
The grace-cup served with all decorom ;
Bach willing to be pleased, and please,
And eveu the very dogs at case '
Here no man prates of idle things,
How this or that Italian songs,
A neighbour's madness, or his spouse's,
Or what's in either of the houses
But something much more our concern,
And quite a scandal not to learn
Which is the happier, or the wiser,
A man of merit, or a miser ?
Whether we ought to choose our fuonds
For their own worth or our own ends p

from 1689 to 1727 ]

TO A. LADY

[POPE.

What good, or better, we may call,
And what, the very best of all P

Our friend Ban Prior told (yon know)
A tale extremely & propos
Name a town life, and in a trioe
He had a story of two mice.
Once on a time (so runs the fable)
A cotuitry mouse, right hospitable,
Beceived a town monse at his board,
Just as a farmer might a lord.
A frugal monse upon the whole,
Yet loved his fnend, and had a soul,
Knew what was handsome, and would do't,
On jnst occasion, coftte gue codte,
He brought him bacon (nothing lean) ;
Pudding that might have pleased a dean ;
Cheese snoh as men in Suffolk make,
But wish'd it Stilton for his sake ,
Yet, to his guest though no way sparing,
He eat himself the rind and paring
Our courtier scarce could touch a bit,
But show'd his breeding and his wit ,
He did his host to seem to eat,
And cned, " I vow you're mighty neat,
But lord, my friend, this savage scene '
For God's sake, come, and live with men :
Consider, mice, like men, must die,
Both small and great, both yon and I •
Then spend your hfe in joy and sport ,
(This doctrine, fnend, I learnt at court.")

Tho veriest hermit on the nation
May yield, God knows, to strong temptation.
Away they come, through thick and thin,
To a tall house near Lincoln's Inn .
fTwas on the night of a debate,
When all their lordships had sate late.)

Behold the place where if a poet
Shinod in description he might show it ;
Tell how the moonbeam trembling falls,
And tips with silver all the walls ;
PaJladion walls, Venetian doors,
Grotcsoo roofs, and stucco floors :
But let it (in a word) be said,
The moon was up, and men a-bed,
The napkins white, the carpet red :
The guests withdrawn hod left the treat,
And down the mice sate, ttite-drttite

Our courtier walks from dish to dish,
Tastes for his fnend of fowl and fish ,
Tolls all their names, lays down the law,
" Que qa cst bon ' Go'dtez go, !
That jelly 's rich, this malmsey healing,
Pray dip your whiskers and your tail in "
Was over such a happy swain '
He stuffs and swills, and stuffs again.
" I'm quite ashamed — 'tis mighty rude
To eat so much — but all's so good.
I have a thousand thanks to give —
My lord alone knows how to live."
No sooner said, but from the hall
Bush chaplain, butler, dogs, and all
"Araf arat1 clap to the door "—
The cat comes bouncing on the floor.
O for the heart of Homer's mice,
Or gods to save them in a trice '
(It was by Ptovidence they think,
For your damn'd stucco has no chink )

" An't please your honour," quoth the peasant,
" This same dessert is not so pleasant .
Give me again my hollow tree,
A crust of bread, and liberty I "

Pope— : Sam 1688, Died 1744.

778— TO A LADY.

Nothing so true as what you once let faH,
" Most women have no characters at all."
Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distrngnish'd by black, brown, or

fair.

How many pictures of one nymph we view,
All how unlike each other, all how true '
Arcadia's countess, here in ermined pride,
Is there, Pastora by a fountain side
Here Panma, leering on her own good man,
And there, a naked Leda with a swan.
Let then the fair one beautifully cry,
In Magdalene's loose hair, and lifted eye,
Or drest in smiles of sweet Cecilia Rhine,
With simpering angels, palms, and harps*

divine,

Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it,
If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.
Come then, the colours and the ground

prepare '

Dip in the rainbow, tnck her off in air ,
Choose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it
Catch, eie she change, the Cynthia of this

minute
Bufa, whoso eye, quick glancing o'er the

Park,

Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark,
Agrees as ill with Bufa studying Locke,
As Sappho's diamonds with her duty smock ;
Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task,
With Sappho fragrant at an evening mask :
So morning insects, that in muck begun,
Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting sun.

How soft is Silm ' fearful to offend ,
The frail-one's advocate, the weak-one's

fnend

To her Calista proved her conduct nice,
And good Simpliaras asks of her advice
Sudden, she storms ' she raves ' You tip the

wink,

But spore your censure ; Siha does not dnnk.
All eyes may see from what the change arose,
All eyes may see — a pimple on her nose

Papillia, wedded to her amorous spark,
Sighs for the shades — " How charming is a

park'"

A park is purchased, but the fair he sees
All bathed in tears— " Oh odious, odious

trees'"

Ladies, like variegated tulips, show,
JTis to their changes half their charms we

owe;

Pine by defect, and delicately weak,
Their happy spots the nice admirei take.
'Twos thus Calypso once each heart alarm'd,
Awed without virtue, without beauty uhorm'd ;

TO A LADY.

.[FIFTH PBBIOP —

Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes,
Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise ;
Strange graces still, and stranger flights she

had,

Was just not ugly, and was just not mad ,
Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create,
As when she touch' d the brink of all we

hate

Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild,
To make a wash, would hardly stew a child ;
Has ev*n been proved to grant a lover's

prayer,
And paid a tradesman once to make "*"™

stare,

Gave alms at Easter, in a Christian trim,
And made a widow happy, for a whim.
Why then declare good-nature is her scorn,
"When 'tis by that alone she can be borne ?
Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name p
A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame :
Now deep In Taylor and the Book of

Martyrs,
Now fl"riiVllpTig citron with fas grace and

Chortres,
Now conscience chills her, and now passion

burns,

And atheism and religion take their turns ;
A very heathen in the carnal part,
Yet still a sad good Christian at her heart

See 8m in state, majestically drunk,
Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk ,
Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside,
A teeming mistress, but a barren bride,
What then? let blood and body bear the

fault,
Her head's untouoh'd, that noble seat of

thought ;

Such this day's doctrine — in another fit
She sins with poets through pure love of wit
What has not fired her bosom or her brain P
Csesar and Tall-boy, Charles and Char-
lemagne.

As Helluo, late dictator of the feast,
The nose of Haut-gout, and the tip of Taste,
Critiqued your wine, and analysed your meat,
Yet on plain pudding deign' d at home to eat
So Philomed£, lecturing all mankind
On the soft passion, and the taste refined,
Th' address, the delicacy — stoops at once,
And makes her hearty meal upon a dunce

Flavia's a wit, has too much sense to pray ;
To toast our wants and wishes, is her way ;
Nor asks of God, but of her stars, to give
The mighty blessing, " while we live, to live "
Then all for death, that opiate of the soul '
Lucretia'a dagger, Bosamonda's bowl
Say, what can cause such impotence of mind P
A spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind?
Wise wretch ' with pleasures too refined to

please;

With too much spirit to be e'er at ease ,
With too much quickness ever to be taught ,
With too much thinking to have common

thought:

You purchase pain with all that joy can give,
And die of nothing but a rage to live.

Turn then from wits ; and look on Simo's

mate,

No ass so meek, no ass so obstinate
Or her, that owns her faults, but never

Because she's honest, and the best of friends
Or her, whose life the church and scandal

share,

For ever in a passion, or a prayer.
Or her, who laughs at Hell, but (like her

grace)
Ones, " Ah ' how charming, if there's no such

place i "

Or who in sweet vicissitude appears
Of mirth and opium, ratafie and tears,
The daily anodyne, and nightly draught,
To kill those foes to fair-ones, tune and

thought

Woman and fool are two hard things to hit ,
For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit.

But what are these to great Atossa's mind P
Scarce once herself, by turns all woman-kind I
Who, with herself, or others, from her birth
Finds all her life one warfare upon Earth •
Shines, in exposing knaves, and painting fools,
Yet is, whate'er she hates and ridicules.
No thought advances, but her eddy brain
Whisks it about, and down it goes again
Full sixty years the world has been her

trade,

The wisest fool much time has ever made
From loveless youth to unrespeoted age
No passion gratified, except her rage,
So much the fnry stall outran the wit,
The pleasure miss'd her, and the scandal hit.
Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from

Hell,

But he's a bolder mart who dares be well
Her every turn with violence pursued,
Nor more a storm her hate than gratitude
To that each passion turns, or soon or late ,
Love, if it makes her yield, must make her

hate-

Superiors ? death ! and equals p what a curse f
But an inferior not dependant P worse.
Offend her, and she knows not to forgive ;
Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you

live
But die, and she'll adore you — Thon the

bust

And temple nse — then fall again to dust
Last night, her lord was all that's good and

great,

A knave this morning, and his will a cheat
Strange ' by the means defeated of tho cndfl,
By spirit robb'd of power, by warmth of

friends,

By wealth of followers f without ono distress
Sick of herself, through very selfishness '
Atossa, cursed with every granted prayer,
Childless with all her children, wants an heir,
To heirs unknown descends th' unguarded

store,
Or wanders, Heaven-directed, to the poor.

Pictures, like these, dear madam, to design,
ApVp) JIQ fijm hand* and no unerring line

From 1689 to 1727.]

TO A LADY.

[POPK.

Some wondering touches, some reflected

Some flying stroke alone can nit them right .
For how should equal colours do the knack ?
Chameleons who can paint in white and black p
"Yet Ohloe sure was form'd without a

spot."—

Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot
" With every pleasing, every prudent part,
Say, what can Chloe want ? " — She wants a

heart
She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she

ought;
But never, never reaoh'd one generous

thought

Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour,
Content to dwell in decencies for ever.
So very reasonable, so unmoved,
As never yet to love, or to be loved
She, while her lover pants upon her breast,
Con mark the figures on an Indian chest ;
And when she sees her friend in deep despair,
Observes how much a chintz exceeds mohair
Forbid it, Heaven, a favour or a debt
She e'er should cancel — but she may forget.
Safe is your secret still in Chloe's ear ,
But none of Chloe's shall you ever hear.
Of all her dears she never slander' d one,
But cares not if a thousand are undone.
"Would Chloe know if you're alive or dead ?
She bids her footman put it in her head
Chloo is prudent — Would you too be wise p
Then never break your heart when Chloe

dies

Ono certain portrait may (I grant) be seen,
Which Heaven has varnish' d out, and made

a quoon

The samo for ever ' and described by all
With truth and goodness, as with crown and

ball.

Poets heap virtues, painters gems at will,
And show their zeal, and hide their want of

skill
9 TIB well — but, artists1 who can paint or

write,

To diaw the naked is your true debght
That robe of quality so struts and swells,
None see what parts of Nature it conceals
Th' exactest traits of body or of mind,
Wo owe to models of an humble kind
If Quoensberry to stnp there's no compelling,
'Tie from a handmaid we must take a Helen.
Fiom peer or bishop 'tis no easy thing
To draw the mam, who loves his God, or king .
Alas ' I copy (or my draught would fail)
From honest Mah'met, or plain parson Hale
But grant, m public, men sometimes

are shown,

A woman 's seen in private life alone
Our bolder talents in full life display'd ,
Your virtues open fairest in the shade
Bred to disguise, in public 'fas you hide ,
There, none distinguish 'twuct your shame or

pride

Weakness or delicacy ; all so nice,
That each may seem a virtue, or a vice

In men, we various ruling passions find ;
In women, two almost divide the kind .
Those, only fix'd, they first or last obey,
The love of pleasure, and the love of sway.
That, Nature gives ; and where the lesson

taught

Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault ?
Experience, **"« , by man's oppression curst,
They seek the second not to lose the first.
Men, some to business, some to pleasure

take,

But every woman is at heart a rake :
Men, some to quiet, some to public strife ;
But every lady would be queen for Me.
Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of

queens!

Power all their end, but beauty all the means :
In youth they conquei with so wild a rage,
As leaves them scarce a subject in their age .
For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam ,
No thought of peace or happiness at home.
But wisdom's triumph is well-tuned retreat,
As hard a science to the fair as great r
Beauties, like tyrants, old and friendless

grown,

Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone,
Worn out in public, weary every eye,
Nor leave one sigh behind them when they

die

Pleasures the sex, as children birds, pursue,
Still out of reach, yet never out of view ;
Sure, if they catch, to spoil the toy at most,
To covet flying, and regret when lost :
At last, to follies youth could scarce defend,
It grows their age's prudence to pretend ;
Ashamed to own they gave delight before,
Eeduoed to feign it, when they give no more
As hags hold sabbaths, less for joy than

spite,

So these their merry, miserable night ;
Still round and round the ghosts of beauty

glide,
And haunt the places where their honour

died.

See how the world its veterans rewards '
A youth of frolics, an old-age of cards -
Fair to no purpose, artful to no end ,
Young without lovers, old without a friend ;
A fop their passion, but their prize a sot ,
Alive, ridiculous; and dead, forgot '

Ah ' friend ' to dazzle let the vain design ;
To raise the thought, and touch the heart, be

thine'
That charm shall grow, while what fatigues

the ring,

Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing •
So when the Sun's broad beam has tired the

sight,

All mild ascends the Moon's more sober light,
Serene in virgin modesty she shines,
And unobserved the glaring orb declines
Oh! blest with tempei, whose unclouded

ray

Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day •
She, who can love a sister's charms, or hear
Sighs for a daughter with unwound3d car ,

POPE]

THE MAN OP BOSS

PERIOD —

She who ne'er answers till a husband cools,
Or, if she rules him, never shows she roles ,
Charms by accepting, by submitting sways,
Yet has her humour most, when she obeys ,
Let fops or Fortune fly which way they will,
Disdains all loss of tickets, or codille ,
Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them

all,

And mistress of herself, though china fall.
And yet, believe me, good as well as ill,
Woman's at best a contradiction still
Heaven when it strives to polish all it can
Its last best work, but forms a softer man ,
Picks from each sex, to make the favourite

blest,

Tour love of pleasure, our desire of rest
Blends, in exception to all general rules,
Your taste of follies, with our scorn of

fools-
Beserve with frankness, art with truth

allied,

Courage with softness, modesty with pride ,
Fix'd principles, with fancy ever new,
Shakes all together, and produces — you
Be this a woman's fame ' with this unblest,
Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a

jest.

This Phoebus promised (I forget the year)
When those blue eyes first open'd on the

sphere;
Ascendant Phoebus watch'd that hour with

care,

Averted half your parents' simple prayer ,
And gave you beauty, but denied the pelf
That buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself
The generous god, who wit and gold refines,
And ripens spirits as he ripens mines,
Kept dross for duchesses, the world shall

know it,
To you gave sense, good-humour, and a poet.

Pope —Sorn 1688, Died 1744

779.— THE MAN OP ROSS

But all our praises why should lords

engross?
Else, honest Musef and sing the MAN of

Boss
Pleased Vaga echoes through her winding

bounds,

And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds
Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry

brow?
From the dry rock who bade the waters

flow?

Not to the skies in useless columns tost,
Or in proud falls magnificently lost ;
But clear and artless pouring through the

plain

Health to the sick, and solace to the swam.
Whose causeway parts the vale with shady

rows?
Whose seats the weary traveller repose ?

Who taught that heaven-directed spire to

rise?
"The Man of Boss," each lisping babo

replies
Behold the market-place with poor o'or-

spread1

The Man of Boss divides the weekly bread
He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of

state,

Where Age and Want sit smiling at the gate ,
Him portion' d maids, apprenticed orphan*

blest,
The young who labour, and the old who

rest

Is any sick P the Man of Boss relieves,
Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes, and

gives.

Is there a variance? enter but his door,
Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no

more.

Despairing quacks with curses fled the place,
And vile attorneys, now an useless race.

Pope.— Born 1688, Ihed 1744.

780.— THE TOILET.

And now, unveiled, the toilet stands dis-
played,

Each silver vase in mystic oidor laid ,
Fast, robed in white, the nymph intent

adores,

With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers.
A heavenly image in the glass appears,
To that she bends, to that her eye she rears j
The inferior pnestess, at her altar's side,
Trembling begins the sacred rites of pnde.
Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and

here

The various offerings of tho world appear ,
From each she nicely culls with curious

toil,
And decks the goddess with the glittering

spoil

This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box
The tortoise here and elephant toute,
Transformed to combs, the speckled and the

white.

Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, pdwders, patches, bibles, billet-doux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms ,
The fair each moment rises in her charms,
Bepairs her armies, awakens every grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face $
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The busy sylphs surround their darling care,
These set the head, and those divide the

hair,
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the

gown,

And Betty's praised for labours not her own.
Pope —Bom 1688, Died 1744.

From 1689 to 1727 ]

COLIN AOT> LUCY.

[THOMAS TlCKELL.

781.— THE DYING- CHRISTIAN TO HIS
.SOUL,

Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, oli quit this mortal frame
Tiembling, hoping, lingering, flying —
Oh the pam, the bliss of dying '

Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,

And let me languish into life '

Hark ' they whisper ; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away '
What is this absorbs me quite p
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,

Browns my spirits, draws my breath ?

Tell me, my soul, can this be death ?

The woild recedes , it disappears '
Heaven opens on my eyes ' my ears

With sounds seraphic ring-
Lend, lend your wings I mount ' I fly !
O Grave ' where is thy victory P

O Death ' where is thy sting ?

Pope— J3oml688, Died 1744.

782 —THE QUEST LIFE

Happy the man whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air

In his own ground.

Whoso holds with milk, whose fields with

bread,

Whoso flocks supply him with attire ;
Whoso trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter, fire

Blest, who can unconcern' dly find

Hours, days, and years glide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night ; study and ease

Together mix'd , sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown ;

Thus unlamentod let me die »
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I he

Pope.— Born 1688, Died 1744

783.— MOONLIGHT.

The troops exulting sat in order round,
And beaming fires iHumined all the ground,
As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night !
O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred

light,

When, not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene ,

Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumbered gild tha glowing pole ;
O'er tl o dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And til with silver every mountain's head ,
Then shine the vales, the rocks m prospect

rise,

A flood of glory bursts from all the skies .
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful

light

So many flames before proud Hion blaze,
And lighten glimmering Santhus with their

rays,

The long reflections of the distant fires
Gleam on the walls and tremble on the

A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild,
And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field
Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend,
Whose umbered arms, by fits, thick flashes

send,
Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of

corn,
And ardent warriors wait the rising morn.

.— Born 1688, Jhe& 1744.

784 —COLIN AND LUCY

A. 1

Of Leinster, famed for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace,

Nor e'er did Tnfly's limpid stream
Befiect so sweet a face ;

Till luckless love and pining caie

Imparted her rosy hue,
Her coral lips and dfl.ynfl.aTr cheeks,

And eyes of glossy blue.

Oh ! have you seen a lily pale
When beating rams descend ?

So drooped the slow-consuming maid,
Her life now near its end

By Lucy warned, of flattering swains

Take heed, ye easy fair '
Of vengeance due to broken vows,

Te perjuied swains ! beware.

Three tunes all in the dead of night

A bell was heard to ring,
And shrieking, at her window thrice

The raven flapped his wing

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The solemn boding sound,

And thus in dying words bespoke
The virgins weeping round

" I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says I must not stay ;

I see a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.

.-

THOMAS TIOKELI, ] TO EABL WARWICK, ON ADDISON*S DEATH. [FIFTH PERIOD. —

By a false heart and broken vows

In, eaily youth. I die
Was I to blame because his bride

Was thrice as rich as I ?

Ah, Colin i give not her thy vows,

Vows due to me alone ,
Nor thou, fond maid ' receive his kiss,

Nor ffliJTiV him all thy own

To-morrow in the church to wed,

Impatient both prepare ,
But know, fond maid ' and know, false man !

That Lucy will be there.

Then bear my corso, my comrades f bear.
This bridegroom blithe to meet ,

He in his wedding- tnm so gay,
I in my winding sheet "

She spoke ; she died Her corpse was borne

The bridegroom blithe to meet
He in his wedding tnm so gay,

She in her winding sheet.

Then what were perjured Cohn's thoughts p

How were these nuptials kept ?
• The bridesmen flocked round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.

Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,

At once his bosom swell ,
The damps of death bedewed his brow -

He shook, he groaned, he fell.

From the vain bride, ah ' bride no more !

The varying crimson fled,
When stretched before her rival's corpso

She saw her husband dead.

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave

Conveyed by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,

For ever he remains

Oft at this grave the constant hind

And plighted maid are seen ;
With garlands gay and true-love knots

They deck the sacred gieen

But, swain forsworn f whoe'er thou art,

This hallowed spot forbear ;
Remember Colin* s dreadful fate,

And fear to meet him there.

Thomas Twhellt--Bo>ni 1086, Died 1740.

785.— TO THE EABL OF WABWIOE:, ON
THE DEATH OF ADDISON.

If, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath

stayed.

And left her debt to Addison unpaid,
Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan,
And judge, O judge, my bosom by your own.
What momner ever felt poetic fibres '
Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires -

Grief unaffected suits but ill with ait,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.

Can I forget the dismal night that gavo
My soul's best part for ever to the grave ?
How silent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead,
Through bieathwg statugs, then unheeded

things,
Through rows of warriors, and through walks

of kings*

What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire ;
The pealing organ, and the pausing choir ;
The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid
And the last words, that dust to dust convey' d r
While speechless o'er thy closing grave we

bend,

Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend.
Oh, gone for ever ' take this long adieu ;
And sleep in peace, next thy loved Montague.
To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine,
A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shnno ,
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan,
And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
If e'er from me thy loved memorial part.
May shame afflict this alienated heart •
Of thee forgetful if I form a song,
My lyre be broken, and untuned my tongue,
My gnef be doubled from thy image free,
And mirth a torment, unchastised by thee !

Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
Sad luxury ' to vulgar minds unknown,
Along the walls whexe speaking marbles show
What worthies form the hallow'd mould

below,
Proud names, who once the loins of empire-

held;

In arms who triumph'd , or in aits oxeolTd,
Chiefs, graced with soars, and piodigal of

blood ,

Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood ;
Just men, by whom impartial laws wore

given,
And saints, who taught and led tho way to

heaven,
Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty

rest,

Since their foundation came a nobler guort ;
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bhss convoy'd
A fauer spirit or more welcome shade.

In what new region, to the just assign' d,
What new employments please th' unbodied

mind ?

A winged Virtue, through th' othoroal sky,
From world to world unwearied does ho fly ?
Or curious trace the long laborious mazo
Of heaven's decrees, where wondering angols

gaze ?

Does he delight to hear bold seraphs toll
How Michael battled, and the dragon f ell ;
Or, mix'd with milder cherubim, to glow
In hymns of love, not ill essay1 d below P
Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind,
A task well suited to thy gentle mind ?

JVom 1689 to 1727.]

TH'W DISPENSABY.

GARTH.

Oil f if sometimes thy spotless form descend,
To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend '
When rago misguides me, or when foar

alarms,
When pain distresses, or when pleasure

ohaims,

In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart,
And torn from ill a frail and feeble heart ;
Load through the paths thy virtue trod before,
Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us

more

That awful form, which, so the heavens

decree,

Must still be loved and still deplored by me ,
la nightly visions seldom fails to rise,
Or, roused by fancy, meets my waking eyes.
If business calls, or crowded courts invite,
Th' unblemished statesman seems to strike

my bight ,

If in the stage I seek to soothe my care,
I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there ;
If pensive to the rural shades I rove,
His shape o'oitakes me in the lonely grove ;
'Twas thero of just and good he reason,' d

strong,
Clear' d some great truth, or raised some

serious seng
Thoro patient show*d us tho wiae course to

steer,

A candid censor, and a friend severe ,
Thoro taught us how to hvo; and (oh! too

high
Tho pnco for knowledge,) taught us how to

die.

Thou hill, whoso brow tho antique struc-
tures grace,
Roar'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble

race,
Why, once so loved, whene'er thy bower

appears,
O'er my dim eye-balls glance tho sudden

tears?
How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and

fair,

Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air '
How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged

trees,

Thy noontide shadow, and thy evenuig breeze '
His image thy forsaken bowers restore,
Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more ;
No more the summer in thy glooms allay* d,
Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade.

From other ills, however fortune frown' d3
Some refuge in the Muse's art I found ;
Reluctant now I touch the trembling string,
Bereft of him who taught me how to sing ;
And these sad accents, murmur'd o'er his

urn,

Betray that absence they attempt to mourn
0 ' must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds,
And Croggs in death to Addison succeeds,)
The verse, begun to one lost fnend, prolong,
And weep a second in th' im finish' d song '

These works divine, which on his death-bed

laid

To tnee, 0 Craggs ' th' expiring sage convey' d,
Great, but ill-omen'd, monument of fame,
Nor he survived to give, nor thou to claim.
Swift after Tnm thy social spirit flies,
And close to his, how soon ' thy coffin lies.
Blest pair ' whose union future bards shall tell
In future tongues each other's boast ' fare-
well!
Farewell ' whom, joined in fame, in friendship

tried,
No chance could sever, nor the grave divide

Tlwmas TicTcell—Smn 1686, Died 1740.

786.— -THE DISPENSAJE&Y.
Speak, goddess ' since 'tis thou that best canst

ten

How ancient leagues to modern* discord fell j
And why physicians were so cautious grown
Of others' lives, and lavish of their own;
How by a journey to th' Ely man plain
Peace triumph' d, and old Time return' d again.

Not far from that most celebrated place,
Where angry Justice shows her awful face ;
Wheie little villains must submit to fate,
That gioat ones may enjoy the world in state ;
There stands a dome, majestic to the sight,
And sumptuous arches bear its oval height ;
A golden globe, placed high with artful skull,
Seems, to the distant sight, a gilded pill
This pile was, by the pious patron's aim,
liaised for a use as noble as its frame ;
Nor did the learn.' d society decline
The propagation of that great design ;
In all her mazes, nature's face they view'd,
And, as she disappear' d, their search pursued.
Wrapp'd in tho shade of night the goddess lies,
Yet to the learn' d unveils her dark disguise,
But shuns the gross access of vulgar eyes.

Now she unfolds .the faint and dawning*

strife

Of infant atoms kindling into life ;
How ductile matter new meanders takes,
And slender trains of twisting fibres makes ;
And how the viscous seeks a closer tone,
By just degrees to harden into bone ,
While the more loose flow from the vital urn,
And in full tides of purple streams retain ,
How lambent flames from life's bright lamps

arise,

And dart in emanations through the eyes ,
How from each sluice a gentle torrent pours,
To slake a feverish heat with ambient showers;
Whence their mechanic powers the spirits

claim,
How great their force, how delicate their

frame,

How the same nerves ore fashion' d to sustain
The greatest pleasure and tho greatest pain ,

35*

SAMUEL GARTH]

THE DISPENSABY.

[FIFTH PBBIOD. —

Why bilious juice a golden light puts on,
And floods of chyle in silver currents run ,
How the dim speok of entity began
T' extend its recent form, and stietch to

man,

To how minute an origin we owe
Young Ammon, Csasar, and the great Nassau ;
Why paler looks impetuous rage proclaim,
And why chill virgins redden into flame ,
Why envy oft transforms with wan disguise,
And why gay mirbh Bits smiling m the eyes ,
AH ice, why Lucrece , or Semproma, fire ;
Why Scarsdale rages to survive desire ,
When Milo's vigour at the Olympic *s shown,
Whence tropes to Finch, or impudence to

Sloane;

How matter, by the varied shape of pores,
Or idiots frames, or solemn senators

Hence 'tis we wait the wondrous cause to

find,

How body acts upon impassive mind ,
How fumes of wine the tTimlring part can

fire,

Past hopes revive, and present joys inspire ,
Why our complexions oft our soul declare,
And how the passions in the feature are ;
How touch and harmony arise between
Corporeal figure, and a form unseen ,
How quick their faculties the limbs fulfil,
And act at every summons of the will.
With mighty truths, mysterious to descry,
yviTHQh jix the womb of distant causes lie.

But now no grand inquiries are descried,
Mean faction reigns where knowledge should

preside,

Feuds are increased, and learning laid aside
Thus synods oft concern for faith conceal,
And for important nothings show a zeal
The drooping sciences neglected pine,
And Paaan's beams with fading lustre shine
No readers here with hectic looks are found,
Nor eyes in rheum, through midnight-watching,

drown1 d;

The lonely edifice in sweats complains
That nothing there but sullen silence reigns

This place, so fit for undistuib'd repose,
The God of Sloth for his asylum chose ;
Upon a couch of down in these abodes,
Supine with folded arms he thoughtless nods ;
Indulging dreams his godhead lull to ease,
With murmurs of soft nils, and whispering

trees:

The poppy and each numbing plant dispense
Their drowsy virtue, and dull indolence,
No passions interrupt his easy reign,
No problems puzzle his lethargic brain ;
But dark oblivion guards his peaceful bed,
And lazy fogs hang lingering o'er his head

As at full length the pamper'd monarch lay,
Battening in ease, and slumbering life away ,
A spiteful noiae his downy chains unties,
Hastes forward, and increases as it flies.

ITirst, some to cleave the stubborn flint

engage,

Till, urged by blows, it sparkles into rage
Some temper lute, some spacious vessels

move,

These fuinaoes erect, and those approve ;
Here phials in nice discipline are sot,
There gallipots are ranged m alphabet.
In t*ng place, magazines of pills you spy *
In that, like forage, herbs in bundles he ,
While hfted pestles, brandish.' d in the air,
Descend in peals, and civil wars declare,
Loud strokes, with pounding spice, the fabric

rend,
And aromatic clouds in spires ascend

So when the Cyclops o'er their anvils sweat,
And swelling sinews echoing blows repeat ,
From the volcanos gross eruptions rise,
And curling sheets of smoke obscure the
skies

The slumbering god, amazed at this new

din,
Thrice strove to nse, and thrice sunk down

again,
Listless he stretch' d, and gaping rubb'd his

eyes,

Then falter'd thus betwixt half words and
. sighs:

How impotent a deity am I '
With godhead born, but cursed, that cannot

die'

Through my indulgence, mortals hourly share
A grateful negligence, and ease fiom care
LulTd in my arms, how long have I withhold
The northern monarchs from the dusty field '
How I have kept the British fleet at ease,
Piom tempting the rough dangers of the

seas'

Hiberma owns the mildness of my reign,
And my divinity 's adored m Spain.
I swains to sylvan solitudes convey,
Where, stretch'd on mossy beds, they waste

away

In gentle joys the night, in vows the day.
What marks of wondrous clemency I've shown,
Some reverend worthies of the gown cam

own

Triumphant plenty, with a cheerful grace,
Basks in their eyes, and sparkles in their

face
How sleek thoir looks, how goodly is their

mien,

When big they strut behind a double chin r
Each faculty in blandishments they lull,
Aspiring to be venerably dull ,
No learn' d debates molest their downy trance,
Or discompose their pompous ignorance ,
But, undisturb'd, they loiter life away,
So wither green, and blossom in decay ,
Deep sunk in down, they, by my gentle care,
Avoid th* inclemencies of morning air,
And leave to tatter' d crape the drudgery of

prayer.

From 1689 to 1727 ]

CREATION.

TJnm was civil, and not void of sense,
Had humour, and a courteous confidence
So spruce he moves, so gracefully he cocks,
The hallow'd rose declares him orthodox
He pass'd his easy hours, instead of prayer,
In madrigals, and phillysmg the fair ,
Constant at feasts, and each decorum knew,
And soon as the dessert appeal 'd, withdrew ,
Always obliging1, and without offence,
And fancied, for his gay impertinence
But see how ill mistaken parts succeed ,
He threw off my dominion, and would read ,
Engaged in controversy, wrangled well ,
In convocation language could excel ,
In volumes proved the church without defence,
By nothing guaided but by Providence ,
How grace and moderation disagree ,
And violence advances chanty
Thus wnt till none would read, becoming

soon
A wretched scribbler, of a rare buffoon

Mankind my fond propitious power has

tried,

Too oft to own, too much to bo denied.
And all I ask aie shades and silent bowers,
To pass in soft forgetfulness my hours
Oft have my fears some distant villa chose,
O'oi their quietus where fat judges doze,
And lull their cough and conscience to repose
Or, if some cloister's refuge I implore,
Whore holy drones o'er dying tapors snoio,
The pools of Nassau's aims those eyes unclose,
Mine ho molests, to give the woild icposo
That case I offer with contempt ho flioa,
His couch a tionoh, his canopy the skies
Nor dimes nor seasons his resolves contiol,
The equator has no heat, no ice the pole.
With arms resistless o'er the globe he flies,
And leaves to Jove the empuo of the skies

But, as the slothful god to yawn begun,
He shook off the dull mist, and thus wont on •

'Twas in this reverend dome I sought

repose,

Those walls were that asylum I had chose
Here havo I ruled long undisturbed with

broils,
And laugh' d at heroes, and their glouous

toils.

My annals are in mouldy mildews wrought,
With easy insignificance of thought.
But now some busy, enterprising brain
Invents new fancies to renew my pain,
And labours to dissolve my easy reign.

With that, the god his darling phantom

calls,
And from his faltering lips this message falls

Since mortals will dispute my power, I'll

try

Who has the greatest empire, they or I.
!Pind Envy out , some prince's court attend,
Most likely there you'll meet the famish.' d

fiend,

Or where dull critics authors' fate foretell ;
Or where stale maids, or meagre eunuchs,

dwell,

Tell the bleak fury what new proieots reign
Among the homicides of Warwick-lane ,
And what the event, unless she straight

inclines
To blast their hopes, and baffle their designs.

More he had spoke, but sudden vapours

rise,
And with their silken cords tie down his eyes.

Samuel Qwttli — Bom , Died 1718.

787.— COBEATION

You ask us why the soil the thistle breeds ;
Why its spontaneous birth are thorns and

weeds •

Why for the harvest it the harrow needs p
The Author might a nobler world have

made,

In brighter dress the hills and vales arrayed,
And all its face in flowery scenes displayed ;
The glebe unbilled might plenteous ciops have

borne,
And brought forth spicy groves instead of

thoin
Bach fiuit and flowers, without the gardener's

pains,
Might every hill havo ciowned, have honoured

fl.n the plains ,
This Nature might have boasted, had the

Mind

Who foimed the spacious universe designed
That man from labour free, as well as grief,
Should pass in lazy luxury his life.
Bub he his creature gave a fertile soil,
Fertile, but not without the owner's toil,
That some reward his industry should crown,
And that his food in part might be his own.
But while insulting you arraign the land,
Ask why it wants the plough, or labourer's

hand,

Kind to the marble rooks, you ne'er complain
That they, without the sculptor's skill and

pain,

No perfect statue yield, no basse-ieheve,
Or finished column for the palace give
Tet if from hillp unlaboured figures came,
Man might have ease enjoyed, though never

fame.

You may the world of more defect upbraid,
That other works by Nature are unmade .
That she did never, at her own expense,
A palace rear, and in magnificence
Out-nval art, to grace the stately rooms ,
That she no castle builds, no lofty domes
Had Nature's hand these various works pre-
pared,
What thoughtful care, whjg,t labour had boon

spared !

AMBROSE PHILIPS]

A FRAGMENT OF SAPPHO

FIFTH

But then no realm would one great master

slio-w1,

No Phidias Greece, and Borne no Angelo
With equal reason, too, you might demand
"Why boats and ships lequire the artist's

hand,

Why generous Nature did not these provide,
To pass the standing lake, or flowing tide 9
You say the hills, which high in air arise,
Harbour in clouds, and mingle with the skies,
That earth's dishonour and encumbering load,
Of many spacious regions man defraud ,
For beasts and birds of prey a desolate abode
But can the objector no convenience find

sL hills, and rooks, which gird and

bind
The mighty frame, that else would be dis-

joined p

Do not those heaps the raging tide restrain,
And for the dome afford the marble vein p
Do not the rivers from the mountains flow,
And bring down riches to the vale below P
See how the torrent rolls the golden sand
From the high ndges to the natter land.
The lofty lines abound with endless store
Of mineral treasure and metallic ore.

Blaclmore — Bom 1676, Died 1729.

788 —A FRAGMENT OF SAPPHO.

Blessed as the immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile.

Twas this deprived my soul of rest,
And raised such tumults in my breast ;
For while I gazed, in transport tossed,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost

My bosom glowed , the subtle flame
Ran quickly through my vital frame ;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.

In dewy damps my limbs were chilled,
My blood with gentle horrors thrilled ;
My feeble pulse foigot to play ,
I fainted, sunk, and died away

Ambrose Flwlips — Bom 1671, Died 1749.

789.— EPISTLE TO THE EARL OF
DORSET.

From frozen climes, and endless tracts of

snow,
From streams which northern winds forbid to

flow,
What ^present shall the Muse to Dorset

bring,
Or how, so near the pole, attempt to sing P

The hoary winter here conceals from sight
All pleasing objects which to verse invite
The >"TI« and dales, and the delightful woods,
The flowery plains, and silver-streaming

floods,

By snow disguised, in blight confusion lio,
And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye.
No gentle-breathing breeze prepares the

spring,

No birds within the desert region sing.
The ships, unmoved, the boisterous winila

While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly.
The vast leviathan wants room to play,
And spout his waters in the face of day.
The starring wolves along the main sea

prowl,

And to the moon in icy valleys howl
O'er many a shining league the level main
Here spreads itself into a glassy plain
There solid billows of enormous size,
Alps of green ice, an wild disorder nse

And yet but lately have I seen, oven here,
The winter in a lovely dress appear,
Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured

snow,

Or winds begun through hazy skies to blow :
At evening a keen eastern breeze arose,
And the descending rain unsullied froze
Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view
The face of nature in a rich disguise,
And brightened every object to my eyes .
For every shrub, and every blade of grass,
And eveiy pointed thorn, seem'd wrought in

glass,
In pearls and rubies nch the hawthoins

show,
While through the ice the crimson bonios

glow
The thick-sprung reeds, which watery marshes

yield,

Seem'd polished lances in a hostile flold
The stag, in limpid currents, with surprise
Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise
The spreading oak, the beooh, and towormg

pine

G-lazed over, in the freezing other shine.
The frighted birds the rattling1 branches

shun,
Wbch wave and glitter in the distant sun.

"When, if a sudden gust of wind anao,
The brittle forest into atoms flies ,
The crackling wood beneath the tempest

bends

And in a spangled shower the prospect ends •
Or, if a southern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wintry charm.
The traveller a miry country sees,
And journeys sad beneath the dropping

trees

Like some deluded peasant, Merlin leads
Through fragrant bowers, and through deli-
cious meads ;

While here enchanted gardens to frfrm rise,
And airy fabrics there attract his eyes,

from 1689 to 1727 ]

FIRST PASTORAL

[AMBROSE PHILIPS.

His wandering- feet the magic paths pursue,
And, while he thinks the fair illusion true,
The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways

appear

A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns

Ambrose Philips— Born 1671, Died 1749.

790— -THE FIEST PASTORAL

If we, 0 Dorset ' quit the city-throng,
To meditate in shades the rural song,
By your command, be present , and, 0 bring
The Muse along' The Muse to you shall

sing

Her influence, Buckhurat, let me there obtain,
And I forgive the famed Sicilian swain

Begin — la unluxunous fames of yore,
When flocks and hards were no inglorious

store,

Lobbm, a shepherd boy, one evening fair,
As western winds had cooled the sultry air,
His numbered sheep within the fold now pent,
Thus plained him of his dreaiy discontent
Beneath a hoary poplar's whispering boughs
Ho solitary sat, to breathe his vows
Venting the tender anguish of his heart,
As passion taught, in accents free of art ,
And little did he hope, while, night by mght,
Hia sighs were lavished thus on Lucy blight
" Ah ' well-a-day, how long must I endure
This pining pain ? Or who shall speed my euro 9
Pond love no cure will have, sock no repose,
Delights in gnef, nor any measure knows
And now the moon begins in clouds to nse ,
The brightening stars increase within the skies ,
The winds are hushed, the dews distils and

sleep

Hath closed the eyelids of my weary sheep
I only, with the prowling wolf, constrained
All night to wake . with hunger he is pained,
And I with love. His hunger he may tamo ;
But who can quench, 0 cruel love ' thy flame F
Whilom did I, all as this poplar fair,
Upraise my heedless head, thon void of care,
'Mong rustic routs the chief for wanton game ,
Nor could they merry make, till Lobbm came.
Who bettor seen than I in shepherd's arts,
To please the lads, and win the lasses' hearts ?
How deftly, to mine oaten reed so sweet,
Wont they upon the green to shift their

feet?
And, weaned in the dance, how would they

yearn

Some well-devised tale from mo to learn ?
Por many songs and tales of mirth had I,
To chase the loitering sun adown the sky •
But ah' since Lucy coy deep-wrought her

spite

Within my heart, unmindful of delight.
The jolly grooms I fly, and, all alone,
To rooks and woods pour forth my fruitless

Oh ' quit thy wonted scorn, relentless fair,
Ere, lingering long, I perish through despair.
Had Rosalind been mistress of my mind,
Though not so fair, she would have proved

more kind

0 think, unwitting maid, while yet is time,
How flying years impair thy youthful prime !
Thy virgin bloom will not for ever stay,
And flowers, though left ungathered, will

decay1

The flowers, anew, returning seasons bring f
But beauty faded has no second spring.
My words are wind' She, deaf to all my

cries,

Like frisking heifer, loose m flow'ry meads,
She gads where'er her roving fancy leads ;
Tet still from me Ah me1 the tiresome

chase '

Shy as the fawn, she flies my fond embrace
She flies, indeed, but ever leaves behind,
Fly where she will, her likeness in my mind.
No cruel purpose in my speed I bear ,
'Tis only love ; and love why shouldst thou

fear?

What idle fears a maiden breast alarm '
Stay, simple girl , a lover cannot harm '
Two sportive Indlings, both fair-flecked, I rear,
Whose shooting horns like tender buds ap-
pear

A lambkin, too, of spotless fleece, I breed,
And teach the fondling from my hand to feed.
Nor will I coase betimes to cull the fields
Of ev'ry dewy sweet the morning yields ;
Prom early spring io autumn late shalt thou
Booeive gaygirlonds, blooming o'er thy brow
And when — but why these unavailing pains 9
The gifts alike, and giver, she disdains ;
And now, left heiress of the glen, she'll deem
Me, landless lad, unworthy her esteem ;
Tet was she born, like me, of shepherd-sire,
And I may fields and lowing herds acquire
0 ' would my gifts but win her wanton heart,
Or could I half the warmth I feel impart,
How would I wander, every day, to find
The choice of wildings, blushing through the

nnd'
Por glossy plums how lightsome climb the

tree,

How nsk the vengeance of the thrifty bee.
Or, if thou deign to live a shepheidess,
Thou Lobbin's flock, and Lobbm shalt possess ;
And fair my flock, nor yet uncomely I,
If liquid fountains flatter not , and why
Should liquid fountains flatter us, yet show
The bord'ring flowers less beauteous than

they grow P
0 come, my love ' nor think the employment

moan,

The dams to milk, and little lambkins wean ;
To dnve afield, by morn, the fattening ewes,
Ere the warm sun drink up the coolly dews ;
While with my pipe, and with my voice,

I cheer
Each hour, and through the day detain thine

AMBJROSE PHILIPS.]

TO CHARLOTTE PTJLTENEY.

[FIFTH PERIOD —

How would the crook beseem thy lily hand '
How would my younglings round thee gazing

stand'

Ah, witless younglings ' gaze not on her eye :
Thence all my sonow , thence the death I die.
Oh, killing beauty ' and oh, sore desire '
Must then my suff rings but with life expire P
Though blossoms every year the trees adorn,
Spring after spring I wither, nipt with scorn :
Nor trow I when this bitter blast will end,
Or if yon stars will e'er my vows befriend
Sleep, sleep, my flock , for happy ye may take
Sweet nightly rest, though still your master

wake"

Now to the waning moon the nightingale,
In slender "warblings, tuned her piteous tale.
The love-sick shepherd, hst'nxng, felt relief ,
Pleased with so sweet a partner in his gnef ,
Till, by degrees, her notes and silent night
To slumbers soft his heavy heart invite.

Ambrose PMlips —Born 1671, Died 1749.

791. — TO CHARLOTTE PULTENET.

Timely blossom, infant fair,

Fondling of a happy pair,

Every morn and every night

Their solicitous delight ,

Sleeping, waking, still at ease,

Pleasing, without skill to please.

Little gossip, blithe and hale,

Tattling many a broken tale,

Singing many a tuneless song,

Lavish of a heedless tongue ;

Simple maiden, void of art,

Babbling out the very heart,

Yet abandon* d to thy will,

Yet imagining no ill,

Yet too innocent to blush ;

Like the linnet in the bush,

To the mother-linnet's note

Modeling her slender throat ;

Chirping forth thy petty joys,

Wanton in the change of toys,

Like the linnet green in May

Hitting to each bloomy spray ;

Weaned then and glad of rest,

Like the linnet in the nest

This thy present happy lot,

This in time will be forgot ;

Other pleasures, other cares,

Ever-busy Time prepares ,

And thou shalt in thy daughters see,

This picture once resembled thee.

Ambrose Philips —Bom 1671, Died 1749.

792.— THE MONKEY WHO HAD SEEN

THE WOELD.

A monkey, to reform the times,
Besolved to visit foreign climes :

For men in distant regions roam
To bring politer manners home.
So forth he fares, all toil defies •
Misfortune serves to make us wise.

At length the tieach'rous snare was laid ;
Poor Pug was caught, to town conveyed,
There sold. How envied was his doom>
Made captive in a lady's room '
Proud as a lover of his chains,
He day by day her favour gams.
Whene'er the duty of the day
The toilet calls ; with mimic play
He twirls her knot, he cracks her fan,
Like any other gentleman
In visits too his parts and wit,
When jests grew dull, were sure to hit.
Proud with applause, he thought his mind
In every courtly art refined ,
Like Orpheus burnt with public zeal,
To civilize the monkey weal .
So watched occasion, broke his chain,
And sought his native woods again

The hairy sylvans round him press,
Astonished at his strut and dress
Some praise his sleeve , and others gloat
Upon his nch embroidered coat ,
His dapper peiiwig commending,
With the black tail behind depending j
His powdered back, above, below,
Like hoary frost, or fleecy snow ,
But all with envy and desire
His fluttering shoulder-knot admire

" Hear and improve," he pertly cues ;
. "tl come to make a nation wise.
Weigh your own words , support your place,,
The next in rank to human race
In cities long I passed my days,
Conversed with men, and learnt their ways.
Their dress, their courtly manners see ,
Reform your state and copy me
Seek ye to thrive ? in flattery deal j
Your scorn, your hate, with that conceal.
Seem only to regard your friends,
But use them for your private ends.
Stint not to truth the flow of wit ;
Be prompt to lie whene'er 'tis fit
Bend all your force to spatter merit ;
Scandal is conversation's spirit
Boldly to everything attend,
And men your talents shall commend.
I knew the gieat Observe me right ,
So shn.11 you grow like man polite " %

He spoke and bowed With muttering jaws
The wondering circle grained applause.
Now, warm with malice, envy, spite,
Their most obliging friends they bite ;
And fond to copy human ways,
Practise new mischiefs all their days

Thus the dull lad, too tall for school,
With travel finishes the fool ;
Studious of every coxcomb's airs,
He drinks, games, dresses, whores, and

swears,

O'erlooks with scorn all virtuous arts,
For vice is fitted to his parts.

JbTwi (Toy.— Bom 1688, Died 1732

From 1C89 to 1727 ]

THE OLD HEN AND THE COCK.

[JOHN GAT,

793— THE PAINTEB WHO PLEASED
NOBODY AND EVERYBODY

Le&t men suspect your tale untrue,

Koep probability in view.

The traveller leaping o'er those bounds,

Tho credit of his book confounds

Who with his tongue hath armies routed,

Makes even his real courage doubted

But flattery never seems absurd ,

The flatteied always takes your word .

Impossibilities seem just ,

They take the strongest praise on trust

Hypoiboles, though ne'or ao great,

Will still come short of self-conceit.

So very like a painter drew,
That every eye tho picture knew ,
He hit complexion, featuie, air,
So just, tho kf o itself was there
No flattery with Ms colours laid,
To bloom restored the faded maid ,
Ho gave each muscle all its strength,
Tho mouth, tho chin, the nose's length
His honest pencil touched with truth,
And marked the date of age and youth.
Ho lost his friends, his practice failed ,
Truth should not always be revealed ,
In dusty piles his pictures lay,
For no one sent the second pay
Two bustos, fraught with every grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,
Ho placed in view , resolved to please,
Whoever sat, ho drew from these,
From those ooiroctod ovoiy feature,
And spirited each awkward creature

All things weie sot , the hour was come,
HIB pallet ready o'er his thumb
My lord appeared j and seated right
In proper attitude and light,
The painter looked, ho sketched the piece,
Then dipp'd his pencil, talked of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guide's air ,
" Those eyes, my loid, the spirit there
Might well a Raphael's hand requite,
To give them all tho native fire ,
Tho features fraught with sense and wit,
You'll grant are voiy hard to hit ;
But yet with patience you sTia.11 view
As much as paint and art can do
Observe the work " My lord replied
" Till now I thought my mouth was wide ;
Besides, my nose IB somewhat long ;
Dear sir, for me, 'tis far too young "

" Oh ' pardon me," the artist cried,
" In this, the painters must decide
Tho piece even common eyes must strike,
I wairant it extremely like "

My lord examined it anew ,
No looking-glass seemed ha.1f so true.

A lady came, with borrowed grace
Ho from his Venus formed her face
Her lover praised the painter's art ,
So like the picture in his heart '
To every age some charm he lent ,
Even beauties wero almost content.

Through all the town his art they praised;
His custom grew, his price was raised.
Had he the real likeness shown,
Would any man the picture own ? '
But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness m his thought

John, Gay.—Born 1688, Jhed 1732.

794— THE LION AND THE CUB.

How fond are men of lule and place,

Who court it fiom the mean and base !

These cannot bear an equal nigh,

But from superior merit fly

They love the cellar's vulgar joke,

And lose their horns in ale and smoke

There o'er some petty club preside ,

So poor, so paltry is their pride '

Nay, even with fools whole nights will sit,-

In hopes to be supreme in wit.

If these can read, to these I write,

To set their worth in truest light.

A lion-cub, of sordid mind,
Avoided all the lion kind ,
Fond of applause, he sought the feasts
Of vulgar and ignoble beasts ,
With, asses all his tune he spent,
Their club's perpetual president
He caught their mannois, looks, and airs ,
A*" ass in everything but ears '
If e'oi his highness meant a joke,
They grinned applause befoie he spoke ,
But at each word what shouts of praise !
Good gods ' how natural he brays r

Elate with flattery and conceit,
He seeks his royal sire's retreat,
Forward, and fond to show his ports,
His highness brays ; the lion starts

" Puppy, that cursed vociferation
Betrays thy life and conversation .
Coxcombs, an ever noisy race,
Are trumpets of their own disgrace "

" Why so severe ? " the cub replies ;
" Out senate always held me wise "

*' How weak is pride ' " returns the sire ;
" All fools are vain, when fools admire I
But know, what stupid asses prize,
Lions and noble beasts despise "

John Gay — Born 1688, Died 1732.

795 —THE OLD HEN AND THE COCK.

Restrain your child , you'll soon believe
The text which says, we sprung from Eve.

As an old hen led forth her train,
And seemed to peck to show the grain ;
She raked the chaff, she scratched, the ground,
And gleaned the spacious yard around.
A giddy chick, to try her wings,
On the well's narrow margin springs,

JOHN GAY]

THE GOAT WITHOUT A BEABD.

[FIFTH PEBIOD —

And prone she drops. The mother's breast
All day with sorrow was possessed.

A cook she met , her son she knew ,
And in her heart affection grew

" My son," says she, " I grant your years
Have reached boyond a mother's oares ;
I see yon vigorous, strong, and bold ;
I hear with joy your tiiumphs told.
'Tis not from cooks thy fate I dread ;
But let thy ever-wary tread
Avoid yon well , that fatal place
Is sure perdition to our raoe.
Print -thia my counsel on thy breast ;
To the just gods I leave the rest/'

He thanked her care , yet day by day
His bosom burned to disobey ;
And every time the well he saw,
Scorned in his heart the foolish law •
Near and more near each day he drew,
And longed to try the dangerous view

" "Why was this idle charge p " he ones ,
" Let courage female fears despise
Or did she doubt my heart was brave,
And therefore this injunction gave p
Or does her harvest store the plaoe,
A treasure for her younger race p
And would she thus my search prevent ?
I stand resolved, and dare the event."
' Thus said He mounts the margin's round,
And pries into the depth profound.
He stretched his neck , and from below
With stretching neok advanced a foe
With wrath his ruffled plumes he rears,
The foe with ruffled plumes appears
Threat answered threat, his fury grew,
Headlong to meet the war he flew.
But when the watery death he found,
He thus lamented as he drowned •

e* I ne'er had been in this condition,
But for my mother's prohibition."

John Gfoy — Born 1688, Died 1732

796— THE GOAT WITHOUT A BEAED.

*Tis certain, that the modish passions
Descend among the crowd, like fashions.
Excuse me then, if pride, conceit
(The manners of the fair and great)
I give to monkeys, asses, dogs,
Pleas, owls, goats, butterflies, and hogs
I say that these are proud. What then P
I never said they equal men

A goat (as vain as goat can be)
Affected singularity
Whene'er a thymy bank he found,
He rolled upon the fragrant ground ;
And then with fond attention stood,
Pixed o'er his image in the flood

" I hate my frowsy beard," he cries ;
" My youth, is lost in this disguise.
Did not the females know my vigour,
Well might they loathe this reverend figure "

Eesolved to smoothe his shaggy face,
He sought the barber of the plaoo
A flippant monkey, spruce and smart,
Hard by, professed the dapper art ,
His pole with pewter basins hung,
Black rotten teeth in order strung-,
Banged cups that in the wmdow stood,
Lined with red rags, to look like blood,
Did well his threefold trade explain,
Who shaved, drew teeth, and breathed a vein.

The goat he welcomes with an air,
And seats Trim m his wooden chair
Mouth, nose, and cheek the lather hides
Light, smooth, and swift the razor glides.

" I hope your custom, sir," says pug.
" Sure never face was half so smug "

The goat, impatient for applause,
Swift to the neighbouring hill withdraws :
The shaggy people grinned and stared

" Heyday ' what 's here ? without a board '
Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace P
What envious hand hath robbed your face 9 "

When thus the fop, with smiles of scorn •
" Aie beards by civil nations worn ?
Even Muscovites have mowed their ohinfl
Shall we, like formal Capuchins,
Stubborn in piide, retain the mode,
And bear about the hairy load p
Whene'er we through the village stray,
Are we not mocked along the way ;
Insulted with loud shouts of scoin,
By boys our beards disgraced and torn P "

" Were you no more with goats to dwell,
Brother, I grant you reason well,"
Beplies a beaided chief " Beside,
If boys can mortify thy pride,
How wilt thou stand the ridicule
Of our whole flock P Affected fool '
Coxcombs, distinguished from the rest,
To all but coxcombs are a jest "

Jolm Gay —Bom 1G88, Died 1732.

797 —THE SICK MAN AND THE
ANGEL

" Is there no hope p " the sick man said.

The silent doctor shook his head,

And took his leave with signs of sorrow,

Despairing of his fee to-morrow
When thus the man with gasping breath :

<e I feel the chilling wound of death •
j Since I must bid the world adieu,
j Let me my former hf e review
j I grant, my bargains well wore made ;

But all men over-reach in trade ,
i 'Tis self-defence in each profession,

Sure self-defence is no transgression.

The little portion in my hands,

By good security on lands,

It well increased If, unawares,

My justice to myself and heirs

From 1689 to 1727 ]

THE COUNCIL OF HORSES

[JOHN GAT.

Hath let my debtor rot in jail,

For wont of good sufficient bail ;

If I by writ, or bond, or deed,

Reduced a family to need,

My will hath made the world amends ;

My hope on chanty depends

When I am numbered with the dead,

And all my pious gifts are read,

By heaven and earth 'twill then be known

My chanties wore amply shown "

A-n angel came " Ah, friend ' " he cried,
" No more in flattering hope confide
Can thy good deeds m former times
Outweigh the balance of thy crimes P
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days *
A pious action's in thy power,
Embrace with joy the happy hour
Now, while you diaw the vital air,
Prove youi intention is sincere
This instant give a hundred pound ,
Your neighbours want, and you abound "

" But why such haste p " the sick man

whines ,

" Who knows as yet what Heaven designs p
Perhaps I may rocovoi still ,
That sum and moio are in my will "

"Fool," says the vision, "now 'tis plain,
Tour life, your soul, your heaven was gain
From every side, with all your might,
You scraped, and scraped beyond your right ,
And aftor death would fain atone,
By giving what is not your own "

" While there IB Mo, there 's hope," ho

cried,

" Then why such haste p " so groaned and
died.

John Gay — J0cw» 1688, DtctZ 1732

798 —THE FOX AT THE POINT OF
DEATH

A fox, in life's extreme decay,
Weak, sick, and faint, expiring lay ;
AH appetite had left his maw,
And age diRormod his mumbling jaw.
His numerous race around him stand
To loam their dying sire's command •
He raised his head with whimng moan,
And thus was heard the feeble tone

" Ah, sons i from evil ways depart .
My crimes lie heavy on my heart
See, see, the murdered geese appear '
Why are those bleeding turkeys here P
Why all around this cackling train,
Who haunt my ears for chicken slain ? "

The hungry foxes round them stared,
And for the promised feast prepared

" Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer P
Nor tuikey, goose, nor hen is here
Those are the phantoms of your brain,
And your sons lick their lips in vain "

" 0 gluttons ' " says the drooping sire,

" Bestrain inordinate desire.

Your liqu'nsh taste you shall deplore,

When peace of conscience is no more

Does not the hound betray our pace,

And gins and guns destroy our race?

Thieves dread the searching eye of power,

And never feel the quiet hour,

Old age (which few of us shall know)

Now puts a penod to my woe

Would you true happiness attain,

Let honesty your passions rein ;

So live in credit and esteem,

And the good name you lost, redeem "

" The counsel's good," a fox leplie ',
" Could we perform what you advise
Think what our ancestors have done ,
A line of thieves from son to son
To ns descends the long disgrace,
And infamy hath marked our race
Though we like harmless snoop should feed,
Honest in thought, in word, and deed ,
Whatever henroost is decreased,
We shall be thought to shore the feast
The change shall never be believed,
A lost good name is ne'er retrieved "

" Nay, then," replies the feeble fox,
" (But hark ' I hear a hen that clocks)
Go, but be moderate in your food ,
A chicken too might do me good "

John Gay —Born 1688, Died 1732

799 —THE COTTNCIL OF HORSES.

Upon a time a neighing steed,

Who grazed among a numerous breed,

With mutiny had fired the tram,

And spread dissension through tho plain

On matters that concerned the state

The council met in grand debate

A colt, whose eye-balls flamed with ire,

Elate with strength and youthful file,

In haste stept forth before the rest,

And thus the listening throng addressed :

" Good gods ' how abject is our race,
Condemned to slavery and disgrace '
Shall we our servitude retain,
Because our sires have borne the chain ?
Consider, friends, your strength and might;
'Tis conquest to assert your right
How cumbrous is the gilded coach '
The pride of man is our leproach
Were we designed for daily toil,
To drag tho ploughshare through the soil,
To sweat in harness through the road,
To groan beneath the earner's load ?
How feeble are the two-legged kind '
What force is in our nerves combined !
Shall then our nobler jaws submit
To foam and ohamp the galling bit ?
Shall haughty mam my bock bestride ?
Shall the sharp spur piovoke my side ?
Forbid it, heavens ' Beject the rein ,
Your shame, your infamy disdain

JOHN

THE POET AND THE EOSE

[FIFTH PERIOD. —

Let him the lion first contiol,
And still the tiger's famished growl.
Let TIS, like them, our freedom claim,
And make him tremble at our name "

A general nod approved the cause,
And all the circle neighed applause

When, lo ' with grave and solemn pace,
A steed advanced before the race,
With age and long experience wise ,
Around he cast his thoughtful eyes,
And, to the murmurs of the tram,
Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain

" When I had health and strength, like you,
The toils of servitude I knew ,
Now grateful man rewards my pains,
And gives me all these wide domains
At will I crop the year's increase ;
My latter life is rest and peace
I grant, to man we lend our pains,
And aid him to correct the plains.
But doth not he divide the care,
Through all the labours of the year P
How many thousand structures rise,
To fence us from inclement skies '
For us he bears the sultry day,
And stores up all our winter's hay
He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain ;
We share the toil, and share the gram
Since every creature was decreed
To aid each other's mutual need,
Appease your discontented mind,
And act the part by heaven assigned "

The tumult ceased. The colt submitted,
And, like his ancestors, was bitted.

John Gay. — BOJJI 1688, Died 1732.

800.— THE POET AND THE ROSE

I hate the T^S-IT who builds hiq name
On rums of another's fame
Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown,
Imagine that they raise their own
Thus scribblers, covetous of praise,
Think slander can transplant the bays
Beauties and bards have equal pride,
With both all rivals are decried
Who praises Lesbia's eyes and feature,
Must call her sister awkward creature ,
For the kind flattery 's sure to charm,
When we some other nymph disarm.

As in the cool of early day
A poet sought the sweets of May,
The garden's fragrant breath ascends,
And every stalk with odour bends.
A rose he plucked, he gazed, admired,
Thus singing as the muse inspired •
41 Gk>, rose, my Chloe's bosom grace ,

How happy should I prove,
Might I supply that envied place

With never-fading love '
There, phcenix-Lke, beneath her eye,
Involved in fragrance, burn and die I

Know, hapless flower, that thou shalt find

More fragrant roses thcio ,
I see thy withering head reclined

With envy and despair '
Ono common fate we both must prove ;
You die with envy, I with love "

" Spare your comparisons," replied
ATI angry rose, who grew boside
" Of all mankind, you should not flout us ;
What can a poet do without us '
In every love-song rosos bloom ,
We lend you colour and peifume.
Does it to Chloe's charms conduce,
To found her praise on our abuse ?
Must we, to flatter her, be made
To wither, envy, pine, and fade p"

John Gay — Barn 1688, Died, 1732.

801— THE TTA-R.TI AND MANY
FRIENDS.

Friendship, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame
The child, whom many fatheis share,
Hath seldom known a fathei's care
'Tis thus in friendships , who depend
On many, rarely find a friend

A hare, who in a civil way,
Complied with everything, like Gay,
Was known by all the bestial train
Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain.
Her care was never to offend,
And every creatuie was her friond

As forth she went at early dawn,
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunters' oiios,
And from the deep-monthed thunder fliei
She starts, she stops, sho pants for bieath y
She hears the near advance of death ,
She doubles to mislead the hound,
And measures back hor mazy round ,
Till fainting in the public way,
Half -dead with fear, she gasping lay.
What transpoit in her bosom grew,
When fiist the horse appeared in view '

" Let me," says she, " your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a fuend.
You know my feet betray my flight ,
To friendship every burden's light."

The horse replied — "Poor honest puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus ,
Be comforted, relief is near ,
For all your friends are in the rear "

She next the stately bull implored »
And thus replied the mighty lord —
" Since every beast ahvo can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offence, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend
Love calls me hence , a favourite cow
Expects me near yon barley mow :
And when a lady's in the case,
You know all other things give place.

JPVom 1689 to 1727.]

A BALLAD.

[JOHN GAT.

To leave you thus might seem unkind ;
But see, the goat is just behind."

The goat remarked her ptdae was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye ,
" My back," says she, " may do you harm ;
The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm "

The sheep was feeble, and complained
His aides a load of wool sustained
Said he was slow, confessed his feais ;
For hounds eat sheep as well as hazes

She now the trotting oalf addressed,
To save from death a friend distressed.

" Shall I," says he, " of tender age,
In this important care engage ,
Older and abler passed you by ,
How strong are those ' how weak am I '
Should I piosume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offence
Excuse me then. You know my heart,
But dearest friends, alas ' must part
How shall we all lament f Adieu '
Tor see the hounds are just in view."

Jolm Gay —Born 1688, Died 1732

802 — SWEET WILLIAM'S FABEWELL

AIL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,

The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard

" Oh ' where shall I my true-love find ?
Toll me, yo jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among the ciew."

William, who high upon the yard

Bock'd with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sigh' d, and cast his eyes below ,
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing

hands,

And (quick as lightning) on the deck he
stands

So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast
(If chance his mate's shrill call he hear),

And drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.

" 0 Susan, Susan, lovoly dear,

My vows shall ever true remain ;
Let me kiss off that falling tear ;

We only pait to meet again
Change, as ye list, ye winds , my heart shall

be
The faithful compass that still points to thoe

Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant

mind
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find ,
Tes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go

If to fair India's ooast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds blight,
Thy breath is AJEno's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely
Sue.

Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn ;
Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,

William shall to his dear return
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's
eye."

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread ;
No longer must she stay aboard

They Jhss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his

head

Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land
"Adieu'" she ones, and waved her lily
hand.

John Gay.— Born 1688, Died 1732.

803 — A BALLAD.

'Twas when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind ,
A damsel lay deploring,

ALL on a rock reclined
Wide o'er the foaming billows

She casts a wistful look ,
Her head was crown' d with willows,

That trembled o'er the brook.

Twelve months are gone and over,

And nine long tedious days.
Why didst thou, venturous lover,

Why didst thou trust the seas P
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,

And let my lover rest :
Ah' what's thy troubled motion

To that within my breast 9

The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,

Sees tempests in despair .
But what's the loss of treasure,

To losing of my dear P
Should you some ooast be laid on,

Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'd find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so

How can they say that nature

Has nothing made in vain ,
Why then beneath the water

Should hideous rocks remain ?
No eyes the rocks discover,

That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wand'ring lover,

And leave the maid to weep

JOHN GAY ]

THE COUNTRY BALLAD SINGER

[FIFTH PERIOD.—

All melancholy lying,

Tims wail'd she ±01 her dear ;
Repaid each blast with sighing,

Each billow with a tear ,
When o'er the white wave stooping,

His floating corpse she spied ;
Then, like a lily drooping,

She bow'd her head, and died.

John Gay —Born 1688, Dwd 1732.

804— THE COUNTRY BALLAD
SINGER.

Snbluner strains, O rostio muse ! prepare ,
Forget awhile the barn and dairy's oare ,
Thy homely voice to loftier numbers raise,
The drunkard's flights require sonorous lays ,
With Bowzybeus' songs exalt thy verse,
While rooks and woods the various notes

rehearse

'Twas in the season when the reapers' toil
Of the ripe harvest 'gun to nd the soil ,
Wide through the field was seen a goodly

rout,
Clean damsels bound the gathered sheaves

about ,
The lads with sharpened hook and sweating

brow

Cut down the labours of the winter plough
*****

When fast asleep they Bowzybeus spied,
TTig hat and oaken staff lay close beside ,
That Bowzybeus who could sweetly sing,
Or with the rosin' d bow torment the string ,
That Bowzybeus who, with fingers' speed,
Could call soft warbhngs from the breathing

reed,

That Bowzybeus who, with jocund tongue,
Ballads, and roundelays, and catches sung
They loudly laugh to see the damsel's fright,
And in dispoit surround the drunken wight

Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long P
The mugs were large, the drink was wondrous

stiong1
Thou shouldst have left the fair before 'twas

night,

But thou sat'st toping till the morning light.
Cicely, brisk maid, steps forth before the

rout,
And kissed with smnftflTrmg lip the snoring

lout
(For custom says, "Whoe'er this venture

proves,

For such a kiss demands a pair of gloves.")
By her example Dorcas bolder grows,
And plays a tickling straw within his nose.
He rubs his nostril, and in wonted joke
The sneering strains with stammering speech

To you, my lads, I'll sing my carols o'er ;
As fos the maids, I've something else in store.

No sooner 'gan he raise his tuneful song,
But lads and lasses round about him throng.

Not baUad-singoi placed above the ciowd
Sings with a note so &hnlhnq, sweet, and loud ;
No parish-clerk, who calls the psalms so clear,
Like Bowzybeus soothes the attentive car
Of nature's laws his carols first begun,
Why the grave owl can never face the win
For owls, as swains observe, detest the light,
And only »mg and seek then- prey by night.
How tuimps hide their swelling hoads bolow,
And how the closing colowoibs upwards grow ;
How Will-a-wisp misleads night-fanag

clowns
O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless

downs

Of stars he told that bhoot with shining trail,
And of the glow-worm's light that gilda his

tail
He sung where woodcocks in the summer

feed,

And in what okmates they lenew their breed
(Some •KhiTilr to northern coasts their flight

they tend,

Or to the moon m midnight hours ascend) ,
Where swallows in the winter's season keep,
And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep ;
How nature does the puppy's eyelid close,
Till the bright sun has nine times sot and

rose

(For huntsmen by their long experience find,
That puppies still nine i oiling suns ore blond).
Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and

shows,

For still new fairs before his eyes arose.
How pedlers' stalls with glittering toys are

laid,

The various fairings of the country maid.
Long silken laces hang upon tho twine,
And rows of pins and ambei bracelets ahino ;
How the tight lass knives, combs, and scissors

spies,

And looks on thimbles with desiring- eyos
Of lotteries next with tuneful note ho told,
Where silver spoons are won, and rings of

gold.

The lads and lasses trudge tho street along,
And all the fair is crowded in his song
The mountebank now treads tho stage, and

sells

His pills, his balsams, and his ague-spells ;
Now o'er and o'or the nimble tumbler springs,
And on the rope the venturous maiden

swings ,

Jack Pudding, in his party-coloured jacket,
Tosses the glove, and jokes at every packet.
Of raree-shows he sung, and Punch's feats,
Of pockets picked in crowds and various

cheats
Then sad he sung "The Children in tho

Wood"
(Ah, barbarous uncle, stained with infant j

blood i) !

How blackberries they plucked in deserts

wild,

And fearless at the glittering f aulchion smiled ;
Their little corpse the robin-redbreasts found,
And strewed with pious bill the leaves around.

From 1689 to 1727.] WALKING- THE STBEETS OF LONDON.

[JOHN OAT,

(Alt, gentle birds f if this verse lasts so long,
Your names shall live for ever in my song )
For " Buxom Joan " he sung the doubtful

stiife,
How the sly sailor made the maid a wife

To louder strains he raised his voice, to tell
What woful wars in " Ohevy Chase " befell,
When " Percy drove the deer with hound and

horn,

Wars to bo wept by ohildien yet unborn ' "
Ah, Withenngton ! more years thy Me had

crowned,

If thou had&t never heard the horn or hound '
Yet shall the squire, who fought on bloody

stumps,
By futuie bards be wailed in doleful dumps

" AH in the land of Essex" next he chaunts,
How to sleek mares starch Quakers turn

gallants
How the giave brother stood on bank so

green —
Happy for him if maies had never been f

Then he was soused with a religious qualm,
And on a sudden sung the hundiedth psalm
He sung of "Taffy Welsh" and "Sawney

Scot,"

"Lilly-bullero" and the "Irish Trot"
Why should I tell of "Bateman" or of

" Shore,"
Or "Wantley's Dragon," &lain by valiant

Mooro,
"Tho Bower of Bosamond," or ''Bobin

Hood,"
And how the " grass now grows whero Troy

town stood"?
His carols ceased the listening maids and

swains

Socm still to hear some soft imperfect strains
Sudden he rose, and, as ho rools along,
Swears kisses sweet should well rewaid his

song.

The damsels laughing fly , the giddy clown
Again upon a wheat-sheaf drops adown ,
The power that guards the drunk his sleep

attends,
Till, ruddy, like his face, the sun descends.

Jo7wi Gay. — Born 1C88, Died 1732

805. — WALKING- THE STREETS OF
LONDON.

Through winter streets to steer your course

anght,

How to walk clean by day, and safe by night ,
How jostling crowds with prudence to

decline,

When to assert the wall, and when lesign,
I sing , thou, Trivia, goddess, aid my song,
Through spacious streets conduct thy bard

along,

By thee transported, I securely stray
Where winding- alleys lead the doubtful way ,
The silent court and opening square explore,
And long perplexing lanes untrod before.

To pave thy realm, and smooth the broken

ways,

Earth from her womb a flinty tribute pays :
For thee the sturdy pavior thumps the

ground,

Whilst every stroke his labouring lungs re-
sound;

For thee the scavenger bids kennels glide
Within their bounds, and heaps of dirt sub-
side
My youthful bosom burns with thiist of

fame,
From the gieat theme to build a glorious

name,

To tread in paths to ancient bards unknown,
And bind my temples with a civic crown .
But more my country's love demands my

lays,

My country's be the profit, mine the praise '
When the black youth at chosen stands

rejoice,
And " clean your shoes " resounds from every

voice ;
When late their miry sides stage-coaches

show,
And their stiff horses through the town move

slow,

When all the Mall in leafy rum lies,
And damsels first renew their oyster cries ;
Then let the prudent walker shoe? provide,
Not of tho Spam&h. or Moiocco hide ,
The wooden heel may raise tiie dancei'b

bound,
And with the scalloped top Ins step be

oiowi*od ,

Lot firm, well-hammered soles protect thy feet
Through fieezing snows, and lams, and

soaking sleet.

Should the big last extend the shoe too wide,
Each stone will wiench the unwaiy step

aside ,
The sudden turn may stretch the swelling

vein,

Thy cracking joint unhinge, or ankle sprain ,
And, when too short the modish shoes are

worn,
You'll judge the seasons by your shooting

corn.
Nor should it prove thy less important

care,

To choose a proper coat for winter's wear.
Now in thy trunk thy D'Oily habit fold,
The silken drugget ifi. can fence tho cold ,
The frieze's spongy nap is soaked with rain,
And showers soon drench the camblet's cockled

grain,
True Witney broadcloth, with its shag un<

shorn,

Unpierced is in the lasting tempest worn :
Be this the horseman's fence, for who would

Amid the town the spoils of Bussia's bear ?
Within the roquelaure's ola&p thy hands ara

pent,
Hands, that, stretched forth, invading harms

pievent.

WILLIAM SOMERVILLE ] DESCBIPTION OF A HATER HUNT [FIJPTBL ±»ERior> —

Let the looped bavaroy the fop embrace,
Or his deep oloak bespattered o'er with lace
That garment beat the winter's rage defends,
Whose ample form without one plait depends ,
By various names in various counties known,
Yet held in all the true surtout alone ;
Be thine of kersey firm, though small the

cost,
Then brave unwet the rain, unchilled the

frost*
If the strong cane support thy walking

hand,

Chairmen no longer shall the wall command ;
Even sturdy carmen g^Tl thy nod obey,
And rattling coaches stop to make thee way :
This frhp.11 direct thy cautious tread aright,
Though not one glaring lamp enliven night.
Let beaux their canes, with amber tipt,

produce ;

Be theirs for empty show, but thine for use
In gilded chariots while they loll at ease,
And lazily insure a life's disease ,
While softer chairs the tawdry load convey
To court, to White's, assemblies, or the play;
Bosy-complexioned Health thy steps attends,
And exercise thy lasting youth defends.
Imprudent men Heaven's choicest gifts pro-
fane:
Thus some beneath their arm support the

cane;

The dirty point oft checks the careless pace,
A™! miry spots the clean cravat disgrace
Oh ! may I never such misfortune meet !
May no such vicious walkers crowd the street '
May Providence o'ershade me with her wings,
While the bold Muse experienced danger

sings '

JoJin Gay —Born, 1688, Died 1732

806.— DESCBEPTION OF A HARE HUNT

Now golden Autumn from her open lap
Hex fragrant bounties showers, the fields

axe shorn ;

Inwardly smiling, the proud farmer views
The rising pyramids that grace his yard,
And counts his large increase ; his barns are

stored,
And groaning staddles bend beneath their

load

All now is free as air, and the gay pack
In the rough bristly stubbles range nnblamed
No widow's tears o'erflow, no secret curse
Swells in the farmer's breast, which his pale

lips
Trembling conceal, by his fierce landlord

awed*

Bat courteous now he levels every fence,
Joins in the common cry, and halloos loud,
Charmed wibh the rattling thunder of the

field
Oh bear me, some kind Power invisible !

To that extended lawn, where the gay court
View the swift racers, stretching to the goal ,
Games more lenowned, and a, far nobler

train,

Than proud Blean fields could boast of old
Oh ' were a Theban lyre not wonting here,
And Pindar's voice, to do their merit light '
Or to those spacious plains, whoie the strained

eye

In the wide prospect lost, beholds at last
Sarum's proud spire, that o'er the hills

ascends,
And pierces through the clouds Or to thy

downs,
Fair Cotswold, where the well-breathed boaglo

climbs,
With matchless speed, thy green aspiring

brow,

And leaves the lagging multitude behind
Hail, gentle Dawn ' mild blushing goddess,

hail'

Eejoiced I see thy purple mantle spread
O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant

way,

And orient pearls from every shrub depend
Farewell, Cleora , here deep sunk in down
Slumber secure, with happy dreams amused,
Till grateful steams shall tempt thoo to

receive

Thy early meal, or thy officious maids,
The toilet placed, shall urge thee to perform
The important work. Me other joys invite,
The horn sonorous calls, the pack awaked
Their matins chant, nor brook my long

delay.
My courser hears their voice , see there with

ears

And tail erect, neighing he paws the ground ;
Fierce rapture kindles in his reddening eyes,
And boils in every vein. As captive boys
Cowed by the ruling rod, and haughty frowns
Of pedagogues severe, from their hard tasks,
If once dismissed, no limits can contain
The tumult raised within their little breasts,
But give a loose to all their frolic play •
So from theoir kennel rush the joyous pack ,
A thousand wanton gaieties express
Their inward ecstasy, their pleasing sport
Once more indulged, and liberty restored
The rising sun that o'er the horizon poops,
As many colours from their glossy skins
Beaming reflects, as paint the various bow
When April showers descend. Delightful

scene1

Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs,
And in each gunling countenance appears
Fresh blooming health, and universal joy
Huntsman, lead on ' behind the clustering

pack

Submiss attend, hear with respect thy whip
Loud-clanging, and thy harsher voice obey
Spare not the straggling cur, that wildly

roves;

But let thy brisk assistant on his back
Imprint thy just resentments , let each lash
Bite to the quick, till howling he return

From 1689 to 1727 ] DESCRIPTION OF A HAK.E HUNT. [WILLLUI SOMERVILLE.

And "whining1 ore6p amid the trembling

crowd
Here on this verdant spot, where nature

kind,
With double blessings crowns the farmer's

hopes;
Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank

mead

Affords the wandering hares a rich repast,
Throw off thy ready pack. See, where they

spread
And range around, and dash the glittering

dew
If some stanch hound, with TKig authentic

voice,

Avow the recent trail, the jostling tribe
Attend his call, then with one mutual cry
The welcome news confirm, and echoing >"Tlq
Repeat the pleasing tale See how they

thread

The breaks, and up yon furrow drive along !
But quick they back recoil, and wisely check
Their eager haste ; then o'er the fallowed

ground

How leisurely they work, and many a pause
The harmonious concert breaks, till more

assured

With joy redoubled the low valleys ring.
What artful labyrinths perplex their way '
Ah ' there she lies ; how close ' she pants,

she doubts

If now she lives ; she trembles as she sits,
With horror seized. The withered grass that

clings

Around her head, of the same russet hue
Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes
With life full-beaming her vain wiles be-
trayed.

At distance draw thy pack, let all be hushed,
No clamour loud, no frantic joy be heard,
Lest the wild hound run gadding o'er the

plain

TJntractable, nor hear thy chiding voice
Now gently put her off ; see how direct
To her known mews she flies 1 Here, hunts-
man, bring

(But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds,
And calmly lay them in. How low they

stoop,
And seem to plough the ground ! then all at

once

With greedy nostrils snuff the faming steam
That glads their flutt'ring hearts. As winds

let loose

From the dark caverns of the blust'ring god,
They burst away, and sweep the dewy lawn
Hope gives them wings while she's spurred on

by fear
The welkin rings , men, dogs, hills, rooks, and

woods
In the fall concert join. Now, my brave

youths,
Stiipped for the chase, give all your souls to

joy f
See how their coursers, than the mountain

More fleet, the verdant carpet skim, thick

clouds
Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs

scarce print

The grass unbruised ; with emulation fired
They strain to lead the field, top the barred

gate,

O'er the deep ditch exalting bound, and brush
The thorny-twining hedge • the riders bend
O'er their arched necks ; with steady hands,

by turns

Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage.
Where are their sorrows, disappointments,

wrongs,

Vexations, sickness, cares p All, all are gone,
And with the panting winds lag far behind
Huntsman' her garb observe; if in wide

rings

She wheel her mazy way, in the same round
Persisting still, she'll foil the beaten track
But if she fly, and with the favouring wind
Urge her bold course , less intricate thy task :
Push on thy pack. lake some poor exiled

wretch
The frighted chase leaves her late dear

abodes,

O'er plains remote she stretches far away,
All ! never to return ! for greedy Death
Hovering exults, secure to seize his prey.
Hark ' from yon covert, where those tower-
ing oaks

Above the humble copse aspiring use,
What glorious triumphs burst in ev'ry gale
Upon our ravished ears ' The hunters shout,
The clanging horns swell their sweet-winding

notes,
The pack wide-opening load the trembling

air

With various melody , from tree to tree
The propagated cry redoubling bounds,
And winged zephyrs waft the floating joy
Through all the regions near • afflictive birch
No more the schoolboy dreads, his prison

broke,
Scamp'ring he flies, nor heeds his master's

call,

The weary traveller forgets his road,
And climbs the adjacent hill , the ploughman

leaves
The unfinished furrow; nor his bleating

flocks
Are now the shepherd's joy; men, boys, and

girls
Desert the unpeopled village, and wild

crowds
Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy

seized.
Look, how she pants r and o'er yon op'nuag

glade

Slips glancing by ; while, at the further ond,
The puzzling pack unravel wile by wile,
Maze within maze The covert's utmost

bound

Slily she skirts , behind them cautious creeps,
And in that very track, so lately stained
By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue

WILLIAM: SOMEBYILIIE.] PRAISE OF A COUNTRY LIFE

[FIFTH IJJSKIOI> —

The foe she flies Let cavillers deny

That brutes have reason, sure 'tis something

more,

?Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires,
Beyond the short extent of human thought.
But hold — I see her from the covert break ;
Sad on yon little eminence she sits ;
Intent she listens with one ear erect,
Pond'ring, and doubtful what new course to

take,
And how to escape the fierce blood-thirsty

crew,

That stall urge on, and still in yolleys loud,
Insult hex woes, and mock her sore distress.
As now in louder peals, the loaded winds
Bring on the gath'nog storm, her fears

prevail;
And o'er the plain, and o*er the mountain's

xidge,

Away she flies ; nor ships with wind and tide,
And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast.
Once more, ye jovial train, your courage lay,
And each clean courser's speed. We scour

along,

In pleasing hurry and confusion tossed ;
Oblivion to be wished. The patient pack
Hang on the scent unwearied, up they climb,
And ardent we pursue ; our labouring steeds
We press, we gore; till once the summit

gained,

Painfully panting, there we breathe a while ;
Then lilke afoaming torrent, pouring down
Precipitant, we smoke along the vale.
Happy fhe mam, who with unrivalled speed
Can pass his fellows, and with pleasure view
The struggling pack ; how in the rapid course
Alternate they preside, and jostling push
To guide the dubious scent , how giddy youth
Oft babbling errs, by wiser age reproved ;
How, niggard of his strength, the wise old

hound

Hangs in the rear, till some important point
Bouse all his diligence, or till the chase
Sinking he finds, then to the head he

springs,
With thirst of glory fired, and wins the

prize.
Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full

career.
Yon crowding flocks, that at a distance

Have haply soiled the turf. See I that old

hound,

How busily he works, but dares not trust
His doubtful sense ; draw yet a wider ring.
Hark ' now again the chorus fills , as bells
Silenced a while at once their peal renew,
And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls.
See, how they toss, with animated rage
Recovering all they lost ' — That eager haste
Some doubling wile foreshows.— Ah ! yet once

more
They're checked— hold back with speed— on

either hand
They flourish round — oven yet persist — 'Tis

nght,

Away they spring; the rustling stubbloj

bend
Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor

chase

Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced.
From brake to brake she flies, and visits all
Her well-known haunts, whero once she

ranged secure,
With love and plenty blessed. See' there

she goes,

She reels along, and by her gait betrays
Her inward weakness. See, how black she

looks'
The sweat that clogs the obstructed pores,

scarce leaves

A languid scent. And now in open new
See, see, she flies ; each eager hound exerts
Els utmost speed, and stretches ev*ry nerve.
How quick she turns! their gaping jaws

eludes,

And yet a moment lives ; till round inclosed
By all the greedy pack, with infant screams
She yields her breath, and there reluotan

dies.

So when the furious Bacchanals assailed
Thraoian Orpheus, poor ill-fated bard '
Loud was the cry ; hills, woods, and Hebnuf

banks,
Returned their clamorous rage ; distressed he

flies,
Shifting from place to place, but flies in

vain;

For eager they pursue, till panting, faint,
By noisy multitudes o'erpowered, he sinks,
To the relentless crowd a bleeding prey.

, Died 1742.

807 —PRAISE OF A COTTNTBY LIFE,

O happy, if ye knew your happy state,
Ye rangers of the fields ! whom Nature boon
Cheers with her smiles, and every element
Conspires to bless. What, if no heroes frown
From marble pedestals ; nor Raphael's works,
Nor Titian's lively tints, adorn our walls ?
Yet these the meanest of us may behold ,
And at another's cost may feast at will
Our wondering eyes, what can the owner

moreP
But vain, alas' is wealth, not graced with

power.

The flowery landscape, and the gilded dome,
And vistas opening to the wearied eye,
Through all his wide domain ; the planted

grove,

The shrubby wilderness with its gay choir
Of warbling birds, can't lull to soft repose
The ambitious wretch, whose discontented

soul
Is harrowed day and night, he mourns, he

pines,
Until his prince's favour makes T"'™ great.

jftom 1689 to 1727]

A FAERY TALE

[THOMAS PABOTDLL.

See, there he comes, the exalted idol comes >
The circle 'a formed, and all his fawning

slaves

Devoutly bow to earth ; from every mouth
The nauseous flattery flows, which he returns
With promises, that die as soon as born.
Vale intercourse » where virtue has no place.
Frown but the monarch; all his glories

fade,
He mingles with the throng, outcast,

undone,

The pageant of a day , without one fnend
To soothe his tortured mind, all, all are

fled

For though they basked in his meridian ray,
The insects vanish, as his beams dechne.
Not such our friends; for here no dark

design,

No wicked interest bribes the venal heart ;
But inclination to our bosom leads,
And weds them there for life ; our social cups
Smile, as we smile ; open and unreserved
We speak our inmost souls ; good humour,

Soft complaisance, and wit from malice free,
Smoothe every brow, and glow on every

cheek
0 happiness sincere! what wretch would

groan

Beneath the galling load of power, or walk
Upon the slippery pavements of the great,
Who thus could reign, unenvied and secure p
Ye guardian powers who make mankind

your cure,
Give me to know wiso Nature's hidden

depths,
Traco each mysterious cause, with judgment

read

The expanded volume, and submiss adore
That great creative Wall, who at a word
Spoke forth the wondrous scene. But if my

soul

To this gross clay confined, flutters on earth
With less ambitious wing; unskilled to

range
From orb to orb, where Newton leads the

way;
And view, with piercing eyes, the grand

machine,
Worlds above worlds, subservient to his

voice,

Who veiled m clouded majesty, alone
Gives light to all; bids the great system

move,

And changeful seasons in their turns advance,
Unmoved, unchanged himself, yet tMs at

least

Grant me propitious, an inglorious life,
Calm and serene, nor lost in false pursuits
Of wealth or honours ; but enough to raise
My drooping friends, preventing modest want
That dares not ask. And if to crown my

joys,

Ye grant me health, that, ruddy in my cheeks,
Blooms in my life's decline 5 fields, woods,

and streams,

Each towering hill, each humble vale below,
Shall hear my cheering voice, my hounds B~Ka.ll

wake
The lazy morn, and glad the horizon round.

William 8omemlle.—Bom 1682, Died 1742.

808.— A FAIRY TALE.

In Britain's isle and Arthur's days,
When midnight fairies danced t)i9 maze,

laved Edwin of the Green ,
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endowed with courage, sense, and truth,

Though badly shaped he'd been.

His mountain back mote well be said,
To measure height! against tig head,

And lift; itself above :
Yet, spite of all that Nature did
To make his uncouth form forbid,

This creature dared to love.

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,

Could ladies look within ;
But one sir Topaz dress' d with art,
And, if a shape could win a heart,

He had a shape to win.

Edwin, if right I read my song,
With slighted passion paced along

AH in the moony bght ;
'Twas near an old enchanted court,
Where sportive fairies made resort

To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross1 d,
'Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost

That reach' d the neighbour-town ;
With weary steps le quits the shades,
Resolved, the darkling dome he treads,

And drops his limbs adown.

But scant he lays him on the floor,
When hollow winds remove the door,

And trembling' rooks the ground :
And, well I ween to count anght,
At once a hundred tapers light

On all the walls around.

Now sounding tongues assail his ear,
Now sounding feet approached near,

And now the sounds increase :
And from the corner where he lay
He sees a train profusely gay,

Come pranbdmg o'er the place*

But (trust me, gentles f) never yet
Was dight a masqumg half so neat,

Or h«.1f so rich, before ;
The country lent the sweet perfumes,
The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes

The town its silken store. #

THOMAS PABNELL ]

A FAIRY TAXE.

[FIFTH PEB-IOD.— <

Now whilst he gazed, a gallant drest
In flauntmg robes above the rest,

With awful accent oned
" What mortal of a wretched mind,
Whose sighs infect the balmy wind,

Has here presumed to hide ? "

At this the swain, whose venturous soul
No fears of magio art control,

Advanced in open sight •
" Nor have I cause of dreed," he said,
" Who -new, by no presumption led,

Your revels of the night.

'Twas gnef, for scorn of faithful love,
Which made my steps unweetmg rove

Amid the nightly dew."
" *Tis well," the gallant cries again,
" We fames never injure men

Who dare to tell us true.

Exalt thy love-dejected heart,
Be mine the task, or ere we part,

To make thee gnef resign ,
Now take the pleasure of thy chaunoe ;
Whilst I with Mab, my partner daunoe,

Be little Mable thine."

He spoke, and all a sudden there
Light music floats in wanton air ;

The monarch leads the queen :
The rest their fairy partners found •
And Mable trimly tript the ground.

With Edwin of the Green.

The dauncing past, the board was laid,
And siker such a feast was made,

As heart and lip desire,
Withouten hands the dishes fly,
The glasses with a wish come nigh,

And with a wish retire.

But now, to please the fairy king,
Full every deal they laugh and sing,

And antic feats devise ;
Some wind and tumble like an ape,
And other some transmute their shape

In Edwin's wondering eyes.

Till one at last, that Robin hight,
Renown' d for pinching maids by night,

Has bent him up aloof
And full against the beam he flung,
Where by the back the youth he hung

To spraul unneath the roof.

From thence, "Reverse my charm," he cries,
" And let it fairly now suffice

The gambol has been shown "
But Oberon answers with a smile •
" Content thee, Edwin, for a while,

The vantage is thine own."

Here ended all the phantom-play ;
They smelt the fresh approach of day,

And heard a cock to crow ,
The winding wind that bore the crowd
Has dapp'd the door, and whistled loud,

To warn them all to go.

Then screaming all at once they fly,
And all at once the tapers dye ;

Poor Edwin falls to floor ;
Forlorn his state, and dork the place,
Was never wight in such a case

Through all the land before.

But soon as Dan Apollo rose,
Full jolly creature home he goes,

He feels his back the less ;
Has honest tongue and steady mind
Had nd "h™ of the lump behind,

Which made him want success*

With lusty livelyhed he talks,
He seems a daunoing as he walks,

His story soon took wind ;
And beauteous Edith sees the youth
Endow* d with courage, sense, and truth*

Without a bunch behind.

The story told, sir Topaz moved,
The youth of Edith erst approved^

To see the revel scene
At close of eve he leaves his home,
And wends to find the rum'd dome

All on the gloomy plain.

As there he bides, it so befell,

The wind came rustling down a dell,

A shaking seized the wall ,
Up spring the tapers as before,
The fames bragly foot the floor,

And music fin« the hall.

But certea sorely sunk with woe-
Sir Topaz sees the elphm show,

His spirits in "hi™ die •
When Oberon ones, " A man is near,
A mortal passion, deeped fear,

Hangs flagging in the sky "

With that sir Topaz, hapless youth I
In accents faultenng, ay for ruth,

Entreats them pity gxaunt ,
For als he been a mister wight
Betray'd by wandering in the night

To tread the caroled haunt ,

" Ah, lose! vile," at once they roar r
" And little skill'd of fame lore,

Thy cause to come, we know :
Now has thy kestrel courage fell ;
And fames, since a lye you tell,

Are free to work thee woe."

Then Will, who bears the whispy fire
To trail the swains among the mire.

The caitiff upward flung ;
There, like a tortoise, in a shop
He dangled from the chamber-top,

Where whilome Edwin hung.

The revel now proceeds apace,
Deftly they frisk it o'er the place-,

They sit, they drink, and eat;
The tune with frolic mirth beguile,
And poor sir Topaz hangs the while

Tul all the zout retreat.

item 1689 to 1727 ]

HERMIT.

[THOMAS PABNELL

By tHs the stars began to wink,
They shnek, they fly, the tapers sink,

And down y-dropa the knight
For never spell by fame laid
With strong enchantment bound a glade,

Beyond the length of night

€hill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,
Till np the welkin rose the day,

Then deem'd the dole was o'er,
But wot ye well his harder lot P
His seely back the bunch had got

Which Edwin lost afore.

This tale a Sybil-nurse ared ;

She softly stroak'd my youngling head,

And when the tale was done,
" Thus some are born, my son," she ones,
" With base impediments to rise,

And some are born with none

" But Yixtue con itself advance

To what the favourite fools of chance

By fortune seem design'd ,
"Virtue can gain the odds of Pate,
And from itself shake off the weight

Upon th' unworthy mind "

Tliomas Parncll — Born 1679, Died 1717.

809 —THE HERMIT

Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew ,
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his dnnk the crystal

well-
Bemote from men, with God ho pass'd the

days,
Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.

A life so sacred, such serone ropose,
Seem'd Heaven itself, till one suggestion

rose;

That Vice should triumph, Virtue, Vice obey,
This sprung some doubt of Providence's

sway:

His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenonr of his soul is lost :
So when a smooth expanse receives imprest
Calm Nature's image on its watery breast,
Down bend the bonks, the trees depending

grow,
And skies beneath with answering colours

glow

But if a stono the gentle sea divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on every side,
And glimmering fragments of a broken Sun,
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.
To clear this doubt, to know the woild by

mght,

To find if books, or swains, report it right
(For yet by swains alone the world he knew,
Whose feet come wandering o'er the nightly

dew),

He quits his cell , the pilgrim-staff he bore,
And fix'd the scallop in his hat before ;
Then with the Sun a rising journey went,
Sedate to think, and watching each event.
The morn was wasted in the pathless

And long and lonesome was the wild to pass ;
But when the southern Sun had warm'd the

day,

A youth came posting o'er a crossing way ,
His raiment decent, his complexion fair,
And soft; in graceful ringlets waved his hair
Then near approaching, " Father, hail ' " he

cried,
"And hail, my son," the reveiend sire

replied ,
Words follow* d words, from question answer

flowed,

And talk of various kind deceived the road ,
Till each with other pleased, and loth to port,
While in their age they differ, join in heart.
Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,
Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm abound

Now sunk the Sun , the closing hour of day
Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey j
Nature in silence bid the world repose ,
When near the road a stately palace rose :
There by the Moon through ranks of trees

they pass,
Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of

grass.

It chanced the noble master of the dome
Still made his house the wandering- stranger's

home :

Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise,
Proved the vain nourish of expensive ease
The pair arrive the hvery'd servants wait ,
Their lord receives them at the pompous gate
The table groans with costly piles of food,
And all is more than hospitably good
Then led to rest, the day's long toil they

drown,
Deep sunk in sloep, and silk, and heaps of

down.

At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day,
Along the wide canals the zephyrs play •
Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep,
And shake the neighbouring wood to banish

sleep

Tip rise the guests, obedient to the call
An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall ,
Rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced,
Which the kmd master forced the guests to

taste
Then, pleased and thankful, from the porch

they go,
And, but the landlord, none hod cause of

woe

His cup was vanish' d ; for in secret guise
The younger guest pniloin'd the glittering

prize

As one who spies a serpent m his way,
Glistening and basking in the summei ray,
Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near,
Then walks with faintness on, and looks with

fear,

THOKAJS

THE HERMIT

[FIBTH PERIOD —

So seem'd the sire : when far upon the road,
The shining spoil his wily partner showed.
He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling

heart,
And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to

part
Murmuring1 he lifts Tb?H eyes, and fbrnikB it

hard,

That generous actions meet a base reward
While thus they pass, the Sun his glory

shrouds,
The changing skies frfrT'g out their sable

clouds ;

A sound in air presaged approaching ram,
And beasts to covert scud across the plain.
Wam'd by the signs, the wandering pair

retreat,

To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat.
'Twas built with turrets on a rising ground,
And strong, and large, and unimproved

around,

Its owner's temper, timorous and severe,
Unkind and griping, caused a desert there
As near the miser's heavy doors they

drew,

IFierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew ,
The nimble lightning miz'd with showers

began,
And o'er their heads loud rolling thunders

ran
Here long they knock, but knock or call in

vain,

Driven by the wind, and batter1 d by the ram
At length some pity warm'd the master's

breast
('Twas then his threshold first received a

guest) ;

Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care,
And half he welcomes in the shivering pair 3
One frugal fagot lights the naked walls,
And Nature's fervour through their limbs

recalls-

Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine,
(Each hardly granted) served them both to

dine;

And when the tempest first appear'd to cease,
A ready warning bid them part in peace
With still remark the pondering hermit

viewM,

In one so noh, a life so poor and rude ,
" And why should such," withm himself he

cried,
"Look the lost wealth a thousand want

beside?"
But what new marks of wonder soon take

place

In eVery Settling feature of his face ;
When from his vest the young companion

bore

That cup, the generous landlord own'd before,
And paid profusely -with the precious bowl
The stated kindness of this churlish souL

But now the clouds in airy tumult fly ;
The Sun emerging opes an azure sky ,
A fresher green the smelling leaves display,
And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day .

The weather courts thorn from the poor

retreat,

And the glad master bolts the wary gato
While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom

wrought

With all the travel of uncertain thought ,
His partner's acts without their cause appear,
'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness

here

Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes,
Lost and confounded with the various shows.
Now Night's dim shades again involve the

sky,

Again the wanderers want a place to he,
Again they search, and find a lodging nigh,
The soil unproved around, the mansion neat,
And neither poorly low, nor idly great
It seem'd to speak its master's turn of

mind,

Content, and not to praise, but virtue kind.
Hither the walkers turn with weary feet,
Then bless the mansion, and the master

Their greeting fair, bestow' d with modest

guise,

The couiteous master hears, and thus replies *
"Without a vain, without a grudging

heart,

To him who gives us all, I yield a part ;
from "hun you come, for him accept it here,
A frank and sober, more than costly cheer "
He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread,
Then talk of virtue till the time of bed,
When the grave household round his hall

repair,
Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with

prayer
At length the world, renow'd by calm

repose,

Was strong for toil, the dappled Morn aioao ;
Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept,
Near the closed cradle where an infant slept,
And wnthod his neck the landlord's little

pride,
O strange return' grew black, and gasp'd,

and died

Horrour of horrours ' what ' his only son '
How look'd our hermit when the foot was

done;
Not Hell, though Hell's black jaws in sunder

part,
Ajid breathe blue fire, could more assault his

heart.
Confused, and struck with silence at the

deed,
He fiies, but trembling, fails to fly with

speed
His steps the youth pursues; the country

lay
Perplex*d with roads, a servant show'd the

way

A river cross' d the path , the passage o'er
Was nice to find , the servant trod before ,
Long aims of oaks an open bndge supplied,
And deep the waves beneath the bending

glide

Jrom 1689 to 1727.]

HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.

[THOMAS

The youth, who feeexn'd to watch a time to

sin,
Approach/ d the careless guide, and thrust

"him in j

Plunging he falls, and rising1 lifts his head,
Then flashing turns, and sinks among1 the

dead
Wild, sparkling rage inflames the father's

eyes,

He bursts the bands of fear, and madly ones,
" Detested wretch ' " — But scarce his speech

began,
When the strange partner seem'd no longer

His youthful face grew more serenely sweet ;
His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his

feet,

Fair rounds of radiant points invest his Tmir ;
Celestial odours breathe through purpled air ;
And wings, whose colours ghtter'd on the

day,

Wide at his back their gradual plumes display
The form ethereal burst upon his sight,
And moves in all the majesty of light
Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion

grew,

Sudden he gazed, and wist not what-to do ;
Surprise in secret chains his words suspends,
And in a calm his settling temper ends.
But silence here the beauteous angel broke
(The voice of music ravish* d as he spoke)
" Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice

unknown,

In sweet memorial nso before the throne *
These charms, success in our bright region

find,

And force an angel down, to calm thy mind,
For this, commission' d, I forsook the sky,
Nay, cease to kneel— thy fellow-servant I
"Then know the truth of government

divine,

And let these scruples be no longer thine
"The Maker justly claims that world he

made,

In this the right of Providence is laid ,
Its sacred majesty through all depends
On TiSTTftg second means to work his ends .
,'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human

eye,

The power exerts his attributes on high,
Your action uses, nor controls your will,
And bids the doubting sons of men be still.
" What strange events can strike with more

surprise,
Than those which lately struck thy wondering

Yet, taught by these, confess th' Almighty

just,

And where you oan't unriddle, learn to trust f
" The great, vain man, who fared on costly

food,

Whose life was too luxurious to be good ;
Who made his ivory stands with goblets

shine,
And forced his guests to morning draughts of

wine,

Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost,
And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.
" The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted

door

Ne'er moved in duty to the wandering poor ;
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind
That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be

land.
Conscious of wanting woith, he views the

bowl,

And feels compassion touch Ihig grateful soul.
Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead,
With heaping coals of fire upon its head ;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to

glow,
And loose from dross the silver runs below.

" Long hod our pious friend in virtue trod,
But now the child half- wean' d M$ heart from

God;

(Child of his age) for him he lived in pain,
And measured back his steps to Earth ogam.
To what excesses had his dotage run P
But God, to save the father, took the son.
To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go,
(And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow,)
The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Now owns in tears the punishment was just.

" But now had all his fortune felt a wrack,
Had that false servant sped in safety back ;
This night his treasured heaps he meant to

steal,

And what a fund of charity would fail '
Thus Heaven instructs thy mind . tflyia trial

o'er,

Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more."
On sounding pinions here the youth with-
drew,

The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew.
Thus look'd Blisha when, to mount on high,
His master took the chariot of the sky ;
The fiery pomp ascending left to view ;
The prophet gazed, and wish'd to follow too.

The bending hermit here a prayer begun
" Lord i as in Heaven, on Earth thy will be

done "
Then gladly turning sought his ancient

place,
And pass'd a life of piety and peace.

Thomas Parnell—Born 1679, Died 1717.

810 — HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.

Lovely, lasting peace of mind,
Sweet delight of human kind '
Heavenly born, and bred on high,
To crown the favourites of the sky
With more of happiness below
Than victors in a tnumph know 1
Whither, O whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek contented head ,
What happy region dost thou please
To make the seat of calms and ease '

THOMAS PABNELL ]

SONG

[FIFTH PERIOD. —

Ambition searches all its sphere
Of pomp and state to meet th.ee there.
Increasing avarice would find
Thy presence in its gold enshrined
The bold adventurer ploughs his way
Through rooks amidst the foaming sea,
To gain thy love , and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rooks and waves
The silent heart, which gnef assail".
Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vfcJes,
Sees daisies open, nvers run,
And seeks (as I have vainly done)
Amusing thought , but learns to know
That solitude 's the nuise of woe.
No real happiness is found
In trailing purple o'er the ground
Or in a soul exalted high,
To range the circuit of the sky,
Converse with stars above, and know
All nature in its forms below ,
The rest it seeks, in seeking dies,
And doubts at last for knowledge, rise

Lovely, lasting peace, appear,
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blest,
And man contains it in his breast

'Twas thus, as under shade I stood,
I sung my wishes to the wood,
And, lost in thought, no more perceived
The branches whisper as they waved
It seem'd as all the quiet place
Confess' d the presence of his grace.
When thus she spoke — Go rule thy will,
Bid thy wild passions all be still,
Know God — and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from religion flow
Then every grace shall prove its guest,
And I'LL be there to crown the rest

Oh ' by yonder mossy seat,
In my hours of sweet letreat,
Might I thus my soul employ,
With sense of gratitude and joy ,
Raised as ancient prophets were,
In. heavenly vision, praise and prayer,
Pleasing all men, hurting none,
Pleased and bless'd with God alone
Then while the gardens take my sight,
With all the colours of delight ,
While silver waters glide along,
To please my ear, and court my song
Til lift my voice, and tune my string,
And thee, great Source of nature, sing .

The sun that walks his airy way,
To light the world, and give the day ;
The moon that shines with borrow'd light ,
The stars that gild the gloomy night ,
The seas that roll unnumber'd waves ,
The wood that spreads its shady leaves ,
The field whose ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain ;
All of these, and all I see,
Should be sung, and sung by me

They speak their Maker as they can,
But want and ask the tongue of man.

Go search among your idle dreams,
Tour busy or your vain extremes ,
And find a life of equal bliss,
Or own the next begun in this.

Thanuu Parnell —Born 1679, Died 1717.

811— SONG

My days have been so wondrous free,

The httle birds that fly
With careless ease from tree to tree,

Were but as bless'd as I.

Ask gliding waters, if a tear
Of mine increased their stream ?

Or ask the flying gales, if e'er
I lent one sigh to them ?

But now my former days retire,

And I'm by beauty caught,
The tender chains of sweet desire

Are fix'd upon my thought.

Te nightingales ! ye twisting pines '
Ye swains that haunt the grove f

Te gentle echoes ' breezy winds '
Te close retreats of love '

With all of Nature, all of Art,

Assist the dear design ,
Oh teach a young unpractised heart

To make my Nancy mine

The very thought of change I hate,

As much as of despair ,
Nor ever covet to be great,

Unless it be for her

'Tis true, the passio* in my mind

Is mix'd with soft distress ,
Tet while the fan I love is kind,

I cannot wish it less

Tlwmas Parnell—Bom 1679, Died 1717.

812 — MOENING HTHN.

See the star that leads the day,
Rising, shoots a golden ray,
To make the shades of darkness go
From heaven above and earth below ,
And warn us early, with the sight,
To leave the beds of silent night

From a heart sincere and sound,
From its very deepest ground,
Send devotion up on high,
Wing'd with heat, to reach the sky.
See the time for sleep has run !
Rise before or with the sun

From 1689 to 1727.]

EVENING HYMN.

[THOMAS PARNELL.

Lift thy hands, and humbly pray

The fountain of eternal day, —

That, as the light, serenely fair,

Illustrates all the tracts of air,

The sacred Spirit so may rest

With quick'nmg beams upon thy breast ,

And kindly clear it all within

Prom darker blemishes of gii? ,

And shine with grace until we view

The realm it gilds with glory too.

See the day that dawns in air,
Brings along its toil and care
From the lap of night it springs,
With heaps of business on its wings.
Prepare to meet them in a mind
That bows submissively resign' d ,
That would to woiks appointed fall,
That knows that God has order' d all.

And whether with a small repast
We break the sober morning fast ,
Or m our thoughts and houses lay
The future methods of the day ,
Or early walk abroad to meet
Oui business with industrious feet • —
Whatever we think, whate'er we do,
His glory still be kept in view.

Oh ' giver of eternal bliss,

Grant, heavenly Father ' grant me this !

Grant it to all, as well as me,

All those whose hearts are fix'd on thee, —

Who reveie thy Son above,

Who thy sacred Spirit love.

Ttwmas Pamoll —Bom 1679, Died 1717.

813.— NOONTIDE HYMN.

The sun is swiftly mounted high,
It glitters in the southern sky '
Its beams with force and glory beat,
And fruitful earth is filTd with heat

Father ' also with thy fire
Warm the cold, the dead desire,
And make the sacred love of thee,
Within my soul, a sun to me '
Let it shine so fairly bright,
That nothing else be took for light ;
That worldly charms be seen to fade,
And in its lustre find a shade '

Let it strongly shine within,
To scatter all the clouds of sin,
That drive when gusts of passion rise,
And intercept it from our eyes f
Let its glory more than vie
With the sun that lights the sky '

Let it swiftly mount in air,
Mount with that, and leave it theio '
And soar, with more aspiring flight,
To realms of everlasting light '

Thus while here I'm forced to be,
I daily wish to live with thee,
And feel that union, which thy love
Will, after death, complete above

From my soul I send my prayer, —
Great Creator, bow thine ear t
Thou, for whose propitious sway
The world was taught to see the day ;
Who spake the word, and earth begun,
And show'd its beauties in the sun

With pleasure I thy creatures view,
And would with good affection, too,
Good affection, sweetly free,
Loose from them and move to thee •
O ' teach me due returns to give,
And to thy glory let me live !
And th.6P my days shall shine the more,
Or pass more blessed than before

TJiomas Parnell.--Born 1679, Died 1717.

814 — EVENING HYMN

The beam-repelling mists arise,
And evening spreads obscurer skies
The twilight will the night forerun,
And night itself be soon begun.

Upon thy knees devoutly bow,
And pray the God of glory now
To fill thy breast , or deadly sin
May cause a blinder night within.
And, whether pleasing vapours rise,
Which gently dfm the closing eyes,
Which make the weary members bless'd,
With sweet refreshment in their rest ;

Or whether spirits, in the brain,
Dispel their soft embrace again j
And on my watchful bed I stay,
Forsook by sleep, and waiting day ,
Be God for ever in my view,
And never he forsake me too !

But still, as day concludes in night,
To break again the new-born light,
TTia wondrous bounty let me find,
With stall a more enlighten' d mind ;
When grace and love in one agree —
Grace from God, and love from me
Grace that will from heaven inspire,
Love that seals it in desire ;
Grace and love that mingle beams,
And fill me with increasing flames.

Thou that hast thy palace far
Above the moon and every star ,
Thou, that attest on a thione
To which the night was never known,
Regard my voice, and make me bless'd,
By kindly granting its request '

MATTHETW

CONTENTMENT.

[FIFTH PERIOD —

If thoughts on thee my soul employ,
My darkness will afford me joy,
. TJ1 thou shalt call, and I shall, soar,
And part with darkness evermore 1

Thomas Powell —-Born 1679, Died 1717.

$!$ — CONTENTMENT.

Contentment, parent of delight,

So much a stranger to onr sight,

Say, goddess, in what happy place

Mortals behold thy blooming face ;

Thy gracious auspices impart,

And for thy temple choose my heart.

They, whom thou deignest to inspire,

Thy science learn, to bound desire ,

By happy alchemy of mind

They turn to pleasure all they find ,

They both disdain in outward mien

The grave and solemn garb of Spleen,

And meretricious arts of dress,

To feign a joy, and hide distress ,

Unmoved when the rude tempest blows,

Without an opiate they repose ;

And, oover'd by your shield, defy

The whizzing shafts that round them fly :

Nor meddling with the gods' affairs,

Concern themselves with distant cares ;

But place their bliss in mental rest,

And feast upon the good possess' d.

IPorced by soft violence of pra/r,
The blithsome goddess soothes my care,
I feel the deity inspire,
And thus she models my desire.
Two hundred pounds half-yearly paid,
Annuity securely made,
A farm some twenty miles from town,
Small, tight, salubrious, and my own ,
Two maids that never saw the town,
A serving-man not quite a clown,
A boy to help to tread the mow,
And drive, while t'other holds the plough j
A chief, of temper form'd to please,
Pit to converse and keep the keys ;
And better to preserve the peace,
Commission' d by the name of niece ,
"With understandings of a size
To think their master very wise
May Heaven (it's all I wish for) send
One genial room to treat a fnend,
"Where decent cupboard, little plate,
Display benevolence, not state
And may my humble dwelling stand
Upon some chosen spot of land :
A pond before full to the brim,
"Where cows may cool, and geese may swim,
Behind, a green, like velvet neat,
Soft to the eye and to the feet,
Where od'roua plants in evening fair
Breathe all around ambrosial air ,
Prom Euros, foe to kitchen ground,
Fenced by a slope with bushes crown'd,

Fit dwelling for the feather'd throng,

Who pay their quit-rents with a song ;

With op'mng views of hill and dale,

Which sense and fancy too regale,

Where the half -cirque, which vision bounds,

Like amphitheatre surrounds

And woods impervious to the breeze,

Thick phalanx of embodied trees,

from "hiiia through plains in dusk array

Extended far, repel the day.

Here stillness, height, and solemn shade

Invite, and contemplation aid

Here Nymphs from hollow oaks relate

The dark deciees and will of fato,

And dreams beneath the spreading beech

Inspire, and docile fancy teach ,

While soft as breezy breath of wind,

Impulses rustle through the mind

Here Diyads, soormng Phoebus' ray,

While Pan melodious pipes away,

In measured motions frisk about,

Till old Silenus puts them out.

There see the clover, pea, and bean,

Vie in variety of green ,

Fresh pastures speckled o'er with sheep,

Brown fields their fallow sabbaths keep,

Plump Ceres golden tresses wear,

And poppy top-knots deck her hair,

And silver streams through meadows stray,

And Naiads on the margin play';

And lesser Nymphs on side of Tnlla

From plaything urns pour down the rills

Thus shelter' d, free from core and strife,
May I enjoy a calm through life ,
See faction, safe in low degree,
As men at land see storms at soa,
And laugh at miserable elves,
Not kind, so much as to themselves,
Cursed with such souls of baao alloy,
As can possess, but not enjoy,
Debarr'd the pleasure to impart
By avarice, sphincter of the heart ;
Who wealth, ha~l earn'd by guilty cores,
Bequeath untouoh'd to thankless heirs.
May I, with look Tingloom'd by guile,
And wealing viitue's hv'ry-smale,
Prone the d^shessed to relievo,
And little trespasses forgive,
With income not in fortune's powoi,
And skill to make a busy hour,
With trips to town life to amuse,
To purchase books, and hear tl e news,
To sec old friends, brush off the clown,
And quicken taste at coming down,
Unhurt by sickness' blasting rage,
And slowly mellowing in ago
When Fate extends its gathering gripe,
Fall off like fruit grown fully npe,
Quit a worn being without pain,
Perhaps to blossom soon again

But now more senous soo me grow,
And what I thank, my Memmms, know

Th' enthusiast's hope, and raptures wild,
Have never yet my reason f oil'd.

From 1689 to 1727 ]

SEEKER.

[MATTHEW G-RBEN.

His springy soul dilates like adr,
When free from weight of ambient care,
And, hush'd in meditation deep,
Slides into dreams, as when asleep ;
Then, fond of new discoveries grown,
Proves a Columbus of her own,
Disdains the narrow bounds of place,
And through the wilds of endless space,
Borne up on metaphysics wings,
Chases light forms and shadowy things,
And, in the vague excursion caught,
Bungs home some rare exotic thought.
The melancholy man such dreams,
As brightest evidence, esteems ,
Fain would he see somo distant scene
Suggested by his restless Spleon,
And Fancy's telescope applies
With tinctured glass to cheat his eyes
Such thoughts, as love the gloom of night,
I close examine by the light ,
For who, though bribed by gam to lie,
Bare sunbeam-written truths deny,
And execute plain common sense
On faith's mere hearsay evidence P

That superstition mayn't create,
And club its ills with those of f ato,
I many a notion take to task,
Made dreadful by its visor-mask.
Thus scruple, spasm of the mind,
Is cured, and certainty I find ,
Since optic reason shows me plain,
I dreaded spectres of the brain ,
And legendary fears arc gone,
Though in tenacious childhood sown
Thus in opinions I commence
Freeholder in the proper sense,
And neither suit nor service do,
3STor homage to pretenders show,
"Who boast themselves by spurious roll
Lords of the manor of tho sool ,
Preferring sense from ohm that's bare,
To nonsense throned in whisker' d hair.

To thee, Creator uncreate,

0 Entium Ens ' divinely great '

Hold, Muse, nor melting pinions try,

Nor near the blazing glory fly,

Nor straining break thy feeble bow,

TJnfeather'd arrows fax to throw ;

Through fields unknown nor madly stray,

Where no ideas mark the way.

With tender oyes, and colours faint,

And trembling hands, forbear to paint.

Who, features veiTd by light, can hit ?

Where can, what has no outline, fit p

My soul, the vain attempt forego,

Thyself, the fitter subject know.

He wisely shuns the bold extreme,

Who soon lays by th' unequal theme,

Nor runs, with wisdom's sirens caught,

On quicksands swallowing shipwreok'd

thought ,

But conscious of his distance, gives
Mute praise, and humble negatives

In one, no object of our sight,

Immutable, and infinite,

Who can't be cruel, or unjust,

Calm and resign'd, I fix my trust ,

To him my past and present state

I owe, and must my future fate.

A stranger into life I'm come,

Dying may be our going home,

Transported here by angry Fate,

The convicts of a pnor state

Hence I no anxious thoughts bestow

On matters I can never know.

Through life's foul way, like vagrant, pass'd,

He'll grant a settlement at last ;

And with sweet ease the wearied crown

By leave to lay his being down.

If doom'd to dance th' eternal round

Of life no sooner lost but found,

And dissolution soon to come,

Like sponge, wipes out life's present sum,

But can't our state of pow*r bereave

An endless series to receive ;

Then, if hard dealt with here by fate,

We balance in another state,

And consciousness must go along,

And sign th' acquittance for the wrong.

He for his creatures must decree

More happiness than misery,

Or be supposed to create,

Curious to try, what 'tis to hate •

And do an act, which lage infers,

'Cause lameness holts, or blindness errs.

Thus, thus I steer my bark, and sail
On even keel with gentle gale ,
At helm I make my leason sit,
My crew of passions all submit
If dark and blust'ring prove some nights,
Philosophy puts forth her lights ;
Experience holds the cautious glass,
To shun tho breakers, as I pass,
And frequent throws the wary lead,
To see what dangers may be hid
And once in seven years I'm seen -
At Bath or Tunbridge, to careen.
Though pleased to see the dolphins play,
I nnnd my compass and my way
With store sufficient for relief,
And wisely still prepared to reef,
Nor wanting the dispersive bowl
Of cloudy weather in the soul,
I make (may heaven propitious send
Such wind and weather to the end),
Neither becalm' d, nor overblown,
Life's voyage to the world unknown.

Matthew Green.— Born 169$, Died 1737,

816 — THE SEEKER.

When I first came to London, I rambled

about
From sermon to sermon, took a slice and

went out.

COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA ] A BTOCTTJBNAL BEYEBIE

[FIFTH PBBIOD -

Then on me, in divinity bachelor, tried
Many piiests to obtmde a Levitioal bnde ,
And uiging thoir various opinions, intended
To make me wed systems which they recom-
mended.

Said a lech'rons old friar, skulking- near
Lincoln's Inn

(Whose trade 's to absolve, but whose pas-
time *s to sin ,

Who, spider-like, seizes weak Protestant flies,

Which hung- in his sophistry cobweb he
spies) .

"Ah ' pity your soul, for without our church
pale,

If you happen to die, to be damn'd you can't
fail,

The Bible you boast is a wild revelation •

Hear a church that can't err if you hope for
salvation."

Said a formal non-con (whose rich stock of

grace

Lies forward exposed in shop- window of face) •
" Ah ! pity your soul come, be of our sect ,
For then you are safe, and may plead you're

elect.
As it stands in the Acts, we can prove our-

Being Christ's little flock everywhere spoke
against."

Said a jolly church parson (devoted to ease
While penal law dragons guard his golden

fleece) .
"If you pity your soul, I pray listen to

neither,

The first is in error, the last a deceiver ,
That ours is the true church, the sense of our

tribe is,
And surely in medio tutissimus ibis "

Said a yea and nay friend with a stiff hat and

band
(Who, while he talk'd gravely, would hold

forth his hand)
" Dominion and wealth are the aim of all

three,
Though about ways and means they may all

Then, pr'ythee be wise, go the quakers' by-
way,
'Tis plain, without turnpikes , so nothing to

pay-"

Mottliew Green.— Born 1696, Died 1737

817.— A NOCTUE3STAL BEVEBIE.

In such a night, when every louder wind
Is to its distant cavern safe confined,
And only gentle zephyr fans his wings,
And lonely Philomel stall waking sings ;
Or from some tree, famed for the owl's

delight,
She, holloaing clear, xureots the wanderer right

In such a night, when passing clouds give

place,

Or thinly veil the heavens' mysterious face ;
When in some river overhung with green,
The waving moon and trembling leaves are

seen,
When freshened grass now bears itself up-

right,

And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite,
Whence springs the woodbine, and the

bramble rose,

And where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows ,
Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes,
Yet chequers still with red the dusky

brakes ;
When scattered glowworms, but in twilight

fine,
Show trivial beauties watch their hour to

shine,
Whilst Salisbury stands the test of every

In perfect charms and perfect virtue bright
When odours which declined repelling day,
Through temperate air uninterrupted stray ;
When darkened groves their softest shadows

wear,

And falling1 waters we distinctly hear ;
When through the gloom more venerable

shows

Some ancient fabno, awful in repose ,
While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks

conceal,

And swelling haycocks thicken np the vale •
When the loosed horse now, as his pasture

leads,
Comes slowly grazing through the adjoining

meads,
Whose stealing pace and lengthened shado we

fear,

Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear ;
When nibbling sheep at large pursue their

food,

And unmolested feme reohew the cud ,
When curlews cry beneath the village walls,
And to her straggling brood the partridge

calls,

Their short-lived jubilee the creatures koop,
Which but endures whilst tyrant man does

When a sedate content the spirit feels,
And no fierce light disturbs, whilst it reveals ;
But silent musings urge the mind to seek
Something too high for syllables to speak ,
Till the free soul to a oomposedness charmed,
Finding the elements of rage disarmed,
O'er all below a solemn quiet grown,
Joys in the inferior world, and thinks it like

her own .

In such a night let me abroad remain,
Till morning breaks, and all's confused again ,
Our cares, our toils, our clamours are re-
newed,
Or pleasures seldom reached again pursued.

Anne, Coimtcsa of Wvnchelsea, Born, ,

Died, 1720.

From 1689 to 1727 ]

EVENING HYMN.

[BISHOP

818 — LIFE'S PROCURESS.

How gaily is at first begun

Our life's uncertain race f
Whilst yet that sprightly morning sun,
With which we just set out to ran,

Enlightens all the place.

How awnlrng the world's prospect lies,

How tempting to go through '
Not Canaan to the prophet's eyes,
Prom Fisgah, with a sweet surprise,

Did more inviting show.

How soft the first ideas prove

Which wander through our minds f
How full the joys, how free the love,
Which does that early season more,
As flowers the western winds '

Our sighs are then but vernal air,

But April drops our tears,
Which swiftly passing, all grows fair,
Whilst beauty compensates our care,

And youth each vapour clears.

But oh ' too soon, alas f we climb,

Scarce feeling we ascend,
The gently-rising hill of Time,
From whence with grief we see that prime

And all its sweetness end.

The die now cast, our station known,

Fond expectation past -
The thorns which former days had sown,
To crops of late repentance grown,

Through which we toil at last.

Whilst every care 's a driving harm,

That helps to bear us down ,
Which faded smiles no more can charm,
But every tear 's a winter storm,

And every look 's a frown.

A<met Comtess of Wwichelsea,. — Born - ,

Died 1720.

819.— MORNING HYMN.

Awake, my soul, and with the sun
Thy daily course of duty run ,
Shake off dull sloth, and joyful nse
To pay thy morning sacrifice •

Thy precious time misspent redeem ;
Each precious day thy last esteem ;
Improve thy talent with due care,
For the great day thyself prepare.

In conversation be sincere,
Keep conscience as the noontide clear 5
Think how all-seeing God thy ways
And all thy secret thoughts surveys.

By influence of the light divine,
Let thy own light to others shine ,
Reflect all heaven's propitious rays
In ardent love and cheerful praise

Wake, and lift thyself, my heart,
And with the angels bear thy part,
Who all night long unwearied sing
High praises to the eternal King.

I wake ' I wake '—ye heavenly choir,
May your devotion me inspire.
That I lake you my age may spend,
Lake you may on my God attend.

May I like you in God delight,
Have all day long my God in sight ;
Perform, like you, my Maker's will —
Oh, may I never more do ill '

Had I your wings, to heaven I'd fly ;
But God shall that defect supply,
And my soul, wing'd with warm desire,
Shall all day long to heaven aspire

All praise to Thee, who safe hast kept,
And hast refresh' d me whilst I slept ;
Grant, Lord, when I from death RTmll wake,
I may of endless light partake.

I would not wake, nor rise again,
Even heaven itself I would disdain,
Wert not Thou there to be enjoy'd,
And I in hymns to be employed

Bishop Ken. — Born 1637, Died 1711.

820.— EYENING H2MN.

All praise to Thee, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light ;
Keep me, oh, keep me, King of kings,
Beneath Thy own Almighty wings !

Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done ;
That with the world, myself, and Thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.

Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed ;
To die, that this vile body may
Rise glorious at the judgment-day.

Oh ' may my soul on Thee repose,
A-nfl may sweet sleep mine eyelids close —
Sleep, that may me more vigorous make,
To serve my God when I awake.

When in the night I sleepless lie,
My soul with heavenly thoughts supply ,
Let no ill dreams disturb my rest,
No powers of darkness me molest

Dull sleep ' — of sense me to deprive ,
I am but half my time alive ,
Thy faithful lovers, Lord, are grieved
To he so long of Thee bereaved

BISHOP

MIDNIGHT HYMN

FIFTH PEBIOD —

But though sleep o'er my frailty reigns,
Let it not hold me long in ohains ,
And now and then let loose my heart,
Till it a hallelujah dart.

The faster sleep the senses binds,
The more unfetter' d are our minds ;
Oh, may my soul, from matter free,
Thy loveliness unclouded see '

Oh I when shall I, in endless day,
For ever chase dark sleep away ;
And hymns with the supernal choir
Incessant sing, and never tire P

Oh, may my guardian, while I sleep,
Close to my bed his vigils keep ;
His love angelical instil,
Stop all the avenues of ill

Heaven is, dear Lord, where'er Thou art ;
Oh, never, then, from me depart ,
For to my soul 'tis hell to be
But for one moment void of Thee.

Lord, I my vows to Thee renew;
Disperse my grins as morning dew ;
Guard my first springs of thought and will,
And with Thyself my spirit fill.

Direct, control, suggest, this day,
All I design, or do, or say ;
That all my powers, with all then- might,
In Thy sole glory may unite.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow ,
Praise TTfm all creatures here below ;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host ;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Bishop Ken— Born 1637, Died 1711

821 —MIDNIGHT HIHM".

My God, now I from sleep awake,

The sole possession of me take ;

From midnight terrors me secure,

And guard my heart from thoughts impure.

Blest angels ! while we silent lie,
You hallelujahs gfrpg on high •
You joyful hymn the Ever-blest
Before the throne, and never rest.

I with your choir celestial join
In offering up a hymn divine
"With you in heaven I hope to dwell,
And bid the night and world farewell

My soul, when I shake off this dust,
Lord, in Thy arms I will intrust :
Oh, make me Thy peculiar care,
Some mansion for my soul prepare.

Give me a place at Thy saints' feet,
Or some fallen angel's vacant seat
I'll strive to sing as loud as they
Who sit above in brighter day.

Oh, may I always ready stand
With my lamp burning in my hand ,
May I m sight of heaven rejoice,
Whene'er I hear the Bridegroom's voice.

AH praise to Thee in light array'd,
Who light Thy dwelling-place hast made ;
A boundless ocean of bright beams
From Thy all-glorious Godhead streams.

The sun, in its meridian height,

Is very darkness in Thy sight :

My soul, oh, lighten and inflame

With thought and love of Thy great name I

Blest Jean. ' Thou, on heaven intent,
Whole nights hast in devotion spent ;
But I, frail creature, soon am tired,
And all my zeal is soon expired.

My soul ' how canst thou weary grow
Of antedating bliss below,
In sacred hymns and heavenly love,
Which will eternal be above ?

Shine on me, Lord , new life impart ;
Fresh ardours kindle m my heart :
One ray of Thy ail-quickening light
Dispels the sloth and clouds of night '

Lord, lest the tempter me surprise,
Watch over Thine own sacrifice ;
All loose, all idle thoughts oast out,
And make my very dreams devout.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow ;
Praise Him all creatures here below ;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host ;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

.— Born 1637, Died 1711.

822.— THE BIETH OF CHEIST.

While shepherds watoh'd their flocks by
night,

All seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,

And glory shone around

" Fear not," said he (for mighty dread
Had seized their troubled mind) ,

" Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind

To you, m David's town, this day,

Is born of David's hue
The Saviour, who is Chnst the Lord,

And this php-11 be the sign :

From 1689 to 1727.] THE LAST TIME I CAME O'EB THE MODE [ALLAN BAMSAY,

The heavenly Babe yon there shall find
i To human -view displayed,
All meanly wrapp'd in swathing bands,
! And in a manger laid "

Thus spake the seraph , and forthwith

Appear' d a ghfmng throng
Of angels, praising God, and thus

Addresa'd their joyful song —

« All glory be to God on high,
| And to the earth be peace ,
Goodwill henceforth from Heaven to men
1 Begin, and never cease ' "

Nahwtn Tate—Bom 1652, Died 1715.

823.— O

PSALM CTV.

Bless God, my sonl f — Thou, Lord, alone
Possessest empire without bounds ;

With honour Thou art orown'd, Thy throne
Eternal majesty surrounds.

."With light Thon dost Thyself enrobe,
. And glory for a garment take ,
Heaven's curtains stretch beyond the globe,
Thy canopy of state to make.

God builds on liquid air, and forms
His palace-chambers in the skies ;

The clouds TBEfe chariot are, and storms
The swift-wing' d steeds with which He flies.

As bright as flame, as swift as wind,
TTia ministers heaven's palace fill ;

All have their sundry tasks assigned,
All proud to serve their Sovereign's will.

The various troops of sea and land

In sense of common want agree ;
,411 wait on Thy dispensing hand,

And have their daily aJiPB from Thee.

They gather what Thy stores disperse,

Without their trouble to provide
Thou opea'st Thine hand, the universe,

The craving world, is all supplied.

Thou for a moment hideSt Thy face —
The numerous ranks of creature? mourn ;

Thou takest their breath — all nature's race
Forthwith to mother Earth return.

Again Thou send'st Thy spirit forth
To inspire the mass with vital seed —

Nature's restored, and parent Earth
Snides on her new-created breed.

Thus through successive ages stands,
Eirm fix'd, Thy providential care ,

Pleased with the work of Thy own hands,
Thou dost the wastes of time repair

NaJwm Tate.—Born 1652, Died, 1715. t

824 --SONG.

Farewell to Loohaber, farewell to my Jean,
Where heartsome with thee I have many a

day been :

To Loohaber no more, to Loohaber no more,
We'll maybe return to Loohaber no more
These tears that I shed they are a' for my

And not for the dangers attending on weir ;
Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody

shore,
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more 1

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind,
No tempest can equal the storm in my mind :
Though loudest of thunders on louder waves

roar,
That's naething like leaving my love on the

shore
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair

pain'd,
But by ease that's inglorious no fame can be

gain'd:
And beauty and love *s the reward of the

brave;
A-nfl I maun deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my

excuse,
Since honour commands me, how can I

refuse?

Without it I ne'er can have ment for thee ;
And losing thy favour I'd better not be
I gae then, my lass, to win honour and fame,
And, if I should chance to come glorious

I'll bring a heart to thee with love running

o'er,
And then Til leave thee and Loohaber no

more.

Allan Ramsay. — Bom 1686, Died 1757.

825.— THE LAST TIME I OAME O'EB
THE MODE.

The last time I came o'er the moor,

I left my love behind me ;
Ye powers ! what pain do I endure,

When soft ideas mind me '
Soon as the ruddy morn displayed

The beaming day ensuing,
I met betimes my lovely maid,

In fit retreats for wooing.

Beneath the cooling shade we lay,
Gazing and chastely sporting ,

We kiss'd and promised tune away,
Till night spread her black curtain.

ALLAN RAMSAY ]

ODE FROM HORACE.

[FIFTH PERIOD —

I pitied all beneath the skies,

E'en kings, when she was nigh mo ,

In raptures I beheld her eyes,
"Which could but ill deny me

Should I be call'd where cannons roar,

Where mortal steel may wound me ,
Or cast upon, some foreign shore,

Where dangers may surround me ;
Tet hopes again to see my love,

To feast on glowing kisses,
Shall make my cares at distance more,

In prospect of such busses.

In all my soul there 's not one place

To let a rival enter,
Since she excels in every grace,

In her my love shall centre.
Sooner the seas shall cease to flow,

Their waves the Alps «fa»;n cover,
On Greenland ice shall roses grow,

Before I cease to love her

The next time I go o'er the moor,

She ahull a lover find me ,
And that my faith is firm and pure,

Though I left her behind me :
Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain

My heart to her fair bosom ;
There, while my being does remain,

My love more fresh shall blossom.

Allom Ecmsay.—Born 1686, Died. 1757.

826.— ODE FROM HORACE.

Look up to Pentland's towering tap,
Buned beneath great wreaths of snaw,

O'er ilka oleugh, ilk scaur, and slap,
As high as ony Roman wa*.

Driving their ba's frae whins or tee,
There's no ae gowfer to be seen,

Nor denser fowk wysmg ajee

The blast bouls on Tamson's green.

Then fling on coals, and ripe the ribs,
And beek the house baith but and ben ;

That mutohkm stoup it hauds but dribs,
Then let* s get in the tappit hen.

Good claret best keeps out the oauld,
And drives away the winter soon ,

It makes a man baith gash and bauld,
And heaves his saul beyond the moon.

Leave to the gods your ilka care. *
If that they -hhiTik- us worth their while ,

They can a rowth of blessings spare,
Which will our fashions fears beguile.

For what they have a mind to do,

That will they do, should we gang wad ,

If they command the storms to blaw,
Then upo' sight the hailstanes thud.

But soon as e'er they cry, " Be quiet,"
The blattering winds dare nae mair move,

But oour into their caves, and wait
The high command of supreme Jove.

Let neist day come as it thinks fit,
The present minute 's only ours ;

On pleasure let's employ our wit,
And laugh at fortune's feckless powers.

Be sure ye dinna quat the grip

Of ilka joy when ye are young,
Before auli age your vitals nip,

And lay ye twafald o'er a rung.

Sweet youth's a blythe and heartsome time ;

Then, lads and lasses, while it's May,
Gae pou the gowan in its prime,

Before it wither and decay.

Watch the salt minutes of delight,
When Jenny speaks beneath her breath ;

And kisses, laying a* the wyte
On you, if she kep ony skaith.

" Haith, ye're ill-bred," she'll smiling say ;

" Te'll worry me, you greedy rook , "
Syne frae your arms she'll nn away,

And hide hersell in some dark nook.

Her laugh will lead you to the place,
Where lies the happiness you want,

And plainly tells you to your face,
Nineteen naysays are "half a grant.

Now to her heaving bosom cling,

And sweetly toohe for a kiss,
Frae her fair finger whup a nng,

As token of a future bliss.

These benisons, I'm very sure,
Are of the gods' indulgent grant ;

Then surly carles, whisht, forbear
To plague us with your whining cant.

Allan, Bcmsafl/.—Sorn 1686, Died 1757".

827— SONG.

Pursuing beauty, men descry

The distant shore, and long to prove
Still richer in variety

The treasures of the land of love

We women, like weak Indians, stand!

Inviting from our golden coast
The wand'nng rovers to our land :

But she who trades with them is lost.

With humble vows they first begin,
Stealing unseen into the heart ;

But by possession settled in,
They quickly play another part.

Ftom 16894o 1727]

THE CONTENTED SHEPHEBD

[NICHOLAS Rows.

For beads and baubles we icsign,
In ignorance, our shining stoio ,

Discover nature's richest mine,
Ani yet the tyrants will have more

Bo wise, be wise, and do not try
How he can court, or you be won ,

For love is but discovery .

When that is made, the pleasure 's done

TJiomas Southei ne — Born 1659, Died 1746

828— COLIN'S COMPLAINT.

Despairing beside a clear stream,

A shepherd forsaken was laid ,
And while a false nymph was his theme,

A willow supported his head
The wmd that blew over the plain,

To his sighs with a sigh did reply ,
And the brook, in letum to his pain,

Ban mournfully muimunng by

Alas ' silly swam that I was '

Thus fradly complaining he cried ,
When first I beheld that fair face,

'Tworo better by far I had died
She talk'd, and I bless' d her dear tongue ,

When she smiled, 'twas a pleasure too

groat,
I listen' d, and cnod when she sung,

Was nightingale over so sweet p

How foolish was I to believe

She could dote on so lowly a clown,
Or that her fond heart would not grieve

To forsake the fine folk of the town ,
To think that a boauty so gay

So kind and so constant would prove,
Or go clad, like our maidens, in grey,

Or live m a cottage on love '

What though I have skill to complain,

Though the muses my temples have

crown' d ;

What though, when they hear my soft
strain,

The virgins sit weeping around p
Ah, Colin ' thy hopes are in varn,

Thy pipe and thy laurel resign,
Thy false one inclines to a swain

Whose music is sweeter than thine.

All you, my companions so dear,

Who sorrow to see me betray'd,
Whatever I suffer, forbear,

Forbear to accuse the false maid
Though through the wide world I should
lango,

'Tis m vain from my fortune to fly ,
Twa<3 heis to be false and to change,

' Tin mine to bo constant and die.

If while my hard fate I sustain,

In her breast any pity is found,
Let hei come with the nymjtfis of the plain,

And see me laid low in the ground
The last humble boon that I crave,

Is to shade me with, cypress and yew ;
And when she looks down on my grave,

Let her own that her shepherd was tiue.

Then to her new love let her go,

And deck her in golden array ;
Be finest at every fine show,

And f rolio it all the long day •
While Colin, forgotten and gone,

No more shall be talk'd of or seen,
Unless when, beneath the pale moon,

His ghost shall glide over the gieen

McholasRowe— Bom 1673, Died 1718.

829 — THE CONTENTED SHEPHEED.

As on a summer's day
In the greenwood shade I lay,

The maid that I loved,

As her fancy moved,
Came walking forth that way

And as she pass'd by

With a scornful glance of her eye,
" What a shame," quoth she,
£ For a swain must it be,

Like a lazy loon for to die '

" And dost thou nothing heed
What Fan our God has decreed;

What a prize to-day

Shall be given away
To the sweetest shepherd's reed!

" There's not a single swam
Of all this fruitful plain,

But with hopes and fears

Now busily prepares
The bonny boon to gam.

" Shall another maiden shine
In brighter array than thine P
Up, up, dull swam,
Tune thy pipe once again,
And make the garland mine "

" Alas T my love," he cried,
" What avails this courtly pnde ?

Since thy dear desert
Is written in my heart

What is all the world beside P

" To me thou art more gay,
In this homely russet grey,

Than the nymphs of our gieenj

So trim and so sheen ,
Or the brightest queen of May.

37

NICHOLAS BOWE ]

SONG

[FIFTH PERIOD.—

" What though my fortune frown,
And deny thoe a silken gown ,
My own dear moid,
Be content with this shade,
And a shepherd all thy own "

Nicliol&s Rowe —Bom 1673, Died 1718,

830— SONG.

To the brook and the willow that heard him

complain,
Ah willow, willow,
Poor Cohn sat weeping, and told thorn his

pain,
Ah willow, willow , ah willow, willow

Sweet stream, he cried sadly, Til teach thee

to flow.
Ah willow, &c
And the waters shall rise to the brink with

my woe
Ah willow, &o

All restless and painful poor Amoret lies,

Ah willow, £o.

And counts the sad moments of time as it
flies

Ah willow, &c.

To the nymph my heart loves, ye soft slumbers

repair,
Ah willow, &o
Spread your downy wings o'er her, and make

her your care
Ah willow, &c.

Dear brook, were thy chance near her pillow

to creep,
Ah willow, <fcc
Perhaps thy soft murmurs might lull her to

sleep
Ah willow, &o

Lot me be kept waking, my eyes never close,

Ah willow, &c

Bo the sleep that I loso brings my fair one
repose,

Ah willow, &o.

But if I am doomed to be wretched indeed ;

Ah willow, &o

If the loss of my dear one, my love is de-
creed;

Ah willow, &c.

If no more my sad heart by those eyes shall

be cheered ,
Ah willow, &c.
If the VOICP of my warbler no more shall be

heard,
Ah willow, &o.

Believe me, thou fair one , thou dear one

believe,

Ah willow, &c.
Few sighs to thy loss, and few tears will

I give
Ah willow, &o.

One fate to thy Colin and thee shall bo tied,

Ah willow, &o.

And soon lay the cold shepherd closo by thy
cold side.

Ah willow, &c

Then run, gentle brook , and to lose thyself,

haste,

Ah willow, &c.
Fade thou too, my willow, this verse is my

last;
Ah willow, wiEow ; ah willow, willow.

Nicholas Bowe — Born 1673, Died 1718.

831.— FROM FATAL OITBIOSITY'

Who should this stranger beP And then

ting oasket-~*

He says it is of value, and yet trusts it,
As if a trifle, to a stranger's hand —
His confidence amazes me — Perhaps
It is not what he says — I'm strongly tempted
To open it, and see — No, let it rest
Why should my curiosity excito me
To search and pry into th' affairs of others,
Who have t* employ my thoughts, so many

cares
And sorrows of my own P — With how much

ease
The spring gives way! Surprising' most

prodigious '

My eyes are dazzled, and my ravished heart
Leaps at the glorious sight. How bright's

the lustre,

How immense the worth of these fair jewels I
Ay, such a treasure would expel for ever
Base poverty, and all its abject train ;
The mean devices we're reduced to uso
To keep out famine, and preserve our liven
From day to day , the cold neglect of friends ;
The galling scorn, or more provoking pity

Of an insulting world Possessed of these,

Plenty, content, and power, might take thoir

turn,

And lofty pride bare its aspiring head
At our approach, and once more bend before

us
— A pleasing dream I 'Tis past j and now I

wake

More wretched by the happiness I've lost ;
For sure it was a happiness to think,
Though but a moment, such a treasure

mine
Nay, it was more than thought — I saw and

touched

From 1689iol727]

AN ODE TO JOHN LOBD QOWEE

[ELIJAH

The blight temptation, and I see it yet

"Tis here — 'tis mane — I have it in posses-

Must I resign it p Must I give it back P

Am I in love with misery and want P

To rob myself, and oonrt so vast a loss P

Eetain it then But how? there is a

way

Why sinks my heart ? Why does my blood

run cold P
Why am I thrilled wish horror? 'Tis not

ofcoice,
But dire necessity suggests the thought.

George IrtZZo.— JBo» n 1693, Died 1743

832 — VEBSES

Why, Damon, with the forward day,
Dost thou thy little spot survey,
From tree to tree, with doubtful cheer,
Pursue the progress of the year,

Wliat winds arise, what rams descend,
When thou before that year shalt end ?

What do thy noon-tide walks avail,

To clear the leaf, and pick the snail,

Then wantonly to death decree

An insect usofuller than thee p

Thou and the worm are brother-kind,
As low, as earthy, and as blind

Vain wretch ' canst thou expect to see
The downy peach make couit to thee p
Or that thy sense shall ever meet
The bean-flower's deep-embosom' d sweet,
Exhaling with an evening blast P
Thy evenings then will all be past.

Thy narrow pride, thy fancied green,
(For vanity's in little seen)
All must be left when Death appears,
In spite of wishes, groans, and tears ,
Nor one of all thy plants that grow,
But rosemary will with thee go.

Dr Geo 8ewell —Died 1726.

833.— FABLE, BELATED BY A BEAU
TO ESOP.

A Band, a Bob-wig, and a Feather,
Attacked a lady's heart together
The Band, in a most learned plea,
Made up of deep philosophy,
Told her, if she would please to wed
A reverend beard, and take instead

Of vigorous youth,

Old solemn truth,
With books and morals, into bed,

How happy she would be.

The Bob, he talked of management,
What wondrous blessings heaven sent
On care, and pains, and industry ,
And truly he must be so free
To own he thought your airy beaux,
With powdered wigs, and dancing shoos,
Were good for nothing (mend his soul ')
But prate, and talk, and play the fool

He said 'twas wealth gave joy and mirth,

And that to be the dearest wife

Of one, who laboured all his life

To make a mine of gold his own,

And not spend sixpence when he'd done,

Was heaven upon earth

When these two blades had done, d'ye

see,

The Feather (as it might be me)
Steps out, sir, from behind the skrcen,
With such an air and such a TmflTi —
Look you, old gentleman, — in short
He quickly spoiled the statesman's sport.

It proved such sunshine weather
That you must know, at the first beck
The lady leaped about his neck,

And off they went together

Svr JoJvn Varibriigli — Born 1666, J>ied 1726.

834 —AN ODE TO THE EIGHT HON.
JOHN LOBD GOWEB.

O'er winter's long inclement sway,

At length the lusty Spring prevails ;
And swift to meet the smiling May,

Is wafted by the western gales.
Around him dance the rosy Hours,
And damasking the ground with flowers,

With ambient sweets perfume the morn ;
With shadowy verdure flourish' d high,
A sudden youth the groves enjoy ;

Where Philomel laments forlorn.

By her awaked, the woodland choir
To hail the coming god prepares ;
And tempts me to resume the lyre,
Soft warbling to the vernal airs.
Yet once more, O ye Muses ' deign
For me, the meanest of your train,

Unblamed t' approach your blest retreat :
Where Horace wantons at your spring,
And Pindar sweeps a bolder string ,
, Whose notes th' Aoman hills repeat.

Or if invoked, where Thames's fruitful tides,
Slow through the vale m silver volumes

Now your own Phoebus o'er the month

presides,
Gives love the night, and doubly gilds the

day;

37*

WARD ]

SONG.

[FIFTH Puuxon —

Thither, indulgent to my prayer,

Ye bright harmonious nymphs, repair

To swell the notes I feebly raise
So with aspiring ardours warm'd
May Gower's propitious ear be charm* d

To listen to my lays

Beneath the Pole on Tnlla of snow,

Like Thraoian Mars, th' undaunted Swede
To dint of sword defies the foe ,

In fight unknowing to recede
From Volga's banks, th' imperious Czar
Leads forth his furry troops to war ,

Fond of the softer southern sky :
The Soldan galls th' Elynan coast ;
But soon this miscreant Moony host

Before the Victor-Cross shall fly.

But here, no clarion's shrilling note

The Muse's green retieat can pierce ,
The grove, from noisy camps remote,

Is only vocal with my verse
Here, wmg1 d with innocence and joy,
Let tho soft hours that o'er mo fly

Diop freedom, health, and gay desires
While the bright Seine, t' exalt the soul,
With sparkling plenty crowns the bowl,

And wit and social mirth inspires.

Enamour'd of the Seme, celestial fair,

(The blooming pride of Thetis' azure traan,)
Bacchus, to win the nymph who caused his care,
Lash'd his swift tigers to the Celtic plain
There secret in her sapphire eell,
He with the Nais wont to dwell

Leaving the nectar'd feasts of Jove
And where her mazy waters flow
He gave the mantling- vine to grow,
A trophy to his love

Shall m?-~p from Nature's sanction stray,

With blind opinion for ki£ guide ,
And, rebel to her rightful sway,

Leave all her beauties unenjoy'd P
Fool ' Time no change of motion knows ,
With equal speed the torrent flows.

To sweep Fame, Power, and Wealth away ,
The past is all by death possest ,
And frugal fate that guards the rest,

By giving, bids "hi™ Jive To-Day.

0 Gower ' through all the destined space,

What breath the Powers allot to me
Shall sing the virtues of thy race,

United and complete in thee.
O flower of ancient English faith '
Pursue th' unbeaten Patriot-path,

In which confirm'd thy father shono
The light his fair example gives,
Already from thy dawn receives

A lustre equal to its own

Honour's bright dome, on lasting columns

rear'd,

Nor envy rusts, nor rolling years consume
Loud Pceans echoing round the roof are

heard,
And clouds of incense all the void perfume

There Phooion, Lrolius, Capel, Hyde,
With Falkland seated near his side,

Fix'd by the Muse, the tomplo grace ,
Prophetic of thy happier fame,
She, to receive thy radiant name,

Selects a whiter space

Etyuh Fenton—Bom 1683, DM 1730

835.— SONG.

0 give me, kind Bacchus, thou God of the

vmo,

Not a pipe or a tun, but an ocean of wine ;
And a ship that's well-mann'd with &uch rare

merry fellows,
That ne'er forsook tavern for portoily ale-

house

May her bottom bo leaky to let in tho tipple,
And no pump on board her to save ship or

people ,
So that each jolly lad may suck heartily

round,
And be always obliged to drink or bo

drown' d '
Let a fleet from Virginia, woll laden with

weed,
And a cargo of pipes, that wo nothing may

need,

Attend at our stern to supply us with gnus,
And to weigh us our funk, not by pounds, but

by tuns
When thus fitted out we would sail cross tho

line,
And swim round the woild in a sea of good

wine,

Steer safe in the middle, and vow never more
To renounce such a life for the pleasures on

shore
Look cheerfully round us and comfoit our

eyes

With a deluge of olaret inclosed by the skies ;
A sight that would mend a pale mortal's

complexion,
And make him blush more than tho sun by

reflection

No zealous contentions should over perplex us,
No politic jars should divide us or vox TIB ,
No presbyter Jack should reform us or ride

us,
The stars and our whimsical noddles should

guideus
No blustering storms should possess us with

fears,
Or hurry us, like cowards, from drinking to

prayers,
But still with full bowls we'd for Bacchus

The most glorious dominion o'er the olarety

main,
And tipple all round till our eyes shono as

bright
As the sun does by day, or the moon doea by

Prowi 1639 io, 1727]

SONG

[JOHN OLDMDCON-

Thus would I hve free from all care or design,
And when doath should arrive I'd be pickled

in wine
That is, toss'd over-board, have the sea for

my giave,
And lie nobly entomb'd in a blood-colour' d

wave,
That, living or dead, both my body and

spirit
Should float round the globe in an ocean of

claret,
The truest of friends and the best of all

juices,

Worth both the rich metal* that Tnflift pro-
duces
For all men we find fiom the young to the

old,
Will exchange for the bottle their silver and

gold,
Except rich fanatics — a pox on their pic-

tuios1
That make themselves slaves to their praters

and their lectures ,
And think that on earth there is nothing

divine,

But a canting old fool and a bag full of coin.
"What though the dull saint make hi« standard

His refuge, his glory, his god, and his dar-
ling,

The mortal that drinks is the only brave
fellow,

Though never so poor, he 's a king when he 's
mellow,

Grows richer than CTOBSUB with whimsical
thinking,

And never knows care whilst he follows his
drinking

Edward Ward —Born 1667, Died 1731

836.— SONG

Sweet are the charms of her I love,
More fragrant than tfre damask rose,

Soft as the down of tnrtte dove,
Gentle as aur when Zephyr blows,

[Refreshing as descending rains

To sun-burnt ohmes, and thirsty plains

True as the needle to the pole,

Or as the dial to the sun ,
Constant as gliding waters roll,

Whose swelling tides obey the moon ,
Prom every other charmer free,
My hf e and love shall follow thee.

The lamb the flowery thyme devours,
The dam the tender kid pursues ,

Sweet Philomel, m shady bowers
Of verdant spring her note renews ;

AIL follow what thoy most admire,

As I pursue my soul's desire

Nature must change her beauteous face,
And vary as the seasons rise ,

As winter to the spring gives place,
Summer th* approach of autumn flies :

No change on love the seasons bring,

Love only knows perpetual spring

Devouring time, with stealing pace,
Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow;

And marble towers, and gates of brass,
In his rude march he levels low •

But time, destroying far and wide,

Love from the soul can ne'er divide.

Death only, with his cruel dart,
The gentle godhead can remove ,

And drive fa™ from the bleeding heart
To mingle with the bless' d above,

"Where, known to all his kindred tram,

He finds a lasting rest from pain.

Love, and his sister fair, the Soul,
Twin-born, from heaven together came

Love will the universe control,
When dying seasons lose their name ,

Divine abodes shall own his pow*r,

When tune and death shall be no more*

Booth —Bom 1681, Died 1733

837— SONG.

Love is by fancy led about

From hope to fear, from joy to doubt ;

Whom we now an angel call,
Divinely graced m every feature,
Straight 's a deform'd, a perjured creature;

Love and hate are fancy all.

"Tis but as fancy shall present
Objects of grief, or of content,

That the lover 's blest, or dies •
Visions of mighty pain, or pleasure,
Imagined want, imagined treasure,

AH in powerful fancy lies.

Qraffwille, Lord Lansdoune. —
1667, Bud 1735

S38.— SONG.

I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste,

That I no more would court
The joys that seem when they are past

As dull as they are short.

I oft to hate my mistress swear,

But soon my weakness find *
I make my oaths when she's severe,

But break them when she 's kind

John Oldmwon—BomlfflS, Died 1742.

SIJB EGBERT ATrotf.]

THE CHURCH-BTJTLDEB

[FIFTH PERIOD —

839— THE CETDBCH-BUII/DER.

A wretch, had committed all manner of evil,
And was justly afraid of death and the

devil,
Being touoh'd with remorse, he sent for a

pnest,
He was wondrous godly, he pray'd and con-

fess'd
But the father, unmoved with the marks of

contrition,
Before absolution, imposed this condition •

"You must build and endow, at your own

A church," quoth the parson, "convenient

and large,
Where souls to the tune of four thousand and

odd,
"Without any crowding, may sit and serve

God."

" I'll do't," cned the penitent, "father, ne'er
fear it,

My estate is encumber'd, but if I onco clear
it,

The beneficed clerks should be sweetly in-
creased—

Instead of one church, I'd build fifty at
least."

But ah ' what is man P I speak it with

sorrow,

His fit of religion was gone by to-morrow ,
He then huff'd the doctor, and call'd him to

naught,
There were churches to spare, and ho'd not

give a groat
When he mention'd his vow, he cried, " D — n

me, I'm sober,
But all yesterday I was drunk with October "

Bvr Robert Ayton.— About 1711.

THE SIXTH PEEIOD,

FEOM 1727 TO 1780.

DURING this peiiod Great Britam produced some of the greatest names in the world's
muster roll of men of genius We hare, among poets, Edward Young, with his solemn
and often grand " Night Thoughts " , Thomson with his graphic descriptions of Winter in its
gloom and storm , Spring in its clear sunshine and fitful showers, its peeping flowers and its
cheery feelings , Summer in its gay voluptuousness ; and Autumn in its falling leaves, quiet
decay, and melancholy fancies We have John Dyer with his exquisite " Grongar Hill," and
Shenstone with his exquisite " Garden," and Gray with his " Elegy in a Country Chnich-yard,"
which the world will never let die, and deai, generous, genial, loving, and beloved Oliver
Goldsmith, and Chatterton, the wondrous boy whose monument at that grand old church at
Bristol awakens thoughts "too deep for tears" We have Logan and Bruce, the poetical
Wartons, Beattie with his " Minstrel," Alexander Boss with his " Woo'd and Married and
A' , " Christopher Smart with his ill-fated stony belongs to this peiiod, and Lady Arm Barnard,
who has thiown a lustre even on the illustrious family of the Lindsays We have as Novelists
Samuel Richardson, Fielding, Smollett, Steine, the great and noble Samuel Johnson, the
delicious authoi of the " Vicar of Wakefield," which touches the heart in youth and old age,
and Henry Mackenzie

Among Hi&toiians we have David Hume, Dr William Eoberb&on, William Tytler, Edward
Gibbon In Divinity there shine the names of Butler, Bishop Waiburton, Bishop Lowth, Dr
C Middleton, Dr Isaac Watts, &o simple and so great, this testimony, in passing from an
Episcopalian, but from one who loves all good men We have Hurd, Jorfan, the Evangelist
John Webley and his brother Chailes, who between them produced some of the most exquisite
Hymns in the English language , Nathaniel Lardner, Leland, Blair, Campbell, add to the list of
greajb and much loved names We have also the magnificent Edmund Burke Never shall we
forget his generous kindness to poor deserving George Crabbe All night Crabbe walked on
Westminster Bridge after leaving his letter at the great man's house , little did Burke know
that ' but all night he walked in suspense , but when he called next day the helping hand waft
stretched out, and nobly did Crabbe repay. We have Junms, and Adam Smith, and Sir
William Blackstone, and the great Earl of Chatham It was a glorious period, and Englishmen
may well be proud of it.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

RICHARD SAVAGE.

"Richard Savage, born 1696, died 1748, so
well known for Johnson's account of him, was
the bastard child of Richard Savage, Earl
Eivers, and the Countess of Maoclesfield He
led a dissipated and erratic life, the victim of
circumstances and of his own passions In his
miscellaneous poems the best are * The Wan-
derer1 and 'The Bastard ' "—See Shaw's
" Hist. Eng, Lit." p 312.

ROBERT BLAIR

" Robert Blair, born 1699, died 1746, was
minister of the parish of Athelstanef ord, in East
Lothian His son, who died not many years ago,
was a very high legal character in Scotland The
eighteenth century has produced few specimens
of blank verse of so powerful and simple a
character as that of 'The Grave' It is a
popular poem, not merely because it is reli-
gious, but because its language and imagery

BIOGBAPEICAL NOTICES.

[SIXTH PEEIOD —

are free, natural, and picturesque Tlie latest
editor of the poets has, with singularly bad
taste, noted some of this author's most ner-
vous and expressive phiases as vulgarisms,
among which he reckons that of friendship
' the solder of society ' Blair may be a homely
and even a gloomy poet in the eye of fastidious
criticism ; but there is a masculine and pro-
nounced character even in his gloom and
homeliness that keeps it most distmotly apart
from either dullness or vulgarity His style
pleases us like the powerful expression of a
countenance without regular beauty. Blair
was a great favourite with Burns, who quotes
from ' The Grave * very fiequently in his
letters " -— Campbell's " Specimens " See
Ghlfillan's Ed of Blair's " Grave " , AUibone's
" Crit. Diet Eng Lit "

ISAAC WATTS.

" This admirable person was born at South-
ampton on the 17th of July, 1674 His
father, of the same name, kept a boarding-
school for young gentlemen, and was a man
of intelligence and piety Isaac was the
eldest of nine children, and began early to
display precocity of genius At four he com-
menced to study Latin at home, and afterwards,
under one Pmhorn, a clergyman, who kept
the free-school at Southampton, he learned
Latin, Hebrew, and Greek. A subscription
was proposed for sending Tmn to one of the
great universities, but he preferred casting in
his lot with the Dissenters He repaired ac-
cordingly, in 1690, to an academy kept by
the Bev. Thomas Eowe, whose son, we believe,
became the husband of the celebrated Eliza-
beth Bowe, the once popular author of
'Letters from the Dead to the Living ' The
Bowes belonged to the Independent body At
•flh™ academy Watts began to write poetry,
chiefly in the }jftti'n language, and in the then
popular Pindaric measure At the age of
twenty, he leturned to his father's house, and
spent two quiet years in devotion, meditation,
and study. He became next a tutor in the
family of Sir John Hartopp for five years.
He was afterwards chosen assistant to Dr.
Chaunoey, and, after the Doctor's death, be-
came his successor His health, however,
failed, and, after getting an assistant fora
while, he was compelled to resign. In 1712,
Sir Thomas Abney, a benevolent gentleman of
the neighbourhood, received Watts into his
house, where he continued during the rest of
his life — all his wants attended to, and his
feeble frame so tenderly oared for that he
lived to the age of seventy-five Sir Thomas
died eight years after Dr Watts entered his
establishment, but the widow and daughters
continued unwearied in their attentions. Ab-
ney House was a mansion surrounded by fine

gardens and pleasuie-grounds, where the
Doctor became thoroughly at homo, and was
wont to refresh his body and mind in the
intervals of study Ho pieachcd regularly to
a oongiegation, and in the pulpit, although lug
stature was low, not exceeding five foot, tho
excellence of his matter, the easy flow of his
language, and the propnety of his pronuncia-
tion, rendered him very popular In private
he was exceedingly kind to the poor and to
children, giving to the former a third part of
his small income of .£100 a-year, and writing
for the other his inimitable hymns Besides
these, he published a well-known ' Tioatiso on
Logic,' another on e The Improvement of tho
Mind,' besides various theological productions,
amongst which his * World to Como' has
been pre-eminently popular In 1728, he
received from Edinburgh and Aberdeen an
unsolicited diploma of Doctor of Divinity As
age advanced, he found himself unable to dis-
charge his ministerial duties, and offered to
remit his salary, but his congregation refused
to accept his demission. On tho 25th No-
vember, 1748, quito worn out, but without
suffering, this able and worthy man expired

"If to be eminently useful is to fulfil the
highest purpose of humanity, it was certainly
fulfilled by Isaac Watts, His logical and
other treatises have served to brace the in-
tellects, methodise the studies, and con-
centrate the activities of thousands — we had
nearly said of millions— —of minds This has
given him an enviable distinction, but ho
shone still more in that other province ho
so felicitously chose and so successfullly
occupied — that of tho hearts of the young
One of his detractors called him 'Mother
Watts' He might have taken up this
epithet, and bound it as a crown unto
him. We have heard of a pious foreigner
possessed of imperfect English, who, in an
agony of supplication to God for somo sick
fnend, said, ' 0 Fader, hear me ' 0 Mnddor,
hear me f ' It struck us as one of tho finest
of stones, and containing one of tho most
beautiful tributes to the Deity wo evor hoard,
recognising in Him a pity which not ovon &
father, which only a mother can fool. Like a
tender mother does good Watts bend over the
little children, and secure that their first
words of song shall bo those of simple, heart-
felt trust in God, and of faith in their Eldor
Brother To create a little heaven in the
nursery by hymns, and these not mawkish or
twaddling, but beautifully natural and ex-
quisitely simple breathings of piety and praise,
was the high task to which Watts consecrated,
and by which he has immortalised, his genius "*
— Gilfillan's "Less-known Brit. Foots," vol.
ui , pp 91-93.

PHILIP DODDBIDGE.

"Philip Doddndge, born 1702, died 1751,
one of the most distinguished Nonconformist

From 1727 to 1780 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

divines He was born in London, was edu-
oated among the Dissenters, became minister
at Northampton, and died at Lisbon, whither
he had departed for the benefit of his health
Doddridge was a man of learning and earnest
pieiy He was beloved and admired by all
the religions bodies of the country His style
is plain, simple, and forcible. He was a critic
of some acumen, and a preacher of great dis-
tinction But his name lives from his practical
works and expository writings, the chief
of which aie — * Discourses on Regeneration,'
1741, 'Rise and Progress of Religion in the
Soul,' 1745 , and his greatest and most ex-
tensive work, ' The Family Expositor,' one of
the most widely-circulated works of its class "
—Shaw's " Hist Eng * Lit " , Alhbone's
"Cnt Diet. Eng Lit"; Dr Kippis, in
" Biog Bnt." ; Dr Ralph Wardlaw , Bishop
Warburton, Dr E. Williams, T H Home,
Dr. Dibdin , Barnngton, Bishop of Durham ,
Robert Hall's " Letters " ; Dr Francis Hunt ,
Morell, "London Evangel. Mag.", Bishop
Tebb.

EDWARD YOUNG.

Edward Young, born 1681, died 1765 "I
now come," says Shaw, in his ' Hist Eng
lit.,' " to Edward Young, the most powerful
of the secondary poets of the epoch He
began his career in the unsuccessful pursuit
of fortune in the public and diplomatic service
of the country. Disappointed in his hopes
and somewhat soured in his temper he entered
the Chuich, and soiious domestic losses still
further intensified a natural tendency to
morbid and melancholy reflection He ob-
tained his first literary fame by his satire
entitled the 'Love of Fame, the Universal
Passion,' written before he had abandoned a
secular career. It is in rhyme and bears con-
siderable resemblance to the manner of Pope,
though it is deficient in that exquisite grace
and neatness which, dTatiTigrn^h the latter. In
referring the vices and follies of mankind
chiefly to vanity and the foolish desire of
applause, Young exhibits a false and narrow
view of human motives ; but there are many
passages in the three epistles, which compose
this satire, that exhibit strong powers of
observation and description, and a keen and
vigorous expression which, though sometimes
degenerating into that tendency to paradox
and epigram which are the prevailing defect
of Young's genius, are not unworthy of his
great model. The Second Epistle, describing
the character of women, may be compared,
without altogether losing in the parallel, to
Pope's admirable work on the same subject
But Young's place in the history of English
poetry — a place long a very high one, and
which is likely to remain a far from unenviable
one — is due to his striking and original poem
* The Night Thoughts ' This work, consisting

of nine nights or meditations, is in blank
verse, and consists of reflections on Life,
Death, Immortality, and all the most solemn
subjects that can engage the attention of the
Christian and the philosopher. The general
tone of the work is sombre and gloomy, per-
haps in some degree affectedly so, for though
the author perpetually parades the melancholy
personal circumstances under which he wrote,
overwhelmed by the rapidly-succeeding losses
of many who were dearest to fa™, the reader
can never get rid of the idea that the gnef
and desolation were purposely exaggerated for
effect In spite of this, however, the grandeur
of Nature and the sublimity of the Divine
attributes are so forcibly and eloquently de-
picted, the arguments against sin and in-
fidelity aie so concisely and powerfully urged,
and the contrast between the nothingness of
man's earthly aims and the immensity of his-
immortal aspirations is so pointedly set before
us, that the poem will always make deep im-
pression on the religious reader The pre-
vailing defects of Young's mind were an
irresistible tendency to antithesis and epi-
grammatic contrast, and a want of discrimi-
nation that often leaves Mm utterly unable to*
distinguish between an idea really just and
striking, and one which is only superficially so :
and this want of taste frequently leads him
into illustrations and comparisons rather
puerile than ingenious, as when he compares,
the stars to diamonds in a seal-ring upon, the
finger of the Almighty He is also remark-
able for a deficiency in continuous elevation,,
advancing so to say by jerks and starts of
pathos and sublimity The march of his
verse is generally solemn and majestic, though
it possesses little of the rolling thundroua
melody of Milton ; and Young is fond of in-
troducing familiar images and expressions*
often with, great effect, amid his most lofty
bursts of declamation. The epigrammatic
nature of some of his most striking images
is best testified by the large number of ex-
pressions which have passed from his writings
into the colloquial language of society, such
as ' procrastination is the thief of tune,' * all
men JftTnV all men mortal but themselves,'
and a multitude of others A sort of quaint
solemnity, like the oinamentation upon a
Gothic tomb, is the impression which the
'Night Thoughts' are calculated to make
upon the reader in the present tune ; and it
is a strong proof of the essential greatness of
his genius, that the quaintness is not able to
extinguish the solemnity" — Dr. Angus's
" Handbook of Eng Lit " , GUfillan's Ed of
" Young's Poems "5 Campbell's " Speci-
mens"

JAMES THOMSON.

" James Thomson, a distinguished Bri-
tish poet, born at Ednam, near Kel&j, in

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PnivJOD —

Scotland, in 1700, was one of the none
children of the Bev Mr Thomson, minister
of that place. James was sent to the school
of Jedburgh, where he attracted the notice of
a neighbouring- minister by his propensity to
poetry, who encouraged his early attempts,
and corrected his performances On his re-
moval from school, he was sent to the
university of Edinburgh, where he chiefly
attended to the cultivation of his poetical
faculty; but the death of his father, during
his second session, having brought his mother
to Edinburgh for the purpose of educating her
children, James complied with the advice of
his friends, and entered upon a course of
divinity Here, we are told, that the ex-
planation of a psalm having been required
fiom him as a probationary exercise, he per-
formed it in language so splendid, that he was
reproved by his professor for employing a dic-
tion which it was not likely that anyone of his
future audience could comprehend This ad-
monition completed the disgust which he felt
for the profession chosen for him , and having
connected himself with some young men in
the university who were aspirants after literary
eminence, he readily listened to the advice of
a lady, the friend of his mother, and deter-
mined to try his fortune in the great metro-
polis, London

"In 1725 Thomson came by sea to the
capital, where he soon found out his college
acquaintance, Mallet, to whom he showed
has poem of ' Winter,' then composed in de-
tached passages of the descriptive kind
Mallet advised >»™ to form them into a con-
nected piece, and immediately to print it It
was purchased for a small sum, and appeared
in 1726, dedicated to Sir Spencer Compton
Its merits, however, were little undeiatood by
the public j till Mr Whateley, a person of
acknowledged taste, happening to cast an eye
upon it, was struck with its beauties, and
gave it voguo His dedicatee, who had
hitherto neglected him, made him a present
of twenty guineas, and he was introduced to
Pope, Bishop Bundle, and Lord-Chancellor
Talbot In 1727, he published another of his
seasons, ' Summer,' dedicated to Mr Dodding-
ton, for it was still the custom for poets to
pay this tribute to men m power In the
same year he gave to the public his ' Poom,
sacred to the memory of Sir Isaac Newton,'
and his « Britannia ' His ' Spring ' was pub-
lished m 1728, addressed to the Countess of
Hertford ; and the * Seasons ' were completed
by the addition of ' Autumn,' dedicated to Mr
Onalow, in 1730, when they were published
collectively

"As nothing was more tempting to the
cupidity of an author than dramatic com-
position, Thomson resolved to become a com-
petitor for that laurel also, and in 1728 he
had the influence to bring upon tho stage of
Drury-lane his tragedy of ' Sophomsba ' It
was succeeded by 'Agamemnon;' 'Edward

and Eioonora,' and ( Tancrod and Sigis-
munda , ' but although these pieces wore not
without then merits, the moral utiam was too
prevalent for tho public taste, and they havo
long ceased to occupy the thoatio Through
the recommendation of Dr. Bundle, ho was,
about 1729, selected as the travelling asso-
ciate of the Hon Mr Talbot, eldest son of
the Chancellor, with whom ho visited mont of
the courts of the European continent Dimng
this tour, tho idea of a poem on 'Liberty*
suggested itself, and after his icturn, ho em-
ployed two years in its completion. The place
of secretary of the briefs, which was noaily a
sinecure, lepaid him for his attendance on Mr
Talbot. e Liberty ' jat length appeared, and
was dedicated to Frederick, Prince of Wales,
who, in opposition to the court, affected tho
patronage of letters, as well as of liberal
sentiments in politics He gi anted Thomson
a pension, to remunerate him for the IOSH of
his place by the death of Lord Chancellor
Talbot In 1746 appeared his poem, called
'The Castle of Indolence,' which had been
several years under bis polishing hand, and
by many is consideied as ^riH principal per-
formance He was now in tolerably affluent
circumstances, a place of Surveyor-General of
the Leeward Islands, given him by Mr Lyttlo-
ton, bringing him, in, after paying a deputy,
about -8300 a year He did not, however,
long enjoy this state of oomfoit , for returning
one evening from London to Kew-lono, he was
attacked by a fever, which proved fatal m
August, 1748, the 48th year of his age He
was interred without any memorial in Rich-
mond Church , but a monument was erected
to his memory, in Westminster Abbey, in
1762, with tho profits arising- from an edition
of his works publibhed by Mr Millar.

" Thomson in person was large and ungainly,
with a heavy, unammated countenance, and
having nothing in his appearance in mixed
society indicating' the man of genius or refine-
ment He was, however, easy and cheerful
with select friends, by whom ho was singularly
beloved for the kindness of his heart, and his
freedom from all the malignant passions which
too often debase the literary character His
temper was much inclined to indolence, and
he was fond of indulgence of every kind ; in
particular he was more attached to tho pleasures
of sense, than the sentimental delicacy of his
writings would induce a reader to suppose.
For the moral tendency of his works, no
author has deserved more praise , and no one
can nse from the perusal of his pages, without
being sensible of amelioration of his principles
or feelings.

" The poetical merits of Thomson un-
doubtedly stand most conspicuous in his
' Seasons,' the first long composition, perhaps,
of which natural description was made the
staple, and certainly the most fertile of grand
and beautiful delineations, in great measure
deduced from the author's own observation.

Fiom 1727 to 1780 1

BIOQBAPHICAL NOTICES

Its diction is somewhat cumbrous and la-
boured, but energetic and expressive Its
versification does not denote a practised ear,
but is seldom unpleasantly harsh Upon the
whole, no poem has been more, and more
deservedly, popular , and it has exerted a
powerful influence upon public taste, not only
in this country, but throughout Europe Any
addition to his fame has principally arisen
from his * Castle of Indolence,' an allegorical
composition in the manner and stanza of
Spenser, and among the imitators of this poet
Thomson may deserve the preference, on
account of the application of his fable, and
the moral and descriptive beauties by which
it is filled up This piece is entuely free from
the stiffness of language peiceptible in tho
author's blank verse, which is also the case
with many of his songs, and other rhymed
poems " — Aikm's " Select Brit Poets " See
Gilfillan's Ed of "Thomson's Poems",
Scrymgeour'fe " Poetry and Poets of Bri-
tain " 5 Shaw's " Hist Eng Lit "

JOHN DYER

11 John Dyer, an agreeable poet, was the son
of a solicitor at Abeiglasney, in Carmarthen-
shire, wheie he was born in 1700 He was
brought up at Westminster School, and was
designed by his father for his own profession ,
but being at liberty, in consequence of his
father's death, to follow his own inclination,
he indulged what ho took for a natural taste
in painting, and enteied as pupil to Mr
Bichardson After wondering for some tune
about South Wales and the adjacent counties
as an itinerant artist, he appeared convinced
that he should not attain to eminence in that
piofession In 1727 he first made himself
known as a poet, by the publication of his
' Grongar Hill,' descriptive of a scene afforded
by his native countiy, which became one of
the most popular pieces of its class, and has
been admitted into numerous collections.
Dyer then travelled to Italy, still in pursuit
of professional improvement , and if he did
not acquire this in any considerable degree,
he improved his poetical taste, and laid in a
store of new images. These he displayed in
a poem of some length, published in 1740,
which ho entitled « The Bums of Borne,' that
capital having been the principal object of his
journeymgs Of this work it may be said,
that it contains many passages of real poetry,
and that the strain of moral and political re-
flection denotes a benevolent and enlightened
mind

" His health being now in a delicate state,
ho was advised by his friends to take orders ,
and he was accordingly ordained by Dr
Thomas, Bishop of Lincoln, and entering
into the manned state, he sat down on a small

living- in Leicestershire This he exchanged
foi one in Lincolnshire, but the fenny country
in which he was placed did not agree with his
health, and he complained of the want of
books and company In 1757 he published
his largest work, 'The Fleece/ a didactic
poem, in four books, of which the first part
is pastoral, the second mechanical, and the
third and fouith historical and geographical.
This poem has never been very populai, many
of its topics not being well adapted to poetry;
yet the opinions of cntics have varied con-
ceimng it It is certain that there aie many
pleasing, and some grand and impressive pas-
sages in the work ; but, upon the whole, the
general feeling is, that the length of the per-
formance necessaiily imposed upon it a degree
of tediousness

** Dyer did not long survive the completion
of his book He died of a gradual decline in
1758, leaving behind him, besides the reputa-
tion of an ingenious poet, tho character of an
honest, humane, and worthy person " — Allan's
" Select Poets of Bnt " See Alhbone's " Cnt.
Diet Eng Lit", "Life of Dyer," by Dr.
Samuel Johnson , Drake's " Literary Hours,"
vol i , p 160, et seq , vol u , p. 35 A col-
lective edition of Dyer's Works was pub-
lished in 1761, 8vo , Gilfillan's Ed of " Dyer's
Poems", Campbell's "Specimens"

WILLIAM HAMILTON.

" William Hamilton, of Bangour, was born
in Ayrshire in 1704 He was of an ancient
family, and mingled from the first in the most
fashionable circles Ere he was twenty he
wiote verses in Bamsay's 'Tea-Table Miscel-
lany ' In 1745, to the surprise of many, he
joined the standard of Prince Charles, and
wrote a poem on the battle of Gladsmuir, or
Prestonpans When the reverse of his party
came, after many wanderings and hair's-
breadth escapes in the Highlands, he found
refuge in France. As'he was a general fa-
vourite, and as much allowance was made for
his poetical temperament, a pardon was soon
piocured for him by his friends, and he re-
turned to Ms native country His health,
however, originally delicate, had suffered by
his Highland privations, and he was compelled
to seek the milder clime of Lyons, where he
died in 1754

" Hamilton was what is called a ladies' -man,
but his attachments were not deep, and he
rather flirted than loved. A Scotch lady, who
was annoyed at his addresses, asked John
Home how she could get nd of them He,
knowing TTq.Tnil4-.n-n well, advised her to appear
to favour him She acted on the advice, and
he immediately withdrew his suit And yet
his best poem is a tale of love, and a tale, too,
told with great simplicity and pathos We

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PEJBIOD —

refer to his ' Braes of Yarrow,' the beauty of
which we never felt fully till we saw some
tune ago that lovely region, with its * dowie
dens,' — its clear living stream, — Newark
Castle, with its woods and memories, — and
the green wildernesses of silent hills which
stretch on all sides around, saw it, too, in
that aspect of which Woidsworth sung in the
words —

• The grace of forest charms decayed
And pastoral melancholy.'

It is the highest praise we can bestow upon
Hamilton's ballad that it ranks in merit near
"Wordsworth's fine trinity of poems, 'Yarrow
Unvisited,' 'Yarrow Visited,' and * Yarrow
Revisited ' "— Gtffillan's "Less-known Bnt
Poets," vol ni , pp. 102, 103 See Allibone's
" Cnt Diet Eng Lit." , Lord Woodhouselee's
" Life of Lord Kames", Professor Eiohardson;
Boswell's "Life of Johnson", Anderson's
" Bnt Poets " , " The Lounger" , " Transac
of Scot. Anfaq " , Chambers's and Thompson's
" Biog Diet of Eminent Scotsmen "

DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

"Dr. Samuel Johnson, a learned English
critic, lexicographer, and miscellaneous writer,
was the son of a bookseller at Liohfield TTfe
education was commenced at the free school
of laohfield, and in 1728 he was admitted of
Pembroke College, Oxford , but being too poor
to remain at the university, he, in 1731, quitted
it without a degree. He soon afterwards lost
his father, who left fa™ m such poor circum-
stances that he sought the post of usher of a
school at Market-Bosworth, Leicestershire,
where, however, he did not continue long He
next resided with a printer at Birmingham,
where he translated Lobo's account of Abys-
sinia In 1735 he mamed Mrs. Porter, a
widow lady of that town, who was possessed of
the sum of .£800, and with this capital he the
same year opened a school at Edial, near Lich-
field , but he obtained only three scholars, one
of whom was David Gamok About this time
he began his tragedy of * Irene.' In 1737 he
set out for the metropolis, accompanied by
Garrick On fixing his residence in London,
he formed a connection with Cave, the publisher
of the ' Gentleman's Magazine,' for which
work he wrote during several years, his prin-
cipal employment being an account of the par-
liamentary debates At this period he con-
tracted an intimacy with Richard Savage,
whose name he has immortalized by one of the
finest pieces of biography ever written. In
1749 appeared his 'Vanity of Human Wishes,'
an imitation of Juvenal's tenth Satire Two
years previously, he had printed proposals for
an edition of Shafcspere, and the plan of his

English dictionary addressed to Loid Che&tor-
field The price agreed upon between himaolf
and the bookselleis for the last woik waw
,61,575 In 1749 Gaaiick produced his inond's
tragedy upon the stage of Drury Lane Theatre,
but it was unsuccessful In 1750 ho com-
menced his 'Rambler,' a periodical papoi,
which was continued till 1752 In this work
only five papers weio the production of other
writers About the period of his relinquishing
the 'Rambler' ho lost his wife, a circum-
stance which greatly affected him, as appears
from his ' Meditations,' and the sermon which
he wrote on her death In 1754 ho visited
Oxford. The next year appeared his dictionary,
which, instead of thice, had occupied eight
years. Lord Chesterfield endeavoured to assist
it by writing two papers in its favour in the
VWorld,' but, as he had hitherto neglected
the author, Johnson treated him with con-
tempt The publication of his great work did
not relieve Trim from his embarrassments, for
the price of his labour had been consumed in
the progress of its compilation, and the year
following we find him, under an arrest for five
guineas, from which he was released by Ri-
chardson, the printer In 1758 he began the
'Idler,' which was published in a weekly
newspaper On the death of his mother, m
1759, he wrote the romance of ' Rasselas,' to
defray the expenses of her funeral, and to pay
her debts In 1762, George III. granted him
a pension of ,£300 per flrmmn. in 1763,
Boswell, his future biographer, was introduced
to him, a circumstance to which we owe the
most minute account of a man's life and cha-
racter that has ever been written. Boswell,
though a very ordmaiy mortal, has immor-
talized himself by this performance In his
book everything about Johnson is supplied to
us , in Loid Mocaulay's words, wo have ' hm
coat, his wig, his figure, his face, his scrofula,
his St. Vitus's dance, his rolling walk, his,
blinking eye, the outward signs which too
clearly marked the approbation of his dmnor ,
his insatiable appetite for fish-sauce and veal*
pie with plums, his inextinguishable thirst
for tea , his trick of touching the posts as ha
walked, his mysterious practice of treasuring
up scraps of orango-poel , his morning- slum-
bers , his midnight disputations , his contor-
tions , his muttenngs , his gruntmgs , his
puffings , his vigorous, acute, and ready elo-
quence , his sarcastic wit , his vehemence , his
insolence ; his fits of tempestuous rago , his
queer inmates — old Mr. Levott and blmd Mrs.
Williams, the cat Hodge, and the negro Frank
— all are as familiar to us as the objects by
which we have been surrounded from child-
hood.' Johnson had the honour of a conversa-
tion with the king in the royal library, m
1765, when his Majesty asked if he intended
to publish any more works To this he an-
swered, that he thought he had written
enough, on which the king said, 'So should
I too, if you had not written so well ' About

Worn 1727*0 1780]

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

this tune ho instituted the Literary Club, con-
sisting of some of the most celebrated men of
the age. In 1773 he went on a tour with
Boswell to the western islands of Scotland, of
which journey he shortly afterwards published
an account, which occasioned a controversy
between him and Mocpherson, relative to the
poems of Ossian In 1775 the umveisity of
Oxtord sent him the degree of LL I) , which
diploma, ten years before, had been conferred
on hini by the university of Dublin In 1779
he began his « Lives of the English Poets/
which was the last of his literaiy labours
After a long illness, during port of which he
had fearful apprehensions of death, his mind
became calm, composed, and lesigned, and he
died full of that faith which he had so vigo-
rously defended and inculcated in his wiitings
His lemams were interred in Westminster
Abbey, and a statue, with an appiopnate
inscription, has been erected to his memory in
St. Paul's Cathedral A complete list of his
works is prefixed to Boswell' s ' Life ' As a
writer, few have done such essential service to
his country, by fixing its language and regu-
lating its moiahty. In his person he was
large, robust, and unwieldy , in his dress he
was singular and slovenly, in oonvezsataon
positive, and impatient of contradiction But
with all his singulaiitios he had an excellent
heart, full of tenderness and compassion, and
his actions were the result of pimciple. He
was a stout advocate for truth, and a zealous
champion for the Chiistian religion as pro-
fessed in the Church of England In politics
he was a Tory, and at one period of Ins life a
friend to the houso of Stuart Ho had a
noblo independence of mind, and would never
stoop to any man, however exalted, or disguise
his sentiments to flatter anothoi Born at
Liohfield, 1709, died in London, 1784"—
Beeton's "Diet TTniv Biog." See GilfUlan's
Ed of " Johnson's Poems ' , AUibone's " Crit
Diet Eng Lit " , Loid Brougham's " Lives of
Men of Letters," &c , Cumberland's "Me-
moir", Orme, Hazlitt, "On the Penodical
Essayists " , Christopher North.

WILLIAM COLLESTS

« William Collins, born 1721, died 1759.
His career was brief and unhappy He ex-
hibited from very early years the strong
poetical powers of a genius which, ripened
by practice and experience, would have mode
him the first lyrical wiiter of his age ; but his
ambition was lather feverish than sustained ,
he led a life of projects and dissipation ; and
the first shock of literary disappointment
drove him to despondency, despondency to
indulgence, and indulgence to insanity. This
gifted being died at 38, after suffering the
oruelost affliction and humiliation that can

oppress humanity He was educated at
Winchester School, and ofteiwards at Mag-
dalen College, Oxfoid, and entered upon the
, career of professional literature, full of golden
dreams, and meditating vast projects His
first publication was a seiies of Eclogues,
tiansferring the usual sentiments of pastoral
to the scenery and manneis of the East.
Oriental, or Persian, incidents were for the
fiist time made the subjects of compositions,
retaining in their form and general cast of
thought and language the woin-out type of
pastoral Thus the lamentation of the shep-
herd expelled from his native fields is replaced
by a camel-driver bewailing the dangers and
solitude of his desert journey; and the
dialogues so frequent in the bucolics of
Virgil or Theocritus are transformed into
i the amoebfflan complaints of two Circassian
, exiles The national character and sentiments
I of the East, though every effort is made by
j the poet to give local colouring and appro-
I priate costume and scenery, are in no sense
more true to nature than in the majority of
pictures representing the fabulous Arcadia of
the poets, and though these Eclogues exhibit
traces of vivid imagery and melodious verse,
the real genius of Collins t must be looked for
in his ' Odes.' Judged by' these latter, though
they ore but few in number, he will be found
entitled to a very high place for true warmth
of colouiing, power of personification, and
dreamy sweetness of haimony, no English
poet had till then appeared that could be com-
paied to Collins His most commonly quoted
lyric is the ode entitled ' The Passions,' in
which Fear, Bage, Pity, Joy, Hope, Melan-
choly, and other abstract qualities are succes-
sively introduced trying their skill on different
musical instruments Their respective choice
of these, and the manner in which each Passion
acquits itself, is very ingeniously conceived.
Nevertheless, many of the less popular odes,
as that addressed to 'Fear,' to 'Pity/ to
•Simplicity,' and that 'On the Poetical
Character,' contain happy strokes, some-
times expressed in wonderfully laconic lan-
guage, and singularly vivid portraiture.
Collins possessed to an unusual degree the
power of giving life and personality to an
abstract conception, and that this power is
exceedingly rare may be seen by the pre-
dominant coldness and pedantry which gene-
rally prevail in modern lyric poetry, where
personification has been abused till it has
become a mere mechanical artifice. In Collins
the prosopopoeia is always fresh and vivid
In the unfinished ' Ode on the Superstitions
of the Highlands/ there are many fine touches
of fancy and description, but the leader
cannot divest himself of a consciousness that
the pictures aie rather transcripts from books
than vivid reflection from personal knowledge.
Collins writes of the Highlands and their in-
habitants not like a native, but like an English
hunter after the picturesque, Some of tho

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PERIOD —

smaller and loss ambitions lyrics, as the
e Verses to the Memory o£ Thomson,* the
* Dirgo in Cymbeline,' and the exquisite verses
"How sleep the Brave,' aio perhaps destined
to a more certain immortality for a tender,
luxuriant richness of reverie, peihaps there is
nothing in the English language that surpasses
them All the qualities of Collins' s finest
thought and expression will be found united
in the lovely little ' Ode to Evening,' consist-
ing of but a few stanzas in blank verse, but so
subtly harmonized that they may be read a
thousand times without observing the absence
of rhyme, and exhibiting such a sweet, sooth-
ing, and yet picturesque series of images, all
appropriate to the subject, that the sights and
sounds of evening seem to be repioduced with
a magical fidelity the whole poem seems
dropping with dew and breathing the frag-
rance of the hour It resembles a melody of
Schubert."

JOHN BYEOM.

"John Byrom, born at Manchester, 1691,
died 17G8, educated at Cambridge, inventor
of a patented system of shorthand, and at last
a private gentleman in his native plaoe, is
best known for a pastoral which first appeared
in the ' Spectator,' — ' My time, O ye Muses,
was happily spent ' He wrote several other
small poems, which have lately been published
by a local society in Manchester His writings
exhibit easo and fancy "—Shaw's tc Hist. Eng
Lit ; " Allibone's " Cnt. Diet Eng Lit."

WILLIAM SHENSTONE.

"William Shenstone, boin 1714, died 1763,
a poet, whose popularity, once considerable,
has "now given place to oblivion, but whose
pleasing and original poem * The School-mis-
tress ' will deserve to retain a place in every
collection of English verse He is still more
lemarkable as having been one of the first to
cultivate that picturesque mode of laying out
gardens, and developing by well-concealed art
the natural beauties of scenery, which, under
the name of the English style, has supplanted
the majestic but formal manner of Italy,
France, and Holland. In the former, Nature
is followed and humoured, in the latter she
is forced. The 'School-mistress' is in the
Spenserian stanza and antique diction, and,
with a delightful mixture of quaint playful-
ness and tender description, paints the dwell-
ing, the character, and the pursuits of an old
village dame who keeps a rustio day-sohool
The Pastoral ballads of Shenstone are me-
lodious, but the JftTn current of natural feeling
which pervades them cannot make the reader

forget the improbability of the Aicadiaa
manners, such as novor o\istod in pjiy a«jo
or country, 01 tho querulous and childish tone
of thought "—Shaw's " Hint Enj? Lit "

Dr Angus speaks mo^o gonoionsly and
kindly — " Nature and description flouiihh
again in Shonstono and Goldsmith William
Shenstone (1714-17C3) waw born at tho Loas-
owes, in Shropshue, a small estate which ho
made by his taste 'tho onvy of tho gioat and
the admiration of the Hkilful ' Ho was first
taught at a dame-school, and has immortalized
his teacher in tho c School-mistrobs ' In 1732,
he entered Pembroke College, Oxford, and, on
the Leasowes coming into his own hand, ho
retired to that place, and there remained mofct
of his life, influenced therein partly by his
fondness for gardening, and paitly by dis-
appointed love and disappointed ambition
Here he wrote his Pastorals and his Elegies —
works which, if not remarkable for gcnrafl,
are certainly among the best of tho class to
which they belong. They abound in sim-
plicity and pathos, though they are wanting
m force and variety. Campbell thinks, and
probably with justice, that if he had gone
more into living nature for sublets, and had
described their realities with the same fond
and naive touches which give so much delight-
fulness to his 'School-mistress,' he would have
increased his fame.

" His e Schoolmistress ' was published in
1742, though it was written at college Tho
poem is a descriptive sketch in imitation of
Spenser's style, ' so quaint and ludicrous, yet
so true to nature,' that it reminds the reader
of the paintings of Wilkio or of Webster,
His ' Pastoral Ballad ' is a happy specimen
of that kind of composition, and, it may bo
added, one of the latest , tho ArcaxlianiRmn in
which it indulges having given placo to tho
real-life descriptions which are found in Barns
and Hogg. The whole is written in the well-
known metre —

' She gazed as I slowly withdrew,
My path I could hardly discern ,
So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade mo return *

" His prose essays and letters occupy two
volumes of tho three of his works as published
by Dodsley ; the former are good specimens of
English style ; without the learning of Cowley,
but with a good deal of his ease and ele-
gance."

DAVID MALLETT.

11 David Mallott was the son of a small inn-
keeper in Cneff, Perthshire, where ho was born
in the year 1700. Crieff, as many of our
readers know, zs situated on tho western eido
of a mJl, and commands a most varied and
beautiful prospect, including Drammond

From 1727 to 1780]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

Castle, with its solemn shadowy woods, and
the Ochils, on tho south, — Ochtertyie, one of
the loveliest spots in Scotland, and the gorge
of Glenturrett, on the north, — and the bold
dark hills which surround the romantic village
of Comne, on the west Crieff is now a place
of considerable note, and forms a centre of
summer attraction to multitudes , but at the
commencement of the eighteenth century it
mu&t have been a miserable hamlet Malloch
was originally the name of the poet, and the
name is still common in that part of Perth-
shire David attended the college of Aberdeen,
and became afterwards, an unsalaried tutor
in the family of Mr Home of Dreghorn, near
Edinburgh. We find him next m the Duke of
Montrose's family, with a salary of J&30 per
aTi-nmn In 1723 he accompanied his pupils
to London, and changed his name to Mallett,
as more euphonious Next year ho produced
his pretty ballad of ' William and Margaiet,'
and published it in Aaion Hill's ' Plain
Dealer.' This berved as an introduction to
the literary society of the metropolis, including
such names as Young and Pope. In 1733 he
disgraced himselt by a satire on the greatest
man then living — the venerable Richard
Bentley. Mallett was one of those mean
creatures who always worship a rising, and
turn their backs on a setting sun By his
very considerable talents, his management, and
his address, he soon roso m the world He
was appointed under-socretary to the Prince of
Wales, with a salary of .£200 a year In con-
junction with Thomson, to whom he was really
kind, he wrote, in 1740, 'The Masque of
Alfred/ in honour of the birthday of the
Princess Augusta. His first wife, of whom
nothing is recorded, having died, he married
the daughter of Lord Carlisle's steward, who
brought him a fortune of J610,000 Both she
and Mallett gave themselves out as Deists.
This was partly owing to his intimaoy with
Bolmgbroke, to gratify whom he heaped abuse
upon Pope in a preface to c The Patriot-King,'
and was rewarded by Bolingbroke leaving him
the whole of his works and MSS These he
afterwards published, and exposed himself to
the vengeful sarcasm of Johnson, who said
that Bolingbroke was a scoundrel and a coward
— a scoundrel, to charge a blunderbuss against
Christianity ; and a coward, because he durst
not fire it himself, but left a shilling to a beg-
garly Scotsman to draw the trigger after his
death. Mallett ranked himself among the
calumniators and, as it proved, murderers of
Admiral Byng He wrote a Life of Lord
Bacon, in which, it was said, he forgot that
Bacon was a philosopher, and would, probably,
when he came to write the Life of Marlborough,
forget that he was a general. This Life of
Bacon is now utterly forgotten We happened
to read it in our early days, and thought it a
very contemptible performance The Duchess
of Marlborough left £1,000 in her will between
Glover and Mallett to wnte a Life of her

husband Glover threw up his share of the
woik, and Mallett engaged to perform the
whole, to which, besides, he was stimulated
by a pension from the second Duke of Marl-
borough He got the money, but when he
died it was found that he had not written a
line of the work In his latter days he held
the lucrative office of Keeper of the Book of
Entries ior tl_s port of London He died on
the 21st of April, 1765

"Mallett is, on the whole, no credit to
Scotland He was a bad, mean, insincere, and
unprincipled man, whose success was procured
by despicable and dastardly arts He had
doubtless some genius, and his 'Birks of
Invermay1 and * William and Margaret ' shall
preserve his name after his clumsy imitation
of Thomson, called ' The Excursion,' and his
long, rambling ' Amyntor and Theodora/ have
been forgotten."— See Gilfillan's " Less-known
Bnt Poets," vol. ui , pp 130-132.

MARK AKENSEDE.

"MarkAkenside, born 1721, died 1770, was
the son of a butcher, and was born at New
castle-on-Tyne An accident in his early year*,
caused by the fall of his father's cleaver on
his foot, lamed him for life, and perpetuated
the meraoiy of his lowly birth He leceived
his education at the grammar-school of that
town, where Loid Eldon, Lord Stowell, and
Lord Colhngwood also received the rudiments
of learning he afterwards giaduated at the
universities of Edinburgh and Leyden On
his return to England he settled for a shrot
time at Northampton, then at Hampstead, and
finally in London Here he gained ultimately
the highest honours of his profession, and
when he died was physician to the queen
His chief poem, on ' The Pleasures of Ima-
gination,7 he completed before he left Leyden
On reaching London it was sent to Dodsley,
who, by Pope's advice, purchased and pub-
lished it The sum he gave was £120, then
deemed a large amount for such a woik. It
immediately gamed a measure of celebrity
which it has scarcely maintained In later
hfe Akenside altered it in parts without im-
proving it he made it, indeed, only more
dry and scholastic, and is said to have re-
modelled some of the passages which in their
primitive state are still most admired and
popular. He also published a collection of
' Odes,' and in 1746 he engaged to write in
the 'Museum,' a periodical then issued by
Dodsley's house

" Akenside's genius was decidedly classical.
he had extensive learning, lofty conceptions,
and a true love and knowledge of nature His
Puritan origin and tastes gave an earnest-
ness to his moral views which pervades all his
writing His ear, though not equal to Gray's,

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES,

[SIXTH PERIOD —

waj correct, and his blank verse is free and
beautifully modulated, deserving to be studied
by all who would excel m that truly English
metre His philosophical ideas are taken
chiefly from Plato, Shaftesbury, and Hutche-
son He adopted Addison's threefold division
ot the sources of the pleasures of imagination,
though in his later edition he substituted
another The poem is seldom read conti-
nuously, but it contains many passages of
great force and beauty, those, for example,
where he speaks of the death of Caesar, where
he compares nature and art, where he describes
the fi-nfl.1 causes of the emotion of taste, and in
a fragment of a fourth book, where he sketches
the landscape on the banks of his native Tyne,
and notes the feelings of his own boyhood
His * Hymn to the Naiads' has the true classic
ring, and has caught the manner and the feel-
ing of Callimachus. His inscriptions —those,
for example, on Chaucer and Shakspere — are
reckoned among- our befet, and have been imi-
tated by both Southey and "Wordsworth His
odos are his least successful productions , his
1 Ode to the Earl of Huntingdon ' having re-
ceived most favour. Yet withal, his popularity
was greater in his own day than it is likely to
be in ours — popularity attributable to the
influence of the writings of Gray, and espe-
cially to the revived study of Milton and other
classic models through the notes and writings
of Warton

" It may be added that, upon the question
sometimes discussed, whether the progress of
science is favourable to poetry, Akenside
differs from Campbell. The latter speaks of
poetic feelings that yield 'to cold material
laws ' the former holds that the ' rainbow's
tinctured hues ' shine the more brightly when
science has investigated and explained them "
— Dr Angus's "Handbook of Eng. Lit ," pp.
216, 217. See Alhbone's " Cnt. Diet Eng.
Lit."

GEORGE, LORD LYTTELTON.

" George, Lord Lyttelton, born at Hagley,
in Jan., 1708-9, was the eldest son of Sir
Thomas Lyttelton, Bart , of the same place.
Ho received his early education at Eton,
whence he was sent to Chnstohurch College,
Oxford In both of these places he was dis-
tinguished for classical literature, and some
of his poems which we have borrowed were
the fruits of his juvenile studies. In his nine-
teenth year he set out on a tour to the Conti-
nent, and some of the letters which he wrote
during this absence to his father are pleasing
proofs of his sound principles, and his unre-
served confidence in a venerated parent He
also wrote a poetical epistle to Dr Aysoough,
his Oxford tutor, which is one of the best of
his works. On his return from abroad he was
chosen representative in Parliament for the

borough of Oakhaxnpton ; and being warmed
with that patiiotic ardour which laroly fails
to inspire the bosom of an ingenuous youth,
he became a distinguished partisan of opposi-
tion politics, whilst his father was a supporter
of the ministry, then ranged under the banners
of Walpole When Freddie Prince of Wales,
having quanollod with the court, formed a
separate court of his own, m 1737, Lyttolton
was appointed secretary to the Prince, with an
advanced salary. At this time Popo bestowed
his praise upon our patriot in an animated
couplet .

Free as young Lyttelton hor courso pursue,
Still true to virtue, and as warm as true.

" In 1741 he married Lucy, tho daughter of
Hugh Fortesoue, Esq , a lady for whom ho
entertained the purest affection, and with
whom he lived in unabated conjugal harmony.
Her death in childbed, in 1747, was lamented
by him in a * Monody,' which stands promi-
nent among his poetical works, and displays
much natural feeling, amidst tho more elabo-
rate strains of a poet's imagination So much
may suffice respecting his productions of this
class, which are distinguished by the correct-
ness of their versification, the elegance of their
diction, and the delicacy of their sentiments
His miscellaneous pieces, and his history of
Henry II , the last, the work of his age, have
each their appropriate merits, but may hero
be omitted

" The death of his father, in 1751, produced
his succession to the title and a largo estate,
and his taste for rural ornament lendorod
Hagley one of the most delightful residences
in the kingdom At the dissolution of the
ministry, of which he composed a part, in
1759, he was rewarded with elevation to tho
peerage, by the style of Baron Lyttolton, of
Frankley, in the county of Woicostoi, Ho
died of a lingering disorder, which ho boro
with pious resignation, in August, 1773, in tho
64th year of his age " — Allan's " Select But
Poets." See Gilfillan's Ed of "Brit Poets."

THOMAS GRAY.

Thomas Gray, born 1716, died 1771, "was
a man of vast and varied acquirements, and
whose life was devoted to the cultivation of
letters He was the son of a respectable
London money-scrivener, but his father was a
man of violent and arbitrary character, and
the poet was early left to tho tender care of
an excellent mother, who had been obliged to
separate from her tyrannical husband. Ho
received his education at Eton, and afterwards
settled in learned retirement at Cambridge,
where he passed nearly the whole of his life
He travelled in France and Italy as tutor to
Horace Walpole, but quarrelling with his

1780.]

BIOGEAPHICAL NOTICES.

pupil, he returned homo alone Fixing1 him-
self at Cambridge, he soon acquired a high
poetical reputation by his beautiful ' Ode on a
Distant Prospect of Eton College,1 published
in 1747, which was followed, at pretty fre-
quent intervals, by his other imposing and
highly-finished works, the * Elegy written in
a Country Churchyard,' the ' Pmdano Odes,1
and the far from numerous but splendid pro-
ductions which make up his works His
quiet and studious retirement was only broken
by occasional excursions to the North of Eng-
land, and other hohday journeys, of which he
has given in his letters so vivid and animated
a description. His oonespondence with his
fnends, and particularly with the poet Mason,
is remarkable for interesting details, descrip-
tions, and reflections, and is indeed, like that
of Cowley, among the most delightful lecords
of a thoughtful and liteiary life Gray lefusod
the offer of the Lauieatoship, which was pio-
posed to him on tho death of Gibber, but
accepted the appointment of Professor of
Modern History in the University, though he
never performed the functions of that chair,
his fastidious temper and indolent self-
indulgence keepmg him perpetually engaged
in forming vast literary projects which he
never executed Ho appeals not to have been
popular among his colleagues , his haughty,
retiring, and somewhat effeminate character
prevented him from sympathizing with the
tastes and studies that pievailed there , and
he was at little pains to conceal his contempt
for academical society His industry was un-
tiring, and his acquirements undoubtedly im-
mense , for be had pushed his researches far
beyond the usual limits of ancient classical
philology, and was not only deeply vorsed in
tho romance literature of the Middle Ages, in
modern French and Italian, but had studied
the then almost unknown depaitments of
Scandinavian and Celine poetry. Constant
traces may be found in all his works of the
degree to which he had assimilated the spnit
not only of the Greek lyric poetry, but the
finest perfume of the great Italian writers
many passages of his works are a kind of
mosaic of thought and imagery borrowed from
Pindar, from the choral poiiaons of the Attic
tragedy, and from the majestic lyrics of the
Italian poets of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries • but though the substance of these
mosaics may be borrowed from a multitude of
sources, the fragments are, so to say, fused
into one solid body by the intense fame of a
powerful and fervent imagination His finest
lyrio compositions are the Odes entitled c The
Bard,' that on the • Progress of Poetry,* the
' Installation Ode ' on the Duke of Graf ton's
election to the Chancellorship of the Uni-
versity, and the short but truly noble e Ode
to Adversity/ which breathes the severe and
lofty spirit of the highest Greek lyric in-
spiration. The ' Elegy written in a Country
Churchyard ' is a masterpiece from beginning ^

to end The thoughts mdeod are obvious
enough, but the dignity with which they are
expressed, the immense range of allusion and
description with which they are illustrated,
and the finished grace of the language and
versification in which they are embodied, give
to this work something of that inimitable per-
fection of design and execution which we see
in an antique statue or a sculptured gem In
the ' Bard,1 starting from the picturesque idea
of a Welsh poet and patriot contemplating
the victorious invasion of his country by
Edward I , he passes in prophetic review the
whole panorama of English History, and gives
a senes of most animated events and per
sonages from the thirteenth to the eighteenth
century It is true that he is occasionally
turgid, but the general march of the poem
has a rush and a glow worthy of Pindar him-
self The phantoms of the great and the
illustrious flit before us like the shadowy
kings in the weird procession of Macbeth
and the unity of sentiment is maintained fiist
by the gratified vengeance with which the
prophet foresees the crimes and sufferings of
the oppressors of his country and their de-
scendants, and by the triumphant prediction
of the glorious reign of the Tudor race in
Britain In the odes entitled ' The Fatal
Sisters' and 'The Descent of Odin,' Gray
borrowed his materials from the Scandinavian
legends. The tone of the Norse poetry is not
perhaps very faithfully leproduced, but the
fiery and gigantic imagery of the ancient
Scalds was for the first time imitated in
English , and though the chants retain some
echoes of the sentiment and verification of
more modern and polished literature, these
attempts to revive the rude and archaic
grandeur of the mythological traditions of the
Eddas descive no niggardly meed of appro-
bation. In general Gray may be said to over-
colour his language, and to indulge occasionally
in an excess of ornament and peisomfica-
tion , he will nevertheless be always regarded
as a lyrio poet of a very high older, and as
one who brought an immense store of varied
and picturesque erudition to feed the fire of a
rich and powerful fancy " — Shaw's " Hist
Eng Lit ," pp 388, 389 , AHibone's " Cnt
Diet. Eng. Lit ", Beeton's "Diet. Umver
Biog.", Gilfillan's Ed of " Giay's Poems "

WILLIAM MASON.

" William Mason, a poet of some (hstinotion,
born in 1725, was the son of a dew man, who
held the living of Hull He wa, admitted
first of St. John's College, and afterwards of
Pembroke College, Cambridge, of the latter of
which he was elected Fellow in 1747 He
entered into holy orders in 1754, and, by tho
favour of the Earl of Holderness, was pre-
38

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

sented to the valuable rectory of Aston,
Yorkshire, and became ohaplam to His
Majesty Some poems which he printed gave
liim leputation, which received a great ac-
cession from his dramatic poem of ' Elfnda '
By this piece, and his ' Caraotacus,' which
followed, it was his ami to attempt the
restoration of the ancient Greek chorus in
tragedy , but this is so evidently an appen-
dage of the infant and imperfect state of the
drama, that a pedantic attachment to the
ancients could alone suggest its revival In
1756 he published a small collection of
6 Odes,' which were generally consideied as
displaying more of the artificial mechanism
of poetry, than of its genuine spirit This
was not tho case with his ' Elegies/ published
in 17t>3, which, abating some superfluity of
ornament, are in general marked with the
simplicity of language proper to this species
of composition, and breathe noble sentiments
of freedom and virtue A collection of all
his poems which he thought worthy of pre-
serving, was published in 1764, and afterwards
went through several editions. He had
married an amiable lady, who died of a con-
sumption in 1767, and was buried in the
cathedral of Bristol, under a monument, on
which are inscribed some very tender and
beautiful lines, by her husband

"In 1772, the first book of Mason's 'En-
glish Garden,' a didactic and descriptive poem,
in blank verse, made its appearance, of which
the fourth and concluding book was printed
in 1781 Its purpose was to recommend the
modern system of natural or landscape gar-
dening, to which the author adheres with
the rigour of exclusive taste The versifica-
tion is formed upon the best models, and the
description, in many parts, is noh and vivid ,
but a general air of stiffness prevented it
from attaining any considerable share of
popularity Some of his following poetic
pieces express his liberal sentiments on poli-
tical subjects , and when tho late Mi Pitt
came into power, being then the friend of a
free constitution, Mason addressed him in an
* Ode,* containing many patriotic and manly
ideas But being struck with alarm at the
unhappy events of the French Eevolution,
one of his latest pieces was a ' Palinody to
Liberty ' He likewise revived, in an improved
form, and published, Du Fresnoy's Latin
poem on the Act of Painting, enriching it
with additions furnished by Sir Joshua Eey-
nolda, and with a metrical version Few
nave been better executed than this, which
unites to great beauties of language a oonecfc
representation of the original His tribute
to the memory of Gray, being an edition of
his poems, with some additions, and ' Memoirs
of his Life and Writings,' was favourably re-
ceived by the public

"Mason died in April, 1707, at tho a^e of
seventy-two, in consequence of a mortification
produced by a hurt in his leg. A tablet has

been placed to hib memory in Poeto* Corner,
in Westminster Abbey His character in
private life was exemplary for worth and
active benevolence, though not without a
degree of statelmess and assumed superiority
of manner "-—Allan's «• Soloot Brit Poets "
See Galfillan's " Less-known Brit Poets " ;
Campbell's " Specimens "

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

Ohvor Goldsmith, born 1728, died 1774
" The most charming and versatile, and cer-
tainly one of tho greatest writers of the
eighteenth century, whoso works, whether in
prose or verse, boar - peculiar stomp of gentle
grace and elegance. He was born at the
village of Pallas, in the county of Longford,
Ireland His father was a poor curate ot
English extraction, struggling, with the aid
of farming and a miserable stipend, to bring
up a large family By the assistance of a
benevolent uncle, Mr Contaime, Oliver was
enabled to enter the University of Dublin in
the humble quality of sizar Ho however
neglected the opportunities for study which
the place offered him, and became notorious
for his irregularities, his disobedience to au-
thority, and above all for a degree of im-
providence earned to tho extreme, though
excused by a tendemoss and chanty almost
morbid The earlier part of his life is an
obscure and monotonous narrative of in-
effectual struggles to subsist, and of wander-
ings which enabled him to tiaverse almost
the whole of Europe Having boon for
a short time tutor in a family in Ireland,
he determined to study medicine ; and after
nominally attending lootuies in Edinburgh, he
began those travels — for the most pitrt on
foot, and subsisting by the aid of his flute
and the charity given to a poor scholar —
which successively led him to Leyden, through
Holland, Franco, Germany, and Switzerland,
and even to Pavia, where ho boastod, though
tho assertion is hardly capable of proof, that
he received a medical degree His pro-
fessional as well an his gonoial knowledge
was of the most superficial and inaccurate
character It wan while wandering in tho
guise of a beggar in Switzerland that ho
sketched out tho plan of his poom of the
c Tiaveller,' which afterwards formed the
commencement of his fame In 1756 he
found his way back to hi& native country ,
and his career during about eight years wai
a succession of desultory struggles with
famine, sometimes as a chemist's shopman in
London , sometimes as an usher in boarding--
schools, tho drudge of his employers and tho
butt and laughing-stock of the pupils , some-
tunes as a practitioner of medicine among tho
poorest and most squalid population — 'the

From 1727 to 1780 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

bag-gars m Azo lane,' as lie expressed it him-
E>elf ; and more generally as a miserable and
scantily-paid bookseller's hack More than
once, under the pressure of intolerable dis-
tress, he exchanged the bondage of the school
for the severer slavery of the corrector's table
in a printing-office, and was driven back again
to the bondage of the school The grace and
readiness of his pen would probably have af-
forded TiTm a decent subsistence, even from
the hardly-earned wages of a drudge-wnter,
but for his extreme improvidence, his almost
childish generosity, his passion for pleasure
and fine clothes, and above all his propensity
for gambling At one time, dining tbis
wretched period of his career, he faded to
pass the examination qualifying T111^ for the
humble medical post of a hospital mate, and,
under the pressure of want and improvidence,
committed the dishonourable action of pawn-
ing a suit of clothes lent him by his employer,
G-nniths, for the puipose of appearing with
•decency before the Board His literary ap-
prenticeship was passed in this severe school
— writing to order, and at a moment's notice,
sohoolbooks, tales for children, prefaces, in-
dexes, and reviews of books , and contributing
to the 'Monthly,' 'Critical,' and 'Lady's
Beview,' the 'British Magazine,' and other
periodicals Sis chief employer m this way
appears to have been Griffiths, and he is said
to have been at one time engaged as a cor-
rector of the press in Bichardson's service.
In this period of obscure drudgery he com-
posed some of his most charming works, or
at least formed that inimitable style which
makes him the rival, and perhaps more than
the rival, of Addison. He produced the
' Chinese Letters,' the plan of which is imi-
tated from Montesquieu's c Lettres Persanes,'
giving a description of English life and man-
ners in the assumed character of a Chinese
traveller, and containing some of those little
sketches and humorous characters in which
he was unequalled , a * Life of Beau Nash, '
and a short and gracefully-narrated ( History
of England,' in the form of ' Letters from a
Nobleman to his Son,' the authorship of which
was ascribed to Lytfcelton. It was in 1764
that the publication of his beautiful poem of
the ' Traveller ' caused him to emerge from
tho slough of obscure literary drudgery in
which he had hitherto been orawhng The
universal judgment of the public pronounced
that nothing so harmonious and so original
had appeared since the time of Pope, and
from this period Goldsmith's career was one
of uninterrupted literary success, though his
folly and improvidence kept "him plunged in
debt which even his large earnings could not
enable "hi™ to avoid, and from which indeed
no amount of fortune would have saved him.
In 1766 appeared the 'Vicar of Wakefield,'
that masterpiece of gentle humour and deli-
cate tenderness , in the following year his first
comedy, the ' Goodnatured Man,' which failed

upon the stage in some measure from its very
merits, some of its oomio scenes shocking the
perverted taste of an audience which admired
the whining, preaching, sentimental pieces
that were then in fashion In 1768 Gold-
smith composed, as taskwork for the book-
sellers— though taskwork for which his now
rapidly rising popularity secured good pay-
ment— the * History of Borne,' distinguished
by its extreme superficiality of information
and want of research no less than by en-
chanting grace of style and vivacity of narra-
tion In 1770 he published the 'Deserted
Village,' the companion poem to the 'Tra-
veller,' written in some measure in the same
manner, and not less touching and perfect ,
and in 1773 was acted his comedy C8he
Stoops to Conquer,* one of the gayest, plea-
santest, and most amusing- pieces that the
English stage can boast Goldsmith had long
iisen from the obscurity to which he had been
condemned . he was one of the most admued
and popular authors of his time , his society
was courted by the wits, artists, statesmen,
and writers who formed a brilliant circle
round Johnson and Beynolds — Burke, Gamok,
Beauelerk, Percy, Gibbon, Boswell — and he
became a member of that famous dub which
IB so intimately associated with the in-
tellectual history of that time Goldsmith
was one of those men whom it is impossible
not to love, and equally impossible not to
despise and laugh at , his vanity, his childish
though not mabgnftTit envy, *hiH more than
Irish aptitude for blunders, his eagerness to
shine in conversation, for which he was pecu-
liarly unfitted, his weaknesses and genius
combined, made TT»T» •fe'hQ pet and the laughing-
stock of the company. He was now in the
receipt of an income wMoh for that time and
for the profession of letters might have been
accounted splendid; but his improvidence
kept "*"•*» plunged in debt, and he was always
anticipating his receipts, so that he continued
to be the slave of booksellers, who obliged
him to waste his exquisite talent on works
hastily thrown off, and for which he neither
possessed the requisite knowledge nor could
make the necessary researches : thus he
successively put forth as taskwork the !
' History of England,' the c History of
Greece,' and the 'History of Animated
Nature/ the two former works being mere
compilations of second-hand facts, and the '
last an epitomized translation of Buffon In I
these books we see how Goldsmith's never- '
failing oharm of style and easy grace of '
narration compensates for total ignorance
and a complete absence of independent know-
ledge of the subject. In 1774 this brilliant
and feverish career was terminated. Gold-
smith was suffering from a painful and dan-
gerous disease, aggravated by disquietude of
mind arising from the disorder in his affairs ;
and relying upon his knowledge of medicine
he imprudently persisted in employing a

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PERIOD —

•violent remedy, against the ad-nee of his phy-
sicians. He died at the age of forty-six,
deeply mourned by the biilliant circle of
fnends to which his very weaknesses had
endeared him no less than his admirable
genius, and surrounded by the tears and
blessings of many wretches whom his in-
exhaustible benevolence had relieved He
was buried in the Temple Churchyard, and a
monument was erected to his memory in
Westminster Abbey, for which Johnson wrote
a Latin inscription, one passage of which
gracefully alludes to the versatility of his
genius • e qui nullum fere scnbendi genus non
tetigit, nullum quod tetigit non ornavit '

'* In everything Goldsmith wrote, prose or
verse, serious or comic, there is a peculiar
delicacy and purity of sentiment, tinging, of
course, the language and diction as well as
the thought. It seems as if his genius, though
in its earlier career surrounded with squalid
distress, was incapable of being sullied by
any stain of coarseness or vulgarity. Though
of English descent he had in an eminent
degree the defects as well as the virtues of
the Irish character ; and no quality in hi**
writings is more striking than the union of
grotesque humour with a sort of pensive ten-
derness which gives to his verse a peculiar
character of gliding melody and grace. He
had seen much, and reproduced with singular
vivacity quaint strokes of nature, as in his
sketch of Beau Tibbs and innumerable pas-
sages in the ' Vicar of Wakefield ' The two
poems of the ' Traveller * and the ' Deserted
Village' will ever be regarded as masterpieces
of sentiment and description. The light yet
rapid touch with which, in. the former, he
has traced the scenery and the natural pecu-
liarities of various countries will be admired
long after the reader has learned to neglect
the false social theoiies embodied in his
deductions ; and in spite of the inconsistency
pointed out by Macaulay, between the pic-
tures of the village in its pristine beauty and
happiness, and the same village when ruined
and depopulated by the forced emigration of
its inhabitants, the reader lingers over the
delicious details of human as well as inanimate
nature which the poet has combined into the
lovely pastoral picture of ' sweet Auburn '
The touches of tender personal feeling which
he has interwoven with his description, as the
fond hope with which ho dwelt on the project
of returning to pass his age among the scenes
of innocence which had cradled his boyhood,
the comparison of himself to a hare returning
to die where it was kindled, the deserted
garden, the village alehouse, the school, and
the evening landscape, are all touched with
the pensive grace of a Claude , while, when
the occasion demands, Goldsmith rises with
easy wing to the height of lofty and even
sublime elevation, as in the image of the
storm-girded yet stmshine-orowned peak to
which he compares the good pastor.

" The ' Vicar of Wakefiold,' in spito of tho
extreme absurdity and inconsistency of its
plot, an inconsistency which grows moro per-
ceptible in the latter part of the story, will
ever remain one of thoso rare gems which no
lapse of tune can tarnish The gentle and
quiet humour embodied in the simple Dr.
Primrose, the delicate yet vigorous contrasts
of character in the other personages, tho at-
mosphere of purity, cheerfulness, and gaiety
which envelops all the scenes and incidents,
will contribute, no less than the transparency
and grace of the stylo, to make this sbory a
classic for all time Goldsmith's two come-
dies are written in two different manners, the
' Goodnatured Man ' being a comedy oi cha-
racter, and 'She Stoops to Conquer* a
comedy of intrigue. In the first the excessive
easiness and generosity of the hero is not a
quality sufficiently reprehensible to mako him
a favourable subject for that satire which is
the essential element of this kind of theatrical
painting , and the merit of the piece chiefly
consists in the truly laughable personage of
Croaker, and in the excellent scene whole the
disguised bailiffs are passed off on Miss Ricb-
land as the friends of Honeywood, whoso
house and person they have seized. But on
c She Stoops to Conquer ' we have a first-rate
specimen of the comedy of intnguo, whoro
the interest mainly depends upon a tissue of
lively and farcical incidents, and where the
characters, though lightly sketched, form a
gallery of eccentric pictures. The best proof
of Goldsmith's success in this piece is tho
constancy with which it has always kept pos-
session of the stage , and the peals of
laughter which never fail to greet tho lively
bustle of its scenes and tho pleasant ab-
suidities of Young Marlow, Mr. and Mrs
Hardcastle, and above all tho admirable Tony
Lumpkm, a conception worthy of Vonbrugh
himself.

" Some of Goldsmith's lighter fugitive
poems are incomparable for their peculiar
humour The 'Haunch of Venison' is a
model of easy narrative and accurate sketch-
ing of commonplace society , and in ' Eetalia-
faon ' we have a series of slight yet delicate
portraits of some of the most distinguished
literary fnends of the poet, thrown off with a
hand at once refined and vigorous. In how
masterly a manner, and yet in how few
strokes, has Goldsmith placed before us Gar-
rick, Burke, and Reynolds , and how deeply
do we regret that he should not have given us
similar portraits of Johnson, Gibbon, and!
Boswell Several of the songs and ballads
scattered through his works aro remarkable
for their tenderness and harmony, though the
' Edwin and Angelina,' which has been so
often lauded, has always appeared to. mo
mawkish, affected, and devoid of the true
spirit of the medicsval ballad." — Shaw's
" Hist, of Eng. Lit ," pp. 350—354. See Dr
Angus's " Handbook of Eng. Lit," ; GilfUlaa'a

From 1727 to 1780 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

Edit of "Goldsmith's Poems", Beaton's
"Diet. Univ. Biog.", Maunder's " Biog
Diet." 3 Allibone's "Cnt. Diet. Eng. Lit."

TOBIAS SMOLLETT

" Tobias Smollett, well known in his time
for the variety and multiplioity of his pub-
lications, was born in 1720, at Dalquhurn,
in the county of Dumbarton He was edu-
cated under a surgeon in Glasgow, where he
also attended the medical lectmes of the
University , and at this early poiiod he gave
some specimens of a talent for writing verses
As it is on this ground that he has obtained a
place in the present collection, we shall pass
over his various characters of suigeon's mate,
physician, hibtouographor, politician, miscel-
laneous writer, and especially novelist, and
consider his claims as a minor poet of no mean
rank. He will be found, in this collection, as
the author of ' The Tears of Scotland,' the
' Ode to Lovon- Water,' and some other shoit
pieces, winch are polished, tender, and pic-
turesque , and, especially, of an « Ode to In-
dependence,' which aims at a loftier flight,
and perhaps has few superiors in the lyiic
style

" Smollett manned a lady of Jamaica he
was, unfoitunatoly, of an irritable disposition,
which involved him in frequent quarrels, and
finally shortened his life He died in the
neighbourhood of Leghorn, in October, 1771,
an the fifty-first year of hisagre" — .Allan's
" Select Brit Poets." See Gilfillan's Edit, of
41 Smollett's Poems "

JOHN" ABMSTBONG

<e John Armstrong, a Scotch poet and physi-
cian, who, in 1732, took his degree of M D at
Edinburgh In 1744 he published the • Art
of Pieserving Health,' one of the best
•didactic poems in our language, and shortly
afterwards received the appointment of phy-
sician to the military hospital. In 1760 he
was appointed physician to the army in Ger-
many, and the next year wrote a poem called
* Day, an Epistle to John Wilkes, of Ayles-
bury, Esq ' In this letter he threw out a
reflection upon Churchill, which drew on him
the resentment of that satirist He published
several other works of a miscellaneous cha-
racter Born at Castleton, Roxburghshire,
1709; died at London, 1779 "— Beoton's
"Diet. Umv Biog " See Allibone'fa "Cut
Diet Eng Lit " , Gilfillan's Edit, of " Arm-
strong's Poems"

WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE

" William Julius Mickle was born at Lang-
holm, in Dumfriesshire, in 1734. His father,
who was a clergyman of the Scottish church,
had lived for some tune in London, and
had preached in the dissenting meeting-
house of the celebrated Dr Watts. He re-
turned to Scotland, on being presented to
the living of Langholm, the duties of which
he fulfilled for many years , and, in consider-
ation of his long services, was permitted to
retain the stipend after he had removed to
Edinburgh, for the better education of his
children His brother-in-law was a brewer in
Edinburgh, on whose death the old clergyman
unfoitunately embarked his property, in order
to continue hig business, under the name of
his eldest son William, who was a younger
son, was taken from the High-School of Edin-
burgh, and placed as a clerk m the concern ,
and, on coming of age, took the whole re-
sponsibility of it upon himself. When it is
mentioned, that IVEickle had, fiom Tnfl boyish
years, been an enthusiastic reader of Spenser,
and that, before he was twenty, he had com-
posed two tragedies and ha.1f an epic poem,
which were in due tune consigned to the
flames, it may be easily conceived that his
habits of mind were not peculiarly fitted for
close and minute attention to a trade -which
requiied incessant superintendence He was,
besides, unfortunate, in becoming- security for
an insolvent acquaintance In the year 1763
he became a bankrupt , and, being appre-
hensive of the seventy of one of his creditors,
he repaired to London, feeling the misery of
his own circumstances aggravated by those of
the relations whom he had left behind him

"Before leaving Scotland, he had corre-
sponded with Lord Lyttelton, to whom he had
submitted some of his poems in MS , and one,
entitled 'Providence,' which he had printed
in 1762. Lord Lyttelton patronized his Muse
rather than his fortune. He undertook (to
use his lordship's own phrase) to be his
' schoolmaster in poetry ; ' but his fastidious
blottmgs could be of no service to any man
who had a particle of genius and the only
personal benefit which he attempted to render
>nm was to write to his brother, the governor
of Jamaica, in Mickle' s behalf, when our poet
had thoughts of going out to that island.
Miokle, however, always spoke with becoming
liberality of this connexion He was pleased
with the suavity of Lord Lyttelton's manners,
and knew that his means of patronage were
very slender In the mean time, he lived
nearly two years in London, upon remittances
from his friends in Scotland, and by writing
for the daily papeis.

"After having fluctuated between several
schemes for subsistence, he at length accepted
of the situation of corrector to the Clarendon
press, at Oxford \Whilst he retained that
office, he published a poem, which he at first

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SIXTH PERIOD.—

named The Concubine , * but on finding
that the title alarmed delicate ears, and sug-
gested a false idea of its spirit and contents,
he changed it to • Syr Martyn.' At Oxford
he also engaged in polemical divinity, and
published some severe animadversions on
Dr Harwood's recent translation of the New
Testament. He also showed his fidelity to
the cause of religion, in a tract, entitled ' Vol-
taire in the Shades, or, Dialogues on the
Dexstical Controversy/

" His greatest poetical undertaking was the
translation of ' The Lusiad,' which he began
in 1770, and finished m five years. For the
sake of leisure and retirement, he gave up his
situation at the Clarendon press, and resided
at the house of a Mr. Tombns, a farmer, at
Forest Hill, near Oxford. The English
Lusiad was dedicated, by permission, to the
Duke of Buccleuoh ; but his Grace returned
not the slightest notice or kindness to his
ingenious countryman Whatever might be
the duke's reasons, good or bad, for this
neglect, he was a man fully capable of acting
on his own judgment, and there was no
necessi-^y for making any other person respon-
sible for his conduct. But Mickle, or frig
friends, suspected' that Adam Smith and
David Hume had maliciously stood between
him and the Bucoleuch patronage. This was
a mere suspicion, which our author and his
friends ought either to have proved or sup-
pressed. Mickle was indeed the declared
antagonist of Hume , he had written against
him, and could not hear his name mentioned
with temper : but there is not the slightest
evidence that the hatred was mutual That
^flfl.Tn Smith should have done foTfl a mean
injury, no one will believe probable, who is
acquainted with the traditional private cha-
racter of that philosopher. But Mickle was
also the antagonist of Smith's doctrines on
political economy, as may be seen in his
'Dissertation on the Charter of the East
India Company.' The author of the ' "Wealth
of Nations/ forsooth, was jealous of his
opinions on monopolies ' Even this paltry
supposition is contradicted by dates, for
Mickle's tract upon the subject of Monopolies
was published several years after the preface
to the Lusiad. Upon the whole, the suspicion
of his philosophical enemies having poisoned
the ear of the Duke of Bucoleuch seems to
have proceeded from the same irritable vanity
which made him threaten to celebrate G-amck
as the hero of a second Dunciad when he re-
fused to accept of his tragedy, ' The Siege of
Marseilles/

" Though the Lusiad had a tolerable sale, his
circumstances stall made his friends solicitous
that he should obtain some settled provision
Dr Lowth offered to provide for Tn-m m the
Church, He refused the offer with honourable
delicacy, lest his former writings in favour of
religion should be attributed to the prospect
of reward. At length the friendship of his

kinsman, Commodore Johnstone, relieved him
from unsettled prospects Being appointed
to the command of a squadron destined for
the coast of Portugal, he took out the tran-
slator of Camoens as his piivato secretary.
Miokle was received with distinguished
honours at Lisbon. The Duko of Broganza,
in admitting him a member of the Royal
Academy of Lisbon, presented him with his
own picture.

" He returned to England in 1780, with a
considerable acquisition of prize-money, and
was appointed an agent for tho distribution
of the prize profits of tho cruise. His fortune
now enabled him to discharge the debts of his
early and mercantile life. He marnod tho
daughter of Mr Tomkms, with whom he had
resided while translating the Lusiad , and,
with every prospect of spending the remainder
of his life in affluence and tranquillity, pur-
chased a house, and settled at Whoatley, near
Oxford. So far his circumstances have almost
the agreeable air of a concluding novel ; but
the failure of a banker with whom he was
connected as prize agent, and a chancery suit
in which he was involved, greatly diminished
his finances, and disturbed the peace of his
latter years. He died at Forest Hill, after a.
short illness.

" His reputation principally rests upon the
translation of the Lusiad, which no English-
man had attempted before him, except Sir
Richard Fanshawe. Sir Richard's version is
quaint, flat, and harsh ; and he has interwoven
manyndioulously conceited expressions which
are foreign both to the spirit and style of his
original , but in general it is closer than the
modern translation to the literal meaning of
Camoens Altogether, Fanshawe's represen-
tation of the Portuguese poem may be com-
pared to the wrong side of tho tapestry
Miokle, on the other hand, is free, flowery, and
penphrastioal , he is incomparably moro spi-
rited than Fanshawe , but still he departs from
the majestic simplicity of Camoons' diction as
widely as Pope has done from that of Homer.
The sonorous and simple language of the
Lusitanian epic is like the sound of a trumpet,
and Miokle's imitation like the shakos and
flourishes of the fiuto

" Although he was not responsible for tho
faults of the original, he has taken abundance
of pains to defend them in his notes and
preface In this ho has not boon succosHful.
The long lecture on geography and Portuguese
history, which Gama delivers to the King of
Melindo, is a wearisome interruption to the
narrative , and tho use of Pagan mythology
is a radical and unanswerable defect Miokle
informs us as on apology for the latter cir-
cumstance, that all this Pagan machinery was
allegorical, and that the gods and goddesses
of Homer were allegorical also ; an assertion
which would require to be proved, before it
can be admitted. Camoens himself has said
something about his concealment of a moral

From 1727 to 1780.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

meaning1 under his Pagan deities , but if he
has any such morality, it is so well hidden
that it is impossible to discover it The
Venus of the Lusiad, we are told, is Divine
Love , and how is this Divine Love employed ?
For no other end than to give the poet an
opportunity of displaying a scene of sensual
gratification, an island is purposely raised up
in the ocean , Yenus conducts Do Gama and
his followers to this blessed spot, where a
bevy of the nymphs of Venus are very good-
naturedly prepared to treat them to their
favours , not as a tiial, but as a reward for
their virtues ' Voltaire was cerkunly justified
in pronouncing this episode a piece of gra-
tuitous indecency. In the same allegorical
spuit no doubt, Bacchus, who opposes the
Portuguese discoverers in the councils of
Heaven, disguises himself as a Popish priest,
and celebrates the rites of the Catholic religion.
The imagination is somewhat puzzled to dis-
cover why Bacchus should be an enemy to
the natives of a country the soil of which is
so productive of his beveiage , and a friend
to the Mahometans who forbid the use of it
although there is something amusing in the
idea of the jolly god officiating- as a Romish
clergyman

" Mickle's story of Syr Martyn is the most
pleasing of his original pieces The object of
the nanative is to exhibit the degrading
effects of concubinage in the history of an
amiable man, who i& reduced to despondency
and sottishnoss, under the dominion of a
beldam and a slattern The defect of the
moral is, that the same evils might have
happened to Syr Man/yn in a state of matri-
mony The simplicity of the tale is also,
unhappily, overlaid by a weight of allegory,
and of obsolete phraseology, which it has not
importance to sustain. Such a style applied
to the history of a man and his housekeeper,
is like building a diminutive dwelling in all
the pomp of Gothic architecture."— Campbell's
" Specimens," pp. GOO— 611.

JOHN LANGHOENE

" This poetical divino was born in 1735, at
Kirkby Steven, in Westmoreland. Left father-
less at four years old. his mother fulfilled
her double charge of duty with great ten-
derness and assiduity He was educated
at Appleby, and subsequently became assistant
at the Free-school of Wakefield, took deacon's
orders, and gave promise, although very
young, of becoming a popular preacher After
various vicissitudes of hfe and fortune, and
publishing a number of works in prose and
verse, Langhome repaired to London, and
obtained, in 1764, the curacy and lectureship
of St John's, Clerkenwell. He soon after-
wards became assistant-preacher in Lincoln's

Inn Chapel, -\vhere he had a very intellectual
audience to address, and bore a somewhat
trying ordeal with complete success He con-
tinued for a number of years in London,
maintaining his reputation both as a preacher
and writer His most popular works were
the 'Letters of Theodosius and Consfcantia,'
and a translation of Plutarch's Lives, which
Wrangham afteiwards corrected and im-
proved, and which is still standard. He was
twice married, and survived both his wives He
obtained the living of Blag den in Somerset-
shire, and in addition to it, in 1777, a piebend
in the Cathedral of "Wells He died in 1779,
aged only forty-four , his death, it is supposed,
being accelerated by intemperance, although
it does not seem to have been of a gross or
aggravated description.

" Trfimghorne, an amiable man, and highly
popular as well as warmly beloved in his day,
survives now in memory chiefly through his
Plutarch's Lives, and thiough a few lines in
his ' Country Justice,* which are immor-
talised by the well-known story of Scott's
interview with Burns. Campbell puts in a
plea besides for his 'Owen of Carron,' but
the plea, being founded on early reading, is
partial, and has not been responded to by the
public " — Gilfillan's " Less-Known Brit.
Poets," pp 220, 221

SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE.

" Sir William Blackstone, a learned English
judge, who, in 1738, was entered at Pembroke
College, Oxford, and at the age of twenty com-
posed a treatise on the elements of architec-
ture. He also cultivated poetry, and obtained,
Mr Benson's prize medal for the best verses
on Milton These pursuits, however, were
abandoned for the study of the kw, when he
composed his well-known effusion called * The
Lawyer's FareweU to his Muse/ In 1740 he
was entered at the Middle Temple, and in
1744 chosen fellow of All Souls College. la
1749 he was appointed recorder of WaJhng-
ford, in Berkshire, and in the following- year
became LL D , and published an * E&say on
Collateral Consanguinity/ occasioned by the
exclusive claim to fellowships made by the
founder's kindred at All Souls In 1758 he
printed 'Considerations on Copyholders,'
and the same year was appointed Vinerian
professor of the common law, his lectures in
which capacity gave nee to his celebrated
'Commentaries.' In 1759 he published
'Reflections on the Opinions of Messrs Pratt,
Moreton, and Wilbraham,' relating to Lord
Lichfield's disqualification, his lordship being
then candidate for the chancellorship The
same year appeared his edition of ' The Great
Charter, and Charter of the Forest ' Of this
work it has been said that there is not a

BIOGEAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PERIOD —

sentence in the composition that is not neces-
sary to the whole, and that should not be
perused In 1761 he was made king's counsel,
and chosen member of parliament for Hmdon,
in Wilts The same year he vacated his
fellowship by marriage, and was appointed
principal of New-inn Hall In 1763 ho was
appointed solicitor-general to the Queen, and
bencher of the Middle Temple In the next
year appeared the first volume of his e Com-
mentaries,' which was followed by three
others It is upon these that his fame now
principally rests , and, although opinion is
divided as to the correctness and depth of the
matter they contain, the beauty, precision,
and elegance of their style have called forth
universal admiration In 1766 he lesigned
his places at Oxford , and in 1768 was chosen
member for Westbury, in Wiltshire In 1770
he became one of the judges in the court of
King's Bench, whence he removed to the
Common Pleas He now fixed his residence
in London, and attended to the duties of his
office with great application, until overtaken
by death Born in London, 1723, died 1780
—The fundamental error in the * Commen-
taries ' is thus pointed out by Jeremy Ben-
tham ' There are two characters,' says he,
* one or other of which every man who finds
anything to say on the subject of law may be
said to take upon him, — that of the expositor,
and that of the censor. To the province of
the expositor it belongs to explain to us what
he supposes the law is , to that of the censor,
to observe to us what he thinks it ought to
be. Of these two perfectly distinguishable
functions, the former alone is that which it
fell necessarily within our author's province
to discharge ' Blackstone, however, makes
use of both these functions throughout his
work, and hence the confusion His produc-
tions have found several translators on the
Continent" — Beeton's ' Diet. Univ. Biog"
See Maunder' s " Diet Biog. " , AHibone's
"Crit Diet Eng Lit*"

BISHOP PERCY.

6 Bishop Percy, born 1728 died 1811 The
great revolution in taste, substituting romantic
for classical sentiment and subjects, which
culminated in the poems and novels of Walter
Scott, is traceable to the labours of Bishop
Percy. The friend of Johnson, and one of the
most accomplished members of that circle in
which Johnson was supreme, Percy was strongly
impressed with the vast stores of the beau-
tiful, though rude poetry which lay buried in
obscure collections of ballads and legendary
compositions, and he devoted himself to the
task of explaining and popularising the then
neglected beauties of these old rhapsodists
with the ardour of an antiquary, and with the

taste of a true poet. His publication in 1765,
under the title of ' Roliques of Ancient Eng-
lish Poetry,1 of a collection of such ballads,
many of which had been preserved only in
manuscript, while others, having originally
been printed in the rudest manner on flying
sheets for circulation among the lower orders
of the people, had owed their preservation
only to the care of collectors, must be con-
sidoied as a critical epoch m the history of
our literature. Many authois before him, as,
for example, Addison and Sir Philip Sydney,
had expressed the admiration which a culti-
vated taste must ever feel for tho rough but
inimitable graces of our old ballad-poots , but
Percy was the first who undertook an exami-
nation, at once systematic and popular, of
those neglected treasures His c Essay on the
Ancient Minstrels,' prefixed to tho piocos he
selected, exhibits considerable research, and
is written in a pleasing and attractive manner ,
and the extracts are made with great taste,
and with a particular view of exciting tho
public sympathy in favour of a class of compo-
sitions, the merits of which were then new
and •nnffl.Trnlifl.T' to the general reader It is
true that he did not always adhere with scru-
pulous fidelity to the ancient texts, and where
the poems were in a fragmentary and imper-
fect condition, he did not hesitate, any moro
than Scott after him in the 'Border Min-
strelsy,' to fill up the rents of time with
matter of Ms own invention This, however,
at a period when his chief object was to excite
among general readers an interest in thoeo
fine old monuments of mediaeval genius, was
no unpardonable offence, and gave him the
opportunity of exhibiting his own pootioal
powers, which were far from contemptible,
and his skill in imitating, with moro or loss
duccess, the language and manner of tho
ancient Border poets Percy found, in col-
lecting these old compositions, that tho majo-
rity of those most curious from their antiquity
and most interesting fiom their merit wore
distinctly traceable, both as regards their
subjects and the dialect in which they wore
written, to the North Countree, that is, to
the frontier region between England and Scot-
land, which, during the long wars that had
raged almost without intermission between
the Borderers on both sides of tho Debateable
Land, had necessaiily been the scene of the
most frequent and striking incidents of pre-
datory warfare, such as those recorded in the
noble ballads of * Chevy Chase,' and the
c Battle of Otterburn ' The language in the
Northern marches of England, and in the
Scottish frontier-iegion bordering upon them,
was one and the same dialect , something be-
tween the Lowland Scotch and tho speech of
Cumberland or Westmoreland and it is curi-
ous to find the ballad-singer modifying the
incidents of his legend so as to suit the preju-
dices and flatter the national pnde of his
listeners according as they were inhabitants

From 1727 to 1780.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

of the Northern or Southern district In
various independent copies or versions of the
same logend, we find the victory given to the
one side or to the other, and the English or
Scottish hero alternately playing the nobler
and more romantic part Besides a very
large number of these purely heroic ballads,
Percy gave specimens of an immense senes of
songs and lyiios extending1 down to a compa-
ratively late period of English history, em-
bracing even tho Civil War and tho Restora-
tion but the chief interest of his collection,
and the chief service he rendered to hteratuie
by his publication, is concentrated on the
earlier portion It is impossible to exaggerate
the influence exerted by Peicy's c Reliques , '
this book has been devoured with the most
intense interest by generation af tei generation
of English poets, and has undoubtedly con-
tributed to give a first direction to the youth-
ful genius of many of our most illustiious
writers The boyish enthusiasm of Walter
Scott was stirred, * as with the sound of a
trumpet/ by the vivid recitals of tho old
Border rhapsodists ; and but for Peioy it is
possible that we should have had neither the

* Lady of the Lake * nor * Waverley ' Nor was
it upon tho genius of Scott alone that is im-
pressed tho stamp of this ballad imitation
Wordsworth, Colondge, even Tennyson him-
solf have boon deeply modified, in the form
and colouring of their productions, by the
same cause and perhaps the influence of tho

* Rehquos,' whether direct or indirect, near or
remote, will be perceptible to distant ages in
Englwh poetry and fiction " — Shaw's " Hist
Eng. Lit ," pp 412—414

JAMES MACPHEBSON.

" James Maopherson, bom 1738, died 1796,
a Scotch poet, whose first work, and that
which brought him mostly into notice, was a
translation of poems attributed by him to
Ossian These poems possess great beauty;
"but their authenticity was disputed by Dr
Johnson and other writers, and as zealously
maintained by tho editor and Dr Blair , it is
now, however, generally admitted that Ossian's
poems are a forgery In 1773 Macpherson
published a translation of the e Iliad' into
heroic prose, a work of little value He was
also the author of an 'Introduction to the
History of Great Britain and Ireland/ a
'History of Great Britain, from 1660 to the
Accession of the House of Hanover/ and of
some political pamphlets in defence of Lord
North's administration, for which he ob-
tained a place and a seat in the House of
Commons" — Beeton's "Diet Univ Biog"

THOMAS CHATTERTON.

"No name in onr literature affords an example
of earlier precocity or of a sadder career than
that of the ' marvellous boy who perished in
his pnde,' Thomas Chatterton He was born
at Bristol in 1752, was son of a sexton and
parish schoolmaster, and died by suicide before
he had completed his eighteenth year. Yet in
that brief interval he gave proof of power un-
surpassed in one so young, and executed a
number of forgeries almost without parallel
for ingenuity and variety The writings which
he passed off as originals he professes to have
discovered in ' Cannynge's Genre,' a chest
preserved in the muniment-ioom of the old
church of St Mary Redoliffe, BiistoL These
he produced gradually, generally taking ad-
vantage of some public occurrence likely to
give them an interest In October, 1768, a
new bridge across the Avon was opened, and
forthwith he sent an account of the ceremonies
that took place on the opening of the old
bridge — processions, tournaments, and le-
ligious solemnities Mr Burguin, who was
fond of heraldic honours, he supplies with a
pedigree reaching bock to William the Con-
queror To another citizen he presents the
* Eomaunt of the Cnyghtl,' written by one of
his ancestors between four and five hundred
years before To a religions citizen he gives
an ancient fragment of a sermon on the
Holy Spirit, wroten by Thomas Rowley in
the fifteenth century To another with anti-
quarian tastes he gives an account of the
churches of the city three hundred years
before And to Horace Wolpole, who was
busy writing the * History of British Painters/
he gives a record of Carvellers and Peynoters
who once flourished in Bristol Besides all
these forgeries he sent to the cTown and
Country Magazine' a number of poems which
occasioned a sharp controversy. Gray and
Mason at once pronounced them spurious
imitations, but many maintained their genu-
ineness. Meanwhile, Chatterton had obtained
a release from the attorney's office where he
had served for the last three years, and had
come to London. Here he wrote for maga-
zines and newspapers, gaming thereby a very
precarious subsistence. At last he grew de-
spondent, took to drinking, which aggravated
his constitutional tendencies, and after being
reduced to actual want, tore up his papers,
and destroyed himself by taking arsenic He
was interred in the buryrng-ground of the
Shoe Lane Workhouse, and the citizens of
Bristol afterwards erected, in their city, a
monument to his memory His poems, pub-
lished under the name of Bowley, consist of
the tragedy of *EUa,' the 'Ode to Ella,' a
ballad entitled the ' Bnstow Tragedy, or the
Death of Sir Charles Bowdin,' some pastoral
poem?, and other minor pieces The ' Ode to
Ella ' has all the air of a modern poem, except
spelling and phraseology Most of the others

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SIXTH PERIOD*—

have allusions and a style moie or less appro-
priate to the time in which they proiess to
have beon written , but they are none of them
likely to deceive a competent scholar Chat-
teiton displays occasionally great power of
satire, and generally a luxuriance of ionoy and
richness of invention which, considering his
youth, were not unworthy of Spenser. His
avowed compositions are very infenor to the
forgeries — a fact that Scott explains by sup-
posing that in the forgeries all his powers
must have been taxed to the utmost to sup-
port the deception."— Dr. Angus's "Hand-
bookEng.Lit" See AlliboneVCnt. Diet Eng.
Lit ", Shaw's "Hist Eng Lit", GJfillan's
ed. " Chatterton's Poems "

WILLIAM FALCONEB

" William Falconer, born 1730, died 1769,
was the son of a barber in Edinburgh, and
went to sea at an early age in a merchant
vessel of Leith. He was afterwards maie of
a ship that was wrecked in the Levant, and
was one of only three out of her crew that
were saved, a catastrophe which formed the
subject of his future poem. He was for some
time in the capacity of a servant to Campbell,
the author of ' Lexiphanes,' when purser of a
ship Campbell is said to have discovered m
Falconer talents worthy of cultivation, and
when the latter distinguished himself as a
poet, used to boast that he had been his
scholar. What he learned from Campbell it
is not very easy to ascertain. His education,
as he often assured Governor Hunter, had
been confined to reading, writing, and a little
arithmetic, though in the course of his life he
picked up some acquaintance with the French,
Spanish, and Italian languages In theso his
countryman was not likely to have much as-
sisted "him , but he might have lent him books,
and possibly instructed him in the use of
figures Falconer published his * Shipwreck '
in 1762, and by the favour of the Duke of
York, to whom it was dedicated, obtained the
appointment of a midshipman in the ' Eoyal
George,' and afterwards that of purser in the
c Glory' frigate He soon afterwards married
a Miss Hicks, an accomplished and beautiful
woman, the daughter of the surgeon of Sheer-
ness-yard At the peace of 1763 he was on
the point of being reduced to distressed cir-
cumstances by his ship being- laid up m ordi-
nary at Chatham, when, by the friendship of
Commissioner Hanway. who ordered the cabin
of the 'Glory* to be fitted up for his resi-
dence, he enjoyed for some tune a retreat for
study without expense or embarrassment
Here he employed himself in compiling his
« Marine Dictionary,' which appeared in 1769,
and has been always highly spoken of by
those who are capable of estimating its merits

Ho ombaikod also in tho politics of tho day,
as a poetical antagonist to Churchill, but wifcb
little advantage to his memory. Before the
publication of his 'Marine Dictionary,1 he ha/3
left his retreat at Chatham for a less comfort-
able abode in tho metropolis, and appears-! to
have struggled with considerable difficulties
m the miilst of which ho received proposals
from the late Mr Murray, tho bookseller, to
join him in the business which ho had newly
established Tho cause of his refusing tins
offer was, in all probability, the appointment
which ho received to the pursership of tho
'Auroia,' East Indiaman In that ship ho
embarked for India, in September, 1769, but
the 'Aurora' was never heard of after sho
passed the Cape, and was thought to have
foundered in the Channel of Mozambique , ro
that the poet of the * Shipwreck ' may be sup-
posed to have penshed by the same species of
calamity which he had rehearsed.

" The subject of the ' Shipwreck/ and tho
fate of its author, bespeak an uncommon par-
tiality in its favour If we pay respect to tho
ingenious scholar who can produce agreeable
verses amidst the shades of retirement, or the
shelves of his library, how much more interest
must we take in the ' ship-boy on tho high
and giddy mast,' cherishing refined vibions of
fancy at the hour which he may casually
snatch from fatigue and danger Nor did
Falconer neglect the proper acquirements of
seamanship in cultivating poetry, but evinced
consideiable knowledge of his profession, both
in his ' Marine Dictionary ' and in the nautical
piecopts ot the ' Shipwreck ' In that poem
he may be said to have added a congenial
and peculiarly British subject to tho lan-
guage , at least, we had no previous poem
of any length of which the characters and
catastrophe were purely naval

" The scene of the catastrophe (thongrh ho
followed only the fact of his own hibtorj) was
poetically laid amidst seas and shores whero
the mind easily gathers romantic association**,
and where it supposes the most piotureRqre
vicissitudes of scenery and climate. Tho
spectacle of a majestic British ship on the
shores of Greece brings as strong a romim-
scence to the mind as can well bo imagined, of
the changes which tune has wiought in trans-
planting the empne of arts and civilization
Falconer's characters are few , but tho calm,
sagacious commander, and tho rough, obsti-
nate Eodmond, are well contrasted. Some
parb of the love-story of ' Palemon ' is rather
swamish and protracted, yet the effect of his
being involved in the calamity leaves a deeper
sympathy m the mind for the daughter of
Albert, when we conceive her at onco deprived
both of a father and a lover The incidents
of the 'Shipwreck,' like those of a well*
wrought tragedy, gradually deepen, while they
yet leave a suspense of hope and fear to the ,
imagination In the final scene there is some-
thing that deeply touches our compassion m ]

.From 1727 to 1780.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

the picture of the unfortunate man who is
struck blind by a flash of Lightning at the
helm. I remember, by the way, to have met
with an affecting account of the identical
calamity befalling the steersman of a forloin
vessel in a similar moment, given in a prose
and veracious history of the loss of a vessel
on the coast of America Falconer skilfully
heightens this trait by showing its effect on
the commiseration of Rodmond, the roughest
of his choracteie, who guides the victim of
misfortune to lay hold of a sail

'A flash, quick glancing on the nerves of
light,

Struck the pole helmsman "with eternal
night,

Eodmond, who heard a piteous groan be-
hind,

Touch'd with compassion, gazed upon the
blind,

And, while around his sad companions
crowd,

He guides th' unhappy victim to the
shroud,

Hie thoe aloft, my gallant friend ' ho ones ,

Thy only succour on the mast relies ' '

" The effect of some of his sea phrases is
to give a definite and authentic character to
his descriptions , but that of mo&t of them, to a
landsman's oar, resembles slang, and pioduces
obscurity His diction, too, generally abounds
with common-place expletives and feeble lines
His scholarship on the shores of Greece is
only what we should accept of from a seaman,
but his poem has the sensible charm of ap-
pearing a transcript of reality, and loaves aA
impression of truth and nature on the mind "
— Campbell's "Specimens," 480, 481 See Alh-
bone's "Cnt Diet. Eng Lit/', Chambers^
«Cyo.Eng Lit," vol. 11

ROBERT LLOYD

" Robert Lloyd was horn in London in 1733
He was the son of one of tho under-mosters
of Westminster School He went to Cam-
bridge, where he became distinguished for his
talents and notorious for his dissipation He
became on usher under hug father, but soon
•bred of the drudgery, and commenced profes-
sional author He published a poem called
' The Actor,' which attracted attention, and
was the precursor of the 'Rosciad* He
wrote for periodicals, produced some theatrical
pieces of no great merit, and edited the ' St
James's Magazine ' This failed, and Lloyd,
involved in pecuniary distresses, was cost into
the Fleet. Here he was deserted by all his
boon companions except Churchill, to whose
sister he was attached, and who allowed him
a guinea a-week and a servant, besides pro-
moting a subscription for his benefit. When

the news of Churchill's death arrived, Lloyd
was seated at dinner, he became instantly
sick, oned out ' Poor Charles ' I shall follow
h.Tm soon,' and died in a few weeks Chur-
chill's sister, a woman of excellent abilities,
waited on Lloyd during his, illness, and died
soon after him of a broken heart. This was
in 1704

" Lloyd was a minor Churchill He had not
his brawny force, but he hod more than his
liveliness of wit, and was a much better-con-
ditioned man, and more temperate in his
satiie Cowper knew, loved, and admired,
and in some of his verses imitated, Robert
Lloyd"-— GilnHanV'Less-knownBnt Poets,"
126, 127.

CHARLES CHURCHILL.

" Charles Churchill, born 1731, died 1764.
He was the son of a respectable clergyman,
who was curate and lecturer of St. John's,
Westminster. He was educated at West-
minster School, and entered Trinity College,
Cambridge, but not being disposed

' O'er crabbed authors He's gay prime to

waste,

Or 01 amp wild genius in the chains of
taste,'

he left the university abruptly, and coming to
London made a clandestine marriage in the
Fleet His father, though much displeased at
the proceeding, became reconciled to what
could not be remedied, and leceived the im-
prudent couple for about a year under his
roof After this young Churchill went for
some time to study theology at Sunderland,
in the north of England, and having taken
orders, officiated at Cadbury, in Somerset-
shire, and at Rainham, a living of his father's
in Essex, till utton the death of fa** father he
succeeded, in 1758, to the curacy and lecture-
ship of St John's, Westminster Here he
conducted himself for some time with a de-
corum suitable to his profession, and increased
his narrow income by undeitaking private
tuition He got into debt, it is true , and Dr
Lloyd, of Westminster, the father of his friend
the poet, was ob^ged to mediate with his cre-
ditors for their acceptance of a composition ;
but when fortune put it into his power
Churchill honourably discharged all his obli-
gations. His 'Rosciad' appeared at first
anonymously, in 1761, and was ascribed to
one or other of Wf the wits in town , but
his acknowledgement of it, and his poetical
'Apology,' in which he retaliated upon the
critical reviewers of his poem (not fearing to
affront even Fielding and Smollett), made him
at once famous and formidable The players,
at least, felt him to be so. Gamok himself,
who, though extolled in the « Rosciad,' was

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PERIOD —

sarcastically alluded to in the * Apology,'
courted fa™ like a suppliant , and his satire
had the effect of driving poor Tom Davies,
the biographer of Garrick, though he was a
tolerable performer, fiom the stage. A letter
from another actor, of the name of Davis, who
seems rather to have dreaded than erpeiienccd
his seventy, is preserved in Nichols's ' Literary
Anecdotes of the Eighteenth Century,' in
•which the poor comedian deprecates the poet's
censure in an expected publication, as likely
to deprive TI\T" of bread What was mean
in Oamck might have been an object of com-
passion in this humble nfl" , but Churchill
answeied fa™ with surly contempt, and hold-
ing to the plea of justice, treated his fears with
the apparent satisfaction of a hangman. His
moral ohaiaoter, in the meantime, did not
keep pace with his Literary reputation. As he
got above neglect he seems to have thought
himself above censure His superior, the
Dean of Westminster, having had occasion to
rebuke him foi some irregularities, he threw
aside at once the clerical habit and profession,
and arrayed his ungainly form in the splen-
dour of fashion Amidst the remarks of his
enemies, and what he pronounces the still
moie insulting advice of his prudent fnends
upon his irregular life, he published his epistle
to Lloyd, entitled c Night,' a sort of manifesto
of the impulses, for they could not be called
principles, by which he professed his conduct
to be influenced The leading maxims of this
epistle are, that prudence and hypocrisy in
these tunes are the same thing ' that good
hours are but fine words, and that it is
better to avow faults than to conceal them
Speaking of his convivial enjoyments, he
says—

'Night's laughing hours unheeded slip

away,

Nor one dull thought foretells approach
of day '

In the same description he somewhat awk-
wardly introduces

* Wine's gay God, with TEMPERANCE by

his side,
Whilst HEALTH attends.'

How would Chui chill have belaboured any
fool or hypocrite who had pretended to boast
of health and temperance in the midst of
orgies that turned night into day '

" By his connection with Wilkes he added
political to personal causes of animosity, and
did not diminish the number of unfavourable
eyes that were turned upon his private cha-
racter He had certainly, with all his faults,
some strong and good qualities of the heart ,
but the paiticular proofs of these were not
likely to be sedulously collected as materials
of his biography, for he had now placed him-
self in that light of reputation when a man's
likeness is taken by its shadow and darkness

Accordingly, the most prominent circum-
stances that we afterwards learn respecting
him are, that he separated from his wife, and
seduced the daughter of a tradesman in West-
minster At the end of a fortnight, either
from his satiety or repentance, ho advised this
unfortunate woman to return to hor friends ,
but took her back again upon hor finding hor
home made intolerable by the reproaches of a
bister. His reputation for inebriety also re-
ceived some public acknowledgments Ho-
garth gave as much celebrity as ho could to
his love of porter, by representing him in tho
act of drinking a mug of that liquor in tho
shape of a bear ; but tho painter had no groat
reason to congratulate himself ultimately on
the effects of his caricature Our pool was
included in the general warrant tliat was
issued for apprehending Wilkes Ho hid him-
self, however, and avoided imprisonment In
the autumn of 1764 he paid a visit to Mi
Wilkes at Boulogne, where he caught a mili-
tary fever, and expired in his thirty-third
year.

ct Churchill may bo ranked as a satirist im-
mediately after Pope and Drydon, with per-
haps a greater share of humour than cither
He has the bitterness of Pope, with less wit
to atone for it, but no mean share of tho
free manner and energetic plainness of Dry-
den After the { Eosoiad * and c Apology ' he
began his poem of the * Ghost ' (founded on
the well-known story of Cook-lane), many parts
of which tradition reports him to have com-
posed when scarce recovered from his fits of
diunkenness. It is certainly a rambling and
scandalous production, with a few such ori-
ginal gleams as might have orobsod the brain
of genius amidst the bile and lassitude of dis-
sipation The novelty of political warfare
seems to have given a new impulse to his
powers in the * Prophecy of Famine,' a satiro
on Scotland, which even to Scotchmen must
seem to sheath its sting in its laughable ex-
travagance His poetical ' Epistle to Hogarth'
is remarkable, amidst its savage ferocity, for
one of the best panegyrics that was over bo-
stowed on that painter's works Ho scalps
indeed even barbarously tho infirmities of the
man, but, on the whole, Rpaies tho lauiols of
the artist The following is his description of
Hogaith's powers —

'In walks of humour, in that cast of

style,
Which, probing to tho quick, yot makes

us smile,

In comedy, his nat'ral road to fame,
Nor let me call it by a meaner narno,
Where a beginning, middle, and an end
Axe aptly jorn'd , where parts on parts

Each made for each, as bodies for their

soul,
So as to form one true and perfect

whole,

J?Vom 1727 to 1780 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

Where a plain story to the eye is told,
Which we conceive the moment we

behold,
Hogarth nnnvall'd stands, and shall

engage
TJnnvall'd praise to the most distant age '

" There are two peculiarly interesting pas-
sages in his c Conference ' One of them,
expressive of remorse for his crime of se-
duction, has been often quoted The other is
a touching description of a man of independent
spirit reduced by despair and poverty to accept
of the means of sustaining life on humiliating
terms

•What proof might do, what hunger

might effect,
What famish' d nature, looking with

neglect
On all she once held dear, what fear, at

strife
With fainting virtue for the means of

life,
Might make this coward flesh, in love

with breath,
Shudd'ring at pain, and shrinking back

from death,

In treason to my soul, descend to bear,
Trusting to fate, I neither know nor

care
Once, — at this hour whose wounds

afresh I fool,
Which nor prosperity nor time can heal,

* # * *

Those wounds, which humbled all that

prido of man,
Which brings such mighty aid to virtue's

plan,
Once, awed by fortune's most oppressive

frown,

By legal rapine to the earth bow'd down,
My credit at last gasp, my state undone,
Trembhng to meet the shock I could not

shun,
Virtue gave ground, and black despair

prevail' d,
Sinking beneath the storm, my spirits

fail'd,
Like Peter's faith '

" But without enumerating similar pas-
sages, which may form an exception to the
remark, the general tenor of his later works
fell beneath his first Deputation His "Duel-
list ' is positively dull , and his ' Gotham,' the
imaginary realm of which he feigns himself
the sovereign, is calculated to remind us of
the proverbial wisdom of its sages It was
justly complained that he became too much an
echo of himself, and that before his short
literary career was closed, his originality ap-
peared to be exhausted "—Campbell's "Spe-
cimens," pp 454-456 See Alhbone's " Cnt
Diet. Bng Lit " , Shaw's " Hist. Bng. Lit." ,
Gilfillan's Ed of " Churchill's Poems "

MICHAEL BEUCE .

" We refer our readers to Br Mackelvie's
well-known and very able e Life of poor Bruce'
for his full story, and for the evidence on
which his claim to the 'Cuckoo' is rested
Apart from external evidence, we -tihiTilr that
poem more characteristic of Bruce's genius
than of Logan's, and have therefore ranked it
under Bruce's name

"Bruce was born on the 27th of March,
1746, at Kinnesswood, parish of Portmoafc,
county of Kinross His father was a weaver,
and Michael was the fifth of a family of eight
children. Poor as his parents were, they were
intelligent, religious, and most conscientious
in the discharge of their duties to their chil-
dren In the summer months Michael was
sent out to herd cattle ; and one loves to
imagine the young poet wrapt in his plaid,
under a whin-bush, while the storm was blow-
ing,— or gazing at the rainbow from the
summit of a fence, — or admiring at Loch-
leven and its old ruined castle, — or weaving
around the form of some little maiden, herding
in a neighbouring field — some ' Jeanie Morn-
son' — one of those webs of romantic early
love which are beautiful and evanescent as
the gossamer, but how exquisitely relished
while they last > Say not, with one of his
biographers, that his c education was retarded
by this employment,' he was receiving in
these solitary fields a kind of education which
no school and no college could furnish , nay,
who knows but, as he saw the cuckoo winging
her way from one deep woodland recess to
another, or heard her dull, divine monotone
coming from the heart of the forest, the germ
of that exquisite strain, * least in the kingdom'
of the heaven of poetry in size, but immortal
in its smallness, was sown in his mind ? In
winter he went to school, and profited there
so much, that at fifteen (not a very early
period, after all, for a Scotch student begin-
ning fag curriculum — in our day twelve was
not an uncommon age) he was judged fit for
going to college And just in time a windfall
came across the path of our poet, the mention
of which may make many of our readers smile.
This was a legacy which was left his father by a
relative, amounting to 200 marks, or«£ll 2s 6d
With this munificent sum m Tna pocket, Bruce
was sent to study at Edinburgh College.
Here he became distinguished by his attain-
ments, and particularly his taste and poetic
powers , and here, too, he became acquainted
with John Logan, afterwards his biographer.
After spending three sessions at college, sup-
ported by his parents and other friends, he
returned to the country, and taught a school
at Gfairney Bridge (a place famous for the
first meeting of the first presbytery of the
Seceders), for ^811 of salary Thence he re-
moved to Foresthill, near AUoa, whore a damp
school-room, poverty, and hard labour in
teaching, united to injure his health and

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

depress his spirits. At Foresthill lie wrote
his poem 'Loohleven,' which discovers no
small descriptive power Consumption began
now to make its appearance, and he returned
to the cottage of his parents, where he wrote
his ' Elegy on Spring,1 in which he refers with
dignified pathos to his approaching dissolution
On the 5th of July, 1767, this remarkable
youth died, aged twenty-one years and three
months His Bible was found on his pillow,
marked at the words, Jer aaoi 10, ' Weep ye
not for the dead, neither bemoan him but
weep sore for M-m that goeth away for he
shall return no more, nor see his native
country "

"Lord Craig wrote some tune afterwards
an affecting paper in the ' Mirror,' recording
the fate, and commending the genius of Bruce
John Logan, in 1770, published his poems
In the year 1807, the kind-hearted Principal
Band published an edition of the poems for
the behoof of Brace's mother, then an aged
widow And in 1837, Dr. William Maokelvie,
Balgedie, Kinross-shire, published what may
be considered the standard Life of this poet,
along with a complete edition of his Works

<e It is impossible from so small a segment
of a circle as Bruoe's life describes to infer
with any certainty the whole So far as we
can judge from the fragments left, his power
was rather in the beautiful, than in the sub-
lime or in the strong. The lines on Spring,
from the words ' Now spring returns ' to the
close, form a continuous stream of pensive
loveliness How sweetly he sings in the
shadow of death1 'Nor let us too severely
blame his allusion to the old Pagan mythology,
in the words —

*' I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of

woe,

I see the muddy wavea the dreary
shore , '

remembering that he was still a mere student,
and not recovered from that fine intoxication
in which classical liteiature drenches a young
imaginative soul, and that at last we find him
'resting in the hopes of an eternal day'
cLoohleven' is the spent echo of the 'Sea-
sons,* although, as we said before, its descrip-
tions possess considerable ment. His ' Last
Day ' is more ambitious than successful If
we grant the ' Cuckoo ' to be his, as we are
inclined decidedly to do, it is a sure title to
fame, being one of the sweetest little poems
in any language Shakspere would have been
proud of the verse —

c Sweet bird ' thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear ,
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year '

Bruce has not, however, it has always ap-
peared to us, caught so well as Wordsworth
the differentia of the cuckoo, — Its invisible.

shadowy, shifting, supernatural character —
heard, but seldom seen — its note so limited
and almost unearthly —

O Cuckoo, shall I call thee bud,
Or but a wandering voice p '

How fine this conception of a separated voice
— 'The viewless spirit of a lonely sound,'
plaining in the woods as if socking for some
incarnation it cannot find, and saddening the
spring groves by a note so contradictory to
the genius of the season In reference to the
note of the cuckoo we find the following re-
marks among the fragments from the common-
place book of Dr TTCiomas Blown, punted by
Br Welsh — "The name of the cuckoo has
generally been considered as a very pure
instance of imitative harmony But in giving
that name, we have most unjustly defrauded
the poor bird of a portion of its very small
variety of sound The second syllable is not
a mere echo of the first ; it is the sound re-
versed, like the reading of a sotadio line ; and
to preserve the strictness of the imitation wo
should give it the name of Ook-koo.' This is
the prose of the cuckoo after its poetry"
Such is GiMllan's eloquent tribute to the
genius of Bruce , we must, however, give the
authorship of the "Cuckoo" to Logan —
Gilfillan's "Less-known Brit Poets," vol ui.,
pp 143-146. See AJlibone's " Cnt. Diet.
Eng Lit", Chambers's "Cyo. Eng. Lit.",
Shaw's 'Hist Eng Lit"

JOHN LOG-AN.

" John Logan was born in the year 1748.
He was the son of a farmer at Soutra, m the
parish of Fala, Mid-Lothian, He was educated
for the church at Edinburgh, where he became
intimate with Robertson, afterwards the his-
torian So, at least, Campbell assorts, but
he strangely calls him a student of the same
standing, whereas, in fact, Robertson saw
light in 1721, and had been a settled minister
five years before Logan was born After
finishing his studies he became tutor in the
family of Mr Sinclair of Ulbster, and the late
well-known Sir John Sinclair was one of his
pupils When licensed* to preach, Logan be-
came popular, and was in his twenty-fifth
year appointed one of the ministers of South
Leith In 1781 he read, in Edinburgh, a
course of lectures on the Philosophy of
History, and in 1782 he printed one of them,
on the Government of Asia In the same
year he published a volume of poems, which
were well received. In 1 783 he wrote a tragedy
called * Runnymede,' which was, owing to
some imagined incendiary matter, prohibited
from being- acted on the London boards, but

—

From 1727 to 1780.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

which was produced on the Edinburgh stage,
and afterwards published This, along with
some alleged irregularities of conduct on the
part of Logan, tended to alienate his nock,
and he was induced to retire on a small
annuity He betook himself to London, where,
in conjunction with the Rev Mr. Thomson —
who had left the parish of Monzievaird, in
Perthshire, owing to a scandal — he wrote for
the ' English Review/ and was employed to
defend Warren Hastings This he did in an
able manner, although a well-known story
describes him as listening to Sheridan, on the
Oude case, with intense interest, and exclaim-
ing, after the first hour, ' This is mere decla-
mation without proof* — after the next two,
* This is a man of extraordinary powers ' — and
ere the close of the matchless oration, c Of all
the monsters on history, Warren Hastings is
the vilost ' Logan died in the year 1788, in
his lodgings, Maryborough Stieet His ser-
mons wore published shortly after his death,
and if parts of them arc, as is alleged, pilfered
from a Swiss divine (George Joachim Zolli-
kofer), they have not remained exclusively
with the thief, since no sermons have been
flo often reproduced in Scottish pulpits as the
elegant orations issued under the name of
Logan

" We have already declined to enter on the
controversy about * The Cuckoo,' intimating,
however, our belief, founded partly upon
Logan's unscrupulous character and partly on
internal evidence, that it was originally written
by Bruce, but probably polished to its present
perfection by Logan, whoso other writings
give us rather the impression of a man of
varied accomplishments and excellent taste,
than of deep feeling or original genius. If
Logan were not the author of * The Cuckoo,'
thero was a special baseness connected with
the fact, that when Burke sought in™ out in
Edinburgh, solely from his admiration of that
poem, he owned the soft and false impeach-
ment, and rolled as a sweet morsel praise from
the greatest man of the ago, which he knew
was the rightful due of another " — Gilfillan's
"Less-kn own Bnt Poets," pp 266-268.

THOMAS WARTON.

« Thomas Warton, born 1728, died 1790,
was descended from an ancient family, whose
residence was at Beverley, in Yorkshire One
of his ancestors was knighted in the civil
wars, for his adherence to Charles I. ; but by
the failure of the same cause, the estate of the
family was confiscated, and they were unable
to maintain the rank of gentry The Toryism
of the historian of English poetry was, there-
fore, hereditary His father was fellow of
Magdalen College, Oxford , professor of poetry
an that university , and vicar of Basingstoke,

in Hants, and of Cobham, in Surrey At the
age of sixteen our author was admitted a com-
moner of Trinity College, Oxford, of which he
continued a member, and an ornament, for
forty-seven years His first poetical appear-
ance in print has been traced to five ' Eclogues '
in blank verse , the scenes of which are laid
among the shepherds, oppressed by the wars
in Germany They appeared m Pearch's
* Supplement to Bodsley's Collection of Fugi-
tive Pieces ' Warton disavowed those * Ec-
logues ' in his riper years They are not dis-
creditable to "hi™ as the verses of a boy ; but
it was a superfluous offering to the public, to
subjoin them to his other works, in Mr.
Chalmers's edition of the British Poets. His
poem, 'The Pleasures of Melancholy,' was
written not long after As the composition of
a youth, it is entitled to a very indulgent con-
sideration , and perhap& it gives promise of a
sensibility, which his subsequent poetry did
not fulfil It was professedly written m his
seventeenth, but published in his nineteenth
year, so that it must be oonsideied as testify-
ing the state of his genius at the latter peiiod ,
for until his work had passed through the
press, he would continue to improve it. In
the year 1749 he published his * Triumph of
Isis,' in answer to Mason's poetical attack on
the loyalty of Oxford The best passage in
firm piece, beginning with the lines —

' Ye fretted pinnacles, ye fanes sublime,
Ye towers, that wear the mossy vest of
time,'

discovers that fondness for the beauties of
architecture, which was an absolute passion in
the breast of Warton Joseph Warton relates
that, at an early period of their youth, his
brother and he were taken by their father to
see Windsor Castle. Old Dr Warton com-
plained, that whilst the rest of the party ex-
pressed delight at the magnificent spectacle,
Thomas made no remarks ; but Joseph Warton
justly observes, that the silence of his bi other
was only a proof of the depth of his pleasure ,
that he was really absorbed in the enjoyment
of the sight; and thab his subsequent fondness
for 'castle imagery,' ho believed, might be
traced to the impression which he then re-
ceived from Windsor Castle

" In 1750 ho took the degree of a master of
arts , and in the following year succeeded to a
fellowship In 1754 he published his ' Obser-
vations on Spenser's Faery Queen,' in a single
volume, which he afterwards expanded into
two volumes, in the edition of 1762 In this
work he minutely analyses the Classic and
Romantic sources of Spenser's fiction ; and so
for enables us to estimate the power of the
poet's genius, that we can compare the scat-
tered ore of his fanciful materials with their
transmuted appearance in the 6 Faery Queen '
This work, probably, contributed to his ap-
pointment to the professorship of poetry, in

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES .

[SIXTH PERIOD.-^-

the university, in 1757, which he held, accord-
ing to custom, for ten years. While possessed
of that chair, he delivered a course of lectures
on poetry, in which he introduced his transla-
tions from the Greek Anthology, as well as
the substance of his remarks on the Bucolic
poetry of the Greeks, which were afterwards
published in his edition of Theocritus In
1758 he assisted Dr Johnson in the 'Idler,'
with Nos 33, 93, and 96 About the same
time he published, without name or date, ' A
Description of the City, College, and Cathedral
of Winchester,' and a humorous account of
Oxford, intended to burlesque the popular
description of that place, entitled, 'A Com-
panion to the Guide, or a Guide to the Com-
panion ' He also published anonymously, in
1758, ' A Selection of Latin Metrical Inscrip-
tions.9

" Worton's clerical profession forms no very
prominent part of his history He had an
indistinct and hurried articulation, which was
peculiarly unfavourable to his pulpit oratory
His ambition was directed to other objects,
than preferment in the church, and he was
above solicitation After having served the
curacy of Woodstock for nine years, as well as
his avocations would permit, he was appointed,
in 1774, to the small living of Kidding-ton, in
Oxfordshire , and, in 1785, to the donative of
Hill Farranoe, m Somersetshire, by his own
college.

" The great work to which the studies of
his life were subservient, was his * History of
English Poetry/ an undertaking which had
been successively projected by Pope and Gray
Those writers had suggested the imposing
plan of arranging the British, poets, not by
their chronological succession, but by their
different schools Warton deliberately re-
linquished thia scheme , because he felt that it
was impracticable, except m a very vague and
general manner Poetry is of too spmtual a
nature to admit of itb authors being exactly
grouped, by a Linnaean system of classification
Striking resemblances and distinctions will, no
doubt, be found among poets ; but the shades
of variety and gradation are so infinite, that
to bring eyery composer within a given line of
resemblance, would require a new language in
the philosophy of taste Warton, therefore,
adopted the simpler idea of tracing our poetry
by its chronological progiess The work is
certainly provokingly digressive, in many
places, and those who have subsequently exa-
mined the same subject have often complained
of its inaccuracies, but the chief cause of
those inaccuracies was that boldness and ex-
tent of research, which makes the work so
useful and entertaining Those who detected
his mistakes have been, in no small degree, in-
debted to him for their power of detecting them
The first volume of his 'History* appeared
in 1774 , the second m 1778 ; and the third in
1781. Of the fourth volume only a few sheets
were printed ; and the account of our poetry,

which ho meant to have extended to the last
century, was continued only to the reign of
Elizabeth,

" In the year 1785 he was appointed to tho
Camden Professorship of History, in which
situation he delivered only one inaugural dis-
sertation In the same year, upon the death
of Whitehead, he received tho laureatoship
His odes woio subjected to tho ridicule of tho
Rolliad, but his head filled tho laurel with
more learning than it had encompassed for
a hundred years

" In his sixty-second year, after a life of
uninterrupted good health, ho was attacked
by the gout; wont to Bath for a euro, and
returned, as he imagined, perfectly recovered ?
but his appearance betrayed that his constitu-
tion had received a fatal shock At tho clone
of an evening, which he had spont with more
than ordinary cheerfulness, in tho common-
hall of his college, ho was seized with a para-
lytic stroke, and expired on tho following
day

" Some ajnusing eccentricities of his cha-
racter are mentioned by tho writer of hiH life
(Dr Mant), which tho last editor of tho
'British Poets' blames that biographer for
introducing. I am far from joining in thin
censure It is a miserable system of biography,
that would never allow us to smile at the
foibles and peculiarities of its subject The
historian of English poetry would sometimes
forget his own dignity, so far as to drink alo,
and smoke tobacco with men of vulgar condi-
tion, either wishing, as some havo gravely
alleged, to study undisguised and unlettered
human nature, or, which is more probable, to-
enjoy a heaitier laugh, and broader humour
than could be found in polite society Ho was
also passionately fond (not of cntical, but) of
military reviews, and delighted in martial
music The same strength of association
which made him enjoy the sound of * the flpirit-
stirnng drum/ led him to bo a constant and
curious explorer of tho architectural monu-
ments of chivalrous times, and, during his
summer excursions into the country, he always
committed to paper the remarks which ho had
made on ancient buildings During lus visits
to his brother, Dr J Warton, tho reverend
professor became an associate and confidant in
all the sports of the schoolboys When engaged
with them in some oubnary occupation, and
when alarmed by the sudden approach of the
master, he has been known to hide himself in
a doik corner of the kitchen ; and has boon
dragged from thence by the Doctor, who hod
taken him for some great boy He also uuod
to help the boys in their exercises, generally
putting in as many faults as would disguise
the assistance

"Every Englishman who values the litera-
ture of his country must feel himself obliged
to Warton as a, poetical antiquary As a poet,
he is ranked by his brother Joseph in the
school of Spenser and Milton 3 but this classi-

From 1727 to 1780 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

fication can only be admitted with a full
understanding of the immense distance between
him and his great masters He had, indeed,

* spelt the fabled rhyme ,' he abounds in allu-
sions to the romantic subjects of Spenser, and
he is a sedulous imitator of the rich lynoal
manner of Milton • but of the tenderness and
peculiar harmony of Spenser he has caught
nothing , and in his resemblance to Milton, he
is the heir of his phraseology more than his
spirit His imitation of manner, however, is
not confined to Milton His style often ex-
hibits a veiy composite order of poetical archi-
tecture In his verses to Sir Joshua Beynolds,
for instance, he blends the point and succinct-
ness of Pope with the richness of the elder
and more fanciful school It is one of his
happiest compositions , and, in this case, the
mtermixtuie of styles has no unpleasing effect.
In others, he often tastelessly and elaborately
unites his affectation of antiquity, with the
case-hardened graces of modem polish.

" If we judge of him by the character of the
majority of his pieces, I believe that fifty out
of sixty of them are such, that we should not
be anxious to give them a second perusal
From that proportion of his works, I conceive
that an unprejudiced reader would pronounce
him a florid, unaffecting desonber, whose
images are plentifully soatteied, but without
selection or lekof To confine our view, how-
ever, to some sevon or eight of his happier
pieces, we shall find, in these, a considerable
degree of graphic power, of fancy, and anima-
tion His ' Verses to Sir Joshua Beynolds '
are splendid and spirited. There is also a
softness and sweetness in his ode entitled

* The Hamlet,* which is the more welcome, for
being rare in his productions ; and his ' Cru-
sade ' and ' Grave of Arthur ' havo a genuine
air of mairfaaJ, and minstrel enthusiasm Those
pieces exhibit, to the best advantage, the most
striking feature of his poetical character, which
was a fondness for the recollections of chi-
valry, and a minute intimacy of imagination
with its gorgeous residences, and imposing
spectacles The spirit of chivalry, he may
indeed be said to have revived in the poetry
of modern times His memory was iichly
stored with all the materials for description
that can be got from books ; and he seems not
to have been without an original enthusiasm
for those objects which excite strong associa-
tions of regard and wonder Whether he
would have ever looked with interest on a
shepherd's cottage, if he hod not found it
descubed by Virgil or Theocritus, may be
fairly doubted, but objects of terror, splen-
dour, and magnificence, are evidently con-
genial to his fancy He is very impressive
in sketching the appearance of an ancient
Gothic castle, in the following hnes .

* High o'er the trackless heath, at midnight

seen,

No more the windows, ranged in long
array,

(Where the tall shaft and fretted nook

between

Thick ivy twines) the taper* d rites
betray1

His memory was stored with an uncommon
portion of that knowledge which supplies
materials for picturesque description j and MB
universal acquaintance with our poets supplied
him with expression, so as to answer the full
demand of his original ideas Of his poetio
invention, in the fair sense of the word, of his
depth of sensibility, or of his powers of reflec-
tion, it is not so easy to say anything favour-
able."—Campbell's " Specimens," pp. 618-620.
See Gilfillan's " Less-known British Poets."

JOSEPH WABTON.

"Joseph Warton, born 1722, died 1800, son
to the vicar of Basingstoke, and elder brother
to the historian of English poetry, was born
in the house of frfe maternal grandfather, the
Rev Joseph Biohardson, rector of Dunsfold,
in Surrey He was chiefly educated at home
by his father, Dr Warton, till his fourteenth
yeai, when he was admitted on the foundation
of Winchester College. He was there the
schoolfellow and intimate of Collins, the
poet , and, in conjunction with h™ and
another youth, whose mine was Tomkyns, he
sent to the ' Gentleman's Magazine ' three
pieces of poetry, which were highly com-
mended in that miscellany In 1740, being
superannuated, he left Winchester School,
and having missed a presentation to New
College, Oxford, was entered a commoner at
that of Onel. At the university he composed
his two poems, ' The Enthusiast,' and c The
Dying Indian,* and a satirical prose sketch, in
imitation of Le Sage, entitled 'Banelagh,*
which his editor, Mr Wooll, has inserted in
the volume that contains his life, letters, and
poems. Having taken the degree of bachelor
of arts at Oxford, in 1744, he was ordained on
his father's curacy at Basingstoke At the
end of two years, he removed from thence to
do duty at Chelsea, where he caught the small-
pox Having left that place, for change of
air, he did not return to it, on account of
some disagreement with the parishioners, but
officiated for a few months at Chawton and
Droxf ord, and then resumed his residence at
Basingstoke. In the same year, 1746, he
published a volume of his c Odes,* in the preface
to which he expressed a hope that they would
be regarded as a fair attempt to bring poetry
back from the moralizing and didactic taste of
the age to the truer channels of fancy and
description Collins, our author's immoitol
contemporary, also published his * Odes' in the
same month of the some year He realized,
with the hand of genius, that idea of highly

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PERIOD —

personified and picturesque composition, which
Warton contemplated with the eye of taste
But ColLns's works were ushered in with
no manifesto of a design to regenerate the
taste of the age, with no pretensions of
erecting a new or recovered standard of ex-
cellence

" In 1748 our author was presented by the
Duke of Bolton to the rectory of Winslade,
when he immediately married a lady of that
neighbourhood, Miss Daman, to whom he had
been for some time attached Ho hod not
been long settled m his living, when he was
invited by his patron to accompany him to the
south of Trance The Duchess of Bolton was
then in a confirmed dropsy, and his Grace,
anticipating her death, wished to have a Pro-
testant clergyman with him on the Continent,
who might marry him, on the first intelligence
of his consort's death, to the lady with whom
lie lived, and who was universally known by
the name of Polly Peaohum Dr, Wartou
complied with this proposal, to which (as his
oircumstanoea were narrow) it must be hoped
that his poverty consented rather than his
will. ' To those ' (says Mr Wooll) * who have
enjoyed the neb. and voiiod treasuies of Dr.
Warton' s conversation, who have been dazzled
by the brilliancy of his wit, and instructed by
the acuteness of his understanding, I need
not suggest how truly enviable was the jour-
ney which his fellow-travellers accomplished
through, the French provinces to Montauban '
It maybe doubted, howevor, if the French
provinces were exactly the scene, wheie his
fellow-travellers were most likely to be in-
structed by the acuteness of Dr. Walton's
observations , as he was unable to speak the
language of the country, and could have no
information from foreigners, except what ho
could now and then extort from the barbarous
Latin of some Irish friar He was himself
so far from being delighted or edified by his
pilgrimage, that for private reasons (as his
biographer states), and from impatience of
being restored to his family, ho returned home,
without having accomplished the object for
which the Duke had token him abroad He
set out for Bordeaux in a courier's cart , but
being dreadfully jolted in that vehiclo, he
quitted it, and, having joined some carriers
in Brittany, came home by way of St. Malo.
A month after his return to England, the
Duchess of Bolton died; and our author,
imagining that his patron would, possibly,
have the decency to zemain a widower for a
few weeks, wrote to his Grace, offering to join
him immediately. But the Duke had no
mind to delay his nuptials ; he was joined to
Polly by a Protestant clergyman, who was
found upon the spot, and our author thus
missed the reward of the only action of his
life which can. be said to throw a blemish on
his respectable memory.

" In the year 1748-9 he had begun, and in
1753 he finished and published, an edition of

Virgil in English and Latin. To this work
Warburton contnbuted a dissertation on the
sixth book of the JSneid , Atterbury fuimshod
a commentary on the character of lapis , and
the laureate Whitehoad, another on tho shield
of -Eneas Many of the notes wore taken
from the best commentators on Vugil, par-
ticularly Catrou and Segrais • some wero
supplied by Mr Spenoe ; and others, relating-
to the soil, climate, and customs of Italy, by
Mr Holdsworth, who had resided for many
years in that country. For the English of
the JEnoid, he adopted the translation by
Pitt. The life of Virgil, with three ossayH
on pastoral, didactic, and epic poetry, and j*
poetical version of the Eclogues and Georgia,
constituted his own part of the work Thin
translation may, in many instances, bo found
more faithful and concise than Dry don' H , but
it wants that elastic and idiomatic freedom,
by which Dryden reconcile? us to his faults ;
and exhibits rather the diligence of a scholar
than the spirit of a poet. Dr Horowood, in
his view of the classics, accuses tho Latin
text of incorrectness. Shortly after the ap-
poaronoe of his Virgil, ho took a shore in the
periodical paper * The Adventurer,' and con-
tributed twenty-four numbers, which havo
been generally esteemed the most valuable in
the work

" In 1754 ho was instituted to the living of
Tunworth, on the presentation of the JcrvoiBO
family, and in 1755 was elected second mawtor
of Winchester School, with the management
and advantage of a boarding-house In tho
following yeai Lord Lyttolton, who hod sub-
mitted a part of his ' History of Henry II ' to-
his revisal, bestowed a scarf upon him Ho
found leisure, at this poiiod, to commence Ins
* Essay on the Writings and Gomus of Popo,*
which he dedicated to Young, without Hub*
scribing his name But he was soon, and it
would appeal with hi a own tacit permission,
generally pronounced to bo its author.
Twenty-six years, however, elapsed bofoio ho
ventured to complete it Dr Johnson waid,
that this was owing to his not having boon
able to bring the public to be of his opinion
as to Pope Another reason has boon assigned
for his inactivity Warburton, the guardian
of Pope's fame, was still olive , and ho was
the zealous and useful fnend of our author's
brother The prelate died m 1779, and in
1782 Dr. Warton published his extended and
finished Essay If the supposition that ho
abstained from embroiling himsolf by the
question about Pope with Warburton be truo,
it will at least impress us with an idea of hiK
patience ; for it was no secret that Ruffhead
was supplied by Warburton with materials for
a life of Pope, in which he attacked Dr War-
ton with abundant seventy , but in which he <
entangled himself, more than his adversary, in'
the coarse-spun robes of his special pleading. ;
The Essay, for a tune, raised up to h*^ another*'
enemy, to whom his conduct has even an air ,

Fiom 1727 to 1780]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

of RiibniiBsivcnoss In commenting on a line
of Pope, lie hazarded a remark on Hogarth's
propensity to intermix the ludicrous with
attempts at the sublime. Hogarth revenge-
fully introduced Dr Warton' s works into one
of his satirical pieces, and vowed to bear him
eternal enmity Their mutual friends, how-
over, interfered, and the aitist was pacified
Dr Warton, in the next edition, altered his
•just animadversion on Hogarth into an ill-
merited compliment

" By delaying to re-publish his Essay on
Popo, he ultimately obtained a more dis-
p.iHHionate hearing from the public for the
work in its finished state In the meantime,
ho enriched it with additions digested from
the reading of half a lifetime. The author of
1 The Pursuits of Literature ' has pronounced
it a common placo book , and Richardson, the
novelist, used to call it a literary gossip but
a testimony in its favour, of more authority
than any individual opinion, will be found in
the popularity with which it continues to be
road It is very entertaining, and abounds
with criticism of more research than Addi-
aon's, of more amenity than Kurd's or War-
bui ton's, and of moie insinuating tact than
Johnson's At the same time, while much
ingenuity and many truths are scattered over
the Essay, it IB impossible to admire it as an
entire theory, solid and consistent in all its
puts It is cortamly setting out from un-
fortunate promises to begin his ' Remaiks on
Popo ' with grouping Drydcn and Addison in
iho Ritmo class of poots , and to form a scale
for estimating poetical genius, which would
not Elijah Ponton in a higher sphere than
Butler Ho places Popo, in the scale of our
poots, next to Milton, and above Dryden , yet
ho applies to him the exact character which
Voltaire gives to the hoartle&s Boilcau — that
of a writer, ' perhaps, incapable of the sub-
hmo which elevates, or of the feeling- which
affects the ROU! ' With all this, he tolls us,
that our poetry and our language are ever-
lastingly indebted to Pope he attributes
genuine tenderness to the ' Elegy on an Un-
fortunate Lady , ' a strong degree of passion
to the 'Epistle on Eloise,' invention and
fancy to 'The Rape of the Lock,' and a
picturesque conception to some parts of
' Windsor Forest,' which he pronounces
worthy of tho pencil of Rubens or Julio
Romano. There is something like April
weather in these transitions

" In May, 17C6, he was advanced to the
head-mastership of Winchester School. In
consequence of this promotion, he once more
visited Oxford, and proceeded to the degree
of bachelor and doctor in divinity. After a
union of twenty years, he lost his first wife,
by whom he had six children , but his family
and his professional situation requiring a do-
mestic partner, he had been only a year a
widower, when he married a Miss Nicholas, of
Winchester.

" He now visited London more frequently
than before. The circle of his friends, in the
metropolis, comprehended all the members of
Burke's and Johnson's Literaiy Club. With
Johnson himself he was for a long time on in- ,
timate terms , but their friendship suffered a *
breach which was never closed, in consequence
of an argument, which took place between
them, during an evening spent at the house
of SIP Joshua Eeynolds The concluding
words of their conversation are reported, by
one who was present, to have been these,
Johnson said, c Sir, I am not accustomed to be
contradicted.' Warton replied, 'Better, fair,
for yourself and your friends if you were • our
respect could not be increased, but our love
might '

" In 1782 he was indebted to his friend, Dr.
Lowth, Bishop of London, for a prebend of St.
Paul's, and the living of Thoiley, in Hertford-
shire, which, after some arrangements, he
exchanged for that of Wiokham. His eccle-
siastical preferments came too late in life to
place him in that state of leisure and inde-
pendence which might have enabled fam to
devote his best years to literature, instead of
the drudgery of a school. One gieat project,
which he announced, but never fulfilled,
namely, s A General History of Learning,' was,
in all probability, prevented by the pressure
of his daily occupations In 1788, through
the interest of Lord Shannon, he obtained a
prebend of Winchester , and, through the
interest of Lord Malmsbury, was appointed to
the rectory of Euston, which, he was aftei-
wards allowed to exchange for that of Upham.
In 1793 he resigned the fatigues of his master-
ship of Winchester; and having received,
from the superintendents of the institution, a
vote of wefi-eained thanks, for his long and
meritorious services, he went to live at his
rectory of Wickham

" Ptir? Tig his retirement at that place, he
was induced, by a liberal offer of the book-
sellers, to superintend an edition of Pope,
which he published in 1797. It was objected
to this edition, that it contained only his
e Essay on Pope,' out down into notes , his
biographer, however, repels the objection, by
alleging that it contains a consideiable portion
of new matter In his zeal to present every-
thing that could be traced to the pen of Pope,
he introduced two pieces of indelicate humour,
' The Double Mistress,' and the second satire
of Horace. For the insertion of those pieces,
he received a censure in the 'Pursuits of
Literature,' which, considering his grey hairs
and services in the literary world, was unbe-
coming, and which my individual partiality for
Mr Matthias makes me wish that I had not
to record

" As a critic, Dr. Warton is distinguished
by his love of the fanciful and lomantic He
examined our poetry at a penod when it ap-
peared to Trip* that versi.fi.ed obseivations on
familiar life and manners had usurped tho

39*

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

honours which were exclusively due to the
bold and inventive powers of imagination
He conceived, also, that the charm of descrip-
tion in poetry was not sufficiently appreciated
in his own day • not that the age could be
said to be without descriptive writers ; but
because, as he apprehended, the tyranny of
Pope's reputation had placed moral and di-
dactic verse in too pre-eminent a light. He
therefore strongly urged the principle, ' that
the most solid observations on He, expressed
with the utmost brevity and elegance, are
morality, and not poetry ' Without examining
how far this principle applies exactly to the
character of Pope, whom he himself owns not
to have been without pathos and imagination,
I think his proposition is so worded, as to be
liable to lead to a most unsound distinction
between morality and poetry. If by 'the
most solid observations on life ' axe meant
only those which relate to its prudential
management and plain concerns, it is certainly
true, that these cannot be made poetical, by
the utmost brevity or elegance of expression
It is also true, that even the nobler tenets of
moiality are comparatively less interesting, in
an insulated and didactic shape, than when
they are blended with strong mutations of life,
where passion, character, and situation bring
them deeply home to our attention Fiction is
on this account so far the soul of poetry, that,
without its aid as a vehicle, poetry can only
give us morality in an abstract and (compara-
tively) uninteresting shape But why does
Fiction please us ? surely not because it is
false, but because it seems to be true ; because
it spreads a wider field, and a more biilhant
crowd of objects to our moral perceptions,
than reality affords Morality (in a high
sense of the term, and not speaking of it as
a dry science) is the essence of poetiy. We
fly from the injustice of this world to the
poetical justice of Fiction, where our sense of
right and wrong is cither satisfied, or where
our sympathy, at least, reposes with less
disappointment and distraction, than on the
characters of life itself Fiction, we may in-
deed be told, carries us into ' a world of gayer
tmot and grace,' the laws of which are not to be
judged by solid observations on the real world.
" But this is not the case, for moral truth
is still the light of poetry, and fiction is only
the refracting atmosphere which diffuses it ,
and the laws cf moral truth are as essential
to poetry, as those of physical truth (Anatomy
and Optics, for instance), are to painting
Allegory, narration, and the drama make their
last appeal to the ethics of tht? human heait
It is therefore unsafe to draw a marked dis-
tinction between morality and poetry ; or to
speak of * solid observations on life ' as of
things in their nature unpoetical , for we do
meet in poetry with observations on life, which,
for the charm of their solid truth, we should
exchange with reluctance for the most in-
genious touches of fancy.

" The school of the Wartons, considering
them as poets, was rather too studiously prone
to description. The doctor, like his brother,
certainly so far realized his own ideas of in-
spiration, as to burthen his verse with few
observations on life which oppress tho mind
by their solidity. To his brother ho is ob-
viously inferior in the graphic and romantic
stylo of composition, at which ho aimed , but
in which, it must nevertheless be owned, that
in some parts of his ' Ode to Fancy ' ho has
been pleasingly successful From tho sub-
joined specimens, the reader will probably be
enabled to judge as favourably oi his genius,
as from the whole of his poems , for most of
them aie short and occasional, and (if I may
venture to differ from the opinion of his
amiable editor, Mr. Wooll), are by no moans
marked with originality. The only poem of
any length, entitled 'The Enthusiast,' was
written at too early a period of his life, to bo
a fair object of criticism." — Campbell's " Spe-
cimens," pp. 663-7.

THOMAS BLACKLOCK

" This amiable man deserves praise for his
character and for his conduct under very
peculiar circumstances, much more than for
his poetry He was born at ATITHI.TI, where
his father was a bricklayer, in 1721 "When
about six months old, he lost his eyesight by
small-pox. His father used to read to him,
especially poetry, and through tho kindness
of friends he acquired some knowledge of
the Latin tongue His father having boon
accidentally killed when Thomas was nine-
teen, it might have fared haid with him, but
Dr Stevenson, an eminent medical man in
Edinburgh, who had seen some vcisos com-
posed by the blind youth, took him to the
capital, sent him to college to study divinity,
and encouraged him to write and to publish
poetry His volume, to which was prefixed
an account of the author, by Professor Spunco
of Oxford, attracted much attention Black-
look was licensed to preach in 1759, and three
years aftoi wards was mainod to a Miss John-
stone of Dumfries, an exemplary but plain-
looking lady, whose beauty her husband was
wont to pi a IRC so warmly that his friends
were thankful that his infirmity was never
removed, and thought how justly Cupid had
been painted blind He was even, through tho
influence of the Earl of Selkirk, appointed to
the parish of Kirkcudbright, but the panshion-
eis opposed his induction on the plea of his
want of sight, and, in consideration of a small
annuity, he withdrew his claims He finally
settled down in Edinburgh, where he supported
himself chiefly by keeping young gentlemen as
boarders in his house His chief amusements
were poetry and music His conduct to (1786)

From 1727 to 1780 ]

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

and correspondence with Burns are too weU
known to require to be noticed at length here
He published a paper of no small merit in the
' Encyclopedia Britannica ' on Blindness, and
is the author of a work entitled * Paraclesis ,
or, Consolations of Beligion,' — which surely
none require more than the blind He died of
a nervous fever on the 7th of July, 1791, so
far fortunate that he did not live to see the
rum of his immortal piote*ge*

" Blacklock was a most amiable, genial, and
benevolent being Ho was sometimes subject
to melancholy — unlike many of the blind, and
one especially, whom wo name not, but who,
still living, bears a striking resemblance to
BlaoHock in fineness of mind, warmth of
heart, and high-toned piety, but who is cheerful
as the day As to his poetry, it is undoubtedly
wonderful, consideiing the circumstances of
its pioduction, if not per se Dr. Johnson
says to Boswei, — * As Blocklook had the mis-
f 01 tune to bo bind, we may be absolutely sure
that tho passages in his poems descriptive of
visible objects are combinations of what he
remembered of the works of other wiiters who
could soa That foolish fellow Spence has
laboured to explain philosophically how Black-
look may have done, by his own faculties, what
it is impossible he should do The solution,
as I have given it, is plain Suppose I know
a man to be so lame that he is absolutely in-
capable to move himself, and I find him in a
diffoiont room from that in which I left him,
shall I puzzlo myself with idle conjectures that
perhaps hiti nerves have, by somo unknown
change, all at once become effective? No,
s»ir , it IB clear how he got into a different room
— ho was CARRIED *

" Perhaps there is a fallacy in this some-
what dogmatic statement Perhaps the blind
are not so utterly dark but they may have
certain dim simulacra of external objects
before their eyes and minds Apart from this,
however, Blacklock' s poetry endures only from
its connection with the author's misfortune,
and fiom the fact that through the gloom ho
groped greatly to find and give the burning
hand of the peasant poet the squeeze of a
kindred spirit, — kindred, we mean, in feeling
and heart, although very far removed in
stiength of intellect and genius " — Gilfillan's
" Less-known British Poets," vol m , pp
279, 280 Soe AJJibone's " Crit Diet Eng
Lit " , Boeton's " Diet TJmv Biog "

WILLIAM HATWAKD ROBEBTS

"William Hayward Roberts, boin 1745, died
1791 He was educated at Eton, and from
thence was elected to King's College, Cam-
bridge, where he took the degree of master of
arts, and of doctor in divinity From being
an under master at Eton he finally rose to be

provost of the college, in the year 1781. He
was also chaplain to tho king, and rector of
IToraham Royal, in Buckinghamshire In
1771 ho published, in three parts, ' A Poeti-
cal Essay on the Attributes and Providence
of the Deity * Two years afterwards, e A
Poetical Epistle to Christopher Anstey, on
the English Poets, chiefly those whb had
written in blank verse/ and in 1774, his
poem of ' Judah Restored,' a work of no
common merit "—Campbell's "Specimens,"
p. 628

THOMAS PENEOSE.

" Thomas Penrose, born 1743, died 1779.
The history of Penrose displays a dash of
warlike adventure, which has seldom en-
livened the biogiaphy of our poets He was
not led to the profession of arms, like Gas-
coigne, by his poverty, or like Quarles, Dave-
nant, and Waller, by political circumstances ;
but, in a mere fit of juvenile ardour, gave up
his studies at Oxford, where he was preparing
to become a clergyman, and left the banners
of tho church for those of the battle. This
was in the summer of 1762, when the unfor-
tunate expedition against Buenos Ayres sailed
under the command of Captain Macnamara.
It consisted of thiee ships the ' Lord Clive,'
of 64 guns , the 'Ambuscade,' of 40, onboard
of which Penrose acted as lieutenant of ma-
rines , the ' Gloria,' of 38 , and some inferior
vessels Preparatory to on attack on Buenos
Ayres, it was deemed necessary to begin with
tho capture of Nova Colonia, and the ships
approached closely to the fortress of that
settlement. The men were in high &pmts,
military music sounded on board , while the
new uniforms and polished arms of the
marines gave a splendid appearance to the
scene Penroso, the night before, hod written
and despatched to fr*g mistress in England a
poetical address, which evinced at once the
affection and serenity of his heait, on the evo
of danger The gay preparative was followed
by a heavy fire of several hours, at the end of
which, when the Spanish batteiies were almost
silenced, and our countrymen in immediate
expectation of seeing the enemy strike his
colours, the Lord Clive was found to be on
fire , and the same moment which discovered
the flames showed the impossibility of extin-
guishing thorn A dieadful spectacle was then
exhibited Men who had tho instant before
assured themselves of wealth and conquest,
were seen crowding to the sides of the ship,
with the dreadful alternative of perishing by
fire or water The enemy's fire was redoubled
at the sight of their calamity Out of Mac-
namara's crew, of 340 men, only 78 were
saved Penrose escaped with his life on board
the ' Ambuscade,' but received a wound in the
action , and the subsequent hardships which

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PERIOD —

he underwent, in a prize-sloop, iii which he
•was stationed, ruined the stiength of his con-
stitution He returned to England , resumed
his studies at Oxfoid, and having taken
orders, accepted of tho curacy of Nowbury, in
Berkshire, of which his father wn& the rector
He resided there for nine yeais, having married
the lady already alluded to, whose name was
Mary Slocock A friend at last rescued him
from this obscure situation, by presenting Mm
with the rectory of Beokuagton. and Stander-
wiok, in Somersetshire, worth about ^8500 a
year But he came to his preferment too late
to enjoy it. His health having never reco-
vered from the shook of his Amencan service,
obliged him, as a last remedy, to try the hot
wells at Bristol, at which place he expired, m
his thirty-sixth year" — Campbell's Ch Spe-
cimens," p. 561.

SIR JOHN HENRY MOORE.

"Sir John Moore, Bart, born 1756, died
1780 This interesting and piomising1 young
TimTt died of a decline m his twenty-fourth
year"— Campbell's""

RICHARD JACK).

"Richard Jago, born 1715, died 1781, the
author of 'Edge-Hill,' a descriptive poem,
was vicar of Smtterfield, near Stratford-on-
Avon. Shenstone, who knew him at Oxford,
where Jago was a sizar, used to visit him
privately, it being thought beneath the dig-
nity of a commoner to be intimate with a
student of that lank, and continued his friend-
ship for him, through Me" — Campbell's
" Specimens."

COLLET GIBBER

"Colley Gibber, bom in London 1671, died
1757, an English poet and play-writer, the son
of Gabriel Gibber, the sculptor, served in the
army of the prmoe of Orange at the Revolu-
tion, and afterwards went on the stage , but
not attaining to eminence as on actor, turned
his attention to dramatic writing His first
play was ' Love's Last Shift/ which was per-
formed in 1695, and met with great applause ,
after which he wrote a number of others His
best work is considered to be the e Careless
Husband,' performed xa 1704 j but the c Non-
jnror* brought him the most fame and profit
Gteorge I, to whom it was dedicated, •pre-
sented him with ^200, and appointed him to
the office of Poet-laureate His comedies are

light, airy, and pleasant, but his royal odes
possess many faults He wrote an ' Apology '
±or his own life, which is very amusing, as it
depicts many of his own foibles and peculiari-
ties with considerable candour — His son
Thoophilus followed, for a short time, the
theatrical profession, and wrote a ballad opera
called c Pattie and Peggy ' Born 1703, diod
on his passage to Iicland, 1758 " — Boolon's
"Diet Umv Biog" Sco AUibono'a "Chat.
Diet. Eng Int."

JAMES BEATTIE.

"James Boattie was born in 1735 in the
parish of Lawience Kuk, in Kincardine-
shire, Scot\md His father, who routed
a small faam in Lawrence Kark, died when
the poet was only seven years old , but the
loss of a protector was happily supplied to
ham by his elder brother, who kept him at
school till he obtained a bursary at the
Maiischal College, Aboidccn At that univer-
sity he took tho degree of master of arts ,
and, at nineteen, he entered on tho study of
divinity, supporting himself in tho mean
tune by teaching a school in tho neighbouring
parish Whilst he was in this obscure
situation, some pieces of vorso, which he
transmitted to the Scottish Magazine, gamod
him a little local celebrity Mr Gordon, an
eminent Scottish lawyer, afterwards Lord
Gaidenstone, and Lord Monboddo, encouraged
him as an ingenious young man, and intro-
duced him to the tables of the neighbouring
gentry , an honour not usually extended to a
parochial schoolmaster In 1757, ho stood
candidate for the place of usher m tho high-
school of Aberdeen He was foiled by a com-
petitor who surpa&sec1 him in tho minutiuo of
Latin grammar , but bis character as a scholar
suffered so little by tho disappointment, that
at the next vacancy he was. called to the place
without a trial He had not boon long at this
school, when, in 1761, he published a volume
of Original Poems and Tianslations which (it
speaks much for the critical clemency of the
times) wore favourably received, and lughly
commended in the English Reviews So little
satisfied was tho author himself with those
early effusions, that, excepting four, which he
admitted to a subsequent edition of his works,
ho was anxious to have thorn consigned to
oblivion , and ho destroyer! ovory copy of the
volume which he could procure About the
age of twenty-six, ho obtained tho chair of
Moral Philosophy in the MariKclial College of
Aberdeen, a promotion which ho must have
owed to his general reputation in literature ,
but it is singular, that the iriond who first
proposed to solicit tho High Constable of
Scotland to obtain this appointment, should
have grounded the proposal on the ment of
Seattle's poetry. In the volume already

JYow 1727 to 1780 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

mentioned there can scarcely bo said to bo a
budding promise of genius.

" Upon his appointment to this professor-
ship, which he held for forty years, he imme-
diately piepared a course of lectures for the
students , and gradually compiled materials
for those prose works, on which his name
would rest with considerable reputation, if he
wore not known as a poet It is true, that
he is not a first-rate metaphysician , and the
Scotch, in undervaluing his powers of abstract
and close reasoning, have been disposed to
give him less credit than he deserves, as an
elegant and amusing writer But the English,
who must be best able to judge of his style,
admire it for an ease, fanuliaiity, and an
Anglicism that is not to be found even in the
correct and polished diction of Blair His
modo of illustrating abstract questions is fan-
ciful and interesting

"In 1765, he published a poom entitled
'The Judgment of Paris,' which his bio-
grapher, Sir William Forbes, did not think
fit to rank among his woiks. For more
obvious reasons Su William excluded his
lines, written in the subsequent year, on the
proposal for erecting a monument to Churchill
in Woatminstei Abbey — lines which have no
beauty or dignity to redeem their bitter ex-
pression of hatred On particular subjects,
Seattle's virtuous indignation was apt to be
hysterical Dr Bold and Dr Campbell hated
the principles of David Hume as sincerely as
the author of tho Essay on Tiuth , but they
never betrayed moio than philosophical hos-
tility, while Boattio usod to speak of the
propriety of excluding Humo iiom civil
society

"His rocoption of Gray, when that pool
visited Scotland in 1705, shows the enthu-
siasm of his literary character in a finer light
Gray's mind was not in poetry only, but in
many other respects, peculiarly congenial
with his own , and nothing could exceed the
cordial and reverential welcome which Beattie
gave to his illustrious visitant In 1770, he
published his c Essay on Truth,' which had a
rapid sale, and extensive popularity, and
within a twelvemonth after, the first part of
his ' Minstrel.' Tho poem appeared at first
anonymously; but its beauties were imme-
diately and justly appreciated The second
part was not published till 1774 When Gray
•criticised the *Mmstiel* he objected to its
author, that;, after many stanzas, the de-
scription went on and the narrative stopped
Beattie very justly answered to this cntioism,
that he meant tho poem for description, not
for incident But he seems to have forgotten
this proper apology, when he mentions in one
of his letters his intention of producing Edwin,
in some subsequent books, in the character of
a warlike bard inspiring his countrymen to
battle, and contributing to repel their in-
vaders This intention, if he ever seriously
entertained it, might have produced some now

kind of poem, but would have formed an
incongruous counterpart to the piece as it now
stands, which, as a picture of still life, and a
vehicle of contemplative morality, has a charm
that is inconsistent with the bold evolutions
of heioio narrative After having portrayed
his young enthusiast with such advantage in
a state of visionary quiet, it would have been
too violent a transition to have begun in a
new book to surround him with dates of time
and names of places The interest which we
attach to Edwin's character, would have been
lost in a more ambitious effort to make "hi™
a greater or more important, or a more locally
defined being. It is the solitary growth of
hi&, goniuSj and Trig isolated and mystic ab-
straction from mankind, that fix our attention
on the romantic features of that genius The
simplicity of his fate does not divert us from
JHQ mind to his circumstances A more un-
worldly air is given to his character, that
instead of being tacked to the fate of kings,
he was one 'Who envied not, who never
thought of kings ; ' and that, instead of min-
gling with the troubles which deface the
creation, he only existed to make his thoughts
the mirror of its beauty and magnificence
Another English critic has blamed Edwin's
vision of the fames as too splendid and arti-
ficial for a simple youth , but there is nothing
in the situation ascribed to Edwin, as he lived
m minstrel days, that necessarily excluded
such materials from his fancy Had he
beheld steam-engines or dock-yards in his
sleep, the vision might have been pronounced
to be too artificial , but he might have heard
of fairies and their dances, and even of tapers,
gold, and gems, from the ballads of his native
country In the second book of the poem
there are some fine stanzas , but he has taken
Edwin out of the school of nature, and placed
Tpirn m his own, that of moral philosophy;
and hence a degree of languor is experienced
by the reader.

" Soon after the publication of the * Essay
on Truth,' and of the first part of the * Min-
strel,' he paid his first visit to London. His
reception, in the highest literary and polite
circles, was distinguished and flattering.
The university of Oiford conferred on him
the degree of doctor of laws, and the sovereign
himself, besides honouring "him with a per-
sonal conference, bestowed on him a pension
of .£200 a year

" On his return to Scotland, there was a
proposal for transf ernag him to tho university
of Edinburgh, which he expressed his wish to
decline, from a fear of those personal enemies
whom he had excited by his Essay on Truth.
This motive, if it was his real one, must have
been connected with that weakness and insta-
bility on polemical subjects which have been
already alluded to His mefcaphysxoal fame
perhaps stood higher in Aberdeen than m
Edinburgh; but to have dreaded personal
hostility in the capital of a religious country,

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PERIOD —

amidst thousands of individuals as pious as
himself, was a weakness unbecoming the pro-
fessed champion of truth For reasons of
delicacy, more creditable to his memory, he
declined a living in the church of England
which was offeied to "him by his fnend Dr.
Porteus

" After this, theie is not much incident in
his life Ho published a volume of his Essays
in 1776, and another in 1783 , and the out-
line of his academical lectures in 1790 In
the same year, he edited, at Edinburgh, Addi-
son's papers m ' The Spectator,' and wrote a
preface for the edition He was very unfor-
tunate in his family. The mental disorder of
his wife, for a long time before it assumed the
shape of a decided derangement, broke out in
caprices of temper, which disturbed his
domestic peace, and almost precluded him
from having visitors in his family. The loss
of his son, James Hay Beattio, a young man
of highly promising talents, who had been
conjoined with him in his professorship, was the
greatest though not the last calamity of his
life. He mode an attempt to revive his spirits
after that melancholy event, by another
•journey to England, and some of his letters
from thence bespeak a temporary composure
and cheerfulness ; bnt the wound was never
healed Even music, of which he had always
been fond, ceased to be agreeable to him, from
the lively recollections which, it excited of the
hours which he had been accustomed to spend
in that recreation with his favourite boy He
published the poems of this youth, with a
partial eulogy upon his genius, such as might
be well excused from a father so situated
At the end of six years moie, his other son,
Montague Beattie, was also cut off in the
flower of his youth This misfortune crushed
his spirits even to temporary alienation of
mind. With his wife in a madhouse, his sons
dead, and his own health broken, he might be
pardoned for saying, as he looked on the
corpse of his last child, ' I have done with this
world ' Indeed he acted as if he felt e>o , for
though he performed the duties of his pro-
fessorship till within a short time of his
death, he applied to no study, enjoyed no
society, and answered but few letters of his
friends. Yet, amidst the depth of his melan-
choly, he would sometimes acquiesce in his
childless fate, and exclaim, c How could I have
borne to see their elegant minds mangled with
madness P ' He was struck with a palsy m
1799, by repeated attacks of which his life
terminated in 1803 " — Campbell's * Speci-
mens," pp 687-9 SPP "Dr. Angus's" Handbook
of Eng. Lit " , AUibone's "Cut Diet Eng
Lit " , Shaw's "Hist Eng- Lit "3 GilfiUon's
edit, of "Beatfae'B Poems."

CHRISTOPHER SMART

"We hear of ' Single- speech Hamilton.'
We have now to say something of c Single-
poem Smart,' the author of one of the grandest
bursts of devotional and poetical fooling- m
the English language — the * Song to David.'
This poor unfortunate was boin at Ship-
bourne, Kent, in 1722 His father was
steward to Lord Barnard, who after hit* death
continued his patronage to the son, who was
then eleven years of age The Duolioss of
Cleveland, through Lord Barnard's influence,
bestowed on Christopher an allowance of .£40
a-year With this he went to Pombioke Hall,
Cambridge, in 1739 , was in 1745 elected a
Fellow of Pembroke, and in 1747 took his
degree of M A At college, Smart began to
display that reckless dissipation which led
afterwards to such melancholy consequences
He studied hard, however, at intervals , wrote
poetry both m Latin and English ; produced
a comedy called a ' Trip to Cambridge ; or,
The Grateful Fair,' which was acted in the
hall of Pembroke College , and, in fcpite of
his vices and follies, was popular on account
of his agreeable manners and amiable dispo-
sitions Having become acquainted with
Newberry, the benevolent, red-noaod book-
seller commemorated in ' The Vicar of Wake-
field,' — for whom he wrote some trifles, — he
married "hig step-daughter, Miss Caraan, in tho
year 1753 He now removed to London, and
became an author to trade Ho wrote a
clever satire, entitled ' The Hilliad,' agoinRt
Sir John Hill, who had attacked him in an
underhand manner Ho translated tho fables
of Phsedrus into vorse, — Horace into prose
( ' Smart's Horace ' used to bo a great fa-
vourite, under the roso, with schoolboys),
made an indifferent version of the P&alms
and Paraphrases, and a good one, at a former
ponod, of Pope's * Odo on St Cooilia'H Day,*
with which that poot professed himself highly
pleased He was employed on a monthly
publication colled ' The Universal Visitor.' Wo
find Johnson giving tho following1 account of
this matter in Boswell's Life — Old Gardner,
the bookseller, employed Rolt and Smart to
write a monthly miscellany called c Tho Uni-
versal Visitor ' There was a foimal written
contract They wore bound to write nothing
else, — they were to have, I think, a third of
the profits of tho sixpenny pamphlet, and tho
contract was for ninety-nine years I wroto
for some months in « Tho Universal Vimtor *
for poor Smart, whole he was mad, not thon
knowing the teims on which he was engaged
to write, and thinking I was doing him good.
I hoped his wits would soon return to him
Mine returned to me, and I wroto in e Tho
Universal Visitor ' no longer

" Smart at last was called to pay the pe-
nalty of his blended labour and dissipation
In 1763 ha was shut up in a madhouse Hi?
derangement had exhibited itself in a religion?

1727 to 1780.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

way lie insisted upon people kneeling- down
along with him in the street and praying
During- his confinement, writing materials
were denied him, and he used to wnte his
poetical pieces with a key on the wainscot.
Thus ' scrabbling,' lake his own hero, on the
wall, he produced his immortal c Song to
David ' Ho became by and by sane , but,
returning to his old habits, got into debt, and
died in the King's Bench prison, after a short
illness, in 1770.

" The c Song to David ' has been well called
one of the greatest curiosities of literature
It ranks in this point with the tiagedies
written by Loo, and the sermons and prayers
uttered by Hall in a similar melancholy state
of mind In these oases, as well as in Smart's,
the thin paitition between genius and mad-
ness was broken down in thunder, — the
thunder of a higher poetry than perhaps they
woro capable of oven conceiving in thoii saner
moments Lee produced in that state — which
was, indeed, nearly his normal one — some
glorious extravagancies Hall's sermons,
monologised and overheard in the madhouse,
are said to have tianbcondod all that he
preached in his healthier moods And, as-
suredly, the other poems by Smart scarcely f ui-
nish a point of comparison with the towoung
and sustained loftiness of some paits of the
' Song to David ' Nor is it loftiness alone, —
although the last thieo stanzas aie absolute
inspiration, and you soo the waters of Castalia
tossed by a heavenly wind to the very summit
of Parnassus, — but there ore innumerable
exquisite beauties and subtleties, dropt as if
by tho hand of nch haste, in every coiner of
the poem Witness his descnption of David's
muse, as a

c Blest light, still gaining on the gloom,
The more than Miohal of his bloom,
The Abishag of his ago '

The account of David's object —

' To further knowledge, silence vice,
And plant perpetual paradise,
When God had calmed the world '

Of David's Sabbath—

"Twas then his thoughts self -conquest

pruned,

And heavenly melancholy tuned,
To bless and bear the rest '

One of David's themes —
' The multitudinous abyss.
Whore secrecy remains in bliss,
And wisdom hides her skill '

And, not to multiply instances to repletion,
this stanza about gems —

' Of goms — then: virtue and thoir price,
Which, hid in earth from man's device,

Then darts of lustre sheath ;
The jasper of the master's stamp,
The topaz blazing like a lamp,
Among the mines beneath.'

" Incoherence and extravagance we find here
and there , but it is not the flutter of weak-
ness, it is the fury of power from the very
stumble of the rushing steed, sparks are kin-
dled And, even as Baretti, when he read
the c Rambler * in Italy, thought within him-
self, If such are the lighter productions of
the English mind, what must be the
grander and sterner efforts of its genius?
and formed, consequently, a strong desire to
visit that country, so might he have rea-
soned, If such poems as ' David ' issue from
England's very madhouses, what must be the
writings of its saner and nobler poetic souls P
and thus might he, fiom the parallax of a
Smart, have been able to rise toward the ideal
altitudes of a Shakspero or a Milton Indeed,
there are portions of the 'Song to David,*
which a Milton or a Shakspere has never
surpassed. The blaze of the meteor often
eclipses the light of

' The loftiest star of imasoended heaven,
Pinnacled dim in the intense inane * "

— Gilfillan's "Less-Known Bnt. Poets," voL
ui , pp 151-3.

RICHARD GLOVER.

"Richard Glover, born 1712, died 1785T
was the son of a Hamburgh merchant m
London, and was born in St Martin' s-lane,
Cannon-street He was educated at the
school of Cheam, in Surrey, but being in-
tended for tiade, was never sent to the
university This circumstance did not prevent
him from applying assiduously to classical
learning , and he was in the competent opinion
of Dr Warton, one of the best Greek scholars
of his tune. This fact is worth mentioning,,
as it exhibits how far a determined mind may
connect the pursuits, and even distinctions of
literature, with an active employment. TTis
fiist poetical effort was a poem to the memory
of Sir Isaac Newton, which was written at
the age of sixteen, and which his friend,
Dr Pemberton, thought fit to piefix to a.
'View of the Newtonian Philosophy,1 which
he published Dr Pemberton, who was a
man of more science than taste, on this and
on some other occasions addressed the public
with critical eulogies on the genius of Glover,
written with an excess of admiration, which
could be pardoned only for its sincerity. It
gives us a higher idea of the youthful promises
of his mind, to find that the intelligent poet
Green had the same prepossession in his
favour. Green says of him in the e Spleen ' —

' But there's a youth, that yon can name,
Who needs no leading-strings to fame ;
Whose quick maturity of brain
The birth of Pallas may explain *

"At the age of twenty-five he published

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PEBIOD.-

mne books of his * Leomdas ' Tlie poem was
immediately taken up with ardour by Lord
Cobham, to whom it was inscribed, and by
all the readers of verse, and leaders of politics,
who professed the strongest attachment to
liberty It ran rapidly through three editions,
and was publicly extolled by the pen of
Fielding, and by the lips of Chatham Even
Swift, in one of his letters fromli eland, duly
inquires of Pope, 'Who is this Mr Glover,
who writ " Leomdas," which is reprinting here,
and hath great vogue P ' Overrated as ' Leon-
Idas ' might be, Glover stands acquitted of all
attempts or artifice to promote its populaiity
by false means. He betrayed no irritation in
the disputes which were raised about its
merit , and his personal character appears as
respectable in the ebb as in the now of his
poetical reputation

"In the yeai 1739 he published his poem
c London ; or the Progiess of Commerce,* in
which, instead of selecting some of those
interesting views of the progress of social life
and civilization which the subject might have
afforded, he confined himself to exciting the
national spirit against the Spaniards This
purpose was better effected by his nearly
contemporary ballad of ' Hosier's Ghost '

" His talents and politics introduced him to
tho notice and favour of Frederick, Prince of
^V^aleSj whilst he maintained an intimate
friendship with the chiefs of the opposition
Tn the mean tune, he pursued the business of
a merchant in the city, and was an able
auxiliary to his party, by his eloquence at
public meetings, and by his influence with the
mercantile body Such was the confidence in
his knowledge and talents, that in 1 743 the
merchants of London deputed him to plead, in
behalf of their neglected rights, at the bar of
the House of Commons, a duty which he ful-
filled with great ability In 1744, he was
offered an employment of a very different kind,
being left a bequest of .£500 by the Duchess
of Marlborough, on condition of his writing the
duke" s life, in conjunction with Mallet He re-
nounced this legacy, while Mallet accepted it,
but never fulfilled the terms Glover's rejection
of the offer was the more honourable, as it
came at a tune when his own affairs were so
embarrassed as to oblige him, to retire from
business for several years, and to lead a life of
the strictest economy. During his distresses,
he is said to have received from the Prince of
Wales a present of ^8500 In the year 1751,
his friends in tho city made an attempt to
obtain for TiTm the office of city chamberlain ;
but he was unfortunately not named as a
candidate till the majority of votes had been
engaged to Sir Thomas Harrison The speech
which he made to the livery on this occasion
did him much honour, both for the liberality
with which he spoke of his successful oppo-
nent, and for the manly but unassuming
manner m which he expressed the consciousness
of his own integrity, amidst his private mis-

fortunes, and assorted the merit of his public
conduct as a citizen The name of Guildhall
is certainly not apt to inspire us with high
ideas either of oratory or of personal sym-
pathy, yet there is something in tho history of
this transaction which increases our respect,
not only for Glovor, but foi the scene itself, in
which his eloquence is said to havo warmly
touched his audience with a feeling- of his
worth as an individual, of his spmt as a poli-
tician, and of his poweis as an accomplished
speaker. He carried the sentiments and
endowments of a polished scholar into tho
most popular meeting of trading life, and
showed that they could be welcomed there
Such men elevate tho character of a mercantile
country

"During his retirement from business, ho
finished his tragedy of e Boadicoa/ which was
brought out at Drury Lane in 1753, and was
acted for nine nights, it is said ' successfully,'
perhaps a misprint for successively Boa&ooa
is certainly not a contemptible drama it has
some scenes of tender interest between Vonusia
and Dumnonx, but the dofectivonoss of its
incidents, and the frenzied ohai actor of the
British queen, render it upon tho whole
unpleasing Beaumont and Fletcher, in their
play on the same subject, have left Boadicoa,
with all her rashness and revengeful disposi-
tion, still a heroine , but Glover makes hor a
beldam, and a fury, whom we could scarcely
condemn the Eomans for having carted The
disgusting novelty of this unpresaion is at
variance with the traditionary regard for hor
name, from which the mind is unwilling to
part It is told of an eminent portiait-pamtor,
that the picture of each individual which ho
took had somo resemblance to tho last Hitter •
when he painted a comic actress, she resembled
a doctor of divinity, because his imagination
had not yet boon delivered of tho dootoi Tho
converse of this seems to have happened to
Glover He anticipated the hideous traits of
Medea, when ho produced tho British queen.
With a singular degree of poetical m-pintico",
ho leans to the side of compassion in delinea-
ting Medea, a monster of infanticide, and
prepossesses us against a high-spirited woman,
who avenged the wrongs of her country, and
the violation of hor daughters His tragedy
of 'Medea' appeared in 17C1 , and tho
spirited acting of Mrs. Yatos gave it con-
siderable effect

" In his later years, his circumstances were
greatly unproved, though wo are not informed
from what causes Ho returned again to
public life, was elected to parliament, and
theie distrngm&hod himself, whenever mer-
cantile prosperity was concerned, by his
knowledge of commerce, and hiH attention to
its interests In 1770 ho enlarged his ' Leom-
das' from nine to twelve books, and afterwards
wrote its soquel, the ' Athenaid,' and a sequel
to ' Modea ' The latter was never acted, and
the former seldom read. The close of his

IfVjTO 1727 to 1780 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

Me was spent IB retirement from business,
but amidst the intimacy of the most eminent
scholars of his tune

i " Some contemporary -writers, calling them-
selves critics, preferred * Leomdas ' in its day
to ' Paradise Lost, ' because it had smoother
Tersifioation, and fewer hard words of learning
The re-action of popular opinion against a
work that has been once over-rated is apt to
depress it beneath its just estimation It is
due to ( Loomdas ' to say, that its nairaiave,
descriptions, and imagery, have a general and
chaste congruity with the Giecism of its
subject It is far, indeed, from being a vivid
or arresting picture of antiquity , but it has
an air of classical taste and propriety in its
design , and it sometimes places the religion
and Hxwnoia of Greece in a pleasing and
impressive li»ht The poet's description of
Dithyrambus making his way from the cave
of (Eta, by a secret ascent, to the temple of
the Muses, and bursting, unexpectedly, into the
hallowed presence of their pnestess Melissa,
is a passage fraught with a considerable
degree of the fanciful and beautiful in super-
stition The abode of Oilous is also traced
with a suavity of local description, which is
not unusual to Glover, and the speech of
Melissa, when she first receives the tidings of
her venerable father's death, supports a fine
consistency with the august and poetical
character which is ascribed to her

'A &igh
Broke from hor heart, those accents fiom her

lips
The full of days and honours through the

gate

Of painless slumber is retired His tomb
Shall stand among his fathers, in the shade
Of his own trophies Placid were his days,
Which flow'd through blessings As a river

pure,
Whose sides are flow'ry, and whoso meadows

fair,

Meets in his course a subterianean void ,
There dips his silver head, again to rise,
And, rising, glide through flowers and meadows

new;

So shall Oileus in those happier fields,
Where never gloom of trouble shades the

mind *

" The undeniable fault of tho entire poem
is, that it wants impetuosity of progress, and
that its characters are without warm and
interesting individuahty . What a great genius
might have made of the subject, it may be
difficult to pronounce by supposition , for it is
the very character of genius to produce effects
which cannot be calculated But imposing
as the names of Leomdas and Therxnopylte
may appear, the subject which they formed
for an epic poem was such, that we cannot
wonder at its baffling the powers of Glover.
A poet, with such a theme, was furnished
indeed with a grand outline of actions and senti-

ments ; but how difficult was it, after all that
books could teach him, to give the close and
veracious appearance of life to characteis and
manners beheld so remotely on the verge
of the horizon of history ' What Difficulty to
av-oid coldness and generality on the one
hand, if ho delineated htg human beings only
with the manners which history could authen-
ticate , and to shun grotesqueness and incon-
sistency on the other, if he filled up the vague
outline of the antique with the particular and
familiar traits of modern life ' Neither Fene-
lon, with all his genius, nor Barthelexny, with
all his learning, have kept entirely free of this
latter fault of incongruity, in modernising the
aspect of ancient manners The characters of
Barthelcmy, in particular, often remind us of
statues in modern clothes. Glover has not
fallen into this impurity, but his puiity is
cold . his heroes are like outlines of Gieoian
faces, with no distinct or minute physiognomy.
They are not so much poetical characters as
historical recollections. Theie are, indeed,
some touches of spirit m Artemisia's character,
and of pathos in tho episode of Teiibazus;
but Leomdas is too good a Spartan, and
Xerxes too bad a Persian, to bo pitied , and
most of the subordinate agents, that fall or
triumph m battle, only load our memories
with their names The local descuptions of
* Leomdas,' however, its pure sentiments, and
the classical images which it recalls, render it
interesting as the monument of an accom-
plished and amiable mind" — Campbell's
"Specimens," pp 588-590 See AUibone's
"Crit Diet Eng Lit.", Maundsr's "Biog.
Diet ", Beeton's c Diet Umv Bio jr."

ROBERT DODSLEY.

"Bobert Dodsley, born 1703, died 1764.
It is creditable to the memory of Pope to
have been the encourager of this ingenious
man, who rose from the situation of a foot-
man to be a very eminent bookseller. His
plan of republishing * Old English Plays * is
said to have been suggested to him by the
literary amateur Cozeter , but the execution
of it leaves us still indebted to Dodsley*s en-
terprise " — Campbell's "Specimens " See Alii-
bone's " Cnt Diet Eng Lit."

SAMUEL BISHOP

" Samuel Bishop was born m 1731, and died
in 1795 He was an English clergyman,
master of Merchant Tailors' School, London,
and author ot a volume of Latin pieces, en-
titled * Fen® Poeticae,' and of various other
poetical pieces. We give some verses to his
wife, from which it appears that he remained
an ardent lover long after having become a
husband." — Gilfillan's " Less-known Brit.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

Poets" See AJlibone's "Crit. Diet Eng.
Lit." 5 Campbell's •• Specimens."

JOHN" BAMPFYLDE.

"John Bampfylde, born 1754, died 1796,
was the younger brother of Sir Charles Bamp-
fylde He was educated at Cambridge, and
published his £ Sonnets ' in 1776, when very
young He soon after fell into mental de-
rangement, and passed the last years of his
life in a private madhouse After twenty
years' confinement he recovered his senses,
but not till he was in the last gasp of con-
sumption " — Campbell's " Specimens " See
Alkbone's "Cnt Diet. Eng. lat."

SIB WILLIAM JONES

** Sir William Jones, an Indian judge and
learned Oriental writer, was born in London,
1746, and died at Calcutta, 1794 Losing his
father in his infancy, his education devolved
on his mother, a woman of great vutue and
understanding, from whom he learnt the rudi-
ments of knowledge, and was then removed
to Harrow school, where he made such great
progress in his studies, that Dr. Stunner, the
master, affirmed that his pupil knew moie
Greek than himself , a previous master hav-
ing said, 'If Jones weie left naked on
Salisbury plain, he would nevertheless find the
road to fame ' In 1764 he was entered of Uni-
versity College, Oxford, where to his classical
pursuits he added the study of the Persian and
Arabic languages, also the Spanish, Italian, and
Portuguese At the age of nineteen he became
tutor to Lord Althorpe, and, during his resi-
dence at Wimbledon, in that noble family, he
greatly enlarged his acquirements in Oiientol
literature In 1769 he made a tour in Prance,
and about the same time undertook, at the
request of the king of Denmark, to tianslate
the history of Nadir Shah from Persian into
French In 1770 he entered on the study of
the law at the Temple, but continued his ap-
plication to Oriental looming and general
literature. In 1774 he published his ' Com-
mentaries on Asiatic Poetry,' dedicated to the
University of Oxford In 1788 he obtained the
appointment of a judge of the Supreme Court
at Calcutta, a post which hod been the object
of his anxious wishes The honour of knight-
hood was on this occasion conferred on him,
and he soon after married a daughter of the
bishop of St Asaph In April of that year he
embarked for India, from which he was never
destined to return On the voyage his active
mind projected the establishment of a society
in Bengal for the purpose of illustrating Orien-
tal antiquities and literature. This scheme he
saw carried into effect, and tinder his auspices,
and by his direction, the society acquired a high

reputation The volumes of its * Transactions'
are inestimable, and ore enriched by sovoial
valuable productions fiom Sir William's pen
As a judge he was indefatigable and im-
partial He studied the native laws of the
country, and become so versed in tho Sanscrit
and the codes of the Biahmins, as to gam tho
admiration of the most learned mon in that
country In 1799 his works wore collected and
published in 6 vols , and his life written by
Lord Teignmouth, in one volume, 1804 A
beautiful monument has boon erected to his
memory in St Paul's Cathedral by the East
India Company" — Booton's "Diet. TJmv
Biog " See Maundor's " Biog Diet " , Shaw's
"Hist Eng, Lit.", Chambers' "Cyc Eng.
lat"

FRANCIS FAWKES.

" Francis Fawkes, born 1721, died 1777,
mado translations from some of the minor
Greek poets (viz Anacreon, Sappho, Bion and
Mosohus, Mussaus, Theocritus, and Apollonius),
and modernised the description of * May and
Winter,' from Gawain Douglas. He was born
in Yorkshire, studied at Cambudge, was curate
of Croydon, in Surrey, where he obtained the
friendship of Archbishop Henrng, and by him
was collated to the vicarage of Oipington, in
Kent. By the favour of Dr. Plumptre, he
exchanged this vicarage for the rectory of
Hayes, and was finally mado chaplain to tho
Princess of Wales He was the fnend of
Johnson and Warton , a learned and a jovial
parson " — Campbell's " Specimens " See AUi-
bone's " Cnt Diet. Eng. Lit "

WILLIAM WHITEHEAD o
" William Whiteheod, on English poet, w *e
bom at Cambridge, 1715, and died 1788 He
became secretary and registrar of the order
of the Bath, and, in 1757, poet-laureate
Besides his odes and songs, ho wioto 'The
Roman Pother,' and 'Crousa,' tragedies , ' The
School for Lovers,' a comedy , c A Trip to
Scotland,' a farce."— Beeton's " Diet Univ.
Biog"

DR. JAMES GRAINGER

" This writer possessed some true imagina-
tion, although his claim to immortality bos
in the narrow compass of one poem — his « Ode
to Solitude ' Little is known of his personal
history. He was born in 1721, belonging to
a gentleman's family in Cumberland He
studied medicine, and was for some time a
surgeon connected with the aimy When the
peace come, he established himself in London as
a medical practitioner In 1775 he published
his 'Solitude,' which found many admirers,

From 1727 to 1780]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

including Dr. Johnson, who pronounced its
opening lines * very noble ' He afterwards
indited several other pieces, wrote a translation
of Tibullus, and became one of the critical staff
of the Monthly Rewew. He was unable, how-
ever, through all these labours to secure a
competence, and, in 1759, he sought the West
Indies In St Christopher's he commenced
practising as a physician, and married the
Governor's daughter, who brought him a
fortune He wrote a poem entitled 'The
Sugar-cane ' This was sent over to London
in MS , and was read at Sir Joshua Reynolds'
table to a literary coterie, who, according to
Boswell, all burst out into a laugh when,
after much blank-verse pomp, the poet began
a new paragraph thus —

* Now, muse, let's sing of rats '

And what increased the ridicule was, that
one of the company, shly overlooking the
reader, found that the word had been originally
6 mice,' but had been changed to rats as more
dignified.

" Boswell goes on to record Johnson's opinion
of Grainger He said, ' He was an agreeable
man, a man that would do any good that was
in his power' His translation of Tibullus
was very well done, but ' The Sugar-cane, a
Poem/ did not please him. ' What could he
make of a Sugar-cane p one might as well
write "The Parsley-bed, a Poem," or "The
Cabbage Gaiden, a Poem " ' Boswell — * Tou
must then picklo your cabbage with the sal
Atbicwm ' Johnson — * One could say a great
deal about cabbage The poem might begin
with the advantages of civilized society over
a rude state, exemplified by the Scotch, who
had no cabbages till Oliver Cromwell's soldiers
introduced them, and one might thus show
how arts are propagated by conquest, as they
were by the Roman arms ' Cabbage, by the
way, in a metaphorical sense, might furnish a
very good subject for a literary satire

" Gxainger died of the fever of the country
in 1767 Bishop Percy corroborates Johnson' s
character of him as a man He says, ' He
was not only a man of genius and learning,
but had many excellent virtues, being- one of
the most generous, friendly, benevolent men
I ever knew.'

"Grainger in some points reminds us of
Dyer Dyer staked his reputation on cThe
Tleooe ,' but it is his lesser poem, ' Grongar
Hill,' which preserves his name, that fine
effusion has survived the laboured work. And
so Granger's ' Solitude ' has supplanted the
stately 'Sugar-cane* The scenery of the
West Indies had to wait till its real poet
appeared in the author of ' Paul and Virginia *
Grainger was hardly able to cope with the
strange and gorgeous contrasts it presents of
cliffs and crags, like those of Iceland, with
vegetation rich as that of the fairest parts of
India, and of splendid sunshine, with tempests
of such tremendous fury that, but for their

brief continuance, no property could be secure,
and no life could be safe.

" The commencement of the e Ode to Soli-
tude ' is fine, but the closing part becomes
tedious In the middle of the poem there is
a tumult of personification, some of them
felicitous and others forced.

* Sage Reflection, bent with years,'
may pass, but

* Conscious Yirtue, void of fears,'
is poor.

' Halcyon Peace on moss reclined,*
is a picture ,

' Retrospect that scans the mind/
is nothing,

" Health that snuffs the morning air,'
is a living image , but what sense is there in

c Pull-eyed Truth, with bosom bare' 9
and how poor his

c Laughter in loud peals that breaks,*
to Milton's

6 Laughter holding both JH.B sides' !
The paragraph, however, commencing

4 With you roses brighter bloom '
and closing with

' The bournleas macrocosm's thine,'

is very spirited, and, along with the opening
lines, proves Grainger a poet" — Gilfillan's
"Less-known British Poets," vol. in. See
AUibone's " Cnt Diet Eng Lit "

JAMES MERRIOE.

" James Merriok, born 1720, died 1769, was
a clergyman, as well as a writer of verse, and
became a Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford,
where Lord North was one of his pupils He
took orders, but owing to incessant pains m
the head, could not perform duty His
works are a translation of Tryphiodorus,
done at twenty, a version of the Psalms, a
collection of Hymns, and a few miscellaneous
pieces — Gilfillan's " Less-known British
Poets," vol in.

JOHN SCOTT

" This worthy and poetical Quaker, who was
the son of a draper in London, was born, in the
borough of Southwark, 1730, and died 1788.
His father retired to Amwell, in Hertfordshire,
when our poet was only ten years old, and thia
removal, together with the circumstance of his
never having been inoculated for the small
pox, proved an unfortunate impediment to his
education He was put to a day-school, an
the neighbouring town of Waiea where not

B10GBAPEICAL NOTTPES

[SIXTH PBRIOID —

roach instruction was to bo had , and from
that little he was called away, upon the fiist
alarm of inf action. Such indeed was his con-
stant apprehension of the disease, that ho
lived for twenty years within twenty males of
London without visiting it more than once
About the ago of seventeen, however, ho
betook himself to reading1 His family, from
their cast of opinions and society, were not
hkely to abound either in books or conversa-
tion relating to literature , but ho happened
to form oa acquaintance and friendship with
a neighbour of the name of Frogloy, a master
bricklayer, who, though an uneducated man,
was an admirer of poetry, and by his inter-
course with this fnend he strengthened his
htorary propensity. His first poetical essays
were transmitted to the * Gentleman's Maga-
zine ' In his thirtieth year he published four
elegies, which were favourably iccoivod His
poems, entitled, ' The Garden,1 ami e Amwoll,'
and his volume of collected poetical pieces,
appeared after considerable intervals , and
his 'Critical Essays on tho English Poets/
two years after his death Thopo, with his
'Remarks on the Poems of Rowley,' are all
that 'can bo callod his literary productions
He published also two political tracts, in
answer to Dr Johnson's 'Patiiot,' and 'False
Alarm ' His critical essays contain some
judicious remarks on Denham and Dyer , but
his verbal strictures on Collins and Goldsmith
discover a miserable inson&ibihty to the soul
of those poets. His own versos are chiefly
interesting where they breathe tho pacific
principles of the Quaker , while his personal
character engages respect, from exhibiting a
public spirit and liberal taste beyond the
habrts of his brethren. He was well informed
in the laws of his country , and, though pre-
vented by his tenets from becoming a magis-
trate, he made himself useful to tho inhabit-
ants of Amwell, by his offices of arbitration,
and by promoting schemes of local improve-
ment He was constant in his attendance at
turnpike meetings, navigation trusts, and com-
missions of land-tax Ware and Hertford
were indebted to Trnn for the plan of opening
a spacious road between those two towns.
His treatises on the highway and parochial
laws were the result of long and laudable
attention to those subjects

"His verses, and his amiable character,
gained him by degrees a large circle of literary
acquaintance, which included Dr Johnson,
Sir William Jones, Mrs Montague, and many
other distinguished individuals , and having
submitted to inoculation, in his thirty-sixth
year, he was from that penod more frequently
in London. In his retirement he was fond of
gardening', and, in amusing hitngfllf with the
improvement of his grounds, had excavated a
grotto in the side of a hill, which his biogra-
pher, Mr. Hoole, writing- in 1785, says was
stall shown aa a curiosity in that part of the
country. He was twice manned. His first

wife was tho daughter of his fnond Fiogloy
He died at a house m I&idoliff, of a putrid
fever, and was interred there in tho burying
ground of iho Iftjozids." — OampbelTs *' Speci-
mens ' Sec Ciifillan's "Loss-known Butish
Poets."

WILLIAM OLDYS.

" Oldys was born in 1COC, and died in 1761.
He was a very diligent collector of antiquarian
materials, and the author of a Life of Raleigh.
He was intimate with Captain Grose, BUTO.B'
friend, who used lo rally hJZnToltJ&S. uaonlinato
thus! for ale, although, iff wo boliovo Jiuras>
it was paralleled by Grosfe's liking for"?0^1 "
— Gilfillan's " Loss-known British Poota "
See Campbell's " Specimens " **

AUGUSTUS TOPLADY.

"Augubtus Montague Toplady, a zealous
advocate for tho CalvmiFim of tho Church of
England, was born at Farnham, in Surrey,
1740, and died 1778 He was educated at
Westminster School, and at Tumty College,
Dublin, and became vicar of Broad Honbury,
in Devonshire Ho was a strenuous opponent
of Wesley, and brought a largo shore of meta-
physical acuteness into tho Calvuustio contro-
versy His works form six volumes " —
Beeton's " Diet Umv Biog "

JOSEPH HABT.

A wiiter of many beautiful hymns, but of
whoso life little is known About 1759

HENEY CAE.EY.

" O£ Henry Carey, tho author of tho popular
song, ' Sally in our Alley/ wo know only that
ho was a professional musician, composing
the oar as well as tho words of ' Sally,' and
that, in 1763, he died by his own haiuln " —
Gilfillan's "Less-known British Poets," vol
ui See Allibono's "Cnt Diet Eng, Lit.",
Campbell's " Specimens "

PATJL

"Paul Whitehead, born 1710, diod 1774,
was the son of a tailor in tondon , and, after
a slender education, was placed as an appren-
tice to a woollen-draper. He afterwards wont
to the Temple, in order to study law. Several
years of his life (it is not quite clear at what
period) were spent in the Fleet-prison, owing
to a debt which he foolishly contracted, by

From 1727 to 1780 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

putting Ms name to a joint security for £3000,
at the request of his friend Fleetwood, the
theatrical manager, who persuaded Turn that
his signature was a mere matter of form
How he obtained his liberation we are not
informed.

" In the year 1735 he married a Miss Anne
Dyer, with whom he obtained ten thousand
pounds. She was homely in her person,
and very weak in intellect; but Whitehead,
it appears, always treated her with respect
and tenderness

" He became, in the same year, a satirical
rhymer against the mmietiy of Walpole , and
having pubhshed his ' State Dunces,' a weak
echo of the manner of the 'Dunoiad,' he
was patronised by the opposition, and parti-
cularly by Bubb Doddmgton In 1739 he
published the ' Manners,' a satire, in which
Mr Chalmers says that he attacks every
thing venerable in the constitution The
poem is not worth disputing about ; but it is
certainly a more personal lampoon, and no
attack on the constitution. For this invective
he was summoned to appear at the bar of tho
House of Lords, but concealed himself for a
time, and tho affair was dropped The threat
of prosecuting him, it was suspected, was
meant as a hint to Pope, that those who
satirised tho gieat might bimg themselves
into dangoi , and Pope (it is pretended)
became moio cautious There would scorn,
however, to be nothing voiy terrific in the
example of a prosecution, that must have beon
dropped either from clemency or conscious
weakness. The ministerial journals took
another sort of revenge, by accusing Tnm of
irroligion , and the evidence, which they can-
didly and consistently brought to substantiate
the charge, was the letter of a student fiom
Cambridge, who had been himself expelled
from the university for atheism

"In 1744 he published another satire,
entitled the 'Gymnasiad,* on the most re-
nowned boxers of the day It had at least
the mont of being harmless.

" By the interest of Lord Do^pensei, ho
obtained a place under government, that of
deputy treasurer of the chamber, and, re-
tiring to a handsome cottage, which ho
purchased at Twickenham, he lived in comfort
and hospitality, and suffered his small satire
and politics to be equally forgotten Churchill
attacked him in a couplet —

'May I (can worse disgrace on manhood

fall?)
Be born a Whitehead and baptised a Paul '

But though a libertine like Churchill, he
seems not to have been the worse man of the
two. Sir John Hawkins gives him the
character of being good-hearted, even to sim-
plicity, and says, that he was esteemed a
Twickenham for his kind offices, and for
composing Quarrels among his neighbours "—
Campbell's " Specimens."

JOHN CTJNNINGHAM.

" John Cunningham, born 1729, died 1773,
the son of a wine-cooper in Dublin, was a
respectable actor, and performed several years
in Digges's company, Edinburgh. In his
latter years he resided in Newcastle-on-Tyne,
in the house of a 'generous printer,* whose
hospitality for some tune supported the poet
Cunningham's pieces are foil of pastoral
simplicity and lyrical melody He aimed at
nothing high and seldom failed " — Chambers'
" Cyc Eng Lit,"vol u See Alhbone's " Cnt.
Diet. Eng. Lit " , Campbell's " Specimens "

NATHANIEL COTTON.

"Nathaniel Cotton, born 1721, died 1788,
wrote ' Visions in Terse,' for children, and a
volume of poetical ' Miscellanies ' He followed
the medical profession in St Albans, and
was distinguished for Ins aTgin ni the treatment
of cases of insanity. Cowper, his patient,
bears evidence to his ' well-known humanity
and sweetness of temper." — Chambers1 " Cyo.
Eng lit ," vol u p 122 See Allibone's
" Cnt Diet Eng. Lit " , Qximshawe's " Life
of Cowper", Southey's "Life and "Works
of Cowper "

CHRISTOPHER ANSTEY.

" Chnstophei Anstey, born 1724, died 1805,
was author of ' The New Bath Guide,' a light
satuical and humorous poem, which appeared
in 176G, and set an example in this description
of composition, that has since been followed
in numerous instances, and with great success.
Smollett, m his * Humphrey Clinker,' published
five years later, may be almost said to have
reduced the 'New Bath Guide* to prose.
Many of the characters and situations are
exactly the same as those of Anstey. This
poem seldom rises above the tone of conversa-
tion, but is easy, sportive, and entertaining
The fashionable Fnbbles of the day, the chat,
scandal and amusements of those attending
the wells, and the canting hypocrisy of some
seotaiians, are depicted, sometimes with in-
delicacy, but always with foice and liveliness.
Mr. Anstey was son of the Rev. Dr. Anstey,
rector of Bnnkeley, in Cambridgeshire, a
gentleman who possessed a considerable
landed property, which tho poet afterwards
inherited. He was educated at Eton school,
and elected to King's College, Cambridge, and
in both places he distinguished himself as a
classical scholar. In consequence of his
refusal to deliver certain declamations, Anstey
quarrelled with the heads of the univerbity,
and was denied the usual degree In the
epilogue to the 'New Bath Guide,' fe alludes
to tliis circumstance—--

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SIXTH PE-RIOD. —

' Granta, sweet Granta, were studious of ease,
Seven years did I sleep, and then lost my

He then went into the army, and married
Miss Calvert, sister to his friend John Calvert,
Esq , of AHbury Hall, in Hertfordshire, through
whose influence he was returned to parliament
for the borough of Hertford. He was a fre-
quent resident in the city of Bath, and a
favourite in the fashionable and literary
cotenes of the place In 1766 was published
his celebrated poem, which instantly became
popular. He wrote various other pieces — * A
FoemontheDeathof theMaiquis of Tavistook
(1*767) , ' An Election Ball, in Poetical Letters
from Mr Inkle at Bath to his Wife at
Gloucester', a * Paraphrase of the Thirteenth
Chapter of the First Epistle to the Corin-
thians' , a satire entitled * The Priest Dis-
sected', 'Speculation, or a Defence of
Mankind' (1780) , c Liberality, or Memoirs of
a Decayed Macaroni' (1788), « The Farmer's
Daughter, a Poetical Tale ' (1795) ; and
various other copies of occasional verses
Anstey also -translated day's c Elegy' into
Latin verse, and addressed an elegant Latin
Ode to Dr Jenner While the ' New Bath
Guide* was 'the only thing in fashion,' and
relished for its novel and original kind of
humour, the other productions of Anstey
were neglected by the public, and have never
been revived. In the enjoyment of his pater-
nal estate, the poet, however, was independent
of the public support, and he took part in the
sports of the field up to his eightieth year
While on a visit to his son-in-law, Mr Bosan-
quet, at Homage, Wiltshire, he was taken ill,
and died on the 3rd of August, 1805 " — Cham-
bers' "Cyo. Eng Lit ," vol. ii. See Allibone's
"Crit. Diet. Eng. Lit"

MRS

« Mrs Thrale, afterwards Mrs. Piozzi, born
1740, died 1822, whose maiden name was
Esther Lynch Salusbury, a native of Bodville,
in Carnarvonshne, married ML Henry Thrale,
the opulent brewer, in whose house Dr John-
son found so frequent a home She was the
authoress of ' The Three Warnings,' which is
so good a piece of composition that Johnson
has been supposed to have assisted in wilting
it. After the death of her husband, she mar-
ried Piozzi, an Italian music-master, and left
England She wrote several other works, but
the one by which she is best known is ' Anec-
dotes of Dr Johnson/ 1786 She spent the
latter portion of her life at Clifton, where she
died."— Shaw's "Hist. Eng. Lit "

THOMAS MOSS.

*' Thomas Moss, who died in 1808, minister
ol Bnerley Hill, and of Trentham, an Stafford-

shire, published anonymously, in 1769, a col-
lection of miscellaneous poems, forming a thin
quarto, which he had printed at Wolverhamp-
ton One piece was copied by Dod&loy into
his 'Annual Begister,' and from thenco has
been transferred (different persons being as-
signed as the author) into almost every
periodical and collection of fugitive verses.
This poem is entitled 'The Beggar' (some-
tunes called ' The Beggar' s Petition'), and con-
tains much pathetic and natural sentiment
finely expressed ' — Chambers' "Cyc. Eng.
Lit ," vol n , p. 125.

JOHN WESLEY:.

" John Wesley, born 1703, died 1791, a
celebrated English divine, who, with White-
field, founded Methodism. He was the son of
Samuel Wesley the elder, and was educated at
the Charterhouse, whence he removed to
Christ Church College, Oxford; but in 1726
was chosen fellow of Inn coin College, where
he became an eminent tutor In 1730 he and
his brother, with a few other students, formed
themselves into a small society for the purpose
of mutual edification in religious exercises*
They devoted their leisure to visiting the
prisons and the sick, took the communion
once a week, and fasted upon two out of every
beven days. An association thus iigidly oc-
cupied with religious duties excited consider-
able notice , and, among other names bestowed
upon the members, that of Methodists was
applied to them with such success as to sub-
sequently become the distinctive appellation
of all their followers. Deeming Oxford a
sphere not large enough for his labours,
Wesley, with some others, went to Georgia,
in North America, in 1735, with a view of
converting the Indians. After a stay there
of nearly two years, he returned to England,
commenced preaching to open-air meetings,
and gathered many followers The churches
being shut against him, he built spacious
meeting-houses in London, Bristol, and other
places For some time he was united to
George Whiteneld , but differences arising on
account of the doctrine of election, which was
zealously espoused and preached by the latter,
they separated, and the Methodists were de-
nominated according to their respective
leaders Wesley was indefatigable in his
labouis, and was almost continually engaged
in travelling over England, Waloa, Scotland,
and Ireland. No man ever laboured more
zealously or continuously in the cause which
he had undertaken Every moment of his
life was devoted to the organization of the
great sect of Methodists, and he preserved
his influence over it to the last He published
hymns, sermons, political tracts, and con-
troversial pieces against the Calviniuts and
Moravians , but the complete list of the
writings of this extraordinary ?"p-'n is too

1727*0 1780]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

voluminous to be inserted Two collected
editions of his works have been published,
the first in 32 vole., and the second in 16 vols
The best biographies of 1*™ are those of Coke
and More, and Southey His preaching- was
extemporaneous, but not vehement He
dwelt much upon practical religion, though he
taught his followers to seek inspiration of the
Holy Spirit, and to aspire to a state of sinless
perfection"— Beeton's " Diot. Univ. Biog."
See Southe/s " Life of Wesley "

CHARLES WESLEY.

" Charles Wesley, born 1708, died 1788,
an English divine, and younger brother of the
preceding1, was one of the first Methodists,
and continued a constant pieacher among
them to his death He wrote several hymns,
and other pious pieces of great excellence " —
Beeton's "Diet TJmv Biog." See Southey's
" Life of Wesley."

A A "RANT

" Aaron TTill was born in 1685, and died in
the very minute of the earthquake of 1750,
of the shock of which, though speechless, he
appeared to be sensible. His life was active,
benevolent, and useful . he was the general
friend of unfortunate genius, and his schemes
for public utility were frustrated only by the
narrowness of his circumstances. Though
his manners were unassuming, his personal
dignity was such, that he made Pope fairly
ashamed of the attempt to insult him, and
obliged the satirist to apologise to him with a
mean equivocation " — Campbell's " Speci-
mens." See AJhbone's " Cnt. Diet Eng. Lit "

GILBERT WEST

" Gilbert West, born 1706, died 1755. The
translator of Pindar was the son of the Rev.
Dr. West, who published an edition of the
same classic at Oxford His mother was
sister to Sir Richard Ten pie, aftei wards Lord
Cobham Though bred at Oxford with a
view to the Church, he embraced the military
hf o for some time, but left it for the employ-
ment of Lord Townshend, then secretary of
state, with whom he accompanied the King to
Hanover. Through this interest he was ap-
pointed clerk extraordinary to the Privy
Council, a situation which however was not
immediately profitable He married soon
after, and retired to Wickham, in Kent, where
his residence was often visited by Pitt and
Lord Lyttelton. There he wrote his 'Ob-
servations on the Resurrection,' for which the
University of Oxford made him a Doctor of

Laws. He succeeded at last to a lucrative
clerkship of the Pnvy Council, and Mr Pitt
made him deputy treasurer of Chelsea Hos-
pital ; but this accession to his fortune came
but a short time previous to his death, which
was occasioned by a stroke of the palsy." —
Campbell's " Specimens "

ALEXANDER ROSS.

" Alexander Ross, a schoolmaster in Loch-
lee, in Angus, when nearly seventy years of
age, in 1768, published at Aberdeen, by the
advice of Dr. Beattie, a volume entitled
' Helenore, or the Fortunate Shepherdess , a
Pastoral Tale in the Scottish Dialect, to which
are added a few Songs by the Author.' Ross
was a good descriptive poet, and some of his
songs, as ' Woo'd, and Married, and a',' ' The
Rock and the Wee Pickle Tow,' are still
popular in Scotland. Being1 chiefly written in
the Ifo" o*yr fli T* QgtTiiTQ dialect (which differs in
many expressions, and in pronunciation, from
the Lowland Scotch of Burns), Ross is less
known out of his native district than he ought
to be Beattie took a warm interest in the
' good-humoured, social, happy old man,* who
was independent on JB20 a year , and to pro-
mote the sale of his volume, he addressed a
letter and a poetical epistle in praise of it to
the Aberdeen Journal. The epistle is lemark-
able as Beattie' s only attempt in Aberdeen-
shire Scotch, one verse of it is equal to
Burns —

4 O bonny are our greensward hows,
Where through the birks the burme rows,
And the bee bums, and the ox lows,

And saft winds rustle,
And shepherd lads on sunny knowes

Blaw the blythe whistle*

Ross died in 1784, at the great age of eighty-
six " — Chambers' " Qyo. Eng Lit " vol u pp
125, 126.

LADY ANNE BARNARD

" Lady Anne Barnard was authoress of
' Auld Robin Gray,' one of the most perfect,
tender, and affecting of all our ballads or tales
of humble life. About the year 1771, Lady
Anne composed the ballad to an ancient air. It
instantly became popular, but the lady kept
the secret of its authorship for the long period
of fifty years, when, in 1823, she acknowledged
it in a letter to Sir Walter Scott, accompanying
tho disclosure with a full account of the cir-
cumstances under which it was written At
the same time Lady Anne sent two continua-
tions to the ballad, which, like all other con-
tinuations (Don Quixote, perhaps, excepted),
are greatly inferior to the original Indeed,
the tale of sorrow is so complete in all its

40

BIOGBAPEICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PHRIOD.-

parts, that no additions could be made without
marring its simplicity or its pathos Lady
Anne was daughter of James Lindsay, fifth
Earl of Baloarres , she was born 8th December,
1750, married in 1793 to Sir Andrew Barnard,
librarian to George III., and died, without
issue, on the 8th of May, 1825 " — Chambers1
" Cyo. Bng Lit ," vol 11 p 127. See AUi-
bone's " Cnt. Diet Eng, Lit."

MBS. COCKBUEN AND MISS JANE
ELLIOT

" Here we find two ladies amicably united
in the composition of one of Scotland's finest
Bongs, the * Flowers of the Forest.' Miss
Jane Elliot of Mrnto, sister of Sir Gilbert
Elliot of Minto, wrote the first and the finest of
the two Torsions. Mrs. Cockburn, the author
of the second, was a remarkable person Her
maiden name was Alicia Butherf ord, and she
was the daughter of Mr Butherf ord of Fer-
nilee, in Selkirkshire. She married Mr.
Patrick Cookburn, a younger son of Adam
Cookburn of Ormiston, Lord Justice-Clerk of
Scotland. She became prominent in the
literary circles of Edinburgh, and an intimate
friend of DaYid Hume, with whom she carried
on a long and serious correspondence on
religious subjects, in which it is understood
the philosopher opened up his whole heart,
but which is unfortunately lost Mrs. Cook-
burn, who was born in 1714, lived to 1794,
and saw and proclaimed the wonderful promise
of Walter Scott She wrote a great deal, but
the * Flowers of the Forest ' is the only one
of her effusions that has been published. A
ludicrous story is told of hex son, who was a
dissipated youth, returning one night drunk,
while a large partly of savants was assembled
in the house , and looking himself up in the
room in which their coats and hats were de-
posited, nothing would rouse him; and the
company had to depart in the best substitutes
they could find for their ordinary habiliments,
—Hume (characteristically) in a dreadnought,
Monboddo in an old shabby hat, &o — the
echoes of the -midnight Potterrow resounding
to the laughter at their own odd figures It
is believed that Mrs Cookburn' s song was
really occasioned by the bankruptcy of a
number of gentlemen in Selkirkshire, although
she chose to throw the new matter of lamen-
tation into the old mould of song."-— Gilfi31an's
" Less-known Brit Poets," vol in. See AUi-
bone's " Cnt Diet. Eng Lrfc. "

BOBEBT OBAWFOBD

"Bobert Crawford, author of 'The Bush
aboon Traquair,' and the still finer lyric of
* Tweedside,' was the brother of Colonel Craw-
ford of AcMnames. He assisted

Bamsay in his ' Tea-Table Miscellany,' and,
according to information obtained by Burns,
was drowned in coming1 from France in the
year 1733. Crawford had genuine poetical
fancy and expression. *The true muse of
native pastoral,' says AllftTi. Cunningham,
' seeks not to adorn herself with unnatural
ornaments ; her spirit is in homely love and
fireside joy , tender and simple, like tho religion
of the land, she utters nothing out of keeping
with the character of her people, and the
aspect of the soil , and of this spirit and of
this feeling, Crawford is a large partaker.' " —
Chambers' "Cyo. Eng. Lit" vol 11 p 128.
See ALbbone's " Cnt Diet. Eng. Lit. "

SIB GILBERT ELLIOT.

"Sir Gilbert Elliot, author of what Sir
Walter Scott calls 'the beautiful pastoral
song,' beginning

1 My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook,'

was father of the first Earl of Minto, and was
distinguished as a speaker in parliament. He
was, in 1763, treasurer of the navy, and after-
wards keeper of the signet in Scotland. Ho
died in 1777. Mr. Tytier, of Woodhouselee,
says, that Sir Gilbert Elliot, who had been
taught the German flute in France, was the
first who introduced that instrument into
Scotland, about the year 1725 " — Chambers'
"Cyo Eng Lit," vol ii p 129. See Alh-
bone's " Cnt. Diet. Eng lit."

BOBEBT FEBGUSSON.

"This unfortunate Scottish bard was born
in Edinburgh on the 17th (some say tho 5th)
of October, 1751. His father, who had been
an accountant to the British Linen Company's
Bank, died early, leaving a widow and four
children Bobert spent MX yearn at llio
grammar schools o£ Edinburgh and Dundee,
went for a short penod to Edinburgh College,
and then, having obtained a bursary, to fc3t
Andrews, where he continued till his seven-
teenth year He was at first designed for tho
ministry of the Scottish Church Ho distin-
guished himself at college for his mathema-
tical knowledge, and became a favounto of
Dr. Wilkio, Professor of Natural Philosophy,
on whose death he wrote an elegy Ho early
discovered a passion for poetry, and collected
materials for a tragedy on the subject of Sir
William Wallace, which he never finished
He once thought of studying medicine, but
had neither patience nor funds for the needful
preliminary studies. He went away to rosido
with a rich uncle, named John Forbea, in tho
north, near Aberdeen. This person, however,
and poor Fergusson unfortunately quarolled ,

From 1727 to 1780.]

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

and after residing some months in his house,
he left it in disgust, and with a few shillings
in his pocket proceeded southwards He tra-
velled on foot, and such was the effect of his
vexation and fatigue, that when ho reached
his mother's house he fell into a severe fit of
illness

"He became, on his recovery, a copymg-
olerk in a solicitor's, and afterwards in a
sheriff-clerk's office, and began to contribute
to ' Buddiman's Weekly Magazine ' We re-
member in boyhood reading some odd volumes
of this production, the general matter in which
was inconceivably poor, relieved only by Fer-
gusson's racy little Scottish poems. His
evenings were spent chiefly m the tavern,
amidst the gay and dissipated youth of the
metropolis, to whom he was the 'wit, songster,
and mimic.' That his convivial powers were
extraordinary, is proved by the fact of one of
his contemporaries, who survived to be a
correspondent of Burns, doubting if even he
equalled the fascination of Fergusson's con-
verse. Dissipation gradually stole in upon
him, in spite of resolutions dictated by re-
morse In 1773, he collected his poems into
a volume, which was warmly received, but
brought him, it is believed, little pecuniary
benefit. At last, under the pressure of poverty,
toil, and intemperance, his reason gave way,
and he was by a stratagem removed to an
asylum. Here, when he found himself and
became aware of his situation, he uttered a
dismal shriek, and oast a wild and startled
look around his cell. The history of his con-
finement was very similar to that of Nat Leo
and Christopher Smart. For instance, a
story is told of T"?* which is an exact du-
plicate of one recorded of Lee He was
writing by the light of the moon, when a *th™
cloud crossed its disc. 'Jupiter, snuff the
moon I * roared the impatient poet. The
cloud thickened, and entirely darkened the
light cThou stupid god i' he exclaimed,
' thou hast snuffed it out ' By and by he
became calmer, and had some affecting niter-
views with his mother and sister A removal
to his mother's house was even contemplated,
but his constitution was exhausted, and on
the 16th of October, 1774, poor Fergusson
breathed his last. It is interesting to know
that the New Testament was his favourite com-
panion in his cell. A little after ms death
arrived a letter from an old friend, a Mr
Burnet, who had made a fortune in the East
Indies, wishing him to come out to India, and
enclosing a remittance of J3100 to defray the
expenses of the journey

" Thus, in his twenty-fourth year, perished
Robert Fergusson He was buried in the
Canongate churchyard, where Burns after-
wards erected a monument to his memory,
with an inscription which is •fam-ilmi* to most
of our readers

" Burns in one of his poems attributes to
Fergusson 'glorious parrts' He was cer-

tainly a youth of remarkable powers, although
'paurts' rather than high genius seems to-
express his calibre. He can hardly be said
to sing, and he never soars. His best poems,
such as ' The Farmer's Ingle,' are just lively
daguerreotypes of the life he saw around him
— there is nothing ideal or lofty in any of
them. His * Ingle-bleeze ' burns low compared
to that which in 'The Cottar's Saturday
Night ' springs up aloft to heaven, like the
tongue of an altar-fire. He stuffs his poems,
too, with Scotch to a degree which renders
them too rich for even a Scotchman's taste,
and as repulsive as a haggis to that of an
Englishman On the whole, Fergusson' s best
claim to fame arises from the influence he
exerted on the far higher genius of Burns,
who seems, strangely enough, to have pre-
ferred him to Allan, Bamsay." — Qilfillon's
" Less-known Bnt. Poets," vol. iii pp 206-8,
See Allibone's " Cnt. Pick Eng. Lit."

EDWAB1> THOMPSON.

" Edward Thompson, born 1738, died 1786,
was a native of Hull, and went to sea BO early
in life as to be precluded from the advantages
of a liberal education At the age of nineteen,
he acted as lieutenant on board the Jason, in
the engagement off Ushont, between Hawke
and Conflans. Coming to London, after the
peace, he resided, for some tune, in Kew-lane,
where he wrote some light pieces for the stage,
and some licentious poems, the titles of
which need not be revived. At the breaking
out of the American war, Gornck's interest
obtained promotion for him in his own pro*
f ession ; and he was appointed to the command
of the Hyena frigate, and made his fortune
by the single capture of a French East India-
man He was afterwards in Bodrov's action
off Cape St Vincent, and brought home the
tidings of the victory. His death was occa-
sioned by a fever, which he caught on board
the Grampus, while he commanded that
vessel, off the coast of Africa Though a
dissolute man, he hod the character of an
able and humane commander. A few of his
sea songs are entitled to remembrance." —
Campbell's " Specimens "

HENRY HEADLEY.

"Henry Heodley, born 1766, died 1788,
whose uncommon talents were lost to the
world at the age of twenty-two, was born ac,
Irstead, in Norfolk He received his educa-
tion at the grammar school of Norwich, under
Dr. Parr, and at the age of sixteen was
admitted a member of Trinity College, Oxford.
There the example of Thomas Warton, the
senior of his ooUege, led him to explore the
beauties of our elder poets About the age of

*

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SIXTH PEBIOD —

twenty he published some pieces of verse,
which exhibit no very remarkable promise ,
but his 'Select Beauties of the Ancient
English Poets,1 which appeared on the follow-
ing year, were accompanied with critical
observations, that showed an unparalleled
ripeness of mind for his years. On leaving
the university, after a residence of four years,
he married, and retired to Mattock, in Derby-
shire. His matrimonial choice is said to
have been hastily formed, amidst the anguish,
of disappointment in a previous attachment
But short as his life was, he survived the lady
whom he married.

"The symptoms of consumption having
appeared in his constitution, he was advised
to try the benefit of a warmer climate , and
he took the resolution of repairing to Lisbon,
unattended by a single f nend. On landing at
Lisbon, far from feeling any relief from the
climate, he found himself oppressed by its
sultriness ; and in this forlorn state, was on
the point of expiring, when Mr. De Yiames, to
whom he had received a letter of introduction
from the late Mr. Windham conveyed hmn to
Ms healthful villa, near Cintra, allotted spa-
cious apartments for his use, procured for him
the ablest medical assistance, and treated
Tnm with every kindness and amusement that
could console his sickly existence But his
malady proved incurable , and, returning to
England at the end of a few months, he
expired at Norwich." — Campbell's "Speci-
mens." See Alhbone's "Grit. Diet. Eng
Lit."

EDWARD MOOBE.

"Edward Moore, born 1712, died 1757, was
the son of a dissenting clergyman at Abmgdon,
in Berkshire, and was bred to the business of
a linendxaper, which he pursued, however,
both in London and Ireland, with so little
success, that he embraced the literary life
(according to his own account) more from
necessity than inclination. "Hia * Fables' (in
1744) first brought him into notice. The
Bight Honourable Mr Pelham was one of his
earliest friends; and his 'Trial of Selim'
gained him the friendship of Lord Lyttelton
Of three works which he produced for the
stage, his two comedies, the 'Foundling' and
'Gil Bias,' were unsuccessful, but he was
fully indemnified by the profits and reputation
of the * Gamester.' Moore himself acknow-
ledges that he owed to Garnok many popular
passages of his drama; and Davies, the
biographer of Gamck, ascribes to the great
actor the whole scene between Lewson and
Stukely, in the fourth act; but Davies's
authority is not oracular. About the year

1751, Lord Lyttelton, in concert with Dodsloy,
projected the paper of the • World,' of which
it was agreed that Moore should enjoy the
profits, whether the numbers wore written by
himself or by volunteer contributors Lyttel-
ton'e interest soon enlisted many accomplished
coadjutors, such as Cambndge, Jenyns, Lord
Chesterfield, and H. Walpole. Moore himself
wrote sixty-one of the papers. In the last
number of the ' World ' the conclusion is made
to depend on a fictitious incident which had
occasioned the death of the author. When the
papers were collected intovolumes,Moore, who
superintended the publication, realized this
jocular fiction by his own death, whilst the last
number was in the press." — Campbell's
" Specimens."

THOMAS RUSSELL.

"Thomas Russell, born 1762, died 1788,
was the son of an attorney at Bndport, and
one of Joseph Warton's wonderful boys at
Winchester School He became fellow of
New College, Oxford, and died of consumption
at Bristol Hot- Wells in his twenty-sixth
year.

" His poems were posthumous. The sonnet
on Philootetes is very fine ; and of our young
writers, mature rather in genius than in
years, Russell holds no humble place. Mr.
Southey has numbered five, and Russell is
among them — Chatfcerton, Bruce, Russell,
Bampfylde, and Kirke Whxte."-»Campbell's
" Specimens."

NUGENT.

"Robert Craggs, afterwards created LoreZ
Nugent, was an Irishman, a younger son of
Michael Nugent, by the daughter of Robert,
Lord Tnmlestown, and born in 1709 He
was, in 1741, elected M.P. for St Mawes, m
Cornwall, and became, in 1747, comptroller to
the Prince of Wales' household He after-
wards made peace with the Court, and re-
ceived various promotions and marks of favour
besides the peerage In 1780, he published
anonymously a volume of poems possessing
considerable merit. He was converted from
Popeiy, and wrote some vigorous verses on
the occasion Unfortunately, however, he
relapsed, and again celebrated the event in a
very weak poem, entitled ' Faith ' He died
in 1788. Although a man of decided talent,
as his ' Ode to Mankind ' proves, Nugent does
not stand very high either in the catalogue of
Irish patriots or of ' royal and noble authors.' "
— Gilfillan's " Less-known Brit Poets," vol.
ui. p 261. See Campbell's " Specimens "

SIXTH PERIOD,

From 1727 to 1780.

840 — REMORSE

Is chance a guilt, that my disastrous

heart,

For mischief never meant, must ever smart ?
Can self-defence be sin ? Ah, plead no more '
What though no purposed malice stained ihee

o'er?

Had heaven befriended thy unhappy side,
Thou hadst not been provoked — or thouhadst

died.
Far be the guilt of hoxneshed blood from

all

On whom, unsought, embroiling dangers fall I
Still the palo dead revives, and lives to me,
To me ' through Pity's eyo condemned to see
Remembrance veils his rage, but swells his

fate,
Grieved I forgive, and am grown cool too

late
Young and tmthoughtful then, who knows,

one day,
What ripening virtues might have made their

way'

He might have lived till folly died m shame,
Till kindling wisdom f olt a thirst for fame
He might perhaps his country's friend have

proved ,

Both happy, generous, candid, and beloved ,
Ho might have saved some worth, now doomed

to fall,
And I, perchance, in him, have murdered all.

0 fate of late repentance ! always vain
Thy remedies but lull undying pain.
Where shall my hope find rest p No mother's

care

Shielded my infant innocence with prayer :
No father's guardian hand my youth Tria-vrL-

t tuned,

Called forth my virtues, or from vice re-
strained ;

Is it not thine to snatch some powerful arm,
Uftrst to advance, then screen fiom future

harm?

Am I returned from death to live in pain ?
Or would imperial pity save in vain P
Distrust it not What blame can mercy find,
Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind ?
Mother, miscalled, farewell — of sonl severe,
This sad reflexion yet may force one tear

All I was wretched by to you I owed ;
Alone from strangers every comfort flowed !

Lost to the life you gave, your son no more,
And now adopted, who was doomed before,
New born, I may a nobler mother claim,
But dare not whisper her immortal name ;
Supremely lovely, and serenely great,
Majestic mother of a kneeling state .
Queen of people's heart, who ne'er before
Agreed — yet now with one consent adore '
One contest yet remains in this desire,
Who most shall give applause where aH
admire

Savage — Bow 1698, Died 1743.

841. — THE WANDERER.

Yon mansion, made by beaming tapers gay,
Drowns the fliT" night, and counterfeits tho

day;

From lumined windows glancing on the eye,
Around, athwart, the frisking shadows fly.
There midnight not spreads illusive joys,
And fortune, health, and dearer time destroys.
Soon death's dark agent to luxuriant ease
Shall wake sharp warnings in some fierce

disease
O man ' thy fabric 's like a well-formed

state,
Thy thoughts, first ranked, were sure designed

the great ,

Passions plebeians are, which faction raise ;
Wine, like poured oil, excites the raging

blaze,

Then giddy anarchy's rude triumphs nse -
Then sovereign Reason from her empire flies :
That ruler once deposed, wisdom and wit,
To noise and folly place and power submit ,
Like a frail bark thy weakened mind is tost,
Unsteered, unbalanced, till its wealth is lost.
The miser-spirit eyes the spendthrift heir.
And mourns, too late, effects of sordid care.
His treasures fly to cloy each fawning slave,
Yet grudge a stone to dignify his grave
For this, low-thoughted craft his life em-
ployed ,
For this, though wealthy, he no wealth

enjoyed ,

ROBERT. BLAIB ]

THE GRAVE

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

Tor this, he griped the poor, and alms

denied,

Unfriended lived, and unlamented died
Tet smile, grieved shade ' when that tmpro-

sperous store
Fast lessens, when gay hours retain no

more;

Smile at thy heir, beholding, in his fall,
Ken onoe obliged, like him, ungrateful all '
Then thought-inspiring woe his heart shall

mend,
And prove KjLs only wise, unflattering friend

Folly exhibits thus unmanly sport,
Whole plotting mischief keeps reserved her

court.
Lo! from that mount, in blasting sulphur

broke,
Stream flames voluminous, enwrapped with

smoke1

la chariot-shape they whirl up yonder tower,
Lean on its brow, and like destruction lower '
From the black depth a fiery legion springs ,
Each bold bad spectre claps her sounding

wings*
And straight beneath a summoned, traitorous

band,

On horror bent, in dark convention stand •
From each fiend's mouth a ruddy vapour

flows,
Glides through the roof, and o'er the council

glows.

The villains, close beneath the infection pent,
Feel, all possessed, their rising galls ferment ;
And burn with faction, hate, and vengeful

ire,

For rapine, blood, and devastation dire '
But justice marks then: ways : she waves in

air
The sword, high-threatening, like a comet's

glare.

While here dark vulany herself deceives,
There studious honesty our view relieves
A feeble taper from yon lonesome room,
Scattering thin rays, just glimmers through

the gloom.

There sits the sapient bard in museful mood,
And glows impassioned* for his country's

good'

All the bright spirits of the just combined,
Inform, refine, and prompt his towering

mind '

Bndwri, Swage— Born 1698, Died 1743

842. — THE GRAVE.

WhiM some affect the sun, and some the

shade,

Some flee the city, some the hermitage ;
Their aims as various, as the roads they take
In journeying through life; — the task be

mine

To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb ;
Thf appointed place of rendezvous, where all

These tiavollors meet -- Thy succours I

implore,

Eternal king ' whose potent arm sustains
The keys of hell and death. — —The Grave —

dread thing '
Men shiver when thou'rt named Nature,

appall'd,
Shakes off her wonted firmness. - Ah ' how

dark

Thy long-extended realms, and rueful wastes '
Where nought but silonco reigns, and night,

dark night;

Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun
Was rolTd together, or had tried his beams
Athwart the gloom profound. - The sickly

taper,
By glimm'nng through thy low-brow'd misty

vaults
(Furr*d round with mouldy damps, and ropy

slime),

Lets fall a supernumerary horror,
And only serves to make thy night more

irksome.

Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew,
Cheerless, unsocial plant ' that loves to dwell
'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and

worms
Where hght-heel'd ghosts, and visionary

shades,

Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports)
Embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds.
No other merriment, dull tree, is thine.

See yonder hallow'd fane , — the pious work
Of names onoe famed, now dubious or forgot,
And buried 'nud&t the wreck of things which

were,

There he mterr'd the more illustrious dead
The wind is up . hark ' how it howls ' Me-

thinks

Till now I never heard a sound so dreary
Doois creak, and windows clap, and night's

foul bird,
Rook' d in the spire, screams loud the gloomy

aisles
Black plaster'd, and hung round with shreds

of 'scutcheons
And tatter* d coats of arms, send back the

sound

Laden with heavier airs, from the low vaults,
The mansions of the dead. - Boused from

their slumbers,

In grim airay the grisly spectres riso,
Grin horrible, and, obstinately sullen,
Pass and repass, hush'd as the foot of Night
Again the screech-owl shrieks . ungracious

sound1
I'll hear no more ; it makes one's blood run

chill.
Quite round the pile, a row of reverend

(Coeval near with that) all ragged show,
Long lash'd by the rude winds. Some rift

half down

Their branchless trunks j others so thin a-top,
That scarce two crows could lodge in the

same tree

J&Voro 1727 to 1780]

TJNPBEPAISED FOB DEATH.

[ROBERT BLAIR.

Strange thing's, the neighbours say, have

happen* d here :
Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow

tombs
Dead men have come again, and walk'd

about ,
And the great bell has tolTd, unrnng, un-

touoh'd,

(Such tales their cheer at wake or gossiping1,
When it draws noar to watching time of

night)
Oft, in the lone churchyard at night I've

seen,
By glimpse of moonshine chequering through

the trees,

The schoolboy, with his satchel in his hand,
Whistling aloud to boor his courage up,
And lightly tripping o'er the long flat stones
(With nettles skirted, and with moss o'er-

grown),

That tell in homely phrase who lie below.
Sudden he starts, and hears, or tTirnfrp he

hears,

The sound of something purring at his heels ;
Pull fast he flies, and dares not look behind

him,

Till out of breath he overtakes his fellows •
Who gather round, and wonder at the tale
Of homd apparition, tall and ghastly,
That walks at dead of night, or takes his

stand
O'er some new-open' d grave, and (strange to

tell')
Evanishes at crowing of the cock

Robert Blow — Born 1699, DWJC& 174C.

843. — FRIENDSHIP.

Invidious grave1— how dost thou rend in

sunder
Whom love has knit, and sympathy made

one!

A tie more stubborn for than nature's band
Friendship 1 mysterious cement of the soul ;
Sweetener of life, and solder of society,
I owe thee much. Thou hast deserved from

me

Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.
Oft have I proved the labours of thy love,
And the warm efforts of the gentle heart,
Anxious to please. — Ohf when my Mend

and I
In some thick wood have wander'd heedless

on,

Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down
Upon the sloping cowslip-cover'd bonk,
Where the pure limpid stream has slid along
In grateful errors through the underwood,
Sweet murmuring: methought the shnll-

tongaed thrush

Mended his song of love , the sooty blackbird
Mellow* d his pipe, and soffcen'd every note .
The eglantine smell' d sweeter, and the rose

Assumed a dye more deep; whilst every

flower

Tied with its fellow plant in luxury
Of dress Oh ! then, the longest summer's

day
Seem'd too, too much in haste still the full

heart

Had not imparted half : 'twas happiness
Too exquisite to last Of joys departed,
Not to return, how painful the remembrance !

Robert Blow.— Born 1699, &t,ed 1746.

844 —THE "MTR"BTR-

Here the lank-sided miser, worst of felons,
Who meanly stole (discreditable shift ')
From back, and belly too, their proper cheer,
Eased of a tax it irk'd the wretch to pay
To his own carcase, now lies cheaply lodged,
By clamorous appetites no longer teased,
Nor tedious bills of charges and repairs.
But, ah! where are his rents, his comings-

in?
Ayl now you've made the noh man poor

indeed;

Bobb'd of his gods, what has he left behind ?
O cursed lust of gold i when for thy sake
The fool throws up his interest in both

worlds ;
First starved in this, then damn'd in that to

come

Robert Slav —Bon, 1699, Died 1746.

845.— TTNPBEPAEED FOE DEATH.
How shocking must thy summons be, O

Death!

To him that is at ease in his possessions ;
Who, counting on long years of pleasure

here,

Is quite Tinfurnish'd for that world to come '
In that dread moment, how the frantic soul
Eaves round the walls of her clay tenement,
Buns to each avenue, and shrieks for help,
But shrieks in vain ! — How wishfully she

looks

On all she's leaving, now no longer hers '
A little longer, yet a little longer,
Oh ' might she stay, to wash away her

stains,
And fit her for her passage —Mournful

sight!

Her very eyes weep blood ;— and every groan
She heaves is big with horror : but the foe,
Like a staunch murderer, steady to his

purpose,

Pursues her dose through every lane of He,
Nor misses once the track, but presses on ;
Till, forced at last to the tremondousverge,
At once she sinks to everlasting ram

Robert Blavr.—. £01 n 1699, Died 1746.

ROBERT BLAIB ]

DEATH.

[SIXTH PJERIOD.-

846 — DEATH

Sure 'tis a serious thing to die ' My soul,
What a strange moment it must be, when

near
Thy journey's end, thou hast the golf in

view1

That awful ffulf no mortal e'er repass'd
To tell what's doing on the other side.
Nature runs back and shudders at the Bight,
And every life-string- bleeds at thoughts of

parting ;
For part they must : body and soul must

part;
Pond couple ' link'd more close than wedded

pair

This wings its way to its Almighty Source,
The witness of its actions, now its judge
That drops into the dark and noisome grave,
Like a disabled pitcher of no use.

Robert Blavr—Born 1699, Died, 1746

84; — THE GRAVE.

Death's shafts fly thick ' — Here falls the

village-swam,
And there his pamper' d lord ' — The oup goes

round,

And who so artful as to put it by ?
'Tia long since death had the majority ,
Yet, strange ' the living lay it not to heart
See yonder maker of the dead man's bed,
The Sexton, hoary-headed chronicle ;
Of hard, unmeanmg face, down which ne'er

stole

A gentle tear , with mattock in his hand
Digs through whole rows of kindred and

acquaintance,
By far his juniors — Scarce a skull's cast

up,

But well he knew its owner, and can tell
Some passage of his life — Thus hand in

band
The sot has walk'd with death twice twenty

years;
And yet ne'er younker on the green laughs

louder,
Or clubs a smuttier tale when drunkards

meet,

None sings a merrier catch, or lends a hand
More willing to his oup — Poor wretch » he

minds not,

That soon some trusty brother of the trade
Shall do for him what he has done for

thousands
On this side, and on that, men see their

friends
Drop off, lake leaves in autumn , yet launch

out

Into fantastic schemes, which the long livers
In the world's hale and undegenerate days
Could scarce have leisure for — Fools that we

are!

Never to think of death and of ourselves
At the same time as if to learn to die
Were no concern of ours — 0 more than

sottish,

For creatures of a day, in gamesome mood,
To frolic on eternity's dread brink
Unapprehensive , when, for aught we know,
The very first swoln surge shall sweep us m !
Think we, or think we not, time hurnos on
With a resistless, unremitting stream ,
Yet treads more soft thai o'er did midnight

thief,
That slides his hand under the miser's

pillow,
And carries off his prize. — What is this

world P

What but a spaoious burial field tmwaU'd,
Strew'd with death's spoils, the spoils of

Savage and tamo, and full of dead men's

bones !

The very turf on which we tread onco lived ,
And we that live must lend our carcases
To cover our own offspring in thoir turns
They too must cover theirs. — 'Tis hero all

meet '

The shivering Icelander, and sun-burnt Moor ,
Men of all climes, that never met before ,
And of all creeds, the Jew, the Turk, the

Christian.
Here the proud prince, and favourite yot

prouder,
His sovereign's keeper, and the people's

scourge,

Are huddled out of sight — Here he abash'd
The great negotiators of the earth,
And celebrated masters of the balance,
Deep read in stratagems, and wiles of courts
Now vain their treaty flTnll . death scorns to

treat
Here the o'er-loaded slave flings down his

burden
From his gall'd shoulders , — and whon the

cruel tyrant,
With all his guards and tools of power about

Is meditating new unheard-of hardships,
Mocks frig short arm,— -and, quick as thought,

Where tyrants vex not, and the weary rest.
Here the warm lover, leaving the cool shade,
The tell-tale echo, and the bubbling stream
(Time out of mind the favourite seats of love),
Fast by his gentle mistress lays him down,
TTnblasted by foul tongue — Here friends and

foes

Lie close , unmindful of their former feuds.
The lawn-robed prelate and plain presbyter,
Erewhile that stood aloof, as shy to meet,
Familiar mingle here, like sister streams
That some rude interposing rook had splat
Heio is the large-hmb'd peasant , — here the

child

Of a span long, that never saw the sun,
Nor press1 d the nipple, strangled in life's

porch

.From 1727 to 1780]

THE ROSE

[Ds. WATTS.

Here is the mother, with her sous and daugh-
ters,

The barren wife , the long-demurring maid,
Whose lonely unappropriated sweets
Smiled like yon knot of cowslips on the

cliff,

Not to be come at by the willing hand.
Here are the prnde severe, and gay coquette,
The sober widow, and the young green Yirgm,
Cropp'd like a rose before 'tis fully blown,
Or half its worth disclosed. Strange medley

here!

Here garrulous old age winds up his tale ;
And jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart,
Whose every day was made of melody,
Hears not the voice of mirth — The shnll-

tongued shrew,

Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding
Here are the wise, the geneious, and the

brave,

The just, the good, the worthless, the pro-
fane,

The downright olown, and perfectly well-
bred,
The fool, the ohuil, the scoundrel, and the

mean;

The supple statesman, and the patriot stern ;
The wrecks of nations, and the spoils of

tune,
With all the lumber of six thousand years.

Robert Blavt —Bow 1699, Died 1746.

848 —THE DEATH OF A GOOD MAN

Sure the last end
Of the good man is peace ' — How calm his

exit!
Night dews fall not more gently to the

ground,

Nor weary, worn-out winds expire so soft.
Behold him in the evening-tide of life,
A life well spent, whose early care it was
His riper years should not upbraid his

green*

By unperceived degrees he wears away ;
Yet, like the sun, seems larger at his setting
High in his faith and hopes, look how he

reaches

After the piize in view ' and, like a bird,
That's homper'd, struggles hard to get

away.
Whilst the glad gates of sight are wide

expanded

To let new glories in, the first fair fruits
Of the fast-coming harvest — Then, oh then '
Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears,
Shrunk to a thing of nought. — Oh1 how he

longs
To have his passport sign'd, and be dis-

misa'd '
'Tis done ' and now he's happy ' The glad

soul
Hus not a wish uncrown' d

Bobert Blow — Boi n 1699, Dirt 1746

849— THE KESUEBECTION.

Even the lag flesh

Bests, too, in hope of meeting once again
Its better half, never to sunder more.
Nor shall it hope in vain — the tune draws

on,

When not a single spot of burial earth,
Whether on land, or in the spacious sea,
But must give back its long-committed dust
Inviolate ' — and faithfully sMI these
Make up the full account, not the least

atom

Embezzled, or -mislaid, of the whole tale.
Each soul flha.11 have a body ready furnish' d ;
And each shall have his own — Hence, ye

profane '
Agfa- not how fhis can be? — Sure the same

power
That rear'd the piece at first, and took it

down,

Can reassemble^the loose scatter' d parts,
And put them as they were. — Almighty God
Has done much more; nor is fog ann im-

pair'd
Through length of days : and what he can, he

wiH

Jfia faithfulness stands bound to see it done.
When the dread trumpet sounds, the slumber-
ing dust,

Not unattentive to the call, Rha.11 wake ,
And every joint possess its proper place,
With a new elegance of form, unknown
To its first state. Nor shall the conscious

soul

Mistake its partner, but, amidst the crowd,
Singling its other half, into its arms
Shall rush, with all the impatience of a man
That's new come home, and, having long

been absent,

With haste runs over every different room,
In pain to see the whole. Thnce happy

meeting!
Nor time, nor death, shall ever part them

more

'Tie but a night, a long and moonless night j
We make the grave our bed, and then are

gone

Thus, at the shut of even, the weary bird
Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely

brake
Cowers down, and dozes till the dawn of

day,
Then claps his well-fledged wings, and bears

away

Rob&t Blair—Born 1699, Died 1746.

850 — THE EOSE.

How fair is the rose I what a beautiful flower,

The glory of April and May '
But the leaves are beginning to fade in an
hour,

And they wither and die in a day.

WATTS]

A STJMMBB EVENING.

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

Tet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast,
Above all the flowers of the field ,

"When its leaves are all dead, and its fine

colours lost,
Still how sweet a perfume it will yield '

So frail is the youth and the beauty of men,
Though they bloom and look gay like the

rose 5
But all our fond oare to preserve thesn is

vain,
Time "Ml* them as fast as he goes

Then Til not be proud of my youth nor my

beauty,

Since both of them wither and fade ,
But gain a good name by well-doing my

duly;
This will scent like a rose when I'm dead.

Dr. Watts— Born 1674, Died 1748.

851— A STJMMBB EVENING,

How fine has the day been, how bright was

the sun,

How lovely and joyful the course that he run,
Though he rose m a mist when his race he

begun,
And there followed some droppings of

rain1
But now the fair traveller's come to the

west,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are

best;
He paints the sky gay as he m'TiTra to his

rest,
And foretells a bright rising again.

Just such is the Christian; his course he

Like the sun t in a mist, when he mourns for

his sins, '
And melts into tears , then he breaks out and

shines,

And travels his heavenly way :
But when he comes nearer to finish his race,
Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in

grace,

And gives a sure hope at the end of his days,
Of rising in brighter array.

Dr. Watte.— Born 1674, Died 1748.

852.— FEW HAPPY MATCHES.

Say, mighty Love, and teach my song,
To whom thy sweetest joys belong,

And who the happy pairs
"Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands,
Find blessings twisted with their bands,

To soften all their cares.

Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains
That thoughtless fly into thy chains,

As custom leads tho way
If there be bliss without design,
Ivies and oaks may grow and twmo,

And be as blest as they

Not sordid souls of earthly mould,
Who drawn by kindred charms of gold

To dull embraces move
So two rich mountains of Peru
May rush to wealthy marriage too,

And make a world of love

Not the mad tribe that hell inspires
With wanton flames , those raging fires

The purer bliss destroy ;
On JEtna's top let furies wed,
And sheets of lightning dress the bed

T' improve the burning jdy.

Nor the dull pairs whose marble forms
None of the melting passions warms,

Can mingle hearts and Hnan^p •
Logs of green wood that quench the coals
Are married just like Stoic souls,

With osiers for their bonds.

Not minds of melancholy strain,
Still silent, or that still complain,

Can the dear bondage bless
As well may heavenly concerts spring
From two old lutes with ne'er a string,

Or none besides the bass.

Nor can the soft enchantments hold
Two jamng souls of angry mould,

The rugged and the keen •
Samson's young foxes might as well
In bonds of cheerful wedlock dwell,

With firebrands tied between

Nor let the cruel fetters bind
A gentle to a savage mind ,

For love abhors the sight
Loose the fierce tiger from tho door,
For native rage and native foai

Else and forbid delight

Two kindest souls alone must meet,
*Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet,

And feeds their mutual loves
Bright Venus on her rolling throne
Is drawn by gentlest birds alone,

And Cupids yoke the doves.

Dr Watts— Born 1674, Died 1748.

853 —THE DAT OF JUDGMENT.

When the fierce north wind, with his any

forces,

Boars up the Baltic to a foamy fury ;
And the red lightning, with a storm of hail,

comes
Bushing amfl.m down,

From 1727 to 1780 ] ON LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMOETALITT. [EDWABD YOUNG

How the poor sailors stand amazed and

tremble

While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody

trumpet,

Roars a lond onset to the gaping waters
Quick to devour them '

Such shall the noise be, and the wild dis-
order,

If things eternal may be like those earthly,
Such the dire terror, when the great Aroh-

Shakes the creation ;

Tears the strong pillars of the vault of

heaven,

Breaks up old marble, the repose of prances
See the graves open and the bones arising —
flames all around them !

Hark, the shrill outcries of the guilty

wretches !

lively bright horror and fl-™a-giiT\g' anguish
Stare through their eyelids, while tie living

worm lies

Gnawing within them

Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their

heart-strings,
And the smart twinges, when the eye beholds

the
Lofty Judge, frowning, and a flood of

vengeance
Rolling afore TT»TTI

Stop here, my fancy (all away, ye homd

Doleful ideas) , come, arise to Jesus '

How he sits God-like ; and the saints around

y\ijn

Throned, yet adoring

O may I sit there, when he comes triumphant
Dooming the nations ' then ascend to glory ,
While our hosannahs all along the passage
Shout tho Redeemer.

Dr. Watts— Born 1674, Died 1748

854-— GOD KNOWN ONLY TO HIMSELF.

Stand and adore ' how glorious He
That dwells in bright eternity !
We gaze and we confound our sight,
Plunged in th* abyss of dazzling light.

Thou sacred One, Almighty Three,
Great, everlasting Mystery,
What lofty numbers shall we frame
Equal to thy tremendous name ?

Seraphs, the nearest to the throne,
Begin to speak the Great Unknown .
Attempt the song, wind up your strings
To notes untried, and boundless things

You, whose capacious powers survey
Largely beyond our eyes of clay,
Yet what a narrow portion too
Is seen or thought or known by you '

How flat your highest praises fall
Before th' immense Original !
Weak creatures we, that strive in vain
To reach an uncreated strain.

Great God ' forgive our feeble lays,
Sound out thine own eternal praise ;
A song so vast, a theme so high,
Call for the voice that tuned the sky

Di. Watts— Born 1674, Died 1748.

855.— NIGHT

These thoughts, O Night ! are thine ;
From thee they came like lovers' secret sighs,
While others slept So Cynthia, poets feign,
In shadows veiled, soft, sliding from her

sphere,
Her shepherd cheered; of her enamoured

less

Than I of thee And art thou, still unsung,
Beneath whose brow, and by whose aid, I

sing ?

Immortal silence ' where shfl^l I begin ^
Where end ? or how steal music from the

spheres
To soothe their goddess ?

0 majestic Night '

Nature's great ancestor ' Day's elder born '
And fated to survive the transient sun !
By mortals and immortals seen with awe !
A starry crown thy raven brow adorns,
An azure zone thy waist ; clouds, in heaven's

loom
Wrought through varieties of shape and

shade,

In ample folds of drapery divine,
Thy flowing mantle form, and, heaven through-
out,

Voluminously pour thy pompous train
Thy gloomy grandeurs — Nature's most au-
gust,

Inspiring aspect ' — claim a grateful verse ;
And, like a sable curtain starr'd with gold,
Drawn o'er my labours past, shall clothe the

scene.
Edward Young.— Born 1681, Died 1765.

856.— ON UFE, DEATH, AND 1M3MO&-
TAUTY.

Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep I
He, like the world, his ready visit pays
Where Fortune smiles , the wretched he for-
sakes.

YOUNG ] ON LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY [SIXTH PERIOD.-

Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe,
And lights on lids unsullied with, a tear.

From short (as usual) and disturbed repose
I wake how happy they who wake no more '
Yet that were Tarn, if dreams infest the

grave

I wako, emerging from a sea of dreams
Tumultuous , where my wrecked desponding

thought

From wave to wave of fancied misery
At random drove, her helm of reason lost.
Though now restored, 'tis only change of

pain

(A bitter change ') severer for severe
The day too short for my distress, and

night,

E'en in the zenith of her dark domain,
Is sunshine to the colour of my fate

Night, sable goddess1 from her ebon

throne,

In rayless majesty, now stretches forth
Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
Silence how dead' and darkness how pro-
found!

Nor eye nor hst'mng ear an object finds ,
Oieation sleeps 'Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause ,
An awful pause ' prophetic of her end
And let her prophecy be soon fulfilled
Fate ' drop the curtain , I can lose no more.
Silence and Darkness1 solemn sisters'

twins
From ancient Night, who nurse the tender

thought

To reason, and on reason build resolve
(That column of true majesty in man),
Assist me • I will thank you in the grave ;
The grave your kingdom . there this frame

shall fall

A victim sacred to your dreary shnne.
But what are ye p

Thou, who didst put to flight
Primeval Silence, when the morning stars,
Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball ,
Oh Thou ' whose word from solid darkness

struck
That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my

soul,
My soul, which flies to thee, her trust, her

treasure,

As misers to their gold, while others rest
Through this opaque of nature and of

soul,

This double night, transmit one pitying ray,
To lighten and to cheer Oh lead my mind
(A mind that fain would wander from its

woe),
Lead it through various scenes of life and

death,

And from each scene the noblest truths in-
spire

Nor less inspire my conduct than my song ;
Teach my best reason, reason , my best will
Teach rectitude , and fix my firm resolve
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear
Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, poured

On this devoted head, bo poured in vain. * *
How poor, how rich, how abject, how

august,

How complicate, how wonderful is man '
How passing wonder He who made T"m

such!
Who centred in our moke such strange

extremes,

From different natures marvellously mixed,
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds '
Distinguished Imlr m being's endless chain '
Midway from nothing to the Deity '
A beam ethereal, sullied and absorpt '
Though sullied and dishonoured, still divine '
Dim miniature of greatness absolute '
An heir of glory ' a frail child of dust •
Helpless immortal ! insect infinite !
A worm ' a god ! I tremble at myself,
And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, surprised,

aghast,
And wondering at her own How reason

reels'

Oh what a miracle to man is man '
Triumphantly distressed ' what joy ' what

dread'

Alternately transported and alarmed '
What can preserve my life ! or what destroy !
An angel's arm can't snatch mo fiom the

grave;

Legions of angels can't confine me there
'Tis past conjecture, all things rise in

proof :
While o'er my limbs sleep's soft dominion

spread,
What though my soul fantastic measures

trod

O'er fairy fields , or mourned along the gloom
Of silent woods , or, down the craggy steep
Hurled headlong, swam with pain the mantled

pool;
Or scaled the cliff, or danced on hollow

winds, ,

With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain P
Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks

her nature

Of subtler essence than the common clod • * *
Even silent night proclaims my soul im-
mortal ' * *
Why, then, their loss deplore that aro not

lost? * *

Tins is the desert, tlvis the solitude •
How populous, how vital is the grave '
This is creation's melancholy vault,
The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom ,
The land of apparitions, empty shades '
All, all on earth, is shadow, all beyond
Is substance , the reverse is folly's creed ,
How solid all, where change shall be no

more1

This is the bud of being, the Arm, dawn,
The twilight of our day, the vestibule ,
Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death,
Strong death alone can heave the massy bar,
This gross impediment of clay remove,
And make us embryos of existence free

JFVom 1727 to 1780.]

THOUGHTS ON TIME.

[EDWARD TOTTNG.

From real life ; bnt httle more remote
Is he, not yet a candidate for light,
The future embryo, slumb'nng in his sire
Embryos we must be till we burst the shell,
Ton ambient azure shell, and spring to life,
The life of gods, oh transport ' and of man
Yet man, fool man' here brines all his

thoughts ;

Biters celestial hopes without one sigh
Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the

moon,
Here pinions all his wishes; winged by

To fly at infinite • and reach it there
Where seraphs gather immortality,
On life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God.
What golden joys ambrosial olust'nng glow,
In his full beam, and npen for the just,
Where momentary ages are no more !
Wheie tune, and pain, and chance, and death

expire '

And is it in the flight of threescore years
To push eternity from human thought,
And smother souls immortal in the dust ?
A soul immortal, spending all her fires,
Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness,
Thrown into tumult, raptured or alarmed,
At aught this scene can threaten or indulge,
Besembles ocean into tempest wrought,
To waffc a feather, or to diown a fly

:Etfriucwd Ybtwig.— Bom 1681, Died 1765.

857.— THOUGHTS ON TIME.

The bell strikes one. We take no note of

time

But from its loss : to give it then a tongue
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours.
Where are they ? With the years beyond the

flood.

It is the signal that demands despatch :
How much is to be done? My hopes and

fears
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow

verge

Look down— on what ? A fathomless abyss
A dread eternity ] how surely mine I
And can eternity belong to me,
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ?

0 time ' than gold more sacred 5 more a load
Than lead to fools, and fools reputed wise
What moment granted man without account ?
What years are squandered, wisdom's debt

unpaid '

Our wealth in days all due to that discharge
Haste, haste, he lies in wait, he's at the

door j
Insidious Death, should his strong hand

arrest,

No composition sets the prisoner free
Eternity's inexorable cham
Fast binds, and vengeance claims the full
arrear.

Youth is not rich in time ; it may be poor ;
Part with it as with money, sparing ; pay
No moment, but in purchase of its worth ;
And what it's worth, ask death-beds ; they

can tell.

Part with it as with life, reluctant ; big
With holy hope of nobler fame to come ;
Time higher aimed, still nearer the great

mark
Of men and angels, virtue more divine.

On all important time, through every age,
Though much, and warm, the wise have

urged, the T*W"-
Is yet unborn who duly weighs an hour.
I've lost a day" — the prince who nobly

died,

Had been an emperor without his crown.
Of Borne ? say, rather, lord of human race .
He spoke as if deputed by mankind
So should all speak ; so reason speaks in all
From the soft whispers of that God in man,
Why fly to folly, why to frenzy fly,
For rescue from the blessings we possess P
Tune, the supreme ' — Time is eternity ;
Pregnant with all that makes archangels

smile

Who murders Time, he crushes in the birth
A power ethereal, only not adored

Ah i how unjust to nature and himself
Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man '
lake children babbling nonsense in their

sports,

We censure Nature for a span too short ;
That span too short we tax as tedious, too ;
Torture invention, all expedients tire,
To lash the ling-'nng moments into speed,
And whirl us (happy riddance) from our-
selves.

Time, in advance, behind him hides his

wings,
And seems to creep, decrepit with his age

Behold him when passed by, what then is

seen
But his broad pinions swifter than the

winds P

And all mankind, in contradiction strong,
Rueful, aghast, cry out on his career.

We waste, not use our time , we breathe, not

live,

Time wasted is existence , used, is life •
And bare existence man, to live ordained,
Wrings and oppresses with enormous weight
And why 9 since time was given for use, not

waste,

Enjoined to fly, with tempest, tide, and stars,
To keep his speed, nor ever wait for man
Tune's use was doomed a pleasure, waste a

pain,

EDWARD YOUNG ]

PROCRASTINATION'.

[SIXTH PBBIOD.-

That man might feel his error if unseen,
And, feeling, fly to labour for Ms cure ,
Not blundering, split on idleness for ease.

We push time from us, and wo wish him

back,
Life we frliii-iTr Jong and short , death seek and

shun

Oh the dark days of vanity ! while
Here, how tasteless ' and how terrible when

gone!
Gone P they ne'er go , when past, they haunt

us still:

The spirit walks of every day deceased,
And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns.
Nor death nor life delight ns. If time past,
And time possessed, both pain us, what can

please P

That whioh the Deity to please ordained,
Tune used. The man who consecrates his

hours

By vigorous effort, and an honest arm,
At once he draws the sting of life and death •
He walks with nature, and her paths are

peace

'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours,
And ask them what report they bore to

heaven,
And how they -might have borne more welcome

news.
Their answers form what men experience

call,
If wisdom's friend, her best, if not, worst foe

All-sensual man, because untouched, unseen,
He looks on time as nothing. Nothing else
Is truly man's , 'tis fortune's. Tune's a god.
Hast thou ne'er heard of Tune's omnipo-
tence P

For, or against, what wonders can he do '
And will to stand blank neuter he disdains.
Not on those terms was tune (heaven's

stranger ') sent

On his important embassy to num
Lorenzo ' no : on the long destined hour,
From everlasting ages growing ripe,
That memorable hour of wondious birth,
When the Dread Sire, on emanation bent,
And big with nature, rising in his might,
Called forth creation (for then tune was

born)
By Qodhead streaming through a thousand

worlds ;
Not on those terms, from the great days of

heaven,

From old eternity's mysterious orb
Was time cut off, and cast beneath the

does;
The skies, which watch him in his new

abode,

Measuring his motions by revolving spheres,
That horologe machinery divine
Hours, days, and months, and years, his chil-
dren play,

Like numerous wings, around Tnni, as he

flies,

Or rather, as unequal plumes, they shape
His ample pinions, swift as darted flame,
To gam his goal, to reach his ancient rest,
And join anew eternity, his sire
In his immutability to nest,
When worlds that count his circles now,

unhinged,
(Fate the loud signal sounding) headlong

rush
To tuneless night and chaos, whence they

rose

But why on time so lavish is my song- •

On this great theme kind Nature keeps a

school
To teach her sons herself. Each night we

die-
Each morn are born anew ; each day a life ;
And shall we fpn each day P If trifling kills,
Sure vice must butcher. 0 what heaps of

slain

Cry out for vengeance on us ' time destroyed
'Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.

Throw years away P
Throw empires, and be blameless moments

seize,
Heaven's on their wing a moment we may

wish,
When worlds want wealth to buy Bid day

stand still,

Bid Trim drive back his car and re-impart
The period past, re-give the given hour
Lorenzo ' more than miracles we want.
Lorenzo ' 0 for yesterdays to come

Young — Born 1681, Dwct 1765.

858 —PROCRASTINATION.

Be wise to-day , 'tis madness to defer .
Next day the fatal precedent will plead ,
Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life.
Procrastination is the thief of time ;
Year after year it steals, till all are fled,
And to the mercies of a moment leaves
The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
If not so frequent, would not this be strange P
That 'tis so frequent, this is stranger still.
Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears
The palm, " That all men are about to livo,"
For ever on the brink of boing born
AT| pay themselves the compliment to think
They one day shall not drivel, and thour pride
On this reversion takes up ready praise ;
At least their own ; their future selves

applaud ;

How excellent that life they ne'er will lead '
Tune lodged in their own hands is Folly's

vails;
That lodged in Fate's to wisdom they

consign,

From 1727 to 1780]

THE ASTRONOMICAL LADY.

[EDWARD YOTTNG.

The thing they can't but purpose, they

postpone*

"Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool,
And scarce in human wisdom to do more
All promise is poor dilatory man,
And that through every stage. When young,

indeed,

In full content we sometimes nobly zest,
Unanzious for ourselves, and only wish,
As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise.
At thirty man suspects TrmmATP a fool ;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ;
At fifty chides "his infamous delay,
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ;
In all the magnanimity of thought
Besolves, and re-resolves , then dies the same
And why ? because he thinks himself

immortal

All men t^^T** all men mortal but themselves ;
Themselves, when some alarming shook of

fate
Strikes through their wounded hearts the

sudden dread .
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded

air,
Soon close ; where past the shaft no trace is

found,

As from the wing no scar the sky retains,
The parted wave no furrow from the keel,
So dies in human hearts the thought of

death
E'en with the tender tear which nature

sheds
O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave.

Edwwd Touiig — Bom 1681, Died, 1765.

859 —THE EMPTINESS OF RICHES.

Ocm gold calm passion, or moke reason shine ?
Can we dig peace or wisdom from the mine ?
Wisdom to gold prefer, for 'tis much less
To make our fortune than our happiness •
That happiness which great ones often see,
With rage and wonder, in a low degree,
Themselves nnbless'd The poor ore only

poor.
But what are they who droop amid their

store P

Nothing is meaner than a wretch of state ,
The happy only are the truly great.
Peasants enjoy like appetites with kings,
And those best satisfied with cheapest things.
Could both our ladies buy but one new sense,
Our envy would be due to large expense ;
Smce not, those pomps which to the great

belong,
Are but poor acts to mark them from the

throng

See how they beg an alms of Flattery
They languish. ! oh, support them with a lie '
A decent competence we fully taste ,
It strikes our sense, and gives a constant

feast;

More we perceive by dint of thought alone ;
The rich must labour to possess their own,
To feel their great abundance, and request
Their humble fnends to help them to be

blest,

To see tHeir treasure, hear their glory told,
And aid the wretched impotence of gold.
But some, great souls I and touch' d with

warmth divine,
Give gold a price, and teach its beams to

shine i

All hoarded treasures they repute a load,
Nor think their wealth their own, tall weE

bestowed

Grand reservoirs of public happiness,
Through secret streams diffusively they bless,
And, while their bounties glide, conceal'd

from view,
Believe our wants, and spare our blushes too.

Edwwrd Young. — Born 1681, Died 1765.

860. — THE LOYE OF PEAISE.

What will not men attempt for sacred

praise I

The love of praise, howe'er conceal' d by art,
Reigns, more or less, and glows, in every

heart

The proud, to gain it, toils on toils endure ;
The modest shun it, but to make it sure
O'er globes, and sceptres, now on thrones it

swells,

Now trims the midnight lamp in college cells ;
'Tis Tory, Whig; it plots, prays, preaches,

plsads,

Harangues in senates, squeaks in masque-
rades.
Here, to Steele's humour makes a bold

pretence ;

There, bolder, aims at Pulteney's eloquence.
It aids the dancer's heel, the writer's head,
And heaps the plain with mountains of the

dead:

Nor ends with life , but nods in sable plumes,
Adorns our hearse, and natters on our tombs.

Young.— Born 1681, Died 1765.

861.— THE ASTRONOMICAL LADY.

Some nymphs prefer astronomy to love ;
Elope from mortal man, and range above.
The fair philosopher to Rowley flies,
Where in a box the whole creation lies :
She sees the planets ux their turns advance,
And scorns, Poitier, thy sublunary dance I ,
Of Desaguliers she bespeaks fresh air ,
And Whiston has engagements with the fair.
What vain experiments Sophronia tries !
'Tis not in air-pumps the gay colonel dies. '

EDWARD YOUNG ]

THE LANGUID LADY.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

Bnt though, to-day this rage of science reigns,
(O fickle sex ') soon end her learned pains
Lo ! Pug from Jupiter her heart has got,
Turns out the stars, and Newton is a sot.

Edward Yoimg —Born 1681, Died 1765

862— THE LANGUID LADY.

The languid lady next appears in state,
Who was not born to carry her own weight ,
She lolls, reels, staggers, till some foreign aid
To her own stature lifts the feeble maid
Then, if ordain' d to so severe a doom,
She, by just stages, journeys round the

room :

But, knowing her own weakness, she despairs
To scale the Alps — that is, ascend the stairs.
My fan ' let others say, who laugh at toil ;
Tan ' hood ' glove ! scarf T is her laconic

sfrle,

And that is spoke with such a dying fall,
That Betty rather sees, than hears, the call
The motion of her lips, and meaning eye,
Piece out th' idea her faint words deny
0 Listen with attention most profound '
Her voice is but the shadow of a sound
And help, oh help ' her spirits are so dead,
One hand scarce lifts the other to her head.
If there a stubborn pin it triumphs o'er,
She pants ! she sinks away I and is no more
Let the robust and the gigantic carve,
Life is not worth so much, she'd rather

starve :

But chew she must herself ' ah cruel fate !
That Rosalinda can't by proxy eat

Edward Young— Bom, 1681, Died 1765.

863 —THE SWEABER.

Thalestris triumphs in a manly mien ,
Loud is her accent, and her phrase obscene.
In fair and open dealing where 's the shame ?
"What nature dares to give, she dares to

name.

This honest fellow is sincere and plain,
And justly gives the jealous husband pain
(Vain is the task to petticoats assign' d,
If wanton language shows a naked mind )
And now and then, to grace her eloquence,
An oath supplies the vacancies of sense.
Hark i the shrill notes transpierce the yielding

air,
And teach the neighbouring echoes how to

swear.

By Jove is faint, and for the simple swain;
She on the Christian system is profane
But though the volley rattles in your ear,
Believe her dress, she 's not a grenadier
If thunder 's awful, how much more our dread,
When Jove deputes a lady in his stead P

A lady ? pardon my mistaken pen,

A shameless woman is the worst of men.

Edward Young.—Boin 1681, Died 1765.

864.— SHOWERS IN SPBING

The north-east spends his rage , he now, shut

up

Within his iron cave, the effusive south
Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of

heaven
Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers

distent.

At first, a dusky wreath they seem to nso,
Scarce staining either, but by swift degrees,
In heaps on heaps the doubled vapour sails
Along the loaded sky, and, mingling deep,
Sits on the horizon round, a settled gloom ;
Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed,
Oppressing hfe , but lovely, gentle, kind,
And full of every hope, of every joy,
The wish of nature. Gradual sinks the

breeze

Into a perfect calm, that not a breath
Is heard to quiver through the closing woods,
Or rustling turn the many twinkling loaves
Of aspen tall The uncurling floods diffused
In glassy breadth, seem, through delusive

lapse,

Forgetful of their course. 'Tis silence all,
And pleasing expectation Herds and flocks
Drop the dry sprig, and, mute-imploring, eyo
The falling verdure. Hushed in short sus-
pense,

The plumy people streak their wings with oil,,
To throw the lucid moisture tnolding off,
And wait the approaching sign, to strike at

once
Into the general choir. Even mountains,

vales,

And forests, seem impatient to demand
The promised sweetness. Man superior

walks

Amid the glad creation, musing praise,
And looking lively gratitude At last,
The clouds consign their treasures to the

fields,

And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow
In large effusion o'er the freshen* d world.
The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard
By such as wander through the forest-walks,
Beneath the umbrageous multitude of loaves.

James Thomson — Bom 1700, Died 1748.

865— BIRDS PAIRING- IN SPRING*.

To the deep woods
They haste away, all as their fancy leads,

TTVoro 1727 to 1780.]

DOMESTIC HAPPINESS.

[JAMES THOMSON.

Pleasure, or food, or secret safety, prompts ,
That natnre's great command may be obeyed
Nor all the sweet sensations they perceive
Indulged in yarn Sweetto the holly hedge
Nestling repair, and to the thicket some ;
Some to the rude protection of the thorn
Commit their feeble offspring ; the cleft tree
Offers its kind concealment to a few,
Their food its insects, and its moss their

nests

Others apart, far in the grassy dale
Or roughening waste their humble texture

weave

But most in woodland solitudes delight,
In unfrequented glooms or shaggy banks,
Steep and divided by a babbling brook,
Whose murmurs soothe them all the live-long

day,

When by kind duty fix'd Among the roots
Of hazel pendent o'er the plaintive stream,
They frame the first foundation of their

domes,

Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid,
And bound with clay together. Now 'tis

nought

But restless hurry through the busy air,
Beat by unnumber'd wings. The swallow

sweeps

The slimy pool, to build "big hanging house
Intent • and often from the careless back
Of herds and flocks a thousand tugging bills
Steal hair and wool, and oft, whon unob-

seived,
Pluck from the barn a straw; till soft and

warm,
Clean and complete, their habitation grows.

As thus the patient dam assiduous sits,
Not to be tempted from her tender task
Or by sharp hunger or by smooth dolight,
Though the whole loosen' d spring around her

blows,

Her sympathising lover takes his stand
High on the opponent bank, and ceaseless

sings

The tedious time away , or else supplies
Her place a moment, while she sudden flits
To pick the scanty meal. The appointed

time

With pious toil fnlfill'd, the callow young,
Warm'd and expanded into perfect life,
Their brittle bondage break, and come to

light,

A helpless family ' demanding food
With constant clamour: 0 what passions

then,

What melting sentiments of kindly care,
On the new parent seize ' away they fly
Affectionate, and, undesmng, bear
The most delicious morsel to then: young,
Which, equally distributed, again
The search begins. Even so a gentle pair,
By fortune sunk, but form'd of generous

mould,
And chaim'd with cares beyond the vulgai

breast,
In some lone cot amid the distant woods,

Sustain'd alone by providential Heaven,
Oft as they, weeping, eye their infant train,
Check their own appetites, and give them all.

Nor toil alone they scorn , exalting love,
By the great Father of the spring inspired,
Gives instant courage to the fearful race,
And to the simple art With stealthy wing,
Should some rude foot their woody haunts

molest,

Amid the neighbouring bush they silent drop,
And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive
The unfeeling schoolboy. Hence around the

head
Of wandering swain the white-winged plover

wheels

Her sounding flight, and then directly on,
In long excursion, skims the level lawn
To tempt him from her nest. The wild-duck

hence
O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless

waste

The heath-hen flutters pious fraud! to lead
The hot-pursuing spaniel far astray.

James Thomson. — Born 1700, Died 1748.

866.— DOMESTIC HAPPINESS.

But happy they ! the happiest of

kind'

Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings

blend

'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws,
Unnatural oft9 and foreign to the mind,
That binds their peace, but harmony itself,
Attuning all their passions into love ;
Where friendship full exerts her softest

power,

Perfect esteem, enliven'd by desire
Ineffable, and sympathy of soul ,
Thought meeting thought, and will preventing

will,
With boundless confidence, for nought but

love

Can answer love, and lender bliss secure.
Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent
To bless himself, from sordid parents buyi»
The loathing virgin, in eternal care,
Well merited, consume his nights and days ;
Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love
Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel ;
Let Eastern tyrants, from the light of Heaven
Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possess'd
Of a mere, lifeless, violated foim
While those whom love cements in holy

faith,

And equal transport, free as Nature live,
Disdaining fear What is the world to them,
Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all '
Who in each other clasp whatever fair
High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can

wish; it

JAKES THOMSON]

MUSIDOBA.

[SIXTH PBRIOD.-

Something than beauty dearer, should they

look

Or on the mind, or nund-jlltunined face ;
Troth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love,
The richest "bounty of indulgent Heaven.
Meantime a fimihng offspring rises round,
And mingles both their graces By degrees,
The human blossom blows ; and every day,
Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm,
The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom.
Then infant reason grows apace, and calls
For the kind hand of an assiduous care
Delightful task ' to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot,
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,
To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fix
The generous purpose in the glowing breast
Oh, speak the joy I ye whom the sudden tear
Surprises often, while you look around,
And nothing strikes your eye but sights of

bliss,

All various nature pressing on the heart :
An elegant sufficiency, content,
^Retirement, rural quiet, fuendship, books,
Ease and alternate labour, useful life,
Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven
These are the matchless joys of virtuous love ,
And thus their moments fly The seasons

thus,

As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll,
Still find them happy , and consenting Spring
Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads
Till evening comes at last, serene and mild ;
When, after the long vernal day of life,
Hjnamour'6. more, as more remembrance

swells ~

With many a proof of recollected love,
Together down they sink in social sleep ,
Together freed, their gentle spirits fly
To scenes where love and bliss immortal

reign

James Thomson — Born 1700, Iked 1748.

867— MUSIDOEA.

j Close in the covert of an hazel copse,
Whero winded into pleasing solitudes
T?.T^Tip out the rambling dale, young Damon

sat
Pensive, and pierced with love's delightful

pangs.
There to the stream that down the distant

rooks
Hoarse-murmuring fell, and plaintive breeze

that play'd

Among the bending willows, falsely he
Of Musidora's cruelty complain1 d
She felt his flame; but deep within her

breast,

In bashful coyness, or in maiden jjnde,
The soft return conceal' d ; save when it stole
In sidelong glances from her downcast eye,

Or from her swelling soul in stifled sighs
Touoh'd by the scene, no stranger to his

vows,

He framed a melting lay, to try her heart ,
And, if an infant passion straggled there,
To call that passion forth. Thrice happy

swain'

A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate
Of mighty monarchs, then decided thine.
For, lo ' conducted by the laughing Loves,
This cool retreat his Husidora sought
Warm in her cheek the sultry season glow'd ;
And, robed in loose array, she came to bathe
Her fervent limbs in the refreshing stream
What shall he do P In sweet confusion lost,
And dubious fluttorings, he awhile remain* d :
A pure ingenuous elegance of soul,
A delicate refinement, known to few,
Perplex* d his breast, and urged "hrm to retire :
But love forbade. Ye prudes in virtue,

say,

Say, ye severest, what would you have done P
Meantime, this fairer nymph than ever blest
Arcadian stream, with timid eye around
The bonks surveying, stripp'd her beauteous

limbs,

To taste the lucid coolness of the flood.
Ah, then ' not Pans on the piny top
Of Ida panted stronger, when aside
The rival goddesses the veil divine
Cast unconfined, and gave him all their

charms,
Than, Damon, them; as from the snowy

leg,

And slender foot, th' inverted silk she drew ;
As tho soft touch dissolved the virgin zone ,
And, through the parting robe the alternate

breast,
With youth wild-throbbing, on thy lawless

In full luxuriance lose But, desperate

youth,
How durst thou nsk the soul-distracting

view,

As from her naked limbs, of glowing white,
Harmonious swell'd by Nature's finest hand,
In folds loose-floating fell the fainter lawn ,
And fair-exposed sho stood, shrunk from her-

self,

With fancy blushing, at tho doubtful breeze
Alarm' d and starting- like the fearful fawn P
Then to the flood she rush'd, the parted

flood

Its lovely guest with closing waves received ;
And every beauty softening, every grace
Flushing anew, a mellow lustre shed
As shines the lily through the crystal mild ;
Or as the rose amid the morning dew,
Fresh from Aurora's hand, more sweetly

glows,
While thus she wanton' d, now beneath the

wave
But ill-conceal'd, and now with streaming

looks,

That half -embraced her in a humid veil,
Rising again, the latent Damon drew

From 1727 to 1780.]

A SUMMER EVENING-.

[JAMES THOMSON

Such maddening draughts of beauty to the

soul,
As for awhile o'erwhelm'd his raptured

thought

With luxury too daring Check1 d, at last,
By love's respectful modesty, he deem'd
The theft profane, if aught profane to love
Can e'er be deem'd; and, struggling from the

shade,
With headlong hurry fled- but first these

lines,

Traced by his ready pencil, on the bank
With trembling1 hand he threw . " Bathe on,

my fair,

Yet unbeheld, save by the sacred eye
Of faithful love . I go to guard thy haunt,
To keep from thy recess each vagrant foot,
And each licentious eye" With wild sur-
prise,

As if to marble struck, devoid of sense,
A stupid moment motionless she stood
So stands the statue that enchants the world,
So bending tries to veil the matchless boast,
The mingled beauties of exulting Greece
Recovering, swift she flew to find those robes
Which blissful Eden knew not , and, array' d
In careless haste, th* alarming paper snatch' d.
But, when her Damon's well-known hand she

saw,

Her terrors vanish' d, and a softer train
Of mixt emotions, hard to be described,
Her sudden bosom seized shame void of guilt,
The charming blush of innocence, esteem
And admiration of her lover's flamo,
By modesty exalted • even a sense
Of self-approving beauty stole across
Her busy thought. At length, a tender calm
Hush'd by degrees the tumult of hor soul ,
And on the spreading beech, that o'er the

stream

Incumbent hung, she with the sylvan pen
Of rural lovers this confession carved,
Which soon her Damon lass'd with weeping

joy
" Door youth ' sole judge of what these verses

mean,

By fortune too much favour'd, but by love,
Alas ' not favour'd loss, be still as now
Discreet * the time may come you need not

fly"

James Thomson— Born 1700, Died 1748

868.— A SUMMER MORNING.

With quioken'd step
Brown night retires young day pours in

apace,

And opens all the lawny prospect wide
The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top,
Swell on the sight, and brighten with the

dawn

Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents

shine ; "

And from the bladed field the fearful hare
Limps awkward; while along the forest

glade

The wild deer tnp, and often turning gaze
At early passenger Music awakes
The native voice of undissembled joy ,
And thick around the woodland hymns arise.
Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd

leaves
His mossy cottage, where with peace he

dwells;

And from the crowded fold, m order, drives
TTia flock, to taste the verdure of the morn.

James Thomson — Born 1700, Died 1748.

869.— A SUMMER EVENING.

Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees,
Just o'er the verge of day. The nMffcmg

clouds

Assembled gay, a richly gorgeous train,
In all then* pomp attend his setting throne
Air, earth, and ocean smile immense. And

now,

As if his weary chariot sought the bowers
Of Amphitnte, and her tending nymphs,
(So Grecian fable sung) he dips his orb ;
Now frfrlf immersed ; and now a golden curve
Gives one bright glance, then total dis-
appears.
Confess'd from yonder slow-extmgnish'd

clouds,

All ether softening, sober evening takes
Her wonted station in the middle air;
A thousand shadows at her beck. First

this

She sends on earth ; then that of deeper dye
Steals soft behind , and then a deeper still,
In circle following circle, gathers round,
To close the face of things. A fresher gale
Begins to wave the wood, and stir the

stream,
Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of

corn
While the quail clamours for his running

mate
Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the

A whitening shower of vegetable down
A -rim Hive floats The kind impartial care
Of nature nought disdains thoughtful to

feed

Her lowest sons, and clothe the coming year,
From field to field the feather' d seeds she

wings

His folded flock secure, the shepherd home
Hies merry-hearted , and by tarns relieves
The ruddy milkmaid of her brimming pail ,
The beauty whom perhaps his witless heart —

JAMES THOMSON.]

LAVINIA.

[SIXTH ^PERIOD. —

Unknowing what the joy-nux'd anguish

means — .

Sincerely loves, by that best language shown
Of cordial glancos, and obliging deeds
Onward they pass o'er many a panting

height,

And valley sunk, and unfrequented , where
At fall of eve the fairy people throng,
In various game and revelry, to pass
The summer night, as village stones tell.
But far about they wander from the grave
Of him whom his ungentle fortune urged
Against his own sad breast to lift the hand
Of impious violence The lonely tower
Is also shunn'd; whose mournful chambers

hold-
So night-struck fancy dreams — the yelling

ghost

Among the crooked lanes, on every hodge,
The glowwoim lights his gem , and through

the dark

A moving radiance twinkles Evening yields
The world to night ; not in her winter robe
Of massy Stygian woof, but loose arrayed
In mantle dun A faint erroneous ray,
Glanced from the imperfect surfaces of

things,

Flings half an image on the straining eye ,
While wav'nng woods, and villages, and

And rooks, and mountain-tops, that long

retom'd
The ascending gleam, are all on© swimming

scene,

Uncertain if beheld Sudden to heaven
Thence weary vision tarns, where, leading

soft

The silent hours of love, with purest ray
Sweet Venus shines, and from her genial

nse,

When daylight sickens till it spiings afresh,
UnrivalTd reigns, the fairest lamp of night.

James Thomson. — Born 1700, Died 1748.

870— LAVTNIA

The lovely young Lavmia once had friends ,
And Fortune smiled, deceitful, on her birth
For, in her helpless years deprived of all,
Of every stay, save Innocence and Heaven,
She, with her widow' d mother, feeble, old,
And poor, lived in a cottage, far retired
Among the windings of a woody vale ,
By solitude and deep surrounding shades,
But more by bashful modesty, conceal' d.
Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn
Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet
Prom giddy passion and low-minded pride
Almost on Nature's common bounty fed ,
Like the gay birds that snog them to repose,
Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare
Her form was fresher than the morning rose,

When the dew wets its leaves , nnstaux'd and

pure,

As is the hly, or the mountain snow.
The modest virtues mingled in hor eyes,
Still on the ground dejected, darting all
Their humid beams into the blooming flowers ;
Or when the mournful tale her mother told,
Of what her faithless fortune promised onco,
ThnlTd m her thought, they, like tho dewy

star

Of evening, shone in tears A native grace
Sat fair-proportion' d on hor polish' d limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress , for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is when unadorn'd adorn' d the most
Thoughtless of Beauty, she was Beauty's self,
Recluse amid the close-embowenng woods.
As in the hollow breast of Apennme,
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills
A myrtle rises, far from human eyo,
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er tho

wild,

So flourish' d blooming, and unseen by a3I,
The sweet Lavmia; till, at length, oompelTd
By strong Necessity's supreme command,
With smiling patience in her looks, she went
To glean Palemon's fields. The pndo of

swarns

Falemon was, the generous, and tho rich ,
Who led the rural life in all its joy
And elegance, such as Arcadian song
Transmits from ancient unoorrupted tunes ;
When tyrant custom had not shackled man,
But free to follow nature was the mode
He then, his fancy with autumnal scenes
Amusing, chanced beside his reaper-tram
To walk, when poor Lavmia drew his eye ,
Unconscious of her power, and turning quick
With unaffected blushes from his gaze •
He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceal' d.
That very moment love and chasto desire
Spiung in his bosom, to himself unknown ,
For still the world prevail* d, and its dread

laugh,

Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn,
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field.
And thus in secret to his soul he sigh'd.
" What pity ' that so delicate a form,
By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense
And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell,
Should be devoted to tho rude embrace
Of some indecent clown ' She looks, methmks,
Of old Acasto's line , and to my mind
Recalls that patron of my happy life,
From whom my hbeial fortune took its rise ;
Now to the dust gone down , his houses, lands,
And once fair-spreading family, dissolved.
'Tis said that in some lone obscnro retreat,
Urged by remembrance sad, and decent pride,
Far from those scenes which knew their better

days,

His aged widow and his daughter live,
Whom yet my fruitless search could never

find

From 1727 to 1780 ]

THE HABYEST STOEM.

[JAMES THOMSON.

wish. ! would f-Tng the daughter

were ! "
When, strict enquiring, from herself lie

found

She was the same, the daughter of his friend,
Of bountiful Aoasto , who can speak
The mingled passions that surprised his heart,
And through T"q nerves in shivering1 transport

ran P
Then blazed his smother' d flame, avow'd, and

bold,

And, as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er,
Love, gratitude, and pity, wept at once.
Confused, and frighten'd at his sudden tears,
Her rising beauties flush' d a higher bloom,
As thus Falemon, passionate and just,
Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul.

" And art thou then Aoasto' s dear remains p
She, whom my restless gratitude has sought
So long in vain ? 0 Heavens ' the very

same,

The soften' d image of my noble friend,
Alive his every look, his every feature,
Moie elegantly touoh'd Sweeter than Spring '
Thou solo surviving blossom from the root
That nouiish'd up my fortune ' say, ah where,
In what sequester' d desert, hast thou. drawn
The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven ?
Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair ,
Though poverty's cold wind, and crushing

ram,

Boat keen and heavy on thy tender years ?
O let me now, into a richer soil,
Transplant thoe safe ' where vernal suns, and

showers,

Diffuse their warmest, largest influence ,
And of my garden be the pnde and joy !
Ill it befits thee, oh I it ill beflts
Acasto's daughter, his whose open stores,
Though vast, woie little to his ampler heart,
The father of a country, thus to pick
The very refuse of those harvest-fields,
"Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy
Then throw that shameful pittance from thy

hand,

But ill applied to such a rugged task ,
The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine ,
If to the various blessings which thy house
Has on me lavish' d, thou wilt add that bliss,
That dearest bliss, the power of blessing

thee ' "
Here ceased the youth, yet still his speaking

eye

Express'd the sacred triumph of his soul,
With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love,
Above the vulgar joy divinely raised
Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm
Of goodness irresistible, and all
In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent
The news immediate to her mother bi ought,
While, piercod with anxious thought, she pined

away

The lonely moments for Lavima's fate ,
Amazed, and scarce believing what she heard,
Joy seized her wither' d veins, and one bright

gleam

Of setting life shone on her evening houis :
Not less enraptured than the happy pair ;
Who flourish' d long in tender bliss, and rear'd
A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,
And good, the grace of all the country round.

James Tlu>mson.—Born 1700, Died 1748.

871 —THE HARVEST STOBM.

Defeating oft the labours of the year,
The sultry south collects a potent blast.
At first, the groves are scarcely seen to stir
Their ti enabling tops, and a still murmur

runs

Along the soft-inclining fields of corn.
But as th' aerial tempest fuller swells,
And in one mighty stream, invisible,
Immense, the whole excited atmosphere
Impetuous rushes o'er the sounding* world
Strain5 d to the root, the stooping forest pours
A rustling shower of yet untimely leaves,
High-beat, the circling mountains eddy in,
From the bare wild, the dissipated storm,
And send it in a torrent down the vale.
Exposed, and naked, to its utmost rage,
Through all the sea of harvest rolling round,
The billowy plain floats wide , nor can evade,
Though pliant to the blast, its seizing force ,
Or whirl' d in air, or into vacant chaff
Shook waste And sometimes too a burst of

rain,

Swept from the black horizon, broad, de-
scends

In one continuous flood. Stall over head
The mingling tempest weaves its gloom, and

still

The deluge deepens ; till the fields around
Lid sunk and flatted, in the sordid wave.
Sudden, the ditches swell, the meadows

swim

Bed, from the hills, innumerable streams
Tumultuous roar ; and high above its banks
The river lift ; before whose rushing tide,
Herds, flocks, and harvest, cottages, and

swains,
Boll mingled down; all that the winds had

In one wild moment ruin'd , the big hopes
And well-earn'd treasures of the painful year.
Fled to some eminence, the husbandman
Helpless beholds the miserable wreck
Driving along his drowning ox at once
Descending, with his labours scatter' d round,
He sees , and instant o'er his shivering

thought

Comes Winter unprovided, and a tiam
Of claimant children dear Te masters,

then,

Be mindful of the rough labonous hand,
That sinks you soft in elegance and ease ,
Be mindful of those limbs m russet clad,

JAMES THOMSON.]

AUTUMN EVENING SCENE.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

Whose toil to yours is warmth, and graceful

pJ.JLU.C7

And, oli ' "be mindful of that sparing board,
Which covers yours with luxury profuse,
Makes your glass sparkle, and your sense

rejoice '

Nor cruelly demand what the deep rains
And all-involving winds have swept away.

James Tlwmson —Bovn 1700, Died 1748

872.— AUTUMN EVENING- SCENE.

But see the fading many-colour* d woods,
Shade deepening over shade, the country

round

Imbrown , a crowded umbrage dusk and dun,
Of ev'ry hue, from wan declining green
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome

muse,
Low whisp'nng, lead into their leaf-strown

walks,
And give the season in its latest view

Meantime, light shadowing all, a sober

calm

Fleeces unbounded ether whose least wave
Stands tremulous, uncertain, where to turn
The gentle current • while illumined wide,
The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun,
And through their lucid veil his soften'd

force
Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the

time,
"Far those whom virtue and whom nature

charm,
To steal themselves from th<

crowd, •

And soar above this little scene of things .
To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their

feet;

To soothe the throbbing passions into peace ,
And woo lone Quiet in hor silent walks.

Thus solitary, and in pensive guise,
Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead,
And through the sadden' d grove, where scarce

is heard
One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's

toil.
Haply some widow1 d songster pours his

plaint,
Par, in faint warblmgs, through' the tawny

copse,

While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks,
And each wild throat, whose artless strains so

late

Swell' d all the music of the swarming shades,
Bobb'd of their tuneful souls, now shivering

sit

On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock
With not a brightness waving o'er their

plumes,
And nought save chatt'ring discord in their

note.

O let not, aim'd from some inhuman eye,
The gun the music of the coming year
Destroy ; and harmless, unsuspecting harm,
Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey
In mingled murder, fiutt'nng on tho ground *
The pale descending year, yet pleasing

stall,

A gentler mood inspires , for now the leaf
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove ;
Oft startling such as studious walk below,
And slowly circles through the waving air.
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams ;
Till choked, and matted with tho dreary

shower,

The forest walks, at ev'ry rising galo,
Boll wide the wither'd waste, and whistle

bleak.

Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields ,
And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery

race
Their sunn^1 robes resign. E'en what ro-

mam'd

Of stronger fruits falls from the naked tree ,
And woods, fields, gardens, orchards all

around,
The desolated prospect thrills the soul.

The western sun withdraws the shorten' d

day,

And humid evening, gliding o'er the sky,
In her chill progress, to tho ground con-
densed
The vapour throws. Where creeping waters

ooze,
Where marshes stagnate, and where rivers

wind,

Cluster the rolling fogs, and swim along
The dusky-mantled lawn Moanwhilo the

moon,
Full-orb'd, and breaking through tho scatter' d

clouds,
Shows her broad visage in tho cnmson'd

east

Tuin'd to the sun direct her spotted disk,
Where mountains rise, umbrageous dales

descend,

And caverns deep as optic tube descries,
A smaller earth, gives us his blaze again,
Void of its flame, and sheds a softer day.
Now through the passing clouds she seems to

stoop,

Now up the pure cerulean ndes sublime
Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming

mild
O'er tho skied mountain to tho shadowy

vale,
While rocks and floods reflect the quiv'ring

The whole air whitens with a boundless tide
Of silver radiance trembling round the

world
The lengthen' d night elapsed, the morning

shines

Serene, in all her dowy beauty bright,
Unfolding fair the last autumnal day
And now the mounting sun dispels the fog;

From 1727 to 1780]

A HYMN

[JAMES THOMSON;

The rigid hoar-frost melts before his beam ,
And hung on every spray, on every blade
Of grass, the myriad dew-drops twinkle
round

James Thomson.— Born 1700, Died 1748.

873.— A WINTEB LANDSCAPE.

Through the hushed air the whit'ning shower

descends,

At first thin-wavering, till at last the flakes
Fall broad and wide, and fast, dmvnvmg the

day

With a continual flow The cherished fields
Put on their winter robe of purest white •
'Tis brightness all, save where the new snow

melts

Along the mazy current Low the woods
Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid

sun

Faint from the west, emits his evening ray ,
Earth's universal face, deep hid, and dull,
Is one wide dazzling waste, that buries wide
The works of man Drooping, the labourer-

ox
Stands covered o'er with snow, and then

demands

The fruit of all his toil The fowls of heaven,
Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around
The winnowing store, and claim the little

boon

Which Providence assigns thorn One alone,
The redbreast, sacred to the household gods,
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky,
In joyless fields and thorny thickets, leaves
TTifl shivering mates, and pays to trusted

His annual visit Half afraid, he first
Against the window beats , then, brisk,

On the warm hearth , then hopping o'er the

floor,

Eyes all the smiling family askance,
And pecks, and starts, and wonders where

he is:

Till more familiar grown, the table crumbs
Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds
Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The

hare,

Though timorous of heart, and hard beset
By death in various forms, dark snares and

dogs,

And more unpitymg men, the garden seeks,
Urged on by fearless want The bleating

Eye the bleak heaven, and next, the glist'ning
earth,

With looks of dumb despair , then, sad dis-
persed,

Dig for the withered herb through heaps of

snow * *

As thus the snows arise, and foul and
fierce

All winter drives along the darkened air,
In his own loose revolving fields the swam
Disaster'd stands , sees other hill a ascend,
Of unknown joyless brow, and other scenes,
Of homd prospect, shag the trackless plain;
Nor finds the nver nor the forest, hid
Beneath the formless wild , but wanders on
From mil to dale, still moie and more astray,
Impatient flouncing through the drifted

Stung with the thoughts of home; the

thoughts of home
Bush on his nerves, and call their vigour

forth
In many a vain attempt. How sinks his

soul!
What black despair, what horror, fills his

heart1
When for the dusky spot which fancy

feign'd,

His tufted cottage rising through the snow,
He meets the roughness of the middle waste,
Far from the track and bless'd abode of man ;
While round him night resistless closes fast,
And every tempest howling o'er his head,
Benders the savage wilderness more wild.
Then throng the busy shapes into Ms mind.
Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep,
A dire descent ' beyond the power of frost ;
Of faithless bogs , of precipices huge
Smoothed up with snow; and what is land

unknown,

What water of the still unfrozen spring,
In the loose marsh or solitary lake,
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom

boils.
These check his fearful steps, and down he

sinks

Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift,
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death,
Mix'd with the tender anguish nature sfroots
Through the wrung bosom of the dying man,-
His wife, his children, and his friends, un

seen

In vain for him the officious wife prepares
The fire faor blazing, and the vestment warm :
In vaon his little children, peeping out
Into the mingling storm, demand their sire
With tears of artless innocence Alas '
Nor wife nor children more shall he behold,
Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every

nerve

The deadly winter seizes, shuts up sense,
And o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold,
Lays him along the snows a stiffen' d corse,
Stretch* d out, and bleaching on the northern

blast.

James TTwmson. — Born 1700, Died 1748.

874.— A HYMN.

These, as they change, Almighty Father, these
Are but the varied G-od The rolling year

JAMBS THOMSON ]

A HYMN"

[SIXTH PERIOD —

Is full of thee. Forth in tho pleasing
Spring1

Tliy beauty walks, thy tenderness and loVo

Wide flush, the fields, the softening nor is
balm,

Echo tho mountains round j the forest
smiles ;

And every sense, and every heart, is joy

Then comes thy glory in tho Summer-
months,

With light and heat refulgent Then thy
Sun

Shoots full perfection through the swelling
year-

And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder

And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispeiing

gales

Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined,
And spreads a common feast for all that

lives
In Winter awful thon ' with clouds and

storms
Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest

roll'd,

Majestic darkness ' on the whirlwind's wing,
Biding sublime thou bidst the world adore,
And humblest natuie with thy northern

blast
Mysterious round' what skill, what force

divine,

Deep felt, in these appear r a simple tram,
Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combined ,
Shade, unporceived, so softening into shade ;
And all so forming an harmonious whole ,
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still
But wandering offc, with brute unconscious

gaze.
Han marks not thee, marks not the mighty

hand,

That, ever busy, wheels tho silent spheres ,
Works in the secret deep , shoots, steaming,

thenco
The fair profusion that outspreads the

Spring :

Flings from tho Sun. duect the flaming day;
Feeds every creature , huils the -tempests

forth;
And, as on Earth this grateful change

revolves,
With transport touches all the springs of life

Nature, attend ' join every living soul,
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join , and, ardent, raise
One general song » To him, ye vocal gales,
Breathe soft, whoso Spint in your freshness

breathes

Oh, talk of him in solitary glooms ,
Where, o'er the rook, tho scarcely waving

pine

Mis the brown shade with a religious awe
And ye, whose bolder note is hoaid afar,
Who shake th' astomsh'd world, lift high to

Heaven

Th' impetuous song, and say from whom you

rage
His piaise, yo biooka, attune, ye trembling

nils,

And let me catch it as I muse along
Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ;
Yo softei floods, that lead tho humid maze
Along tho vale ; and thou, majestic main,
A secret world of wonders in thyself,
Sound his stupendous praise , whose greater

voice

Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.
Soft ioll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and

flowers,

In mingled clouds to him ; whoso Sun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whoso pencil

paints.

Ye forests bend, yo harvests wave, to him ;
Breathe your still song into the reaper's

heart.

As home he goes beneath the joyous Moon
Ye that keep watch m Heaven, as Earth

asleep

Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Yo constellations, while your angels stnko,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre
Great source of day > best image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,
From woild to world, the vital ocean round,
On Nature write with every beam his praise
The thunder rolls, be hush'd the prostrate-
world ,
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn

hymn

Bleat out afresh, ye hills ye mossy rocks,
Retain the sound the broad responsive low,
Ye valleys, raise, for the Great Shepherd

reigns;

And his un&uffering kingdom yet will come
Ye woodlands all, awake a boundless song
Burst from the groves ' and when tho restless

day,

Expiring, lays the warbling woild asleep, .
Sweetest of buds ' sweet Philomela,, chaim
The listening shades, and teach the night his

praise

Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles,
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of

all,

Crown the great hymn ' in swarming cities-
vast,

Assembled men, to the deep organ join
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking

clear,

At solemn pauses, through the swelling baso ;
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour nse to Heaven.
Or if you rather chuso the rural shade,
And find a f ano in every secret grovo ,
There let the shepherd's flute, tho virgin's.

lay,

The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Stall emg the God of Seasons, as they roll.
For me, when I forget tho darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the Summer-
ray

j From 1727 to 1780.] BAUD'S SONG IN CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.

[JAMBS

Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams ,

Or Winter rises in the blackening east ,

Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no

more,

And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat
Should Fate command me to the farthest

verge
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous

climes,
Eivers unknown to song, where first the

Sun

Gilds Trijifm mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on the Atlantic isles , 'tis nought to

me,

Since God is ever present, ever felt,
In the void waste, as in the city full ,
And wheie he vital breathes, there must be

joy
When ev'n at last the solemn hour shall

come,

And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey there, with new

powers,

Will using wonders smg I cannot go
Where Universal Love not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ,
From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression But I lose
Myself in him, in Light ineffable ,
Come then, expressive Silence, muse his

praise

James Tlwmson. — Bow 1700, Died 1748

875.— FROM THE BARD'S SONG IN THE
CASTLE OF INDOLENCE

" It was not by vile loitering in ease
That Greece obtain' d the brighter palm of

art,
That soft yet ardont Athens learnt to

please,

To keen the wit, and to sublime the heait,
In all supreme ' complete in every part i
It was not thence majestic Rome arose,
And o'er the nations shook her conquering

dart
For sluggard's brow the laurel never

grows;
Renown is not the child of indolent repose.

Had unambitious mortals minded nought.
But in loose joy their time to wear away ,
Had they alone the lap of dalliance sought,
Pleased on her pillow their dull heads to

lay,

Rude Nature's state had been our state to-
day,

No cities e'er their towery fronts had
raised,

No arks had made us opulent and gay ;

With brother-brutes the human race had

grazed,

None e'er had soar'd to fame, none honour' d
been, none praised.

Great Homer's song had never fired the

breast

To thiist of glory, and heroic deeds ;
Sweet Haro's Muse, Brink in inglorious

rest,

Had silent slept amid the Minor an reeds :
.The wits of modern time had told their

beads,
And monkish legends been, their only

strains ;
Our Milton's Eden had lam wrapt in

weeds,
Our Shakspeare stroll5 d and laugh'd with

Warwick swains,

Ne had my master Spenser charm' d his
Mulla's plains.

Dumb too had been the sage historic

Muse,

And perish' d all the sons of ancient fame ;
Those starry lights of virtue, that diffuse
Through the dark depth of time their vivid

Had all been lost with such as have no

name.
Who then had soorn'd his ease for others'

good?
Who then had toil'd rapacious men to

tame •*

Who in the public breach devoted stood,
And for his country's cause been prodigal of
blood?

But should your hearts to fame unfeeling

be,

If right I read, you pleasure all require •
Then hear how best may be obtam'd this

' fee,

How best enjoy* d this nature's wide desire.
Toil, and be glad ' let Industry inspire
Into your qmcken'd limbs her buoyant

bieath'

Who does not act is dead , absorpt entire
In miry sloth, no pride, no joy he hath :
0 leaden-hearted men, to be in love with
death!

Ah i what avail the largest gifts of

Heaven,
When dioopmg health and spirits go

amiss •*

How tasteless then whatever can be given 1
Health is the vital principle of bliss,
And exercise of health In proof of this,
Behold the wretch, who slugs his life away,
Soon swallow* d in disease's sad abyss ;
"Whale he whom toil has braced, or manly

play,

Has light as air each, limb, each thought as
clear as day.

JAMBS THOMSON ]

[SIXTH PBBIOD —

0, who can speak the vigorous joy of

health?

Unologg'd the body, unobscured the mmd
The morning rises gray, with pleasing

stealth,
The temperate evening falls serene and

kind
In health the wiser brutes true gladness

find.
See ' how the younglings frisk along the

meads,
As May comes on, and wakes the balmy

wind;
Eampant with life, their joy all joy

exceeds

Yet what but high-strung health this dancing
pleasaunoe breeds P "

Janies Thomson.— Born 1700, Died 1748.

876— ODE

O Nightingale, best poet of the grove,
That plaintive strain oan ne'er belong to

thee,
Blest in the full possession of thy love

0 lend that strain, sweet nightingale, to
me '

*Tis mine, alas ! to mourn my wretched fate •

1 love a maid who all my bosom charms,
Yet lose my days without this lovely mate ,

Inhuman Foitune keeps her from my arms.

You, happy birds ' by nature's simple laws
Lead your soft lives, sustain' d by Nature's
fare,

You dwell wherever roving fancy draws,
And love and song is all your pleasing care

But we, vain slaves of interest and of pride,
Dare not be blest lest envious tongues

should blame

And hence, in vain I languish for my bride ,
0 mourn with me, sweet bird, my hapless
flame

James Tlwmson — Born 1700, Died 1748

877 —HYMN ON SOLITUDE.

Hail, mildly pleasing Solitude,
Companion of the wise and good,
But, from whose holy, piercing eye,
The herd of fools and villains fly

Oh ' how I love with thee to walk,
And listen to thy whisper* d talk,
Which innocence and truth imparts,
And melts the most obdurate hearts

A thousand shapes you wear with ease,
And still in every shape you please
Now wrapt in some mystonous dream,
A lone philosopher you soem ,
Now quick from hill to vale you fly,
And now you sweep the vaulted sky ,
A shepherd next, you haunt the plain,
And warble forth your oaten strain
A lover now, with all the grace
Of that sweet passion in your face ;
Then, oalm'd to friendship, you assume
The gentle-looking Hartford's bloom,
As, with her Musidora, she
(Her Musidora fond of thee)
Amid the long withdrawing vale,
Awakes the nvall'd nightingale

Thine is the balmy breath of morn,
Just as the dew-bent rose is born ,
And while meridian fervours beat,
Thine is the woodland dumb retreat ;
But chief, when evening scenes decay,
And the faint landscape swims away,
Thine is the doubtful soft decline,
And that best hour of musing thine.

Descending angels bless thy train,
The virtues of the sage, and swam ;
Flam Innocence, in white array 'd,
Before thee lifts her fearless head
Religion's beams around thee shine,
And cheer thy glooms with light divine :
About thee sports sweet Liberty ,
And rapt Urania -sings to thee.

Oh, let me pierce thy secret cell r
And in thy deep recesses dwell ,
Perhaps from Norwood's oak-clad hill,
"When Meditation has her fill,
I just may cast my careless eyes
Where London's spiry turrets rise,
Think of its crimes, its cares, its pain,
Then shield me in the woods again.

James TJwmson — Born 1700, Died 1748.

878— THE HAPPY MAN.

He's not the Happy Man to whom is given
A plenteous fortune by indulgent Heaven ;
Whose gilded roofs on shining columns rise,
And painted walls enchant the gazer's eyes ;
Whose table flows with hospitable cheer,
And all the various bounty of the year ;
Whose valleys smile, whose gardens breathe

the spring,
Whose carved mountains bleat, and forests

sing,
For whom the cooling shade in Summer

twines,
While his full cellars give their generous

wines,
From whose wide fields unbounded Autumn

pours
A golden tide into his swelling stores ;

J?Hm 1727 to 1780.]

GBONGAB HILL.

[JOHN DYER.

Whose winter laughs , for whom the liberal

gules
Stretch the big sheet, and toiling commerce

sails;
When yielding crowds attend, and pleasure

While youth, and health, and vigour string

his nerves.

Ev'n not all these, in one noh lot combined,
Can make the Happy Man, without the

mind,
Where Judgment sits clear-sighted, and

surreys

The chain of Beason with unerring gaze ;
Where Fancy lives, and to the brightening

eyes,

His fairer scenes and bolder figures rise ,
Where social Love exerts her soft command,
And plays the passions with a tender hand,
Whence every virtue flows, in rival strife,
And all the moral harmony of life.

James Tliomson. — Born 1700, Died 1748.

879— BULB BBITANNIA.

When Britain first, at Heaven's command,

Arose from out the azure main,
. This was the chatter of the land,

And guardian angels sung the strain
Bule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves '
Britons never shall be slaves

The nations not so blest as thee,
Must m their turn to tyrants fall,

Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of •feb.jnro all
Bule Britannia, &c.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke ,

As the loud blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak
Bule Britannia, &o.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ;

All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous flame,

And work their woe and thy renown.
Bule Britannia, &c

To thee belongs the rural reign ,

Thy cities shall with commerce shine ,

All shall be subject to the main,
And every shore it circles thine.
Bule Britannia, &o.

The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair ;

Blest isle, with matchless beauty crowned,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.
Bule Britannia, &c

Jcmes Thomson.—- Bom 1700, Lied 1748.

880— GBONGAB FTT.Ti.

Silent nymph, with curious eye,

Who, the purple evening, lie

On the mountain's lonely van,

Beyond the noise of busy man ,

Painting fair the form of things,

While the yellow linnot sings ;

Or the tuneful nightingale

Charms the forest with her tale ;

Come, with all thy various hues,

Come and aid thy sister Muse ;

Now, while Fnoebus riding high,

Gives lustre to the land and sky !

Grongar TTVn invites my song,

Draw the landscape bright and strong ;

Grongar, in whose mossy cells

Sweetly musing Quiet dwells ,

Grongar, in whose silent shade,

For the modest Muses made ;

So oft I have, the evening still,

At the fountain of a nil,

Sate upon a flowery bed.

With my hand beneath my head ,

While strayed my eyes o'er Towy's fl«od,

Over mead and over wood,

From house to house, from hill to hill,

Till Contemplation had her fill

About his chequer' d sides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind,
And groves, and grottoes where I lay,
And vistas shooting beams of day
Wide and wider spreads the vale,
As circles on a smooth canal
The mountains round, unhappy fate ;
Sooner or later of all height,
Withdraw their summits from the skies,
And lessen as the others rise
Still the prospect wider spreads,
Adds a thousand woods and meads ;
Still it widens, widens still,
And Rinks the newly-risen hill.

Now, I gain the mountain's brow,
What a landscape lies below '
No clouds, no vapours intervene ,
But the gay, the open scene
Does the face of Nature show,
In all the hues of Heaven's bow f
And, swelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the sight

Old castles on the cliffs arise,
Proudly towering in the skies '
Bushing from the woods, the spires
Seem from hence ascending fires '
Hfllf his beams Apollo sheds
On the yellow mountain-heads '
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rooks '

Below me trees unnumber'd nse,
Beautiful in various dyes
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beech, the sable yew,
The slender fir that taper grows,
The sturdy oak with broad-spread bougha.
And beyond the purple grove,
Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love '

WILLIAM HAMILTON ]

THE BRAES OF YAEROW

SIXTH PERIOD.— *

Gaudy as the opening dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,
On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wandering eye '
Deep are his feet in Tow/s flood,
His sides are clothed with waving wood,
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That cast an awful look below ,
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps ;
So both a safety from the wind
On mutual dependence find
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode ;
'Tis now the apartment of the toad ;
And there the fox securely feeds ;
And there the poisonous addei breeds,
Conceal' d in rums, moss, and weeds ;
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walla
Yet Time has seen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has seen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state ,
But transient is the smile of Fate '
A little rule, a little sway,
A sun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave

And see the nvers how they run,
Through woods and meads, in shade and sun,
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless sleep7
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wandering thought ;
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our oaies away
Ever charming, ever new,
When will the landscape tire the view r
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody valleys, warm and low ,
The windy summit, wild and high,
Koughly rushing on the sky '
The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower ,
The town and villiige, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's southern sido,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide ,
How close and small the hedges he '
What streaks of meadows cross the eye !
A step methmks may pass the stream,
So little distant dangers seem ;
So we mistake the Future's face,
Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass ;
As yon summits soft and fan-,
dad in colouis of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear :
Still we tread the same coarse way,
The present 's still a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see ;

Content me with an humble shado
My passions tamed, my wishes laid ,
For, while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul
'Tis thus the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care

Now, ov'n now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie ,
While the wanton zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings ;
While the waters murmui deep ,
While the shepherd chaims his sheep ;
While the buds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky,
Now, e'en now, my joys run high

Be full, ye courts , be great who will ,
Search for Peace with all your skill
Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor
In vain you search, she is not there ;
In vain yo search the domes of Care '
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads, and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure, close allied,
Ever by each other's side •
And often, by the murmuring rill
Hears the thrush, while all is still,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill

John Dyer— Born, 1700, Diod 1758.

881.— THE BEAES OF YABEOW.
A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride,

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow I
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride,
And think nae mair on the Braes of
Yarrow

B Where gat ye that bonny bonny bndo ?
Where gat ye that winsome marrow P

A. I gat her where I darena well bo soon,
Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride,
Weep not, weep not, my wmsoino mairow '

Nor let thy heait lament to leave

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride ?
Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow ?

And why dare ye nae mair well be seen,
Pouing the birks on tho Braes of Yarrow P

A Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun
she weep,

Lang maun she weep with dule and soriow,
And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen,

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

For she has tint her lover lover dear,
Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow,

And I hae alam the oomeliest swain

That e'er poued birks on the Braes of
Yarrow.

, From 1727 to 1780.]

THE BRAES OF YAEROW.

[WILLIAM HAMILTON.

"Why runs thy stream, 0 Yarrow, Yarrow,

red?
Why on thy braes heard the voice of

sorrow ?

And why yon melanchohous weeds
Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow p

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful

flude?

What *s yonder floats ? 0 dule and sor-
row!

'Tis he, the comely swam I slew
CTpon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

Wash, oh wash his wounds his wounds in
tears,

His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow,
And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds,

And lay him on the Braes of Yanow

Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters sad,
Ye sisteis sad, his tomb with sonow,

And weep aiound in waeful wise,

His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow.

Curse ye, cuise ye, his useless useless shield,
My arm that wrought the deed of soirow,

The fatal spear that pierced his breast,

His comely breast, on the Braes of Yanow.

Did I not warn thee not to lue,

And warn from fight, but to my sorrow ,
O'er rashly bauld a strongei arm

Thou met'st, and fell on the Biaes of
Yarrow

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green
grows the giass,

Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan,
Pair hangs the apple frae the rook,

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan

Plows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet
flows Tweed,

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow,
As sweet smells on its braes the birk,

The apple frae the rook as mellow

Pair was thy love, fair fair indeed thy love,
In flowery bands thou him didst fetter ,

Though he was fair and weil beloved again,
Than me ho nevor lued thee better

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bnde,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow,

Busk ye, and lue me on the banks of Tweed,
And th-T^k nae mair on the Braes of
Yarrow

C How can I busk a bonny bonny bride,
How can I busk a winsome marrow,

How lue him on the banks of Tweed,
That slew my love on the Braos of Yairow.

0 Yarrow fields f may never never rain,
Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover,

For there was basely slain my love,
My love, as he had not been a lover

The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,
Has purple vest, 'twas my am sewing,

Ah ' wretched me ! I little little kenn'd
He was in these to meet his ruin.

The boy took out his milk-white milk-white
steed,

TTnheedful of my dule and sorrow,
But e'er the to-fall of the night

He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

Much I rejoiced that waeful waeful day 5
I sang, my voice the woods returning,

But lang ere night the spear was flown
That slew my love, and left me mourning.

What can my barbarous barbarous father do,
But with his cruel rage pursue me ?

My lover's blood is on thy spear,
How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo
me •*

My happy sisters may be may be proud ,

With cruel and ungentle scoffin,
May bid me seek on Yanow Braes

My lover nail'd in his coffin.

My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid,
And strive with threatening words to move
me,

My lover's blood is on thy spear,

How canst thou ever bid me love thee p

Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love,
With bndal sheets my body cover,

Unbar, ye bndal maids, the door,
Let in the expected husband lover

But who the expected husband husband is P
His hands, methinks, are bathed in
slaughter

Ah me ' what ghastly spectre *s yon,

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after ?

Pale as be is, here lay "M™ lay "Mn\ down,
O lay his cold head on my pillow ,

Take aff take aff these bndal weeds,
And crown my careful head with willow.

Pale though thou art, yet best yet best
beloved,

O could my warmth to life restore thee !
Ye'd lie all night between my breasts,

No youth lay ever there before thee

Pale pale, indeed, O lovely lovely youth,
Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter,

And he all night between my breasts,
No youth shall ever lie there after.

Return, return, 0 mournful mournful bride,
Eeturn and dry thy useless sorrow •

Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs,
He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

William Hamilton—Born 1704, Died 1754.

WILLIAM HAMILTON ]

SONG

[SIXTH PERIOD —

882.— SONG.

Ye shepherds of this pleasant vale,

Where Yarrow streams along,
Forsake your rural tods, and join

In my tiiumphant song

She grants, she yields , one heavenly smile

Atones her long delays,
One happy minute crowns the pains

Of many suffering days

Raise, raise the victor notes of joy,

These Buffering days are o'er ,
Love satiates now his boundless wish

From beauty's boundless store

No doubtful hopes, no anxious fears,

This rising calm destroy,
Now every prospect smiles around,

All op'nmg into joy.

The sun with double lustre shone

That dear consenting hour,
Brighten' d each hill, and o'er eaoh vale

New oolour'd every flower

The gales their gentle sighs withheld,

No leaf was seen to move,
The hovenng songsters round were mute,

And wonder hush'd the grove.

The hills and dales no more resound

The lambkin's tender cry ,
Without one murmur Yarrow stole

Xn dimpling silence by

All nature seem'd in still repose

Her voice alone to hear,
That gently roll'd the tunof ul wave,

She spoke and bless'd my ear.

Take, take whate'er of bliss or joy

You fondly fancy mine ,
Whate'er of joy or bliss I boast,

Love renders wholly thine

The woods struck up to the soft gale,

The leaves were seen to move,
The feather'd choir resumed their voice,

And wonder fill'd the grove ,

The hills and dales again resound

The lambkins' tender cry,
With all his murmurs Yarrow tnlTd

The song of triumph by ,

Above, beneath, around, all on

Was verdure, beauty, song,
I snatch'd her to my trembhng breast,

All nature joy'd along

TFiWiam Hamilton— Bom 1704, Died 1754.

883 —SONG

Ah, the poor shepherd's mournful fate,

When doom'd to lovo and doom'd to lan-
guish,
To bear the scornful fair one's hate,

Nor dare disclose his anguish !
Yet eager looks and dying sighs

My secret soul discover,
While rapture, trembling through mmo oyos,

Reveals how much I lovo her
The tender glance, the reddening check,

O'erspiead with rising blushes,
A thousand various ways thoy spook

A thousand various wishes

For, oh ' that form so heavenly fair,

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling,
That artless blush and modest air,

So fatally beguiling ;
Thy every look, and every grace,

So charm, whene'er I view thee,
Till death o'ertake me in the chase,

Still will my hopes pursue thee
Then, when my tedious hours are past,

Be this lost blessing given,
Low at thy feet to breatho my last,

And die in sight of hoaven.

Wilham Hamilton — Born 1704, Died 1754.

884— LONDON.

Though gnof and fondness in my breast

rebel,

When injured Tholes bids the town farewell ,
Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice

commend,

I praise the hermit, but regret the friend,
Who now resolves, from vice and London

far,

To breathe in distant fields a purer air ,
And fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore,
Give to St David one true Briton more
For who would leave, unbnbod, Hiborma's

land,
Or change the rocks of Scotland for the

Strand?

There none are swept by sudden fate away,
But all, whom hunger spares, with age

Here malice, rapine, accident conspire,
And now a rabble rages, now a fire ,
Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay,
And here the fell attorney prowls for prey ,
Here falling houses thunder on your head,
And here a female atheist talks you dead.
While Thales waits the wherry that con-
tarns
Of dissipated wealth the small remains,

From 1727 to 1780.]

LONDON.

[SAMUEL JOHNSON.

On Thames' s banks, in silent thought we

stood,
Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver

flood

Struck -with the seat that gave Eliza birth,
We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth ,
III pleasing dreams the blissful age renew,
And call Britannia's glones back to view ,
Behold her cross triumphant on the Tnfl.-m3
The guard of commerce, and the dread of

Spam,

Ere masquerades debauch* d, excise oppress' d,
Or English honour grew a standing jest

A transient calm the happy scenes bestow,
And for a moment lull the sense of woe
At length awaking, with contemptuous frown,
Indignant Thales eyes the neighbouring town
" Since worth," he cries, " in these degenerate

days,

Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty praise ,
In those cursed walls, devote to Yice and

gam,

Since unrewarded science toils in vain ;
Since hope but soothes to double my distress,
And every moment leaves my little less ,
While yet my steady steps no staff sustains,
And life still vigorous revels in my veins ,
Grant me, kind Heaven, to find some happier

place,

Where honesty and sense are no disgrace ,
Some pleasing bank wheie verdant osiers

play,
Some peaceful vale with Nature's painting

gay,

Where once the harass' d Briton found repose,
And safe in poverty defied his foes ,
Some secret cell, ye powers indulgent, give,

Let live here, for has learn'd to live

Here let those reign whom pensions can

incite

To vote a patriot black, a courtier white ,
Explain their country's dear-bought rights

away,

And plead for pirates in the face of day ;
With slavish tenets taint our poison' d youth,
And lend a lie the confidence of truth
Let such raise palaces, and manors buy,
Collect a tax, or farm a lottery ,
With warbling eunuchs fill a licensed stage,
And lull to servitude a thoughtless age

" Heroes, proceed ' what bounds your pride

shall hold ?
What check restrain your thirst of power and

gold?

Behold rebellious Virtue quite o'erthrown,
Behold our fame, our wealth, our lives y our

own

To such a groaning nation's spoils are given,
When public crimes inflate the wrath of

But what, my friend, what hope remains for

me,

Who start at theft, and blush at perjury ?
Who scarce forbear, though Britain's court he

sing,
To pluck a titled poet's borrow* d wing ;

A statesman's logic unconvinced can hear,
And dare to slumber o'er the Gazetteer
Despise a fool in half his pension dress' d,
And strive in vain to laugh at H y's

jest
" Others, with softer smiles and subtler

art,

Can sap the principles, or taint the heart j
With more address a lover's note convey,
Or bribe a virgin's innocence away
Well may they nse, while I, whose rustic

tongue

Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong.
Spurn' d as a beggar, dreaded as a spy,
Live unregarded, unlamented die.

"For what but social guilt the friend

endears ?
Who shares Orgilio's crimes, his fortunes

shares.

But thou, should tempting villany present
All Marlborough hoarded, or all Villiers

spent,
Turn from the glittering bnbe thy scornful

eye,

Nor sell for gold what gold could never buy,
The peaceful slumber, self-approving day,
TJnsuUied fame, and conscience ever gay.
"The cheated nation's happy favourites,

seei
Mark whom the great caress, who frown on

me '

London ' the needy villain's general home,
The common sewer of Pans and of Borne,
With eager thiist, by folly or by fate,
Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state
Forgive my transports on a theme hi e this,
I cannot bear a French metropolis

" Illustrious Edward ' from the realms of

day,

The land of heroes and of saints survey >
Nor hope the British lineaments to trace,
The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace ;
But, lost in thoughtless ease and empty

show,

Behold the wamor dwindled to a beau ;
Sense, freedom, piety, refined away,
Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey.
"All that at home no more can beg or

Or like a gibbet better than a wheel ;

Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the

court,

Their air, their dress, their politics impoit ,
Obsequious, artful, voluble, and gay,
On Britain's fond credulity they prey.
No gainful trade their industry can 'scape,
They smg, they dance, clean shoes, or cuie a

clap.

All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows,
And bid >»•"? go to hell, to hell he goes

' Ah i what avails it that, from slavery far,
I drew the breath of life in English air ,
Was early taught a Bnton's right to prize,
And lisp the tale of Henry's victories ,
If the golTd conqueror receives the chain,
And flattery subdues when arms are vain P

SAMUEL JOHNSON ]

LONDON

[SIXTH PEBIOD —

" Studious to please, and ready to submit,
The supple Gaul was born a parasite .
StiU to his interest true, wheio'er he goes,
Wit, bravery, worth, his lavish tongue be-
stows

In every face a thousand graces shine,
From every tongue flows harmony divine
These arts m vain our rugged natives try,
Strain out with faltering diffidence a lie,
And gam a kick for awkward flattery.

*' Besides, with 3ustice, this discerning ago
Admires their wondrous talents for the

stage:

"Well may they venture on the mimic's art,
"Who play from morn to night a borrow' d

part

Practised their master's notions to embrace,
Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face '
With every wild absurdity comply,
And view each object with another's eye ,
To shake with laughter ere the jest thoy

hear,

To pour at will the counterfeited tear ,
And, as their patron hints the cold or heat,
To shake in dog-days, in December sweat
How, when competitors like these contend,
Can surly Virtue hope to fix a friend P
Slaves that with serious impudence beguile,
And lie without a blush, without a smile ,
Exalt eaoh tnfle, every vice adoie,
Your taste in. snuff, your judgment in a

whore ,

Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear
He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air '
"For arts like these preferred, admired,

oaress'd,
They first invade your table, then your

breast ;

Explore your secrets with insidious art,
Watch the weak hour, and lansaok all the

heart,

Then soon your ill-placed confidence repay,
Commence your lords, and govern or betray
" By numbers here, from shame or censure

free,

All crimes are safe but hated poverty
This, only this, the ngid law pursues,
This, only this, provokes the snarling muse
The sober trader at a tatter1 d cloak
Wakes from his dream, and labours for a

joke;

With brisker air the silken courtiers graze,
And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways
Of all the griefs that harass the disbress'd,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest ,
Fate never wounds more deep the generous

heart

Than when a blockhead's insult points the dait
" Has Heaven reserved, in pity to the poor,
No pathless waste, or undisoover'd shore ?
No secret island in the boundless main ?
No peaceful desert yet unolam'd by Spain ?
Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore
And bear Oppression's insolence no more.
This mournful truth is everywhere oonf ess'd •
Slow rises worth, by poverty depress'd

But here moio slow, where all are slaves to

gold,
Wheie looks ore merchandise, and smiles aro

sold,

Where, won by bribes, by flatteries implored,
The gioom retails the favours of hiH 3oul
" But hark ' tho affrighted crowd' a tumul-
tuous cries
Roll thiough tho street, and thunder to tho

skies*
Raised from some pleasing droam of wealth

and power,

Some pompous palace, or some blissful bower,
Aghast you stait, and scaico with aching

sight
Sustain the approaching file's tremendous

light;

Swift from pursuing horrors take your way,
And leave your little all to flames a prey ,
Then through the world a wretched vagrant

loam,

For where can starving Merit find a homo ?
In vain your mournful narrative disclose,
While all neglect, and most insult your woes.
" Should Heaven's just bolts Orgilio's wealth

confound,

And spread his flaming palace on the ground,
Swift o'er the land the dismal rumour flies,
And public mournings pacify the skies ,
The lauieate tribe m servile verse relate
How Virtue wars with persecuting Fate ,
With well-feign'd gratitude the pension' d band
Refund the plunder of the beggar' d land.
See ' while he builds, the gaudy vassals come,
And ciowd with sudden wealth the using

dome,

The puce of boroughs and of souls restore,
And raise his treasures higher than before
Now bless'd with all the baubles of the gioat,
The polish' d marble, and the shining plate,
Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire,
And hopes from angry Heaven another fiio.
"Couldst thou resign the park and play

content,

For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent ,
There mightst thou find some elegant retreat,
Some hireling senator's deserted seat,
And stretch thy prospects o'er tho smiling

land,
For less than rent the dungeons of tho

Strand ,
Thoie piune thy walks, support thy drooping

flowers,

Direct thy nvulets, and twine thy bowors .
And while thy beds a cheap repast afford,
Doctpise the dainties of a venal lord
There every bush with nature's music rings,
There every breeze bears health upon its

wings;

On all thy hours security shall smilo,
And bless thine evening walk and morning

toil
"Piopare for death, if here at night you

roam,
And sign youi will, before you sup from

home.

From 1727 to 1780.]

THE VANITY OP HUTVTA'N' "WISHES [SAMTJEI JOHNSON.

Some fiery fop, with new commission vain,
Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man ;
Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast,
Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest

" Yet e'en these heroes, mischievously gay,
Lords of the street, and terrors of the way,
Flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and

wine,

Their prudent insults to the poor confine ,
Afar they mark the flambeau's bright ap-
proach,

And ahim the shining train and golden coach.
" In yain, these dangers pass'd, your doors

you close,

And hope the balmy blessings of repose
Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair,
The midnight murderer bursts the faithless

bar,

Invades the sacred hour of silent rest,
And plants unseen, a dagger in your breast
" Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn

die,

With hemp the gallows and the fleet supply.
Propose your schemes, ye senatonan band,
Whose ways and means support the snaking

land,

Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring,
To rig another convoy for the king

"A single jail, in Alfred's golden reign,
Could Tig-lf the nation's criminals contain ,
Fair Justice then, without constraint adored,
Held high the steady scale, but sheathed the

sword ;

No spies were paid, no special juries known ,
Bless'd age ' but ah ' 'how different from our

own'
"Much could I add,— but seethe boat at

hand,

The tide retiring, calls me from the land •
Farewell I— When youth, and health, and for-
tune spent,

Thou fliest for refuge to the wilds of Kent ;
And, tired like me with follies and with crimes,
In angry numbers warn' at succeeding tunes ,
Then shall thy friend, nor thou refuse his

aid,

Still foe to vice, forsake his Cambrian shade ;
In virtue's cause once more exert his rage,
Thy satire point, and animate thy page."

Samuel Johnson— Born 1709, Died 1784

885.— THE VANITY OF HUMAN
WISHES

Let observation, with extensive view,
Survey mankind from China to Peru ,
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life ,
Then say how hope and fear, desire and

hate,
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of

fate,

Where waVring man, betray'd by vent'rous

pride,

To chase the dreary paths, without a guide,
As treaoh'rous phantoms in the mist delude,
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good ;
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,
Rules foe bold hand, or prompts the suppliant

voice :

How nations Rink by darling schemes op-
press* d,

When vengeance listens to the fool's request
Fate wings with ev'ry wish th* afflictive dart,
Each gift of nature and each grace of art
With fatal heat impetuous courage glows,
With fatal sweetness elocution flows,
Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful

breath,

And restless fire precipitates on death '
But, scarce observed, the knowing and the

bold

Fall in the general massacre of gold ;
Wide wasting pest ! that rages unoonfined,
And crowds with crimes the records of man-
kind;

For gold his sword the Tiirehng ruffian draws,
For gold the fr-maling- judge distorts the laws ;
Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety

buys,

The dangers gather as the treasures rise
Let history tell where nval kings com-
mand,

And dubious title shakes the madded land,
When statutes glean the refuse of the sword,
How much more safe the vassal than the

lord,
Low skulks the hind beneath the rage of

power,

And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower,
Untouoh'd his cottage, and his slumbers

sound,
Though confiscation's vultures hover round.

The needy traveller, serene and gay,
Walks the wild heath and sings his toil

away.
Does envy seize theeP crush th' upbraiding

joy,

Increase his riches, and his peace destroy.
Now fears in dire vicissitude invade,
The rustling brake alarms, and quiv'rmg

shade,

Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief,
One shows the plunder, and one hides the

thief.

Yet still one gen'ral cry the skies assails,
And gain and grandeur load the tainted

gales;
Few know the toiling statesman's fear or

care,
The insidious rival and the gaping heir

Once more, Democntus, arise on earth,
With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth,
See motley life in modern trappings dress* d,
And feed with varied fools the eternal jest
Thou who couldst laugh, where want en-
chain'd caprice,

Toil crush' d conceit, and man was of a piece ;

42

SAMUEL JOHNSON ]

THE VANITY OP HUMAN WISHES.

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

Where wealth unloved without a mourner

died,

And scarce a sycophant was fed by pnde ,
Where ne'er was known the foim of mock

debate,

Or seen a now-made mayor's unwieldy state ;
Where change of fav'ntea made no change of

laws,
And. senates heard before they judged a

cause,
How wouldst thou snake at Britain's modish

tribe,
Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing

gibe1

Attentive truth and nature to descry,
And pierce each scene with philosophic eye.
To thee were solemn toys, or empty show,
The robes of pleasure, and the veils of woe :
All aid the farce, and aH thy mirth maintain,
Whose joys are cai seless, or whose grief s are

vain.
Such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's

mind,

Benew'd at ev'ry glance on human kind ,
How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare,
Search ev'ry state, and canvass ev'ry prayer
TJznmmber'd suppliants crowd Preferment's

gate,

Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great ;
Delusive Fortune hears th' incessant call,
They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall.
On ev'ry stage the foes of peace attend,
Hate dogs foflYl? flight, and insult mocks their

end
Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's

door

Pours in the morning worshipper no more ;
For growing names the weekly scribbler lies,
To growing wealth the dedicator flies ,
From ev'ry room descends the painted face,
That hung the blight palladium of the place ,
And, smoked in kitchens, or in auctions sold,
To better features yields the frame of gold j
For now no more we trace in ev'ry line
Horoio woith, benevolence divine .
The form distorted justifies the fall,
And detestation rids the indignant wall.

But will not Britain hear the last appeal,
Sign her foe's doom, or guard hor favourite's

Through Freedom's sons no more remon-
strance rings,

Degrading nobles and controlling kings ;

Our supple tnbes repress their patriot
throats,

And ask no questions but the price of votes ;

With weekly libels and septennial ale,

Their wish is full to not and to rail.
La full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand,

Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand

To him the church, the realm, their p6wers
consign,

Through him the rays of regal bounty shine,

Turn'd by his nod the stream of honour
flows,

His smile alone security bestows

Still to new heights his restless wishes tower,
Claim leads to claim, and power advances

power.

Till conquest unresisted ceased to please,
And rights submitted left him none to aoizo
At length his sov'reign frowns — the train of

state
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to

hate

Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eyo,
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers

fly;

Now drops at once the pride of awful state,
The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plato,
The regal palace, the luxurious board,
The livened army, and the menial lord
With age, with cares, with maladies op-

press' d,

He seeks the refuge of monastic rest.
Grief aids disease, remember 'd folly stings,
And fag last sighs reproach the faith of

kings.
Speak thou whose thoughts at humble

peace repine,
Shall Wolsey's wealth with Wolscy's end be

thine?

Or hvest thou now, with safer pndo content,
The wisest justice on the banks of Trent ?
For, why did Wolsey, near the stoops of fate,
On weak foundations raise the enormous

weight P

Why, but to sink beneath misfortune's blow,
With louder rum to the gulfs below ?
What gave great Villiers to the assassin's

knife,

And fix'd disease on Harley's closing life ?
What muider'd Wentworth, and what exiled

Hyde,

By kings protected, and to kings allied P
What but their wish indulged in courts to

shine,

And powei too great to keep or to resign P
When first the college rolls receive his

name,
The young enthusiast quits IUH oaso for

fame,

Eesifltless bums the fevor of renown,
Caught from the strong contagion of tlio

gown

O'er Bodley's dome his future labours apioad,
And Bacon's mansion trembles o'or his

head
Are these thy views? Proceed, lUustrious

youth,
And Virtue guard theo to tho throne of

Truth'
Yet should thy soul indulge tho gon'ious

heat

Till captive Science yields hor last retreat ,
Should reason guide thee with hor brightest

*ay,

And pour on misty doubt resistless day ,
Should no false kindness lure to loose delight,
Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fnght ;
Should tempting Novelty thy cell refrain,
And Sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain j

From 1727 to 1780.]

THE VANITY OP HUMAN" WISHES. [SAMTTBL JOHNSON.

Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart,
Nor claim the triuniph of a letter' d heart ;
Should no disease thy torpid veins invade,
Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade ;
Yet hope not Me from grief or danger free,
Nor think the doom of "man reversed for

( thee
Deign on the passing world to turn thine

eyes,

And pause awhile from letters to be wise ;
There mark what ills the scholar's hfe assail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail
See nations, slowly wise and meanly just,
To buried merit raise the tardy bust.
If dreams yet natter, once again attend,
Hear Lydiat's life, and Gahleo's end
Nor deem, when Learning her last prize

bestows,

The glitt'nug eminence exempt from foes ,
See, when the vulgar 'scapes, despised or

awed,

Bebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud.
From meaner TKiiTiLdf1* though smaller fines

content,

The plunder' d palace, or sequestered rent,
Mark'd out by dangerous parts, he meets the

shook,

And fatal Learning leads him to the block :
Around his tomb let Art and Genius weep,
But hear Vug death, ye blockheads, hear and

sleep.

The festal blazes, the triumphal show,
The ravish' d standard, and the captive foe,
The senate's thanks, the Gazette's pompous

tale,

With force resistless o'er the brave prevail
Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirr d,
For such the steady Boman shook the world ,
For such in distant ^ftti^s the Britons shine,
And stain with blood the Danube or the

Rhine;
This power has praise, that virtue scarce can

warm

Till fame supplies the universal charm.
Yet reason frowns on war's unequal game,
Where wasted nations raise a single name ;
And mortgaged states their grandsires'

wreaths regret,

From age to age in everlasting- debt ;
Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right

convey

To rust on medals, or on stones decay.
On what foundation stands the warrior's

pride,
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles

decide ;

A frame of adamant, a soul of fire,
No dangers fright "him, and no labours tire ,
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain,
ITnconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain ;
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield,
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the

field 5

Behold surrounding kings their powers com-
bine,
And one capitulate, and one resign ;

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms

in vain;
*e Think nothing gain'd," he ones, "till

nought remain,

On Moscow's walk till Gothic standards fly,
And all be mine beneath the polar sky."
The march begins in military state,
And nations on his eye suspended wait ;
Stern Famine guards the solitary coast,
And Winter barricades the realms of Frost;
He comes, nor want nor cold his course

delay,—

Hade, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day :
The vanquish' d hero leaves Vg broken bands,
ATMJ shows fag miseries in distant lands ;
Condemn' d a needy supplicant to wait,
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate.
But did not chance at length her error mend ?
Did no subverted empire mark his end ?
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound P
Or hostile millions press ^"^n to the ground ?
TTia fall was destined to a barren strand,
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ;
He left the name, at which the world grew

pale,

To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
All times their scenes of pompous woes

afford,

From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord.
In gay hostility and barb'rous pride,
With half mankind embattled at his side,
Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey,
And starves exhausted regions in Ms way ;
Attendant Flatt'ry counts his myriads o'er,
Till counted myriads soothe his pride no

more ,
Fresh praise is tried till madness fires his

mind,

The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind ;
New powers are claim* d, new powers are still

bestowed,

Till rude resistance lops the spreading* god ;
The daring Greeks dende the martial show,
And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe ;
Th' insulted sea with humbler thought he

A single aTnff to speed his flight remains ,
Th' encumber* d oar scarce leaves the dreaded

coast
Through purple billows and a floating host.

The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour,
Tries the dread summits of CsBsarean power,
With unexpected legions bursts away,
And sees defenceless realms receive his sway :
Short sway ' fair Austria spreads her mournful

The queen, the beauty, sets the world in

arms;

From Mil to lull the beacon's rousing blaze
Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of

praise;

The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar,
With all the sons of ravage, crowd the war ;
The baffled pnnoe, in honour's flatt'ring

bloom
Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom ;

SAMUEL JOHNSON-.]

THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

His foes* derision and his subjects' blame,
And steals to death from anguish and from

shame.

"Enlarge my hfe -with multitude of days f "
In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant

prays •
Hides from himself its state, and shuns to

know,

That life protracted is protracted woe.
Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy,
And shuts up all the passages of joy :
In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons

pour,

The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flower ;
With listless eyes the dotard views the store,
He views, and wonders that they please no

more;
Now pall the tasteless meats, and joyless

wines,

And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns.
Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing

strain,

Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain
No sounds, alas f would touch the impervious

ear,
Though dancing mountains witnessed Orpheus

near;

Nor lute nor lyre his feeble powers attend,
Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend ,
But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue,
Perversely grave, or positively wrong
The still returning tale, and lingering jest,
Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd

guest,
While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'nng

sneer,

And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear •
The watchful guests still hint the last

offence ;

The daughter's petulance, the son's expense,
Improve his heady rage with iaeaoh'roua

skill,
And mould "big passions till they make his

will.

Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade,
Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade ,
But unextinguish'd av'rioe still remains,
And dreaded losses aggravate his pains ;
He turns, with anxious heart and crippled

hands,

TTia bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands ;
Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes,
Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies

But grant, the virtues of a temp'rate prime
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or

crime ,

An age that melts with tmperoeived decay,
And glides in modest innocence away ;
Whose peaceful day benevolence endears,
Whose night congratulating conscience cheers ;
The general faVnte as the general friend :
Such age there is, and who shall wish its

end?
Yet evfn on this her load Misfortune

flings,
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings ;

New sorrow rises as the day retains,
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns.
Now kindred Ment fills the sable bier,
Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear ;
Year chases year, decay pursues decay,
Still drops some joy from with'nng life

away,

New forms arise, and different views engage*
Superfluous lags tho vot'ran on tho stage,
Till pitying Natuic signs the last release,
And bids afflicted worth retire to peace
But few there are whom hours like, those*

Who set unclouded in the gulfs of Fato
From Lydia's monarch should the search

descend,

By Solon caution' d to regard his end,
In life's last scene what prodigies surprise,
Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise '
From Marlb'rough's eyes the streams of

dotage flow,
And Swift expires a driv'lor and a show

The teeming mother, anxious for her race,
Begs for each birth the fortune of a face ,
Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty

spring,
And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a

king.

Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes,
Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise ;
Whom joys with soft varieties invite,
By day the frolic, and the dance by night ;
Who frown with vanity, who smile with art,
And ask the latest fashion of the heart ,
What care, what rules, your heedless charms

shall save,
Each nymph your rival, and each youth your

slave ?

Against your fame with fondness hate com-
bines,

The rival batters, and the lover mines.
With distant voice neglected Virtue calls,
Less heard and less, tho faint remonstrance

falls,
Tired with contempt, she quits the slipp'ry

leign,
And Piide and Prudence tako her scat m

vain
In crowd at once, where none the pass

defend,
The harmless freedom, and the private

friend

The guardians yield, by force superior plied •
To Interest, Prudence, and to Flatt'ry,

Pnde
Here beauty falls, betray'd, despised, dis-

tress'd,
And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest

Where then shall Hope and Fear their

objects find P
Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant

mind?

Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,
Boll darkling down the torrent of his fate P
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise,
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies P

From 1727 to 1780.]

ODE TO PITT

[WILLIAK COLLINS.

Inquirer, cease , petitions yet remain
Which Heav'n may hear, nor deem religion

Yam

Still raise for good the supplicating voice,
But leave to Heav'n the measure and the

choice •

Safe in his power, whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious pxay*r ,
Implore ^lfl aid, in "bag decisions rest,
Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best.
Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will reagn'd;
For love, which scarce collective man can

ffll;

For patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill ;
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat •
These goods for roan the laws of Heav'n

ordain,
These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r

to gam;

With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind,
And makes the happiness she does not find

Samuel Johnson.— Born 1709, Died 1784.

886.— ON THE DEATH OF DR. BOBEBT
LEYETT.

1782.

Condemn' d to Hope's delusive mine.

As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,

Our social comforts drop away.

Well tried through many a varying year,
See Levett to the grave descend,

Officious, innocent, sincere,
Of every friendless name the friend.

Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise and coarsely kind ;

Nor, letter' d arrogance, deny
Thy praise to merit unrefined.

When fainting Nature oall'd for aid,
And hovering Death prepared the blow.

His vigorous remedy displayed
The power of art without the show.

In Misery's darkest cavern known,

His useful care was ever nigh,
Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his groan,,

And lonely want retired to die.

No summons mock'd by chill delay,
No petty gain disdarn'd by pnde ;

The modest wants of every day
The toil of every day supplied.

His virtues walk*d their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;

And sure th* Eternal Master found
The single talent well employed

The busy day, the peaceful night,

Unf elt, uncounted, glided by ,
His frame was firm, his powers were bright,

Though now his eightieth year was nigh.

Then with no throbs of fiery pain,

No cold gradations of decay,
Death broke at once the vital ^^

And forced his soul the nearest way

Samuel Johnson.— Born 1709, Died 1784.

887,— ODE TO PITY

0 thou, the friend of man assign' d
With balmy hands his wounds to bind,

And charm his frantic woe :
When first Distress, with dagger keen,
Broke forth to waste his destined scene,

His wild unsated foe '

By Pella's bard, a magic name,

By all the gnefs Tna thought could frame,

Beceive my humble rite •
Long, Pity, let the nations view
Thy sky-worn robes of tenderest blue,

And eyes of dewy light !

But wherefore need I wander wide
To old Hissus' distant side,

Deserted stream, and mute P
Wild Arun too has heard thy strains,
And Echo, 'midst my native plains,

Been soothed by Pity's lute.

There first the wren thy myrtles shed
On gentlest Otway's infant head,

To him thy cell was shown;
And while he sung the female heart,
With youth's soft notes unspoil'd by art,

Thy turtles mix'd there own.

Come, Pity, come, by Fancy's aid,
E'en now my thoughts, relenting maid,

Thy temple's pride design
Its southern site, its truth complete,
Shall raise a wild enthusiast heat

In all who view the shrine.

There Picture's toil shall weH relate
How Chance, or hard involving Fate,

O'er mortal bliss prevail :
The buskin'd Muse shall near her stand,
And sighing prompt her tender hand,

With each disastrous tale

There let me offc, retired by day,
In dreams of passion melt away,

WILLIAM COLLINS ]

ODE.

[SIXTH

ABow'd with thee to dwell
There waste the mournful lamp of night,
Till, Virgin, thou again delight

To hear a British shell r

Wilttcm Collws — Bam 1720, Died 1756.

888— ODE.

WRITTEN IN THE TEAS 1746.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest '
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow* d mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod

By fairy hands their knell is rang ,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there !

William CoZZww?— JBom 1720, Died 1756.

889.— ODE TO EVENING.

If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest
ear,

lake thy own solemn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales ;

O nymph reserved, while now the bnght-hair'd

Sun
Sits in yon western tint, whose cloudy skirts,

"With brede ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed :

Now air is hush'd, save where tho weak-eyed

bat,

"With short shnll shriek flits by on leathern
wing;

Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,

As oft he iises 'midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum ,
Now teach me, maid composed,
To breathe some soften' d strain,

Whose numbers, steahng through thy

darkening vale,
May not unseemly with its stillness suit ;

As, musing slow, I hail

Thy genial loved return '

For when thy folding-star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp

The fragrant Hours, and Elves

"Who slept in buds the day,

And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows

with sedge,

And sheds the freshening dew, and. lovelier
still,

The pensive Pleasures sweet,
Prepare thy shadowy cor

Then let me rove some wild and heathy

scene,
Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells,

Whose walls more awful nod

By thy religious gleams.

Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
Prevent my willing feet, bo mine tho hut,
That from the mountain's side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered

spires ;

And hears their simple bell, and marks o'or
all

Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil

"While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he

wont,

And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest
Eve'

"While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light ;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with

Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes ;

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling
Peace,

Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favourite name !

William, Collms—Bo™ 1720, Died 1756.

890— TO THE PASSIONS.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng' d around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess1 d beyond the Muse's painting,
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined ;
Till once, 'tis said, when all wore fired,
FilTd with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch' d her instruments of sound ;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for Madness ruled the houn
Would prove his own expressive power.

From 1727 to 1780.]

TO THE PASSIONS.

[WILLIAM COLLINS,

First Fear Ms hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,

And back recoil'd, lie knew not why,
E'en at the sound himself had made.

Nert Anger rush'd , his eyes on fire,
In lightnings own'd his secret stings :

In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings

With woeful measures wan Despair
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled ;

A solemn, strange, and mingled air,
'Twas sad by fits, by starts, 'twas wild.

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure p
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance

hail1
Still would her touch the strain prolong ,

And from the rooks, the woods, the vale,
She caJl'd on Echo still, through all the song,
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every

close,
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her

golden *""•»•
And longer had she sung , — but, with a frown,

Revenge impatient rose
He threw his blood-stam'd sword, in thunder,

down;

And with a withering look,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe !
And, ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum, with furious heat ,
And though sometimes, each dreary pause

between,

Dejected Pity, at his side,
Her soul-subduing voice applied,
Yet still he kept his wild im alter' d mien,
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd
bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd ,

Sad proof of thy distressful state ,
Of differing themes the veering song was

•rrvnr'd ,

And now it courted Love, now raving call'd
on Hate.

With eyes up-raised, as one inspired,

Pale Melancholy sate retired,

And, from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet,

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive

soul*

And, dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ,
Through glades and glooms the mingled

measure stole,
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond

delay,

Bound an holy calm diffusing,
Love of Peace, and lonely musing,
In hollow murmurs died away.

But 0 * how alter'd was its sprighther

tone,
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest

hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemzn'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dalo and thicket

rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad

known1

The oak-crown' d Sisters, and their chaste-
eyed Queen,
Satyrs and Sylvan Boys were seen,

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ,

And Sport leapt up, and seized his beeohen

spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial
He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest ;
But soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the

best;
They would have thought who heard the

strain
They saw, in Tempi's vale, her native

maids

Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing,
While, as his flying fingers fiss'd the

strings.
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic

round .

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone un-
bound,

And he, amidst T*"g frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from Ms dewy
wings.

0 Music ! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid !
Why, goddess ' why, to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside P
As, in that loved Athenian bower,
You learn' d an all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endear' d,
Can well recall what then it heard ,
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art ?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime !
Thy wonders, in that god-like age,
Fill thy recording sister's page —
"Pis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, divmer rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age ;
E'en all at once together found,
Csecilia's mingled world of sound —
0 bid our vain endeavour cease ;
Eevive the just designs of Greece :
Return in all thy simple state '
Confirm the tales her sons relate !

William Collins— ~Bmn 1720, Died 1756.

WILLIAM COLLINS ]

DIRGE IN CYMBELINE

[SIXTH PBBIOD. —

89 1 — DEBGE IN CYMBELINE.

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,

And rifle all the breathing Spiing.

No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove $

But shepherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love

"No wither' d witoh shall here be seen ;

No goblins lead their nightly crew
The female Pays shall haunt the green,

And* dress thy grave with pearly dew !

The redbreast oft, at evening hours,

Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss and gather* d flowers,

To deok the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake the sylvan cell ,

Or 'midst the ohase, on every plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell ,

Each lonely scene shall thee restore ;

For thee the tear be duly shed;
Beloved till bf e can charm no more,

And mourn' d till Pity's self be dead.

Collvns — Bom 1720, Died 1756.

892 — ODE ON THE DEATH OF
THOMSON.

In yonder grave a Druid lies,

Where slowly winds the stealing wave ;
The year's best sweets shall duteous rise,

To deok its poet's sylvan grave.

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds
His airy harp shall now be laid,

That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,
Hay love through life the soothing shade

Then maids and youths shall linger hero,
And, while its sounds at distance swell,

Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,

And oft suspend the dashing oar
To bid the gentle spirit rest '

And oft, as Ease and Health retire

To breezy lawn, or forest deep.
The f nend shall view you whitening spue

And 'mid the varied landscape weep

But thou, who own'st that earthy bed,
Ah ' what will every dirge avail ;

Or, tears, which Love and Pity shed,
That mourn beneath the gliding sail ?

Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye

Shall soorn thy palo shnno glimmering-
near?

With him, swoot bard, may Fancy dio,
And joy desert the blooming year.

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide
No sedge-crown' d sistors now attend,

Now waft me from the green hill's side,
Whose cold turf hides the buried friend I

And see, the fairy valleys fade ,
Dun Night has veil'd the solemn viow 1

Yet once again, dear parted shade,
Meek Nature's child, again adiou '

The genial meads assign' d to bless
Thy hf e, shall mourn thy early doom ;

Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dross,
With simple hands, thy rural tomb

Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay
Shall melt the musing- Briton's eyes

" Oh ' vales and wild woods," shall he say,
" In yonder grave your Druid lies ' "

WilUam Collvns.—Born, 1720, IKecL 1756.

893.— THE SCHOOL-MISTBESS.

Ah me ' full sorely is my heart forlorn,
To think how modest Worth neglected

lies
While partial Fame doth with her blasts

adorn

Such deeds alone, as pnde and pomp dis-
guise;

Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprise
Lend me thy clarion, goddess ' let me try
To sound the praise of Mont, ere it dies,
Such as I off; have ohaunced to espy,
Lost in the dreary shades of dull Obscurity.

In every village mark'd with little spire,
Embower' d in trees, and hardly known to

Fame,
There dwells in lowly shed, and mean

attire,
A matron old, whom we School-mistress

name,
Who boasts unruly brats with birch to

tame,
They gneven sore, in piteous durance

pent,

Awed by the power of this relentless dame;
And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent,
For unkempt hair, or task unconn'd, are sorely

shent.

And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree,
Which Leaimng near her little dome did

stowe;

Whilom a twig of small regard to see,
Though now so wide its waving branches

flow;

From 1727 to 1780.]

THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS.

[SHENSTOKE.

And work the simple vassals mickle woe ;
For not a wind might onrl the leaves that

blew,
But their limbs shudder' d and their pulse

beat low ,
And as they look'd they found then: horrour

grew,
And shaped it into rods, and tingled at the

view.

So have I seen (who has not, may conceive)
A lifeless phantom near a garden placed ;
So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave,
Of sport, of song, of pleasure, of repast ;
They start, they stare, they wheel, they

look aghast ;

Sad servitude ' such comfortless annoy
May no bold Briton's nper age e'er taste '
Ne superstition clog his dance of joy,
Ne vision empty, vain, his native bliss destroy.

Near to this dome is found a patch so

green,
On which the tribe their gambols do dis-

play;

And at the door impnsoning-board is seen,
Lest weakly wights of smaller size should

stray,

Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day !
The noises intermixed, which thence re-

sound,

Do Learning's little tenement betray ;
Where sits the dame, disguised in look

profound,
And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her

wheel around.

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow,
Emblem right meet of decency does yield •
Her apron dyed m grain, as blue, I trowe,
As is the hare-bell that adorns the field *
And in her hand, for sceptre, she does

wield
Tway birchen sprays; with annous fear

entwined,

With dark distrust, and sad repentance filTd ;
And stedfast hate, and sharp affliction

join'd,
And fury uncontroul'd, and chastisement

unkind.

Pew but have ken'd, in semblance meet

pourtray*d,

The "friidiaTi faces of old Eol's train j
labs, Notus, Auster- these in frowns

array'd,
How then would fare or Earth, or Sky, or

Were the stern god to give his slaves the

remP
And were not she rebellious breasts to

quell,

And were not she her statutes to maintain,
The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the

cell,
Where comely peace of mind, and decent order

dwelL

A russet stole was o'er her shoulders

thrown,

A russet kirfcle fenced the nipping air ,
'Twas simple russet, but it was her own ,
'Twas her own country bred the flock so

fair'
'Twas her own labour did the fleece

prepare ,
And, sooth to say, her pupils, ranged

around,
Through pious awe, did term it passing

rare,

For they in gaping wonderment abound,
And think, no doubt, she been the greatest

wight on ground

Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth,

Ne pompous title did debauch her ear ,

Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt for-
sooth,

Or dame, the sole additions she did hear ;

Yet these she challenged, these she held
right dear :

Ne would esteem trim act as mought
behove,

Who should not honour' d eld with these
revere:

For never title yet so mean could prove,
But there was eke a mind which did that
title love.

One ancient hen she took delight to feed,
The plodding pattern of the busy dame ;
Which, ever and anon, impelTd by need,
Into her school, begirt with chickens, came I
Such favour did her past deportment

claim*

And, if Neglect had lavish' d on the ground
Fragment of bread, she would collect the

For well she knew, and quaintly could ex-
pound,

What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb
she found.

Herbs too she knew, and well of each could

speak

That in her garden sipp'd the silvery dew ;
Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy

streak;

But herbs for use, and physic, nob a few,
Of grey renown, within those borders grew •
The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme,
Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful hue ,
The lowly gill, that never dares to climb ,
And more I fain would sing, disdaining here

to rhyme.

Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung,
That gives dim eyes to wander leagues

around;

And pungent radish, biting infants' tongue ,
And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's

wound;
And marjoram sweet, in shepherd's posie

found;

THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom
Shall be, ore-whilo, in arid bundles bound,
To lurk amidst the labours of hor loom
And crown her kerchiefs dean, withmiclde
rare perfume

And here trim rosemarme, that whilom

crown* d

The daintiest garden of the proudest peer ;
Eie, driven from its envied site, it found
A sacred shelter for its branches here ,
Where edged with gold its glittering skirts

appear,
Oh wassel days! O customs meet and

well!

Ere this was bamsh'd from its lofty sphere :
Simplicity then sought this humble cell,
Nor ever would sho more with thane and

lordling dwell.

Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent

eve,
Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth did

mete,
If winter 'twere, she to hor hearth did

cleave,

But in her garden found a summer-seat :
Sweet melody ! to hear her then repeat
How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king,
While taunting foe-men did a song entreat,
All, for the nonce, untuning every string,
TJphung their useless lyres — small heart had

they to sing.

"For she was just, and friend to virtuous

lore,
And pass'd much time in truly virtuous

deed,

And in those elfins' ears, would oft deplore
The tunes, when Truth by Popish rage did

bleed,
And tortuous death was true Devotion's

meed;

And simple Faith in iron chains did mourjv
That nould on wooden image place her

creed,
And lawny saints in smouldering flames did

burn:
Ah ! dearest Lord, forefend, thilk days should

e'er return.

In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem
By the sharp tooth of cankering eld de-

faced,

IH which, when he receives his diadem,
Our sovereign prince and liefest hoge is

placed,
The matron sate , and some with rank she

graced,
(The source of children's and of courtiers'

pnde!)

edress'd affronts, for vile affronts there

And warn'd them not the fretful to deride,
But love each other dear, whatever them
betide.

Right well sho know each temper to

dosory ,
To thwart the proud, and the submisa to

raise;

Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high,
And some entico with pittance small of

praise,
And other some with baleful sprig sho

'frays-
E'en absent, sho tho reins of power doth

hold,
While with Quaint arts tho giddy crowd

she sways
Forewara'd, if little bird their pranks

behold,
'Twill whisper in her ear, and all tho ficono

unfold.

Lo now with state she utters tho command '
Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks repair ,
Their books of stature small they tako in

hand,

Which with pellucid horn secured are,
To save from finger wet the letters fair
The work so gay that on their back is

seen,
St. George's high achievements does

declare,
On which thilk wight that has y-gazing

been,
Kens the forthcoming rod, unpleasmg sight, I

ween!

Ah luckless he, and born beneath the

beam

Of evil star ! it irks me whilst I wnte
As erst the bard by Mulla's silver stream,
Oft, as he told of deadly dolorous plight,
Sigh'd as he sung, and did in tears indite.
For brandishing the rod, she doth begin
To loose the brogues, the stripling's late

delight '
And down they drop; appears his dainty

Fair as the furry-coat of whitest ormilin.

0 ruthful scene1 when from a nook

obscure,

His little sister doth his peril see
All playful as she sate, she grows demure ,
She finds full soon hor wonted spirits flee,
She meditates a prayer to sot him free
Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny
(If gentle pardon could with dames agree)
To her sad gnof that swells in either oye,
And wings her so that all for pi$y she could

dye.

No longer can she now hor shrieks com-

mand,
And hardly she forbears, through awful

fear,
To rushen forth, and, with presumptuous

hand,
To stay harsh Justice in its mid career.

! from 1727*o 1780]

M'H M SCHOOL-MISTRESS.

[SHBNSTONE.

On th.ee she calls, on thee her parent dear '
(Ah! too remote to ward the shameful

blow ' )

She sees no kind domestic visage near,
And soon a flood of tears begins to flow;
And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe

But ah ' what pen hus piteous plight may

trace?

Or what device his loud laments explain ?
The form uncouth of his disguised face p
The pallid hue that dyes ^R looks fl-T^wn P
The plenteous shower that does his cheek

distaahP

When he, in abject wise, implores the dame,
Ne hopeth aught of sweet reprieve to gam ,
Or when from high she levels well her aim,
And, through the thatch. Trip cries each falling

stroke proclaim.

The other tribe, aghast, with sore dismay,
Attend and conn their tasks with mickle

care

By turns, astony*d, every twig survey,
And, from their fellows' hateful wounds,

beware ;
Knowing, I wist, how each the same may

share;
Till fear has taught them a performance

meet,
And to the well-known chest the dame

repair;
Whence oft with sngar'd cates she doth

them greet,
And ginger-bread y-rare , now certes, doubly

sweet1

See to their seats theyhye with merry glee,
And in beseemly order Bitten there ;
AH but the wight of bum y-galled, he
Abhoneth bench, and stool, and fourm,

and chair;
(This hand in mouth y-fixed, that rends his

hair,)
And eke with snubs profound, and heaving

breast,

Convulsions intermitting ' does declare
His grievous wrong; his dame's unjust

behest;
And scorns her offer' d love and shuns to be

caress' d.

His face besprent with liquid crystal

shines,
His blooming face that seems a purple

Which low to earth its drooping head de-
clines,

All smear' d and sullied by a vernal shower.
0 the hard bosoms of despotic power !
All, all, but she, the author of his shame,
All, all, but she, regret this mournful hour
Tet hence the youth, and hence the flower

a~hn.11 nla.Tm

If so I deem aright, transcending worth and
fame.

Behind some door, in melancholy thought,
"Mindless of food, he, dreary caitiff ' pines,
Ne for his fellows' joyaunoe careth aught,
But to the wind all merriment resigns j
And deems it shame, if he to peace

inclines .

And many a sullen look ascance is sent,
Which for his dame's annoyance he

designs;
And still the more to pleasure ^™ she's

bent,
The more doth he, perverse, her haviour past

resent

Ah me ' how much I fear lest pride it be r
But if that pride it be, which thus inspires,
Beware, ye dames, with nice discernment

see,
Ye quench not too the sparks of nobler

fires:

All ' better fair than all the Muses' lyres,
All coward arts, is Valour's generous

heat;

The firm fixt breast which fit and right re-
quires,
Like Yemen's patriot soul' more justly

great

Than Craft that pimps for ill, or flowery false
Deceit.

Yet nursed with skill, what daKTling fruits

appear '
E'en now sagacious Foresight points to

show

A little bench of heedless bishops here,
And theie a chancellor in embryo,
Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be so,
As Milton, Shakspeare, names that ne'er

Rhp.n die!
Though now he crawl along the ground BO

low,
Nor weekng how the Muse should soar on

high,
Wisheth, poor starveling elf ! his paper kite

mayfly-

And this perhaps, who, censuring the

design,
Low lays the house which that of cards

doth build,

Shall Dennis be ' if rigid Pate incline,
And many an epic to his rage shall yield ;
And many a poet quit th' Aoxuan field ;
And, sour*d by age, profound he RTia.11

appear,

As he who now with 'sdamful fury thrill'd
Surveys mine work; and levels many a

sneer,
And forls his wrinkly feont, and cries, " What

stuff is here P"

But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle

skie,

And liberty unbars her prison-door ;
And like a rushing torrent out they fly,
And now the grassy cirque han cover'd o' er

SHBNSTONH ]

A PASTORAL BALLAD.

[SIXTH PERIOD.-

With boisterous revel-rout and wild uproar ,
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run,
Heaven shield their shoit-lived pastimes, I

implore r

For well may Freedom erst so dearly won,
Appear to British olf more gladsome than the

Sun.

Enjoy, poor imps' enjoy your sportive

trade,
And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest

flowers ;
For when my bones in grass-green sods are

laid,

For never may ye taste more careless hours
In knightly castles, 01 in ladies* bowers.
0 vain to seek delight in earthly thing '
But most in courts where proud Ambition

towers,
Deluded wight ! who weens fair Peace can

spring
Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of

See in each sprite some various bent

appear!

These rudely carol most incondite lay ;
Those sauntering on the green, with jocund

leer

Salute the stranger passing on his way ;
Some builden fragile tenements of clay ;
Some to the standing lake their courses

bend,
With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to

play;

Thilk to the huxfcer's savory cottage tend,
In pastry kings and queens th* allotted mite

to spend.

Here, as each season yields a different

store,
Each season's stores in order ranged

been,

Apples with cabbage-net y-eover'd o'er,
Galling full sore the unmoney*d wight, are

seen;

And goose-b'xie clad in livery red or green ,
And here of lovely dye, the Catherine pear,
Fine pear I as lovely for thy juice, I ween •
O may no wight e'er pennyless come there,
Lest smit with ardent love he pine with hope-
less care !

See r cherries here, ere cherries yet abound,
With thread so white in tempting posies

tied,
Scattering like blooming maid their glances

round,

With pamper'd look draw httle eyes aside ;
And must be bought, though penury

betide.

The plum all azure and the nut all brown,
And here each season do those cakes abide,
Whose honour* d names the inventive city

own,
Rendering through Britain's isle Salopians

praises known;

Admired Salopia ' that with venial pride
Fyes her bright form in Severn's ambient

wave,

Famed for her loyal cares in perils try'd,
Her daughters lovely, and her striplings

brave
Ah 1 midst the rest, may flowers adorn his

grave
Whose heart did first these dulcet oatos

display '

A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave,
Who cheerless o'er her darkling region

stray; I

Till Reason's morn arise, and light them on

their way.

Slienstond — -Bom 1714, Died 1763. ,

894. — A PASTORAL BALLAD.

PAKE I.

Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay,

Whose flocks never carelessly roam ;
Should Corydon's happen to stray,

Oh ' call the poor wanderers homo.
Allow me to muse and to sigh,

Nor •fr.g.'nr of the change that yo find ;
None once was so watchful as I ;

I have left my dear Phyllis behind.

Now I know what it is, to have strove

With the torture of doubt and desire ;
What it is to admire and to love,

And to leave her we love and admire.
Ah ' lead forth my flock in the morn,

And the damps of each evening repel ,
Aln.a i I am faint and forlorn

— I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell

Since Phyllis vouchsafed me a look,

I never once dreamt of my vine
May I lose both my pipe and my crook,

If I knew of a kid that was mine '
I prized ev*ry hour that went by,

Beyond all that had pleased me before ;
But now they are past, and I sigh ;

And I grieve that I prized them no more.

But why do I languish in vain ;

Why wander thus pensively here P
Oh ' why did I come from the plain,

Where I fed on the smiles of my dear ?
They tell me, my favourite maid,

The pude of that valley, is flown ;
Alas ! where with her I have stray* d,

I could wander with pleasure, alone.

When forced the fair nymph to forego,

What anguish I felt at my heart '
Tet I thought — but it might not be so —

"Twas with pain that she saw me depart.
She gazed, as I slowly withdrew ;

My path I could hardly discern j
So sweetly she bade me adieu,

I thought that she bade me return.

From 1727 to 1780.]

A PASTOBAL BAIiLAJX

The pilgrim that journeys all day

To visit some far distant shrine,
If he bear but a rehque away,

Is happy, nor heard to repine
Thus widely removed from the fair,

Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,
Soft Hope is the relique I bear,

And my solace wherever I go

PAST II.

My banks they are fnrmsh'd with bees,

Whose murmur invites one to sleep ;
My grottoes are shaded with trees,

And my hills are white over with sheep.
I seldom have met with a loss,

Such health do my fountains bestow .
My fountains all border' d with moss,

Where the harebells and violets grow.

Not a pine in my grove is there seen,

But with tendrils of woodbine is bound :
Not a beech's more beautiful green,

But a sweet-brier entwines it around.
Not my fields, in the prime of the year,

More charms than my cattle unfold
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,

But it glitters with fishes of gold

One would <KMinV she might like to retire
To the bower I have labour' d to rear ;

Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there.

0 how sudden the jessamine strove
With the lilac to render it gay '

Already it calls for my love,

To prune the wild branches away.

From the plains, from the woodlands and
groves,

What strains of wild melody flow !
How the nightingales warble their loves

From thickets of roses that blow '
And when her bright form shall appear,

Each bird shall harmoniously join
In a concert so soft and so clear,

As — she may not be fond to resign.

1 have found out a gift for my fair ;

I have found where the wood -pigeons

breed:
But let me that plunder forbear,

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, she averred,

Who would rob a poor bird of its young :
And I loved her the more when I heard

Such tenderness fall from her tongue.

I have heard her with sweetness unfold

How that pity was due to— a dove .
That it ever attended the bold 5

And she caU'd it the sister of love.
But her words such a pleasure convey,

So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she say,

Methinks I should love her the more.

Can a bosom so gentle remain

Unmoved when her Oorydon sighs ?
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,

These plains and this valley despise P
Dear regions of silence and shade I

Soft scenes of contentment and ease P
Where I could have pleasingly stray' d,

If aught, in her absence, could please.

But where does my Phyllida stray ?

And where are her grots and her bowers ?
Are the groves and the valleys as gay,

And the shepherds as gentle as ours ?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,

And the face of the valleys as fine ;
The swains may in manners compare,

But their love is not equal to mine.

PABT m

Why will you my passion reprove ?

Why teim it a folly to grieve ?
Ere I show you the charms of my love,

She's fairer than you can believe.
With her mien she enamours the brave ;

With her wit she engages the free ;
With her modesty pleases the grave ;

She is everyway pleasing to me.

0 you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays ;

1 coiild lay down my life for the swain,
That will sing but a song in her praise.

When he sings, may the nymphs of the
town

Come trooping, and listen the while ,
Nay on him let not Phyllida frown ;

—But I cannot allow her to smile.

For when Fondel tries in the dance

Any favour with Phyllis to find,
0 how, with one trivial glance,

Might she ruin the peace of my mind !
In ringlets he dresses ^1H hair,

And his crook is bestudded around ;
And his pipe — oh my Phyllis, beware

Of a magic there is in the sound.

'Tie his with mock passion to glow,

'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold,
How her iace is as bright as the snow,

And her bosom, be sure, is as cold
How the nightingales labour the strain,

With the notes of his charmer to vie ;
How they vary their accents in vain,

Repine at her triumphs, and die.

To the grove or the garden he strays,

And pillages every sweet j
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays,

He throws it at Fhyllis's feet.
" O Phyllis," he whispers, " more fair,

More sweet than the jessamine's flower !
What are pinks in a morn to compare P

What is eglantine after a shower ?

SHENSTOOT.]

ODE TO MEMOBY.

[SIXTH PEBIOD. —

Then the My no longer is white ,

The rose is deprived of its bloom ;
Then the violets die with despite,

And the woodbines give up thon perfume.
Thus glide the soft numbers along-,

And he fancies no shepherd his peer ;
Yet I never should envy the song,

Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,

So Phyllis the trophy despise :
Let his forehead with laurels be crown* d,

So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart,

Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue ;
Yet may she beware of his art,

Or sure I must envy the song.

PART IV.

Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay,

And take no more heed of my sheep ,
They have nothing to do but to stray ,

I have nothing to do but to weop.
Yet do not my folly reprove ;

She was fair — and my passion begun ,
She smiled — and I could not but love ;

She is faithless — and I am undone.

Perhaps I was void of all thought

Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a nymph so complete would be nought,

By a swain more engaging than mo
Ah ' love every hope can inspire ,

It banishes wisdom the while ;
And the lip of the nymph we admire

Seems for ever adorn' d with a smile

She is faithless, and I am undone ;

Ye that witness the woes I endure,
Let reason instruct you to shun

What it cannot instruct you to euro.
Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of a higher degree •
It is not for me to explain

How fair, and how fickle they be.

AJaa ' from the day that we met,

What hope of an end to my woes P
When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose.
Yet time may diminish the pain

The flower, and the shrub, and the tree,
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,

In time may have comfort for me.

The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,

The sound of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from solitude flows,

Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme.
High transports are shown to the Bight,

But we are not to find them our own ;
Pate never bestow'd such delight,

As I with my Phylhs had known.

0 ye woods, spread your branches apace;
To your deepest recesses I fly ;

1 would hide with the boasts of the chase ;
I would vanish from every eye.

Yet my reed' shall resound through the grove
With the same sod complaint it begun ;

How she smiled — and I could not but love ;
Was faithless — and I P™ undone I

8ken$ton&-~Born 1714, Died 1763.

895.— ODE TO MEMORY.

O memory ' celestial maid '

Who glean* at the flowerets crept by

Tune;
And, suffering not a leaf to fade,

Preservest the blossoms of our prime ;
Bring, bring those moments to my mind
When life was new, and Lesbia kind.

And bring that garland to my sight,
With which my favour'd crook she bound ;

And bring that wreath of roses bright
Which then my festive temples crown'd ;

And to my raptured ear convoy

The gentle things she deign' d to say.

And sketch with care the Muse's bower,

Where lais rolls her silver tide ;
Nor yet omit one reed or flower

That shines on Cherwell's verdant side;
If so thou may'st those hours prolong,
When polish'd Itfoon jom'd my song.

The song it 'vails not to recite —

But sure, to soothe our youthful dreams,

Those banks and streams appear'd more

bright
Than other banks, fthfldp other streams :

Or, by thy softening pencil shown,

Assume thy beauties not their own !

And paint that sweetly vacant scone,
When, all beneath the poplar bough,

My spirits light, my soul serene,
I breathed in verse one cordial row :

That nothing should my soul inspire,

But friendship warm, and love entire.

Dull to the sense of new delight,
On thee the drooping1 Muse attends ;

As some fond lover, robb'd of sight,
On thy expressive power depends ;

Nor would exchange thy glowing lanes,

To live the lord of all that shines.

But let me chase those vows away
yykiQ}i at ambition's shnne I ynfM:tp ;

Nor ever let thy skill display
Those anxious moments, ill repaid :

Oh ! from my breast that season raze,

And bring my childhood in its place.

IVom 1727 to 1780 ]

WILLIAM: AND MABGAKET.

Bring- me the bells, tlie rattle bring,
And bring the hobby I bestrode ;

When, pleased, in many a sportive nng,
Around the room I jovial rode :

Ev'n let me bid my lyre adieu,

And bring the whistle that I blew.

Then mil I muse, and pensive say,
Why did not these enjoyments last ;

How sweetly wasted I the day,
While innocence allow* d to waste '

Ambition's toils alike are vain,

But ah ' for pleasure yield us pain.

8henstone.— Born 1714, Died, 1763.

896.— WMTTEN AT AN EOT AT
HENLEY.

To thee, fair Freedom, I retire
From flattery, cards, and dice, and din ;

Nor art thou found in mansions higher
Than the low cot or humble jfyq-

*Tis here with boundless power I reign,
And every health which I begin

Converts dull port to bright champagne
Such freedom orowns it at an inn

I fly from pomp, I fly from plate,
I fly from falsehood's specious grin ;

Freedom I love, and form I hate,
And choose my lodgings at an inn.

Here, waiter ' take my sordid ore,
Which lackeys else might hope to win ,

It buys what courts have not in store,
It buys me freedom at an inn.

Whoe'er has traveU'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,

May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an inn.

Shenstone —Bom 1714, Died 1768.

897 —WILLIAM AND MABGABET.

'Twas at the silent solemn hour,
When night and morning meet ;

In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,
And stood at William's feet.

Her face was like an April morn

Clad in a wintry cloud ,
And clay-cold was her lily Jmnd

That held her sable shroud.

So shall the fairest face appear
When youth and years are flown •

Such is the robe that kings must wear,
When death has reft their crown.

Her bloom was like the springing flower,

That sips the silver dew ;
The rose was budded in her cheek,

Just opening to the view.

But love had, like the canker-worm,

Consumed her early prime ;
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek —

She died before her time

Awake ' she cried, thy true love calls,
Come from her midnight grave •

Now let thy pity hear the maid
Thy love refused to save.

This is the dark and dreary hour
When injured ghosts complain;

When yawning graves give up their dead,
To haunt the faithless swam.

Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge and broken oath. 1

And give me back my maiden-vow,
And give me back my troth

Why did you promise love to me,

And not that promise keep P
Why did you swear my eyes were bright,

Yet leave those eyes to weep P

How could you say my face was fair.

And yet that face forsake ?
How could you win my virgin heart,

Yet leave that heart to break P

Why did you say my lip was sweet,

And made the scarlet pole ?
And why did I, young witless nmirl '

Believe the flattering tale P

That face, alas T no more is fair,

Those lips no longer red
Dark are my eyes, now closed in death,

And every charm is fled.

The hungry worm my sister is ,

This winding-sheet I wear :
And cold and weary lasts our night,

Till that last morn appear.

But hark I the cock has warned me hence ;

A long and last adieu '
Come see, false man, how low she lies,

Who died for love of you.

The lark sung loud; the morning smiled

With beams of rosy ied
Pale William quaked in every limb,

And raving left his bed

He hied him to the fatal place

Where Margaret's body lay ,
And stretched him on the green-grass turf

That wrapt her breathless day.

And thrice he called on Margaret's name,

And thrice he wept full sore ,
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,

And word spake never more (
Damd Mallet —Bom 1700, Died 1765.

DAVTD MALIBT.]

EDWIN AND EMMA.

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

898.— EDWIN AND EMMA.
Far in the windings of a vale,

Fast by a, sheltering wood,
The safe retreat of health and peace,

A humble cottage stood.

There beauteous Emma flourished fair,

Beneath a mother's eye ;
Whose only wish on earth was now

To see her blest, and die.

The softest blush that nature spreads

Gave colour to her cheek ,
Such orient colour smiles through heaven,

When vernal mornings break

Nor let the pride of groat ones scorn

This charmer of the plains .
That sun, who bids their diamonds blaze,

To paint our lily deigns.

Long had she filled each youth with love,

Each maiden with despair ;
And though by all a wonder owned,

Tet knew not she was fair:

Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,

A soul devoid of art ,
And from whose eye, serenely mild,

Shone forth, the feeling1 heart.

A mutual flame was quickly caught,

Was quickly too revealed ,
For neither bosom lodged a wish

That virtue keeps concealed.

What happy hours of home-felt bliss

Did love on both bestow 1
But bliss too mighty long to last,

Where fortune proves a foe

His sister, who, like envy formed,

Like her in mischief joyed,
To work them harm, with wicked skill,

Each darker art employed.

The father, too, a sordid man,

Who love nor pity knew,
Was all unfeeling as the clod

From whence his riches grew.

Long had he seen their secret flame,

And seen it long unmoved ;
Then with a father's frown at last

Har1 sternly disapproved.

In Edwin's gentle heart, a war
Of differing passions strove ;

His heart, that durst not disobey,
Yet could not cease to love.

Denied her sight, he oft behind
The spreading hawthorn crept,

To snatch a glance, to mark the spot
Where Emma walked and wept

Oft, too, on Stanmore's wintry waste
Beneath the moonlight shade,

In sighs to pour his soften'd soul,
The midnight mourner strayed.

His cheek, where health with beauty
glowed,

A deadly pale o'ercast ,
So fades the fresh rose in its prime,

Before the northern blast.

The parents now, with late remorse,

Hung o'er his dying bod ,
And weaned Heaven with fruitless vows,

And fruitless sorrows shed.

'Tis past f he cried, but, if your souls

Sweet mercy yet can move,
Let these dim eyes once more behold

What they must ever love !

She came ; his cold hand softly touched,

And bathed with many a tear •
Fast-falling o'er the primrose pale,

So morning dews appear.

But oh i his sister's jealous care,

A cruel sister she '
Forbade what Emma came to say ;

" My Edwin, live for me ' "

Now homeward as she hopeless wept,

The churchyard path along,
The blast blow cold, the dark owl screamed

Her lover's funeral song.

Amid the falling gloom of night,

Her startling fancy found
In every bush Ms hovering shade,

His groan in every sound

Alone, appalled, thus had she passed

The visionary vale —
When lo I the death-bell smote her ear,

Sad sounding in the gale '

Just then she reached, with trembling stop,

Her aged mother's door :
"He's gone ' " she cried, " and I shall see

That angel face no more

I feel, I feel this breaking heart

Beat high against my side r "
From her white arm down sunk her head —

She shivered, sighed, and died.

JDowd MaMet.— Born 1700, Died 1705.

899.— SONGK

The smiling morn, the breathing spring,

Invite the tuneful birds to sing,

And while they warble from each spray,

Love melts the universal lay.

Let us, Amanda, timely wise,

Like them improve the hour that flies,

And in soft raptures waste the day

Among the shades of Endermay.

For soon the winter of the year,
And age, life's winter, will appear ;

JVom 1727 to 1780 ] TENDENCIES OP SOUL TOWARDS THE INFINITE.

At this, thy living bloom will fade,
As that will strip the vernal shade.
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er,
The feather' d songsters love no more;
A-nrl when they droop, and we decay,
Adieu the shades of Endermay.

Dawd Mallet.— Born 1700, Died 1765.

900— A fflfJNJBKrAL HYMN

Ye midnight Shades ' o'er Nature spread

Dumb silence of the dreary hour ;

In honour of the approaching dead

Around your awful terrors pour

Yes, pour around

On this pale ground,

Thro* all this deep surrounding gloom,

The sober thought,

The tear untaught,

Those meetest mourners at a tomb

Lo ' as the surpliced train draw near
To this last mansion of mankind,
The slow sad bell, the sable bier,
In holy musings wrapt the mind '
And while their beam,
"With trembling stream,
Attending tapers faintly dart,
Each motdd' ring bone,
Each sculptured stone,
Strikes mute instruction to the heart

Now let the sacred organ blow
With solemn pause and sounding slow,
Now let the voice due measure keep,
In strains that sigh and words that weep,
Till all the vocal current blended roll,
Not to depress but lift the soaring soul.

To lift it in the Maker's praise

"Who first mf orm'd our frame with breath,

And after some few stormy days

Now gracious gives us o'er to death

No kmg of fears

In him appears

"Who shuts the scene of human woes j

Beneath Tr»a shade

Securely laid

The dead alone find true repose

Then while we mingle dust with dust,

To One supremely good and wise

Baise hallelujahs. God is just,

And mflr-n most happy when he dies.

His winter past,

Pair Spring at last

Receives >™ on her fiow'ry shore,

Where pleasure's rose

Immortal blows,

And sin and sorrow are no more.

David Mallet,— Born 1700, Died 1765.

901. — TENDENCIES OP THE SOUL
TOWABDS THE INFINITE.

Say, why was man so eminently raised
Amid the vast creation , why ordain1 d
Through life and death to dart his piercing

eye,
With thoughts beyond the limit of his

frame ;
But that the Omnipotent might send frim

forth

In sight of mortal and immortal powers,
As on a boundless theatre, to run
The great career of justice ; to exalt
His generous aim to all diviner deeds ;
To chase each partial purpose from his

breast*

And through the mists of passion and of sense,
And through the tossing tide of chance and

pain,

To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice
Of Truth and Virtue, up the steep ascent
Of Nature, calls him to his high reward,
The applauding smile of Heaven? Else

wherefore burns

In mortal bosoms tM3 unquenohed hope,
That breathes from day to day sublimer

things,
And mocks possession ? wherefore darts the

mind,

With such resistless ardour, to embrace
Majestic forms ; impatient to be free,
Spurning the gross control of wilful might ,
Proud of the strong contention of her toils ;
Proud to be daring ? Who but rather turns
To Heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view,
Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame ?
Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring

eye

Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey
Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave
Thiough mountains, plains , through empires

black with shade

And continents of sand ; will turn fag gaze
To mark the windings of a scanty nil
That murmurs at his feetP The high-born

soul

Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing
Beneath its native quarry Tired of Earth
And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft
Through fields of air; pursues the flying

storm;
Eadea on the volley' d lightning through the

heavens ,
Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern

blast,
Sweeps the long tract of day Then high she

soars
The blue profound, and hovering round the

Sun,

Beholds Turn pouring the redundant stream
Of light , beholds his unrelenting sway
Bend the reluctant planets to absolve
The fated rounds of Time Theioe far

effused

She darts her swiftness up the long career

43

TASTE.

[SIXTH PERIOD -

Of devious comets; through its burning

signs

Exulting measiires the perennial wheel
Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars,
"Whose blended hght, as with a milky zone,
Invest the orient Now amazed she views
The empyreal waste, where happy spirits

hold,
Beyond this concave Heaven, their calm

abode;

And fields of radiance, whose unfading Hght
Has travel! d the profound six thousand

years,

Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things.
Even on the barriers of the world nntired
She meditates the eternal depth below ;
Till VI-P recoiling, down the headlong steep
She plunges ; soon o'erwhelm'd and swallow' d

up

In that immense of being There her hopes
Best at the fated goal For from the birth
Of mortal man, the sovereign Maker said,
That not in humble nor in brief delight,
Not in the fading echoes of Eenown,
Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery

lap,
The soul should find enjoyment: but from

these

Turning disdainful to an equal good,
Through all the ascent of things enlarge her

view,

Till every bound at length should disappear,
And infinite perfection close the scene.

Akewnde.— Born 1721, Died, 1770.

902. — TASTE.

What then is taste, but these internal

powers

Active, and strong, and feelingly alive
To each fine impulse ? a discerning sense
Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust
From things deformed or disarranged, or

gross
In species? This, nor gems nor stores of

gold,

tfotf purple state, nor culture can bestow ;
But God alone, when first his active hand
Imprints the secret bias of the soul.
He, mighty parent, wise and just in all,
Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven,
Beyeate the charms of nature. Ask the

tiwulb.
Who journeys homeward from a summer

day's

Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils
And due repose, he loiters to behold
The sunshine gleaming, as through amber

clouds,

O'er all the western sky ; full soon, I ween,
His rude expressibn and untutored airs,
Beyond the power of language, will unfold

The form of beauty smiling at his heart,
How lovely ' how commanding ' But though

heaven

In every breast hath sown these early seeds
Of love and admiration, yet in vain,
Without fair culture's "kind parental aid,
Without enlivening- suns, and genial showers,
And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope
The tender plant should rear its blooming

head,

Or yield the harvest promised in its spring
Nor yet will every soil with equal stores
Repay the tiller's labour , or attend
His will, obsequious, whether to produce
The olive or the laurel. Different minds
Incline to different objects • one pursues
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild ;
Another sighs for harmony, and grace,
And gentlest beauty. Hence when lightning

fires
The aroh of heaven, and thunders rook tho

ground ,
When furious whirlwinds rend the howhng

air,

And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky,
.Amid the mighty uproar, while below
The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad
From some high cliff superior, and enjoys
The elemental war But Waller longs
All on the margin of some flowery stream
To spread his careless limbs amid the cool
Of plantain shades, and to the listening deer
The tale of slighted vows and love's digd*™
Resound soft- warbling all the live-long day •
Consenting zephyr sighs ; the weeping nil
Joins in his plaint, melodious, mute the

groves;
And T"'n and dale with all their echoes

mourn.

Such and so various are the tastes of men.
O blest of heaven f whom not the languid

Of luxury, the siren ' not the bribes
Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils
Of pageant honour, can seduce to leave
Those ever-blooming sweets, which from tho

Of nature fair imagination culls

To charm the enliven' d soul ' What though

not all

Of mortal offspring can attain tho heights
Of envied life, though only few possess
Patnoian treasures or imperial state ,
Yet nature's care, to all her children just,
With richer treasures and an ampler state,
Endows at large whatever happy ™p-T*
Will deign to use them His the city's

pomp,

The rural honours his. Whatever adorns
The princely dome, the column and the aroh,
The breathing marbles and the sculptured

gold,

Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, ,
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the

spring-

From 1727 to 1780 ]

AN EPISTLE TO CURIO.

[A tc icrTsrpB,

Distils her dews, and from the silken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds . for fa™ the hand
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold and blushes like the

morn.
Each passing hour sheds tribute from her

wings;

And still new beauties meet bis lonely walk,
And loves unf elt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes
The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain
From all the tenants of the warbling shade
Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake
Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence par-
takes

Fresh pleasure only • for the attentive mind,
By this harmonious action on her powers,
Becomes herself harmonious wont so oft
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home
To find a kindred order, to exert
Within herself tin a elegance of love,
This fair inspired delight . her tempered

powers

Refine at length, and every passion wears
A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.
But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze
On nature's form, where, negligent of all
These lesser graces, she assumes the port
Of that eternal majesty that weighed
The world's foundations; if to these the

mind

Exalts her daring eyo ; then mightier far
Will be the change, and nobler. Would the

forms

Of servile custom cramp her generous power ;
Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth
Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down
To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear ?
IiO i she appeals to nature, to the winds
And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied

course,

The elements and seasons : all declare
For what the eternal Maker has ordained
The powers of man : we feel within ourselves
His energy divone : he tells the heart,
He meant, he made us to behold and love
What he beholds and loves, the general orb
Of life and being ; to be great like him,
Beneficent and active. Thus the fngn
Whom nature's works can charm, with God

"hrma^lf

Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day,
With T^g conceptions, act upon lhig plan,
And form to his, the relish of ffi.g'T souls.

, Died 1770.

903.— AN EPISTLE TO CUBIO.

Thrice has the spring beheld thy faded fame,
And the fourth winter nses on thy shame,
Since I exulting grasp'd the votive shell,
In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell ;

Bless'd could my skill through ages make thee

shine,

And proud to TTIJT my memory with thme
But now the cause that waked my song

before,
With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil

no more

If to the glorious Tnfl.n. whose faithful cares,
Nor quell' d by malice, nor relax'd by years,
Had awed Ambition's wild audacious hate,
And dragg'd at length Corruption to her

fate,

If every tongue its large applauses owed,
And well-earn' d laurels every Muse bestow'd ;
If public Justice urged the high reward,
And Freedom smiled on the devoted bard ;
Say then, to him whose levity or lust
Laid all a people's generous hopes in dust ;
Who taught Ambition firmer heights of

power,

And saved Corruption at her hopeless hour ;
Does not each tongue its execrations owe ?
Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame

bestow,

And public Justice sanctify th' award,
And Freedom's hand protect the impartial

bard*

Yet long reluctant I forbore thy name,
Long watch' d thy virtue like a dying flame,

HUQg o'er each fflimm^Ficn_g sppyk With fl.mrifmg

eyes,
And wish'd and hoped the light again would

rise.

But since thy guilt still more entire appears,
Since no art hides, no supposition clears ;
Since vengeful Slander now too wpk& her

blast,

And the first rage of party hate is past ;
Calm as the judge of truth, at length I come
To weigh thy merits, and pronounce thy

doom :

So may my trust from all reproach be free ;
And Earth and Time confirm the fair decree.
There are who say they viewed without

The sad reverse of all thy former praise:
That through the pageants of a patriot's name,
They pierced the foulness of thy secret aim j
Or deem'd thy arm exalted but to throw
The public thunder on a private foe
But I, whose soul consented to thy cause,
Who felt thy genius stamp its own applause,
Who saw the spirits of each glorious age
Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage ,
I soorn'd the ungenerous gloss of slavish.

The owl-eyed race, whom Virtue's lustre

blinds.

Spite of the learned in the ways of vice,
And all who prove that each man has his

price,

I still believed thy end was just and free ;
And yet, even yet, believe it — spite of thee.
Even though thy mouth impure has dared

Urged by the wretched impotence of shame,

43*

AN EPISTLE TO CUBIO.

[SIXTH PERIOD.—

Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid
To laws infirm, and liberty decay'd ,
Has begg"d Ambition to forgive the show ,
Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe ,
Has boasted in thy country's awful ear,
Her gross delusion when she held thee dear ,
How tame she followed thy tempestuous

call,
And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted

all—

Rise from your sad abodes, ye cursed of old
For laws subverted, and for cities sold '
Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt,
The oaths you. perjured, and the blood you

Yet must you one untempted vileness own,
One dreadful palm reserved for him alone ;
With studied arts his country's praise to

spurn,

To beg the infamy he did not earn,
To challenge hate when honour was his due,
And plead his crimes where all his virtue

knew.

Do robes of state the guarded heart enclose
From each, fair feeling human nature knows P
Can pompous titles stun the enchanted ear
To all that reason, all that sense would

hear?

Else oouldst thou e'er desert thy sacred post,
In such xinthankful baseness to be lost P
Else oouldst thou wed the emptiness of vice,
And yield thy glories at an idiot's price P

When they who, loud for liberty and laws,
In doubtful times had fought their country's

cause,

When now of conquest and dominion sure,
They sought alone to hold their fruits

secure;
When taught by these, Oppression hid the

face,

To leave Corruption stronger in her place,
By silent spells to work the public fate,
And taint the vitals of the passive state,
Till healing Wisdom should avail no more,
And Freedom loathe to tread the poison' d

shore .
Then, liko some guardian god that flies to

save

The weary pilgrim from an instant grave,
Whom, sleeping and secure, the guileful

snake
Steals near and nearer through the peaceful

brake,

Then Cuno rose to ward the public woe,
To wake the heedless, and incite the slow,
Against Corruption Liberty to arm,
And quell the enchantress by a mightier

charm.

Swift o'er the land the fair contagion flew,
And with thy country's hopes thy honours

grew.

Thee, patriot, the patiician roof confess'd ;
Thy powerful voice the rescued merchant

bless' d;

Of thee with awe the rural hearth resounds ;
The bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns j

Touch'd in the sighing shade with

fires,
To trace thy steps the love-sick youth

aspires,
The learn'd recluse, who oft amazed had

read

Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead,
With new amazement hears a living name
Pretend to share in such forgotten fame ;
And he who, scorning courts and courtly

ways,

Left the tame track of these dejected days,
The life of nobler ages to renew
In virtues sacred from a monarch's view,
Boused by thy labours from tho bloss'd

retreat,

Where social ease and public passions meet,
Again ascending treads the civil scene,
To act and be a man, as thou hadst been

Thus by degrees thy cause superior grew,
And the great end appear' d at last in view :
We heard the people in thy hopes rejoice,
We saw the senate bending to thy voice ;
The friends of freedom hail'd tho approaching

reign

Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain ,
While venal Faction, struck with now dis-
may,
Shrunk at their frown, and self-abandon7 d

lay.

Waked m the shook the public Genius rose,
Abash.' d and keener from his long repose ;
Sublime in ancient pride, he raised the spear
Which slaves and tyrants long WOTO wont to

fear;

The city felt his call : from man to man,
From street to street, the glorious horror

ran,
Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his

power,
And, murmuring, challenged tho deciding

hour

Lo I the deciding hour at last appears ;
The hour of every freeman's hopes and

fears'

Thou, Genius T guardian of tho Roman name,
O ever prompt tyrannic rage to tamo !
Instruct the mighty moments as they roll,
And guide each movement steady to the

goal.

Ye spirits by whose providential art
Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart,
Keep, keep the best in view to Curio's mind,
And watch his fancy, and his passions bind 1
Ye shades immortal, who by Freedom led,
Or in tho field or on tho scaffold bled,
Bend from your radiant scats a joyful eye,
And view the crown of all your labours nigh.
See Freedom mounting her eternal throne !
The sword submitted, and the laws her

own
See1 public Power chastised beneath her

stands,

With eyes intent, and uncorrupted hands !
See private Life by wisest arts reclaim' d I
See ardent youth to noblest manners framed !

From 1727 to 1780 ]

AN EPISTLE TO CTTEIO.

See us acquire whate'er was sought by you,
If Curio, only Cuno will be true

'Twas then— O sliaine! 0 trust how ill

repaid '

O Latium, oft by faithless sons betray5 d ' —
'Twas then— What frenzy on thy reason

stole?
What spells unsinew*d thy determined

soul?—

Is this the man in Freedom's cause approved,
The man so great, so honoured, so beloved,
This patient slave by tinsel chains allured,
This wretched suitor for a boon abjured,
This Curio, hated and despised by all,
"Who fell himself to woik his country's fall ?

0 lost, alike to action and repose '
Unknown, unpitied in the worst of woes T
With all that conscious, undissembled pride,
Sold to the insults of a foe defied '
With all that habit of familiar fame,
Doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in

shame1

The sole sad refuge of thy baffled art
To act a statesman's dull, exploded part,
Renounce the praise no longer in thy power,
Display thy virtue, though without a dower,
Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind,
And shut thy eyes that others may be

bhnd —

Forgive me, Romans, that I bear to smile,
When shameless mouths your majesty defile,
Paint you a thoughtless, frantic, headlong

crew,

And cast their own impieties on you.
For witness, Freedom, to whose sacred

power
My soul was row'd from reason's earliest

hour,

How have I stood exulting, to survey
My country's virtues, opening in thy ray r
How with the sons of every foreign shore
The more I match' d them, honour' d hers the

more1

O race erect ' whose native strength of soul,
Which kings, nor priests, nor sordid laws

control,

Bursts the tame round of animal affairs.
And seeks a nobler centre for its cares ;
Intent the laws of life to comprehend,
And fix dominion's limits by its end
Who, bold and equal in their love or hate,
By conscious reason judging every state,
The man forget not, though in rags he lies,
And know the mortal through a crown's

disguise :
Thence prompt alike with witty scorn to

view

Fastidious Grandeur lift his solemn brow,
Or, all awake at pity's soft command,
Bend the mild ear, and stretch the gracious

hand •

Thence large of heart, from envy far re-
moved,

When public toils to virtue stand approved,
Not the young lover fonder to admire,
Not more indulgent the delighted sire ;

Tet high and jealous of then- free-born

name,
Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying

flame,
Where'er Oppression works her wanton

sway,

Proud to confront, and dreadful to repay.
But if to purchase Curio's sage applause,
My country must with T"*» renounce her

cause,

Quit with a slave the path a patriot trod,
Bow the meek knee, and kiss the regal rod ;
Then still, ye powers, instruct his tongue to

rail,

Nor let his zeal, nor let his subject fail :
Else, ere he change the style, bear me away
To where the Gracchi, where the Brati

stay'

O long revered, and late resign* d to shame 1
If this uncourtly page thy notice claim
When the loud cares of business are with-
drawn,
Nor well-dress'd beggars round thy footsteps

fawn,

In that still, thoughtful, solitary hour,
When Truth exerts her unresisted power,
Breaks the false optics tinged with fortune's

glare,
Unlocks the breast, and lays the passions

bare,

Then turn thy eyes on that important scene,
And ask thyself — if all be well within.
Where is the heart-felt worth and weight of

soul,

Which labour could not stop, nor fear con-
trol?
Where the known dignity, the stamp of

awe,
Which, half -abash' d, the proud and venal

saw?

Where the calm triumphs of an honest cause ?
Where the delightful taste of just applause P
Where the strong reason, the commanding

tongue,

On which the senate fired or trembling htingP
All vanish' d, all are sold— and in their room,
Couoh'd in thy bosom's deep, distracted

gloom,
See the pale form of barbarous Grandeur

dwell,

lake some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell !
To her in chains thy dignity was led ,
At her polluted shrine thy honour bled ;
With blasted weeds thy awful brow she

crown'd,
Thy powerful tongue with poison'd philters

bound,

That baffled Eeason straight indignant flew,
And fair Persuasion from her seat withdrew :
For now no longer Truth supports thy cause ,
No longer Grlory prompts thee to applause ;
No longer Virtue breathing in thy breast,
With all her conscious majesty confess'd,
Still bright and brighter wakes the almighty

To rouse the feeble, and the wilful tame,

AKBNSEDB ]

EPISTLE TO CURIO

[SIXTH PERIOD —

And where she sees the catching glimpses

roll,
Spreads the strong blaze, and all involves the

soul,

But oold restraints thy conscious fancy chill,
And formal passions mock thy struggling

•will;

Or, if thy Genius e'er forget his chain,
And reach impatient at a nobler strain,
Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth
Shoot through thy breast, and stab the ge-

nerous birth,
Till, blind with smart, from truth to frenzy

tosa'd,

And all the tenor of thy reason lost,
Perhaps thy anguish drams a real tear ,
"While some with pity, some with laughter

hear. —

Can art, alas ' or genius, guide the head,
"Where truth and freedom from the heart are

fled?

Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke,
"When the prune function of the soul is

broke?
But come, unhappy man1 thy fates im-

pend;
Come, quit thy friends, if yet thou hast a

friend;
Turn from the poor rewards of guilt like

thine,

Renounce thy titles, and thy robes resign;
For see the hand of Bestmy display' d
To shut thee from the joys thou hast be-

tray'd!

See the dire fame of Infamy arise !
Dark as the grave, and spacious as the

skies;
"Where, from the first of time, thy kindred

train,

The chiefs and princes of the unjust remain.
Eternal barriers guard the pathless road
To warn the wanderer of the cursed abode ;
But prone as whirlwinds scour the assive'p

shy,
The heights surmounted, down the steep they

fly-

There, black with frowns, relentless Time

awaits,
And goads their footsteps to the guilty

gates;
And still he asks them of their unknown

Evolves their secrets, and their guilt pro-

claims;

And still Trig Tmndfa despoil them on the road
Of each vain wreath, by lying bards bestow'd,
Break their proud marbles, crush their festal

cars,

And rend the lawless trophies of their wars.
At last the gates his potent voice obey ;
Fierce to their dark abode he drives his

prey;

"Where, ever arm'd with adamantine chains,
The watchful demon, o'er her vassals reigns,
O'er mighty names and giant-powers of lust,
The great, the sage, the happy, and august

No gleam of hope their baleful mansion

cheers,
No sound of honour hails their unbless'd

But dire reproaches from tho friend bo-

tray'd,

The childless sire and violated moid ;
But vengeful vows for guardian laws effaced,
From towns enslaved, and continents laid

waste;

But long posterity's united groan,
And the sad charge of horrors not their own,
For ever through the trembling space resound,
And gnnlr each impious forehead to the

ground.

Ye mighty foes of liberty and rest,
Give way, do homage to a mightier guest !
Ye danng spirits of the Bomon race,
See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface I—-
Awed at the name, fierce Appius rising

bends,

And hardy Cinna from his throne attends •
"He comes," they cry, "to whom the fates

assign'd

With surer arts to work what we design* d,
From year to year the stubborn herd to sway,
Mouth all their wrongs, and all thoir rage

obey;
Till own'd their guide, and trusted with their

power,

He mook'd their hopes in one decisive hour ;
Then, tared and yielding, led them to tho

chain,
And quench' d the spirit we provoked in

vain."

But thou, Supreme, by whose eternal hands
Fair liberty's heroic empire stands ;
Whose thunders the rebellious deep control,
And quell tbfl triumphs of the traitor's soul,
Oh ' turn this dreadful omen far away
On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay :
Eelume her sacred fire so near suppress' d,
And fix her shrine in every Roman breast :
Though bold Corruption boast around the

land,

" Let virtue, if she con, my baits withstand ' "
Though bolder now sho urge tho accursed

n1a.-mV

Gay with her trophies raised on Curio's

shame;
Yet some there arc who scorn her impious

mirth,
Who know what conscience and a heart are

worth, —

0 friend and father of the human mind,
Whose art for noblest ends our frame

design' d >

If I, though fated to the studious shade
Which party-strife, nor anxious power invade,
If I aspire in public virtue's cause,
To guide the Muses by sublimer laws,
Do thou her own authority import,
And give my numbers entrance to the heart.
Perhaps the verse might rouse hoi smother' d

flame,
And snatch the fainting patriot back to fame ;

From 1727 to 1780]

THE PBOGBESS OF LOVE.

[LOBD LTTTBLTOK.

Perhaps by worthy thoughts of human kind,
To worthy deeds exalt the conscious mind ;
Or dash Corruption in her proud career,
And teach her slaves that Vice was born to
fear.

.— Born 1721, Died 1770.

904.— THE PROGKRESS OF LOVE.

Pope, to whose reed beneath the beachen

shade
The nymphs of Thames a pleased attention

paid;
While yet thy Muse, content with humbler

praise,

"Warbled in Windsor's grove her sylvan lays ;
Though now, sublimely borne on Homer's

wing,

Of glorious wars and godlike chiefs she sing *
Wilt thou with me revisit once again
The crystal fountain, and the flowery plain ?
Wilt thou, indulgent, hear my verse relate
The various changes of a lover's state ;
And, while each turn of passion I pursue,
Ask thy own heart if what I tell be true P
To the green margin of a lonely wood,
Whose pendent shades o'erlook'd a silver

flood,
Young Damon came, unknowing where he

stray'd,

Full of the image of his beauteous maid .
His flock, far off, unfed, untended, lay,
To every savage a defenceless prey ;
No sense of interest could their master move,
And every care seem'd trifling now but love.
Awhile in pensive silence he remaufd,
But, though his voice was mute, his looks

complain.' d ;
At length the thoughts, within his bosom

pent,
Forced his unwilling tongue to give them

vent.
"Ye nymphs," he cned, " ye Dryads, who

so long
Have favour'd Damon, and inspired his

song;

For whom, retired, I shun the gay resorts
Of sportful cities, and of pompous courts ;
In vain I bid the restless world adieu,
To seek tranquillity and peace with you.
Though wild Ambition and destructive Sage
!Nb factions here can form, no wars can

wage-
Though Envy frowns not on your humble

shades,

Iflor Calumny your innocence invades .
Yet cruel Love, that troubler of the breast,
Too often violates your boasted rest ;
With inbred storms disturbs your calm

retreat,
And taints with bitterness each rural sweet.

luckless day f when first with fond

On Delia's face I fii'd my eager eyes !
Then in wild tumults all my soul was tost,
Then reason, liberty, at once were lost :
And every wish, and thought, and care, was

gone,

But what my heart emplo/d on her alone.
Then too she smiled: ppfTi smiles our peace

destroy,

Those lovely children of Content and Joy ?
How can soft pleasure and tormenting woe
From the same spring at the same moment

flow?

Unhappy boy ' these vain inquiries cease,
Thought could not guard, nor will restore, thy

peace:

Indulge the frenzy that thou must endure,
And soothe the paizx thou know'st not how to

cure.

Come, flattering Memory ! and tell my heart
How kind she was, and with what pleasing

art

She strove its fondest wishes to obtain,
Confirm her power, and faster bind my chain*
If on the green we danced, a mirthful band,
To me alone she gave her willing hand ;
Her partial taste, if e'er I touph'd the lyre,
Still in my song found something to admire,
By none but her my crook with flowers was

crown'd,

By none but her my brows with ivy bound s
The world, that Damon was her choice, be*

lieved,

The world, alas ' like Damon, was deceived.
When last I saw her, and declared my fire
In woxds as soft as passion could inspire,
Coldly she heard, and full of scorn withdrew,
Without one pitying glance, one sweet adieu.
The frighted hind, who sees his ripen* d corn
Up from the roots by sudden tempests torn,
Whose fairest hopes destroy* d and blasted

lie,

Feels not so keen a pang of grief as L
,Afr how have I deserved, TnTiirpna.!! -mtuflj
To have my faithful service thus repaid P
Were all the marks of kindness I received
But drAftmH of joy, that charm' d me and

deceived P

Or did you only nurse my growing love,
That with more pain I might your hatred

prove p

Sure guilty treachery no place could find
In such a gentle, such a generous mind :
A maid brought up the woods and wilds

among
Could ne'er have learnt the art of courts so

young:

No; let me rather think her anger feign'd,
Stall let me hope my Delia may be gain'd ;
'Twas only modesty that seem'd disdain,
And her heart suffered when she gave me

pain."
Pleased with this flattering thought, the

love-sick boy
Felt the faint dawning of a doubtful joy ,

LOBD LYTTJELTON.] TO THE REVEREND DR. AYSCOITGH. [SIXTH PERIOD. —

Back to bis flock more cheerful lie return* d,
When now the setting Sun more fiercely

burn'd,

Blue vapours rose along the mazy rills,
And Kght's last blushes tinged the distant

hills.

Lord Lytielton.—Born 1709, Died 1773.

905.— TO THE REVEREND
DR. AYSCOTJGH.

Say, dearest friend, how roll thy hours away ?
What pleasing study cheats the tedious day ?
Dost them the sacred volumes oft ezplore
Of wise Antiquity's immortal lore,
Where virtue, by the charms of wit refined,
At once exalts and polishes the mind ?
How different from our modern guilty art,
Which pleases only to corrupt the heart ,
Whose curst refinements odious vice adorn,
And teach to honour what we ought to scorn '
Dost thou in sage historians joy to see
How Roman greatness rose with liberty :
How the same hands that tyrants durst

control
Their empire stretch1 d from Atlas to the

Pole;

Till wealth and conquest into slaves refined
The proud luxurious masters of mankind p
Dost thou m lettered Greece each charm

admire,
Each grace, each virtue, Freedom could

inspire;

Yet in her troubled state see all the woes,
And all the crimes, that giddy Faction

knows;

Till, rent by parties, by corruption sold,
Or weakly careless, or too rashly bold,
She sunk beneath a mitigated doom,
The slave and tutoress of protecting Rome p
Does calm Philosophy her aid impart,
To guide the passions, and to mend the

heart?
Taught by her precepts, hast thou learnt the

end

To which alone the wise their studies bend ;
For which alone by Nature were design' d
The powers of thought — to benefit mankind P
Not, like a cloister' d drone, to read and doze,
In undeserving, undeserved repose ;
But reason's influence to diffuse , to clear
Th* enlighten' d world of every gloomy fear ,
Dispel the mists of error, and unbind
Those pedant chains that clog the free-born

mind

Happy who thus his leisure can employ '
He knows the purest hours of tranquil joy ;
'Nor vert with pangs that busier bosoms tear,
Nor lost to social virtue's pleasing care ,
Safe in the port, yet labouring to sustain
Those who still float on the tempestuous

So Locke the days of studious quiet spent ;
So Boyle in wisdom found divine content ;
So Oambray, worthy of a happier doom.
The virtuous slave of Louis and of Rome.
Good Wor'ster thus supports his drooping

age,

Far from court-flattery, far from party-rage ;
He, who in youth a tyrant's frown defied,
Firm and intrepid on his country's side,
Her boldest champion then, and now her

mildest guide '

O generous waimth ' O sanctity divine !
To emulate his worth, my friend, bo thine •
Learn from his life the duties of tho gown j
Learn, not to flatter, nor insult the crown ,-
Nor, basely servile, court the guilty great,
Nor raise the church a rival to the state .
To error mild, to vice alone severe,
Seek not to spread the law of lovo by f oar.
The priest who plagues the world can never

mend-

No foe to man was e'er to Grod a friend.
Let reason and let virtue faith raftT^-taMi .
All force but theirs is impious, weak, and'

vain.

Me other cares in other climes engage,
Cares that become my birth, and suit my

age;

In various knowledge to improve my youth,
And conquer prejudice, worst foe to truth ;
By foreign arts domestic faults to mend,
Enlarge my notions, and my views extend ;
The useful science of the world to know,
Which books can never teach, or pedants-
show.

A nation here I pity and admire,
Whom noblest sentiments of glory fire,
Yet taught, by custom's force and bigot foar,
To serve with pride, and boast tho yoke they

bear

Whose nobles, born to cringe and to com-
mand
(In courts a moan, in camps a generous.

band),

From each low tool of power content receive
Those laws, their dreaded arms to Europe-
give.
Whose people (vain in want, in bondage

blest;
Though plunder' d, gay; industrious, though

opprest)

With happy follies rise above their fate,
The jest and envy of oach wiser state.

Yet here the Muses deign* d awhile to sport
In the short sunshine of a favouring court
Here Boileau, strong in sense and sharp in

wit,
Who, from the ancients, like the ancients,

wnt,

Permission gain'd inferior vice to blame,
By flattering incense to his master's fame.
Here Mohere, first of comic wits, exoeU'd
Whatever Athenian theatres beheld ;
By keen, yet decent, satire skill' d to please,
With morals mirth uniting, strength with.
•ase.

Jrom 1727 to 1780.] TO THE MEMORY OF LADY LYTTELTON. [LORD LYTTELTON.

Now, charm' d, I hear the bold Corneille in-
spire

Heroic thoughts, with Shakspeare's force and
fire'

Now sweet Racine, with milder influence,
move

The soften'd heart to pity and to love
With mingled pain and pleasure, I survey

The pompons works of arbitrary sway ;

Proud palaces, that drain' d the subjects'
store,

Raised on the rums of th' opprest and
poor,

Where e'en mute walls are taught to natter

And painted triumphs style Ambition

GREAT

With more delight those pleasing shades I

view,

Where Conde* from an envious court with-
drew,
Where, sick of glory, faction, power, and

pride,
(Sure judge how empty all, who all had

tried!)

Beneath his palms the weary chief reposed,
And life's great scene in quiet virtue closed.
With shame that other fam'd retreat I

see,

Adorn* d by art, disgraced by luxury .
Where Orleans wasted every vacant hour,
In the wild not of unbounded power ;
Where feverish debauch and impious love
Stain* d the mad table and the guilty grove
With these amusements is thy friend de-

taan'd,

Pleased and instructed in a foreign land ;
Yet oft a tender wish recalls my mind
From present joys to dearer left behind
0 native isle, fair Freedom's happiest seat !
At thought of thee, my bounding pulses beat ,
At thought of thee, my heart impatient burns,
And all my country on my soul returns
When shall I see thy fields, whose plenteous

grain
"No power can ravish from th' industrious

swain?

When kiss, with pious love, the sacred earth
That gave a Burleigh or a Russell birth P
When, in the shade of laws, that long have

stood,
Propt by their care, or strengthened by then*

blood,

Of f airless independence wisely vain,
The proudest slave of Bourbon's race dis-
dain?
Yet, oh! what doubt, what sad presaging

voice,

Whispers within, and bids me not rejoice ,
Bids me contemplate every state around,
From sultry Spam to Norway's icy bound ,
Bids their lost rights, their rum9 d glory see
And tells me, " These, like England, once

were free ' "

Lord Lyttelton.—Born 1709, Died 1773.

906. — TO THE MEMORY OF THE FIRST
LADY LYTTELTON.

At length escaped from every human eye,

From every duty, every care,
That in my mournful thoughts might ftlfl-T*™ a

share,
Or force my tears their flowing stream to

dry;
Beneath the gloom of this embowering

shade,

This lone retreat, for tender sorrow made,
I now may give my burden'd heart relief ,

And pour forth all my stores of grief ;
Of grief surpassing every other woe,
Far as the purest bliss, the happiest love

Can on th' ennobled mind bestow,

Exceeds the vulgar joys that move
Our gross desires, inelegant and low

Ye tufted groves, ye gently-falling rills,

Ye high o'ershadowing hills,
Ye lawns gay-smiling with eternal green,

Oft have you my Lucy seen I
But never shall you now behold her more :

Nor will she now with fond delight
And taste refined your rural charms

explore.
Closed are those beauteous eyes in endless

night,
Those beauteous eyes where beaming used to

shine
Reason's pure light and Virtue's spark

divine.

Oft would the Dryads of these woods

rejoice

To hear her heavenly voice ,
For her despising, when she deign'd to

sing,

The sweetest songsters of the spring :
The woodlark and the linnet pleased no

more;

The nightingale was mute,
And every shepherd's flute
Was cast in silent scorn away,
While all attended to her sweeter lay.
Ye larks and linnets, now resume your

song,

And thou, melodious Philomel,

Again thy plaintive story tell ,

For Death has stopt that tuneful tongue,

Whose music could alone your warbling notes

excel

In vain I look around
O'er all the well-known ground,
My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry ;
Where oft we used to walk,
Where oft in tender talk
We saw the summer Sun go down the sky ;
Nor by yon fountain's side,
Nor where its waters glide
Along the valley, can she now be found :
In all the wide-stretch'd prospect's ampla
bound

LOBD LYTTELTON.] TO THE MEMOBY OF LADY LYTTELTON. [SIXTH PBBIOD.—

No more my mournful eye
Can aught of her espy,

But the sad sacred earth where her dear
relioshe

O shades of Hagley, where is now your
boast?

Yotir bright inhabitant is lost
Ton she preferr'd to all the gay resorts
"Where female vanity might wish to shine,
The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts.
Her modest beauties shunn'd the public eye :

To your sequester' d dales

And flower-embroider* d Tales
From an admiring world she ohose to fly •
With Nature there retired, and Nature's
God,

The silent paths of wisdom trod,
And banish'd every passion from her breast,

But those, the gentlest and the best,
"Whose holy flames with energy divine
The virtuous heart enliven and improve,
The conjugal and the maternal love

Sweet babes, who, lake the little playful

fawns,
Were wont to trip along these verdant

lawns

By your delighted mother's side,
Who now your infant steps shall guide ?
Ah I where is now the hand whose tender

care
To every virtue would have form'd your

youth,
And strew* d with flowers the thorny ways

of truth P

0 loss beyond repair f
0 wretched father ' left alone,
To weep their dire misfortune, and thy

own1
How shall thy weakened mind, oppressed

with woe,

And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave,
Perform the duties that you doubly owe '

Now she, alas ' is gone,
From folly and from vice their helpless age
to save P

Where were ye, Muses, when relentless

Fate
From these fond arms your fair disciple

tore;
From these fond aims, that vainly

strove

With hapless ineffeotual love
To guard her bosom from the mortal

blow?
Could not your favouring power,

Aoman maids,
Could not, alas ' your power prolong her

For whom so oft in these inspiring

Or under Camden's moss-clad mountains

hoar,
You open'd aJl your sacred store,

Whate'er your ancient sages taught,
Your ancient bards sublimely thought,
And bade her raptured breast with all your
spirit glow P

Nor then did Pmdus or Oast alia' s plain,
Or Aganippe's fount your steps detain,
Nor in the Thespian valleys did you

Play;

Nor then on Mincio's bank
Beset with osiers dank,
Nor where Ohtumnus rolls Ms gentle

stream,

Nor where through hanging woods
Steep Anio pours his floods,
Nor yet where Melos or Hissus stray.
HI does it now beseem,
That, of your guardian care bereft,
To dire disease and death your darling should
be left.

Now what avails it that in early bloom,
When light fantastic toys
Are all her sex's joys,
With you she search' d the wit of Greece

and Borne ;

A-nfl all that in her latter days
To emulate her ancient praise
Itaha's happy genius could produce ;
Or^what the Gallic fire _
Bright sparJEunfir could inspire,
By all the Graces temper' d and refined ;
Or what in Britain's isle,
Most favour' d with your smile,
The powers of Beason and of Fancy join'd
To fall perfection have conspired to raise P

Ah ! what is now the use
Of all these treasures that enrich' d her

mind,

To black Oblivion's gloom for ever now
oonsign'd.

At least, ye Nine, her spotless name

'T is yours from death, to save,
And in the temple of immortal Fame
With golden characters her worth engrave.

Come then, ye virgin-sisters, come,
And strew with choicest flowers her

halloVd tomb :
But foremost thou, in sable vestment clad,

With accents sweet and sad,
Thou, plaintive Muse, whom o'er his Laura's

urn

Unhappy Petrarch oalL'd to mourn ;
0 come, and to this fairer Laura pay
A more impassion' d tear, a more pathetic
lay.

Tell* how each beauty of her mind and face
Was brighten'd by some sweet peculiar

grace!

How eloquent in every look
Through her expressive eyes her soul distinctly

spoke '

Tell how her manners, by the world refined,
Left all the taint of modish vice behind,

Jfoom 1727 to 1780 ] TO THE MEMORY OF LADY LYTTELTON. ' [LosD LYTTSLTON.

And mode each, charm of polish.' d courts

With candid Troth's simplicity,

And uncorrupted Innocence !

Tell how to more than manly sense
She jom'd the softening influence
Of more than female tenderness

How, in the thoughtless days of wealth and

joy,

Which oft the care of others' good destroy,

Her kindly-melting heart,
To every want and every woe,
To guilt itself when in distress,
The balm of pity would impart,
And all relief that bounty could bestow f
Ev'n for the kid or lamb that pour'd its life
Beneath the bloody knife,
Her gentle tears would fall,
Tears from sweet Virtue's source, benevolent
to all

Not only good and kind,
But strong and elevated was her mmA .

A spirit that with noble pride

Could look superior down

On Fortune's smile or frown ,
That could without regret or pain
To Virtue's lowest duty sacrifice
Or Interest or Ambition's highest prize ;
That, injured or offended, never tried
Its dignity by vengeance to maintain,
But by magnanimous cbB^a/1*"
A wit that, temperately bright,

With inoffensive light

All pleasing shone , nor ever past
The decent bounds that Wisdom's sober

hand,

And sweet Benevolence's mild command,
And bashful Modesty, before it cast
A prudence undeceiving, undeceived, I

That nor too little nor too much believed,
That soorn'd unjust Suspicion's coward

fear,

A-nd without weakness knew to be sincere.
Such Lucy was, when, in her fairest days,
Amidst th' acclaim of universal praise,

In life's and glory's freshest bloom,
Death came remorseless on, and sunk her to
the tomb

So, where the silent streams of Liris glide,
In the soft bosom of Campania's vale,
When now the wintry tempests all are

fled,
And genial Summer breathes her gentle

gale,
The verdant orange lifts its beauteous

head.
From every branch the balmy flowerets

rise,
On every bough the golden fruits are

With odours sweet it fills the mrmling

skies,
The wood-nymphs tend, and th' Idalian

queen.

But, in the midst of all its blooming

pnde,
A sudden blast from Apenmnus blows,

Cold with perpetual snows :
The tender blighted plant shrinks up its leaves,
and dies.

Arise, 0 Petrarch, from th' ELyaian bowers,
With never-fading myrtles twined,
And fragrant with ambrosial flowers,
Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd ;
Arise, and hither bring the silver lyre,

Tuned, by thy skilful hand,
To the soft notes of elegant desire,

With which o'er many a land
Was spread the fame of thy disastrous

love;

To me resign the vocal shell,
And teach my sorrows to relate
Their melancholy tale so well,
As may ev*n things inanimate,
Bough mountain oaks, and desert rocks, to
pity move.

What were, alas ' thy woes compared to

mine?
To thee thy mistress in the blissful

band

Of Hymen never gave her hand ,
The joys of wedded love were never

thine

In thy domestic care
She never bore a share,
Nor with endearing art
Would heal thy wounded heart
Of every secret grief that fester' d there
Nor did her fond affection on the bed
Of sickness watch thee, and thy languid

head
Whole nights on her unwearied arm

sustain,

And charm away the sense of pain :
Nor did she crown your mutual flame
With pledges dear, and with a father's tender

O best of wives ? 0 dearer far to me

Than when thy virgin charms

Were yielded to my arms,
How can my soul endure the loss of

thee?
How in the world, to me a desert grown,

Abandon' d and alone,
Without my sweet companion can I
live?

Without thy lovely smile,
The dear reward of every virtuous toil,
What pleasures now can pall'd Ambition

Ev'n the delightful sense of weft-earn5 d

praise,

Unshared by thee, no more my hf eless thoughts
could raise.

For my distracted mind
What succour can I find ?

GBAT.]

A DISTANT BROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. [SIXTH PERIOD —

Oa whom for consolation shall I call P
Support me, every friend ;
Your kind assistance lane,
To bear the weight of this oppressive

woe

Alas ' each friend of mine,
My dear deported love, so much was

thine,

That none has any comfort to bestow. .
My books, the best relief
In every other grief,
Are now with your idea sadden' d all :
Each favourite author we together read
My tortured memory wounds, and speaks of
Lucy dead.

We were the happiest pair of human

kind-
The rolling year its varying couise per-

form'd,

And back return' d again ;
Another and another smiling came,
And saw our happiness unchangedremain :

Still in her golden chain
Harmonious Concord did our wishes

bind
Our studies, pleasures, taste, the same.

O fatal, fatal stroke,
Thajj all this pleasing fabric Love had

raised

Of rare felicity,
On which ev*n wanton Vice with envy

And every scheme of bliss our hearts had

form'd,
With soothing hope, for many a future

day,

In one sad moment broke ' —
Tet, O my soul, thy rising murmurs

stay;

Nor dare the all- wise Disposer to arraign,
Or against his supreme decree
With impious grief complain.
That all thy full-blown joys at once

should fade,

Was his most righteous will — and be that
will obeyU

Would thy fond love his grace to her

control,
And in these low abodes of sin and pain

Her pure exalted soul
Unjustly for thy partial good detain ?
No — rather strive thy grovelling mind to

raise

Up to that unclouded blaze,
That heavenly radiance of eternal light,
In which enthroned she now with pity

sees
How frail, how insecure, how slight,

Is every mortal bliss ;
Ev'n love itself, if rising- by degrees
Beyond the bounds of this imperfect

state,

Whose fleeting joys so soon must end,
It does not to its sovereign good ascend.

Rise then, my soul, with hope elate,
And seek those regions of serene delight,
Whose peaceful path and ever-open gate
No feet but those of harden'd Guilt shall

miss

There death himself thy Lucy shall restore,
There yield up all his power no'or to divide
you more.

Lord Lyttelton.—Born 1709, Dud 1773.

907— ODE ON A DISTANT KBOSPECT
OP ETON COLLEGE.

Ye distant spires, yo antique towers,

That crown the watery glodo,
Where grateful science still adores

Her Honry's holy shade ;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights the expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey ;

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers
flimon&r

Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way '

Ah, happy halls ' ah, pleasing- shade '

Ah, fields beloved in vain '
Where once my careless childhood stray *d>

A stranger yet to pain -
I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow,
As, waving fxesh their gladsome wing,

My weary soul they seem to soothe,

And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen

Full many a sprightly race,
Disporting on thy margont green,

The paths of pleasure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cloavo
With pliant arm thy glassy wave P
The captive linnet which inthral P

What idle progeny succeed

To oha.se the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball ?

While some on earnest business bent

Their murmuring labours ply
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint

To sweeten liberty ,
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry

Still as they run, they look behind ;

They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,

Less pleasing when possessed ;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,

The sunshine of the breast
Theirs buxom health of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,

J?Vom 1727 to 1780]

BAIfcD.

[GBAY.

And lively cheer of vigour bom ;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,

That fly the approach of morn.

Alas ! regardless of their doom,

The little victims play ;
No sense have they of ills to come,

Nor care beyond to-day ;
Yet see how all around 'em wait
The ministers of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful tram.

Ah ' show them where in ambush stand,

To seize their prey, the murth'rous band;
Ah, tell them they are men '

These BTiB.11 the fury passions tear,

The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that skulks behind ,
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart ,

And Envy wan, and faded Care,

Gnm-Yisaged comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,

Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,

And grinning Infamy
The stings of Falsehood those shall try,
And hard Unkmdness' alter' d eye,
That mocks the tear it forced to flow ,
And keen Remorse with blood defiled,
And moody Madness laughing wild
Amid severest woe.

Lo r in the vale of years beneath

A grisly troop are seen,
The painful family of Death,

More hideous than then? queen
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring sinew strains,
Those in the deepei vitals rage

Lo ! Poverty, to fill the band,

That numbs the soul with icy hand,
And slow-consuming Age

To each his sufferings : all are men, \l

Condemn' d alike to groan ;
The tender for another's pain,

The unfeeling for his own.
Tot, ah ' why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comas too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies p

Thought would destroy their paradise

No more , where ignorance is bliss,
'Us folly to be wise.

Gray —Bom 1716, Jhed 1771

908. — HYMN TO ADVEBSITY.

Daughter of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,

"Whose iron scourge, and torturing hour,
The bad affright, afflict the best !

Bound in thy adamantine chain
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and
alone.

When first thy sire to send on earth
Virtue, his AxArng child, design* d,
To -Chee he gave the heavenly birth,

And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern rugged nurse, thy rigid lore
With patience many a year she bore :
What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know,
And from her own she leam'd to melt at
others' woe.

Soared at thy frown terrific, fly

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,

And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they disperse, and with them go
The summer friend, the flattering foe ;
By vain Prosperity received,
To her they vow their truth, and are again
believed.

Wisdom, in sable garb array*d,

Immersed in rapturous thought profound,
And Melancholy, silent maid,

With leaden eye, that loves the ground,
Still on thy solemn steps attend :
Warm Charity, the general friend,
With Justice, to herself severe,
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing

Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head,

Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand !
Not in thy gorgon terrors clad,

Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art seen),
With thundering voice, and threatening mien,
With screaming Horror's funeral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.

Thy form benign, oh goddess ' wear,

Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philosophic train be there,

To soften, not to wound, my heart.
The generous spark extinct revive ;
Teach me to love and to forgive ,
Exact my own defects to scan,
What others are, to feel, and know myself a
man.

Qray — JBoni 1716, Died 1771.

909— THE BAJEtD

" Ruin seize thee, ruthless king,
Confusion on thy banners wait ,

Though fann'd by conquest's ciim&on wing,
They mock the oar with idle state

Helm, nor hauberk's jbwia-ted mail,

Nor e'en thy virtues, tyiant, bhall

GRAY.]

THE BAUD.

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
From Cambria's curse, fiom Cambria's

tears ! "
Such were the sounds, that o'er the created

pride

Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long

array.
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless

trance,
" To arms ' " cnod Mortimer, and conch' d

his quivering lance

On a rock, whose haughty brow

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Robed in the sable garb of woe,

With haggard eyes the poet stood
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair
Streamed, hke a meteor, to the troubled air ) ,
And with a master's hand, and piophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
" Hark, how each giant oak, and desert care,

Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath '
O'er thee, oh king ' their hundred arms they
wave,

Revenge- on thee in hoarser murmurs

breathe ,

Yocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
To high-born Hoel's haip, or soft UeweUyn's
lay.

Cold is Cadwatto's tongue,

That hushed the stormy main
Brave TJnen sleeps upon, his craggy bed •

Mountains, ye mourn in vain
Modred, whose magic song
Made huge Phnlimmon bow his cloud-topped

head.
On dreary Arvon's shore they lie,

Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale •

Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail ,
The famish1 d eagle screams, and parses by*
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,

Dear as the light that visits these sad

eyes,

Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my
heart,

Ye died amidst your dying country's cries —
No more I weep They do not sleep.

On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,
I see them Bit ; they linger yet,

Avengers of their native land
With me in dreadful harmony they join,
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of
thy line."

" Weave the warp, and weave the woof,

The winding-sheet of Edward's race
Give ample room, and verge enough

The characters of hell to trace
Mark the year, and mark the xught,
"When Severn shall re-echo with aflfeight,
The shneks of death through Berkeley's roof

that ring,
Shrieks of an agonizing long '

She- wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
That toai'st the bowels of thy mangled
mate,

From thoo bo born, who o'ci thy country

hangs

The scourge of heaven ' What terrors
round him wait '

Amazement in his van, with Flight combined,

And Sorrow's laded form, and Solitude be-
hind

Mighty victor, mighty lord,

Low on his funeral couch ho lies f
No pitying heart, no eye afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.
Is the sable warrior flod ?
Thy son is gone Ho rests among the doad.
The swarm* that in thy noontide beam wore

born?

Gone to salute the rising mom.
Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr

blows,

While proudly riding o'er the azure realm,
In gallant tnm the gilded vessel goes. ,
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the

helm;

Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,
That, hush'd in gnm repose, expects his
everuug prey

Fill high the sparkling bowl,

The rich repast prepare ,
Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast .

Close by the regal chair
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.
Heard ye the din of battle bray,

Lance to lance, and horse to horse p

Long years of havoc urge their destined

course,
And through the kindred squadrons mow their

way
Te Towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,

With many a foul and midnight murder

fed,
Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame,

And spare the meek usurper's holy head '
Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread
The bristled boar in infant gore

Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed

loom,

Stamp we OUT vengeance deep, and ratify his
doom.

( Edward, lo ' to sudden fate

(Weave wo ttfe woof. Tho thread is spun). ,
HaJf of thy heart we consecrate
(The web is wove Tho work is done).'
Stay, oh stay ' nor thus forlorn
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn ;
In yon bright tract, that fires the western

skies,
They melt, they vanish from my eyes.

From 1727 to 1780 ] ELEGY "WRITTEN IN A COUNTBY CHTOCHYAKD

But oh ' what solemn scenes, on Snowdon's

Descending slow, their glittering skirts

unroll P
"Visions of glory, spare niy aching sight ;

Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul '
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail.
An hail, ye genuine kings ! Britannia's issue
hail!

Girt with many a baron bold,

Sublime their starry fronts they rear j

And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old,
In bearded majesty appear

In the midst a form divine '

Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line ;

Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,

Attempered sweet to virgin-grace

"What strings symphomous tremble in the air,

"What strains of vocal transport round her
play!

Hear from the grave, great Takessin, hear '
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay

Bright rapture calls, and soaring as she
sings,

Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-
coloured wings.

The verse adorn again

Pierce War, and faithful Love,
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction dressed

In buskined measures move
Pale Gnef , and pleasing Pain,
With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice as of the cherub-choir,
Gales from blooming Eden bear ;

And distant warblings lessen on my ear,
That, lost in long futurity, expire.
Pond, impious man, think'st thou yon san-
guine cloud,

Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb

To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,

And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
Enough for me : with joy I see

The different doom our Pates assign.
"Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care ,
To triumph, and to die, are mine **
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's

height,

Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless
night.

Gray — -Born 1716, Died 1771.

,910.— -ELEGY WJilTTJiJN IN A COUNTRY
CHHRCHYAKD.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary

way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to
me

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the

sight,

And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning

flight,

And drowsy tmkhngs lull the distant
folds:

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon com-
plain

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's

shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a moulder-

ing heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-

built shed,

The cook's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly
bed.

Por them no more the blazmg hearth

Or busy housewife ply her evening care :
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied MSB to
share

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has

broke,

How jocund did they drive their team a-field !
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy
stroke '

Let not Ambition mock 1?b.^T useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ;

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple fl-TiTiflJg of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er
gave,

Await alike the inevitable hour —

The paths of glory lead but to the grave

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the

fault,
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies

raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and

fretted vault

The pealing anthem swells the note of
praise.

Can stoned urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting

breath P

Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of
Death?

GaurJ

ELEGY WBITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHTOCHYARD. [SIXTH PHBIOD —

Perhaps in -this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial

fire;
Hands that the rod of empire might have

swayM,
Or waked to oostacy the living lyre •

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Bich with the spoils of tune did ne'er
•unroll;

Ohill Penury repress* d their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark nnfathom'd caves of ocean bear •

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some viHage-Hampden, that with dauntless

breast

The little tyrant of his fields withstood ;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's
blood.

The applause of listening senates to com-
mand,

The tlireats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes

confined,
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a

throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind •

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to
hide,

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride

With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife
Their sober wishes never learn' d to stray ,

Along the cool sequester' d vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their
way.

Yet even these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture

deok'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by the un-
letter'd muse,

The place of fame and elegy supply :
And many a holy text around she strews,

That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb Forgetftdness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er icsign'd,

left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor oast one longing, lingering look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing oye requires ;

Even from the tomb the voice of nature

ones,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires

For thoe, who, mindful of the tmhonour'd

dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale

relate,

If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy f ato ;

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at tho poop of
dawn

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so

high,
His listless length at noontide would ho

stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would

rove;

Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with oaro, or cross'd in hopeless
love

One morn I miss'd him on the ' custom' d hill,
Along the heath and near his favourite
tree;

Another came ; nor yet beside the nil,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was ho.

The next, with dirges duo in Hod array,

Slow through the ohurohway path wo saw

him borne ;
Approach and read (for thou const read) tho

lay

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged
thorn."

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon tho lap of Earth,
A Youth, to Fortune and to Famo un-
known,
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble

birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for hor own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send

He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all ho wish'd)
a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread
abode

(There they alike in trembling hope repose"/.
The bosom of his Father and his Q-od

— Born 1716, Died I77L

From 1*27 to X780 ]

AN ODE FROM CAEACTACTJS

911 — ODE ON THE SPRING.

Lo ' where the rosy-bosom'd Hours,

Pair Yen-as* train appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,

And wake the purple year '
The attio warbler pours her throat,
Eesponsiye to the cuckoo's note,

The untaught harmony of Spring •
While, whispering pleasure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky

Their gather' d fragrance fling.

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch

A broader, browner shade ;
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beach

O'er-oanopies the glade,
Beside some water's rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and tfrfoik'

(At ease reclined in rustic state)
How yam the ardour of the crowd,
How low, how little are the proud,

How indigent the great !

Still is the toiling hand of Care :

The panting herds repose •
Yet hark, how through the peopled air

The busy murmur glows '
The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honey* d spring,

And float amid the liquid noon .
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some show their gaily-gilded trim

Quick glancing to the Sun.

To Contemplation's sober eye

Such is the race of man
And they that creep, and they that fly,

Shall end where they began.
Alike the busy and the gay
But flutter through life's little day,

In Fortuned varying colours drest •
Brush' d by the hand of rough Mischance ;
Or chill' d by age, their airy dance

They leave in dust to rest.

Methmks I hear in accents low

The sportive land reply ;
" Poor moralist ' and what art thou ?

A solitary fly '

Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,

No painted plumage to display :
On hasty wings thy youth is flown :
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone —

We frolic while 'tis May"

Gray— Born 1716, Ihed 1771.

912.— ON VICISSITUDE

Now the golden morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With venml cheek, and whisper soft,
She woos the tardy spring :

TJl April starts and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground ;
And lightly o'er the hying- scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green

New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
iFnskmg ply their feeble feet ;
Forgetful of their wint'ry trance
The birds his presence greet •
But chief the sky-lark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstacy,
And, lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light

Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whiilwind fly ;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by
Their raptures now that wildly flow,
No yesterday, nor morrow know ,
'Tis man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.

Smiles on past misfortune's brow,
Soft reflection's hand can trace :
And o'er tie cheek of sorrow throw
A melancholy grace -
While hope prolongs our happier hour ;
Or deepest shades that dimly lower
And blacken round our weary way
Gilds with a gleam of distant day

Stall, where rosy pleasure leads,
See a kindred grief pursue ,
Behind the steps that misery treads
Approaching comfort view •
The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastised by sabler tints of woe ,
And blended form, with artful strife,
The strength and harmony of life

See the wretch, that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe, and walk again
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To fa™ are opening Paradise

Humble Quiet builds her cell
Near the course where pleasure flows ;
She eyes the clear crystalline well,
And tastes it as it goes.

* * *

Gray —Born 1716, Ihed, 1771.

913 —AN ODE FBOM CABACTACUS.

Mona on Snowdon calls .
Hear, thou king of mountains, hear ;
Hark, she speaks from all her strings :
Hark, her loudest echo rings ,

mountains, bend thine ear :

44

MASON ]

ODE TO MEMORY

[SIXTH PERIOD.—

Send thy spirits, sond them soon,

Now, when midnight and the moon
Meet upon thy front of snow ;

See their gold and ebon rod,

Where the sober sisters nod,
And greet in whispers sage and slow.
Snowdon, mark ' 'tis magic's hour,
Now the matter' d spell hath power ;
Power to rend thy nbs of rook,
And burst thy base with thunder's shook :
But to thee no ruder spell
Shall Mona use, than those that dwell
In music's secret cells, and lie
Steep' d in the stream of harmony.

Snowdon has heard the strain :
Hark, amid the wondering grove

Other harpings answer dear,

Other voices meet our ear,
Pinions flutter, shadows move,

Bustling vestments brush the ground ,
Hound and round, and round they go,
Through the twilight, through the shade,
Mount the oak's majestic head,
And gild the tufted mistletoe.
Cease, ye glittering race of light,
Close your wings, and oheok your flight ;
Here, arranged in order due,
Spread your robes of saffron hue ;
For lo ' with more than mortal fire,
Mighty Mador smites the lyre :
Hark, he sweeps the master-strings ;
Listen all

Mason.— Born 1725, Died, 1797.

914 — ODE TO MEMORY.

Mother of Wisdom ' thou, whose sway

The throng'd ideal hosts obey ;

Who bidd'st their ranks, now vanish, now
appear,

Flame in the van, or darken in the rear ;
Accept this votive verse. Thy reign
Nor place can fix, nor power restrain.

All, all is thine. For theo the ear, and eye,

Rove through the realms of grace, and

harmony

The senses thee spontaneous serve,
That wake, and thrill through ev'ry

Else vainly soft, loved Philomel' would

flow

The soothing sadness of thy warbled woe •
Else vainly sweet yon woodbine shade
. With clouds of fragrance fill the glade ,
Vainly, the cygnet spread her downy plume,
The vine gush nectar, and the virgin bloom
But swift to thee, alive and warm,
Devolves each tributary charm x
See modest Nature bring her simple stores,
Luxuriant Art exhaost her plastic powers ;

While evoiy flower in Fancy's dime,

Each gem of old heroic timo,
OulTd by the hand of the industrious Muse,
Around thy shrine their blended beams
diffuse.

Hail, Mom'ry ' hail. Behold, I lead
To that high shiine the sacred maid :
Thy daughter she, the empress of the lyre,
The first, the fairest, of Aonia's qniro.

She comes, and lo, thy realms expand !
She takes her delegated stand
Full in the midst, and o'or thy num'roua

train

Displays the awful wonders of her reign
There throned supreme in native state,
If Sinus flame with fainting heat,
She calls ; ideal groves their shade extend,
The cool gale breathes, the silent showers

descend.

Or, if bleak Winter, frowning round,
Disrobe the trees, and chill the ground,
She, mild magician, waves her potent wand,
And ready summers wake at her command.
See, visionary suns arise
Through silver clouds and azure skies ;
See, sportive zephyrs fan the crisped streams ;
Through shadowy brakes light glance the

sparkling beams :

While, near the secret moss-grown cave,
That stands beside the crystal wave,
Sweet Echo, rising from her rooky bed,
Mimics the feather' d chorus o'er her hoad.

Else, hallow'd Milton f rise, and say,
How, at thy gloomy close of day,
How, when "deprest by ago, beset with

wrongs "

When " foll'n on evil days and eval tongues , "
When darkness, brooding on thy sight,
Erd'd the sov'reign lamp of light ,
Say, what could then one cheering hopo

diffuse?
What friends wore thine, save Mom'ry and

the Muso P

Hence the nch spoils, thy studious youth
Caught from the stores of ancient truth -
Hence all thy classic wand'nngs could ex-
plore,

Whon rapture led theo to the Latian shore ;
Each scone, that Tiber's banks supplied ;
Each grace, that played on Axno's side ,
Tho tepid gales, through Tuscan glados that

fl7

Tho blue serene, that spreads Hosperia's sky,
Wore still thine own; thy ample mind
Each charm received, retain* d, combined
And thence ''the nightly visitant," that

came

To touch thy bosom with her sacred flamo,
Recall' d the long-lost beams of grace,
That whilom shot from Nature's face,
When God, in Eden, o'er her youthful breast
Spread with his own right hand Perfection's
gorgeous vest.

Maxon.— Bom 1725, ZXetf 1797.

J&Vom 1727 to 1780.]

EDWIN AND ANGELINA.

[GOLDSMITH.

915.— EPITAPH ON MRS. MASON, IN
Tljio CATHEDRAL OF BRISTOL.

Take, holy earth! all thai; my soul holds

Take that best gift which heaven so lately

gave-
To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling

care
Her faded form ; she bow*d to taste the

wave,
And died ' Does youth, does beauty, read the

line?

Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm P

Speak, dead Mana ' breathe a strain divine ;

Even from the grave thon shalt have power

to charm.
Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like ti.ee ;

Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move ;
And if so fair, from vanity as free ;

As firm in friendship, and as fond in love*
Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die,
('Twas even to thee) yet the dread path

once trod,

Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high,
And bids " the pure in heart behold their
God."

Mason. — Born 1725, Died 1797.

916— EDWIN AND ANGELINA.

** Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,

And guide my lonely way,
To where yon taper cheers the vale

With hospitable ray.

For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow ;

Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go."

"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries,
" To tempt the dangerous gloom ;

For yonder phantom only £ies
To lure thee to thy doom.

Here, to the houseless child of want,

My door is open still .
And though my portion is but scant,

I give it with good will.

Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whatever my cell bestows ;

My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.

No flocks that range the valley free,

To slaughter I condemn ;
Taught by that power that pities me,

I learn to pity them.

But from the mountain's grassy side,

A guiltless feast I bring ;
A scrip, with herbs and fruits supplied,

And water from the spring.

Then, Pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ;

All earth-born cares are wrong
Man wants but little here below,

Nor wants that little long."

Soft as the dew from heaven descends,

His gentle accents fell ;
The modest stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell

Far in a wilderness obscure,

The lonely mansion lay ;
A refuge to the neighbouring poor,

And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch

Required a master's care ,
The wicket, opening with a latch,

Received the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire,

To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimm'd his little fire.

And cheer' d his pensive guest •

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press'd and smiled ;

And, skill' d in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguiled.

Around, in sympathetic mirth,

Its tricks the kitten tries ;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,

The crackling faggot flies

But nothing could a charm impait,

To soothe the stranger's woe
For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied,
With answering care opprest :

" And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
" The sorrows of thy breast ?

From better habitations spurn'd,

Reluctant dost thou rove ?
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,

Or unregarded love ?-

Alas! the joys that fortune brings

Are trifling and decay;
And those who pri2e the paltry things

More trifling still than they.

And what is friendship but a name :

A charm that lulls to sleep '
A shade that follows wealth or fame,

And leaves the wretch to weep '

And love is still an emptier sound,

The modern fair-one's jest ,
On earth unseen, or only found

To warm the turtle's nest

For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex/' he said •

But while he spoke, a rising blush
ffog love-lorn guest betray'd. 44*

GOLDSMITH ]

RETALIATION.

[SIXTH PEBIOU —

Surprised, lie sees new beauties use,

Swift mantling to the view,
Like colours o'or the morning: skies,

As blight, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising "breast,

Alternate spread alarms ;
The lovely stranger stands confess'd

A maid in flJl her charms.

"And ah f forgive a stranger nzde,
A wretch forlorn," she cried,

" Whose feet nnhallow'd thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside

But let a maid thy pity shore,
Whom love has taught to stray

Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.

My father lived beside the Tyne,

A wealthy lord was he ,
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine ;

He had but only me.

To win me from his tender arms,

Unnumber'd suitors came ,
Who praised me for imputed charms,

And felt, or feign* d, a flame.

Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove ;

Amongst the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love

In humblest, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he *

Wisdom and worth were all he had ;
But these were all to me.

The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refined,

Could naught of purity display,
To emulate Ih^s mind.

The dew, the blossoms of the tree,
With charms inconstant shine ,

Their charms were his , but, woe to me,
Their constancy was mine.

For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain ,
And while his passion touoh'd my heart,

I trmmph'd in his pain

Till quite dejected with my scorn,

He left me to my pride ,
And sought a solitude forlorn,

In secret, where he died '

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,

And well my life shall pay
I'll seek the solitude he sought,

And stretch me where he lay.

And there, forlorn; despairing, hid,

I'll lay me down and die
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,

And BO for him will I"

"Forbid it, Heaven T " the hermit oriocl,
And clasp'd her to his breast

The wondeimg fair one tum'd to chide
'Twas Edwin's self that piest I

" Turn, Angelina, over dear,

My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin hero,

Restored to love and theo.

Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And every care resign ,
And shall we never, never port,

My life — my all that's mine ?

No, never from this hour to* part,

We'll live and love so true ;
The sigh that rends thy constant heart,

Shall break thy Edwin's too."

i.— Bom 1728, Died

917.— RETALIATION.

Of old, when Scorron his companions invited,
Each guest brought frig dish, and the feast

was united
If our landlord supplies us with boef and with

fish,
Lot each guest bung himself, and ho brings

the best dish
Our dean shall bo ven'son, just frosh fiom the

plains,
Our Burke shall be tongue, with the garnish

of brains ,
Our Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent

flavour
And Dick with his popper shall heighten tho

savour
Our Cumberland's sweet-brood its ploco shall

obtain,
And Douglas is pudding, substantial and

plain

Our G-amck's a salad , for in him wo aoo
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and soltnesH agrco •
To make out the dinner, full certain 1 am
That Eidge is anchovy, and Reynolds is

lamb,
That Hiokey's a capon, and, by the samo

rule,

Magnajiimous Goldsmith, a gooseberry fool
At a dinner so various, at such a repast,
Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to tho

last?
Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm

able,

Till all my companions sink under the table ,
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my

head,
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of Iho

dead

Here lies the good dean, re-united to earth,
Who muc'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom

with, mirth;

From 1727 to 1780 ]

BETALTATION.

[GOLDSMITH

If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,
At least m six weeks I could not find them

out,

Yet some have declared, and it can't be de-
nied 'em.
That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide

'em
Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius

was suoh,
We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too

much,
Who, boin for the universe, narrow'd his

mind,
And to party gave up what was meant for

1 mankmd ,

Though fraught with all learning, yet strain-
ing "his thioab
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him

a vote ;
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on

refining,
And thought of convincing, while they thought

of dining,
Though equal to all things, for all things

unfit;

Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit,
For a patriot too cool, for a drudge dis-
obedient ,
And too fond of the right to pursue the

expedient
In short, 't was his fate, unemploy'd, or in

place, sir,
To eat mutton cold, and out blocks with a

razor.
Here lies honest William, whose heart was

a mint,
While the owner ne'er knew half the good

that was in 't ,

The pupil of impulse, it forced him along,
His conduct still right, with his argument

wrong;

•Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,
The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove

home;
Would you ask for his merits ? alas ? he had

none;
What was good was spontaneous, his faults

were his own
Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must

sigh at ,
Alas ' that suoh frolic should now be so

quiet.
What spirits were his ' what wit and what

whim,
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a

hmb'
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the

ball'
Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at

all'

In short, so provoking1 a devil was Dick,
That we wish'd T»™ full ten tunes a day at

old Nick,

But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wish'd to have Dick back

again.

Here Cumberland lies, having acted Trig

parts,
The Terence of England, the mender of

hearts

A flatt'nng painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they

are,
His gallants are all faultless, his women

divine,

And Comedy wonders at being so fine •
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out.
Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout
His fools have their follies so lest in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows

proud ;

And coxcombs, alike in their failings, alone,
Adopting his portraits, are pleased with their

own.

Say, where has our poet this malady caught 9
Or wherefore his characters thus without

fault P

Say, was it that vainly directing his view
To find out men's virtues, and finding them

few,

Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself ?
Here Douglas retires from his toils to

relax,
The scourge of impostors, the terror of

quacks
Come, all ye quack baids, and yo quacking

divines,
Come, and dance on the spot where your

tyrant reclines

When satire and censure enciicled his throne;
I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own :
But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
Our Dodds shall be pious, our Kenncks shall

lecture ;
Macpherson write bombast, and call it a

style;
Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall

compile ,
New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall

cross over,

No countryman living their tricks to dis-
cover,

Detection her taper shall quench to a spaik,
And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat

in the dark.
Here lies David Garrick, describe him who

can,
An abridgement of all that was pleasant in

Tnn.Ti

As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine ,
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line !
Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent

heart,

The man had his failings — a dupe to his ait
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colouis he

spread,
And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural

red.

On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting,
'T was only that when ho was off he was

acting.

GOLDSMITH ]

THE TRAVELLER

[SIXTH PERIOD.—

With no reason on eaith to go out of Ms

•way,

He turn'd and lie varied full ten tunes a day •
Though secure of om hearts, yet confoundedly

sick
If they -were not his own by finessing and

triok.
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his

pack,
For he knew when he pleased he could whistle

them back.
Of piaj.se a mere glutton, he swallow' d what

came,
And tho puff of a dunce he mistook it for

fame;
Till his relish grown callous, almost to

Who pepper'd the highest was surest to

But let us be candid, and speak out our

mind)

If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind
Te Kenncks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so
_ grave,
What a commerce was yours, while you got

and you gave '
How did Grub Street re-echo the shouts that

you raised,
While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be-

praised '

But peace to his spuit, wherever it flies,
To act as an angel and tn-uc with the skies .
Those poets who owe their best fame to his

skill

Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will •
Old Shakspere receive him with praise and

with love,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys

above.
Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant

creature,
And slander itself must allow Ty.™ good-

nature-
He cherish' d his friend, and Be relish'd a

bumper
Yet one fault he had, and that one was a

thumper.
Perhaps you may ask if the man \i a

miser ?

I answer, no, no, for he always was wiser *
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat p
His very worst foe can't accuse >»™ of that
Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And so was too foolishly honest ? Ah, no '
Then what was his f aihng ? come, tell it, and

burn yo, —

He was, could he help it P a special attorney.
Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my

He has not left a wiser or better behind :
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand,
His manners weie gentle, complying, and

bland ;

Still born to improve us in every part,
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart j

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly

steering,
WTien they judged without skill ho was still

hard of hearing ;
When they taJk'd of their Raphaels, Cor-

reggios, and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.

Bom 1728, Died 1774

918 — THE TRAVELLER.

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Or by the lazy Scheld> or wandering Po r
Or onward, where the rude Cajinthian boor
Against the houseless stianger shuts tho

door;

Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies,
A weary waste expanding to the skies ;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to sec,
My heart, untravelTd, fondly turns to thee .
Still to my brother turns with ceaseless

pom,
And drags at each remove a lengthening

chain.

Eternal blessings ciown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian saints at-
tend;
Blest be that spot, wheio cheerful guests

retue
To pause from toil, and trim their cv'mng

fire,

Blest that abode, where want and pain repair,
And ev'ry stranger finds a roody chair \
Blest be those feasts with simple plenty

crown'd,

Where all the luddy family around
Laugh at the 3ests ox pi auks that never

fed.

Or sigh with pity at some mournful talc ;
Or press the bashful stranger to Ins food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me, not destined such delights to

shaie,
My prime of life in wand'nng spent and

care,

ImpelTd with steps unceasing to pursuo
Some fleeting good, that mocks mo with the

view,
That, like the circle bounding oaiih and

skies,

Allures from for, yet, as I follow, flics ,
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own

Ev*n now, where Alpine solitudes ascend,
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ;
And placed on high abovo the stozm's career,
Look downward where a hundred realms

appear;

Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide,
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler

pnde.

From 1727 to 1780 ]

THE TRAVELLER.

[GOLDSMITH.

When thus creation's csharms around com-

bine,
Amidst the store, should thankless pudo

repine ?

Say, should the philosophic mind disdain
That good which makes each humbler bosom

vain?

Lot school-taught pride dissemble all it can,
Those little things are great to little ™PfTi }
And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind
Exults in all the good of all mankind
Ye glitt'ring towns, with wealth and splen-

dour oiown'd,
Ye fields, where summer spieada profusion

round,

Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale,
Ye bending swains, that diess the flow'ry

vale,

For me your tributary stoies combine ,
Creation's hon, the woild, the world is

mine

As &ome lone miser, visiting his store,
Bonds at his treasure, counts, recounts it

o'er,

Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill,
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting

still;

Thus to my breast alternate passions rise,
Pleased with each good that Heav'n to man

supplies ;

Yot oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,
To BOO the hoaid of human bliss &o femall ;
And oft I wish, amidst the scone to find
Some Hpot to real happiness consign' d,
Whoro my worn boul, each wand'img hope at

May gathoi bliss, to BOO my follows blest.
But whoio to find that happiest spot

bolow,

"Who can direct, when all protend to know ?
The Bhudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his

own;

Extols the treasures of his stormy soas,
And his long nights of rovolry and oa&o .
The naked Negro, panting at the Line,
Boasts of his golden sands, and palmy

wino,

Basks in the glare or stems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they

gave.
Such is tho patriot's boast, where'er we

roam,

His first, best country, over is at home.
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compaie,
And estimate tho blessings whioh they share,
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom

find

An equal portion dealt to all mankind •
As diff 'rent good, by Art or Nature giv'n
To diff'ront nations, makes their blessings

ov'n.

Nature, a mother kind alike to all,
Still grants her bhss at labour's earnest call;
With food as well the peasant is supplied
On Idra's cliff as Axno's shelvy side ,

And though the rocky-crested summits

frown,
These rooks, by custom, turn to beds of

down
From art more various are "the blessings

sent,

Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content
Yet these each other's pow'r so strong

contest,

That either seems destructive of the rest
Wheie wealth and freedom ieign, content-
ment fails ,
And honour «™1ra where commerce long

prevails.
Hence every state, to one loved blessing

prone,

Conforms and models life to that alone .
Each to the favourite happiness attends,
And spurns the plan that aims at other ends ;
Till, earned to excess in each domain,
This fav'iite good begets peculiar pain.
But let us try these truths with closer

eyes,
And trace them through the prospect as it

lies

Here for awhile, my proper cares resign'd.
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ;
Like yon neglected shrub, at random oast,
That shades the steep, and sighs at ev'ry

blast

Far to the right, where Apenmne ascends,
Bright as the summer, Italy extends
Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's

Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ,
While oft some temple's mould'nng tops

between
With venerable grandeur mark the scene.

Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast,
The sons of Italy wore surely blest.
Whatever fruits in diff rent climes are found,
That proudly nse or humbly court the

ground;

Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear,
Whose bright succession decks the varied

year,

Whatever sweets salute the northern sky
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die ;
These here disporting own the kindred soil,
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ,
While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand
To winnow fragrance round the smiling

land
But small the bliss that sense alone

bestows,

And sensual bliss IB all the nation knows.
In florid beauty groves and fields appear,
Man seems the only giowth that dwindles

here.
Contrasted faults through all his manners

reign,
Though poor, luxurious; though submissive,

vain,

Though grave, yet trifling ; zealous, yet un-
true;
And ev'n in penanoe planning sins anew.

GOLDSMITH ]

THE TRAYELLEE.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

All evils here contaminate tho mind,

That opulence departed loaves behind ,

For -wealth was theirs , not far removed the

date,
When commerce proudly flourish' d thro' the

state,

At her command the palace learnt to rise,
Again tho long-foill'u column sought the

skies,
The canvass glow'd, beyond e'en Nature

"warm,
The pregnant quarry toom'd with human

form

Till, more unsteady than the southern gale,
Commerce on othei shores display 'd her

sail.
While nought remain'd of all that riches

gave,
But towns unmann'd, and lends without a

slave
And lato the nation found, with fruitless

skill,

Its former strength was but plethoric ill.
Yet still the Joss of wealth is here sup-
plied
By arts, the splendid wrecks of former

pride ,
From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n

mind

An easy compensation seem to find
Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array 'd,
The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade
Piocessions form d for piety and love,
A mistress or a saint in ev'ry grove
By sports like these are all their cares be-
guiled,

The sports of children satisfy the child-
Each nobler aim, leprest by long control,
Now sinks at last, or feebly F^g the soul ,
While low delights, succeeding fast behind,
In happier meanness occupy the mind
As m those domes, where Cesars once bore

sway,

Defaced by time, and tott'img in decay,
There in the rain, heedless of the dead,
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ,
And, wond'nng man could want tho laigor

pile,

Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile.
My soul, turn from them, turn we to

survey

Where rougher clunea a nobler race display,
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions

tread,

And force a churlish soil for scanty bread
No product here the barren Tnllp afford
But man and steel, the soldier and his

sword

No vernal blooms their torpid rooks array,
But winter hng'ring chills the lap of May •
No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast,
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms

invest
Tet still, e'en here content can spread a.

charm,
Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm

Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts tho'

small,

He sees his little lot the lot of all ,
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head,
To shame the meanness of his humble shed ,
No costly lord the sumptuous banquet

deal,

To make him loathe his vegetable meal ,
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,
Each wish contacting, fits him to the soil
Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short

repose,
Breathes the keen aii, and carols as ho

goes;

With patient angle trolls the finny deep,
Or drives his vent'rous ploughshaio to tho

steep,
Or seeks the den where snow-tracks maik

the way,

And drags the struggling savage into day
At night returning, ev'ry labour sped,
He sits him down the monarch of a &hod ,
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round

surveys
His children's looks, that bnghton at tho

blaze,
While his loved partner, boastful of her

hoard,

Displays her cleanly platter on the board
And haply too some pilgrim, thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed

Thus ev'ry good his native wilds impart
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ,
And e'en those hills, that round his mansion

rise,

Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to tho

storms ,

And as a child, when scoring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to tho mother's

bieast,
So the loud torrent, and tho whirlwind's

roar,

But bind him to his native mountains moic
Such are the chaims to baircn

Their wants but few, their wishes all conlinod

Yet let thorn only shaie the praisew dno,

If few their wants, then pleasures aro but

few,

For ov'ry want that stimulates tho breast
Becomes a source df pleasure whon rodieert
Whence from such lands each pleasing science

That fiist excites desire, and them supplies ;
Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures

cloy,

To fill the languid pause with finer joy ,
Unknown those pow'ra that raiao tho soul to

Catch ev'ry nerve, and vibrato through tlio

frame

Then level life is but a mould'nng fire,
Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong

desire,

Futm 1727*o 1780]

THE TEAVELLBK.

[GOLDSMITH.

Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer
On some high festival of once a year,
In wild excess the vulgar broast takes fire,
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expne
But not their joys alone thus coarsely

flow,
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but

low,

For, as refinement stops, from sire to son
TJnalter'd, unimproved, the manners run ;
And love's and friendbhip's finely pointed

dart

Falls blunted from each indurated heart
Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's

breast

May &it, liko falcons cow'img on the nest
But all the gentler moials, such as play
Thro* life's more cultured walks, and chaim

the way,
These, fax dispersed, on tim'rous pinions

fly,

To sport and flutter in a kinder sky.

To kinder akies, whoie gentler manners

leign,
I turn , and Prance displays her bright

domain

Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease,
Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can

please,

How often have I led thy sportive choir,
With, tuneless* pipe, beside the murm'nng

Loire '
Where shading elms along the maigin

grow,
And freshen' d from the wave the zephyr

flew
And haply, though my harsh touch, falt'ring

still,
But mook'd all tuno, and mair'd the dancer's

skdl,
Tot would the village praise my wond'rous

pow'i,

And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days
Have led their children thro' the mirthful

mazo,
And tho gay grand&ire, skill'd in gestic

lore,

Has fusk'd beneath tho burthen of three-
score
So blest a life these thoughtless realms

display,

Thus idly busy rolls their world away
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind

ondear,

For honour forms the social temper here
Honour, that praise which real merit gains,
Or e'en imaginary worth obtains,
Here passes current , paid from hand to hand,
It shifts, in splendid traffic, round the land
From courts, to camps, to cottages it strays,
And all are taught an avarice of praise ,
They please, are pleased, they give to get

esteem,
Tall, soommg blest, they grow to what they

seem

But while this softer art their bliss supplies,
It gives their follies also room to rise ,
For praise too dearly loved, or warmly

sought,

Enfeebles all internal strength of thought ;
And the weak soul, within itself unblest,
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast
Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools

impart,

Here vanity assumes her pert grimace,
And trims her robes of frieze with copper

lace;

Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,
To boast one splendid banquet once a

year
The mind still turns where shifting fashion

draws,
Nor weighs the solid woith of self-applause.

To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Embosom' d in the deep where Holland hes.
Methinks her patient sons before me stand,
Wheie the broad ocean leans against the

land,

And, sedulous to stop the coming tide,
Lift t he tall rampire's artificial pride.
Onward, methinks, and diligently slow,
The firm connected bulwaik seems to grow ;
Spreads its long arms amidst the wat'ry

roar,

Scoops out an empire, and usuips the shore :
While the pent ocean, rising o'ei the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him

smile

The slow canal, the yellow-blossom' d vale,
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail,
The oiowdod mart, the cultivated plain,
A new creation rescued from his reign,

Thus, while around the wave-subjected

soil

Impels the native to repeated toil,
Industrious habits in each bosom reign,
And industry begets a love of gain.
Hence all the good from opulence that

springs,
With all those ills superfluous treasure

brings,
Are here displayed Their much-loved wealth

impaits

Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ;
But view them closer, ciaft and fraud

appear,

E'en liberty itself is baater'd here.
At gold's superior charms all freedom flies,
The needy sell it, and the rich man buys ,
A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves,
Here wretches seek dishonouiable graves,
And, calmly bent, to servitude conform,
Dull as their lakes that slumber in the

storm
Heav'ns ! how unlike their Belgic sires of

oldl

Bough, poor, content, ungoveinably bold ;
War in each, breast, and freedom on each.

brow,
How much unlike the sons of Britain now !

GOLDSMITH.]

THE TBAVELLBE.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

Fired at tlxo sound, my genius spreads her

wing,
And flies where Biitain courts tho western

springy ;
Whexe lawns extend that scorn Arcadian

pride,
And brighter streams than famed Hydaspis

glide ,

There all around tho gentlest breezes stray,
There gentle music melts on every spray ,
Creation's mildest chatms are there combined,
Extremes are only in the matter's mind ,
Stern o'er each bosom reason holds hor

state,

"With, daring aims irregularly great ,
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see tho lords of human kind pass by ;
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's

hand,

Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,
True to imagined right, above control ,
While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to

scan,

And leains to venerate himself as man.
Thiner Freedom, thine the blessings pictured

here,
Thine are those chaims that dazzle and

endear,

Too blest indeed were such without alloy ,
But foster' d e'en by freedom, ills annoy ;
That independence Britons prize too high,
Keeps Trum from TOP-T^ and breaks the social

tic,

The self-dependent lordhngs stand alone,
All claims that bind and sweeten life

unknown,

Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held,
Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd ,
Ferments arise, imprison' d factions roar,
Represt ambition struggles round her shore ,
Till ovoi -wrought, the general system feels
Its motions stop, or phrenzy fire the wheels.
Nor this the worst. As nature's tics

decay,

As duty, love, and honour, fail to sway,
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and

law,
Stall gather strength, and force -unwilling

awe

Hence all obedience bows to these alone,
And talent sinks, and merit woops unknown ;
Till tune may come, when, stnpt of all her

charms,
The land of scholars, and tho nurse of

arms,
"Where noble stems transmit tho patriot

flame,
"Whore kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for

fame,

One *•»•"> of level avarice shall he,
And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd

die.

Yet think not. thus when freedom's ills I
, state,
I mean to flatter kings, or court the groat •

Ye pow'rs of truth, that bid my soul

aspire,

Far from my bosom drive the low doniro f
And thou, fair Freedom, taught ahko to

feel

The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angiy stool ,
Thou transitory flow'r, ahko undone
By pioud contempt, or favour'H fowfring

sun,
Still may thy blooms tho changeful clime

endure '

I only would repress them to socuio ,
For just experience tells, in ov'ry noil,
That those who thmk must govern thorto that

toil,
And all that freedom's highowt aim« con

reach

Is but to lay proportion' d loads on oacli.
Hence, should ono order diKproportioix'd

grow,
Its double weight must ruin all below.

Oh then how blind to all that truth

requires,

Who think it freedom when a part awpiroa !
Oolm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms,
Except when fast approaching danger warms •
But when contending chiefs blockade the

throne,
Contracting regal pow'r to stretch thoir

own;

When I behold a factious band agree
To call it freedom when thomHolvcH aro free ;
Each wanton judge new penal wtatutos draw,
Laws grind the poor, and noli mon rule tho

law;
Tho wealth of climos, whore savago nations

loam,
Pillaged from slaves to purchase nlaros at

homo,

Fear, pity, justice, indignation, fctort,
Tear off lesorvo, and bare my swelling

heart;

Till lialf a patriot, half a coward gi own,
I fly from potty tyrants to the throzio
Yes, brother, CUTBG with mo that baleful

hour,

When first ambition struck at regal pow'r;
And thus, polluting- honour in itH source,
Grave wealth to sway tho mind with double

foico
Have wo not scon, round Britain' H peopled

shore,

Her useful sons exchanged foi usoloHB ore P
Soon all hor triumphs but destruction liaHlc,
Like flaring tapers bright'mug UB they

waste f

Seen Opulence, hor grandeur to maintain,
Load stern Depopulation m hor ti am,
And over fields whoro scatter' d hamlets

rose,

In barren solitary pomp roposo p
Havo we not soon, at Pleasure's lordly

call,

Tho smiling long-frequented village fall P
Beheld tho duteous son, tho sire decayed,
The modest matron, and tho blushing maid,

From 1727 to 1780 }

THE DESEBTED TILLAGE.

Forced from their homes, a melancholy

tram,

To traverse climes beyond the "western main
Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps

around,

And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound p
E'on now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim

stiays
Thio* tangled forests, and thro* dangerous

ways;
"Whore beasts with man divided empire

claim,
And the blown Tnchan marks with murd'rous

fifiKft

There, whole above the giddy tempest flies,
And all around distressful yells aiise,
The pensive exile, bending with his woe,
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go,
Oasts a long look whoio England's glories

shine,

And bids his bosom sympathize with mine
Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
That bliss which only centres in the mind.
Why have I stray'd from pleasure and

reposo,

To seek a good each government bestows ?
In ov'ry government, though tenois reign,
Though tyrant kings or tyiant laws restrain,
How small, of all that human heaits endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or

cure1

Still to ourselves in every place consign' d,
Cm own f olioity we make or nnd
With secret couise, which no loud storms

annoy,

Glides the smooth current of domestic joy
Tho lifted axe, the agonizing wheel,
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of

steel,

To men. remote from pow'r but rarely known,
Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all oui

.—. Born 1728, Died 1774.

919 —THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

Sweat Auburn ' loveliest village of the plain,
Whero health and plenty cheer' d the lab 'i ing

swam,

Whero smiling Spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting Summei's hng'nng blooms de-

lay'd

Dear lovely bow'is of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could

please

How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear' d each scene '
How often have I paused on every charm,
The shelter' d cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topt the neighb'nng

hill,

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the

shade,

For talking age and wbisp'ring lovers made '
How often have I bless' d the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village tram, from labour free,
Led up then: sports beneath the spreading

tree

While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old survey* d ,
And. many a gambol froliok'd o'er the giound,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went

round ,

And still, as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding spoits the mirthful band inspued
The dancing pair that simply sought renown,
By holding out to tire each other down ,
The swam mistrustless of hTg smutted face,
While secret laughter titter' d round the

place ;

The basMid jixgm's side-long looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks

reprove
These were thy charms, sweet village ' sports

like these,
In sweet succession, taught -e'en toil to

please ,

These lound thy bow'rs their cheerful in-
fluence shed,
These weie thy charms — but all these charms

are fled

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms with-
drawn ,

Amidst thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green .
One only master grasps the whole domain,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain .
No moie thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But choked with sedges works its weary

way,

Along thy glades, a solitary guest,
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
And tares their echoes with unvary'd cues.
Sunk are thy bow'rs in shapeless ruin all,
And the long grass o'ertops the mould'nng

wall;
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's

hand,
Far, far away thy children leave the land

HI fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ;
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade :
A breath can make them, as a breath has

made

But a bold peasantry, there country's pride,
When once destroy' d can never be supplied.
A tune theie was, ere England's griefs

When every rood of ground maintained its

man,
For him light labour spread her wholesome

store,
Just gave what Me required, but gave no

GOLDSMITH.]

THE DESERTED VILLAGE

(.SIXTH PEMOD —

1

His best companions, innocence and health ,
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth
But tunes are altor'd, trade's unfeeling

train

Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ,
Along the lawn, wheze scatter'd hamlets rose,
Unwieldy wealth and CTunb'rous pomp repose ,
And every want to luxury allied,
And every pang that folly pays to pride.
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Those calm desires that ask'd but little room,
Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful

scene,
Lived in each look, and brighten' d all the

green ;

These, far departing, seek a kinder shoie,
And rural mirth and manneis are no more

Sweet Auburn ' parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's pow*r
Here, as I take my solitary rounds,
Amidst thy tangling walks and rum'd

grounds,

And, many a year elapsed, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, tho hawthorn

grow,

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and tuins the past to

pain
In all my wand'rmgs round this world of

care,
In all my griefs — and God has given my

share —

I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bow'rs to lay me down ,
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting, by repose
I still had hopes, for piide attends us still,
Amidst the swains to show my book-learn' d

skill,

Around my fire an ev'ning- group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw,
And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns

pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first she

flew,

I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return — and die at home at last

0 blest retirement, friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine,
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like

these,

A youth of labour with an age of ease ,
"Who quits a world where strong temptations

try,

And, since 't is hard to combat, learns to fly '
For him no wretches, born to work and woep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous

deep,

No surly porter stands, in guilty state,
To spurn imploring famine from the gate ,
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ,
. Sinks to the grave with unporcoived decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way ,
And, all his prospects bnght'nmg to the last,
His heav'n commences ere the world be past

Sweet was tho sound, when oft at ov'mng's

close,

Up yonder hill tho village murmur rose ,
There, as I pass'd with careless wtops and slow,
The mingling notes came softou'd from

below ,

The swain responsive as tho milk-maid sung,
Tho sobei herd that lowM to moot thoir

young;

The noisy gooao that gabbled o'er tho pool,
The playful children just lot looso Irom

school
The watch-dog's voico that bay'il tho

whisp'nng wind,
And tho loud laugh that spoko tho vacant

mind,

These all in swoot confusion sought tho shade,
And fill'd ouch pauso the nightingale had

made

But now tho sounds of population fail,
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in tho gale,
No busy steps the grass-grown footway trooxl,
But all the blooming flush of Mo is flod
All but yon widow' d, solitary thing,
That feebly bends beside tho plashy spring ,
She, wretched matron, forced in ago, for

bread,
To strip tho biook with mantling- cimsoB

spread,

To pick her wintry faggot from tho thorn,
To seek her nightly shod, and woop till

morn

She only left of all the harmless train,
The sad historian of the ponsivo plain
Near yonder copse, whoio onco tho ganlon

smiled,
And still whero many a garden flow'r giovvs"

wild,

Theie, where a few torn shrubs tho place dis-
close,

The village preacher's modest mansion TOHO.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing nch with forty poundH a yoar ,
Remote from towns ho ran his godly raoo,
Nor e'er hod changed, nor wiHh'd to change

his place ;

Unskilful he to fawn, or sook for pow'r,
By doctrines fashion'd to tho varying honr ,
"Far other aims his heart had loarn'd to pnsso,
More bent to laiso tho wretched than to nso.
His house was known to all tho vagrant

train,
He chid thoir wand'rinffa, bnt icliovod their

pain,

The long remomDer'd beggar was his guost,
Whoso beard descending swopt lus agod

The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred thoro, and hod hiw claims

allow' d ,

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his firo, and talk'd tho night away j
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow

done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields

were won

From 1727 to 1780 ]

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

[GOLDSMITH-

Pleased with Ms guests, the good man loarn'd

to glow,

And quite forgot their vices in their woe ,
Oaieless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere chanty began

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side ,
But in his duty prompt, at ev'ry call,
He watch* d and wept, he pray'd and felt, for

all,

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the

skies,

Ho tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Beside the bed where pax ting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dis-
may' d,

The rev'rond champion stood At his control,
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ,
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to

raise,
And his last falt'nng accents whisper'd

pioise

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn' d the venerable place ,
Truth from his hps prevail'd with double

sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remain' d to

pray.

Tho service past, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran
Ev'n children follow' d, with endeaimg wile,
And pluck' d his gown, to shaio the good man's

smile,

His icady smile a parent's waimth ezprest,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares

distiost
To them his heart, his love, his gnefs, weie

giv*n,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in

Heav'n.

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the

storm,
Tho* round its breast the rolling clouds are

spread,

Eternal sunshine settles on its head
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the

way,

With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skdl'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school :
A man severe he was, and stern to view,
I knew him well, and every truant knew ;
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to

trace

Tho day's disasters in his morning face ;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ,
Pull well the busy whisper, circling round^
Convey* d the dismal, tidings when he frown1 d ,
Tot he was kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault ,
The village all declared how much he knew ,
'Twos certain he could write and cypher too ,

Lands ho could measure, terms and tides

presage,

And ev'n the story ran that he could gauge.
In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill,
Tor ev'n though vanquish' d he could argue

still,
While words of learned length, andthund'ring

sound,

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ;
And still they gazed, and still the wonder

grew
That one small head should carry all ho

knew

But past is all his fame The very spot
Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on

high,
Wheie once the sign-post caught the passing

eye,
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts

inspired,
Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil

retiied,
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks

profound,
And news much older than their ale went

round

Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlour splendours of that festive place ,
The white-wash' d wall,' the nicely sanded

floor,
The varnish' d clock that click' d behind the

door,

The chest contrived a double debt to pay,
A bed by mght, a chest of drawers by day ,
The pictures placed foi ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of

goose ,
Tho hearth, except when winter chill' d the

day,
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel,

gay;

While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,
Banged o'er the chimney, glisten' d in a row
Vain transitory splendours f could not all
Reprieve the tott'ring mansion from its fall (
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's

heart,

Thither no more the peasant shall repair
To swoet oblivion of his doily care ,
No more the farmer's news, the barber's

tale,

No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ,
No more the smith his dusky brow shall

clear,
Eelax his pond'rous strength, and loan to

hear,

The host himself no longer shall be found
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ,
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be piest,
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest

Yes' let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
These simple blessings of the lowly train ,
To me more dear, congenial to my hemt
One native charm, tT^w all the gloss of art ;

GOLDSMITH ]

T'H H DESERTED VILLAGE

[SIXTH PERIOD.—

Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play,
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born

sway,

Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvied, unmolested, unoonfined.
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array* d,
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ,
And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts deooy,
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy P
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who

survey
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's

decay,
7Tis yours to judge how wide the limits

stand

Between a splendid and a happy land
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted

ore,
And shouting Folly hails jyhQTft from her

shore;
Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish

abound,
And rich men flock from all the world

around
Yet count our gams This wealth is but a

name

That leaves our useful product still the same.
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and

pride

Takes up a space that many poor supplied ;
Space for his lake, his park's extended

bounds,

Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ;
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth
Has robb'd the neigWnng fields of half their

growth;

His seat, where solitary sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ,
Around the world each needful product flies
For all the luxuries the world supplies .
While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all,
In barren splendour feebly waits the fall

As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain,
Secure to please while youth confirms her

reign,

Slights ev*ry borrowed charm that dress sup-
plies,
Nor shares with art the triumph of her

eyes ;
But when those charms are past, for charms

are frail,

When time advances, and when lovers fail,
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,
In all the glaring impotence of dress
Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd,
In nature's simplest charms at first array3 d ,
But verging to decline, its splendours rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ;
While, scourged by famine, from the smiling

land

The mournful peasant leads his humble band ,
And while he sinks, without one arm to

save,
The country blooms— a garden and a grave '

Where, then, ah* where shall poverty

reside,

To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride P
If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd,
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth

divide,

And e'en the bare-worn common is denied.
If to the city sped — What waits him

there P

To see profusion that he must not share ;
To see ten thousand baneful aits combined
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ,
To see each joy the sons of pleasure know,
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woo,
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ,
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomp

display,
There the black gibbet glooms beside the

way;
The dome where pleasure holds her midnight

reign,
Here, nohly deok'd, admits the gorgeous

tram,
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing

square,

The rattkng chariots clash, the torches glare.
Sure scenes hke these no troubles o'er annoy !
Sure these denote one universal joy '
Are these thy serious thoughts'' — Ah, turn

thine eyes
Where the poor houseless shiv'nng fomalo

lies

She once, perhaps, in village plenty bloat,
Has wept at tales of innocence distrost ;
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath tho

thorn,

Now lost to all , hor friends, hor virtue, fled,
Near her betrayer's door she lays hor head,
And, pinch' d with cold, and shrinking- from

the show'r,
With heavy heart deplores that luckless

hour,

When idly first, ambitious of tho town,
She left her wheel and robes of country

brown
Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, tho loveliest

train,

Do thy fair tribes participate tor pain ?
E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led
At proud men's doors they at*k a littlo

bread '

Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene,
Where half tho convex world intrudes

between,
Through torrid tracts with fainting stops they

£0,

Where wild Altama murmurs to their woo
Far diffront there from all that charm'd

before,

The various terrors of that horrid shore ,
Those blazing suns that dart a downward

ray,
And fiercely shed intolerable day ;

Mom 1727 to 1780]

THE HAUNCH OP YENISON.

[GOLDSMITH.

Those matted woods where birds forget to

sing,

But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ;
Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance

orown'd,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death

around:
Where at eaoh step the stranger fears to

wake

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless

prey,
And savage men more murd'rous still than

they;

While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the

skies,

Par difTrent these from ev'ry former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green,
The breezy covert of the warbhng grove,
That only shelter' d thefts of harmless love.
Good Heav'n ' what sorrows gloom' d that

parting day,
That call'd them from their native walks

away;

When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past,
Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look'd

their last,
And took a long farewell, and wish'd in

yam
Por seats like these beyond the western

mam,

And shuddering still to face the distant deep,
Return'd and wept, and still returned to

weep.

The good old sire the first prepared to go
To now-found worlds, and wept for others'

woe ;

But for himself, in conscious virtue brave,
He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave.
His lovely daughter lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his helpless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover's for her father's arms.
With louder plaints the mother spoke her

woes,
And bless'd the cot where ev'ry pleasure

rose;
And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many

a tear,
And clasp' d them close, in sorrow doubly

dear;
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend

relief
In all the silent manliness of grief .

0 Luxury I thou cursed by Heav'n's decree,
How ill exchanged are things like these for

thee'

How do thy potions, with insidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy '
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness

grown,

Boast of a florid vigour not their own
At ev'ry draught more large and large they

grow,
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe,

Till sapp'd their strength, and ev'iy part

Down, down they arnfr, and spread a ruin

round.

E'en now the devastation is begun,
And half the bus'ness of destruction done ;
E'en now, methinks, as pond'rmg here I

stand,

I see the rural virtues leave the land.
Down where yon anch'nng vessel spreads the

sail,

That idly waiting flaps with ev'ry gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the

strand

Contented toil, and hospitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there ;
And piety with wishes placed above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade '
Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest

fame,

Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ;
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st

me so;

Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of ev'ry virtue, fare thee well ,
Parewell' and O! where'er thy voice be

tried,

On Torno's cliffs, or Paanbamarea's side,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of th' inclement dune ;
And slighted truth with thy persuasive strain,
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gam ;
Teach fa™ that states, of native strength

possest,

Though very poor, may still be very blest ;
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift

decay, •

As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away ;
While self -dependent pow'r can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

Goldsmith.— Born 1728, Died, 1774

920— THE HAUNCH OP VENISON.

Thanks, my Lord, for your venison, for finer or

fatter
Never ranged in a forest, or smoked on a

platter;
The haunch was a picture for painters to

study,
The fat was so white, and the lean was so

ruddy

GOLDSMITH ]

THE HAUNCH OF VENISON

[SIXTH PERIOD —

Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce

help regretting

To spoil such a delicate picture by eating ;
I had thoughts, in my chambers to place it

in view,
To be shown to my friends as a piece of

As in some Irish houses, whore things are

so-so,
One gammon of bacon hangs up for a

show
But, for eating a rasher of what they take

pnde in,
They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is

fried in
But hold— let me pause — don't I hear you

pronounce,

This tale of the bacon a damnable bounce ,
Well ' suppose it a bounce — sure a poet may

try,
By a bounce now and then, to get courage to

fly.

But, my lord, it's no bounce I protest in

my turn,
It's a truth — and your lordship may ask Mr

Burn
To go on with my tale — as I gazed on the

launch.
I thought of a friend that was trusty and

staunch,

So I out it, and sent it to Reynolds undrost,
To paint it, or eat it, just aq he liked best
Of the neck and the breast I had next to dis-

pose;
Twos a neck and a breast that might rival

Monroe's
But in parting with these I was puzzled

again,
With the how, and the who, and the where,

and the when
There's H — d, and C — y, and H— rth, and

E-ff,
I think they love venison — I know they love

beef
There's my countryman Higgins — Oir let

ftim alone

For making a blunder, or picking a bono
But hang it — to poets who seldom can oat,
Tour very good mutton 's a very good treat ;
Such dainties to them their health it might

hurt,
It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a

shirt

While thus I debated, in reverie centcr'd,
An acquaintance, a friend, as he oall'd him-

self, enter'd ,

An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he,
And he smiled as he look'd at the venison and

me
" What have we got here P — why, this is good

eating'

Tour own, I suppose— or is it in waiting p "
" Why, whose should it be ? " cned I with a

flounce,
" I get these things often; " but that was a

bounce ,

" Some loidB, my acquaintance, that settle

the nation,

Are pleased to be kind ; but I hate ostenta-
tion"
" If that be the case then," ciiod ho, very

£fl-Y,
" I'm glad I have taken this house in my

way

To-morrow you take a poor dinner with mo ;
No words — I insist on't — precisely at throo
We'll haVe Johnson, and Burke , all the wits

will be there ;
My acquaintance is s^ght or I'd ask my Lord

Glare

And, now that I think on't, as I am a smnor,
We wanted this venison to make out a

dinner '

What say you — a pasty, it shall and it mufet,
And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust.
Here, porter-— this venison with me to Milo-

end;
No stirring, I beg, my door friend, my door

fnend ' "
Thus snatching his hat, he brush' d off liko

the wind,

And the porter and eatables follow'd behind.
Left alone to reflect;, having emptied my

shelf,

And "nobody with me at soa but myself,"
Though I could not help thinking my gentle-
man hasty,
Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good veninon

pasty,

Were things that I never disliked in my hf o,
Though clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty

his wife.
So next day in due splendour to make my

approach,

I drove to his door in my own hackney-coach
When come to the place whoio wo all woio

to dine,
(A chair-lumber'd closot just twelve foot by

nine),
My fnend bade me welcome, but struck mo

quito dumb,
With tidings that Johnson and Burko would

not come ,
" For I knew it," he cnod, " both otomolly

fail,
Tho one with his speeches, and t'other with

Thrale ,
But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the

party,
With two full as clever, and ten times as

hearty

The one is a Scotchman, tho other a Jew,
They're both of them merry, and authors like

you,
The one writes tho Snarler, tho other the

Scourge ;
Some think he writes Cinna — ho owns to

Panurge "
While thus he described them by trade and

by name.

They enter'd, and dinner was served as they
came.

From 1727 to 1780]

ODE TO INDEPENDENCE

[SttOLLBTT,

, I

At the top a fried liver and bacon were

seen,
At the bottom was tripe in a swinging

tureen,
At the sides there were spinage and pudding

made hot ;
ta the middle a plaoe where the pasty — was

not
Now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter

aversion,
And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a

Persian ;

So there I sat stuck, like a horse in a pound,
While the bacon and liver went merrily

round-
But what vex'd me most, was that d 'd

Scottish rogue,
With his long-wmdod speeches, his smiles,

and his brogue
And, " Madam," quoth he, £ may this bit be

my poison,

A prottior dinner I never set eyes on ;
Pray a slice of youi liver, though may I be

curst,
But I've eat of your tripe fall I'm ready to

burst "

" The tripe," quoth the Jew, with his cho-
colate cheek,
" I could dine on this tripe seven days in a

week

I like these hero dinners so pretty and smaU ,
But your fiiend there, the doctor, eats

nothing at all"
" 0 — ho ' " quoth my friend, "he'll come on

in a trice,
He's keeping a corner for something that's

race-
There's a pasty "— " A pasty ' " repeated the

Jew,

*e I don't care if I keep a corner for't too "
" What the de'il, mon, a pasty ! " re-echoed

the Scot ;
" Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for

that"

" We'll all keep a corner," the lady cned out ,
" We'll all keep a corner," was echoed about,
While thus we resolved, -and the pasty

delay'd,
With looks that quite petrified enter'd the

maid.

A visage so sad and so pole with affright,
Waked Priam in. drawing his curtains by

night.
But we quickly found out, for who could

mistake her ?
That she oarae with some terrible news from

the baker

And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven
Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven
Sad Philomel thus — but let similes drop —
And now that I think on't, the story may^

stop
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour

misplaced,
To send such good verses to one of your

taste;

You've got an odd something — a kind of dis-
cerning1—

A relish — a taste — sicken' d* over by learning ;

At least, it's your temper, as very well
known,

That you think very slightly of all that 's your
own:

So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking g-nqiggj

Xou may make a mistake, and think slightly
of this.

Goldsmith — Bom 1728, Vied 1774

921 — ODE TO INDEPENDENCE.

STBOPHE.

Thy spirit, Independence, let me share,
Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye ;
Thy steps I follow, with my bosom bare,
Nor heed tho storm that howls along the

sky.

Deep in the frozen regions of the north,
A goddess violated brought thee forth,
Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime
Hath bleach' d the tyrant's cheek in every

varying clime,

What time the iron-hearted Gaul,
With frantic superstition for his guide,
Arm'd with the dagger and the pall,
The sons of Woden to the field defied
The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood,
In Heaven's name urged the infernal blow ,
And red the stream began to flow
The vanquish'd were baptized with blood »

ANTISTKOPHE.

The Saxon prince in horror fled,
From altars stain' d with human gore,
And Liberty his routed legions led
In safety to the bleak Norwegian shore
There in a cave asleep she lay,
Lull'd by the hoarse-resounding main,
When a bold savage pass'd that wav,
Impell'd by destiny, his name Disdain.
Of ample front the portly chief appear'd •
The hunted bear supplied a shaggy vest ,
The drifted snow hung on his yellow beard,
And his broad shoulders braved the funoua

blast

He stopt, he gazed, his bosom glow'd,
And deeply felt the impression of her charms :
He seized the advantage Pate allow'd,
And straight compress* d her in his vigorous

arms.

STROPHE

The curlew scream' d, the tritons blew
Their shells to celebrate the ravish' d rite ;
Old Tnne exulted as he flew
And Independence saw the light

ODE TO LETEN-WATJboi.

[SIXTH PBBIO& —

The light lie saw in Albion's happy plains,
Where under cover of a flowoiing- thorn,
"While Philomel renew* d hor warbled strains,
The auspicious fruit of stolon embrace was

born—-
The mountain Dryads seized with joy,
The smiling1 infant to their charge oon-

sign'd,

The Done muse caress'd the favourite boy •
The hermit Wisdom stored his opening

mind

As rolling years matured his ago,
He flourish' d bold and sinewy as his sire ;
While the mild passions in his breast assuage
The fiercer flames of Ms maternal fire.

ANTISTROPHB.

Accomplish' d thus, he wrng-'d his way,

And zealous roved from pole to pole,

The rolls of right eternal to display,

And warm with patriot thought the aspiring

soul

On desert isles 'twas he that raised
Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave,
Where Tyranny beheld amazed
"Fair Freedom's temple, where he mark'd her

grave.

He steel' d the blunt Batavian's arms
To burst the Iberian's double chain ;
And cities rear'd, and planted farms,
Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide

domain

He, with the generous rustics, sate
On Tin's rooks in close divan ;
And wing'd that arrow sure as fate,
Which asoertain'd the sacred rights of man.

STROPHE

Arabia's scorching sands he cross' d,

Where blasted nature pants supine,

Conductor of her tubes adust,

To Freedom's adamantine shrine ;

And many a Tartar horde forlorn, aghast '

He snatoh'd from under fell Oppression's

wing,

And taught amidst the dreary waste,
The all-cheering hymns of liberty to sing.
He virtue finds, like precious ore,
Diffused through every baser mould ;
Even now he stands on Calvi's rocky shore,
And turns the dross of Corsica to gold :
He, guardian genius, taught my youth
Pomp's tinsel livery to deppise :
My hps by him chastised to truth,
Ne'er paid that homage which my heart

denies.

ANTISTROPHH.

Those sculptured halls my feet shall never

tread,

Where varnish.' d vice and vanity combined
To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread,
And forge vile shackles for the free-born

mind.

While Insolence his wrinkled front uprears,
And all the flowers of spurious fancy blow ;
And Title his ill-woven ohaplct wears,
Full often wreathed around the miscreant's

brow

Where ever-dimpling falsehood, port and vain,
Presents her cup of stale profession's froth 5
And pale disease, with all his bloated train,
Torments the sons of gluttony and sloth.

STROPHE.

In Fortune's oar behold that minion ride,
With either India's glittering spoils oppressed,
So moves the sumptor-mule in harness'd

pnde,
That bears the treasure which he cannot

taste.

For Mm let venal bards disgrace th& bay,
And hJTfthTtg minstrels wake tho

string;
Her sensual snares let faithless pleasure

lay,

And jingling bells fantastic folly nng .
Disquiet, doubt, and dread, shall intervene j
And Nature, still to all her feelings just,
In vengeance hang a damp on every scene,
Shook from the baleful pinions of disgust.

ANTIST&OPHE

Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts,
By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grovo, or

cell;
Where the poised lark his evening diUy

ohaunts,
And health, and peace, and contemplation

dwell.

There, study shall with solitude recline,
And friendship pledge me to his fellow-

swains,

And toil and temperance sedately twine
The slender cord that fluttering life sustains :
And fearless poverty shall guard tho door,
And taste unspoil'd the frugal tablo spread,
And industry supply the humble store,
And sleep unbribed his dews refreshing shed ;
White-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite,
Shall chase far oft* the goblins of the night ;
And Independence o'er the day preside,
Propitious power ' my patron and my pnde,

.— Born 1721, Died 1771.

922.— ODE TO LEVEN-WATEJB.

On Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love,
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod the Aroadian plain.

Pure stream ! in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave ;

JPVow 1727 to 1780 ]

CHOICE OF A RUSAL SITUATION".

No torrents stain thy limpid source,
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread ;
"While, hgrhtly poised, the scaly brood
In mynads cleave thy crystal flood ,
The springing trout in speckled pride,
The salmon, monarch of the tide ,
The ruthless pike, intent on war,
The silver eel, and mottled par.
Devolving from thy parent lake,
A charming1 maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch, and groves of pine,
And edges flower'd with eglantine

Still on thy banks so gaily green,
May nnmeious herds and flocks be seen •
And lasses chanting o'er the pail,
And shepherds piping in the dale ,
And ancient faith that knows no guile,
And industry embrown' d with toil ;
And hearts resolved, and hands prepared,
The blessings they enjoy to guard !

Smollett — Boni 1721, Died 1771

923. — rFfiCTfl TEARS OP SCOTLAND.

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banish' d peace, thy laurels torn '
Thy sons, for valour long renown'd,
Lie slaughter' d on their native ground;
Thy hospitable roofs no more
Invite the stranger to the door ;
In smoky ruins sunk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty

The wretched owner sees afar
His all become the prey of war ;
Bethinks him of his babes and wife,
Then smites his breast, and curses life
Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks
Where onoe they fed their wanton flocks ;
Thy ravish' d virgins shriek in vain ,
Thy infants perish on the plain.

What boots it, then, in every dime,
Through the wide-spreading waste of time,
Thy martial glory, crown' d with praise,
Still shone with undimimsh'd blaze p
Thy towering spirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke.
What foreign arms could never quell,
By civil rage and rancour fell.

The rural pipe and merry lay
No more shall cheer the happy day :
No social scenes of gay delight
Beguile the dreary winter night •
No strains but those of sorrow flow,
And nought be heard but sounds of woe,
While the pale phantoms of the slain
Glide nightly o'er the silent plain.

Oh 1 baneful cause, oh ! fatal morn,
Accursed to ages yet unborn '

The sons against their fathers stood,
The parent shed his children's blood.
Yet, when the rage of battle ceased,
The victor's soul was not appeased .
The naked and forlorn must feel
Devouring flames and murdering steel !

The pious mother, doom'd to death,
Forsaken wanders o er the heath,
The bleak wind whistles round her head,
Her helpless orphans cry for bread ,
Bereft of shelter, food, and fnend,
She views the shades of night descend
And stretch' d beneath the inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies.

While the warm blood bedews my veins,
And ummpair'd remembrance reigns,
Resentment of my country's fate
Within my filial breast shall beat ;
And, spite of her insulting foe,
My sympathising verse shall flow :
"^Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy bamsh'd peace, thy laurels toin."

Smollett— Bom 1721, Died, 1771.

924.— CHOICE OF A BUBAL SITUATION
AND DESCRIPTION OF THE AGUE

Te who amid this feverish world would wear
A body free of pain, of cares a mind ,
Fly the rank city, shun its turbid air ;
Breathe not the chaos of eternal smoke
And volatile corruption, from the dead,
The dying, siok'ning, and the living world
Exhaled, to sully heaven's transparent dome
With fhrn mortality. It is not air
That from a thousand lungs reeks back to

thine,

Sated with exhalations rank and fell,
The spoil of dunghills, and the putrid thaw
Of nature , when from shape and torture she
Relapses into fighting elements :
It is not air, but floats a nauseous mass
Of all obscene, corrupt, offensive things
Much moisture hurts , but here a sordid bath,
With oily rancour fraught, relaxes more
The solid frame than simple moisture can
Besides, immured in many a sullen bay
That never felt the freshness of the breeze,
This slumb'nug deep remains, and ranker

grows
With sickly rest, and (though the lungs

abhor

To dnnk the dun fuliginous abyss)
Did not the aoid vigour of the mine,
Roll'd from so many thundering chimneys,

tame

The putrid steams that overswarm the sky;
This dausiac venom would perhaps corrode
Those tender cells that draw the vital air,
In vain with all the unctuous rills bedew* d ,

45*

ODE TO LEVEN-WAT.ku,

[SIXTH PEBIOD.—

The liglit he saw in Albion's happy plains,
Where under cover of a flowering thorn,
While Philomel renew' d her warbled strains,
The auspicious fruit of stolen embrace was

"born —

The mountain Dryads seized with joy,
The smiling infant to their charge oon-

sign'd,

The Doric muse caress'd the favourite boy
The hermit Wisdom stored big opening

mind

As rolling years matured his ago,
He flourish' d bold and sinewy as his sire ;
WTiile the mild passions in his breast assuage
The fiercer names of his maternal fire.

ANTISTROPBQffl.

Accomplished thus, he wmg'd his way,

And zealous roved from pole to pole,

The rolls of right eternal to display,

And warm with patriot thought the aspiring

soul

On desert isles 'twas he that raised
Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave,
Where Tyranny beheld amazed
Pair Freedom's temple, where he mark'd her

grave

He steel' d the blunt Eatavian's arms
To burst the Iberian's double chain ;
And cities rear'd, and planted farms,
Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide

domain

He, with the generous rustics, sate
On Tin's rooks in close divan ,
And wing'd that arrow sure as fate,
Which ascertain' d the sacred rights of man.

STBOPHE

Arabia's scoro&mg sands he cross' d,

Where blasted nature pants supine,

Conductor of her tribes adust,

To Freedom's »^ B.TTI *vn fr yy& shrine \

And many a Tartar horde forlorn, aghast !

He snatch'd from under fell Oppression's

wing,

And taught amidst the dreary waste,
The all-cheering hymns of liberty to sing.
He virtue finds, like precious ore,
Diffused through every baser mould ;
Even now he stands on Calvi's rooky shore,
And turns the dross of Corsica to gold :
He, guardian genius, taught my youth
Pomp's tinsel livery to despise :
My lips by nrm chastised to truth,
Ne'er paid that homage which my heart

denies.

ANTISTErOPKB.

Those sculptured haHs my feet shall never

tread,

Where vamiah'd vice and vanity combined
To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread,
And forge vile shackles for the free-born

While Insolence his wrinkled front uproars,
And all the flowers of spurious fancy blow ;
And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears,
Full often wreathed around the miscreant's

brow:

Where ever-dimpling falsehood, pert and vain,
Presents her cup of stale profession's froth ;
And pale disease, with all his bloated tram,
Torments the sons of gluttony and sloth.

STROPHE.

In Fortune's car behold that minion nde,
With either India's glittering spoils oppress'd,
So moves the sumpter-mule in harness'd

pnde,
That bears the treasure which he cannot

taste.

For fa™ let venal bards disgrace the bay,
And frTralmg minstrels wake the

string,
Her sensual snares let faithless pleasure

lay,

And jingling bells fantastic folly ring :
Disquiet, doubt, and dread, shall intervene ;
And Nature, still to all her feelings just,
In vengeance hang a damp on every scene,
Shook from the baleful pinions of disgust.

ANTISTBOPHE,

Nature I'll court in her sequester' d haunts,
By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or

cell;
Where the poised lark his evening ditty

chaunts,
And health, and peace, and contemplation

dwell.

There, study shall with solitude recline,
And friendship pledge me to his fellow-
swains,

And toil and temperance sedately twine
The slender cord that fluttering life sustains :
And fearless poverty shall guard the door,
And taste unspoil'd the frugal table spread,
And industry supply the humble store,
And sleep unbnbed his dews refreshing shed ;
White-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite,
Shall chase far off the goblins of the night ;
And Independence o'er the day preside,
Propitious power ' my patron and my pride.

Smollett.— Bom 1721, Died 1771.

922,— ODE TO LEVEN-WATEJEt.

On Leven's banks, while free to, rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love,
I envied not the happiest swam
That ever trod the Arcadian plain.

Pure stream ' in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave ;

JVowi 1727 to 1780.] CHOICE OF A RURAL SITUATION. [JOHN AKDISTBONGK

No torrents sfcaan thy limpid source,
No rooks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With whito, round, polish'd pebbles spread ,
"While, lightly poised, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood ,
The springing trout in speckled pnde,
The salmon, monaioh of the tide ,
The ruthless pike, intent on war,
The silver eel, and mottled par
Devolving from thy parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch, and groves of pine,
And edges flower'd with eglantine.
Stall on thy banks so gaily green,
May numerous herds and flocks be seon
And lasses chanting o'er the pail,
And shepherds piping in the dale ,
And ancient faith that knows no guile,
And industry embrown' d with toil ;
And hearts resolved, and hands prepared,
The blessings they enjoy to guard '

Srnollett.— Born 1721, Died 1771

923— THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND.

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banish' d peace, thy laurels torn '
Thy sons, for valour long renown'd,
Lie slaughter 'd on their native ground;
Thy hospitable roofs no more
Invite the stranger to the door ,
In smoky ruins sunk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty.

The wretched owner sees afar
His all become the prey of war ,
Bethinks him of his babes and wife,
Then smites his breast, and curses life.
Thy swains are famish' d on the rooks
Where once they fed their wanton flocks ;
Thy ravish.' d virgins shnek in vain ;
Thy infants perish on the plain

What boots it, then, in every dime,
Through the wide-spreading waste of time,
Thy martial glory, crown' d with praise,
Still shone with TmdinvrmHVfl blaze P

Thy towering spirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke.
What foreign arms could never quell,
By civil rage and rancour fell

The rural pipe and merry lay
No more shall cheer the happy day :
No social scenes of gay delight
Beguile the dreary winter night •
No strains but those of sorrow flow,
And nought be heard but sounds of woe,
While the pale phantoms of the slain
Glide nightly o'er the silent plain

Oh ' baneful cause, oh ' fatal morn,
Accursed to ages yet unborn '

The sons against their fathers stood,
The parent shed his children's blood.
Yet, when the rage of battle ceased,
The victor's soul was not appeased .
The naked and forlorn must feel
Devouring flames and murdering steel !

The pious mother, doom'd to death,

Forsaken wanders o er the heath,

The bleak wind whistles round her head,

Her helpless orphans cry for bread ,

Bereft of shelter, food, and friend,

She views the shades of night descend :

And stretch' d beneath the inclement skies.

Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies

While the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns,
Resentment of my country's fate
Within my fi"M breast shall beat ;
And, spite of her insulting foe,
My sympathising verse shall flow :
cc*Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banish* d peace, thy laurels torn."

Smollfftt.— Bom 1721, Died 1771.

924 — CHOICE OF A BUBAL SITUATION
AND DESCRIPTION OF THE AGUE

Te who amid this feverish world would wear
A body free of pain, of cares a mind ;
Fly the rank city, shun its turbid air ,
Breathe not the chaos of eternal smoke
And volatile corruption, from the dead,
The dying, sick'ning, and the living world
Exhaled, to sully heaven's transparent dome
With d™ mortakty. It is not air
That from a thousand lungs reeks back to

thine,

Sated with exhalations rank and fell,
The spoil of dunghills, and the putrid thaw
Of nature, when from shape and texture she
Relapses into fighting elements
It is not air, but floats a nauseous mass
Of all obscene, corrupt, offensive things.
Much moisture hurts ; but here a sordid bath,
With oily rancour fraught, relaxes more
The solid frame than simple moisture can
Besides, immured in many a sullen bay
That never felt the freshness of the breeze,
This slumb'nog deep remains, and ranker

grows
With sickly zest- and (though the lungs

abhor

To drink the dun fuliginous abyss)
Did not the acid vigour of the mine,
RoU'd from so many thundering chimneys,

tame

The putrid steams that overswarm the sky;
This &nstic venom would perhaps corrode
Those tender cells that draw the vital air,
In vain with all the unctuous nils bedew'd ,

45*

JOHN ABMSTBONa] A HIGH SITUATION ON THE SEA-COAST. [SIXTH

Or by the drunken venous iubos, ihat yawn
In countless pores o'er all the pervious skin
Imbibed, would poison the balsamic blood,
And rouse the heart to every fever's rage.
"While yet you breathe, away; the rural

wilds

Invite, the mountains call you, and the vales ,
The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial

breeze

That fans the ever-undulating sky ,
A kindly sky ' whose f ost'ring power regales
Man, beast, and all the vegetable reign
Find then some woodland scene where nature

smiles

Benign, where all her honest children thrive.
To us there wants not many a happy seat '
Look round the sumling land, such numbers

rise

We hardly fix, bewilder'd in our choice.
See where enthroned in adamantine state,
Proud of her bards, imperial Windsor^sits ;
Where choose thy seat in some aspiring grove
Past by the slowly-winding Thames , or whe* e
Broader she laves fair Richmond's green re-
treats,

(Richmond that sees a hundred villas nse
Rural or gay). 0 ' from the summer's rage
O ' wrap me m the friendly gloom that hides
TTmbrageous Haiti ' — But if the busy town
Attract thee still to toil for power or gold,
Sweetly thou mayst thy vacant hours possess
In Hampstead, courted by the western wind ,
Or Greenwich, waving o'er the winding flood ,
Or lose the world amid the sylvan wilds
Of Dulwich, yet by barbarous arts unspoiTd.
Green rise the Kentish ^nfl « in cheerful air ,
But on the marfchy plains that Lincoln spreads
Build not, nor rest too long thy wandering

feet

For on a rustic throne of dewy turf ,
With baneful fogs her aching temples bound,
Quartana there presides , a meagre fiend
Beget by Earns, when his brutal force
Compress'd the slothful Naiad of the Fens
From such a nurture sprung, this fitful pest
With fev'nsh blasts subdues the sick'ning

land

Cold tremors come, with mighty love of rest,
Convulsive yawnings, lassitude, and pains
That sting the burden' d brows, fatigue the

loins,

And rack the joints, and every torpid limb ,
Then poaching heat succeeds, till copious

sweats

Overflow a short relief from former ills
Beneath repeated shocks the wretches pine ,
The vigour sinks, the habit melts away :
The cheerful, pure, and animated bloom
Dies from the face, with squalid atrophy
Devoured, in sallow melancholy clad
And oft the sorceress, in her sated wrath,
Resigns them to the furies of her train
The bloated Hydrops, and the yellow fiend
Tinged with her own accumulated gall

JbTwi Armstrong —.Bom 1709, Died 1779

925 —RECOMMENDATION OF A HIGH
SITUATION ON THE SEA-COAST.

Meantime, the moist malignity to shun

Of burthen* d skies; mark where the dry

champaign

Swells into cheerful hills . where marjoram
And thyme, the love of bees, perfume the

an,

And where the cynorrhodon with the rose
For fragrance vies ; for in the thirsty soil
Most fragrant bieathe the aromatic tribes
There bid thy roofs high on the basking

steep

Ascend, there light thy hospitable fires.
And let them see the winter morn arise,
The summer evening blushing in the west *
While with umbrageous oaks the ridge

behind
O'erhung, defends you from the blust'xmg

north,

And bleak affliction of the peevish east
Oh ! when the growling winds contend, and

all

The sounding forest fluctuates in the storm ;
To sink in warm repose, and hear the din
Howl o'er the steady battlements, delights
Above the luxury of vulgar sleep
The murmuring nvulet, and the hoarser

strain

Of waters rushing o'er the slippery rocks,
Will nightly lull you to ambrosial rest
To please the fancy is no trifling good,
Where health is studied , for whatever moves
The mind with calm delight, promotes the

just
And natural movements of th* harmonious

frame

Besides, the sportive brook for ever shakes
The trembling air, that floats from hill to

hill,
From vale to mountain, with mcessani

change

Of purest element, refreshing still
Your any scat, and umnfocted gods
Chiefly for this I praise the man who builds
High on the breezy ridge, whose lofty sides
TV ethereal deep with endless billows chafes.
His purer mansion nor contagious years
Shall reach, nor deadly putnd airs annoy

Jolm Armstrong — Born 1709, Died 1779

926.— ANGLING.

But if the breathless chase o'er hill and dale
Exceed your strength, a sport of less fatigue,
Not less delightful, the prolific stream
Affords The crystal rivulet, that o'er
A stony channel rolls its rapid maze,
Swarms with the silver fry : such through wo
bounds

From 1727 to 1780 ] PESTILENCE OF FIFTEENTH GENTUEY. [JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Of pastoral Stafford runs the brawling

Trent,
Snob. Eden, sprung from Cumbrian mountains ,

such
The Esk, o'erhung with woods ; and suoh the

stream

On whose Arcadian banks I first drew air ,
laddel, till now, except in Doric lays,
Tuned to her murmurs by her love-sick

swains

Unknown in song, though not a purer stieam,
Through meads more flowery, or moie ro-
mantic groves,
Bolls towards the western main Hail, sacred

flood'

May still thy hospitable swains be blest
In rural innocence, thy mountains still
Teem with the fleecy race, thy tuneful woods
For ever flourish, and thy vales look gay
With painted meadows and the golden gram ,
Oft with thy blooming sons, when life was

new,
Sportive and petulant, and charm'd with

toys,

In thy transparent eddies have I laved ,
Oft tiaced with patient steps thy fairy banks,
With the well-imitated fly to hook
The eager trout, and with the slender line
And yielding rod solicit to the shore
The struggling- panting prey, while vernal

clouds

And tepid gales obscured the ruffled pool,
And fiom the deeps called forth the wanton

swarms
Form'd on the Samian school, or those of

Ind,
There are who think these pastimes scarce

humane,

Yet in my mind (and not relentless I)
His life is pure that wears no fouler stains.

JoTm Armstrong.— Bom 1709, Died 1779

927 —PESTILENCE OF THE
FIFTEENTH CENTURY.

Ere yet the fell Flantagenets had spent
Their ancient rage at Bosworth's purple

field;
While, for which tyrant England should

receive,

Her legions in incestuous murders nux'd,
And daily horrors , till the fates were drunk
With kindred blood by kindred hands pro-
fused

Another plague of more gigantic arm
Arose, a monster never known before
Rear'd from Cooytus its portentous head,*
This rapid fury not, like other pests,
Pursued a gradual course, but in a day
Bush'd as a storm o'er half the astonish1 d

isle,
And strew* d with sudden carcases the land.

First through the shoulders, or whatever

part

Was seized the first, a fervid vapour sprung ,
With rash combustion thence, the quivering

spark

Shot to the heart, and kindled all within ,
And soon the surface caught the spreading

fires.
Through all the yielding pores the melted

blood
G-ush'd out in smoky sweats, but nought

The tomd heat within, nor aught relieved
The stomach's anguish With incessant

toil,

Desperate of ease, impatient of their pain,
They toss'd from side to side In vain the

stream
Ban full and clear, they burnt, and thirsted

still

The restless arteries with lapid blood
Beat strong and frequent Thick and pan-

The breath was f etch'd, and with huge labour-

ings heaved

At last a heavy pain oppress'd the head,
A wild delirium oame their weeping friends
Were strangers now, and this no home of

theirs.

Harass' d with toil on toil, the srnln-ng powers
Lay piostrate and overthrown , a ponderous

Wrapt all the senses up they slept and

died

In some a gentle horror crept at first
O'er all the limbs , the sluices of the skin
Withheld their moisture, till by art provoked
The sweats o'erflow'd, but in a clammy

tide,
Now free and copious, now restrain* d and

slow,

Of tinctures various, as the temperature
Had mix'd the blood, and rank with fetid

streams •

As if the pent-up humours by delay
Were grown more fell, more putrid, and

malign.
Here lay their hopes (though little hope re-

main'd),

With full effusion of perpetual sweats
To drive the venom out And here the fates
Were kind, that long they linger' d not in

pain.

For, who survived the sun's diurnal race,
Rose from the dreary gates of hell redeem' d ;
Some the sixth hour oppress'd, fund some the

third.

Of many thousands, few untainted 'scaped ;
Of those infected, fewer 'soaped ahve ,
Of those who lived, some felt a second blow ,
And whom the second spared, a third

destroyed
Frantic with fear, they sought by flight to

shun
The fierce contagion O'er the mournful

land

CUMNOB HALL.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

The infeoted city pour'd her hurrying

swarms •
Boused by the flames that fired her seats

The infected ootiiLtry rush'd into the town.
Some sod at home, and in the desert some
Abjured the fatal commerce of mankind
In vain , where'er they fled, the fates

pursued
Others, with hopes more specious, oross'd the

To seek protection in far distant skies ;

But none they found. It seem'd the general

air,

Prom pole to pole, from Atlas to the east,
Was then at enmity with English blood ,
Por but the race of England all were safe
In foreign climes ; nor did tins fury taste
The foreign blood which England then con-

tain' d.
Where should they fly ? The circumambient

heaven
Involved them still, and every breeze was

bane

Where find relief ? The salutary art
Was mute, and, startled at the new disease,
In fearful whispers hopeless omens gave
To heaven, with suppliant rites, they sent

their prayers ,
Heaven heard them not. Of every hope

deprived,

Fatigued with vain resources, and subdued
With woes resistless, and enfeebling fear,
Passive thoy sank beneath the weighty blow
Nothing but lamentable sounds were heard,
Nor aught was seen but ghastly views of

death

Infectious horror ran from face to face,
And pale despair 'Twos all the business

then

To tend the sick, and in then? turns to die.
In heaps thoy foil, and oft the bed, they

say,
The sickening, dying, and the dead contain' d

fohm, Annstiong. — Born 1709, Died 1779

928.—OUMNOR HALL.

The dews of summer night did faJl,
The moon (sweet regent of the sky)

Silver'd the walla of Cumnor Hall,
And many an oak that grew thereby.

Now nought was heard beneath the skies
(The soTinds of busy life were still),

Sa,ve an unhappy lady's sighs,
That issued from that lonely pile.

"Leicester," she cried, " is this thy love
That thou so oft hast sworn to me,

To leave me m this lonely grove,
Immured in shameful privity ?

No more thou com'st, with lover's speed,

Thy once beloved bride to see ;
But be she alive, or be she dead,

I fear, stern Earl 's the same to thee.

Not so the usage I received

When happy in my father's hall j

No faithless husband then me grieved,
No chining fears did me appal

I rose up with the oheerfol morn,

No lark so blithe, no flower more gay ,

And, like the bird that haunts the thoin,
So merrily sung the live-long day.

If that my beauty is but small,
Among- court ladies all despiaod,

Why didst thou rend it from that hall
Where, sooinful Earl, it well was prized ?

And when you first to me made suit,
How fair I was, you oft would say '

And, proud of conquest, £luck'd the fruit,
Then left the blossom to decay.

Yes ! now neglected and despised,
The rose is pale, the lily 's dead ;

But he that once their chaizns so puzed,
Is sure the cause those charms are fled.

For know, when sickening grief doth prey,
And tender love 's repaid with scorn,

The sweetest beauty wiU decay

What floweret can endure the storm P

At court, I'm told, is Beauty's throne,
Where every lady's passing rare,

That eastern flowers, that shamo the sun,
Are not so glowing, not so fair

Then, Earl, why didst thou leave the bods
Where roses and whore lilies vie,

To seek a pruniose, whose pale shades
Must sicken when those gauds aro by ?

'Mong rural beauties I was one ,
Among the fields wild flowers aro fair ;

Some country swain might mo have won,
And thought my passing beauty rare.

But, Leicester (or I much am wrong),
It is not beauty lures thy vows ,

Bather ambition's gilded crown
Makes thee forget thy humble spouso.

Then, Leicester, why, again I pload
(The injured surely may ropmo),

Why didst thou wed a country maid,

When some fair princess might be ihino P

Why didst thou praise my humble charms,
And, oh ' then leave them to decay P

Why didst thou win me to thy arms,

Then leave me to mourn the live-long day P

The village maidens of the plain

Salute me lowly as they go •
Envious they mark my silken train,

Nor JihiTit- a countess can have woe.

JFVowi 1727 to 1780 ]

THE MABINEB'S

The simple nymphs ' they little know
How far more happy 's their estate ,

To smile for joy, than sigh for woe ,
To be content, than to be great.

How far less bless'd am I than them,
Daily to pine and waste with care r

Like the poor plant, that, from its stem
Divided, feels the chilling air

Nor, cruel Earl ' can I enjoy
The humble charms of solitude ;

Your minions proud my peace destroy,
By sullen frowns, or pratmgs rude.

Last night, as sad I chanced to stiay,
The village death-bell smote my ear ;

They wmk'd aside, and seem'd to Bay,
* Countess, prepare — thy end is near '

And now, while happy peasants sleep,

Here I sit lonely and forlorn ,
No one to soothe me as I weep,

Save Philomel on yonder thorn.

My spirits flag, my hopes decay ,

Still that dread death-bell smites my ear ;

And many a body seems to say,

' Countess, prepare — thy end is near ' "

Thus sore and sad that lady gnovod
In Cumnoi Hall, BO lono and diear ,

And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved,
And let fall many a bitter tear

And ore the dawn of day appeared,
In CumnoT Hall, so lone and diear,

full many a pieicing scream was hoard,
And many a cry of mortal fear.

The death-bell thrice was heard to rmg,
An aerial voice was heard to call,

And thrice the raven flapp'd his wing
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall

The mastiff howl'd at village door,
The oaks were shatter' d on the green ;

Woe was the hour, for never more
That hapless Countess e'er was seen.

And in that manor, now no more
Is cheerful feast or sprightly ball,

For ever since that dreary hour
Have spirits haunted Cumnor PXri.

The village maids, with fearful glance,
Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall ;

Nor ever lead the merry dance
Among the groves of Cumnor Hall.

"EVill many a traveller has sigh'd,
And pensive wept the Countess' fall,

As wandering onwards they've espied
The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall

JficiZa —Bom 1734, Died 1788.

929 — THE MABINEB'S WIFE.

And are ye sure the news is true P

And aie ye sure he's weel ?
Is this a tune to think o* wark P

Make haste, lay by your wheel ;
Is this a time to spin a thread,

When Colin 's at the door *
Beach down my cloak, I'll to the quay,

And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a' ,
There's little pleasure in the house

When our gudeman 's awa.

And gie to me my bigonet,

My bishop's satin gown ;
For I maun tell the baillie's wife

That Colin 's in the town
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,

My stockings pearly blue ,
It's a* to pleasure our gudeman,

For he's baith leal and true.

Bise, lass, and mak a clean fireside*

Put on the muckle pot ;
Gie little Kate her button gown

And Jock his Sunday coat ;
And yppJ*; their shoon as black as slaes,

Their hose as white as snaw ;
It's a* to please my wn gudeman,

For he's been lang awa

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop,

Been fed this mouth and mair ,
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,

That Cohn weel may fare ,
And Tifi.'fr our table neat and clean,

Let everything look braw,
For wha can tell how Colin fared

When he was far awa ?

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,

]pr\g breath like caller air ,
His veiy foot has music in't

As he comes up the stair.
And filmll I see his face again ?

And «hp-n I hear hiim speak ?
Fm downright dizzy wi' the thought,

In troth I'm like to greet!

The cauld blasts o' the winter wind,

That thirled through my heart,
They're a* blawn by, I hae him safe,

Till death we'll never part;
But what puts parting in my head?

It may be far awa !
The present moment is our am,

The neist we never saw.

Since Cohn' s weel, and weel content,

I hae nae man* to crave ;
And gin I live to keep him sae, •

I'm blest aboon the lave.
And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak P
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,

In troth I'm like to greet

LANOHOBNB ] COUNTRY JUSTICES AND THEIR DUTIES. [SIXTH PERIOD —

For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a' ,
There's little pleasure in the house

When our gudoman 's awa.

Jft&fe— JBorft 1734, Died 1788

930. — COUNTRY JUSTICES AND
DUTIES

The social laws from insult to protect,
To cherish peace, to cultivate respect ,
The rich from wanton cruelty restrain,
To smooth the bed of penury and pain ,
The hapless vagrant to his rest restore,
The maze of fraud, the haunts of theft

explore ;
The thoughtless maiden, when subdued by

art,

To aid, and bring her rover to her heart ,
Wild riot's voice with dignity to quell,
Forbid unpeaceful passions to rebel,
Wrest from revenge the meditated harm •
For this f aur Justice raised her sacred arm ;
For this the rural magistrate, of yore,
Thy honours, Edward, to his mansion bore*
Oft, where old Air in conscious glory

sails,
On silver waves that flow "through smiling

vales;
In Harewood's groves, where long my youth

was laid,

Unseen beneath their ancient world of shade ,
With many a group of antique columns

orown'd,

In Gothic guise such mansion have I found.
Nor lightly deem, ye apes of modern

race,

Ye cits that sore bedizen nature's face,
Of the more manly structures here ye view ;
They rose for greatness that ye never knew '
Ye reptile cits, that oft have moved my

With Yenus and the Graces on your green '
Let Plutus, growling- o'er his ill-got wealth,
Let Mercury, the thriving god of stealth,
The shopman, Janus, with his double looks,
Else on your mounts, and perch upon your

boots'
But spare my Yenus, spare each sister

Grace,

Ye cits, that sore bedizen nature's face '
Ye royal architects, whose antic taste
Would lay the realms of sense and nature

waste,

Forgot, whenever from her steps ye stray,
That folly only points each other way ,
* Here, though your eye no courtly creature

sees,
Snakes on the ground, or monkeys in the

trees;

Yet let not too severe a censure fall
On the plain precincts of the ancient hall

For though no sight your childish fancy

meets,

Of Thibet's dogs, or China's paroquets ,
Though apes, asps, lizards, things without a

tail,

And all the tribes of foreign monsters fail ;
Hore shall ye sigh to see, wrthiust o'ergrown,
Tho iron griffin and the sphinx of stone ,
And mourn, neglected in there waste abodes,
Fire-breathing drakes, and water-spouting

gods.
Long have these mighty monsters known

Yet still some trophies hold their ancient

place,
Where, round the hall, the oak's high suibaso

rears
The field-day triumphs of two hundred

years

Th' enormous antlers here recall the day
That saw the forest monarch forced away ,
Who, many a flood, and many a mountain

pass'd,
Not finding those, nor deeming these the

last,
O'er floods, o'er mountains yet prepared to

fly,

Long ere the death-drop flll'd his failing

eye'
Here famed for cunning, and in dimes

grown old,

Hangs his gray brush, the felon of the fold
Oft as the rent-feast swells the midnight

cheer,

The maudlin farmer kens T^m o'er hm beer,
And tells hip old, traditionary tale,
Though known to every tenant of the vale
Here, where of old the festal ox has fed,
Mark'd with his weight, the mighty horns are

spread '

Some ox, O Marshall, for a board like thine,
Where the vast master with the vast sirloin
Yied in round magnitude — Bespect I bear
To thee, though oft the ruin of the chair

These, and such antique tokens that record
The manly spirit, and the bounteous board,
Me more delight than all the gewgaw train,
The whims and zigzags of a modern brain,
More than all Asia's marmosets to view,
Grin, fnsk, and water in the walks of Kow
Through these fair valleys, stranger, hast

thou stray'd,

By any chance, to visit Harewood's shade,
And seen with honest, antiquated air
In the plain ho31 the magistratial chair '
There Herbert sat — The love of human kind,
Pure light of truth, and temperance of mind,
In the free eye the featured soul display' d,
Honour's strong beam, and Mercy's melting

shade

Justice that, in the rigid paths of law,
Would still some drops from Pity's fountain1

draw,

Bend o'er her urn with many a gen'rous fear,
Ere his firm seal should force one orphan's
tea*,

From 1727 to 1780 ] AN APPEAL FOR THE INDUSTRIOUS POOR

LAITO-HORNE.

Fair equity, and leason scorning art,
And all the sober virtues of the heart —
These sat with Herbert, these shall best avail
Where statutes order, or where statutes fail

Be thiH, ye rural magistrates, your plan
Firm bo your justice, but be friends to man.

He whom the mighty master of this ball
We fondly deem, or farcically call,
To own the patriarch's truth, however loth,
Holds but a mansion crush'd before the moth

Frail in his genius, in his heart too frail,
Born but to err, and erring to bewail,
Shalt thou his faults with eye severe explore,
And give to life one human weakness more ?

Stall mark if vice or nature piompts the

deed,
Still mark the stiong temptation and the

need

On pressing want, on famine's powerful call,
At least more lenient let thy 3ustiee fall

For him, who, lost to every hope of life,
Has long with fortune held unecpial strife,
Known to no human love, no human care,
The friendless, homeless object of despair ;
For the poor vagrant feel, while he complains,
Nor from sad freedom send to sadder chains
Alike, if folly or misfortune brought
Those last of woes his evil days have wrought ,
Believe with social mercy and with me,
Folly 's misfortune m the first degree

Perhaps on some inhospitable shore
The houseless wretch a widow' d parent bore ,
Who then, no moio by golden prospects led,
Of the poor Indian begg'd a leafy bed
Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain,
Perhaps that parent mourn' d her soldier

slain,

Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew,
The big drops mingling with the milk he

drew,

Gave the sad presage of his future years,
The child of misery, baptized in tears '

Dr. Lcmghome — Born 1735, Died 1779

931.— GIPSIES.

The gipsy race my pity rarely move j
Yet their strong thirst of liberty I love
Not Wdkes, our Freedom's holy martyr,

more;
Nor his firm phalanx of the common shore.

For this in Norwood's patrimonial groves
The tawny father with his offspring roves ,
When summer suns leacl slow the sultry day,
In mossy caves, where welling waters play,
Fann'd by each gale that cools the fervid sky,
With this in ragged luxury they He
Oft at the sun the dusky elfins strain
The sable eye, then snugging, sleep again ,
Oft as the dews of cooler evening fall,
For their prophetic mother's mantle call.

Far other cares that wand'ring mother

wait,

The mouth, and oft the minister of fate '
From her to hear, in ev'mng's friendly shade,
Of future fortune, fixes the village maid,
Draws her long-hoarded copper from its hold,
And rusty halfpence purchase hopes of gold,
But, ah1 ye maids, beware the gipsy's

lures!

She opens not the womb of tune, but yours
Oft has her hands the hapless Marian wrung,
Marian whom Gay in sweetest strains has

sung'
The parson's maid— sore cause had she to

rue
The gipsy's tongue , the parson's daughter

too.
Long had that anxious daughter sigh'd to

know
What Vellum's sprucy clerk the valley's

bean,
Meant by those glances which at chinch he

stole,
Her father nodding to the psalm's slow

drawl;
Long had she sigh'd , at length a prophet

came,

By many a suie prediction known to fame,
To Marian known, and all she told, for true :
She knew the future, for the past she knew.

Df Langlioine — Uc/n/ 1735, Died 1779.

932 —AN APPEAL FOE THE
INDUSTEEOUS POOR

But still, forgot the grandeur of thy reign,
Descend to duties meaner crowns disdain ,
That worst excrescenoy of power forego,
That pride of kings, humanity's first foe.

Let age no longer toil with feeble strife,
Worn by long service in the war of life ;
Nor leave the head, that time hath whiten'd,

bare

To the rude insults of the searching air ;
Nor bid the knee, by labour harden' d, bend,
0 thou, the poor man's hope, the poor man's

f nend '

If, when from heaven severer seasons fall,
Fled from the frozen roof and mouldering

wall,

Each face the picture of a winter day,
More strong than Temers' pencil could por-

If then to thee resort the shivering train,
Of cruel days, and cruel man complain,
Say to thy heart (remembering >n™ who said)r
" These people come from far, and have no-
bread."
Nor leave thy venal clerk empower' d to

hear,
The voice of want is sacred to thy ear.

DE. LAJHGHORKE,] MEECT SHOULD HAVE MITIGATED JUSTICE [SIXTH PBBIOD.-

He whore no fees his soidid pen invite,
Spoits with their tears, too indolent to write ,
Like the fed monkey in the fable, Tain
To hear more helpless animal a complain.
But chief thy notice shall one monster

claim,

A monster furnish1 d with a human frame,
The parish officer '—though verse disdain
Terms that deform the splendour of the

strain;

It stoops to bid thee bend the brow severe
On the sly, pilfering, cruel overseer ,
The shuffling farmer, faithful to no trust,
Ruthless as rooks, insatiate as the dust '
When the poor hind, with length of years

decay'd,

Leans feebly on his once-subduing spade,
Forgot the service of his abler days,
His profitable toil, and honest praise,
Shall this low wretch abridge his scanty

bread,
This slave, whose board his former labours

spread?
When harvest's burning suns and sickening

air
From labour's unbraced hand the grasp'd hook

tear,

Where shall the helpless family be fed,
That vainly languish for a father's bread ?
See the pale mother, sunk with grief and care,
To the proud farmer fearfully repair ,
Soon to be sent with insolence away,
Beferr'd to vestnos, and a distant day !
Iteferr'd — to pensh ' — Is my verse severe ?
Unfriendly to the human character P
Ah ' to this sigh of sad experience tinst
The truth is iigid, but the tale is just

If in thy courts this caitiff wretoh appear,
Think not that patience were a virtue here.
HIB low-born pnde with honest rage control ,
Smite his hard heart, and shake Tug reptile

soul.
But, hapless f oft through fear of future

woe,

And ceitain vengeance of th* insulting foe,
Oft, ere to thee the poor prefer their prayer,
The last extremes of penury they bear
Wouldst thou then raise thy patriot office

higher,

To something more than magistrate aspire ?
And, left each poorer, pettier chase behind,
Step nobly forth, the fnend of human kind ?
The game I start courageously pursue r
Adieu to fear ! to insolence adieu !
And first we'll range this mountain's stormy

side,
Where the rude winds the shepherd's roof

dende,

As meet no more the wintry blast to bear,
And all the wild hostilities of air
— That roof have I remember'd many a year ;
It once gave refuge to a hunted deer —
Here, in those days, we found an aged

pair;— .

But tune xmtenanls— -ha f what seest thou
there?

" Horror ' — by Heaven, extended on a bed
Of naked fern, two human creatures dead '
Embracing as alive '—ah, no '—no life I
Cold, breathless ' "

"Tis the shepherd and his wife.
I knew the scene, and brought thee to behold
What speaks more strongly than the story

told
They died through want —

" By every power I swear,
If the wretoh treads the earth, or breathes the

air,

Through whose default of duty, or design,
These victims fell, he dies "

They fell by thine
" Infernal 1— Mine '-—by—"

Swear on no pretence

A swearing justice wants both grace and
sense

Df Jjanghorno — Born 1735, Died 1779.

933 — MERCY SHOULD HAVE
MITIGATED JUSTICE.

Unnumber'd objects ask thy honest caro,
Beside the orphan's tear, the widow's prayer:
Far as thy power can save, thy bounty bless,
Unnumber'd evils call for thy redress
See&t thou afar yon solitary thorn,
Whoso aged limbs the heath's wild winds have

tornp
While yet to ohoer the homewaid Hhophord's

eye,

A few seem straggling in the evening sky '
Not many suns have hasten' d down the day,
Or blushing moons immersed in clouds their

way,
Since there, a scene that stain' d their sacred

light

With horror stopp'd a felon in his flight
A babe just born that signs of life oxpront,
Lay naked o'er the mother's lifeless bioaat.
The pitying robber, conscious that, pursued,
He had no time to waste, yet atood and

viewed;

To the next cot the trembling infant bore,
And gave a part of what he stole before ;
Nor known to him the wretches were, nor

dear,
He felt as man, and dropp'd a human tear.

"Fox other treatment she who breathless lay,
Found from a viler animal of prey
Worn with long toil on many a painful

road,

That toil increased by nature's growing load,
When evening brought the friendly hour of

rest,

And all the mother throng' d about her breast,
The ruffian officer opposed her stay,
And, cruel, bore her m her pangs away,

From 1727 to 1780.]

OWEN" OP CAEEON.

[Da LANQHOBHTJB.

So far beyond the town's last limits drove,
That to return were hopeless, had she strove,
Abandon d there — with famine, pain and cold,
And anguish, she expired— the rest I've told
" Now let me swear. Tor by my soul's last

sigh,

That thief shall live, that overseer shall die."
Too late! — his life the generous robber

paid,

Lost by that pity which his steps delay'd '
No soul-diBceimng Mansfield sat to hear,
No Hertford bore his prayer to mercy's ear ;
No liberal justice first assign'd the gaol,
Or urged, as Camplin would have urged, his

tale.

Dr Lcwiglwn ne. — Born 1735, Died 1779.

934— A FAEEWELL TO THE VALLEY
OF IRWAN.

Farewell the fields of Irwan's vale,
My infant years where Fancy led,

And soothed me with the western gale,
Her wild dreams waving round my head,

While the blithe blackbird told his tale

Faiewell the fields of Irwan'a vole r

Tho prunioso on tho valley's side,

The groen thyme on the mountain1 b head,

The wanton roae, the daisy p^ed,
The wilding's blossom blushing red ,

No longer I their sweets inhale

Farewell tho fields of Irwan's vale T

How oft, within yon vacant shade,
Has evening closed my careless eye T

How oft along those banks I've stray'd,
And watch'd the wave that wander'd by ;

Full long their loss shall I bewail.

Farewell the fields of Irwan's vale !

Yet still, within yon vacant grove,
To mark the close of parting day ,

Along yon flowery banks to rove,
And watch the wave that winds away ,

Fair Fancy sure shall never fail,

Though far from these and Irwan's vale.

Dr. Lwg7i<yrne.—Born 1735, Died 1779.

935.— OWEN OF CABRON.
i.

On Carron's side the primrose pale,
Why does it wear a purple hue p

Ye maidens fair of Marlivale,
"Why stream your eyes with pity's dew *

'Tis all with gentle Owen's blood

That purple glows the primrose pale ;

That pity pours the tender flood
From each fair eye in Marlivale.

The evening star sat in his eye,
The sun his golden tresses gave,

The north's pure morn her orient dye,
To him who rests in yonder grave r

Beneath no high, historic stone,
Though nobly born, is Owen laid ,

Stretch' d on the greenwood's lap alone,
He sleeps beneath the waving shade

There many a flowery race hath sprung,
And fled before the mountain gale,

Since first his simple dirge he sung .
Ye maidens fair of Mailivale i

Yet stall, when May with fragrant feet
Hath wander' d o'er your meads of gold,

That dirge I hear so simply sweet
Far echo'd from each evening fold.

'Twas in the pnde of William's day.
When Scotland's honours flourish'd still,

That Moray's earl, with mighty sway,
Bare rule o'er many a Highland Tr»n

And far for Trim their fruitful store
The fairer plains of Carron spread ,

In fortune rich, in offspring poor,
An only daughter crown'd his bed

Oh ' write not poor — the wealth that flows
In waves of gold round India's throne,

All in her shim Tig breast that glows,
To Ellen's charms, were earth and stone.

For her the youth of Scotland sigh'd,
The Frenchman gay, the Spaniard grave,

And smoother Italy applied,
And many an English baron brave.

In vain by foreign arts assail' d,
No foreign loves her breast beguile,

And England's honest valour fad'd,
Paid with a cold, but courteous smile.

Ah ' woe to thee, young Nithisdale,
That o'er thy cheek those roses stray'd,

Thy breath, the violet of the vale,
Thy voice, the music of the shade '

" Ah I woe to thee, that Ellen's love
Alone to thy soft tale would yield '

For soon those gentle arms shall prove
The conflict of a ruder field."

'Twas thus a wayward sister spoke,
And cast a rueful glance behind,

As from her dim wood-glen she bioke,
And mounted on the moaning wind.

DB LANGHOBNE]

OWEN OF CAKRON.

[SIXTH PBJRIOD. —

Slie spoke and vanish'd — more unmoved
Than Moray's rooks, when storms invest,

The valiant youth by Ellen loved,
With aught that fear or fate suggest.

For love, methinks, hath power to raise

The soul beyond a vulgar state ,
Th' unoonquer'd banners he displays

Control our fears and fix our fate.

m

'Twas when, on summer's softest eve,
Of clouds that wander' d west away,

Twilight with gentle hand did weave
Her fairy robe of night and day ,

When all the mountain gales were still,
And the waves slept against the shore,

And the sun, sunk beneath the hill,
Left his last smile on Lsmmermore ,

Led by those waking dreams of thought
That warm the young unpractised breast,

Her wonted bower sweot Ellen sought,

And Oarron murmur' d near, and soothed her
into rest

IV

There is some kind and courtly sprite
That o'er the realm of fancy reigns,

Throws sunshine on the mask of night,
And smiles at slumber's powerless chains ,

'Tis told, and I beheve the tale,

At this soft hour that sprite was there,

And spread with fairer flowers the vale,
And fiH'd with sweeter sounds the air.

A bower he framed (for he could frame
What long might weary mortal wight .

Swift as the lightning's rapid flame
Darts on the unsuspecting sight).

Such bower he framed with magic hand,
As well that wizard bard hath wove,

In scenes wheie fair Armida's wand
Waved all the witcheries of love :

Yet was it wrought in simple show ,
Nor Tfl.flT.flffl mines nor orient shores

Had lent their glories here to glow,
Or yielded here their shining stores.

All round a poplar's trembling arms

The wild rose wound her damask flower,

The woodbine lent her spicy charms,
That loves to weave the lover's bower.

The ash, that courts the mountain-air,
In all her painted blooms array* d,

The wilding's blossom blushing fair,
Combined to form the flowery shade.

With thyme that loves the brown hill's breast,
The cowslip's sweet, reclining head,

The violet of sky-woven vest,
Was all the fairy ground bespread.

But who is he, whose looks so fair
Adown his manly shoulders flow ?

Beside him lies the hunter's spear,
Beside "him sleeps the warrior's bow.

He bends to Ellen — (gontlo sprite '
Thy sweet seductive arts forbear),

He courts her arms with fond delight,
And instant vanishes in air

v.

Hast thou not found at early dawn

Some soft ideas melt away,
If o'er sweet vale, or flow'ry lawn,

The sprite of dreams hath bid thoo stray p

Hast thou not some fair object seen,
And, when the fleeting foim was past,

Still on thy memory found its mien,
And felt the fond idea last P

Thou hast — and oft the pictured view,
Seen in some vision counted vain,

Has struck thy wond'nng eye anew,
And brought the long-lost dream again.

With wamor-bow, with hunter's spoar,
With looks adown his shoulder spread,

Young Nithisdale is ranging near —
He's ranging near yon mountain's head.

Scarce had one pale moon pass'd away,

And fill'd her silver urn again,
When in the devious chase to stray,

Afar from all his woodland tram,

To Carron's banks his fate consign'd ;

And, all to shun the fervid hour,
He sought some friendly shade to find,

And found the visionary bower

VI.

Led by the golden star of love,
Sweet Ellen took her wonted way,

And in the deep defending grove
Sought refuge from the fervid day —

Oh ' — who is he whose ringlets fair
Diaorder'd o'er his green vest flow,

Eeclined to rest — whose sunny hair

Half hides the fair check's ardent glow ?

"Tis he, that sprite's illusive guost,

(Ah me ' that sprites can fato control ')

That lives stJl imaged on her breast,
That lives stall pictured in her soul

As when some gentle spirit fled
. Prom earth to breathe Elysian air,
And, in the tram whom we call dead,
Perceives its long-loved partner there ;

Soft, sudden pleasure rushes o'er,

Besistiess, o'er its airy frame,
To find its future fate restore

The object of its former flame :

From 1727 to 1780 ]

OWEN OF CARBON".

So Ellen stood — less power to move
Had he, who, bound in slumbei's chain,

Seem'd hap'ly o'er his hills to rove,
And wind Ms woodland ohase again.

She stood, but trembled — mingled fear,
And fond delight, and melting love,

Seized all her soul , she came not near,
She came not near that fated grove.

She strives to fly— from wizard's wand
As well might powerless captive fly —

The new-cropt flower falls from her hand —
Ah i fall not with that flower to die r

vn

Hast thon not seen some azure gleam
Smile in the morning's orient eye,

And skirt the reddening cloud's soft beam
What time the sun was hasting nigh P

Thon hast — and thou canst fancy well
As any Muse that meets thino ear,

The soul-set eye of Kithisdalo,

When, waked, it fix'd on Ellen near

Silent they gazed— that silence broke

" Hail, goddess of these groves (he cried),

0 let me wear thy gentle yoke f
0 let me in thy seivice bide '

For thee I'll climb tho mountains steep,
Unwearied chase the destined piey ,

JFoi thoo I'll pieice the wild wood deep,
And part the sprays that vex thy way

For theo" — " 0 stranger, cease," she said,
And swift away, like Daphne, flew ,

But Daphne's flight was not delay5 d
By aught that to her bosom grew

vni

'Twas Atalant&'s golden fruit,

The fond idea that confined
Fair Ellen's steps, and bless' d his suit,

Who was not far, not far behind

0 love r within those golden vales,
Those genial ans where thou wa&t born,

Where nature, listening thy soft tales,
Leans on the rosy breast of morn ,

Where the sweet smiles, the graces dwell,
And tender sighs the heart remove,

In silent eloquence to tell
Thy tale, 0 soul-subduing love '

Ah ' wherefore should grim rage be nigh,
And dark distrust, with changeful face,

And jealousy's reverted eye

Be near thy fair, thy favour' d place "

IX

Earl Barnard was of high degree,
And lord of many a lowland hind ,

And long for Ellen love had he,
Had love, but not of gentle kind.

From Moray's halls her absent hour
He watch' d with all a miser's care ;

The wide domain, the princely dower
Made Ellen moie than Ellen fair

Ah wretch ' to think the liberal soul
May thus with fair affection part !

Though Lothian's vales thy sway control,
Know, Lothian is not worth one heart

Studious he marks her absent hour,
And, winding far where Oarron flows,

Sudden he sees the fated bower,
And red rage on his dark brow glows.

For who is he *> — 'Tis Nithisdale '
And that fair form with arm reclined

On his ? — 'Tis Ellen of the vale,

'Tis she (0 powers of vengeance ') kind.

Should he that vengeance swift pursue ?

No — that would all his hopes destroy;
Moray would vanish from his view,

And rob >»™ of a miser's joy

Unseen to Moray's halls he hies —
He calls his slaves, his ruffian band,

And, " Haste to yonder groves," he ones,
*' And ambush' d he by Carron's strand.

What tune ye mark from bower or glen

A gentle lady take her way,
To distance due, and far from ken,

Allow her length of tune to stiay

Then ransack straight that range of groves —
With hunter's spear, and vest of green,

If chance a rosy stripling rovos, —
Te well can aim your arrows keen "

And now the ruffian slaves are nigh,
And Ellen takes her homeward way :

Though stay'd by many a tender sigh,
She can no longer, longer stay.

Pensive, against yon poplar pale
The lover leans his gentle heart,

Bevolving many a tender tale,

And wond'nng still how they could part.

Three arrows pierced the deseit air,
Ere yet his tender dreams depart,

And one struck deep his forehead fair,
And one went through his gentle heart

Love's waking dream is lost in sleep —
He lies beneath yon poplar pale ,

Ah ' could we marvel ye should weep,
Ye maidens fair of Marlivale '

When all the mountain gales were still,
And the wave slept against the shore,

And the Run, sunk beneath the hill,
Left his last smile on Lammermore ,

LANQHOBNE ]

OWEN OF CARBON.

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

Sweet EUen takes her wonted way

Along the fairy-foatuied vale
Bright o'er his wavo does Carron play,

And soon she'll meet her Nithisdale.

She'll meet him soon — for, at her sight,
Swift as the mountain deer he sped ;

The evening shades will sank in night—-
Wheie art thou, loitering lover, fled?

0 ' she will chide thy trifling stay,
E'en now the soft reproach she frames :

" Can lovers brook such long delay p
Lovers that boast of ardent flames ' "

He comes not — weary with the chase,
Soft tJLumber o'er his eydids thiows

Her veil— we'll steal one dear embiaoe,
We'll gently steal on his repose.

This is the bower — we'll softly tread-
He sleeps beneath yon poplar pale —

Lover, if e'er thy heart has bled,
Thy heart will far forego my tale '

XI.

Ellen is not in princely bower,

She's not in Moray's splendid train ;

Their mistress dear, at midnight hour,
Her weeping maidens seek in vain.

Her pillow swells not deep with down ;

For her no balms their sweets exhale .
Her limbs are on the pale turf thrown,

Press* d by her lovely cheek as pale.

On that fair cheek, that flowing hair,
The broom its yellow leaf hath shed,

And the chill mountain's early air
Blows wildly o'er her beauteous head.

As the soft star of orient day,
When clouds involve his rosy Ught,

Parts through the gloom a transient ray,
And leaves the world once more to night ,

, Returning bf e illumes her eye,

And slow its languid orb unfolds, —
What are those bloody arrows nigh F
Sure, bloody arrows she beholds !

What was that form so ghastly pale,
That low beneath the poplar lay ? —

'Twas some poor youth — "Ah, Nithisdala ! "
She said, and silent sunk away.

XII.

The morn is on the mountains spread,
The woodlark trills his liquid strain —

Can morn's sweet music rouse the. dead ?
Give the set eye its soul again ?"

( A shepherd of that gentler mind

Which nature not profusely yields,
Seeks in these lonely shades to find
Some wanderer from his little fields.

Aghast he stands — and simple fear

O'er all his paly visage glides —
" Ah me ' what moans this misery here ?

What fate this lady fair betides ? "

He bears her to his friendly homo,
When Me, he finds, has but retired —

With haste he frames the lover's tomb,
For his is quite, is quite expired '

xin

" 0 hido me m thy humble bower,"

Returning late to life, she said ,
" I'll bind thy crook with many a flower ,

With many a rosy wreath thy head

Good shepherd, haste to yonder grove,

And, it my love asleep is laid,
Oh ' wake him not , but softly move

Some pillow to that gentle head

Sure, thou wilt know him, shepherd swain,
Thou know'st the sun-rwo o'er the sea —

But oh ' no lamb m all thy train
Was e'er so mild, so mild as he "

" His head is on the wood-moss laid ,
I did not wake his slumber deep —

Sweet sing the redbreast o'er the shade —
Why, gentle lady, would you weep p "

As flowers that fade in burning day,
At evening find the dew-drop dear,

But fiercer feel the noontide ray,
When soften* d by the nightly tear ,

Returning1 in the flowing tear,

This lovely flower, more sweet than they,
Jfound her fair soul, and, wand'ring near,

The stranger, reason, cross' d her way

pound her fair soul — Ah ' so to find
Was but more dreadful gncf to know '

Ah ' sure the privilege of mind
Cannot be worth the wish of woe f

XIV.

On melancholy's silent urn

A softer shade of sorrow falls,
But Ellen can no more return,

No more return to Moray's halls.

Beneath the low and lonely shade
The slow-consuming hour she'll weep,

Till nature seeks her last left aid
In the sad sombrous arms of sleep.

" These jewels all unmeet for me,

Shalt thou," she said, "good shepherd, take ;
These gems will purchase gold for thee,

And these be thine for Ellen's sake.

So fail thou not, at eve or morn,
The rosemary's pale bough to bring—-

Thou know'st where I was found forlorn —
Where thou hast heard the redbreast sing

From 1727 to 1780 ]

OWEN OF OABRON.

[DR. LAITGHOBNE.

Heedfnl Til tend thy flocks the whole,
Or add thy shepherdess's oare,

Tor I will share her humble toil,
And I her friendly roof will share."

xv

And now two longsome years are past

In luxury of lonely pam —
The lovely mourner, found at last,

To Moray's halls is borne again

Yet has she left one object dear

That wears love's sunny eye of joy —

Is Nithisdale reviving here ?
Or is it but a shepherd's boy ?

By Carron's side, a shepherd's boy,

He binds his vale-flowers with the reed ;

He wears love's sunny eye of joy,
And birth he little seems to heed.

XVI.

But ah ' no more his infant sleep
Closes beneath a mother's smile,

"Who, only when it closed, would weep,
And yield to tender woe the while.

No more, with fond attention dear,
She seeks th' unspoken wish to find ;

No more shall she, with pleasure's tear,
See the soul waxing into mind

xvrr.

Does nature bear a tyrant's breast P
Is she the friend of stern control ?

Wears she the despot's purple vest P
Or fetters she the free-born soul P

"Where, worst of tyrants, is thy claim
Tn chains thy children's breasts to bind P

Gavest thou the Promethean flame P
The incommunicable mind ?

Thy offspring are great nature's — free,
And of her fair dominion heirs ;

Each privilege she gives to thee ;
Know, that each privilege is theirs.

They have thy feature, wear thine eye,
Perhaps some feelings of thy heart ;

And wilt thou their loved hearts deny
To act their fair, their proper part ?

JLVJULI.

The lord of Lothian's fertile vale,
Ill-fated Ellen, claims thy hand ;

Thou knoVst not that thy Nithisdale
Was low laid by his ruffian band.

And Moray, with unfather'd eyes,
Frc'd on fair Lothian's fertile dale,

Attends his human sacrifice,
Without the Grecian painter's veil.

0 married love ' thy bard shall own,
Where two congenial souls unite,

Thy golden chain inlaid with down,
Thy lamp with heaven*sowa splendour bright.

But of no radiant star of love,
O Hymen ' smile on thy fair rite,

Thy chain a wretched weight shall prove,
Thy lamp a sad sepulchral light.

XIX

And now has time's slow wandering wing

Borne many a year unmarked with speed-
Where is the boy by Carron's spring,

Who bound his vale-flowers with the zeed p

Ah me ' those flowers he binds no more ,

No early charm returns again ,
The paient, nature, keeps in store

Her best joys for her little train

No longer heed the sunbeam bright
That plays on Carron's breast he can,

Reason has lent her qmv'rmg light,
And shown the chequer' d field of TftftTft

xx

As the first human heir of earth
With pensive eye himself survey'd,

And, all unconscious of his birth,
Sat thoughtful oft in Eden's shade ;

In pensive thought so Owen stray' d
Wild Canon's lonely woods among,

And once within their greenest glade,
He fondly framed his simple song :

XXI.

" Why is this crook adorn' d with gold ?
Why am I tales of ladies told ?
Why does no labour me employ,
If I am but a shepherd's boy ?

A silken vest like mine so green
In shepherd's hut I have not seen —
Why should I in such vesture joy,
If I am but a shepherd's boy ?

1 know it is no shepherd's art
His written meaning to impart —
They teach me sure an idle toy,
If I am but a shepherd's boy,

This bracelet bright that binds my arm —
It could not come from shepherd's farm ;
Tt only would that arm annoy,
If I were but a shepherd's boy.

And 0 thou silent picture fair,
That lovest to smile upon me there,
0 say, and fill my heart with joy,
That I am not a shepherd's boy."

Ah, lovely youth ' thy tender lay
May not thy gentle life prolong :

Seest thou yon nightingale a prey ?
The fierce hawk hovering o'er his song?

3D». LANOHOBNB ]

OWEN OF CAERON.

[SIXTH PERIOD.—

His little heart is large with love
He sweetly hails his evening star ;

And fate's more pointed arrows move,
Insidious, from his eye afar

XXIII.

The shepherdess, whose kindly care
Had watch' d o'er Owen's infant breath,

Must now their silent mansions share,
Whom tune leads calmly down to death.

ec O tell me, parent if thou art,
What is this lovely picture dear P

Why wounds its mournful eye my heart ?
Why flows from mine th* unbidden tear p "

" Ah, youth ' to leave thee loth am I,
Though I be not thy parent dear j

And wouldst thou wish, or ere I die,
The story of thy birii. to hear ?

But it will make thee much bewail,
And it will make thy fair eye swell — "

She said, and told the woesome tale,
As sooth as shepherdess might tell

XXIV

The heart that sorrow doom'd to share
Has worn the frequent seal of woe,

Its sad impressions learns to bear,
And finds full oft its ruin slow

But when that zeal is first imprest,

When the young heart its pain shall try,

From the soft, yielding, trembling breast,
Oft seems the startled soul to fly

Yet fled not Owen's — wild amaze
In paleness clothed, and lifted hands,

And horror's dread unmeaning gaze,
Mark the poor statue as it stands.

The simple guardian of his life

Look'd wistful for the tear to glide ,

But, when she saw his tearless strife,
Silent, she lent him one and died

xxv

"No, I am not a shepherd's boy,"
Awaking from his dream, ho said ;

" Ah, where is now the promised joy
Of this ? — f or ever, ever fled '

O picture dear ! — for her loved sake
How fondly could my heart bewail '

My friendly shepherdess, 0 wake,
And tell me more of this sad tale.

O tell me more of this sad tale —
No , thou enjoy thy gentle sleep '

And I will go to Lothian s vale,
A^fl more than all her waters woep."

XXVI.

Owen to Lothian's vale is fled —

Earl Barnard's lofty towers appear —

"O! art thou ttiere?" the full heart said,
" O I art thou. there, my parent dear ? "

Yes, she is there : from idle state
Oft has she stole her hour to weep ;

Think how she "by thy cradle sat,"
And how she " fondly saw theo sleep "

Now tries his trembling hand to frame
Full many a tender line of love ,

And still he blots the parent's name,
For that, he fears, might fatal prove.

XXVII

O'er a fair fountain's smiling side
Reclined a dim tower, clad with moss,

Where eveiy bird was wont to bide,
That languish' d for its partner's loss

This scene he chose, this scene assign'd
A parent's first embrace to wait,

And many a soft fear fill'd his mind,
Anxious for his fond letter's fate

The hand that bore those lines of love,
Tho well-informing bracelet boio —

Ah i may they not unprosperoue prove !
Ah ' safely pass yon dangerous door '

XXVIII '* -

" She comes not , — can she thexi delay ? "
Cried the fair youth, and dropt a tear —

" Whatever filial love could say,
To her I said, and oall'd her dear.

She comes — Oh ' no — encircled round,
'Tis some rude chief with many a spear.

My hapless tale that earl has found —
Ah me r my heart ' — foi her I fear '*

His tender tale that earl had read,
Or ere it reach' d his lady's eye ,

His dark brow wears a cloud of red,
In rage he deems a rival nigh

XXIX.

'Tis o'er — those looks that waved in gold,
That waved adown those chocks so fair,

Wreathed in the gloomy tyrant's hold,
Hang from the sever'd head in air '

That streaming head he joys to bear
In horrid guise to Lothian's hoik '

Bids his grim ruffians place it there,
Erect upon the frowning walls.

The fatal tokens forth he drew —

" Know'st thou these — Ellen of the vale P"
The pictured bracelet soon she knew,

And soon her lovely cheek grew pale.

The trembling victim straight he led,
Ere yet her soul's first fear was o'er :

He pointed to the ghastly head —
She saw — and sunk to rise no more.

Dr. Ltmgliorne — Born 1735, Died 1779.

Fro-n 1727 «o 1780 1 O NANNY, WILT THOU GANG WT MB. [Dn THOKAS PKBCY.

936. — A LAWYER'S FABEWELL TO
MUSE.

As, by some tyrant's stern command,

A wretch forsakes his native land,

In foreign climes condemn' d to roam

An endless exile from his home ;

Pensive he treads the destined way,

And dreads to go , nor dares to stay ;

Till on some neighbouring mountain's brow

He stops, and turns his eyes below ;

There, melting at the well-known view,

Drops a last tear, and bids adieu .

So I, thus doom'd from thee to part,

Gay queen of fancy and of art,

B>eluotant move, with doubtful mind,

Oft stop, and often look behind.

Companion of my tender age,

Serenely gay, and sweetly sage,

How blithesome we were wont to rove,

By verdant hill or shady grove,

Where fervent bees, with humming voice,

Around the honied oak rejoice,

And aged elms, with awful bend,

In long cathedral walks extend 1

Lull'd by the lapse of gliding floods,

Cheer' d by the warbling of the woods,

How blest my "flays, my thoughts how free,

In sweet society with thee '

Then all was joyous, all was young,

And years unheeded rolTd along

But now the pleasing dream is o'er,

These scenes must charm me now no more ;

Lost to the fields, and torn from you—-

Farewell ' — a long, a last adieu.

Me wrangling courts, and stubborn law,

To smoke, and crowds, and cities draw :

There selfish faction rules the day,

And pm.dc and avarice throng the way '

Diseases taint the murky air,

And midnight conflagrations glare j

Loose Revelry, and Eaot bold,

In frighted streets their orgies hold j

Or, where in silence all is drown'd,

Fell Murder walks his lonely round ;

No room for peace, no room for you ;

Adieu, celestial nymph, adieu '

Shakspore, no more thy sylvan son,

Nor all the art of Addison,

Pope's heaven-strung lyre, nor Waller's

ease,

Nor Milton's mighty self must please :
Instead of these, a formal band
In furs and coifs around me stand ;
With sounds uncouth and accents dry,
That grate the soul of harmony,
Each pedant sage unlocks hi* store
Of mystic, dark, discordant lore,
And points with tottering hand the ways
That lead me to the thorny maze.
There, in a winding close retreat,
Is justice doom'd to fix her seat ;
There, fenced by bulwarks of the law,
She keeps the wondering world in awe ;
And there, from vulgar sight retired,
lake eastern queen, is more admired.

Oh let me pierce the secret shade
Where dwells the venerable maid I
There humbly mark, with reverend awe,
The guardian of Britannia's law ;
Unfold with joy her sacred page,
The united boast of many an age ;
Where, mix'd, yet uniform, appears
The wisdom of a thousand years.
In that pure spring the bottom view,
dear, deep, and regularly true ;
And other doctrines thence imbibe
Than lurk within the sordid sonbe ,
Observe how parts with parts unite
In one harmonious rule of right ,
See countless wheels distinctly tend
By various laws to one great end ;
While mighty Alfred's piercing soul
Pervades and regulates the whole
Then welcome business, welcome strife,
Welcome the cares, the thorns of life,
The visage wan, the pore-bhnd sight,
The toil by day, the lamp at night,
The tedious forms, the solemn prate,
The pert dispute, the dull debate,
The drowsy bench, the babbling hall,
For thee, fair Justice, welcome all !
Thus, though my noon of life be past,
Yet let my setting sun, at last,
Find out the still, the rural cell,
Where sage retirement loves to dwell !
There let me taste the homefelt bliss
Of innocence and inward peace ,
Untainted by the guilty bnbe,
Unoursed amid the harpy tnbe ,
No orphan's cry to wound my ear ;
My honour and my conscience clear
Thus may I calmly meet my end,
Thus to the grave in peace descend.

Sir William Blackstone. —
Born 1723, Died 1780.

937— O, NANNT, WILT THOU GANG
WT ME

O, Nanny, wilt thou gang wi* me,

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town ?
Can silent glens have charms for thee,

The lowly cot and russet gown P
Nae longer drest in silken sheen,

Nae langer deok'd wi' jewels rare,
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene ,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair P

O, Nanny, when thou'rt far awa,

Wilt thou not cast a look behind ?
Say, canst thou face the flaky snaw,

Nor phrmlc before the winter wind ?
0 can that soft and gentle mien

Severest hardships learn to bear,
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ?

46

DR. THOMAS

THE PRIAB OP OKDERS GffiAY.

[SIXTH PjraoD.—

O, Nanny, oanst tlioii love so true,

Through perils keen wi' me to gae ?
Or, when thy swam mishap shall rue,

To share with him the pang of wae P
Say, should disease or pain befall,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
Nor, wishful, those gay scenes recall,

Where then weit fairest of the fair ?

And when at last thy love shall die,

Wilt thou receive his parting breath ?
Wilt thou repress each straggling sigh,

And cheer with smiles the bed of death ?
And wilt thou o'er his much-loved clay

Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear ?
Nor then regret those scenes so gay,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair P

Dr. Thomas Percy. — Born 1728, Died 1811,

938.— THE FR.TAT?. OP OEDEBS G&AY,

It was a friar of orders gray

Walk'd forth to tell his beads,
And he met with a lady fair,

Glad in a pilgrim's weeds.

" Now Christ thee save, thou reverend fnar 1

I pray thee tell to me,
If ever at yon holy shrine

My true love thou didst see."

" And how should I know your true lore

From many another one ? "
"Oh! by his cockle hat and staff,

And by his sandal shoon

But chiefly by his face and mien,

That were so fair to view,
His flaxen looks that sweetly ourl'd,

And eyes of lovely blue."

" O lady, he is dead and gone '

Lady, he's dead and gone '
At his head a green grass turf,

And at his heels a stone.

Within these holy cloisters long

He languish' d, and he died,
Lamenting of a lady's love,

And 'plaining- of her pnde.

Here bore him barefaced on his bier

Six proper youths and tall ,
And many a tear bedew' d his grave

Withm yon Hrkyard wall."

" And art thou dead, thou gentle youth —

And art thou dead and gone ?
And didst then die for love of me P

Break, cruel heart of stone I "

" 0 weep not, lady, weep not so,

Some ghostly comfort seek :
Let not vain sorrow nve thy heart,

Nor tears bedew thy cheek "

'• O do not, do not, holy fnar,

My sorrow now reprove ;
Por I have lost the sweetest youth

That e'er won lady's love.

And now, alas ! for thy sad loss

I'll evermore weep and sigh ;
Por thee I only wish'd to live,

Por thee I wish to die." *

" Weep no more, lady, weep no more ;

Thy sorrow is m vain .
Por violets pluok'd, the sweetest shower

Will ne'er make grow again.

Our joys as winged dreams do fly;

Why then should sorrow last P
Since gnef but aggravates thy loss,

Grieve not for what is past "

" 0 say not so, thou holy fiiar '

I pray thee say not so ;
Por since my true love died for me,

'Tis meet my tears should flow.

And will he never come again —

Will he ne'er come again P
Ah, no ' he is dead, and laid in his grave,

Por ever to remain.

His cheek was redder than the rose —

The comeliest youth was he ;
But he is dead and laid in his gravo,

Alas ' and woe is me."

" Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever ,
One foot on sea, and one on land,

To one ^ir^g1 constant never

Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,

And left thee sad and heavy ,
Por young men ever weie fickle found,

Since summer trees were leafy "

" Now say not so, thou holy friar,

I pray thee say not so ,
My love he had the truest heart —

0 he was ever true '

And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth

And didst thou die for mo P
Then farewell home ; for evermore

A pilgrim I will be

But first upon my true love's grave

My weary limbs Til lay,
And thnoe I'll kiss the green grass turf

That wraps his breathless clay "

" Tet stay, fair lady, rest a while

Beneath this cloister wall ,
The cold wind through the hawthorn blows,

And drizzly rain doth fall."

" 0 stay me not, thou holy friar,

0 stay me not, I pray ;
No drizzly ram that falls on me

Can wash my fault away."

From 1727 to 1780 ]

SPEING.

[CHATTEBTON.

" Tet stay, fair lady, turn again,

And dry those pearly tears ,
For see, beneath this gown of gray,

Thy own true love appears.

Here, forced by grief and hopeless love,

These holy weeds I sought ,
And here, amid these lonely walls,

To end my days I thought

But haply, for my year of grace

Is not yet pass'd away,
Might I still hope to win thy love,

No longer would I stay "

" Now farewell gnef , and welcome joy

Once more unto my he^rt ,
For since I've found thee, lovely youth,

We never more will part "

Dr. Thomas Percy— Born 1728, Died 1811.

939.— THE CAVE

The wind is up, the field is bare,
Some hermit lead me to his cell,

Where Contemplation, lonely fair,

With bless'd content has chose to dwell

Behold ' it opons to my sight,

Dark in the rock, beside the flood ,

Dry fern around obstructs the light ,
The winds above it move the wood

reflected in the lake, I see

The downward mountains and the skies,
The flying bird, the waving tree,

The goats that on the hill arise.

The gray-cloak* d herd drives on the oow,
The slow-paced fowler walks tho heath ,

A freckled pointer scours the brow ,
A Trvfls?'ng' shepherd stands beneath.

Curved o'er the ruin of an oak,
The woodman lifts his axe on high ;

The hills re-echo to the stroke ,
I see — I see the shivers fly '

Some rural maid, with apron full,
Brings fuel to the homely flame ;

I see the smoky columns roll,
And, through the clunky hut, the beam

Beside a stone o'ergrown with moss,
Two well-met hunters talk at ease ;

Three panting dogs beside repose ,

One bleeding deer is stretch' d on grass.

A lake at distance spreads to sight,
Skirted with shady forests round ,

In midst, an island's rooky height
Sustains a cuin, once renown' d.

One tree bends o'er the naked walls j
Two broad- wing'd eagles hover nigh j

By intervals a fragment falls,
As blows the blast along the sky.

The rough-spun hinds the pinnace guide
With labouring oars along the flood ;

ATI angler, bending o'er the tide,
Hangs from the boat the insidious wood.

Beside the flood, beneath the rocks,
On grassy bank, two lovers lean ,

Bend on each other amorous looks,
And seem to laugh and kiss between.

The wind is rustling- in the oak ;

They seem to hear the tread of feet ;
They start, they rise, look round the rook ,

Again they smile, again they meet

But see 1 the grey mist from the lake

Ascends upon the shady TiiTIs ;
Dark storms the murmuring forests shake,

Ttq.Tp beats around a hundred nils.

To Damon's homely hut I fly;

I see it smoking on the plain ;
When storms axe post and fair the sky,

I'll often seek my cave again.

James Macpli&rson — Born 1738, Died 1796.

940.— -MORNING.

Bright sun had in his ruddy robes been

dight,
From the red east he flitted with his

tram,
The Houns draw away the gate of Nightr

Her sable tapestry was rent in twain .
The dancing streaks bedecked heaven's plain,
And on the dew did smile with skunmering

eye,
Like gouts of blood which do black armour

stain,

Shining upon the bourn which standeth by ,
The soldier stood upon the TnTIm side,
Like young enleaved trees which in a forest
bide.

ChattertQn.-—-Bom 1752, Died, 1770.

941 — SPRING-.

The budding floweret blushes at the light,
The meads be sprinkled with the yellow

hue,

In daisied mantles is the mountain dight,
The fresh young cowslip bendeth with the

dew ,
The trees enleaf ed, into heaven straight,

46*

CHATTERTON ]

THE PROPHECY".

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

When gentle winds do blow, to whistling din
is brought.

The evening comes, and biings the dews

along,
The ruddy welkin shineth to the eyne,

Around the ale-stake minstrels smg the song,
Young ivy round the door-post doth en-
twine;

I lay me on the grass, yet to my will

Albeit all is fair, there laoketh something
stOl

Chatierton,.— Bom 1752, Died 1770.

942— THE PBOPHECT

This truth of old was sorrow's friend —
" Times at the worst will surely mend "
The difficulty 's then to know
How long Oppression's clock can go ;
When Britain's sons may cease to sigh,
And hope that their redemption 's nigh.

When vile Corruption's brazen face
At council-board shall take her place ;
And lords-commissioners resort
To welcome her at Britain's court ;
Look up, ye Britons ' cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth night.

See Pension's harbour, large and clear,
Defended by St. Stephen's pier '
The entrance safe, by current led,

Tiding round OF Js jetty head ;

Look up, ye Britons ' cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.

When civil power shall snore at ease ;
While soldiers fire — to keep the peace,
When murders sanctuary find,
And petticoats can Justice blind ;
Look up, ye Britons ' cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.

Commerce o'er Bondage will prevail,
Free as the wind that fills her sail
When she complains of vile restraint,
And Power is deaf to her complaint ,
Look up, ye Britons > cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.

When at Bute's feet poor Freedom lies,
Mark'd by the priest for sacrifice,
And doom'd a victim for the sins
Of hftlf the outs and all the ins ,
Look up, ye Britons f cease to sigh,
For your redemption draweth nigh.

When time shall bring your wish about,
Or, seven-years' lease, you sold, is out ;
No future contract to fulfil ;
Your tenants holding at your will ;
Raise up your heads ! your right demand —
For your redemption 's in ^ottr hand.

Then is your time to strike the blow,
And let the slaves of Mammon know,
Britain's true sons a bribe can scorn,
And die as free as they were born.
"Virtue again shall take her seat,
And your redemption stand complete.

Chatterton-~Born, 1752, Died 1770.

943— BRISTOW TRAGEDY, OB THE
DEATH OF SIR CHARLES
BAWDZNT.

The feather' d songster chanticleer

Had wound his bugle-horn,
And told the early villager

The coming of the morn :

King- Edward saw the ruddy streaks

Of light eclipse the gray,
And heard the raven's croaking throat

Proclaim the fated day.

« Thou'rt right," quoth he, " for by the God

That sits enthroned on high '
Charles Bawdin, and his fellows twain,

To-day snail surely die/'

Then with a jug of nappy ale

His knights did on >»™ wait ;
" Go tell the traitor, that to-day

He leaves this mortal state "

Sir Canterlone then bended lew,

With heart brimful of woe ;
He journey* d to the castle-gate,

And to Sir Charles did go

But when he came, his children twain,

And eke his loving wife,
With briny tears did wet the floor,

For good Sir Charles's life

" Oh good Sir Charles ' " said Cantorlono,

" Bad tidings I do bring "
" Speak boldly, man," said bravo Sir Charles ;

" What says the traitor king ? "

" I grieve to tell before yon sun

Does from the welkin fly,
He hath upon his honour sworn,

That thou shalt surely die."

" We all must die," said brave Sir Charles ;

"Of that I'm not afraid,
What boots to live a little space ?

Thank Jesus, I'm prepared.

But tell thy long, for mine he 's not,

rd sooner die to-day,
Than live his slave, as many are,

Though I should live for aye/'

From 1727 to 1780]

BRISTOW TRAGEDY

[CHATTBRTON,

Then Canterlone lie dad go out,

To tell the mayor straight
To get all things in readiness

For good Sir Charles's fate

Then Mr Canynge sought the king,

And fell down on his knee ,
" I'm come," quoth he, "unto your grace,

To move your clemency "

" Then," quoth the king, " your tale speak out,
You have been much our friend ,

Whatever your request may be,
We will to it attend "

" My noble liege ' all my request

Is for a noble knight,
Who, though mayhap he has done wrong,

He thought it still was right

Ho has a spouse and children twain ,

All ruin'd are for aye,
If that you are resolved to let

Charles Bawdin die to-day "

" Speak not of such a traitor vile,"

The king in fury said ,
" Before the evening star doth fihine,

Bawdin shall lose his head

Justice does loudly for him coll,

And he shall have his meed :
Speak, Mr Canynge ' what thing else

At present do yon need ? "

" My noble lioge ' " good Canynge said,

" Leave justice to our God,
And lay the iron rule aside ,

Be thine the olive rod

Was God to search our hearts and reins,

The best were sinners great ,
Christ's vicar only knows no sin,

In all this mortal state

Let mercy rule thine infant reign,

'Twill fix thy crown full sure ,
From race to race thy family

^U sovereigns shall enduie

But if with blood and slaughter thou

Begin thy infant reign,
Thy orown upon thy children's brows

Will never long remain "

46 Canynge, away ! this traitor vile

Has scorn' d my power and me ,
How canst thou then for such a man

Entreat my clemency ? "

** My noble liege ' the truly brave

Will valorous actions prize ,
Respect a brave and noble mind,

Although in enemies "

" Canynge, away ' By God in heaven

That did me being give,
I will not taste a bit of bread

Whilst this Sir Charles doth live !

By Mary, and all saints in heaven,

This sun shall be his last ' '
Then Canynge dropp'd a briny tear,

And from the presence pass'd.

With heart brimful of gnawing grief ,

He to Sir Charles did go,
And sat him down upon a stool,

And tears began to flow

" We all must die," said brave Sir Charles ;

" What boots it how or when ?
Death is the sure, the certain fate,

Of all we mortal men

Say why, my friend, thy honest soul

Buns over at thine eye ,
Is it for my most welcome doom

That thou dost child-like cry ? "

Saith godly Canynge, "I do weep,

That thou so soon must die,
And leave thy sons and helpless wife ,

'Tis this that wets mine eye."

" Then dry the tears that out thine eye

Prom godly fountains spring ,
Death I despise, and all the power

Of Edward, traitor-king.

When through the tyrant's welcome means

I shall resign my life,
The God I serve will soon provide

For both my sons and wife

Before I saw the lightsome sun,

This was appointed mo ,
Shall mortal roan repine or grudge

What God ordains to be ?

How oft in battle have I stood,

When thousands died around ,
When smoking streams of crimson blood

Imbrued the fatten' d ground.

How did I know that every dart

That cut the airy way,
Might not find passage to my heart,

And close mine eyes for aye p

And shall I now, for fear of death,

Look wan and be dismay* d P
No ' from my heart fly cTnldiPih fear ;

Be all the Tn^n display *d»

Ah, godlike Henry ' God f orefend,

And guard thee and thy son,
If 'tis his will, but if 'tis not,

Why, then his will be done

My honest friend, my fault has been

To serve God and my prince ;
And that I no tune-server am,

My death will soon convince.

In London city was I born,

Of parents of great note ;
My father did a noble arms

Emblazon on his coat

CHATTERTON.]

BBISTOW TRAGEDY.

[SIXTH "PERIOD. —

I make no doubt bat lie is gone

Where soon I hope to go,
Where we for ever shall be blest,

From out the reach of woe

He tanght me justice and the laws

With pity to mute ;
And eke he taught me how to know

The wrong cause from the right :

He taught me with a prudent hand

To feed the hungry poor,
Nor let my servants drive away

The hungry from my door .

And none can say but all my bfe

I have his wordis kept ,
And summ'd the actions of the day

Each night before I slept

I have a spouse, go ask of her

If I defiled her bed P
I have a long, and none can lay

Black treason on my head.

In Lent, and on the holy eve,

From flesh I did refrain ,
Why should I then appear dismay'd

To leave this world of pain ?

No, hapless Henry ' I rejoice

I shall not see thy death ;
Host willingly m thy just cause

Do I resign my breath.

Oh, fickle people ' ruin'd land f
Thou wilt ken peace no moe ;

While Richard's sons exalt themselves,
Thy brooks with Wood will flow.

Say, were ye tared of godly peace,

And godly Henry's reign,
That you did chop your easy days

For those of blood and pain ?

"What though I on a sledge be drawn,

And mangled by a hind,
I do defy the traitor's power,

He cannot harm my mind ;

What though, uphoisted on a pole,

My limbs shall zot in air,
And no noh monument of brass

Charles Bawdjn's name aW bear ,

Yet in the holy book above,

Which time can't eat away,
There with the servants of the Lord

My name shall live for aye.

Then welcome death ' for life eterne

I leave this mortal life
Farewell, vain world, and all that 's dear,

My sons and loving wife '

Now death as welcome to me comes

As e'er the month of May ;
Nor would I even wish to live,

With my dear wife to stay.*'

Saith Canynge, " 'Tis a goodly thing

To be prepared to die ,
And from this world of pain and grief

To God in heaven to fly "

And now the bell began to toll,

And clarion1? to sound ,
Sir Charles he heard the horses' feet

A-prancmg on the ground.

And just before the officers

His loving wife came in,
Weeping unfeigned tears of woo

With loud and dismal din.

" Sweet Florence ' now I pray forbear,

In quiet let me die ;
Pray God that every Christian soul

May look on death as I.

Sweet Florence ' why these briny tears ?

They wash my soul away,
And almost moke me wish for life,

With thee, sweet dame, to stay.

'Tis but a journey I «HTl go

Unto the land of bliss ,
Now, as a proof of husband's love

Receive this holy kiss "

Then Florence, faltering in her say,
Trembling these wordis spoke :

" Ah, cruel Edward ! bloody king T
My heart is well nigh broke

Ah, sweet Sir Charles F why wilt thou go

Without thy loving wife P
The cruel axe that cuts thy neck,

It eke shall end my life."

And now the officers came in

To bring Sir Charles away,
Who turned to his loving wife,

And thus to her did say •

" I go to life, and not to death,

Trust thou in God above,
And teach thy sons to f oar the Lord,

And in their hearts him love.

Teach them to run the noble race

That I their father run,
Florence ' should death theo take — adieu !

Ye officers lead on "

Then Florence raved as any mad,

And did her tresses tear ;
" Oh stay, my husband, lord, and life 1 "

Sir Charles then dxopp'd a tear.

T01 tirfcd out with raving loud,

She fell upon the floor ;
Sir Charles exerted all his might,

And march' d from out the door.

Upon a sledge he mounted then,
With looks full brave and sweet ,

Looks that enshone no more concern
Than any in the street

1727 to 1780.]

BKCSTOW TRAGEDY.

[OHATTEBTOK

Before lam went the council-men,

In scarlet robes and gold,
And tassels spangling in the sun,

Much glorious to behold •

The friars of Saint Augustine next

Appeared to the sight,
All clad in homely russet weeds,

Of godly monkish plight •

In different parts a godly psalm
Most sweetly they did chant ,

Behind their back ere minstrels came,
Who tuned the strange bataunt.

Then five-ond-twenty archers came ;

Each one the bow did bend,
From rescue of King Honr/s fnends

Sir Charles for to defend

Bold as a lion came Sir Charles,
Drawn on a cloth-laid sledde,

By two black steeds in trappings white,
With plumes upon their head

Behind hi™ five and twenty more
Of archers strong and stout,

With bended bow each one in hand,
Marched in goodly rout

Saint James's friars marched next,
Each one his part did chant ,

Behind then backs six minstrels came,
Who tuned the strange bataunt.

Then came the mayor and aldermen,

In cloth of scarlet deck'd ;
And their attending men each one,

lake eastern princes trick' d.

And after them a multitude

Of citizens did throng ,
The windows were all f ull of hoods,

As he did pass along.

And when he came to the high cross,
Sir Charles did turn and fcay,

" 0 Thou that savest man from sin,
Wash my soul clean this day "

At the great minster window sat

The king m mickle state,
To see Charles Bawdin go along

To his most welcome fato.

Soon as the sledde drew nigh enough,
That Edward ho might hoar,

The brave Sir Charles he did stand up,
And thus his words declare

" Thou seest me, Edward ' traitor vile '

Exposed to infamy ,
But be assured, disloyal man,

Tm gi eater now than thee

By foul proceedings, muidcr, blood,
Thou wearest now a crown ,

And hast appointed me to die
By powar not thine own

Thou thinkest I shall die to-day ;

I have been dead till now,
And soon shall live to wear a crown

For aye upon my brow ;

Whilst thon, perhaps, for some few years,

Shalt rule this fickle land,
To let them know how wide the rule

'Twix.1 Tn-ng and tyrant hand

Thy power unjust, thou traitor slave !

Shall fall on thy own head"—
From out of hearing of the king

Departed then the sledde

King Edward's soul rush'd to his face,

He turn'd his head away,
And to his brother Gloucester

He thus did speak and say -

" To him that so-much-dreaded death

No ghastly terrors bring ;
Behold the mam ! he spake the truth ;

He 's greater than a king ' "

" So let him die ' " Duke Jfcchara said;

" And may each one our foes
Bend down their necks to bloody axe,

And feed the oamon crows/'

And now the horses gently drew

Sir Charles up the high hill ,
Tho axe did glister in the sun,

His precious blood to spill

Sir Charles did up the scaffold go,

As up a gilded car
Of victory, by valorous chiefs

Gain'd in the bloody war.

And to the people he did say

"Behold you see me die,
For serving loyally my king,

My frfog most rightfully

As long as Edward rules this land,

No quiet you will know ;
Your sons and husbands shall be slajJTij

And brooks with blood shall flow

You leave your good and lawful king,

When in adversity ,
Like me, unto the true cause stick,

And for the true cause die "

Then he, with priests, upon his knees,

A prayer to God did make,
Beseeching *•"» unto himself

His parting soul to take.

Then, kneeling down, he laid his head

Most seemly on the blocX,
Which from his body fair at once

The able headsman stioke
•
And out the blood bepran to flow,

And round the scaffold twine ;
And tears, enough to wash 't away,

Did flow from each man's cvne

OHATTBBTON ]

THE MINSTBEL'S SONG IN ELLA.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

The bloody axe bis body fair

Into four partis out ;
And every port, and eke his head,

Upon a pole was put.

One part did rot on Kinwulph-hill,

One on the minster-tower,
And one from off the castle-gate

The orowen did devour

The other on Saint Paul's good gate,

A dreary spectacle ;
His head was placed on the high cross,

In high, street most noble.

Thus was the end of Bawdin'a fate

God prosper long our long,
And grant he may, with Bawdin's soul,

In heaven God's meroy sing.

Chatt&rbon.'— Bom 1752, Died 1770.

944.— THE MINSTBEL'S SONG IN ELLA.

O ! sing unto my roundelay ;

O ' drop the briny tear with me ;
Dance no more at holiday,
lake a running nver be ,
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow tree.

Black "hia "hftiy as the winter night,
"White his neok as summer snow,
Buddy his face as the morning light,
Cold he lies in the grave below :
My love is dead,
Gone to Ins death-bed,
All under the willow tree.

Sweet his tongue as throstle's note,

Quick in dance as thought was he ;
Deft his tabor, cudgel stout ;
Oh ' he lies by the willow tree.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow tree

Hark ' the raven flaps his wing,

In the brier' d dell below ;
Hark ' the death-owl loud doth sing,
To the nightmares as they go.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow tree.

See 1 the white moon shines on high ;

Whiter is my true-love's shroud ,
Whiter than the morning sky,
Whiter than the evening cloud.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
AH under the wfflow tree

Here, upon my true-love's giave,
Shall tho gansh flowers be laid,
Nor one holy saint to save
All the sorrows of a maid
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bod,
All under the willow troo

With my hands I'll bind iho briers,

Bound his holy oors to qjro ,
Elfin-fairy, light yonr fiies,
Here my body still shall bo.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bod,
All under the willow tree

Come with acorn cup and thorn,

Drain my heart's blood all away ;
Life and all its good I scoin,
Dance by night, or feast by day.
My love is dead,
Gone tp his death-bed,
All under the willow too

Water-witches, crowned with reytes,
Bear me to your deadly tide.

I die — I come — my true-love waits
Thus the damsel spake, and died

Oha,tterton.—Bom 1752, Died 1770.

945 — CHABACTEB 0!P THE SHIP'S
OFFICEBS

O'er the gay vessel, and her daring bond,
Experienced Albert held the chief command
Though train' d in boisterous elements, his

mind

Was yeb by soft humanity refined.
Each joy of wedded love at home he knew ,
Abroad confess'd the father of his orow '
Brave, liberal, just, the calm domestic scene
Had o'er his temper breathed a gay serene
Him science taught by mystic lore to trace
The planets wheeling in eternal race ;
To mark the ship in floating balance held,
By earth attracted and by seas repell'd ;
Or point her devious track, through climes

unknown,

That leads to every shore and every zone.
He saw the moon through heaven's blue con-
cave glide,

And into motion charm th* expanding tide ;
While earth impetuous round her axle rolls,
Exalts her watery zone, and sinks the poles
Light and attraction, from their genial source,
He saw still wandering with diminish' d force ,
Whale on the margin of declining day,
Night's shadowy cone reluctant melts away. —
Inured to peril, with unoonquer'd soul,
The chief beheld tempestuous ocean's roll,
His gisnius, ever for the event prepared,
Bose with the storm, and all its dangers
shared

From 1727 to 1780 ] CHARACTER OF THE SHIP'S OFFICERS.

The seoond powers and office Rodxnond

bore

A hardy son of England's farthest shore.
"Where bleak Northumbria poors her savage

tram

In sable squadrons o'er the northern main ;
That, with her pitohy entrails stored, resort,
A sooty tribe ' to fair Augusta's port
Where'er in ambush lurk the fatal sands,
They claim the danger, proud of skilful

bands;
For while with darkling course their vessels

sweep
The winding shore, or plough the faithless

deep,
O'er bar and shelf the watery path they

sound,

With dexterous arm; sagacious of the ground
Fearless they combat ev'ry hostile wind,
Wheeling in mazy tracks with course inclined
Expert to moor, where terrors line the road ,
Or win the anchor from its dark abode :
But drooping and relax' d in climes afar,
Tumultuous and undisciplined in war
Such Rodmond was ; by learning unrefined,
That oft enlightens to corrupt the mind •
Boisterous of manners , tram'd in early youth
To scenes that shame the conscious cheek of

truth ,
To scenes that nature's struggling voice

control,

And freeze compassion rising in the soul '
Where the grim hell-hounds, prowling round

the shore,

With foul intent the stranded bark explore —
Deaf to the voice of woo, her decks they

board,

While tardy justice slumbers o'er her sword —
Th' indignant Muse, severely taught to feel,
Shrinks from a theme she blushes to reveal '
Too oft example, arm'd with poisons fell,
Pollutes the shrine whore mercy loves to

dwell- p -

Thus Rodmond, tram'd by this unhallow'd

crew,

The sacred social passions never knew :
TJnakdl'd to argue , in dispute yet loud ,
Bold without caution , without honours proud ,
In art unsohool'd, each veteran rule he prized,
And all improvement haughtily despised :
Yet though full oft to future penis blind,
With skill superior glow'd his daring mind,
Through snares of death the reeling bark to

guide,
When midnight shades involve the raging

tide.

To Rodmond next, in order of command,
Succeeds the youngest of our naval band.
But what avails it to record a name
That courts no rank among the sons of

fame?

While yet a stripling, oft, with fond alarms,
His bosom danced to nature's boundless

charms ; '

On him fair science dawn'd in happier hour,
Awakening into bloom young fancy's flower ,

But frowning fortune with untimely blast
The blossom wither' d, and the dawn o'ercast.
Forlorn of heart, and by severe decree
Condemn* d reluctant to the faithless sea,
With long farewell he left the laurel grove,
Where science and the tuneful sisters rove. —
Hither he wander'd, anxious to explore
Antiquities of nations now no more ;
To penetrate each distant realm unknown,
And range excuisive o'er th* untravell'd zone.
In vain ' — for rude adversity's command,
Still on. the margin of each famous land,
With unrelenting ire his steps opposed,
And every gate of hope against ^m closed.
Permit my verse, ye bless'd Pierian train,
To call Anon this ill-fated swain '
For, like that bard unhappy, on his head
Malignant stars their hostile influence shed.
Both, in lamenting numbers, o'er the deep,
With conscious anguish taught the harp to

weep;

And both the raging surge in safety bore
Amid destruction panting to the shore.
This last our tragic story from the wave
Of dark oblivion haply yet may save ;
With genuine sympathy may yet complain,
While sad remembrance bleeds at ev'ry vein.

Such were the pilots; tutor' d to divine
Th1 untraveU'd course by geometric line ,
Train* d to command, and range the various

sail,
Whose various force conforms to every

gale —

Charged with the commerce, hither also came
A gallant youth, Palemon was his name ,
A father's stern resentment doom'd to prove,
He came, the victim of unhappy love '
His heart for Albert's beauteous daughter

bled,

For her a secret flame his bosom fed
Nor let the wretched slaves of folly scorn
This genuine passion, nature's eldest born !
"Twas "hug with lasting anguish to complain,
While blooming Anna mourn' d the cause in

vain
Graceful of form, by nature taught to

please,

Of power to melt the female breast with ease,
To her Palemon told his tender tale,
Soft as the voice of summer's evening gale.
O'erjoy'd, he saw her lovely eyes relent ;
The blushing maiden smiled with sweet con-

Oft in the mazes of a neighbouring grove,
Unheard, they breathed alternate vows of love :
By fond society their passion grew,
Like the young blossom fed with vernal dew.
In evil hour th' officious tongue of fame
Betray* d the secret of their mutual flame.
With gnef and anger struggling in his breast,
Palemon' s father heard the tale oonfest.
Long had he listen' d with suspicion's ear,
And learn' d, sagacious, this event to fear
Too well, fair youth' thy liberal heart he

knew;
A heart to nature's warm impressions true '

FAXOONEB.]

THE SHIP DEPARTING FKOM THE HAVEN. [SIXTH PERIOD-

Full oft his wisdom strove, with fruitless

toil,

'With avarice to pollute that generous soil
That soil impregnated with nobler seed,
Refused the culture of so rank a weed.
Elate with wealth, in active commerce won,
And basking in the smilo of fortune's sun,
With scorn the parent eyed the lowly shade
That veil'd. the beauties of this charming

maid.

Indignant he rebuked th' enamour'd boy,
The flattering promise of his future joy
He soothed and menaced, anxious to leclaam
This hopeless passion, or divert its aim
Oft led the youth where enroling joys delight
The ravish' d sense, or beauty charms the

sight

"With all her powers enchanting music fail'd,
And pleasure's syren voice no more prevail' d
The merchant, kindling then with proud dis-
dain,

In look and voice assumed a harsher strain
In absence now his only hope remain' d ;
And such the stern decree his will ordain' d.
Deep anguish, while Palemon heard his doom,
Drew o'er his lovely face a saddening gloom.
In vain with bitter sorrow he repined,
No tender pity touch' d that sordid mind ,
To thee, brave Albert, was the charge con-
sign'd

The stately ship, forsaking England's shore,
To regions far remote Palemon bore
Incapable of change, th' unhappy youth
Still loved fair Anna with eternal truth
From clime to clime an exile doom'd to roam,
fTia heart still panted for its secret home

Falconer — Bom 1730, Died 1769

946 — THE SHIP DEPARTING FBOM
THE HA7EN

The sun's bright orb, declining all serene,
Now glanced obliquely o'er the woodland

scene

Creation smiles around , on every spray
The warbling birds exalt their evening lay
Blithe skipping o'er yon hill, the fleecy train
Join the deep chorus of the lowing plain
The golden lime and orange there were seen,
On fragrant branches of perpetual green.
The crystal streams, that velvet meadows

lave,

To the green ocean roll with chiding wave.
The glassy ocean hush'd forgets to roar,
But trembling murmurs on the sandy shore
And lo ' his surface, lovely to behold '
Glows in the west, a sea of living gold '
"While all above, a thousand liveries gay
The skies with pomp ineffable array
Arabian, sweets perfume the happy plains
Above, beneath, around enchantment reigns !
"While yet the shades, on time's eternal scale,
With long vibration deepen o'er the vale ;

While yet the songsters of the vocal grovo
With dying numbers tune the soul to love ;
With joyful eyes th' attentive master soos
Th' auspicious omens of an eastern brcozo — *
Now radiant Vesper leads the starry tiain,
And night slow draws her veil o'or land and

Bound the charged bowl the sailors form a

By turns recount the wondrous talo or Ring,
As love or battle, hardships of the main,
Or genial wine awake their homely strain
Then some the watch of night alternates koop,
The rest lie bunod in oblivious sleep.

Deep midnight now involves tho livid sluos,
While infant breezes from the shore ariso
The waning moon, behind a wat'ry shiond,
Pale-glimmer' d o'er the long-protraotod cloud.
A mighty ring around her silver throne,
With parting meteors crossed, portentous

shone

This in the troubled sky f oil oft prevails ;
Oft deem'd a signal of tempestuous galeR —
While young Anon sleeps, before his sight
Tumultuous swim the visions of the night.
Now blooming' Ami^ with her happy swam,
Approach'd the sacred hymeneal fane
Anon tremendous lightnings flash between ,
And funeral pomp and weeping lovos are

seen'

Now with Palemon up a rooky steep,
Whose summit' trembles o'er the roaring

deep,

With painful step he chmb'd ; while fax above
Sweet Anna charm' d them with the voice of

love
Then sudden from the slippery height thoy

fell,
While dieadful yawn'd beneath tho jaws of

hell—

Amid this fearful tiance, a thundormg sound
He hears — and thiico the hollow docks re-

bound
Upstarting from his couch on dock ho

sprung,
Thrice with shrill note the boatswain's whittle

rung
" AH hands unmoor ' " proclaims a boistoiouft

cry

*' All hands unmoor f " the cavern rocks reply.
Boused from repose aloft the sailors swarm,
And with their lovers soon the windlass arm.
The order given, up-springing with a bound
They lodpre tho bars, and wheel their engine

round

At every turn tho clanging pauls resound.
TJptorn reluctant from its oozy cave,
The ponderous anchor rises o'er the wave.
Along their slippery masts the yards ascend,
And high in air the canvas wings extend
Bedonbhng cords the lofty canvas guide,
And through inextricable mazes glide.
The lunar rays with long reflection gleam,
To light the vessel o'er the silver stream :
Along the glassy plain serene she glides,
While azure radiance trembles on her sides.

iVom 1727 to 1780 ]

DISTRESS OF THE VESSEL

[FALCONER.

From oast to north the transient breezes

play,

And m the Egyptian quarter soon decay
A calm ensues; they dread th' adjacent

shore ,

The boats with rowers arm'd are sent before .
With cordage faston'd to the lofty prow,
Aloof to sea the stately ship they tow
The nervous crew their sweeping oars extend ,
And pealing shouts the shore of Candia rend.
Success attends their stall , the danger's o'er .
The port is doubled and beheld no more
Now morn, her lamp pale glimmering on • he

sight,

Scatter'd before her van reluctant mghi
She comes not in refulgent pomp aiiay'd,
But sternly frowning, wrapt in sullen shade
Above incumbent vapours, Ida's height,
Tremendous rook ' emerges on the sight
North-east the guardian isle of Standia lies,
And westward Freschin's woody capes arise
With winning postuios now the wanton

sails
Spread all their snares to charm th* inconstant

gales
The swelling atu'n sails now their wings

extend,

Then stay-sails sidelong to the breeze ascend
While all to court the wandering breeze are

placed,
With yards now thwarting1, now obliquely

braced

The dim horizon lowering vapours shioud,
And blot tho sun yet struggling in the

cloud
Through tho wide atmosphere condensed with

"Brig glaring orb emits a sanguine blaze.
The pilots now their rules of art apply,
The mystic needle's devious aim to try
The compass placed to catch the rising ray,
The quadrant's shadows studious they survey.
Along the arch tho gradual index slides,
While Phoebus down the vertic circle glides.
Now, seen on ocean's utmost verge to swim,
He sweeps it vibrant with his nether limb
Their sage experience thus exploies the

And polar distance of the source of light :
Then thiough the chiliads' tuple maze they

trace

Th' analogy that proves the magnet's place
The wayward steel, to truth thus reconciled,
No more the attentive pilot's eye beguiled
The nativos, while tho ship departs the

land,

Ashore with admiration gazing stand
Majestically slow, before the breeze,
In silent pomp she marches on the seas
Her milk-white bottom oasts a softer gleam,
While trembling through the green translucent

The wales, that close above in contiast shone,
Clasp the long fabric with a jetty zone,
Britannia, nding awful on the prow,
Gazed o'er the vassal-wave that rolTd below :

Where'er she moved tho vassal- waves were

seen

To yield obsequious, and confess their queen
Th' imperial tndent graced her dextei-hand,
Of power to rule the surge, like Moses* wand,
Th' eteinal empire of the mom to keep,
And guide her squadrons o'er the tiembkng

deep

Her left propitious bore a mystic shield,
Around who^e margin rolls the wat'ry field.
Thoie hei bold gomus, in his floating car,
O'er the wild billow hurls the storm of war —
And lo i the beasts, that oft with jealous rage
In bloody combat met, from age to age,
Tamed into union, yoked in friendship's chain,
Draw his proud ohanot round the vanquish* d

main

From the broad margin to tho centre grew
Shelves, rocks, and whirlpools, hideous to the

view '—
Th' immortal shield from Neptune she re-

ceived,

When first hei head above the waters heaved.
Loose floated o'er her limbs an azure vest ,
A figured scutcheon glitter' d on her breast;
There, from one parent soil, for ever young,
The blooming rose and haidy thistle sprung
Around her head an oaken wreath was seen,
Inwove with laurels of unfading green.
Such was the sculptured prow from van to

rear,
Th' artillery frown'd, a black tremendous

tier'

Embalm'd with orient gum above the wave,
The swelling sides a yellow radiance gave
* # * *

High o'er the poop, the flattering winds

unfurl'd

Th1 imperial flag that rules the wat ry world.
Deep-blushing armours all the tops invest ;
And warlike trophies either quarter drest .
Then tower' d the masts, the canvas swell' d on

And waving streamers floated in the sky
Thus the rich vessel moves in trim array,
lake some fair virgin on her bndal day ,
Thus like & swan she cleaves the wat'ry plain,
The pride and wonder of the JBgean main T

Falconer—. Born 1730, DieJ 1769.

947 —DISTRESS OF THE VESSEL.

No season this for counsel or delay !
Too soon th' eventful moments haste away '
Here perseverance, with eo.ch help of art,
Must join the boldest efforts of tho heait
These only now their misery can relieve ,
These only now a dawn of safety give '
While o'er the quivering deck from van to

rear,
Broad surges roll in terrible career*

FALCONER ]

COUNCIL OF THE OFFICERS

[SIXTH PEBIOD — -

Bodmond, Anon, and a, choson crew,
This office in the face of death pursue.
The wheel' d artillery o'er the deck to guide,
I£odmond descending claim' d the weather-side.
Fearless of heart, the chief his orders gave ;
Fronting the rude assaults of every wave.
Like some strong watch-tower nodding o'er

the deep,

Whose rooky baso the foaming waters sweep,
Untamed he stood , the stern aerial war,
Had mark'd his honest face with many a

scar —

Meanwhile Anon, traversing- the waist,
The cordage of the leeward guns unbraced,
And pointed crows beneath the metal placed
Watching the roll, their forelocks they with-
drew,

And from their beds the reeling cannon threw.
Then, from the windward battlements un-
bound,
Redmond's associates wheel th' artillery

round;

Pointed with iron fangs, their bars beguile
The ponderous arms across the sleep defile ,
Then, burl'd from sounding hinges o'er the

side,
Thundering they plunge into tho flfli3l'"Tig tide

Falconer— Bom 173ty Died 1769.

948.— COUNCIL OF THE OFFICERS

Affirm the chief th' instructive draught ex-
tends,

And o'er the figured plane attentive bends '
To him the motion of each orb was known,
That wheels around tho sun's refulgent

throne;

Bat here, alas, his science nought avails 1
Art droops unequal, and experience fails.
The different traverses since twilight made,
He on the hydrographio circle laid
Then the broad angle of lee- way explored,
As swept across the graduated chord
Her place discovered by the rules of art,
Unusual terrors shook the master's heart ;
When Falconera's rugged isle he found
Within her drift, with shelves, and breakers

bound ;

For if on those destructive sh*allows tost,
The helpless bark with all her crew are

lost-

As fatal still appears, that danger o'er,
The steep St. George and rooky Gardalor
With him the pilots of their hopeless state
In mournful consultation now debate
Not more perplexing doubts her chiefs

appal

When, some proud city verges to her fall ,
While ruin glares around, and pole affright
Convenes her councils in the dead of night —
No blazon' d trophies o'er their concave

spread,
Nor storied pillars raised aloft the head ;

Bat here the queen of shado around them

threw

Her dragon-wing, disastrous to the view '
Dire was the scene, with whirlwind, hail, and

shower ,

Block melancholy ruled the fearful hour '
Beneath tremendous rolTd the flashing tide,
Where fate on every billow soem'd to ride —
Inclosed with flls, by peril unsubdued,
Great in distress the master-seaman stood •
SkiLL'd to command, deliberate to adviso ;
Expert in action, and in council wise ,
Thus to his partners, by the crew unheard,
The dictates of his soul the ohiof rcfori'd :
Ye faithful mates, who all my tioublos

share,

Approved companions of your master's care '
To you, alas ' 'twere fruitless now to tell
Our sad distress, already known too well '
This morn with favouring galos the port wo

left,

Though now of every flattering hope bereft .
No alnll nor long experience could forecast
Th' unseen approach of this destructive blast
These seas, where storms at various seasons

blow,

No reigning winds nor certain omens know,
The hour, th' occasion, all your skill de-
mands ;

A leaky ship embay'd by dangerous lands,
Our bark no transient oeopardy surrounds ,
Groaning she lies beneath unnumber'd wounds,
'Tis ours the doubtful remedy to find ,
To shun the fury of the seas and wind.
For in this hollow swell, wibh labour soro,
Her flank can bear the bursting floods no

more;

Yet this or other ills she must endure ,
A dire disease, and desperate is the euro r
Thus two expedients offer' d to your choice,
Alone require your counsel and your voice.
These only in our power are left to try
To perish here, or from the storm to fly.
The doubtful balance in my judgment cast,
For various reasons I prefer the lost
'Tis true, the vessel and her costly freight,
To me consign' d, my orders only wait ,
Yet, since the charge of every life is mmo,
To equal votes our counsels I resign ;
Forbid it, Heaven, that in this dreadful hour
I <t1p.iTV| the dangerous reins of purblind

power '

But should we now resolve to bear away,
Our hopeless state can suffer no delay.
Nor can we, thus bereft of every sail,
Attempt to steer obliquely on the galo ,
For then, tf broaching sideward to the soo,
Our dropsied ship may founder by tho lee ,
No more obedient to tho pilot's power,
Th' o'erwhelming wave may soon hor frame

devour
He said, the listening mates with fix'd

regard

And silent reverence his opinion heard.
Important was the question in debate,
And o'er their counsels hung impending fate.

From 1727 to 1780.]

COUNCIL OF THE OFFICERS.

[FALCONER.

Rodmond, in many a scene of peril tried,
Had oft the master's happier «fan descried
Yet now, the hour, the scene, the occasion

known,

Perhaps with equal right preferred his own
Of long experience in the naval art,
Blunt was his speech, and naked was his

heart,

Alike to him each climate and each blast *
The first in danger, in retreat the last •
Sagacious balancing th' opposed events,
From Albert his opinion thus dissents

Too true the perils of the present hour,
"Where toils exceeding toils our strength

o'erpower !

Tot whither can we turn, what road pursue,
With death before still opening on the view ?
Our bark, 'tis true, no shelter here can find,
Sore shattered by the ruffian seas and wind.
Yet with what hope of refuge can we flee,
Chased by this tempest and outrageous sea p
For while its violence the tempest keeps,
Bereft of every sail we roam the deeps :
At random driven, to present death we

haste,
And one short hour perhaps may be our

last

In vain the gulf of Corinth, on our lee,
Now opens to her ports a passage free ,
Since, if before the blast the vessel flies,
Full in her track unnumber'd dangers nse
Hero Faloonoia spreads her lurking snares ;
There distant Greece her rugged shelfs

prepares
Should once her bottom strike that rocky

shore,
The splitting bark that instant were no

more ;

Nor she alone, but with her all the crew
Beyond relief were doom'd to perish too.
Thus if to scud too rashly we consent,
Too late m fatal hour we may repent
Then of our purpose this appears the scope,
To weigh, the danger with the doubtful hope.
Though sorely buffeted by every sea,
Our hull unbroken long may try a-lee
The crew, though harass'd long with toils

severe,
Still at their pumps perceive no hazards

near,

Shall we, incautious, then the danger tell,
At once their courage and their hope to

quell ?
Prudence forbids' — This southern tempest

soon
Hay change its quarter with the changing

moon*

Its rage, though terrible, may soon subside,
Nor into mountains lash th' unruly tide.
These leaks shall then decrease; the sails

once more

Direct oar course to some relieving shore —
Thus while he spoke, around from man to

At either pump a hollow murmur ran.

For while the vessel, through unnumber'd

chinks,

Above, below, th' invading waters dnnks,
Sounding her depth they eyed the wetted

scale,
And lo1 the leaks o'er all their powers

prevail

Yet in their post, by terrors unsubdued,
They with redoubling force their task pur-
sued

And now the senior pilot seem'd to wait
Arum's voice to close the dark debate
Though many a bitter storm, with peril

fraught,
In Neptune's school the wandering1 stripling

taught,
Not twice nine summers yet matured his

thought.

So oft he bled by fortune's cruel dart,
It fell at last innoxious on his heart.
His mind still shunning care with secret

hate,

In patient indolence resign' d to fate.
But now the hoirois that around him roll,
Thus roused to action his rekindling soul.

With fix'd attention, pondering in my mind
The dork distresses on each side combined .
While here we linger in the pass of fate,
| I see no moment left for sad debate.
For, some decision if we wish to form,
Ere yet our vessel aim1r beneath the storm,
Her shatter' d state and yon desponding crew
At once suggest what measures to pursue
The labouring hull already seems half -fill' d
With waters through a hundred leaks dis-

till'd,

As in a dropsy, wallowing with her freight,
Half-drown'd she lies, a dead inactive weight :
Thus drench' d by every wave, her nven

deck
Stripp'd and defenceless, floats a naked

wreck,

Her wounded flanks no longer can sustain
These fell invasions of the bursting mam
At every pitch, the o'er whelming billows

bend

Beneath their load, the quivering bowsprit-
end.

A fearful warning f since the masts on high
On that support with trembling hope rely
At either pump our seamen pant for breath,
In dark dismay anticipating death
Still all our powers th1 increasing leak defy •
We sink at sea, no shore, no haven nigh
One dawn of hope yet breaks athwart the

gloom,

To light and save us from the watery tomb,
That bids us shun the death impending here ,
Fly from the following blast, and shoreward

steer.

*Tis urged indeed, the fury of the gale
Precludes the help of every guiding sail ,
And driven before it on the watery waste,
To rocky shores and scenes of death w&
haste,

FALCONE B ]

COUNCIL OF THE OFFICERS.

[SIXTH PERIOD. — .

But haply Falconora we may shun ,
And far to Grecian coasts is yet the run
Less harass' d then, our scudding ship may

bear

Tli' assaulting surge repelTd upon her rear ,
Even then tho wearied storms as soon shall

die,

Or less torment the groaning pines on high.
'Should we at last be driven by dire decree
Too near the fatal margin of the sea.,
The hull dismasted there a whole may ride,
With lengthen1 d cables, on the raging tide
Perhaps kind Heaven, with interposing

power,
May curb the tempest ere that dreadful

hour.
But heie ingulf1 d and foundering while wo

stay,

Fate hovers o'er and marks us for her prey
He said — Palemon saw, with gnef of

heart,

The storm prevailing o'er the pilot's art;
In silent terror and distress involved,
He heard their last alternative resolved.
High beat his bosom , with such fear subdued,
Beneath the gloom of seme enchanted wood,
Oft in old time the wandoiing swam exploiod
The mulmght wizards* breathing ritos ab-

horr'd,

Trembling- approach' d there incantations fell,
And, chill'd with horror, heard the songs of

hell

Anon saw, with secret angrnah. mov.ed,
The deep affliction of the friend he loved ,
And, all awake to friendship's genial heat,
His bosom felt consenting tumults beat
Alas ' no season thta for tender love ,

Far hence the music of the myitle grove ' ~

With comfort's soothing voice, fiorn hope

deceived,

Palemon's drooping spirit he revived,
For consolation oft, with healing art,
Betunes the jarring numbers of the heart —
Wow had the pilots all the events revolved,
And on their final refuge thus resolved ;
When, like the faithful shepherd, who beholds
Some prowling wolf approach his fleecy

folds,
To the brave crew, whom racking doubts

perplex,

The dreadful purpose Albert thus directs
Unhappy partners in a wayward fate '
Whose gallant spirits now are known top

late,

Te ' who unmoved behold this angry storm
With terrors all the rolling deep deform ,
Who, patient in adversity, still bear
The firmest front when greatest alls are

near1
The truth, though grievous, I must now

reveal,

That long m vain I purposed to conceal.
Ingulf d, all helps of art we vainly try,
To weather leeward shores, alas ! too nigh
Oar crazy bark no longer can abide
The seas that thunder o'er her batter' d side ;

And, while the leaks a fatal warning give,
That in thw raging sea she cannot live,
One only lefuge from despair wo find ;
At once to wear and soud before the wind.
Perhaps even then to ruin we may stoer ;
For broken shores beneath our lee appoar ;
But that 's remote, and instant death is here ,
Yet there, by Heaven's assistance we may

gain

Some creek or inlet of tho Grecian main ;
Or, sheltei'd by some rock, at anchor rido,
Till with abating rage tho blast subside

But if, determined by the will of Hoavon,
Our helpless bark at last ashore is driven,
These counsels follow' d, from tho wat'ry

giave
Our floating sailors in the surf may save.

And first let all our axes be secured,
To out the masts and rigging from aboard.
Then to the quarters bind each plank and

oar,

To float between tho vessel and the shore.
The longest cordage too must be convoy* d
On deck, and to the weather rails belay' d.
So they who haply reach alive the land,
TV extended lines may fasten on tho strand.
Whene'er loud thundering on tho leeward

shore,

While yet aloof we hear the breakers roar,
Thus for the terrible event prepared,
Brace fore and aft to starboard every yard.
So shall our masts swim lighter on tho

wave,
And from the bioken rooks our seamen

save
Then westwaid torn tho stem, that ovory

mast
May shoreward fall, when from tho vessel

oast —
When o'er her side once more the billows

bound,

Ascend the rigging till she strikes tho ground
And when you hear aloft tho alarming shook
That strikes her bottom on some pointed

rock,

The boldest of our sailors must descend,
The dangerous business of the dock to tend ;
Then each, secured by some convenient cord,
Should cut the shrouds and rigging from tho

board

Let the bioad axes next assail each mast '
And booms, and oars, and rafts to looward

east
Thus, while the cordage stretch* d ashore may

guide
Our brave companions through tho swelling

tide,

This floating lumber shall sustain them o'or
The rooky shelves, in safety to the shore.
But as your firmest succour, till tho last,
O cling securely on each faithful most '
Though great the danger, and the taak

severe,

Tet bow not to the tyranny of fear !
If once that slavish yoke your spirits quell,
Adieu to hope ' to life itself farewell '

JVow 1727 to 1780 ]

THE VESSEL GOING TO PIECES.

[FALCONER.

I know among you some full oft have

view'd,
With murd'rmg -weapons arm'd, a lawless

brood,

On England's vile TnTm-ma^ shore who stand,
The fool reproach and scandal of our land '
To rob the wanderers wreok'd npon the

strand

These, while their savage office they pursue,
Oft wound to death the helpless plunder' d

crew,

Who, 'scaped from every horror of the main,
Implored their mercy, but implored in vain.
But dread not this ' — a crime to Greece un-
known,
Such blood-hounds all her circling shores

disown

Her sons, by baibarous tyranny oppress' d,
Can share affliction with the wretch distress' d
Their hearts, by cruel fate inured to gnef,
Oft to the friendless stranger yield relief.
With conscious horror struck, the naval

band

Detested for a while their native land
They cursed the sleeping vengeance of the

laws,

That thus forgot her guardian sailors' cause
Meanwhile the master's voice again they

heard,
Whom, as with filial duty, all levered

No more remains — but now a trusty band
Must ever at the pump industrious stand ,
And while with us the rest attend to weai,
Two skilful seamen to tho holm repair ' —
O Source of hf e ' our rof ugo and our stay !
Whoso voice the warring elements obey,
On thy supreme assistance we rely ;
Thy mercy supplicate, if doom'd to die f
Peihaps this storm is sent, with healing

breath,
From neighbouring shores to scourge disease

and death '

"TiB ours on thine unerring laws to trust •
With thee, groat Lord1 "whatever is, is
just "

William Falconer— Bom 1730, DieA 1769

949.—THE VESSEL GOING TO PIECES.

And now, lash'd on by destiny severe,

With horror fraught the dreadful scono drew

near1
The ship hangs hovering on the verge of

death,
Hell yawns, rocks rise, and breakers roar

beneath. '

In vain, alas ' tho sacred shades of yore
Would arm the mind with philosophic lore ,
In vain they'd teach us, at tho latest breath,
To smile serene ami 1 the pangs of death.
Even Zeno's polf, and Epictetus old,
This fell abyss had shudder* d to behold

Had Socrates, for godlike virtue famed,
And wisest of the sons of men proclaam'd,
Beheld this scene of frenzy and distress,
His soul had trembled to its lost recess ! —
0 yet confirm my heart, ye powers above,
This last tremendous shock of fate to prove ;
The tottering frame of reason yet sustain 1
Nor let this total rum whirl my brain !

In vain the oords and axes were prepared,
Por now th* audacious seas insult tho yard ;
High o'er the ship they throw a horrid

shade,

And o'er her burst, in terrible cascade.
Uplifted on the surge, to heaven she flies,
Her shattei'd top half-buiied in the skies,
Then headlong plunging thunders on the

ground,
Earth groans I air trembles I and the deeps

resound '

Hor giant bulk the dread concussion feels,
And quivering with the wound, in torment

reels

So reels, convulsed with agonising throes,
The bleeding bull beneath the murd'rev's

blows —

Again she plunges ' hark ' a second shock
Tears her strong bottom on the marblo rock '
Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries,
The fated victims shuddering roll their eyes
In wild depair, while yet another stroke,
With deep convulsion, rends the solid oak :
Till like the mine, in whose infernal cell
The lurking demons of desti notion dwell,
At length asunder torn her fiamo divides,
And crashing spreads in. lum o'er tho tides.

*#*****

As o'er the suige tho stooping main-mast

hang,

Still on the rigging thirty seamen clung :
Some, struggling, on a broken crag woro

cast,

And there by oozy tangles grappled fast
Awhile they bore th' o'orwhelming billows*

rage,

Unequal combat with their fate to wage ;
Till all bonumb'd and feeble they forego
Their slippery hold, and sink to shades

below.
Some, from the main-} ord-ann impetuous

thrown

On marblo ridges, die without a groan
Three with Palemon on thoii skill depend,
And from tho wreck on oars and rafts de-
scend.

Now on the mountain-wave on high they ride,
Then downward plunge beneath th' involving

fade,

Till one, who seems in agony to strive,
The whirling breakers heave on shore olive ;
The rest a speedier end of anguish knew,
And piess'd the stony beaoh, a Lleless crew '

Next, 0 unhappy chief ' th' eternal doom
Of Heaven decreed theo to tho briny tomb !
"What scenes of miseiy torment thy VIQW '
What painful struggles of thy dying crowl

EGBERT LLOYD ]

THE MISERIES OF A POET'S LIFE.

[SIXTH PERIOD.-—

Thy perish' d hopes all bunod m the flood,
O'erspread with corses' red with human

blood'

So pierced with anguish hoary Priam gazed,
When Troy's imperial domes in ruin blazed ;
While ho, severest sorrow doom'd to feel,
Expired beneath the victor's murdering steel.
Thus with his helpless partners till the last,
Sad refuge ' Albert hugs the floating mast ;
Has soul could yet sustain the mortal blow,
But droops, alas ' beneath superior woe .
For now soft nature's sympathetic chain
Tugs at his yearning heart with powerful

strain,

His faithful wife for ever doom'd to mourn
For him, alas ' who never shall return j
To black adversity's approach exposed,
With want and hardships unforeseen inclosed
His lovely daughter left without a friend,
Her innocence to succour and defend ,
By youth and indigence sot forth a prey
To lawless guilt, that flatters to betray —
While those reflections ruck his feeling mind,
Rodmond, who hung beside, his grasp re*

sign'd;

And, as the tumbling waters o'er him roll'd,
His out-stretch1 d arms the master's legs

enfold —

Sad Albert feels the dissolution near,
And strives in vain his fetter' d limbs to clear ;
For death bids overy clinching joint adhere
All-faint, to Heaven he throws his dying

eyes,
And, " 0 protect my wife and child ' " he

cries •
The gushing streams roll back th' unfimsh'd

sound '
He gasps ( he dies ' and tumbles to the

ground '

William Falconer — • Botn 1730, Died 1769

950 —THE MISERIES OF A POET'S LIFE.

The harlot muse, so passing gay,
Bewitches only to betray
Though for a wrnle with easy air
She smooths tho rugged brow of care,
And laps the mind in flowery dreams,
With Fancy's transitory gleams ,
Fond of tho nothings sho bestows,
We wake at last to real woes
Through every age, m every place,
Consider well the poet's case ;
By turns protected and coress'd,
Defamed, dependent, and distress' d,
The joke of wits, the bane of slaves,
The curse of fools, the butt of knaves j
Too proud to stoop for servile ends,
To lacquey rogues or flatter friends ,
With prodigality to give,
Too careless of the means to live ;
Tho bubble fame intent to gain,
And yet too lazy to ™ a-^fopiTi ;

He quits the world he never prized,
Pitied by few, by moro despised,
And, lost to friends, oppressed by foos,
Sinks to the nothing whenco he rose

< > glorious trade ' for wit 's a trade,
Where men are rum'd more than mode !
Let crazy Lee, neglected Gay,
The Hhabby Otway, Dryden gray,
Those tuneful servants of the Nine
(Not that I blend their names with mine),
Repeat their lives, their works, their fame,
And teach the woild some useful shame.

Itib&rt Lloyd —Bom 1733, Died 1764

951.— WRETCHEDNESS OF A SCHOOL-
USHER.

Were I at once empower' d to show
My utmost vengeance on my foe,
To punish with extremest rigour,
I could inflict no penance bigger,
Than, using him as learning's tool,
To make Inm ushor of a school.
For, not to dwell upon tho toil
Of working on a barren soil,
And labouring with incessant pains.
To cultivate a blockhead's brains,
The duties there but ill befit
The love of letters, arts, or wit

For one, it hurts me to tho soul,
To brook confinement or control ,
Still to be pmion'd down to teach
The syntax and the parts of speech ;
Or, what perhaps is drudgery worse,
Tho links, and points, and rules of verse ;
To deal out authors by retail,
Like penny pots of Oxford alo ;
Oh, 'tis a service irksome more,
Than tugging at the slaviflh oar !
Yet such his task, a dismal truth,
Who watches o'er tho bent of youth,
And while a paltry stipend coming,
He sows the richest seeds of looming,
And tall their minds with proper care,
And sees thorn their duo produce boar ;
No joys, alas ' his toil beguile,
His own lies fallow all tho wmlo.
" Tet still he 's on the road," you say,
" Of learning " Why, perhaps he may,
But turns like horses in a •miflj
Nor getting on, nor standing still,
For little way his looming roochos,
Who reads no moie than what ho teaches.

Robert Lloyd.— Born 1733, Died 17G4.

952.— REMORSE

Look back! a thought which borders on

despair,
Which human nature must, yet cannot bear.

From 1727 to 1780 1

CHARACTER OF A FRIBBLE.

[CHtTRCHTI'T.

'Tis not tho babbling of a busy woild,
Wheie praise or censure are at random

hurl'd,
Which, can the meanest of my thoughts

control,

Or shako one settled purpose of my soul ,
Free and at large might their wild corses

loam,

If all, if all, alas ' were well at home
No, 'tis the tale, which angry conscience

tells,
When she with more than tragic hoiror

swells
Eaoh circumstance of guilt , when stein but

true,

She bungs bad actions forth into review,
And, like the dread handwriting on tho wall,
Bids late lemorse awake at reason's call ,
Arm'd at all points, bids scorpion vengeance

pass,

And to the mind holds up reflection's glass —
The mind which starting1 heaves the heoit

folt gioan,
And hates that form she knows to be her

own.

Churchill— Botn 1731, Died 1764.

953 — SMOLLETT

Whence could aiise this mighty cntio spleen,
The muse a triflei, and her theme so mean ?
What hod I done that angry heaven should

send
The bittoiest foe where most I wished a

friend ?
Oft hath my tongue been wanton at thy

name,
And hail'd the honours of thy matchless

fame

For me let hoary Fielding bite the ground,
So nobler Pickle stands superbly bound ,
Fiom Livy's temples tear the historic crown,
Which with more justice blooms upon thine

own

Compared with thee, be all life-writers dumb,
But he who wrote the Life of Tommy Thumb
Whoever read the Regicide but swore
The author wrote as man ne'er wrote before p
Others for plots and underplots may call,
Here 'a the light method-— have no plot at all '

07wMc7»W— : Born 1731, Died 17G4.

954.—- HOGARTH

in walks of humour, in that cast of style,
Which, probing to the quick, yet makes us

smile,

^D. comedy, his natural road to fame,
Nor lot me call it by a meaner name,

Where a beginning, middle, and an end
Are aptly join'd; where parts on ports depend,
Each made for each, as bodies for then: soul,
So as to form one true and perfect whole,
Where a plain story to the eye is told,
Which we conceive the moment we behold,
Hogarth unnvall'd stands, and shall engage
Unnyall'd praise to the most distant age

—Bvrn 1731, Died 1764.

955 — ON THE POVERTY OF POETS

What is't to us, if taxes rise or fall P
Thanks to our fortune, we pay none at all
Let muckworms, who m dirty acres deal,
Lament those hardships which wo cannot feel
His Grace, who smarts, may bellow if he

please,

But must I bellow too, who sit at ease p
By custom safe, the poet's numbers flow
Fiee as the light and air some years ago
No statesman e'er will find it worth his pains
To tax our labours and excise our brains
Burthens like these, vile earthly buildings

bear,
No tribute Js laid on castles in the air !

CliurMl— Born 1731, Died 1764

956 — CHARACTER OF A FRIBBLE

With that low cunning, which in fools

supplies,

And amply too, the place of being wise,
Which Nature, kind, indulgent parent, gave
To qualify the blockhead for a knave ;
With that smooth falsehood, whose appear-

unc6 charms.

And reason of each wholesome doubt disarms,
Which to the lowest depths of guile descends,
By vilest means pursues the vilest ends,
Wears friendship's mask for purposes of

spite,
Fawns in the day, and butcheis in the

night,

With that malignant envy, which turns pale,
And sickens, even if a friend prevail,
Which merit and success pursues with hate,
And damns the worth it cannot imitate ,
With the cold caution of a coward's spleen
Which fears not guilt, but always seeks a

screen,

Which keeps this mamm ever in her view —
What 's basely done, should be done safely

too,

With that dull, rooted, callous impudence,
Which, dead to shame, and every nicer bense,
Ne'er blush'd, unless, in spreading vice's

snares,
She blunder' d on some virtue tmawores ^

QUIN, TOM SEGERTDAN, AND OARRICK [torn PERIOD -

With all these blessings, which we seldom

find

Lavish' d by nature on one happy mind,
A motley figure, of the fnbble tiibo,
Which heart oan scarce conceive, or pon

describe,

Came sunp'riug on to asoeitain whose sex
Twelve sago impanneTd matrons would per-
plex.

Nor male, nor female, neither and yet both ,
Of neuter gender, though of lush, growth ,
A six-foot suckling, mincing in its gait ,
Affected, peevish, prim, and delicate ,
Fearful it soem'd, though of athletic make,
Lest brutal breezes should too roughly shako
Its tender form, and savage motion spread
O'er its pale cheeks the horrid manly rod.

Much did it talk, in its own pretty phrase,
Of genius and of taste, of play'rs and plays ,
Much too of writings, which itseK had wrote,
Of special ment, though of little note ,
For fate, in a strange humour, had decreed
That what it wrote, none but itself should

read;

Much too it chatter'd of dramatic laws,
Misjudging critics, and misplaced applause,
Then with a self -complacent jutting air,
It smiled, it smirk' d, it wriggled to the chair ;
And, with an awkward briskness not its own,
Looking around, and perking on the throne,
Tnumphant seem'd, when that strange savage

dame,

Known but to few, or only known by namo,
Plain Common Sense, appear1 d, by natuie

there
Appointed, with plain truth, to guard the

chair
The pageant saw, and blasted with her

frown,

To its first state of nothing melted down.
Nor shall the Muse (for oven there the

pnde

Of this vain nothing «ihall be mortified) —
Nor shall the Muso (should fate ordain her

rhymes,
Pond, pleasing thought f to live in after

With such a trifler's name her pages blot ;
Known be the character, the thing forgot ;
Let it, to disappoint each future aim,
Live without sex, and die without a name '

ChivrcMl--Born 1731, Died 17C4

957 — CHARACTERS OF QUEST, TOM
SHERIDAN, AND GA^RICK.

Quin, from afar, lured by the soont of fame,
A stage leviathan, put in his n\arm
Pupil of Better-ton and Booth Alone,
Sullen he walk'd, and deem'd the chair his
own.

For how should moderns, mushrooms of tho

day,
Who ne'er those masters know, know how to

Grey-bearded vet'rans, who, with partial

tongue,
Extol the times when they themselves wore

young,

Who having lost all rehsh for tho stage,
See not their own defects, but lash tho ago,
Received with joyful murmurs of applause
Their darling chief, and hnod his favourite

cause

Far be it from the candid Muso to tread
Insulting o'er the ashes of the dead,
But, just to living ment, she maintains,
And dares the test, whilst Garnck's genius

roigns ,

Ancients in vain endeavour to excel,
Happily praised, it they could act as well
But though prescription's force wo disallow,
Nor to antiquity submissive bow ,
Though we deny imaginary grace,
Founded on accidents of tune and place ;
Yet real worth of every growth shall boar
Due praise, nor must wo, Quin, forget thoo

there
His words bore sterling weight, nervous*

and strong

In manly bides of sense they rolTd along.
Happy in art, he chiefly had pretence
To keep up numbers, yet not forfeit sense.
No actor over greater heights could reach
In all tho labour'd artifice of speech

Speech ' Is that all P — And shall an actor

found

A universal fame on partial ground ?
Pairots themselves speak propeily by lolo,
And, in six months, my dog shall howl by

note
I laugh at those, who when the stage they

tiead,

Neglect the heart to compliment the head ,
With strict propriety their care 'fl confined
To weigh out words, while passion halts

behind

To syllable-dissectors they appeal,
Allow them accent, cadence, — fools may

feel,

But, spite of all the criticising elves,
Those who would make UH fool, must fool

themselves

His eyes, in gloomy socket taught to roll,
Proclaim' d tho sullen habit of his soul,
Heavy and phlegmatic he trod the stage,
Too proud for tenderness, too dull for rage.
When Hector's lovely widow shines in tears,
Or Rowe's gay rake dependent virtue jeers,
With the same cast of features ho is seen
To chide the libertine, and court the queen.
From the tame scone, which without paasiOTi

flows,

With just desert his reputation rose ;
Nor less he pleased, when, on some surly

plan,
He was, at once, the actor ana the man.

From 1 W to 1780 ] QUIN, TOM SHERIDAN, AND GARBICK.

[CHTTUCHILIi.

In Brute he shone unequal!' d . all agree
Garnok 's not half so great a brute as ho.
"When Cato's laboured scones are brought to

view,

With equal praise the actor labour' d too ,
For still you'll find, traco passions to their

root,
Small difference 'twixt the stoic and the

brute

In fancied scenes, as in life's real plan,
He could not, for a moment, sink the man ,
In whate'er cast his character was laid,
Self still, like oil, upon the surface play'd
Nature, in spite of all his skill, crept in
Horatio, Dorax, Falstaff— still 'twas Qmn

Next follows Sheridan — a doubtful name,
As yet unsettled in the rank of fame.
This, fondly lavish in his praises grown,
Gives "hiTp all merit , that allows him none
Between them both we'll steer the middle

course,
Noi, loving praise, rob judgment of her force

Just his conceptions, natural and great
His feelings strong, his words enforced with

Was speech-famed Quin himself to hear Tnna

speak,

Envy would diive the colour from his cheek
But step-dame nature, niggaid of her grace,
"Denied the social powers of voice and face
Fix'd in ono framo of features, glaie of eye,
Passions, like chaos, in confusion he ,
In vain the wonders of his skill aro tiiod
To foim distinctions nature hath denied
JEs voice no touch of harmony admits,
Tiiogularly deep and shrill by fits
The two extremes appear like man and wife,
Coupled together for the sake of strife
His action 's always strong, but sometimes

such,
That candour must declare he acts too

much,

Why must impatience fall three paces back ?
Why paces three return to the attack ?
Why is the light-leg too forbid to stir,
Unless in motion semicircular ?
Why must the hero with the nailor vie,
And hurl the close-clench9 d fist at nose or

oye?

In royal John, with Philip angry grown,
I thought he would have knock'd poor Davies

down

Inhuman tyrant ' was it not a shame,
To fright a king so harmless and so tame ?
But spite of all defects, his glories rise ,
And art, by judgment form'd, with nature

vies
Behold >i™ sound the depth of Hubert's

soul,

Whilst in his own contending passions roll ;
View the whole scene, with critic judgment

scan,

And then deny T"*n» merit if you can.
Where he falls short, 'tis nature's fault

alone;
Where he succeeds, the merit *s all his own.

Last Garrick came.— -Behind him throng a

tram

Of snarling critics, ignorant as vain
One finds out — " He 's of stature somewhat

low —

Tour heio always should be toll, you know. —
True nat'ral greatness all consists in height."
Produce your voucher, cntic — " Sergeant

Kite."

Another can't forgive the paltry arts
By which he makes his way to shallow

hearts,

Mere pieces of finesse, traps for applause —
" Avaunt, unnat'ral start, affected pause "
Por me, by nature form'd to judge with

phlegm,

I can't acquit by wholesale, nor condemn
The best things earned to excess are wrong :
The start may be too frequent, pause too

long,

But, only used in proper time and place,
Severest judgment must allow them grace
If bunglers, form'd on imitation's plan,
Just in the way that monkeys mimic man,
Their copied scene with mangled arts dis-

And pause and start with the same vacant

face,
We join the critic laugh; those tricks we

scorn,
Which spoil the scenes they mean them to

adorn
But when, from nature's pme and genuine

source,
These strokes of acting fiow with gen'ious

force,
When in the features all the soul 's por-

tray'd,
And passions, such as Gomck's, are dis-

pla/d,
To me they secra from quickest feelings

caught
Each start is nature, and each pause is

thought
When reason yields to paswon's wild

alarms,

And the whole state of man is up in arms ;
What but a critic could condemn the play*r,
For pausing here, when cool sense pauses

there?
Whilst, working from the heart, the fire I

trace,

And mark it strongly flaming to the face ,
Whilst, in each sound, I hear the veiy man ,
I can't catch words, and pity those who

can-
Let wits, like spiders, from the tortured

brain

Pine-draw the critic-web with curious pain ,
The gods — a kindness I with thanks must

pay —

Have form'd me of a coarser kind of clay .
Nor stung wrth envy, nor with spleen

diseased,
A poor dull creature, still with nature

47*

CHURCHILL ]

FROM THE PROPHECY OF FAMINE

[SIXTH PEBIOD —

Henoe to thy praises, Garriok, I agree,

And, pleased with, nature, must be pleased

with thee.
Now might I tell, how ailenco reign'd

throughout,

And deep attention hush'd the rabble rout '
How ev'ry claimant, tortured mth doaire,
Was pale as ashes, or as red as fire •
But, loose to fame, the Muse more simply

acts,

Rejects all flourish, and relates mere facts.
The judges, as the several parties came,
With temper heard, with judgment woig-h'd

each claim,

And, in their sentence happily agreed,
In name of both, great Shakspeaie thus

decreed
*elf manly sense, if nature link'd with

art,

If thorough knowledge of the human heart ;
If powers of acting vast and unoonfined ,
If fewest faults with greatest beauties jom'd ,
If strong expression, and strange pow'rs

which he

Within the magic circle of the eye ;
If feelings which few hearts, like his, can

know,

And which no face so well as his can show ;
Deserve the prefrenoe, — Gamok, take the

chair,
Nor quit it — till thou place an equal there "

C/iurc/wW.— Bom 1731, Died 1764

958 — FROM THE PROPHECY OF
FAMINE

Two boys, whose birth beyond all question

springs
From great and glorious, though forgotten,

kings,

Shepherds of Scottish lineage, born and brod
On the same bleak and barren mountain's

head,

By niggard nature doom'd on the same rooks
To spin out life, and starve themselves and

flocks,
Fresh as the morning, which, enrobed in

mist,
The mountain's top with usual dulness

kiss'd,

Jockey and Sawney to their labours rose ,
Soon clad, I ween, where nature needs no

clothes,
Where, from their youth, inured to winter

Dress and her vain refinements they despise
Jockey, whose manly high-boned cheeks to

crown
With freckles spotted flamed the golden

down,

With miokle art could on the bagpipes play,
E'en from the rising to the setting day ;

Sawney as long without remorse could bawl
Home's madrigals, and ditties from Fingal
Oft at his strains, all natuial though rude,
The Highland loss forgot her want of food,
And whilst she scratoh'd hor lovor into rest,
Sunk pleased, though hungry, on her Sawney's

breast
Far as the eye could roach, no troo was

soon,
Earth, clad in russet, soorn'd the lively

green

The plague of locusts they secure defy,
For in throe hours a grasshopper mu«t dio
No living thing, whato'or its food, f oasts

there,

But the oameleon, who can feast on air
No birds, oxoopt as birds of passage, flow,
No boo was known to hum, no dove to ooo
No streams as amber smooth, as ambor clear,
Wore seen to glide, or hoard to warble lioro
Rebellion's spring, which through the country

ran,
Furmsh'd, with bitter draughts, the steady

clan
No flow'rs ombalm'd the air, but ono white

rose,
Which on the tenth of June by instinct

blows,
By instinct blows at morn, and, when the

shades
Of drizzly eve prevail, by instinct fades.

Ono, and but one poor solitary cavo,
Too sparing of her favours, nature gave ;
That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride ')
Shelter at once for man and beast supplied
Their snares without entangling briers

spread,
And thistles, ann'd against th* invader's

head,

Stood in close ranks all entrance to oppose,
Thibtles now held more piocious than the

lose
All creatures which, on nature's oarliost

plan,
Were form'd to loathe, and to bo loathed by

man,
Which owed thcur birth to nastiness and

Rpite,

Deadly to touch, and hateful to the sight,
Creatuios, which when admitted in the ark.
Their saviour shunn'd, and rankled m the

dark,
Found place within marking hor noisome

load
With poison's trail, here crawl' d the bloated

toad,
Their webs wore spread of more than common

size,

And half-starved spiders prey'd on half-
starved flies ,
In quost of food, efts strove m vain to

crawl,
Slugs, pinch'd with hunger, smear' d the shmy

wall,

The cavo around with hissing serpents rung ;
On the damp roof unhealthy vapour hung ,

From 1727 to 1780 ] FROM THE PROPHECY OF FAMINE

[CHTNRCHILL

And Famine, by her children always known,
As proud as poor, here fbc'd her native

throne

Here — f or the sullen sky was overcast,
And summer shrank beneath a wint'ry blast,
A native blast which, arm'd with hail and

rain,

Seat unrelenting on the naked swain—-
The boys for shelter made , behind, the

&heep,
Of winch those shepherds every day take

keep,

Sickly crept on, and with complainings rude,
On nature seem'd to call, and bleat for food
Jock Situ to this cave by tempest we're

confined,

And within ken our flocks, under the wind,
Safe from the pelting of this perilous storm,
Are laid among yon thistles, dry and warm,
What, Sawney, if by shepherd's art wo try
To mock tho rigour of this cruel sky p
What if wo tune some merry roundelay ?
WeU dost thou sing, nor ill doth Jockey

play

Saw Ah, Jockey, ill advisc&t thou, I wis,
To think of songs at each a time as this
Sooner shall herbage crown these barren

rocks,
Sooner hholl fleeces clothe these ragged

flocks,
Sooner Fihall want seizo shepherds of the

south,

And wo f oigot to hvo from hand to mouth,
Than Sawney, out ot season, shall impart
Tho songs of gladness with on aching hoait
Jbc7c Still have I known theo for a silly

Rwain

Of things past help, what boots it to com-
plain?
Nothing but mirth can conquer fortune's

Rpite ,

No sky is heavy, if tho heart bo light
Patience is sorrow's salve, what can't be

cured,

So Donald right aroeds, must be endured
Saw Full silly swain, I wot, is Jockey

now;
How didst thou bear thy Maggy's falsehood ?

how,

When with a foreign loon she stole away,
Didst thou forswear thy pipe and shepherd's

lay?

Where was thy boasted wisdom then, when I
Applied those proverbs, which you now

apply?
Jock 0 she was bonny ' All the Highlands

round

Was there a rival to my Maggy found P
More precious (though that precious is to

all)
Then the rare med'cine which we brimstone

call,

Or that choice plant, so grateful to the nose,
Which in I know not what for country grows,
Was Maggy unto mo , dear do I rue,
A lass so fair should ever prove untrue.

Saw Whether with pipe or song to charm

tho ear,

Through all the land did Jamie find a peer ?
Cursed be that year by ev'ry honest Scot,
And in the shepherd's calendar forgot,
That fatal year, when Jamie, hapless swain,
In evil hour forsook the peaceful plain
Jamie when our young laird discreetly fled,
Was seized, and hong'd till he was dead, dead,

dead
Jiu< I Full sorely may we all lament that

day,

For all -v\ ere losers in the deadly fray.
Five bi others had I on the Scottish plains,
Well dost thou know weio none more hopeful

swains .
Fivo brothers theie I lost, m manhood's

pndo,

Two in the field, and three on gibbets died
Ah ' silly swains, to follow woi's alarms '
Ah' what hath shepherds' life to do with

arms '

Saw Menfczon it not — Thoie saw I stran-
gers clod

In all tho honours of our ravish' d plaid,
Saw tho Feriaij. too, our nation's pride,
Unwilling grace tho awkward victor's side.
Theie fell our choicest youth, and from that

day

Mote never Sawney tune the merry lay ;
Bless' d those which fell ' cursed those which

still survive,

To mouin fifteen renew' d in foity-five
Thus plainM tho boys when from her throne

of turf,
With boils omboss'd, and overgrown with

scurf,
Yilo humoura, which, in life's corrupted

well,
Mix'd at the birth, not abstinence could

quell,
Polo Famine roar'd the head , her eager

eyes,
Whoie hunger ev'n to madness seem'd to

rise,
Speaking aloud her throes and pongs of

heart,
Strain' d to get loose, and from their orbs to

start ,
Her hollow cheeks weie each a deep-sunk

cell,
Where wretchedness and horror loved to

dwell,

With double rows of useless teeth supplied,
Her mouth from 001 to ear, extended •wide,
Which, when for want of food her entrails

pined,
She oped, and, cursing, swallow' d nought but

wind,
All shnvell'd was her skin, and here and

there
Making their way by force, her bones lay

bare:

Such filthy sight to hide from human view,
O'er her foul limbs a tattor'd plaid she
thiew

MICHAEL BEUCE ]

A BUBAL SCENE

[SIXTH PFBIOD —

Cease, criod tho goddess, cease, despairing

swains,
And from a parent hear what Jove ordains '

Pont in this barion corner of the islo,
Where partial fortune never deign* d to smile ;
Like ETatmo's bastards, reaping for our

sharo

What was rejected by the lawful heir ;
Unknown amongst tho nations of the earth,
Or only known to raise contempt and mirth ;
Long free, because the race of Roman braves
Thought it not worth then while to make us

slaves,

Then into bondage by that nation brought,
Whose ruin we for ages vainly sought ,
Whom still with unslaok'd hate we view, and

still,

The pow'r of mischief lost, retain the will ,
Consider* d as the refuse of mankind,
A mass till the last moment left behind,
Which frugal nature doubted, as it lay,
Whether to stamp with life, or throw away ,
Which, form'd in haste, was planted in this

nook,

But never entei'd in creation's book ,
Branded as traitors., who for love of gold
Would sell thoir God, as once their king they

sold,
Long have we borne this mighty weight of

SO,
These vile injurious taunts, and bear them

still.

But timea of happier note are now at hand,
And the full promise of a better land •
There, lake the sons of Israel, having trod,
For the fix'd term of years ordain* d by God,
A barren desert, we shall seize rich plains,
Where irnlk with honey flows, and plenty

reigns
Wiuh some fow natives join'd, some pliant

few,

Who worship int'iest, and our track pursue,
There shall we, though the wi etched people

grieve,

Ravage at Lirge, nor ask the owner's leave.
For us, the earth shall bring forth her in-
crease,

For us, the flocks shall wear a golden fleece ,
Fat beeves shall yield us dainties not om

own,

And the grape bleed a nectar yet unknown ,
For our advantage shall their harvests grow,
And Scotsmen reap what they disdain' d to

sow.

For us, the sun shall climb the eastern hill ,
For us, the rain shall fall, the dew distil ,
When to our wishes nature cannot rise,
Art shall be tasli'd to grant us fresh sup-
plies.
His biawny arm shall drudging labour

strain,

And for our pleasure suffer daily pain \
Trade shall for us exert her utmost pow*rs,
Hers all the toil, and all the profit ours ,
For us, the oak shall from his native steep
Descend and fearless travel through the deep ,

The sail of commerce, for our use unfurl'd,
Shall waft the troasuios of each distant

woild ,

For us, sublimer heights shall science icach,
For us their btatoauion plot, their churchmen

preach ,

Their noblest limbs of counsel we'll disjoint,
And, mocking, new ones of our own appoint ,
Devouring War, impuson'd in tho noith,
Shall, at our call, m homd pomp break iorth,
And when, his ohanot wheels with thiuidcr

hung,

Fell Discord braying with her brazen tongue,
Death in the van, with Anger, llato, aud

Fear,

And Desolation stalking in tho row,
Eevenge, by Justice guided, in hw binin,
He drives impetuous o'er tho trembling plain,
Shall, at our bidding, quit his lawful prey,
And to meek, gentle, gen'rous Peace give

way

— Born 1731, Dw?<Z 17G4

959 —A RURAL SCENE

Now sober Industry, illustrious power r
Hath raised the peaceful cottage, culm abode
Of innocence and -joy now, sweating, gnwlos
The shining ploughshare , tames the stubborn

soil,
Loads tho long drain along the unfortilo

marsh ,

Bids the bleak hill with vernal verdure bloom,
Tho haunt of flocks , and clothes tho ban-en

heath

With waring harvests mid the golden gram
Fair fiom his hand behold tho villa go lune,
In rural pi ido, 'mong intcimmfflcd ti ce > '
Above whose «icfe<l tops tho joyful Hwniu*,
At oven-tide descending1 fiom the hill,
With eye enamour' d, maik tho man/ wi oaths
Of pillar'd smoke, high uirlmg- to the ciloud »
The streets ro&ound with Laboiii's vanous

voice,

Who whistles at his work Gay on tho groan,
Young blooming boys, and girls with golden

hair,

Trip, nimble-footed, wanton in thoir play,
Tho village hope All in a rovorend row,
Thoir gray-haii'd grandsircs, sitting in tho

sun,

Before the gate, and leaning on the staff,
Tho woll-roinomljor'd stones of thoir youth
Recount, and shake their aged looks with joy

How fair a prospect uses to the eyo,
Where Beauty vies in all her vernal forms,
For ever pleasant, aud for ever now '
Swells tho exulting thought, expands the

soul,

Drowning each ruder care a blooming tram
Of bright ideas rushes on the mind,
Imagination rouses at the scene,

JVom 1727 io 1780]

ELEGT.

[MICHAEL BRUCE

And backward, through the gloom of ages

past,

Beholds Arcadia, like a rural queen,
Encircled with her swains and rosy nymphs,
The mazy dance conducting on the green.
Nor yield to old Arcadia's blissful vales
Thine, gentle Loven ' Green on eithei hand
Thy meadows spiead, unbroken of the plough,
With beauty all their own Thy fields rejoice
With all the riches of the golden yea*,
Fat on the plain, and mountain's sunny side,
Large droves of oxen, and the fleecy flocks,
feed undisturb'd, and fill the echoing air
With music, giateful to the master's ear
The traveller stops, and gazes lound and

round

O'er all the scenes, that animate his heart
With miith and music Even the mendicant,
Bowbent with age, that on the old gray stone,
Sole sitting, suns him in the pubho way,
Feels his heart leap, and to himself he sings

Michael Bruce — Bom 1746, Died 1767

960 —HAPPINESS OF A COUNTRY LIFE

How bloat the man who, in those peaceful

plains,

Ploughs his patoinal field , for from the noise,
The core, and buatlo of a busy woild '
AH in the sacred, swoot, sequester' d vale
Of solitude, the secret primrose-path
Of rural life, he dwells , and with I«TH dwells
Peace and content, twins of the nylvan shade,
And all the giacob oi the golclcu ago
Such is Agnoola, the wise, the good,
By nature formed for the calm retreat,
The silent path of life Leained, but not

fraught

With self-importance, as the starched fool,
Who challenges respect by solemn face,
By studied accent and high-sounding phrase
Enamour'd of the shade, but not morose,
Politeness, raised in courts by frigid rules,
With Tnni spontaneous grows Not books

alone,

But man his study, and the better part ,
To tiead the ways of vutue, and to act
The various scenes of life with God's applause
Beep in the bottom of the flowery vale,
With blooming sallows and the leafy twine
Of verdant alders fenced, his dwelling stands
Complete in rural elegance The door,
By which the poor or pilgrim never pass'd,
Still open, speaks the master's bounteous

heart
There, 0 how sweet! amid the fragrant

shrubs,

At evening cool to sit, while, on their boughs,
The nested songsters twitter o'er their young ,
And the hoarse low of folded cattle breaks
The silence, wafted o'er the sleeping lake,
Whose waters glow beneath the purple tinge

Of western cloud , while converse sweet de-
ceives
The stealing foot of time ' Or where the

ground,

Mounded irregular, points out the graves
Of our forefathers, and the halloVd fane,
Where swains assembling worship, let us

walk,

In softly-soothing melancholy thought,
As night's seraphic bard, immortal Young,
Or sweet-complaining Gray, there see the

goal
Of human life, where drooping, famt, and

tired,
Oft nuss'd the prize, the weary laoei lests

Thus sung the youth, amid unfertile wilds
And nameless de&erts, unpoetic ground '

Far from his friends he strayed, recording

thus

The dear remembrance of his native fields,
To cheer the tedious night, while slow disease
Piey'd on "hi** pining vitals, and the blasts
Of dark December shook his humble cot

Michael Bruce —Born 1746, Died 1767.

961 — ELEQY

'Tib past . the lion noith has spent his rage ,
Stern Winter now resigns the lengthening
day,

The stormy howhngs of the winds assuage,
And worm o'er ether western breezes play.

Of genial heat and cheerful light the source,
From southern climes, beneath another sky,

The sun, 10 turning, wheels his golden course
Before his beams all noxious vapours fly.

Far to the north grim Winter draws his tram,
To his own clime, to Zambia's frozen shore ,

Where, throned on ice, he holds eternal reign,
Where whirlwinds madden, and where tem-
pests roar.

Loosed from the bands of frost, the verdant
ground

Again puts on her robe of cheerful green,
Again puts forth her flowers , and all around

Smiling, the cheerful face of spring is seen.

Behold1 the trees new deck their wither' d

boughs ,

Their ample leaves, the hospitable plane,
The taper elm, and lofty ash disclose ,

The blooming hawthorn variegates the
scene

The lily of the vale, of flowers the queen,
Puts on the robe she neither sew'd noi spun,

The birds on ground, or on the branches

green,
Hop to and fro, and glitter in the sun.

JOHN LOGAN J

TO THE CTJCKOO.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

Soon as o'er eastern hills tho morning peers,
From her low nost the toftod lark up-

bpnnga,

And, cheerful singing, tip tho air she steers ,
Still high she mounts, still loud and sweet
she sings.

On tho groen furze, clothed o'er with golden

blooms

That fill tho air with fragrance all around,
The linnet sits, and tnoks his glossy plumes,
"While o'er the wild his broken notes
resound

While the sun journeys down the western

sky,
Along the groen sward, marked with Eoman

mound,
Beneath the blithsome shepheid's watchful

eye,

The cheerful lambkins dance and fusk
around

Now is the time for those who wisdom love,
Who love to walk in Virtue's flowery road,

Along the lovely paths of Spring to rove,
And follow Nature up to Nature's God.

Thus Zoroaster studied Nature's laws ,
Thus Socrates, the wisest of mankind ,

Thus heaven-taught Plato traced the Almighty

cause,
And left the wondering multitude behind

Thus Ashley gather' d academic bays ,

Thus gentle Thomson, as the seasons roll,
Taught them to sing the great Creator's

praise,

And bear their poet's name from pole to
pole

Thus have I walk'd along the dewy lawn ;
My frequent foot the blooming wild hath

worn;

Before the lark I've sung the beauteous dawn,
And gather' d health from all the gales of
morn

And, even when winter chill'd the aged

year,

I wander* d lonely o'er the hoary plain •
Though frosty Boreas warn'd me to forbear,
Boreas, with all his tempests, warn'd in
vain

Then, sleep my nights, and quiet bless'd my

days,

I fear'd no loss, my mind was all my store,
No anxious wishes e'er disturb'd my ease ,
Heaven gave content and health — I
no more

Now, Spring retains • but not to me returns
The vernal joy my better years have known,

Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns,
And all the joys of life with health are
flown.

Starting and shivering in tho inconstant wind,
Meagre and pale, tho ghost of what I was,

Beneath some blasted tree I ho loclinod,
And count tho silent moments as thoy pans .

Tho winged momenta, whoso unsiaying speed

No art can stop, or in their course airost ,

Whoae flight shall shortly count me with tho

dead,

And lay me down in peace with thorn at
rest

Oft morning dreams presage approaching fate ,
And morning dreams, as poets toll, aio

true
Lod by pale ghosts, I outer Death's dark

gate,
And bid tho realms of light and life adieu.

I hoar the helpless wail, the shriek of woo ,
I see the muddy wave, tho dreary shore,

The sluggish streams that slowly creep below,
Which mortals visit, and return no nioro.

Farewell, ye blooming fields' ye cheerful

plains '
Enough for me the churchyard's lonely

mound,

Where melancholy with still silence reigns,
And the rank grass waves o'er tho cheerless1
giound

There let me wonder at the shut of eve,
When sleep sits dewy on the labourer's

The world and all its busy follies leave,
And talk with Wisdom where my Daphnis
lies.

There let me sleep, forgotten in the clay,
When death Rhiyll shut these weary aching

eyes,

Beat in tho hopes of an eternal day,
Till the long night is gone, and tho last
morn arise

Micliael Bruce. — Born 1740, Died 1707.

962 —TO THE CUCKOO.

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove r
Thou messenger of Spring 1

Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.

What time the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear ,

Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year P

Delightful visitant ' withthee

I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet

From birds among the bowers.

Prom 1727 to 1780 ] A VISIT TO THE COUNTRY IN AUTUMN.

[JOHN LOGAN

Tho schoolboy, wandering through tho wood

To pull the pnmiose gay,
Starts, tho new voice of Spring to hear,

And imitates thy lay

What fame the pea puts on the bloom,

Thon fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual gnest in other lands,

Another Spring to hail

Swoet bud ' thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear ,
Thou hast no soirow in thy song,

No Winter in thy year '

0 could I fly, Td fly with theo '

We'd make, with joyful win?,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,

Companions of the Spimg

Jolvn, Logan —Bom 174S, Died 1788

963— WRITTEN IN A VISIT TO THE
COUNTRY IN AUTUMN.

'Tis past ' no more the Summer blooms '

Ascending in the rear,
Behold congenial Autumn comes,

Tho sabbath of the year '
What time thy holy whispers breathe,
Tho pensive evening shade beneath,

And twilight consecrates the floods ;
While nature strips her gaimont gay,
And wears tho vesture ot decay,
0 let me wander through the sounding
woods '

Ah ' well-known streams I — ah ! wonted
groves,

Still pictured in my mind I
Oh i sacred scene of youthful loves,

Whose image lives behind '
While sad I ponder on the past,
The joys that must no longer last ,

The wild-flower strown on Summer's bier,
The dying music of the grove,
And the last elegies of love,
Dissolve the soul, and draw the tender tear »

Alas ' the hospitable hall,

Where youth and friendship play'd,
Wide to tho winds a rran'd wall

Projects a death-like shade '
The charm is vanish* d from the vales ,
No voice with virgin-whisper hails

A stranger to his native bowers
No more Arcadian mountains bloom,
Nor Enna valleys breathe perfume ,
The fancied Eden fades with all its flowers '

Companions of the youthful scene,

Endear'd from earliest days '
Wzth whom I sported on the green,

Or roved the woodland maze '

Long-exiled from your native clime,
Or by the thunder-stroke of time

Snatch' d to the shadows of despair ,
I hear your voices in the wind,
Your* forms in every walk I find ,
I stretch my arms . ye vanish into air !

My steps, when innocent and young*,

These fairy paths pursued ,
And wandering o'er the wild, I sung

My fancies to the wood
I mourn'd the linnet-lover's fata,
Oi turtle from her murder'd mate,

Condemn' d the widow' d hour* to wail:
Oi while the mouinful vision rose,
I sought to weep for imaged woes,
Nor real life believed a tragic tale '

Alas ' misfortune's cloud unkind
1 May summer soon o'ercast '
And cruel fate's untimely wind

All human beauty blast '
The wrath of nature smites our bowers,
And promised fruits and cherish' d flowers,

The hopes of life in embryo sweeps ;
Pale o'er the ruins of his piime,
And desolate before his time,
In silence sad the mourner walks and

Relentless power ' whose fated stroke

O'er wretched man prevails '
Ha i love's eternal chain is bioke,

And friendship's covenant fail*
Upbraiding forms ' a moment's case—
0 memory ' how shall I appease

The bleeding shade, the unlaid ghost ?
What charm can bind the gushing eye,
What voice console the incessant sigh,
And everlasting longings for the lost ?

Yet not unwelcome waves the wood

That hides me in its gloom,
While lost in melancholy mood

I muse upon the tomb.
Then* chequei'd leaves the branches shed;
Whirling in eddies o'er my head,

They sadly sigh that Winter *s near .
The warning voice I hear behind,
That shakes the wood without a wind,
And solemn sounds the death-bell of the
year.

Nor will I court Lethean streams,

The sorrowing sense to steep ,
Nor dunk oblivion of the themes

On which I love to weep.
Belated oft by fabled rill,
While nightly o'er the hallow'd hill

Aenal music seems to mourn ;
I'll listen Autumn's closing strain ,
Then woo the walks of youth again,
And pour my sorrows o'er the untimely
urn '

Log(m.—£orn 1748, Lied 1788.

JOHN LOGAN ]

COMPLAINT OF NATEBE

[SIXTH PEIITOD —

964 — COMPLAINT OF NATURE

Few are thy days and full of woe,

0 man of woman born '
Thy doom is written, dust thou art,

And Shalt to drmt return.

Dotermmed are the days that fly

Successive o'or thy head ,
The number' d hour is on the wing

That lays thee with tho dead.

Alas i the little day of life

Is shorter than a span ,
Yet black with thousand hidden ills

To miserable man

3ay is thy morning, flattering: hope

Thy sprightly step attends ,
But soon the tempest howls behind,

And the dark night descends

Before its splendid hour the cloud
Comes o'er the beam of light ;

A pilgrim, in a weary land,
Man tarries but a night

Behold ! sad emblem of thy state,
The flowers that paint the field ,

Or trees that crown the mountain's brow,
And boughs and blossoms yield

When eML the blast of Winter blows,

Away the Summer flies,
And flowers resign their sunny robes,

And all their beauty dies.

Nipt by the year the forest fades ,

And shaking to the wind,
The leaves toss to and fro, and streak

The wilderness behind

The Winter past, reviving flowers

Anew shall paint the plain,
Tho woods shall hear the voico of Spring,

And flouush green again

But man departs this eaithly scene,

Ah ' nevei to return '
No second Spring shall e'er revive

The ashes of the urn

The inexorable doors of death

What hand can e'er unfold P
Who from the cerements of the tomb

Can raise the human mould P

The mighty flood that rolls along

Its torrents to the mam,
The waters lost can ne'er recall

From that abyss again

The days, the yeais, the ages, dark

Descending down to night,
Can never, never bo redeem'd

Back to the gates of light.

So man departs tho living- uconc,

To night's perpetual gloom ,
The voice of morning no* or Hhall broak

The slumbers of tho tomb

Whore are our fathois P Whither gone

The mighty men of old **
" Tho patriarchs, propliotH, prinoon, kings,

In sacred books onrollM *J —

Gone to tho restmsf-yUco of man,

The everlabtrag home,
Wheie ages past have gone before,

Where future ages come "

Thus nature pour'd tho wail of woo,

And urged her earnest cry ,
Hoi voice, in agony extreme,

Ascended to the sky

The Almighty heard then from hw throne

In majesty he rose ,
And from the heaven, that opon'd wide,

His voice in mercy flows

" When moital man resigns his breath,

And falls a clod of clay,
The soul immortal wings its flight

To never-setting day.

Prepared of old for wicked men

The bed of torment lies ,
The just shall enter into bliss

Immortal in tho skies "

John Logan — Born 1748, Dwd 1788

965 —THE HAMLET —AN ODE

The hinds how blest, who, no'er beguiled
To quit then hamlet's hawthoin wild,
Nor haunt the crowd, noi tempt the main,
For splendid care, and guilty gam '

When morning's twilight-tinctured beam
Strikes their low thatch with slanting gleam,
They rove abroad in ether blue,
To dip the scythe in fragrant dew ,
The sheaf to bind, tho beech to foil,
That nodding shades a craggy doU

Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear,
Wild natuie's sweetest notes they hoar
On green untrodden banks they view
The hyacinth's neglected hue*
In then lone haunts, and woodland rounds,
They spy the squirrel's airy bounds ,
And startle from her ashen spray,
Across the glen, the screaming jay ,
Each native charm their steps explore
Of Solitude's sequester' d store

For them the moon with cloudless ray
Mounts to illume their homeward way .
Then* weary spirits to relievo,
The meadows incense breathe at ove.

JFVom 1727 to 1780]

INSCRIPTION IN A HEBMTTAGE

[THOMAS WARTON-

No riot mars the simple fare,
That o'er a glimmering health they share ,
But when the curfew's measured roar
Duly, the darkening valleys o'er,
Has echoed from the distant town,
They wish no beds of cygnet-down.
No trophied canopies, to close
Their drooping eyes in quick repose

Their little sons, who spread the bloom
Of health around the day-built room,
Or through the pnmrosed coppice stray,
Or gambol in the new-mown hay ;
Or quaintly braid the cowslip-twine,
Or dnve afield the tardy kme ,
Or hasten from the sultry hill,
To loiter at the shady nil ,
Or climb the tall pine's gloomy crest,
To rob the raven's ancient nobt

Their humble porch with honied flowers,
The curling woodbine's shade embowers ,
Fiom the small gaiden's thymy mound
Their bees in busy swarms resound .
Nor fell disease before his time,
Hastes to consume life's golden prime :
But when their temples long have wore
The silver oiown of tresses hoar ,
As studious still calm peace to keep,
Beneath a flowery turi thoy sloop.

TJiowas Waarton.—. Born 1728, Died 1790.

966 —ON REVISITING THE ETVEB

LODDON

Ah i what a weary race my feet have run
Since first I tiod thy banks with alders

crown'd,
And, thought my way was all through* fairy

ground,

Beneath the azure sky and golden sun—
"When first my muse to lisp hei notes begun '
"While pensive memory traces back the round
Which fills the varied interval between ,
Much pleasure, more of sorrow, marks the

scene.
Sweet native stream i those skies and suns so

pure,

No more return to cheer my evening road '
Yet still one joy remains, that not obscure,
Nor useless, all my vacant days have flow'd
From youth's gay dawn to manhood's prune

mature,
Nor with the muse's laurel unbestow'd.

TJiomos Warton—Born 1728, Died 1790.

967 — WBITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF

DUG-DALE'S MONASTICON
Deem not devoid of elegance the sage,
By Fancy's genuine feehngs unbeguiled,
Of painful pedantry the poring child*

Who turns of these proud domes the historic

page,

Now sunk by Tune, and Henry's fiercer rage.
Think' st thou the waibhng muses never

smiled

On his lone hours p Ingenious views engage
TTia thoughts on themes unclassrc falsely

styled,

Intent. While oloister'd piety displays
Her mouldeiing loll, the piercing eye explores
New manners, and the pomp of elder days,
Whence culls the pensive bard his pictured

stores.

Not rough nor barren are the windnig ways
Of hoar antiquity, but strewn with flowers.

TJiomas Wat ton.— Bow 1728, Dial 1790.

968— SONNET

WRITTEN AFTER SEEING- WILTON HOUSE

From Pembroke's princely dome, where mimic

Art
Decks with a magic hand the dawflmg

bowers,

Its living hues where the warm pencil pours,
And breathing forms from the rude marble

start,

How to life's humbler scene can I depart !
My breast all glowing fiom those goigeous

towers,

In my low cell how cheat the sullen hours '
Vain the complaint for Fancy can impart
(To Fate superior and to Fortune's doom)
Whate'er adorns the stately stoned hall
She, 'mid the dungeon's solitary gloom,
Can dress the Graces in their Attic pall ;
Bid the green landscape's vernal beauty

bloom,
And in bright trophies clotiie the twilight

wall

Thomas Warton — Born 1728, Died 1790.

969 — INSCRIPTION IN A EEKMITAGE.

Beneath this stony roof reclined,
I soothe to peace my pensive mind ;
And while, to shade my lowly cave,
Embowering elms their umbrage wavo ,
And while the maple dish is mine,
The beeohen cup, unstarn'd with wine ,
I scorn the gay licentious crowd,
Nor lieed the toys that dock the yroud.

Within my limits lone and still
The blackbird pipes in artless trill ;
Fast by my couch, congenial guest,
The wren has wove hor mossy nest ,
From busy scenes, and blighter skies,
To lurk with innocence, she flies ,
Here hopes in safe repose to dwell,
i Nor aught suspects the sylvan celL

TKOMAS WABTOST.]

THE SUICIDE.

[SIXTH PEBIOD, —

At morn I take my custom' d round,
To mark how buds yon shrubby mound ,
And every opening primrose count,
That trimly paints my blooming mount
Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude,
That grace my gloomy solitude,
I teach in winding wreaths to stray
Fantastic ivy's gadding spray.

At eve, within yon studious nook,

I ope my brass-embossod book,

Portray* d with many a holy deed

Of martyrs, crown' d with heavenly meed :

Then, as my taper waxes dim,

Chant, ore I sleep, my measured hymn ,

And, at the close, the gleams behold

Of parting wings bedropp'd with gold.

"While such pure joys my bliss create,
"Who but would smile at guilty state ?
"Who but would wish his holy lot
In calm Oblivion's humble grot p
"Who but would cast his pomp away,
To take my staff, and amice gray ,
And to the world's tumultuous stage
Prefer the blameless hermitage p

Thomas Warton.—Born 1728, Died 1790

970— THE SUICIDE.

Beneath the beech, whose branches bare,
Smit with the lightning's livid glare,

O'erhang the craggy road,
And whistle hollow as they wave ;
Within a solitary grave,
A Slayer of himself holds his accursed abode

Lower' d the grim morn, in murky dyes
Damp mists involved the scowling sb.es,

And dimm'd the struggling day ,
As by the brook, that lingering laves
Yon rush-grown moor with sable waves,
Full of the dark resolve he took his sullen
way.

I mark'd his desultory pace,

His gestures strange, and varying face,

With many a mutter' d sound ,
And ah ' too late, aghast I view'd
The reeking blade, the hand imbrued •
He fell, and groaning, grasp'd in agony the
ground.

Full many a melancholy night

He watch' d the slow return of light ;

And sought the powers of sleep,
To spread a momentary calm
O'er fas sad couch, and in the balm
Of bland oblivion's dews his burning eyes to

Pull oft, unknowing and unknown,
He wore his endless noons alone,

Amid th' autumnal wood
Oft was he wont, in hasty fit,
Abrupt the social board to quit,
And gaze with eager glance upon iho tumbling
flood.

Beok'nmg the wretch to torments now,
Despair, for over in his view,
A speotze pale, appear' d ,
While, as the shade** of ovo arose,
And brought the day's unwolcomo close,
More horrible and huge her giant-shape sho
rear'd.

" Is this," mistaken Scorn will cry,
" Is this the youth, whoso genius high

Could build the genuine rhyme P
Whose bosom mild the favouring1 Muse
Had stored with all her ample VIOWH,
Parent of fairest deeds, and purposes sub-
lime?"

j&}\ f from the Muse that bosom mild
By treacherous magic was beguiled,

To strike the deathf ul blow
She fill'd his soft ingenuous mind
With many a feeling too refined,
And roused to livelier pangs his wakeful sense
of woe

Though doom'd hard penury to prove,
And the sharp stings of hopeless love ,

To griefs congenial pione,
More wounds than Nature gave he knew,
i While Misery's foim his fancy drew
In dark ideal hues, and horrors not its own.

Then wish not o'or his earthy tomb
The baleful nightshade's lurid bloom

To drop its deadly dew
Nor oh ' forbid the twisted thoin,
That rudely binds his turf foilorn,
With Spring's green swelling buds to vogotato

What though no marble-piled bust
Adorn his desolated dust,

With speaking sculpture wrought ?
Pity shall woo the weeping Nino,
To build a visionary fchnne,
Hung with unfading flowers, from fairy regions
brought

What though refused each chanted nto ?
Here viewless mourners shall delight

To touch the shadowy shell
And Petrarch's harp, that wept the doom
Of Laura, lost in early bloom,
In many a pensive pause shall seem to ring
his knell.

To soothe a lone, unhalloVd shade,
This votive dirge sad duty paid,

Prom 1727 to 1780 ]

ODE SENT TO A FRIEND.

[THOMAS WABTON.

Within an ivied nook :
Sudden the half-sunk orb of day
More radiant shot its parting ray,
And thus a cherub-voice my charm' d attention
took.

" Forbear, fond Bard, thy partial praise ;
Nor thus for guilt m specious lays

The wreath of glory twine •
In vain with hues of gorgeous glow
Gay Fancy gives her vest to flow,
Unless Truth's matron-hand the floating folds
confine.

Just Heaven, man's fortitude to prove,
Permits through Me at large to rove

The tnbes of hell-born Woe
Yet the same Power that wisely sends
Life's fiercest ills, indulgent lends
Religion's golden shield to break th' embattled
foe

Her aid divine had lull'd to rest

Ton foul self -murderer's throbbing breast,

And stay'd the rising storm :
Had bade the sun of hope appear
To gild his darken' d hemisphere,
And give the wonted bloom to Nature's blasted
form

Vain man ' 'tis Heaven's prerogative
To take, what first it deign' d to give,

Thy tributary breath.
In awful expectation placed,
Await thy doom, nor impious haste
To pluok from God's nght hand his instru-
ments of death."

Thomas Wanton.— Bom 1728, Died 1790.

971 — ODE SENT TO A FRIEND ON TTTfi
LEAVING A FAVOURITE VILLAGE.

Ah, mourn, thou loved retreat ' No more
Shall classic steps thy scenes explore '
When morn's pale rays but faintly peep
O'er yonder oak-crown'd airy steep,
Who now gfrfl-11 climb its brows to view
The length of landscape, ever new,
Where Summer flings, in careless pnde,
Her varied vesture far and wide p
Who mark, beneath, each village-charm,
Or grange, or elm-encircled farm ,
The flinty dovecot's crowded roof,
Watch' d by the kite that sails aloof ,
The tufted pines, whose umbrage tall
Darkens the long-deserted hall ,
The veteran beech, that on the plain
Collects at eve the playful train T
The cot that smokes with early fire,
The low-roof 'd fane's embosom'd spire ?

Who now shall indolently stray
Through the deep forest's tangled way ;
Pleased at his custom' d task to find
The well-known hoary-tressed hind,

That toils with feeble hands to glean
Of wither'd boughs his pittance mean P
Who mid thy nooks of hazel sit,
Lost in some melancholy fit,
And listening1 to the raven's croak,
The distant flail, the falling oak P
Who, through the sunshine and the showex*
Descry the rainbow-painted tower P
Who, wandering at return of May,
Catch the first cuckoo's vernal lay ?
Who, musing waste the summer hour,
Where high e'er-arching trees embower
The grassy lane so rarely paced,
With azure flowerets idly graced P
Unnoticed now, at twilight's dawn,
Returning reapers cross the lawn ;
Nor fond attention loves to note
The wether's bell from folds lemote :
While, own'd by no poetic eye,
Thy pensive evenings shade the sky

For, lo ' the Bard who rapture found
In every rural sight or sound ,
Whose genius warm, and judgment chaste,
No charm of genuine nature pass'd ,
Who felt the Muse's purest fires, —
Far from thy favour'd haunt retires
Who peopled all thy vocal bowers
With shadowy shapes and airy powers

Behold, a dread lepose resumes,
As erst, thy sad sequester'd glooms '
From the deep dell, wheie shaggy loots
Fringe the rough brink with wieathed shoots,
Th' unwilling Genius flies forlorn,
His primrose chaplet rudely toin
With hollow fehnek the Nymphs foisako
The pathless copse and hedgerow biake
Where the delved mountain's headlong side
Its chalky entrails opens wide,
On the green summit, ambush' d high,
No longer Echo loves to lie
No pearl-crown' d maids, with wily look,
Rise beok'nmg from the reedy brook
Around the glow-worm's glimmeiing bank,
No fames run in fiery rank ;
Nor brush, half-seen, in airy tread,
The violet's imprinted head
But Fancy, from the thickets brown,
The glades that wear a conscious frown,
The forest-oaks, that, pale and lone,
Nod to the blast with hoarser tone,
Rough glens, and sullen waterfalls,
Her bright ideal offspring calls

So by some sage enchanter's spell
(As old Arabian fablers tell),
Amid the solitary wild,
Luxuriant gardens gaily smiled ,
From sapphire rocks the fountains stream' d,
With golden fruit the branches beam'd ,
Fair forms, in every wondrous wood,
Or lightly tupp'd, or solemn stood ,
And oft, retreating from the view,
Botray'd, at distance, beauties new :
While gleaming o'er the crisped bowers
Rich spires arose, and sparkling towers
If bound on service new to go,
'The master of the magic show,

THOMAS WARTON.]

A PANEGYRIC ON OXFORD ALE

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

TTitt transitory charm withdrew,

Away th* allusive landscape flew •

Dun clouds obscured the groves of gold,

Blue lightning smoto the blooming mould

In visionary glory lear'd,

The gorgeous castle disappear' d ,

And a bare heath's unfruitful plain

Usurp' d the wizard's proud domain.

Thomas Warton. — Born- 1728, Died 1790.

972 —A PANEGmBIO ON OXFOBD ALE.

Balm of my cares, sweet solace of my toils,
Had, Juice benignant ' O'er the costly cups
Of riot-stirring wino, unwholesome draught,
Let Pride's loose sons prolong tlie wasteful

night,

My sober evening let the tankard bless,
With toast embrown'd, and fragrant nutmeg

fraught,
While tho rich draught with oft-repeated

whiffs

Tobacco mild improves. Divine repast !
Where no crude surfeit, or intemperate joys
Of lawless Bacchus reign , but o'er my soul
A calm Lethean creeps , m drow&y trance
Each thought subsides, and sweet oblivion

wraps

My peaceful brain, as if the leaden rod
Of magic Morpheus o'er mine eyes had

shed
Its opiate influence What though sore

ills

Oppress, dire want of chill-dispelling coals
Or cheerful candle (save the make-weight's

gleam

Haply remaining), heart-rejoicing Ale
Cheers the sad scene, and every want sup-
plies

Meantime, not mindless of the daily task
Of tutor sage, upon the learned leaves
Of deep Smigleoius much I meditate ,
While Ale inspires, and lends its kindred aid,
The thought-perplexing labour to pursue,
Sweet Helicon of Logic ' But if friends
Congenial call me from the toilsome page,
To Pot-house I repair, the sacred haunt,
Where, Ale, thy votaries in full resort
Hold ntes nocturnal la capacious chair
Of monumental oak and antique mould,
That long has stood the rage of conquering

years

Inviolate (nor in more ample chair
Smokes rosy Justice, when th* important

cause,

Whether of hen-roost, or of mirthful rape,
In all the majesty of paunch he tries),
Studious of ease, and provident, I place
My gladsome limbs , while in repeated round
I&etunis replenish' d the successive cup,

And the brisk fire Conspires to ffomaJ joy

While haply, to rohevo tho lingering hours

In innocent delight, amusivo Putt

On smooth joml-stool in emblematic play

The vain vicissitudes of fortune shows.

Nor reckoning, name tremendous, mo dis-

turbs,
Nor, calTd foi, chills my breast with sudden

fear,

While on the wonted door, oxproRHivo mark,
The frequent penny stands described to view,
In snowy chaiactors and graceful row —

Hail, Ticking ' surest guardian of clihtroHs '
Beneath thy shelter, penniless I quaff
The choeiful cup, nor hoar with hopolows

heart
New oysters cried , — though much tho Poet's

friend,

Ne'er yet attempted in poetic strain,
Accept this tribute of poetic praise '

Nor Proctor thnoe with vocal hool alarms
Our joys secure, nor deigns the lowly roof
Of Pot-house snug to visit wisor ho
The splendid tavern haunta, or ooflbo-houRO
Of James or Juggins, whore the grateful

breath

Of loathed tobacco ne'er diffused its balm ,
But the lewd spendthrift, falsely dcom'cl

polite,
While steams around tho fragrant Indian

bowl,

Oft damns the vulgar sons of humbler Ale
In vain — the Proctor's voice arrestfe their

,

Just fate of wanton pride and loose excess f
Nor lesjs by day delightful is thy draught,
All-powerful Ale ' whoso sorrow-soothing

sweets

Oft I repeat in vacant afternoon,
When tatter'd stockings ask my mending

hand

Not unexperienced , while tho tedious toil
Slides unregarded Lot the tender swain
Each morn regale on nerve-relaxing tea,
Companion meet of languor-loving nymph
Be mine each morn with eager appetite
And hunger undissembled, to repair
To friendly buttery , there on smoking crust
And foaming Ale to banquet unrestraui'd,
Matenal breakfast ' Thus in ancient days
Our ancestors robust with liberal caps
Usher* d the morn, unlike the squeamish sons
Of modern times nor ever had tho might
Of Bnton's brave decay'd, had thus they

fed,t f
With British Ale improving Britmh worth.

With Ale irnguous, undismayed I hear
The frequent dun ascend my lofby dome
Importunate : whether the plaintive voice
Of Laundress shrill awake my startled ear ;
Or Barber spruce with supple look intrude ;
Or Tailor with obsequious bow advance ,
Or Groom invade me with defying front
And stern demeanour, whose emaciate steeds
(Whene'er or Phcebus shone with kindlier

beams,

*Vow 1727 to 1780.] THE PBOGBESS OF DISCONTENT.

[THOMAS WARTOIT,

Or Inokier chance the borrowed boots sup-
plied)

Had panted oft beneath my goring steel
In vain they plead or threat all-powerful

Ale

Excuses new supplies, and each descends
With joyless pace, and debt-despaiiing

looks

Even Spaoey with indignant brow retires,
Fiercest of duns ' and conquer' d quits the

field.
Why did the gods such various blessings

pour
On hapless mortals, from their grateful

hands

So soon the short-lived bounty to recall p —
Thus while, improvident of futuie ill,
I quaff the luscious tankard uncontroIL'd,
And thoughtless not in unlicensed bliss ,
Sudden (dire fate of all things excellent ')
Th' unpitying Bursar's cross-affixing hand
Blasts all my joys, and stops my glad

career.

Nor now the friendly Pot-house longer yields
A sure retreat, when night o'ershades the

skies ;
Nor Sheppard, barbarous matron, longer

gives

The wonted trust, and Winter ticks no more
Thus Adam, exiled from the beauteous

scenes

Of Erlen, grieved, no more in fragrant bower
On fruits divmo to feast, fresh shade and

vale

No more to visit, or vino-mantled grot ;
But all forlorn, the dreary wilderness
And unrojoioing solitudes to trace .
Thus too the matchless bard, whose lay

resounds
The Splendid Shilling's praise, in nightly

gloom
Of lonesome garret, pined for cheerful

Ale;

Whose steps in verse Miltomo I pursue,
Mean follower like *»™ with honest love
Of Ale divine inspired, and love of song
But long may bounteous Heaven with watch-
ful care

Avert his hapless lot ! Enough for me
That, burning with congenial flame, I dared
His guiding steps at distance to pursue,
And sing "h-fg favourite theme in kindred

strains

Thongs Woerton.-—Born 1728, Ihed 1790.

973 —THE PBOGEESS OF DISCONTENT.

When now mature in classic knowledge,
The joyful youth is sent to college,
His father comes, a vicar plain,
At Oxford bred — in Anna's reign,

And thus, in form of humble suitor,

Bowing accosts a reverend tutor •

" Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine,

And this my eldest son of nine ,

My wife's ambition and my own

Was that this child should wear a gown ;

I'll warrant that his good behaviour

Will justify your future favour,

And, for his parts, to tell the truth,

My son 's a very forward youth ,

Has Horace all by heart — you'd wonder —

And mouths out Homer's Greek like thunder.

If you'd examine — and admit him,

A scholarship would nicely fit fa™ ;

That he succeeds iis ten to one ;

Tour vote and interest, sir '" — 'Tis done

Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated,
Are with a scholarship completed
A scholarship but half maintains,
And college rules are heavy chains .
In garret dark he smokes and puns ;
A prey to discipline and duns ;
And now, intent on new designs,
Sighs for a fellowship — and fines.

When nine full tedious winters past,
That utmost wish is crown' d at last
But the rich pnze no sooner got,
Again he quarrels with his lot -
" These fellowships are pretty things,
We live indeed like petty kings
But who can bear to waste his whole age
Amid the dulness of a college,
Deban'd the common joys of life,
And that prime bliss — a loving We '
O ' what's a table richly spread,
Without a woman at its head ?
Would some snug benefice but fall,
Ye feasts, ve dinners ! farewell all '
To offices I'd bid adieu,
Of Dean, Vioe-Pwes— of Bursar too ;
Come, joys that rural quiet yields,
Come, tithes, and house, and fruitful fields ! "

Too fond of freedom and of ease
A Patron's vanity to please,
Long time he watches, and by stealth,
Each frail Incumbent's doubtful health ,
At length, and in his fortieth year,
A living drops — two hundred clear '
With breast elate beyond expiession,
He hurries down to take possession,
With rapture views the sweet retreat —
" What a convenient house T how neat !
For fuel here 's sufficient wood
Pray 0-od the cellars may be good '
The garden — that must be new plann'd —
Shall these old-fashion' d yew-trees stand J
O'er yonder vacant plot shall nse
The flowery shrub of thousand dyes —
Ton wall, that feels the southern ray,
Shall blush with ruddv fruitage gay •
While thick beneath its aspect warm
O'er well-ranged hives the bees bhall swarm,
From which, ere long, of golden gleam
Metheghn's luscious juice shall stream
This awkward hut, o'ergrown with ivy,
We'll alter to a modern pnvy

JOSEPH WABTO «r ]

TO FANCY.

[SIXTH .FBRIOl>.-«

Up yon green slope, of hazels turn,
An avenue PO cool and dim
Shall to an arbour, at the end,
In spite of gout, enfa.ce a friend
My predecessor loved devotion —
But of a garden had no notion "

Continuing this fantastic farce on,
He now commences country parson
To make his character entne,
He weds—a Cousin of the Squire ;
Not over weighty in the purse,
But many Doctors have done worse •
And though she boasts no charms divine,
Yet she oan carve, and make birch wine
Thus fix'd, content he taps his barrel,
Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel ,
Finds his Church-wardens have discerning
Both in good liquoi and good learning ,
With tithes his barns replete he sees,
Aid chuckles o'er his surplice fees ,
Studies to find out latent dues,
And regulates the state of pews ,
Bides a sleek mare with purple housing,
To share the monthly club's carousing ,
Of Oxford pranks facetious tells,
And — but on Sundays — hears no bells ,
Sends presents of his choicest fruit,
And prunes himself each sapless shoot ,
Plants cauliflowers, and boasts to rear
The earliest melons of the year ;
Thinks alteration charming work is,
Keeps bantam cooks, and feeds his turkeys ,
Bmlds in his oopse a f avonnte bench,
And stores the pond with carp and tench —
But, ah ' too soon his thoughtless bieast
By oazes domestic is opprest ;
And a third butcher's bill, and brewing,
Threaten inevitable ruin •
For children fresh expenses yet,
And Dicky now for school is fit.
" Why did I sell my college life,"
He ones, "for benefice and wife p
Return, ye days, when endless pleasure
I found in reading, or in leisure '
When calm around the common-room
I pnffd my daily pipe's perfume '
Bode for a stomach, and inspected,
At ftn-n-nfl.1 bottlings, corks selected
And cbned untax'd, untroubled, under
The poitrait of our pious Founder !
When impositions were supplied
To light my pipe — or soothe my pride —
No cores were then for forward peas,
A yearly-longing wife to please ,
My thoughts no christening dinners crost,
No children cried for butter' d toast ,
And every night I went to bed,
Without a Modus in my head r "

Oh ' trifling head, and fickle heait '
Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art ;
A dupe to follies yet untried,
And sick of pleasures, scarce enjoy'd '
Each prize possess' d, thy transport ceases,
And in pursuit alone it pleases

Thomas Warton —Born 1728, DM 1790.

974— TO FANCY.

0 parent of each lovely muse »
Thy spirit o'er my soul diffuse,
O'er all my axtloss songs preside,
My footsteps to thy temple guide,
To offer at thy turf -built shrine
In golden cups no costly wmo,
No murder'd fathng of the flock,
But flowers and honey fiom the rook.

O nymph with loosely-flowing haur,
With buskin' d leg, and bosom baie,
Thy waist with myrtle girdle bound,
Thy brows with Indian feathers ciown'd,
Waving in thy snowy hand
j^j\ all-commanding magic wand,
Of power to bid fresh gardens grow
'Mid cheerless Lapland's barren snow,
Whose rapid wings thy flight convoy
Through air, and over earth and sea,
While the various landscape lies
Conspicuous to thy piercing eyes !
0 lover of the desert, hail '
Say m what deep and pathless volo,
Or on what hoary mountain's side,
'Midst falls of water, you reside ;
'Midst broken rocks a rugged scene,
With green and grassy dales between ;
'Midst forests dark of aged oak,
Ne'er echoing with the woodman's stroke
Where never human heart appear' d,
Nor e'er one straw-roof 'd cot was rear'd,
Where Nature seem'd to sit alone,
Majestic on a craggy throne ,
TeU me the path, sweet wand'roi, toll,
To thy unknown sequester' d coll,
Where woodbines cluster round the door,
Where shells and moss o'eilay the floor,
And on whoso top a Liwthoin blows,
Amid whoso thickly-^ oven boughs
Some nightingale still builds her nost,
Each evening warbling thco to lost ,
Then lay me by the haunted fetioam,
Rapt in some wild poetic dream,
In converse while mcthmks I rove
With Spenser through a fairy grovo ,
Till suddenly awaked, I hear
Strange whisper'd music in my ear,
And my glad soul in bliss is drown'd
By the sweetly-soothing sound !

Me, goddess, by the right hand load,
Sometimes through the yellow mead,
Wheie Joy and white-robed Peace resort,
And Venus keeps her festive court ;
Where Mirth and Youth each evening meet,
And lightly trip with nimble feet,
Nodding their lily-crowned heads,
Where Laughter rose-lipp'd Hebe loads ,
Where Echo walks steep hills among,
Listening to the shepherd's song

Yet not these flowery fields of joy
Can long my pensive mind employ j
Haste, Fancy, from these scenes of folly,
To meet the matron Melancholy,
Goddess of the tearful eye,
That loves to fold her arms and sigh f

From 1727 to 1780 ]

ODE TO ATOOBA.

[Tnos. BLA.OKLOCK.

Let TIB with silent footsteps go
To channels and the house of woe,
To Gothic churches, vaults, and tombs,
Where each sad night some virgin comes,
With throbbing breast, and faded cheek,
Her promised bridegroom's urn to seek ,
Or to some abbey's mouldering- towers,
Where to avoid cold winter's showers,
The naked beggar shivering lies,
Whilst whistling tempests round her rise,
And trembles lest the tottering wall
Should on her sleeping infants fall.

Now let us louder strike the lyre,
For my heart glows with martial fire $
I feel, I feel, with sudden heat,
My big tumultuous bosom beat '
The trumpet's clangours pierce mine ear,
A thousand widows' shrieks I hear ;
" Give me another horse," I cry,
Lo ' the base Gallic squadrons fly
Whence is this rage p What spirit, say,
To battle hurries me away P
'Tis Fancy, in her fiery oar,
Transports me to the thickest war,
There whirls me o'er the hills of slain,
Where Tumult and Destruction reign ,
Whore, mad with para, the wounded steed
Tramples the dying and the dead ,
Where giant Terror stalks around,
With sullen joy surveys the ground,
And, pointing to the ensanguined field,
Shakes his dreadful Gorgon shield '

0 ' guide me from this horrid scene
To high-arch' d walks and alleys green,
Which lovely Laura seeks, to shun
The fervours of the mid-day sun !
The pangs of absence, O ' remove,
For thou canst place me near my love,
Canst fold in visionary bliss,
And let me think I steal a kiss

When young-eyed Spring profusely throws
From her green lap the pink and rose ,
When the soft turtle of the dale
To Summer tells her tender tale :
When Autumn cooling caverns seeks,
And stains with wine his jolly cheeks ;
When Winter, like poor pilgrim old,
Shakes his silver beard with cold ;
At every season let my ear
Thy solemn whispers, Fancy, hear.

Joseph Warton.—Born 1722, Died 1800

Let

975 — FLOWERS,
long-lived pansies here their scents

bestow,

The violet languish, and the roses glow;
In yellow glory let the croons shine,
Narcissus here his love-sick head recline :
Here hyacinths in purple sweetness nse,
And tulips tinged with beauty's fairest dyes

Thos Blackloc-k—Born 1721, Died 1791

976.— TERRORS OF A GUILTY
CONSCIENCE.

Cursed with unnumber'd groundless fears,
How pale yon shivering wretch appears '
For inm the daylight shines in vain,
For Trim the fields no joys contain ;
Nature's whole charms to him are lost, ^
Nq more the woods their music boast ;
No more the meads their vernal bloom,
No more the gales their rich perfume •
Impending mists deform the sky,
And beauty withers in his eye.
In hopes his terrors to elude,
By day he -mingles with the crowd,
Yet fl-nda his soul to fears a prey,
In busy crowds and open day
If night his lonely walks surprise,
What horrid visions round "Him use '
The blasted oak which meets his way,
Shown by the meteor's sadden ray,
The mid-night murderer's lone retreat
Felt heaven's avengeful bolt of late ,
The clashing chain, the groan profound,
Loud from yon rmn'd tower resound ,
And now the spot he seems to tread,
Where some seif-slaughter'd corse was laid*,
He feels fix'd earth beneath him bend,
Deep murmurs from her caves ascend ,
Till all his soul, by fancy sway*d,
Sees livid phantoms crewd the shade

TJws Blacklod..—Bom 1721, Died 1791.

977.— ODE TO AUEOEA.

ON HIS WIFE'S BIBTHDAT.

Of time and nature eldest bom,

Emerge, thou rosy-finger' d morn ,

Emerge, in purest dress array* d,

And chase from heaven night's envious shade,

That I once more may pleased survey,

And hail Melissa's natal day.

Of time and nature eldest born,
Emerge, thou rosy-finger' d morn ,
In order at the eastern gate
The hours to draw thy chariot wait ;
Whilst Zephyr, on his balmy wings,
Mild nature's fragrant tribute brings,
With odours sweet to strew thy way,
And grace the bland revolving day.

But, as thou lead'st the radiant sphere,
That gilds its biith and marks the year,
And as his stronger glories nse,
Diffused around the expanded skies,
Till clothed with beams serenely bright,
All heaven's vast concave flames with light ,

So when through life's protracted day
Melissa still pursues her way,
Her virtues with thy splendour vie,
Increasing to tho mental eye ,

THOS. BLACKLOCK]

THE AUTHOR'S PICTURE.

[SIXTH PBBIOD.— .

Though less conspicuous, not less dear,

Long may they Bum's prospect cheer ,

So shall his heart no more repine,

Bless' d with her rays, though robb'd of thine

Thos. Blackloclc—Born 1721, Died 1791.

978— THE AUTHOR'S PICTURE.

JYhile in my matchless graces wrapt I stand,
And touoh each feature with a trembling

hand;
Deign, lovely self1 with art and nature's

pride,

v To mix the colours, and the pencil guide.
» Self is the grand pursuit of VnJf mankind ,
How vast a crowd by self, like me, are

blind1

By self the fop in magic colours shown,
Though scorn* d by every eye, delights his

own*
When age and wrinkles seize the conquering

maid,
Self, not the glass, reflects the flattering

shade

Then, wonder-working self ! begin the lay ;
Thy charms to others as to me display.

Straight is my person, but of little size ;
Lean axe my cheeks, and hollow are my

eyes-

My youthful down is, like my talents, rare ,
Politely distant stands each single T»gjr
My voice too rough to charm a lady's ear ,
So smooth a child may listen without fear ,
Not form'd in cadence soft and warbling

lays,
To soothe the fair through pleasure's wanton

ways

My form so fine, so regular, so new,
My port so manly, and so fresh my hue ,
Oft, as I meet the crowd, they laughing

say,

" See, see Memento Mom, cross the way."
The ravish' d Proserpine at last, we know,
Grew fondly jealous of her sable beau ;
But, thanks to nature ' none from me need

fly,

One heart the devil could wound — so cannot I
Yet, though my person fearless may be

seen,

There is some danger in my graceful mien
For, as some vessel toss'd by wind and

tide,
Bounds o'er the waves and rocks from side to

side,-

In just vibration thus I always move •
This who can view and not be forced to

love?
Hail ' charming self ' by whose propitious

aid

My form in all its glory stands display'd
Be present stall , with inspiration Mnd,
Let the same f Jithful colours paint the mind

lake all mankind, with vanity I'm bless' d,
Conscious of wit I never yet possess* d
To strong desires my heart an easy prey,
Oft feels their force, but never owns their

sway.

This hour, perhaps, as death I hate my foe ,
The next, I wonder why I should do so
Though poor, the nch I view with careless

eye;

Scorn a vain oath, and hate a serious lie.
I ne'er for satire torture common sonso ,
Nor show my wit at God's nor man's expense
Harmless I live, unknowing and unknown ,
Wish well to all, and yet do good to nono
Unmerited contempt I hate to bear ;
Yet on my faults, like others, am severe.
Dishonest flames my bosom never fire ,
The bad I pity, and the good admire ,
Pond of the Muse, to her devote my dayn,
And scribble— -not for pudding, but for

praise

These careless lines, if any virgin hoars,
Perhaps, in pity to my joyless years,
She may consent a generous flame to own ;
And I no longer sigh the nights alone.
But should the fair, affected, vain, or nice,
Scream with the fears inspired by frogs or

mice;
Cry, "Save us hoaven' a spectre, not a

man'"

Her hartshorn snatch or interpose hor f ai? •
If I my tender overture repeat ,
Oh ! may my vows her kmd reception moot !
May she new graces on my form bestow,
And with tall honours dignify my brow !

Thos Blachlock — Born 1721, Died 1791.

979,— BELSHAZZAB AND DANIEL

Now Morn, with rosy-colour*d finger, raised
The sable pall, which provident Night had

thrown
O'er mortals, and their works, when every

street,

Straight or transverse, that towards Eu-
phrates turns

Its sloping path, resounds with festive shouts,
And teems with busy multitudes, which

press

With zeal impetuous to the towering fane
Of Bel, Chaldaaan Jove , surpassing far
That Doric temple, which the Elean chiefs
Raised to their thunderer from the spoils of

war,

Or that Ionic, where the Ephosian bow'd
To Dian, queen of heaven Eight towers

arise,

Each above each, immeasurable height,
A monument at once of eastern pnde
And slavish superstition Bound, a scale
Of circling steps entwines the conic pile ;
And at the bottom on vast hinges grate

From 1727 to 1780 ]

BELSHAZZA36 AND DANIEL.

[W H .ROBERTS.

Four brazen gates, towaids the four winds of

heaven

Placed in the solid square Hither at once
Come flocking all the sons of Babylon,
Chaldaan or Assyrian ; but retire
With humblest awe, while through their mar-
shall* d ranks
Stalks proud Belshazzar. From his shoulders

flows

A robe, twice steep' d in rich Sidonian hues,
"Whose skirts, embroider'd with meond'rmg

gold,
Sweep o'er the marble pavement Bound his

neck

A broad cham glitters, set with richest gems,
£uby, and amethyst The pnests come

next,
With knives and lancets arm'd , two thousand

sheep
And twice two thousand lambs stand bleating

lound,

Then hungry god's repast six loaded wains
With wine, and frankincense, and finest

flour,

Move slowly Then advance a gallant band,
Provincial rulers, counsellors and chiefs,
Judges and princes : from their essonced

TUMI?
Stoani rich perfumes, exhaled from flower or

heib,

Assyrian spices last, the common train
Of humblei citizens A linen vest
Enfolds thoir limbs, o'er which a robe of

wool
Is clasp' d, while yet a thud hangs white as

snow,

Even to their sandalTd feet a signet each,
Each bears a polish' d staff, on whose smooth

top
In bold relief some well-carved emblem

Bird, fruit, or flower Determined, though

dismayed,
Judaea's mourning prisoners close the rear.

And now the unfolded gates on every side
Admit the splendid tram, and to their eyes
A soene of lich magnificence display,
Censors, and cups, and vases, nicely wrought
In gold, with pearls and glittering gems

inlaid,

The furniture of Baal. An altar stands
Of vast dimensions near the central stone,
On which the god's high-priest strews frank-
incense,
In weight a thousand talents. There he

The struggling elders of the flock, while

Stretch' d on a smaller plate of unmix' d gold,
Bleed the reluctant lambs The ascending

smoke,

Impregnate with perfumes, fills all the air
These ntes perform'd, his votaries all

advance
Where stands their idol, to compare with

whom

That earth-born crew, which scaled the walls

of heaven

Or that vast champion of Phihstia'e host,
Whom in tho vale of Elah David slew
TJnarm'd, were 'mimsh'd to a span. In

height

Twice twenty feet he rises from the ground ;
And every massy limb, and every joint,
Is carved in due proportion Not one mine,
Though branching out in many a vein of

gold,
Sufficed for , this huge column. "Prm the

Had swept, and burnish' d, and perfumed with

oils,

Essential odours Now the sign is given,
And forthwith strains of mixed melody
Proclaim their molten thunderer , cornet,

flute,

Harp, saokbut, psaltery, dulcimer, unite
In loud triumphal hymn, and all at once
The King, the nations, and the languages
Fall prostrate on the ground. But not a

head,

But not one head in all thy faithful bands,
0 Judah, bows As when the full-orb'd

moon,
What time the reaper chants his harvest

song,

Bises behind some horizontal hill,
Flaming with reddest fire; still, as she

moves,

The tints all soften, and a yellower light
Gleams through tho ridges of a purple cloud •
At length, when midnight holds her silent

leign,
Changed to a silver white, she holds her

lamp

O'er the belated faavjeller ; so thy face,
Belshazzar, from the crimson glow of rage,
Shifting through all the various hues between,
Settles into a wan and bloodless pale.
Thine eyeballs glare with fire. " Now by great

Bel,"
Incensed, exclaims the monarch, "soon as

morn
Again shall dawn, my vengeance shall bo

pour'd

On every head of their detested race "
He spake, and left the fane with hasty

step,

Indignant H^irt a thousand lords attend,
The minions of his couit And now they

reach

The stately palace In a spacious hflfl,
From whose high roof seven spaikling- lustres

hang,

Bound the perpetual board high sofas ranged
Beceive the gallant chiefs. The floor is

spread

With carpets, work'd in Babylonia's looms,
Exquisite art ; rich vessels carved in gold,
In silver, and m ivory, beam with gems.
'Midst these is placed whate'er of massy

plate,
Or holy ornament, Nebassar brought 4R#

W H. EGBERTS ]

BELSHAZZA& ASTD DAOTEL.

[SIXTH PBSBIOD

From Sum's ransack' d temple, lamps, and

CUpB,

And bowls, now sparkling with the richest

growth

Of Eastern vineyards On the table smokes
All that can ronso the languid appetite,
Barbaric luxury Soft minstrels round
Chant songs of triumph to symphonious

harps

Propt on a golden couch Belshazzar lies,
While on each side fair slaves of Synan

race

By turns solicit with some amorous tale
The monarch's melting heart. " Fill me," he

ones,
" That largest bowl, with which the Jewish

slaves
Once deok'd the altar of their vanquish'd

God.

Never again shall this capacious gold
Receive their victim's blood. Henceforth the

kings

Of Babylon, oft as this feast returns,
Shall crown it with rich wine, neotanous

draught.
Fill high the foaming goblet; rise, my

friends ;

And as I quaff the cup, with loud acclaim
Thrice hail to Bel," They rose , when all at

once
Such sound was heard, as when the roaring

winds
Burst from their cave, and with impetuous

rage
Sweep o'er the Caspian or the Chroman

deep.

O'er the devoted walls the gate of heaven
Thunder' d, a hideous peal ; and, lo ' a

cloud
Came darkening all the banquet, whence

appear'd

A hand (if hand it were, or any form,
Compound of light and shade} on the adverse

wall

Tracing strange characters Belshazzar saw.
And tiembled from his lips the goblet fell
He look'd again ; perhaps it was a dream ,
Thrice, four tunes did he look, and every

time

Still plainer did the mystio lines appear,
Indelible. Forthwith he summons all
The wise Chald.aM.ns, who by night consult
The starry signs, and in each planet read
The dark decrees of fate. Silent they stand ,
Vain are their boasted charms. With eager

Merodaoh's royal widow hastes to cheer
Her trembling son " O king, for ever live ,
Why droops thy soul?" she cnes, "what

though this herd

Of sage nLftgifvia.Tia own their vanquish' d art3
Know* at thou not Daniel? In his heart

resides

The spirit of holy Gods; 'twas he who told
Thy father strange events, and terrible ;
2Tor did Nebassar honour one like fr"n

Through all his spacious kingdom. Ho shall

soon

Dispel thy doubts, and all thy fears ally "
She spake, and with obeisance low retired.
"Then be it so, haste, Anooh, lead him

here,"

Belshazzar cries , " if he interpret right,
Even though my soul in just abhorrence

holds

His hated race, I will revoke their doom,
And shower rich honours on their prophet's

head"
Nor long he waited, when with graceful

step,

And awe-commanding- eye, solemn and slow,
As conscious of superior dignity,
Daniel advanced. Tune o'er his hoary hair
Had shed his white snows. Behind him

stream'd

A mantle, ensign of prophetic powers,
Like that with which inspired Elisha smote
The parting waters, what time on the bank
Of Jordan from the clouds a fiery car
Descended, and by flaming coursers drawn
Bore the sage Tishbite to celestial climes,
Ma-ogre the gates of death. A wand ho

bore —

That wand by whoso mysterious properties
The shepherd of Horob call'd the refluent

waves
O'er Pharaoh and his host, with which ho

struck

The barren flint, when from the riven cliff
Gush'd streams, and wator'd aft the thirsty

tnbes

Of murmuring Israel Through many an ago
Within the temple's unapproached veil,
Fast by the rod, which bloom' d o'er Aaron's

name,

Still did the holy relic rest secure.
At length, when Babylonia's arms provoil'6!,
Seiaiah saved it from the flaming shrine,
With all the sacred wardrobe of the priest,
And bore it safe to Eiblah Dying there,
The priest bequeathed tho sacred legacy
To Daniel He, when summon' d to explain,
As now, God's dark decrees, in his right.

hand
Brandish' d the mystio emblem. '* Art thou

he,
Art thou that Daniel, whom Nobassar

brought
From Salem, whom the vanquish'd tnbes

adore,
In wisdom excellent ? Look there, look

there,
Bead but those lines," the affrighted monarch

ones,
"And clothed in scarlet wear this golden

chain,

The third great ruler of my spacious realm "
He spake, and thus the reverend seer

replied :
"Thy promises, and threats, presumptuous

fang,
My soul alike despises; yet, so wills

From 1727 to 1780 ] THE JEWS' RETURN" TO JERUSALEM

[W. H ROBERTS.

That spint, who darts his radiance on my

mind
(Hear thou, and tremble), will I speak the

words
Winch, he shall, dictate £ Number' d is thy

realm,

And finish.' d in the balance art thou weigh'd,
Where God hath found thee wanting to the

Medes

And Persians thy divided realm is given *
Thus saith the Lord ; and thus those words

import,
Graven by his high behest See'st thou this

wond?
Ne'er has it borne, since first it left the

trunk j

Or bud or blossom all its shielding rind
The sharp steel stnpp'd, and to dry winds

exposed

The vegetative sap ; even so thy race
Shall perish from thy barren stock shall

nse
Nor piince nor ruler, and that glittering

crown,

Won by thy valiant fathers, whose long line
In thee, degenerate monarch, soon must

end,
Shall dart its lustre round a stranger's

brow "

" Prophet of evils ' darest thou pour on me
Thy threats ill-ominous, and judgments dark ? "
Incensed the monarch cues " Hence to thy

tribes,

Toaoh them obedience to their sovereign's will,
Or I will break that wand, and rend in twain
The mantle of thy God —Or if these marks
Thou wilt erase from that accursed wall,
Take half my realm" He spake, and fix'd

his eyes

Wild staring on the mystic characteis
His rage all sunk at once ; his fear return' d
Tenfold , when thus the man of God began .

" Go to the shady vales of Palestine,
Vain prince, or Syrian Lebanon, and tear
The palms and cedars from their native

mould

Uprooted , then return, and break this rod
Believe me, far more arduous were the task
For it was harden' d in the streams of

heaven ,

And though not dedicate to sorcerers' arts
By magic incantation, and strange spells ,
Yet such a potent virtue doth reside
In every part, that not the united force
Of all thy kingdom can one line, one grain,
Of measure, or of solid weight impair
Wilt thou that I revoke thy destined fate ?
Devoted prince, I cannot Hell beneath
Is moved to meet thee. See the mighty

dead,

The kings, that sat on golden thrones, ap-
proach,

The chief ones of the earth. * O Lucifer,
Son of the morning, thou that vaunting

saidst,
" I will ascend the heavens , I will exalt

My throne above the stars of God, the

clouds
Shall roll beneath my feet," art thou too

weak

As we ? art thou become like unto us P
Where now is all thy pomp P where the sweet

sound

Of viol, and of harp P ' with cunous eye
Tracing thy mangled corse, the rescued sons
Of Solyma shall say, * Is this the man
That shook the pillars of the trembling earth,
That made the world a desert p' all the

Each in his house entomb' d, in glory rest,
Whils unlamented lie thy naked limbs,
The sport of dogs and vultures In that day
Shall these imperial towers, this haughty

queen,

That in the midst of waters sits secure,
Pall prostrate on the ground Hi-ominous

birds
Shall o'er th* unwholesome marshes scream for

food,

And hissing serpents by sulphureous pools
Conceal their filthy brood The traveller
In vain shall ask where stood Assyria's pnde :
No trace shall guide his dubious steps; nor

sage,

Versed in historic lore, shall, maik the site
Of desolated Babylon " Thus spake
The seer, and with majestic step retired.

W. H Roberts — JJom 1745, Dieci 1791.

980 — THE JEWS' RETURN TO
JERUSALEM

Now dawns the morn, and on mount Olivet
The hoar-frost melts before the rising sun,
Which summons to their daily toil the world
Of beasts, of men , and all that wings the air,
And all that swims the level of the lake,
Or creeps the ground, bid universal hail
To day's bright regent But the tnbes were

roused,

Impatient even of rest, ere yet the stars
Withdiew their feeble light Through every

street

They bend their way . some A-np.Tnfl."h leads,
Some Phanuel, or what elders else were

driven

In early youth from Sion. Not a spot
Bemains unvisited , each stone, each beam,
Seems sacred As in legendary tale,
Led by magician's hand some hero treads
Enchanted ground, and hears, or thinks lie

hears,

Aenal voices, or with secret dread
Sees unembodied shades, by fancy form'd,
Flit through the gloom, so rescued Judah

walk'd,
Amid the majesty of Salem' a dust,

Tnos. PEWBOS^S ]

THE HELMETS

[SIXTH PBKIOD —

With referential awo. Howbeit thoy soon
Bemovo the mouldering rmns ; soon thoy

clear
The obstructed paths, and ovcry mansion

roiso,
By foroe or tune impair1 d. Then Joshua

rose

"With all his pnests , nor thou, Zorobabel,
Soul of the tribes, wast absent. To the God
Of Jacob, oft as morn and eve returns,
A new-built altar smokes. Nor do they not
Observe the feast, memorial of that age
"When Israel dwolt in tents; the Sabbath

too,

New moons, and every ritual ordinance,
First-fruits, and paschal lamb, and rams, and

goats,
Offerings of sin and peace Nor yet was

laid
The temple's new foundation Corn and

wine,
Sweet balm and oil, they mote with liberal

hand

To Tynan and Sidonian. To the sea
Of Joppa down they heave their stately trees
From Syrian Lebanon. And now they

square
Huge blocks of marble, and with ancient

rites

Anoint the corner-stone Around the pnests,
The Levites and the sons of Asaph stand
With trumpets and with cymbals Joshua

first,

Adorn* d in robes pontifical, conducts
The sacred ceremony An ephod rich
Purple, and blue, comes mantling o'er his

asms,
Clasp' d with smooth studs, round whoso

meand'img hem

A girdle twines its folds to this by chains
Of gold is hnk'd a breastplate costly gems,
Jasper and diamond, sapphire and amethyst,
Unite their hues, twelve stones, memonal

apt

Of Judah's ancient tribes A mitro decks
His head, and on the top a golden crown
Graven, hko a signet, by no vulgar hand,
Proclaims fa™ priest of God Symphomous

hymns

Arc mix'd with instrumental melody,
And Judah's joyful shouts But down thy

cheeks,

0 A-nttnifllij from thine aged eye,
O Fhanuel, drops a tear , for ye have seen
The house of Solomon in all its pride,
And ill can brook this change Nor ye alone,
But every ancient wept. Loud shrieks of

grief,

Mii'd with the voice of joy, are heard beyond
The Ma of Salem Even from Gaboon's

walls
The astonish' d peasant turns a listening

ear,

And Jordan's shepherds catch the distant
sound.
W. H. Roberts.— Born 1745, Died, 1791

981 —THE HELMETS

A FRAGMENT.

— Twas midnight — every moital oyo was

closed
Through tho whole mansion — save an antique

crone's,

That o'er the dying ombors faintly watclv'd
The broken sleep (fell harbinger of death)
Of a sick botoler — Above indeed,
In a drear gallery (lighted by one lamp
Whoso wick the poor departing SonoHclitd
Did closely imitate) paced slow and sad
The village curate, waiting late to shnvo
The penitent whon 'wake. Scarce hhow'd tlio

ray

To fancy's eye, the portray 'd character
That graced the wall — On this and t'other

side

Suspended, nodded o'er the steopy stair,
In many a trophy form'd, tho knightly group
Of helms and targets, gauntlets, raao^1

strong,

And horses' furniture — brave monuments
Of ancient chivalry — Through tho Htain'd

pane
Low gleam' d the moon — not bright — but of

such power
As mark'd the clouds, black, threatening ovor

head,
Full mischief -fraught , — from these in many a

peal
Growl' d the near thunder — flash' d the froquont

blaze
Of lightning blue —While round tho frottod

dome

The wind sung surly • with unusual clank
The armour shook tremendous — On a couch
Placed in tho onol sunk the churchman

down
For who, alone, at that dread hour of night,

Could bear portentous prodigy ?

"I hear it," cries tho proudly gtfdod

casque

(FilTd by the soul of one who erst took joy
In slaughterous deeds), " I hear amidst the

gale
The hostile spirit shouting — onco — onco

moro
In the thick harvest of tho spears we'll

shine —

Thoro will be work anon " —

" I'm 'waken'd too,"

Replied tho sable helmet (tenanted

By a like inmate), " Hark ' — I hear the voice

Of the impatient ghosts, who straggling

rango

Ton summit (crown'd with ruin'd battlements
The fruits of civil discord), to the din
The spirits, wand'nng round this Gothic pile,
All join their yell — the song is war and

death-
There will be work anon."

-" Call armourers, ho '

Furbish my vizor— close my nvets up —
I brook no dallying "

From 1727 to 1780.]

SONG.

[SIR JOHN H 3kTooBi

!< Soft, my .tasty friend,"

Said the black beaver, " Neither of us twain
Shall share the bloody toil— War-worn am I,
Bored by a happier mace, I let in fate
To my once master, — since unsought, unused,
Pensile I'm fix'd— - yet too your gaudy pride
Has nought to boast, — the fashion of the fight
Has thrown your guilt and shady plumes

aside

For modern foppery, — still do not frown,
Nor lower indignantly your steely brows,
We've comfort left enough — The bookman's

lore

Shall trace our sometime merit , — in the eye
Of antiquary taste we long shall shine
And as the scholar marks our rugged front,
He'll say, this Ciessy saw, that Agincourt
Thus dwelling on the prowess of his fathers,
He'll venerate their shell — Vet, more than

this,

Prom our inactive station we shall hear
The groans of butcher'd brothers, shrieking

plaints
Of ravish'd maids, and matronb* frantic

howls ,

Already hovering o'er the threaten' d lands
Tho famish* d raven snuffs the piomised feast,
And hoarselier cioaks for blood — 'twill flow "

" Forbid it, Heaven '

O shield my suffering country ' — Shield it,"

pray'd
The agonising pnest

T7ios Penrose— JBoni 174.3, Died 1779.

982 — THE FIELD OF BATTLE

Faintly bray'd the battle's loar
Distant down the hollow wind ;

Panting Terror fled before,

Wounds and death were lof b behind.

Tho war-fiend cursed the sunken day,
That check' d his f dice pursuit too soon ,

While, scarcely lighting to the prey,
Low hung, and lour'd the bloody moon.

The field, so late the hero's pride,
Was now with vanous carnage spread,

And floated with a crimson tide,
That drench'd the dying and the dead.

O'or the sod scene of dreariest view,
Abandon' d all to horrors wild,

With frantic step Maria flew,
Mana, Sorrow's early child ,

By duty led, for every vein

Was worm'd by Hymen's purest flamo,
With Edgar o'er the wmt'ry irmm

She, lovely, faithful wanderer, camo

For well she thought, a friend so dear
In darkest hours might joy Impart ,

Her wonior, faint with toil, might cheer,
Or soothe her bleeding wamoi's smart.

Though look'd for long — in chill affright
(The torrent bursting fcom her eye)

She heard the signal for the fight —
While her soul trembled in a sigh —

She heard, and clasp' d Tn'-m to her breast,
Yet scarce could urge th' inglorious stay ;

His manly heart the charm confess1 d —
Then broke the charm, — and rush'd away.

Too soon in few — bub deadly words,
Some flying straggler breathed to tell,

That in the foremost strife of swords
The young, the gallant Edgar fell

She press' d to hear — she caught the tale—
At every sound her blood congeal" d , —

With terror bold — with terror pale,
She sprung to search the fatal field

O'er the sad scene in dire amaze

She went — with courage not her own —

On many a corpse she cast her gaze —
And turn'd her ear to many a groan

Drear anguish urged her to press

Full many a hand, as wild she mourn' d ,—
— Of comfort glad the drear caress

The damp, chill, dying hand retnrn'd.

Her ghastly hope was well nigh fled —
When late pale Edgar's form she found,

Half -buried with the hostile dead,
And goied with many a gnsly wound

She knew — she sunk — the night-bird scream' d
— The moon withdrew her troubled light,

And left the fair, — though falPn she seem'd —
To worse than death — and deepest night

Thos. Pewrose — Bom 1743, Died 1779

983 —L' AMOUR TIMIDE.

If in that breast, so good, so pure,

Compassion ever loved to dwell,
Pity the sorrows I endure ,

The cause I must not, dare not tell.

The gnef that on my quiet preys,

That rends my heart, that checks my

tongue,
I fear will last me all my days, ,

But feel it will not la&t me long

8w John S. Moore.— Born 1756, Jhe& 1780.

984— SONQ.

Cease to blame my melancholy,
Though, with sighs and folded arms
I muse with silence on her charms ,

Censure not — I know 'tis folly

RICHAJRD JACK).]

LABOUR AND GENIUS

Yet these mournful thoughts possessing,

Such delights I find in grief,

That, could heaven afford relief,
My fond heart would scorn the blessing

Svr JbTwt E. Moore —Born 1756, Died 1780.

985.— LABOUR AND GENIUS , OB, THE
MILL-STREAM AND THE CASCADE.

Betwixt two sloping verdant hills
A current poux'd its careless rills,
"Which unambitious crept along,
With weeds and matted grass o'erhung.
Till Rural Genius, on a day,
Chancing along its banks to stray,
Remark' d, with penetrating look,
The latent merits of the brook,
Much grieved to see such talents hid,
And thus the dull by-standers chid

How blind is man's incurious race
The scope of nature's plans to tiaoe P
How do ye mangle half her charms,
And fright her hourly with alarms P
Disfigure now her swelling mounds.
And now contract her spacious bounds P
Fritter her fairest lawns to alleys,
Bare her green hills, and hide her valleys P
Confine her streams with rule and line,
And counteract her whole design ?
Neglecting, where she points the way,
Her easy dictates to obey P
To bring her hidden worth to sight,
And place her oha3*™** in fairest light P
* * # *

He said and to his favourite son
Consign' d the task, and will'd it done.
Damon his counsel wisely weigh' d,
And carefully the scene suivey'd
And, though it seems he said but little,
He took his meaning to a tittle
And first, his purpose to befriend,
A bank he raised at th' upper end
Compact and close its outward side,
To stay and swell the gathering tide
But on its inner, rough and tall,
A ragged cliff, a rooky wall
The channel nest he oped to view,
And from its course the rubbish drew.
Enlarged it now, and now with line
Oblique pursued TUP fair design.
Preparing here the mazy way,
And there the fall for sportive play j
The precipice abrupt and steep,
The pebbled road, and cavern deep ;
The rooty seat, where best to view
The fairy scene, at distance due
He last invoked the dryads' aid,
And fringed the borders round with shade.
Tapestry, by Nature's fingers wove,
No mimic, but a real grove
Part hiduig, part admitting day,
The scene to grace the future play.

Damon perceives, with ravish' d oyos,
The beautiful enchantment rise
Sees sweetly blended shade and light ,
Sees every part with each unite ,
Sees each, as he directs, assume
A livelier dye, or deeper gloom
So fashion'd by the paurler's skill,
New forms the glowing canvas fill -
So to the summer's sun tho roso
And jessamin their charms disclose.
# # * *

Not distant far below, a mill
Was built upon a neighb'ring rill
Whose pent-up siaeam, whene'er lot loose,
Impell' d a wheel, close at its sluice,
So strongly, that by friction's power,
'Twonld grind the firmest groin to flour.
Or, by a correspondence new,
With hammers, and their olatt'ring crew,
Would so bestir her active stumps,
On iron blocks, though arrant lumps,
That in a trice she'd manage matters,
To make 'em all as smooth as platters.
Or slit a bar to rods quite taper,
With as much ease as you'd out paper
For, though the lever gave the blow,
Yet it was lifted from below ,
And would for ever have lain still,
But for the bustling of the nil ,
Who, from her stately pool or ocean,
Put all the wheels and logs in motion ,
Things in their nature very quiet,
Though making all this noise and riot

This stream that could in toil excel,
Began with foolish pride to swell
Piqued at her neighbour's reputation,
And thus express' d hoi indignation

" Madam ' methmks you're vastly proud,
You wasn't used to talk so loud.
Nor out such capers in your pace,
Marry ' what antics, what grim ace '
For shame ! don't give youiself such airs,
In flaunting down those hideous stairs
Nor put yourself in such a flutter,
Whate'er you do, you dirty gutter »
I'd have you know, you upstart minx '
Ere you were fonn'd, with all your sinks,
A lake I was, compared with which,
Your stream is but a paltry ditch
And still, on honest labour bent,
I ne'er a single flash misspent
And yet no folks of high degree
Would e'er vouchsafe to visit mo,
As in their coaches by they rattle,
Forsooth ' to hear your idle prattlo.
Though half the business of my flooding
Is to provide them cakes and pudding
Or f unnsh stuff for many a trinket,
Which, though so fine, you scarce would

thuTilt; it,

When Boulton's skill has fix'd their beauty,
To my rough toil first owed their duty
But I'm plain Goody of the mill,
And you are — Madam Casoadillo ' "

" Dear Ooz," replied the beauteous torrent,
M Pray do not discompose your current.

From 1727 to 1780 ]

VARIETY.

[W. WHTTEHEAD

That we all from one form-torn flow,
Hath been agreed on long ago
Varying our talents and our tides.
As chance or education guides
That I have either note, or name.,
I owe to him who gives me fame
"Who teaches all our kind to flow,
Or gaily swift, or gravely slow
Now in the lake, with glassy face,
Now moving light, with dimpled grace*
Now gleaming from the rooky height,
Now, in rough eddies, foaming white.
Nor envy me the gay, or great,
That visit my obscure retreat
None wonders that a clown can dig,
But 'tis some ait to dance a jig
Your talents are employ'd for use,
Mine to give pleasure, and amuse
And though, dear Coz, no folks of taste
Their idle hours with you will waste,
Yet many a grist oomes to your mill,
Which helps your master's bags to fill
While I, with all my notes and trilling,
For Damon never got a shilling.
Then, gentle Coz, forbear your clamours,
Enjoy your hoppers, and your "hammers .
We gain our ends by different ways,
And you get bread, and I get — praise "

RicJiard Jago.—Born 1715, Died 1781

986.— VARIETY

A gentle maid, of rural breeding,
By Nature first, and then by reading,
Was fill' d with all those soft sensations
Which we restrain in near relations,
Lest future husbands should be jealous,
And think their wives too fond of fellows.

The morning sun beheld her rove
A nymph, or goddess of the grove '
At eve she paced the dewy lawn,
And oalTd each clown she saw, a faun '
Then, scudding homeward, look'd her door,
And turn'd some copious volume o'er.
For much she read, and chiefly those
Great authors, who in verse, or piose,
Or something betwixt both, unwind
The secret springs which move the mind
These much she read; and thought she

knew

The human heart's minutest clue ;
Yet shrewd observers still declare
(To show how shrewd observers are),
Though plays, which breathed heroic flame,
And novels, in profusion, came,
Imported fresh-and-fresh from France,
She only read the heait's romance

The world, no doubt, was well enough
To smooth the manners of the rough ;
Might please the giddy and the vain,
Those tmselTd slaves of folly's tram

But, for her part, the truest taste
She found was in retirement placed,
Where, as in verse it sweetly flows,
" On every thorn instruction grows "

Not that she wish'd to "be alone,"
As some affected prudes have done ,
She knew it was decreed on high
We should 'increase and multiply,"
And therefore, if kind Fate would grant
Her fondest wish, her only want,
A cottage with the man she loved
Was what her gentle heart approved ,
In some delightful solitude
Where step profane might ne'er intrude ;
But Hymen guard the sacred giound,
And vvrtuous Cupids hover round
Not such as flutter on a fan
Bound Crete's vile bull, or Leda's swan,
(Who scatter myitles, scatter roses,
And hold then: fingers to their noses),
But sunp'nng, mild, and innocent,
As angels on a monument.

Fate heard her pray'r . a lover caane,
Who felt, like her, th' innoxious flame ;
One who had trod, as well as she,
The flow*ry paths of poesy ,
Had warm' d himself with Milton's heat,
Could ev'ry line of Pope repeat,
Or chant in Shenstone's tender strains,
" The lovei's hopes," " the lover's pains."

Attentive to the charmer's tongue,
With him she thought no evening long ,
With him, she saunter' d half the day ,
And sometimes, in a laughing way,
Ban o'er the catalogue by rote
Of who might marry, and who not ,
" Consider, sir, we're near relations — "
" I hope so in our inclinations " —
In short, she look'd, she blush' d consent;
He grasp'd her hand, to church they went;
And ev'ry matron that was there,

With tongue so voluble and supple,
Said for her part, she must declare,

She never saw a finer couple
O Halcyon days ! 'Twas Nature's reign,
'Twas Tempo's vale, and Enna's plain,
The fields assumed •owflBTinl bloom,
And ev'ry zephyr breathed perfume,
The laughing sun with genial beams
Danced lightly on th* exulting streams,
And the pale regent of the night,
In dewy softness shed delight
'Twas transport not to be exprest ,
'Twas Paradise f But mark the rest.

Two smiling springs had waked the flow'ra
That paint the meads, or fringe the bow'rs
(Ye lovers, lend your wond'nng eais,
Who count by months, and not by years),
Two smiling springs had ohaplets wove
To crown their solitude, and love :
When lo, they find, they can't tell how,
Their walks are not so pleasant now
The seasons sure were changed, the place
Had, somehow, got a diiFrent face
Some blast had struck the cheerful scene ;
The lawns, the woods, were not so green.

"W WHITEHEAD]

VARIETY.

[SIXTH PEEIOD. —

The purling rill, winch murmur'd by,
And once was liquid harmony,
Became a sluggish, reedy pool •
The days grew hot, the ov'nings cool.
The moon, with all the starry roign,
Wero melancholy's silent train.
And then the tedious winter night —
They could not read by candle-light

Pull oft, unknowing why thoy did,
They calTd m adventitious sad
A faithful, fav'nte dog ('twas thus
With Tobit and Tolemachus)
Amused their steps , and for a while
They viow'd his gambols with a smile.
The kitten, too, was comical,
She play*d so oddly with her tail,
Or in the glass was pleased to find
Another cat, and peep'd behind

A courteous neighbour at the door
Was deem'd mtausive noise no more.
For rural visits, now and then,
Are right, as men must live with men
Then cousin Jenny, fresh from town,

A new recruit, a dear delight '
Made many a heavy hour go down,

At mom, at noon, at eve, at night
Sure they could hear her jokes for ever,
She .was so sprightly, and BO clever '

Yet neighbours were not quite the thing ;
What joy, alas ' could converse bring
With awkward creatures bred at home —
The dog grew dull, or troublesome
The cat had spoil' d the kitten's meiit,
And, with her youth, hod lost hei spirit.
And jokes repeated o'er and o'er,
Had quite exhausted Jenny's store*
— " And then, my dear, I can't abide
This always sauntering side by side "
" Enough ' " he cues, " the reason 's plain
Tor causes never rack your brain
Our neighbours aie like other folks,
Skip's playful tncks, and Jenny's jokes,
Are still delightful, still would please,
Weie we, my dear, ourselves at ease
Look round, with an impartial eye,
On yonder fields, on yonder sky,
The azuie cope, the flow'rs below,
With all their wonted colours glow
The rill still murmurs , and the moon
Shines, as she did, a softer sun
No change has made tho seasons fail,
No comet brush' d us with his tail
The scene 9s the same, the samo the

weather —
We live, imj dear, too much together "

Agreed A rich old uncle dies,
And added wealth the means supplies
With eager haste to town they flew,
Where all must please, for all was new.

But here, by strict poetic laws,
Description claims its proper pause

The rosy morn had raised her head
From old Tithonus' saffron bed ,
And embryo sunbeams from the east,
Half-choked, were struggling through the
mist,

When forth advanced the gilded chaiao ,
The village crowded round to gaze
The pert postilion, now promoted
From driving plough, and neatly bootcl,
His jacket, cap, and baldric on
(As greater folks than he have done),
Look'd round , and, with a coxcomb air,
Smaok'd loud his lash The happy pair
BoVd graceful, feom a sop'rate door,
And Jenny, from the stool before

Boll swift, ye wheels r to willing oyosJ
New objects ov'ry moment rise.
Each carnage passing on tho road,
Prom tho broad waggon's pond'iotw load
To the light car, whore mounted high
The giddy driver seems to fly,
Were themes for harmless satire fit,
And gave fresh force to Jenny's wit
Whate'er oocurr'd, 'twas all delightful,
No noise was harsh, no danger frightful
The dash and splash through thick and thm,
The hair-breadth 'scapes, the bustling inn
(Where well-bred landlords wero so ready
To welcome m the 'squire and lady),
Dirt, dust, and sun, they bore with ease,
Determined to be pleased, and please

Now nearer town, and all agog,
They know dear London by its fog
Bridges they cross, through lanes they wind,
Leave Hounslow's dang'rouB heath behind,
Through Brentford win a passage froo
By roaring " Wilkes and Liberty ' "
At Knightsbridge bless the fthort'mng way
(Where Bays's troops in ambush lay),
O'er Piccadilly's pavement glido
(With palaces to gioce its side),
Till Bond-street with its lamps a-blazo
Concludes the journey of three days

Why should we paint, in todioua song-,
How ev'ry day, and all day long,
They drove at first with curious haute
Through Lud's vast town , or, as thov pass'd
'Midst risings, fallings, and repairs
Of streets on &tieets, and squares on squares,
Describe how strong their wonder grew
At buildings — and at builders too p

Scarce loss astonishment arose
At architects more fair than those —
Who built as high, as widely spread
Th' enormous loads that clothed thoir head
For British dames new follies love,
And, if they can't invent, improve
Some with erect pagodas vie,
Some nod, like Pisa's tower, awry,
Medusa's snakea, with Palla*' crest,
Convolved, contorted, and comproHs'd ,
With intermingling trees, and fioweis,
And corn, and grass, and shepherd's bowers,
Stage above stage the turrets run,
Like pendent groves of Babylon,
Till nodding from the topmost wall
Otranto's plumes envelop all '
Whilst the block ewes, who own'd the hair,
Feed harmless on, in pastures fair,
Unconscious that thcw tails perfume,
In scented curls, the drawing-room.

From 1727 to 1780 ]

YAKDETY.

[W WHITEHEAD

When Night her murky pinions spread,
And sober folks retire to bed,
To ov'ry public place they flew,
Where Jenny told them who was who
Money was always at command,
And tripp'd with pleasure hand in hand.
Money was equipage, was show,
G-allim's, Almack's, and Soho ,
The passe-partout through every vein
Of dissipation's hydra reign.

0 London, thou prolific source,
Parent of vice, and folly's nurse '
Fruitful as Nile thy copious spungs
Spawn hourly buths, — and all with &tmgs
But happiest far the he, or she,

1 know not which, that livelier dunce
Who first contrived the cotene,

To oiush domestic bliss at once
Then gnnn'd, no doubt, amidbt the darner,
As Nero fiddled to the names

Of thee, Pantheon, let me speak
With reverence, though in numbers Treat ,
Thy beauties satire's frown beguile,
We spare the follies for the pile
Flounced, furbelow'd, and trick' d £01 bhow,
With lamps above, and lamps below,
Thy charms even modern taste defied,
They could not spoil thee, though they tried

Ah, pity that Time's hasty wmgg
Must swoop thee off with vulgar things '
Lot architects of humbler name
On fi ail materials build their fame,
Thoix noblest works the woild might want,
Wyatt should build in adamant

But what are those to scenes which lie
• Secreted from the vulgar eye,
And baffle all the powers of song P —
A brazen throat, an iron tongue
(Which poets wish for, when at length
Their subject soars above their strength)
Would shun the task. Our humbler Muse
(Who only reads the public news,
And idly utters what she gleans
From chronicles and magazines),
Recoiling, feels her feeble fires,
And blushing to her shades retires
Alas' she knows not how to treat
The finer follies of the gieat,
Where even, Demoontus, thy sneer
Were vain as Heraclitus' tear

Suffice it that by just degrees
They reach' d all heights, and rose with ease
(For beauty wins its way, unoall'd,
And ready dupes ore ne'er black-balTd)
Each gambling dame she knew, and he
Knew every shark of quality ,

On thoughtless youth, and living thiive,
To the light train who mimic France,
And the soft sons of nonchala-nre
While Jenny, now no more of use,
Excuse succeeding1 to excuse,
Grew piqued, and prudently withdrew
To shilling whist, and chicken loo
-7 Advanced to fashion's wavering head,
They now, where once they followed, led.

Devised new systems of delight,
A-bed all day, and up all night,
In different circles reign* d supreme
Wives copied her, and husbands him ;
Till so divinely life ran on,
So separate, so quite bou-fcw,
That, meeting in a public place,
They scarcely knew each other's face

At last they met, by his do&ire,
A t$tc-(l-tCte across the fire,
Look'd in each other's face awhile,
With half a tear, and half a smile
The ruddy health, which wont to grace
With manly glow his rural face,
Now scaice retam'd its faintest streak ,
So sallow was his leathern cheek
She lank, and pole, and hollow-eyed,
With roiifje had striven in vain to hide
What once was beauty, and repair
The rapine of the midnight air

Silence is eloquence, 'tis said.
Both wish'd to speak, both hung the head.

At length it burst " 'Tis time," he ones,

" When tired of folly, to be wise

Aie you too fared ? " — then cheok'd a groan.

She wept consent, and he went on

" How delicate the married life '
You love your husband, I my wife '
Not even satiety could tame,
Nor dissipation quench the name

* True to the bias of our kind,
'Tw happiness we wish to find
In lural scenes retired we sought
In vain the deal, delicious draught,
Though blest with love' a indulgent store,
We found we wanted something more
'Twas company, 'twas friends to share
The bliss we languished to declare
'Twos social converse, change of scene,
To soothe the sullen hour of spleen ,
Short absences to wake desire,
And sweet regrets to fan the fire

" We left the lonesome place ; and found,
In dissipation's giddy round,
A thousand novelties to wake
The springs of life and not to break
As, from the nest not wandering far,
In light excursions through the air,
The leather* d tenants of the grove
Around in mazy circles move
(Sip the cool springs that murmuring flow,
Or taste the blossom on the bough)
We sported freely with the iest ,
And stall, returning to the nest,
In easy mirth we chatted o'er
The trifles of the day before.

'* Behold us now, dissolving quite
In the full ocean of delight
In pleasures every hour employ,
Immersed in all the world calls joy,

Of splendour and magruficence ,

Our company, the exalted set

Of all that 's gay, and all that 's great

Nor happy yet ' — and where 'a the wonder ? —

We live, my dear, too much asunder.*'

MRS. G-KEYILLE.]

PBAYEB FOR INDIFFERENCE.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

The moral of my tale IB this,
Variety's the soul of bliss ;
But such variety alone
As makes oar home the more our own.
As from the heart's impelling power
The life-blood pours its genial store ;
Though taking- eaoh a various way,
The active streams meandering play
Through every artery, every vein,
All to the heart return again ,
From thence resume their new career,
But still return and centre there
So real happiness below
Must from the heart sincerely now ,
Nor, listening to the syren's song,
Must stray too far, or rest too long.
All human pleasures thither tend ,
Must there begin, and there must end ,
Must there recruit their languid force,
And gam fresh vigour from their source.

W. WhitoTuadt—Barn 1715, Died 1785.

987 — RBAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE.

Oft I've implored the gods in vain,
And prayed till I've been weary .

For once Til seek my wish to gam
Of Oberon the fairy

Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,

Who livest in woods unseen ,
And oft by Cynthia's silver light

Tnp'st gaily o'er the green

If e'er thy pitying heart was moved

As ancient stones tell ,
And for th* Athenian maid who loved,

Thou sought* st a wond'rous spell %

O I deign once more t' exert thy powor !

Haply some herb or tree,
Sovereign as Juice from western flower,

Conceals a balm for me

I ask no kind return in love,

No tempting charm to please ,
Far from the heart such gifts remove,

That sighs for peace and ease '

Nor ease, nor peace, that heart can know,

That like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,

But, turning, trembles too.

Far as distress the soul can wound,
'Tis pain in eaoh degree j

'Tis bliss but to a certain bound-
Beyond— is agony;

Then take this treacherous sense of mine,
Which dooms me still to smart ,

Which pleasure can to pain refine,
To paan new pangs impart.

0 ' haste to shed the sovereign balm,

My shatter'd nerves new-string ,
And for my guest, serenely calm,

The nymph Indifference bnng '

At her approach, see Hope, see Fear,

See Expectation fly '
And Disappointment in tho loar,

That blasts the purposed joy

The teais, which Pity taught to flow,

My eyes shall then disown ,
The heart, that throbb'd at othois' woo,

Shall then scarce fool its own

The wounds, which now each moment blood,

Eaoh moment then shall close ,
And tranquil days shall still succeed

To nights of sweet repose.

0 fairy-elf f but grant me this,

This one kind comfort send '
And so may never-fading bliss

Thy flowery paths attend !

So may the. glow-worm's glimmering light

Thy tiny footsteps lead
To some new region of delight,

Unknown to mortal tread '

And be thy acorn-goblet fill'd

With heaven's ambrosial dew,
From sweetest, freshest flowers distill' d,

That shed fresh sweets for you.

And what of life remains for me,

ril pass in sober ease ,
Half-pleased, contented will I be,

Content — but half to ploaso

Mrs Gr&uille— About 1753.

988.— OPENING- OF THE MINSTREL

Ah ' who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines

afar,

Ah f who can tell how many a soul sublime
Has felt the influence of malignant star,
And waged with Fortune an eternal war ,
Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's

frown,

And poverty's unconquerable bar,
In He's low vale remote has pined alone,
Then dropp'd into the grave, unpitiod and

unknown I

And yet the languor of inglorious day
Not equally oppressive is to all ,
Kim, who ne'er ksten'd to the voice of praise,
The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.
There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,
Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump

of Fame ,
Supremely blest, if to their portion fall

From 1727 to 1780.]

OPENING OF THE MINSTEEL

[BEATTIB

Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher

fl.Tm

Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines
proclaim.

The rolls of fame I will not now explore ;
Nor need I here describe, in learned lay,
How forth the Minstrel fared in days of

yore,
Bight glad of heart, though homely in

array;

His waving looks and beard all hoary gray ,
While from MB bending shoulder decent

hung

His harp, the sole companion of his way,
"Winch, to the whistling wind responsive rung
And ever as he went some merry lay he

sung

Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of

pride,

That a poor villager inspires my strain ;
With thee let Pageantry and Power abide ;
The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign ,
Where through wild groves at eve the lonely

swain
Enraptured roams, to gaze on Nature's

charms

They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain ,
The parasite their influence never warms,
Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold

alarms.

Though richest hues the peacock's plumes

adorn,
Yet horror screams from his discordant

throat.

Rise, sons of harmony, and "ha.il the morn,
While warbling larks on russet pinions float .
Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote,
Where the gray linnets carol from the hill,
O let them ne*er, with artificial note,
To please a tyrant, strain the little bill,
But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander

where they will

Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand ;

Nor was perfection made for man below

Yet all her schemes with nicest art are

plann'd,

Good counteracting ill, and gladness wo.
With gold and gema if Chilian mountains

glow;

If bleak and barren Scotia's TnlTfi arise ;
There plague and poison, lust and rapine

grow,
Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the

skies,
And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in

the eyes

Then grieve not thou, to whom the indulgent

Muse

Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire ,
Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse
The imperial banquet and the rich attire.

Know thine own worth, and reverence the

lyre
Wilt thou debase the heart which God

refined?
No; let thy heaven-taught soul to Heaven

aspire,

To fancy, freedom, harmony, resign'd;
Ambition's grovelling crew for ever left

behind.

Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul,
In each fine sense so exquisitely keen,
On the dull couch of Luxury to loll,
Stung with disease, and stupified with

spleen,

Fain to implore the aid of Flattery's screen,
Even from thyself thy loathsome heart to

hide

(The mansion then no more of joy serene),
Where fear, distrust, malevolence abide,
And impotent desire, and disappointed

pnde p

0 how canst thou renounce the boundless

store
Of charms which Nature to her votary

yields'
The -warbling woodland, the resounding

shore,

The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ;
AH that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to tho song of even,
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom

shields,

And all the dread magnificence of heaven,
O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be

forgiven ?

+ * * *

There lived in Gothic days, as legends tell,
A shepherd-swain, a man of low degree,
"Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might

dwell,

Sicilian groves or vales of Arcady ;
But he, I ween, was of the north countne ;
A nation famed for song, and beauty's

charms ,

Zealous, yet modest , innocent, though free ,
Patient of toil , serene amidst alarms ;
Inflexible in faith , invincible in arms

The shepherd-swam, of whom I mention

made,

On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock ,
The sickle, scythe, or plough, he never

sway*d;

An honest heart was almost all his stock ,
His dnnk the living water from the rock ,
The milky dams supplied his board, and lent
Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock ,
And he, though oft with dust and rweat

besprent,
Did guide and guard their wanderings, where-

so'er they went.

1735, Died 1803

BBA.TTIE ]

MORNING LANDSCAPE.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

989— MORNING- LANDSCAPE.

Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture

glow,
As on he wanders through the scenes of

morn,
Where the fresh flowers m living lustre

blow,
Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns

adorn,
A thousand notes of joy on every breeze are

borne

But who the melodies of morn can tell p
The wild brook babbling down the mountain

side,
The lowing herd, the sheepf old's simple

bell,

The pipe of early shepherd dim descried
In the lone valley , echoing far and wide
The olamoious horn along the cliffs above ;
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide j
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the fall choir that wakes the universal

grove

The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark ;
Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid

sings,
The whistlm^1 ploughman stalks afield ; and,

hark!
Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon

rings;
Through rustling corn the hare astonish' d

springs ,
Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy

hour,
The partridge bursts away on whirring

wings,
Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd

bower,
And sJipril lark carols clear from her aerial

tower

Beattte —Born 1735, Died 1803

990— LIFE AND IMMORTALITY

0 ye wild groves, 0 where is now your

bloom •)—
(The Muse interprets thus his tender

thought •)
Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy

gloom,

Of late so grateful in the hour of drought ?
Why do the birds, that song and rapture

brought

To all your bowers, their mansions now for-
sake?

Ah ' why has fickle chance this rum wrought p
For now the storm howls mournful through

the brake,
And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless

flake

Where now the nil, melodious, pure, and

cool,
And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty

crown'd ?
Ah1 see, the unsightly slime, and sluggish

pool,

Have all the solitary vale embrown' d ,
Mod each fair foim, and mute each molting

sound,

The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray.
And hark the nvei, blasting every mound,
Down the vale thunders, and with wasteful

sway
Uproots the grove, and rolls the shattor'd

rocks away.

Yet such the destiny of all on earth •

So flourishes and fades majestic man.

Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth,

And f osteiing gales a while the nursling fan

0 smile, ye heavens, seiono , yo mildews wan,

Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy

prune,

Nor lessen of his life the little span.
Borne on the swift, though silent wings of

'Time,
Old age comes on apace to ravage all the

clime

And be it so Lot those deplore their doom
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojouin ,
But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb,
Can smile at Fate, and wonder how thoy

mourn
Sha.11 Spring to these sad scones no more

return P

Is yonder wave the Sun's eternal bed p
Soon stall the Orient with now lu&tre burn,
And Spring shall soon* her vital influence

shed,
Again attune the grove, again adorn the

mead

Shall I be left forgotten in the dust,
When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ?
Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust,
Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to

hve?

Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive
With disappointment, penury, and pain ?
No. Heaven's immortal spring shall yet

arrive,

And man's majestic beauty bloom again,
Bright thiough the eternal year of Love's

triumphant reign.

Seattle.— Bom 1735, Died 1803

991 — RETIREMENT

When in the crimson cloud of even
The lingering light decays,
And Hesper on the front of heaven
His glittering gem displays ;

Prom 1727 to 1780.]

THE HEEMIT.

[BBATTIH.

Beep in the silent Tale, -unseen,
[Beside a lulling stream,
A pensive youth, of placid mien,
Indulged this tender theme.

" Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled

High o'er the glimmering dale ,

Ye woods, along whose windings wild

Murmurs the solemn gale

Where Melaaoholy strays forlorn,

And Woe retires to weep,

"What tune the wan moon's yellow horn

Gleams on the western deep •

To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms

Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,

'Soaped a tumultuous world's alarms,

To your retreats I fly

Deep in your most sequester' d bower

Let me at last recline,

Where Solitude, mild, modest power,

Leans on her ivied shrine

How shall I woo thee, matchless fair P

Thy heavenly smile how win P

Thy smile that smooths the brow of Caie,

And stills the storm within

0 wilt thou to thy favourite giove

Thine ardent votary bring,

And bless his hours, and bid them move

Serene, on talent wing ?

Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind
With dreams of former days,
When in the lap of Peace reclined
He framed his infant lays ,
When Fancy roved at large, nor Care
Nor cold Distrust alarm' d,
Nor Envy, with mdignftfit glare,
His simple youth had haxm'd

'Twas then, O Solitude ' to thee

His early vows were paid,

From heart sincere, and warm, and free,

Devoted to the shade.

Ah, why did Fate his steps decoy

In stormy paths to roam,

Remote from, all congenial joy r —

0 take the wanderer home

Thy shades, thy silence now be mine,
Thy charms my only theme ;
My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
Waves o'er the gloomy stream
Whence the scared owl on pinions gray
Breaks from the rustling boughs,
And down the lone vale sails away
To more profound repose.

O, while to thee the woodland pours

Its wildly warbling song,

And balmy from the bank of flowers

The zephyr breathes along ,

Let no rude sound invade from far,

No vagrant foot be nigh;

No ray from Grandeur's gilded car

Flash on the startled eye.

But if some pilgrim through the glade

Thy hallow* d bowers explore,

O guard from harm his hoary head,

And listen to his loxe ,

For he of joys divine shall tell,

That wean from earthly wo,

And triumph o'er the mighty spell

That chains his heart below.

For me, no more the path invites

Ambition loves to tread ;

No more I climb those toilsome heights,

By guileful Hope misled ;

Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more

To Mirth's enlivening strain ;

For present pleasure soon is o'er,

And all the past is vain "

Seattle — Born 1735, Died 1803.

992.— THE HERMIT

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is

still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness

prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the

hill,
And nought but the mghtmgale*& song in the

giove-

'Twas thus, by tho cave of the mountain afar,
While his harp rung symphomous, a hermit

began

No more with himself or with nature at war,
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a

man.

"Ah1 why, all abandon' d to darkness and

wo,

Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall ?
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,
Mourn, sweetest complamer, man calls thee

to mourn ;
0 soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass

away:
Full quickly they pass— but they never

return.

Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky,

The moon half extinguish' d her crescent dis-
plays-

But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high

She shone, and the planets were lost in her
blaze

Boll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness
pursue

The path that conducts thee to splendour
again;

But man's faded glory what change shall
renew?

Ah fool ' to exult in a glory so vain '

BEATTIB ]

ODE TO PEACE.

[SIXTH PJDBIOD.—-

'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no

more;
I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for

you,
Tor morn is approaching, your charms to

restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering

with dew

Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ;
Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save.
But when shall spring visit the mouldering

urn1
O when* ahal] it dawn on the night of the

gravel

'Twas thus, by the glare of false science be-

tray'd,
That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to

blind,
My thoughts wont to roam, from shade

onward to shade, 4

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind
* O prey, great Father of Light,' then I

cried,
'Thy creature, who fam would not wander

from thee ,

Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pnde :
From doubt and from darkness thou only

canst free ' '

And darkness and doubt are now flying away,
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph

descending,
And Nature all glowing in Eden's first

bloom i
On the cold oheek of death smiles and roses

are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb "

Beathe —Born 1735, Died 1803.

993. — ODE TO PEACE.

Peace, heaven-descended maid ' whose

powerful voice

From ancient darkness calTd the morn,
Of jarring elements composed the noise ;
When Chaos, from his old dominion torn,
With all his bellowing throng,
Far, far was hurPd the void abyss along;
And all the bright angelic choir
To loftiest raptures tune the heavenly

lyre,
Pour'd in loud symphony the impetuous

strain ;

And every fiery orb and planet sung,
And wide through night's dark desolate

domain
Rebounding long and deep the lays triumphant

rung

Oh, whither ait thou fled, Saturnian

reign?

Boll round again, majestic Years '
To break fell Tyranny's corroding chain,
From Woe's wan check to wipe the bitter

Te Tears, again roll round f

Hark, from afar what loud tumultuous

sound,

While echoes swoop the winding vales,
Swells fall along the plains, and loads tho

Muider deep-roused, with the wild whirl-
wind's haste

And roar of tempest, from her cavern
springs;

Her tangled serpents girds around her

waist,

Smiles ghastly Astern, and shakes her gore-
distilling wings

Fierce up the yielding skies

The shouts redoubling rise

Earth shudders at the dreadful sound,

And all is listening, trembling round.

Torrents, that from yon promontory's

head

Dash'd furious down in desperate cascade,
Heard from afar amid the lonely night,
That oft have led the wanderer right,
Are silent at the noise
The mighty ocean's more majestic voico,
Drown'd in superior din, is hoard no

more;
The surge in silence sweeps along the foamy

shore.

The bloody banner streaming in tho air,
Seen on yon sky-mis' d mountain's brow,
The "mingling multitudes, tho madding car,
Pouring impetuous on the plain below,
War's dreadful lord proclaim.
Bursts out by frequent fits tho expansive-
flame

Whirl'd in tempestuous eddies flies
Tho surging smoko o'er all tho darken1 d

skies.
The cheerful face of heaven no more is

seen,
Fades the morn's vivid blush to deadly

pale.
The bat flits transient o'er the dusky

green,

Night's shrieking birds along tho sullen
twilight sail.

Involved in fire-streak1 d gloom the car

comes on

The mangled steeds grim Terror guides
His forehead writhed to a relentless frown,
Aloft the angry Power of Battles rides •
Grasp1 d in his mighty hand
A mace tremendous desolates the land ,
Thunders the turret down the steep,
The mountain shrinks before its wasteful

sweep;

From 1727 to 1780 ]

ODE TO PEACE

[BEATTIHJ.

Chill horror the dissolving limbs invades,
Smit by the blasting lightning of his

eyes,
A bloated paleness beauty's bloom o'er-

Fades every flowery field, and every verdure
dies

How startled Frenzy stares,
Bristling- her ragged hairs '
Bevenge the gory fragment gnaws ,
See, with her griping vulture-claws
Imprinted deep, she rends the opening

wound1
Hatred her toroh blue-streaming tosses

round,

The shneks of agony and clang of arms
Be-echo to the fierce alarms
Her trump terrific blows
Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose
Of kingly gesture a gigantic form,
That with his scourge sublime directs the

whirling storm.

Ambition, outside fair ' within more foul
Than f ellest fiend from Tartarus sprung,
In caverns hatch.' d, where the fierce tonents

roll

Of Phlegethon, the burning banks along,
Ton naked waste survey •
Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous

lay,

Where late the rosy-bosom'd Hours
In loose array danced lightly o'er the

flowers ,
Wheie late tho shepherd told his tender

tale,
And, waked by the soft-murmuring breeze

of morn,

The voice of cheerful labour filTd the dale ,
And dove-eyed Plenty smiled, and waved her

liberal horn

Ton rams sable from tho wasting flame
But mark the once resplendent dome ,
The frequent corse obstructs the sullen

stream,
And ghosts glare horrid from the sylvan

gloom.

How sadly silent all '
Save where outstretoh'd beneath yon

hanging wall

Pale Famine moans with feeble breath,
And Torture yells, and grinds her bloody

teeth—
Though vain the muse, and every melting

lay,

To touch thy heart, unconscious of remorse r
Know, monster, know, thy hour is on the

way,
I see, I see the Tears begin their mighty

course

What scenes of glory rise

Before my dazzled eyes '

Young Zephyrs wave their wanton wings,

And melody celestial ring's :

Along the lilied lawn the nymphs advance,

Flush.' d with love's bloom, and range the
sprightly dance

The gladsome shepherds on the mountain-
side,

Arrayed in all their rural pnde,

Exalt the festive note,

Inviting Echo from her inmost grot —

But ah ! the landscape glows with fainter

light,

It darkens, swims, and flies for ever from
my sight

Illusions vain ! Can sacred Peace reside,
Where sordid gold the breast alarms,
Where cruelty inflames the eye of Pnde,
And Grandeur wantons in soft Pleasure's

arms?

Ambition 1 these are thine ,
These from the soul erase the form divine ;
These quench the animating fire
That warms the bosom with sublime desire
Thence the relentless heart forgets to feel,
Hate rides tremendous on the o'erwhelming

brow,
And midnight Rancour grasps the cruel

steel,
Blaze the funereal flames, and sound the

shrieks of Woe

From Albion fled, thy once beloved retreat,
What region brightens in thy smile,
Creative Peace, and underneath thy feet
Sees sullen flowers adorn the rugged soil ?
In bleak Siberia blows,
Waked by thy genial breath, the balmy

rose?

Waved over by thy magic wand,
Does life inform fell Libya's burning

sand?

Or does some isle thy parting flight detain.
Where roves the Indian through primeval

shades,
Haunts the pure pleasures of the woodland

reign,
And led by Reason's ray the path of Nature

treads?

On Cuba's utmost steep,

Far leaning o'er the deep,

The Goddess' pensive form was seen.

Hei robe of Nature's varied green

Waved on the gale, grief dimm'd her

radiant eyes,
Her swelling bosom heaved with boding

sighs*
She eyed the mam • where, gaining on the

view,

Emerging from the ethereal blue,
'Midst the dread pomp of war
Gleam' d the Iberian streamer from afar
She saw , and, on refulgent pinions borne,
Slow wrag'd her way sublime, and mingled

with the morn

Beatine —Born 1735, Died 1803.
49

CHB. SMART ]

SONG TO DAVID

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

994— SONG TO DATED.

0 them, that sitt'et upon a throne,
With harp of high, majestic tone,

To praise the King of kings
And voice of heaven, ascending swell,
Which, while its deeper notes excel,

Clear as a clarion rings

To "bless oaoh valley, grove, and coast.
And charm the cherubs to the post

Of gratitude in throngs ,
To keep the days on Zion's mount.
And send the year to his account,

With dances and with songs :

O servant of God's holiest charge.
The minister of praise at large,

Which thou mayfet now receive ,
From thy blest mansion hail and hear,
Prom topmost eminence appear

To this the wreath I weave

Great, valiant, pious, good, and clean,
Sublime, contemplative, serene,

Strong, constant, pleasant, wise r
Bright effluence of exceeding grace ;
Best man ' the swiftness and the race,

The peril and the pnze 1

Great — from the lustre of his crown,
From Samuel's horn, and God's renown,

Which is the people's voice ;
For all the host, from rear to van,
Applauded and embraced the man —

The man of God's own choice.

Valiant — the word, and up he rose ;
The fight — he triumph'd o'er the foes

Whom God's just laws abhor ;
And, arm'd in gallant faith, he took
Against the boaster, from the brook,

The weapons of the war.

Pious — magnificent and grand,
'Twas he the famous temple plann'd

(Tho seraph in his soul)
Foremost to give the Lord his duefi,
Foremost to bless the welcome news,

And foremost to condole

Good — from Jehudah's genuine vein,
From God's best nature, good in grain,

His aspect and his heart
To pity, to forgive, to save,
Witness Bn-gedi's conscious cave,

And Shimei's blunted dart.

dean— if perpetual prayer be pure,
And love, which could itself inure

To fasting and to fear —
dean in his gestures, hands, and feet,
To smite the lyre, the dance complete,

To play the sword and spear

Subln

-in

afa

L ever young,
Of vast conception, towering tongue,,
To God the eternal themo,

Notes from yon exaltations caught,
tJnnvalTd royalty of thought,
O'er meaner strains supremo.

Contemplative — on God to fix
His musings, and above the six

The Sabbath-day ho blest ,
'Twas then his thoughts self-conquest pruned,
And heavenly melancholy tuned,

To bless and bear the rest

Serene — to sow the seeds of peace,
Remembering when he watch' d the fleece,

How sweetly Badron purl'd —
To farther knowledge, silence vice,
And plant perpetual paradise,

When God had oalm'd the world.

Strong — in the Lord, who could defy
Satan, and all his powers that Ho

In sempiternal night ,
And hell, and horror, and despair
Were as the lion and the bear

To his undaunted might.

Constant — in love to God, the Truth,

Age, manhood, infancy, and youth—-
To Jonathan his f nend

Constant, beyond the verge of death ;

And Ziba and Mephiboshoth,
ffis, endless fame attend.

Pleasant — and various as the year ;
Man, soul, and angel without peer,

Priest, champion, sage, and boy ,
In armour, or in ophod. clod,
His pomp, his piety was glad ;

Majestic was his joy.

Wise — in recovery from his fall,
Whence rose his eminence o'er all,

Of all the most reviled ;
The light of Israel in his ways,
Wise are his precepts, prayer, and praiso,

And counsel to his child

His muse, bright ongol of his verse,
Gives balm for all the thorns that pierce,

For all the pangs that rage ,
Blest light, still gaming on the gloom,
The more than Miohal of his bloom,

The Abishag of his age

He sang of God — the mighty source
Of all ttungs — the stupendous forco

On which all strength depends ;
From whose nght arm, beneath whose eyes,
All period, power, and enterprise

Commences, reigns, and ends.

Angels — their ministry and meed,
Which to and fro with blessings speed,

Or with their citterns wait ;
Where Michael, with his millions, bows,
Where dwells the seraph and his spouse,

The cherub and her mate.

From 1727 to 1780 ]

SONG TO DAVID.

[CHJB SMART.

Of man — the semblance and effect
Of God and love — the saint elect

For infinite applause —
To rule the land, and bnny broad,
To be laborious in his land,

And heroes in his cause.

The world — the clustering spheres he made,
The glorious light, the soothing shade,

Dale, champaign, grove, and hill ,
The multitudinous abyss,
Where secrecy remains in bliss,

And wisdom hides her skill.

Trees, plants, and flowers — of virtuous, root ,
Gem yielding blossom, yielding fruit,

Choice gums and precious balm ,
Bless ye the nosegay in the vale,
And with the sweetness of the gale

Enrich the tVfliTVk-fTiT psalm

Of fowl— e'en every beak and wing
Which cheer the winter, hail the spring,

That live in peace, or prey ,
They that make music, or that mock,
The quail, the brave domestic cock,

The raven, swan, and jay.

Of fishes — every size and shape,
Which nature frames of light escape,

Devouring Tnp.n fx> shun
The shells are in the wealthy deep,
The shoals upon the surface leap,

And lovo the glancing sun

Of beasts — the beaver plods his task 5
While the sleek tigers zoll and bask,

Nor yet the shades arouse ,
Her cave the mming coney scoops ;
Where o'er the mead the mountain stoops,

The kids exult and .browse.

Of gems — their virtue and their price,
Which, hid in earth from man's device,

Their darts of lustre sheath ,
The jasper of the master's stamp,
The topaz blazing like a lamp,

Among the mines beneath.

Blest was the tenderness he felt,
When to his graceful harp he knelt,

And did for audience call ,
When Satan with his hand he quell' d,
And in serene suspense he held

The frantic throes of SauL

His furious foes no more malign' d
As he such melody divined,

And sense and soul detain' d ;
Now striking strong, now soothing soft,
He sent the godly sounds aloft,

Or in delight refrain' cL

When up to heaven his thoughts he piled,
Prom fervent lips fair Michal smiled,

As blush to blush she stood ;
And chose herself the queen, and gave
Her utmost from her heart — " so brave,

And plays his hymns so good.9'

The pillars of the Lord are seven,

Which stand from eaith to topmost heaven ;

TTip wisdom drew the plan ;
His Word accomplish' d the design,
From brightest gem to deepest mine.

Prom Chnst enthroned to man.

Alpha, the cause of causes, first

In station, fountain, whence the burst

Of light and blaze of day ,
Whence bold attempt, and brave advance,
Have motion, life, and ordinance,

And heaven itself its stay

Gramma supports the glorious arch
On which angelic legions march,

And is with sapphires paved ;
Thence the fleet clouds are sent adrift,
And thence the painted folds that lift

The enmson veil, are waved

Eta with living sculpture breathes,
With verdant carvings, flowery wreaths

Of never-wasting bloom ,
In strong relief his goodly base
All instruments of labour grace,

The trowel, spade, and loom.

Next Theta stands to the supreme —
Who form'd in number, sign, and scheme,

The illustrious lights that are ;
And one address'd his saffron robe.
And one, clad in a silver globe,

Held rule with every star

Iota 's tuned to choral hymns

Of those that fly, while he that swims

In thankful safety lurks ;
And foot, and chapitre, and niche,
The various histories enrich

Of God's recorded works.

Sigma presents the social droves
With fr™ that solitary roves,

And pi ft11 of all the chief j
Fair on whose face, and stately frame,
Did God impress his hallow'd name,

For ocular belief.

Omega f greatest and the best,
Stands sacred to the day of rest,

For gratitude and thought ;
Which bless' d the world upon his pole.
And gave the universe his goal,

And dosed th' infernal draught

O David, scholar of the Lord !
Such is thy science, whence reward,

And infinite degree ,
O strength, O sweetness, lasting ripe !
God's harp thy symbol, and thy type

The lion and the bee !

There is but One who ne'er rebell'd,
But One by passion unnnpelTd,

By pleasures unenticed ;
He from himself fris semblance sent,
Grand object of his own content,

And saw the God in Christ. 49*

CHB SMABT]

SONG TO DAVID.

[SIXTH

Toll them, I Am, Jehovah said

To Mosos , while earth heard in dread,

And, smitten to the heart,
At once above, beneath, aiound,
All nature, without voice er sound,

Replied, O Lord, Thou Art

Thou art — to give and to confirm,
For each his talent and hio term ;

AJE flesh thy bounties share .
Thou shalt not call thy brother fool ;
The porches of the Christian school

Are meekness, peace, and prayer.

Open and naked of offence,

Man ' a made of mercy, soul, and sense -

God arm' d the snail and wilk ,
Be good to hitip that pulls thy plough ;
Due food and care, due rest allow

For her that yields thee milk

Eise up before the hoary head,

And God's benign commandment dread,

Which says thou shalt not die
" Not as I will, but as thou wilt,"
Eray'd He, whose conscience knew no guilt ,

With whose bless'd pattern vie

Use all thy passions ' — love is thine,
And joy and jealousy divine ,

Thine hope's eternal fort,
And care thy leisure to disturb,
With fear concupiscence to curb,

AncC rapture to transport.

Act simply, as occasion asks ,

Put mellow wine in season' d casks ;

Till not with ass and bull •
Remember thy baptismal bond ;
Keep from oommixtuies foul and fond,

Nor work thy flax with wool.

Distribute , pay the Lord his tithe,

And make the widow's heart-strings blithe ;

Resort with those that weep
As you from all and each expect,
For all and each thy love direct,

And render as you reap

The slander and its bearer spurn,
And propagating praise sojourn

To make thy welcome last ,
Tarn from old Adam to the New :
By hope futurity pursue •

Look upwards to the past.

Control thino eye, salute success,
Honour the wiser, happier bless,

And for thy neighbour feel ,
Grutoh not of mammon and his leaven,
Work emulation up to heaven

By knowledge and by zeal

0 David, highest in the list

Of worthies, on God's ways insist,

The genuine word repeat '
Yam are the documents of men,
And vain the flourish of the pen

That keeps the fool's conceit.

Praise above all — for praiso prevails ;
Heap up the measure, load the scales,

And good to goodness add •
The generous soul her Saviour aids,
But peevish obloquy degrades ;

The Lord is great and glad.

For Adoration all the ranks
Of angels yield eternal thanks,

And David in tho midst ,
With God's good poor, which, last and least
In man's esteem, thou to thy feast,

0 blessed bridegroom, bidst.

For Adoration seasons change,
And order, truth, and beauty range,

Adjust, attract, and fill
The grass the polyanthus checks ,
And polish'd porphyry reflects,

By the descending rill

Kioh almonds colour to the prime
For Adoration , tendrils climb,

And fruit-trees pledge their gems ,
And Ivis, with her gorgeous vest,
Builds for her eggs her cunning nest,

And bell-flowers bow their stems.

JWith vinous syrup cedars spout ;
From looks pure honey gushing out,

For Adoration springs
All scenes of painting crowd the map
Of nature ; to the mermaid's pap

The scaled infant clings

The spotted ounce and playsomo cubs
Run rustling 'mongst the flowering shrubs.

And lizards feed the moss ;
For Adoration beasts embaik,
While waves upholding Halcyon's ark

No longer roai and toss.

While Israel sits beneath his fig,
With coral root and amber sprig

The wean'd adventurer sports ,
Where to the palm the jasmine cleaves,
For Adoration 'mong tho leaves

The gale his peace reports

Increasing days their reign exalt,
Nor in the pink and mottled vault

The opposing spirits tilt ,
And by the coasting reader spied,
The silverlings and orusions glide

For Adoration gilt.

For Adoration ripening canes,
And cocoa's purest rmfk detains

The western pilgrim's staff ,
Where rain in clasping boughs enclosed,
And vines with oranges disposed,

Embower the social laugh

Now labour his reward receives,
For Adoration counts his sheaves

To peace, her bounteous prince j
The nect'nne his strong tint imbibes,
And apples of ten thousand tribes,

And quick peculiar quince

from 1727io 1780]

SONG TO DAVID.

[CHS. SMART.

The wealthy crops of whitening1 rioe
'Mongst thyine woods and groves of spice,

For Adoration grow ;
And, marshall'd m the fenced land,
Tho poaches and pomegranates stand,

Where wild carnations blow

The laurels with the winter strive ;
The crocus burnishes alive

Upon the snow-clad earth
For Adoration myrtles stay
To keep the garden from dismay,

And bless the sight from dearth.

The pheasant shows his pompous neck;
And ermine, jealous of a speck,

With fear eludes offence
The sable, with his glossy pnde,
For Adoiation is descried,

Wheio frosts the wave condense

The cheerful holly, pensive yew,
And holy thorn, then turn renew ,

The squinol hoards his nuts
All cioatures batten o'er their stores.
And caieful nature all her doors

For Adoration shuts

For Adoration, David's Psalms
Lift up the heart to deeds of alms ;

And ho, who kneels and chants,
Prevails his passions to control,
Finds moat and medicine to the soul,

Which for translation pants

For Adoration, beyond match,
Tho scholar bulfinch aims to catch

The soft flute's ivory touch ,
And, careless, on the hazel spray
The daring redbreast keeps at bay

The damsel's greedy clutch

For Adoration, in the skies,
The Lord's philosopher espies

The dog, the ram, and rose ,
The planet's nng, Orion's sword ;
Nor is his greatness less adored

In the vile worm that glows

For Adoration, on tho strings

The western breezes work their wings,

The captive ear to soothe —
Hark ' 'tis a voice — how still, and small —
That makes the cataracts to fall,

Or bids the sea be smooth 1

For Adoration, incense corner
From bezoar. and Arabian gums,

And from the civet's fur
But as for prayer, or e'er it faints,
Far better is the breath of saints

Than galbanum or myrrh

For Adoration, from the down
Of damsons to the onana's crown,

God sends to tempt the taste ,
And while the luscious zest invites
The sense, that in the scene delights,

Commands desire be chaste.

For Adoration, all tho paths
Of grace are open, all the baths

Of purity refresh ;
And all the rays of glory beam
To deck the man of God's esteem,

Who triumphs o'er the flesh

For Adoration, in the dome

Of Christ, the sparrows find a home ;

And on his olives perch •
The swallow also dwells with thee,
0 man of God's humility,

Within hia Saviour's Church

Sweet is the dew that falls betimes,
And drops upon the loafy hmes ,

Sweet Hermon's fragrant air
Sweet is the lily's silver bell,
And sweet the wakeful tapers smell

That watch for early prayer

Swoet the young nurse, with love intense,
Which smiles o'er sleeping innocence ;

Sweet when tho lost arrive
Sweet the musician's ardour beats,
While his vague mind 's in quest of sweets,

Tho choicest flowers to hive

Sweeter, in all the strains of love,
The language of thy turtle-dove,

Pair'd to thy swelling chord ,
Sweeter, with every grace endued,
The glory of thy gratitude,

Respired unto the Lord.

Strong is the horse upon his speed ,
Strong in pursuit the rapid glede,

Which makes at once his game
Strong the tall ostnoh on the ground ;
Strong through the turbulent profound

Shoots Xiphias to hia aim.

Strong is tho lion — like a coal
His eyeball — like a bastion's mole

His chest against the foes •
Strong the gier-eagle on "hre sail,
Strong against tide the enormous whale

Emerges as he goes

But stronger still in earth and air,
And in the sea the man, of prayer,

And far beneath the tide
And in the seat to faith assign'd,
Where ask is have, wheie seek is find,

Where knock is open wide

Beauteous the fleet before the gale ,
Beauteous the multitudes in mail,

Rank'd arms, and crested heads ;
Beauteous the garden's umbrage mild,
Walk, water, meditated wild,

And all the bloomy beds.

Beauteous the moon full on the lawn ,
And beauteous when the veil's withdrawn,

The virgin to her spouse •
Beauteous the temple, deck'd and fill'd,
When to the heaven of heavens they buila

Theix heart-diiected vows

CHB SMART.]

FROM A TRIP TO CAMBRIDGE.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

Beauteous, yea beauteous more than these,
The Shepherd King upon his knees,

For his momentous trust ;
With -wish of infinite conceit,
Por man, boast, mute, the small and great,

And prostrate dust to dust.

Precious the bounteous widow's mite ,
And precious, for extreme delight,

The largess from the churl
Precious the ruby's blushing blaze,
And alba* s blest imperial rays,

And pure cerulean pearl

Precious the penitential tear ,
And precious is the sigh sincere,

Acceptable to God

And precious are the winning flowers,
In gladsome Israel's feast of bowers,

Bound on the hallow'd sod.

More precious that diviner part
Of David 3 e'en the Lord's own heart,

Great, beautiful, and new .
In all things where it was intent,
In all extremes, in each event,

Proof — answering true to true.

Glorious the sun in mid career ;
Glorious the assembled fixes appear ,

Glorious the comet's tram
Glorious the trumpet and alarm ,
Glorious the Almighty's stretch' d-out arm,

Glorious the enraptured main •

Glorious the northern lights astream ,
Glorious the song, when God 's the theme ;

Glorious the thunder's roar
Glorious hosannah fiom the den ;
Glorious the catholic amen ,

Glorious the martyr's gore :

Glorious — moie glorious is the crown
Of Him that brought salvation down,

By meekness call'd thy Son ;
Thou that stupendous truth believed,
And now the matchless deed 's achieved,

Determined, Dared, and Done.

, Died 1770

995.— FROM A TEIP TO CAMBRIDGE,
OR THE GRATEFUL FAIR.

Sure suoli a wretch as I was never born,
By all the world deserted and forloin :
This bitter-sweet, this honey-gall to prove,
And all the oil and vinegar of love ;
Pride, love, and reason, will not let me rest,
But make a devilish bustle in my breast
To wed with Fizgig, pride, pride, pnde denies,
Put on a Spanish padlock, reason ones ;
But tender, gentle love, with every wish
complies.

Pnde, love, and reason, fight till they are

oloy'd,
And each by each in mutual wounds

destroy'd

Thus when a barber and a collior fight,
The barber beats the luckless collier — white ,
The dusty collier heaves his ponderous sack,
And, big with vengeance, beats the barber—-
black
la comes the brick-dust man, with grime

o'erspread,

And beats the collier and the barber — rod ,
Black, red, and white, in various clouds ore

toss'd,

And UL the dust they raise the combatants are
lost.

— Born 1722, Died 1770.

996 —ODE.

Imperial bird, who wont to soar

High o'er the rolling cloud,
Where Hyperboioan mountains hoar

Their headb in ether shroud , —
Thou servant of almighty Jove,
Who, free and swift as thought, couldst rovo

To the bleak north's exlremost goal , —
Thou, who magnanimous oouldst boor
The sovereign thundorer's arms in air,

And shake thy native polo 1

0, cruel fate ' what barbarous hand,

What more than Gothic ire,
At some fierce tyrant's droad command,

To check thy darmg firo
Has placed thee UL this servile coll,
Where discipline and dulnoss dwell,

Where genius ne'er was soon to roam ,
Where every selfish soul's at rest,
Nor ever quits the carnal bioast,

But lurks and sneaks at homo T

Though dimm'd thmo oyo, and dipt thy wfaj,

So grov'ling f once so great ,
The grief-inspired Muse shall sing

In tenderest lays thy fate
What time by thee scholastic pride
Takes his precise pedantic stride,

Nor on thy mis'ry oasts a care,
The stream of love no'or from his heart
Flows out, to act fair pity's part ,

But stinks, and stagnates there

Yet useful still, hold to the throng-
Hold the reflecting gloss, —
That not untutor'd at thy wrong

The passenger may pass '
Thou type of wit and sense confined,
Cramp'd by th' oppieRsors of the mind,

Who study downward on the ground ;
Type of the fall of Greece and Rome ,
While more than mathematao gloom
Envelops all around

Christopher Smart— Born 1722, Died 1770.

From 1727 to 1780]

ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST.

GLOVEB.

997 —A NIGHT SCENE.

Silver Phoebe spreads
A light, reposing on the quiet lake,
Save where the snowy nval of her hue,
The gliding swan, behind him leaves a trail
In luminous vibration. Lo ' an isle
Swells on the surface. Marble structures

there

New gloss of beauty borrow from the moon
To deok the shore. Now silence gently yields
To measured strokes of oars. The orange

groves,

n rich profusion round the fertile verge,
.impart to fanning breezes fresh perfumes
Exhaustless, visiting the scene with sweets,
Which soften even Bnareus , but the son
Of Gobryas, heavy with devouring care,
Unoharm'd, unheeding sits.

Glover.— Bom 1712, Died 1785.

998.— THE ARMIES AT SALATVITS.

O sun ' thou o'er Athenian towers,
The citadel and fanes in ruin huge,
Dost, rising now, illuminate a scene
More new, more wondrous to thy pieicing

eye

Than over time disclosed Phaleron's wave
Fro&ents three thousand barks in pendants

rich,

Spectators, clustering like Hymettian beos,
Hang on the burden' d shrouds, the bending

yards,
The reeling masts; the whole Ceoropian

strand,

Far as Meusis, seat of mystic rites,
Is throng' d with millions mnlfl and female

race,

Of Asia and of Libya, rank'd on foot,
On horses, camels, cars. JEgaleos tall,
Half down his long declivity, where spreads
A mossy level, on a throne of gold,
Displays the king, environ'd by his court,
Tn oriental pomp ; the "h*1!!. behind
By warriors cover' d, like some trophy huge,
Ascends in varied arms and banners clad ,
Below the monarch's feet th* immortal guard.
Line under line, erect their gaudy spears ;
The arrangement, shelving downward to the

Is edged by chosen horse. With blazing steel
Of Attic arms encircled, from the deep
Psytrfcalia lifts her surface to the sight,
Like Anadn e's heaven-bespangling crown,
A wreath of stars , beyond, in dread array,
The Grecian fleet, four hundred galleys, fill
The aft.lii.TmTn«.Ti Straits ; barbarian prows

In two divisions point to either mouth
Sue hundred brazen beaks of tower-like ships,
Unwieldy b ulks ; the gently-swelling soil
Of Salarrus, rich island, bounds the view.

Along her silver-sanded verge array3 d,
The men-at-arms exalt then? naval spears,
Of length terrific. All the tender sex,
Rank'd by Timothea, from a green ascent,
Look down in beauteous order on their

Their husbands, lovers, brothers, sons, pre-
pared
To mount the rolling deck The younger

dames

In bndal robes are clad , the matrons sage,
In solemn raiment, worn on sacred days ;
But white in vesture, hke their maiden

breasts,
Where Zephyr plays, uplifting with his

breath

The loosely waving folds, a chosen line
Of Attic graces in the front is placed ,
From each fair head the tiesses fall, en-
twined

With newly-gather'd flowerets ; chaplets gay
The snowy hand sustains , the native curls,
O'ershading half, augment their powerful

charms;

While Venus, temper'd by Minerva, fills
Their eyes with ardour, pointing every glance
To animate, not soften Prom on high
Her large controlling orbs Timothea rolls,
Surpassing all in stature, not unlike
In majesty of shape the wife of Jove,
Presiding o'er the empyreal fair.

Richard Glover —Born 1712, Died 1785.

999.— ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST.

As near Porto-Bello lying

On the gently swelling flood,
At midnight with streamers flying,

Our triumphant navy rode :
There while Vernon sat all-glorious

From the Spaniards' late defeat;
And his crews, with shouts victorious,

Drank success to England's fleet

On a sudden, shrilly sounding,

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard;
Then, each heart with fear confounding,

A sad troop of ghosts appear' d,
All m dreary hammocks shrouded,

Which for winding-sheets they wore,
And with looks by sorrow clouded,

Frowning on that hostile shore.

On them gleam' d the moon's wan lustre,

When the shade of Hosier brave
His pale bonds was seen to muster,

Rising from their wat'ry grave
O'er the ghmm'ring wave he hied him,

Where the Burford rear'd her sail,
With three thousand ghosts beside him,

And in groans did "Vernon hail

ROBERT DODSLEY ]

SONG— THE PASTING KISS

[SIXTH PERIOD. —

" Heod, O heed, our fatal story,

I am Hosier's injured ghost,
Ton, who now have purchased glory

At this place wheio I was lost ,
Though in Porto-BoUo's rum

Tou now triumph free from fears,
When you think on our undoing,

Tou. will mix your joy with tears.

See these momnful spectres, sweeping

Ghastly o'er this hated wave,
Whose wan cheeks are stain' d with weeping ,

These were English captains brave >
Hark those numbers pale and horrid,

Those were once my sailors bold,
Lo ' each hangs his drooping forehead,

While his dismal tale is told.

I, by twenty sail attended,

Did the Spanish town affright t
Nothing then its wealth defended

But my orders not to fight
O ' that in tMft rolling ocean

I had oast them with disdain,
And obey'd my heait's warm motion,

To have quell1 d the pride of Spam.

For resistance I could fear none,

But with twenty ships had done
What thou, brave and happy Vernon,

Hast achieved with six alone
Then the Baatimentos never

Had our foul dishonour seen,
Nor the sea the sad receiver

Of this gallant tram hod been

Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying-,

And her galleons leading home,
Though condemned for disobeying,

I hod met a traitor's doom ,
To have falTn, my country crying

He has play'd an English part,
Had been better far than dying

Of a grieved and broken heart

TTnrepining at thy glory,

Thy successful arms we hail ;
But remember our sad story,

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail.
Sent in this foul clime to languish,

Think what thousands fell in vain,
Wasted with disease and anguish,

Not in glorious battle plaint

Hence, with all my train attending

Prom their oozy tombs below,
Through the hoary foam ascending,

Here I foed my constant woo .
Here the Bastrmentos viewing,

We recall our shameful doom,
And our plaintive cries renewing,

Wander through the midnight gloom

O'er these waves for ever mourning

Shall we roam deprived of rest,
If to Britain's shores retaining,

You neglect my just request.

After this proud foe subduing,

When your patriot frionds you soe,

Think on vengeance for my ruin,
And for England shamed in mo "

Richwd Qlover—Born 1712, Died 1785

looo.— SONO-THE PARTING KISS.

One kind wish before wo part,

Drop a tear, and bid adieu
Though wo sever, my fond hoart,

Till we meet, shall pant for yon

Tet, yet weep not so, my lovo,
Let me kiss that falling tear ;

Though my body must remove,
AJU my soul will still be hero.

All my soul, and all my heart,

And every wish shall pant lor you ;

One kind kiss, then, ere wo port,
Drop a tear, and bid adieu

Robert Dodsley •— Born 1703, Died 17G4

looi —SONG

Man's a poor deluded bubble,

Wand'nng in a mist of lies,
Seeing false, or seeing double ,

Who would trust to such weak eyes P

Tet presuming on his sense?,
On he goes, most wondrous wise ,

Doubts of truth, behoves pretences ,
Lost in error, lives and dies

Robert Dodsley —Born 1703, JDied 17G4.

1002— TOMES. BISHOP.

WITH A PRESENT OF A KNIFE

" A knife," dear girl, " cuts love," they flay i

Mere modish love, perhaps it may —

— For any tool, of any land,

Con separate what was never join'd.

The kmf o, that cuts our love in two,
Will have much tougher work to do ,
Must cut your softness, truth, and spirit,
Down to the vulgar size of merit ,
To level yours, with modern taste,
Must cut a world of sense to waste ;
And from your single beauty's store,
Clap, what would dizen out a score.

That self -same blade from me must sever
Sensation, judgment, sight, for ever.

j Jrom 1727 to 1780 ]

EPIGRAM.

[SAMUEL BISHOP

All memory of endearments past,
AU hopo of comforts long to last , —
All that makos fourteen years with you,
A summer — and a short one too , —
All that affection feels and fears,
When hours without you seem like years.

Till that be done (and I'd as soon
Believe this knife will chip the moon),
Accept my present, undeterr'd,
And leave their proverbs to the herd.

If m a kiss — delicious treat ' —
Your lips acknowledge the receipt,
Love, fond of such substantial fare,
And proud to play the glutton there,
All thoughts of cutting will disdain,
Savo only — " cut and come again "

Samuel Bishop —Born 1731, Died 1795.

1003— TO THE SAME

ON THE ANNIVERSARY OP HER WEDDING-
DAT, WHICH WAS ALSO HER BIRTH-DAT,
WITH A RING

" Thoo, Majy, with this ring I wed " —

So, fourteen years ago, I said

Behold another ring ' — " for what p "
" To wed thoe o'or again p " — Why not P

With that first nng I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth ,
Taste long admired, sense long revered,
And all my Molly then appeared.

If she, by merit since disclosed,
Prove twice the woman I supposed,
I plead that double merit now,
To justify a double vow.

Here then to-day (with faith as sure.
With ardour as intense, as pure,
As when, amidst the rites divine,
I took thy troth, and plighted mine),
To thee, sweet girl, my second nng
A token and a pledge I bring
With this I wed, till death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart ,
Those virtues, which before untried,
The wife has added to the bride
Those virtues, whose progressive claim,
Endearing wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves,
For conscience' sake, as well as love's.

And why P — They show me every hour
Honour's high thought, Affection's power,
Discretion's deed, sound Judgment's sentence,
And teach me all things — but repentance

Samuel Bishop —Bom 1731, Died 1795

1004— EPIGRAM.

QUOD PETI8, HIC E8T.

No plate had John and Joan to hoard,

Plain folk, in humble plight ,
One only tankard crown' d their board,

And that was fill'd each night ,—

Along whoso inner bottom sketch' d,

In pride of chubby grace,
Some rude engraver's hand had etch'd

A baby Angel's face.

John swallow' d first a moderate sup ;

But Joan was not like John ,
For when her lips once touoh'd the cup,

She swill' d, till all was gone

John often urged her to drink fair ,

But she ne'er changed a jot ,
She loved to see the Angel there,

And therefore dram'd the pot

When John found all remonstrance vaan,

Anothei card he play'd ,
And where the Angel stood BO plain,

He got a Devil portray'd —

Joan saw the horns, Joan saw the tail,

Yet Joan as stoutly quaff* d ,
And ever, when she seized her ale,

She clear'd it at a draught —

John stared, with wonder petiified ,

His hair stood on his pate ,
And " why dost guzzle now," he oned,

" At this enormous rate P '" —

" Oh i John," she said, " am I to blame ?

I can't in conscience stop
For sure 'twould be a burning shame,

To leave the Devil a drop ! "

Samwl Bisliop — Born 1731, Died 1795.

1005 — EPIGRAM

SPLENDEAT USTT.

See ! stretoh'd on nature's couch of grass.

The foot-sore traveller lies '
Vast treasures let the great amass ;
A leatHb»c. pouch and burning-glass

For all his wants suffice.

For Trim the sun its power displays

In either hemisphere ;
Pours on Virginia's coast its blaze,
Tobacco for his pipe to raise ;

And shines to light it — liere I

Sdniuel Bisliop —Bain 1731 Died 1795.

SAMTTEL BISHOP ]

EPIGRAM

[SIXTH PERIOD —

1006.— EPIOBAM.

QtTOCTJNQTTE MODO

A veteran gambler, in a tempest caught,
Once in his life a church's shelter sought ;
"Where many a hint, pathetically grave,
On life's precarious lot, the preacher gave
The sermon ended, and the storm all spent,
Home trudged old Cog-die, reasoning as ho

went,
"Strict truth," quoth he, "this reverend

sage declared ;

I feel conviction — and will be prepared —
Nor e'er henceforth, since bfe thus steals

away,
Give credit for a bet, beyond a day i "

8cwwel B^7ipjp —-Born 1731, Died 1795.

1007 — SONNET.

As when, to one, who long hath watch' d the

morn
Advancing, slow forewarns th* approach of

day
(What time the young and flow'ry-kirtled

May
Decks the green hedge, and dewy grass

unshorn
With cowslips pale, and many a whitening

thorn) ;
And now the sun comes forth, with level

ray
Gilding the high-wood top, and mountain

gray,
And, as he climbs, the meadows 'gins

adorn,

The rivers glisten to the dancing beam,
Th' awaken'd birds begin their amorous

strain,
And hill and vale with joy and fragrance

teem,

Such is the sight of thee , thy wish'd return
To eyes, like mine, that long have waked to

mourn,
That long have watch' d for light, and wept

in vain!

JbTwi Ba,<m$fijlde.—Born 1754, Died 1706.

1008 —SONNET.

TO THE REDBREAST.

When that the fields put on their gay

attire,

Thou silent sitt'st near brake or river's brim,
Whilst the gay thrush sings loud from covert

dim;
But when pale Winter lights the social

fire,

And meads with slime are sprent and ways
with mire,

Thou charm' at us with thy soft and solomn

hymn,
From battlement, or barn, or hay-stack

tnm,
And now not seldom tunest, as if for hire,

Thy thrilling pipe to me, waiting to catch
The pittance duo to thy well-warbled song
Sweet bird, sing on1 for oit near lonely

hatch,
Like thee, myself have pleased tho rustic

throng,
And oft for entrance 'ueath tho peaceful

thatch,
Full many a tale have told and ditty long.

Jolw, Ba<mpfylde.—Born 1754, Ihcd 1796

1009 — SONNET.

ON A WET SUMMER.

All ye, who far from town, in rural hall,
Like me, wore wont to dwell near pleasant

field,

Enjoying' all the sunny day did yield,
With me tho change lament, in irksome

thrall,

By rams incessant held , for now no coll
Fiom early swain mvites my hand to wield
The scythe , in parlour dim I Bit concoal'd,
And mark the lessoning sand from hour-glass

fall,

Or 'neath my window view the wistful tram
Of dripping poultry, whom the vino's brood

leaves
Shelter no more — Muto is tho mournful

plain,

Silent the swallow sits beneath tho thatch,
And vacant hind hangs pensive o'er his

hatch,
Counting the frequent diop from roodod oaves

JoJm Bampfylde — &ovn 1754, Died 1796

loio. — SONNET. E

Cold is the senseless heart that never strove
With the mild tumult of a real name;
Bugged the breast that beauty cannot tame,
Nor youth's enlivening graces teach to

love
The pathless vale, the long forsaken

grove,
The rocky cave that boors the fair one's

name,

With ivy mantled o'er — For empty fame,
Let him amidst the rabble toil, or rove
In search of plunder far to western clime.
Give me to waste the hours in amorous

play

With Delia, beauteous maid, and build the
rhyme

F,om 1727 to 1780]

TETEASTIC— FBOM THE PERSIAN.

[SIR W. JONES.

Piaising her flowing hair, her snowy arms,
And all that prodigality of charms

Fonn'd to enslave my heart and grace
my lay

John, Bwwpfylde. — Born 1754, Died 1796.

ion —AN ODE, IN IMITATION OP

ALOJEUS.

What constitutes a state P
Not high-raised battlement or labour'd

mound,

Thick wall or moated gate ,
Not cities proud with &puos and turrets

crown' d,

Not bays and broad-arm* d ports,
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies

ride,

Not stair' d and spangled courts,
Where low-brow' d baseness wafts perfume to

pride

No men, high-minded men,
With powers as far above dull brutes endued

In foiest, brako, or den,
As boasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude,

Men who thoir duties know,
But know their lights, and, knowing, dare

maintain,

Prevent the long-aim'd blow,
And crush tho tyrant while they rend the

chain

These constitute a state,
And sovereign Law, that state's collected will,

O'er thrones and globes elate
Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill ,

Smit by her sacred frown,
The fiend Discretion like a vapour sinks,

And e'en the all- dazzling Crown
Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding
shrinks*

Such was this heaven-loved isle,
Than Lesbos fairer, and the Cretan shore '

No more shall Freedom smile ?
Shall Britons languish, and be Tnftn no more °

Since all must life resign,
Those sweet rewards, which decorate the
brave,

'Tis folly to decline,
And steal inglorious to the silent grave.

8w W. Jones.— Born 1746, Died 1794

1012 —A PERSIAN SONG OF HAFIZ.

Sweet maid, if thou would' at charm my sight,
And bid these arms thy neck enfold,
That rosy cheek, that lily hand,
Would give thy poet more delight
Than all Booara's vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samorcand

Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow,
And bid thy pensive heart be glad,
Whatever lie frowning zealots say .
Tell them, their Eden cannot show
A stream so clear as Boenabad,
A bower so sweet as Mosellay

O ' when these fair perfidious maids,
Whose eyes our secret haunts invest,
Their dear destructive charms display,
Each glance my tender breast invades,
And robs my wounded soul of rest,
As Taitars seize their destined prey.

In vain with love our bosoms glow •
Can all our tears, can all our sighs,
New lustre to those charms impart ?
Can cheeks, where living roses blow,
Where nature spreads her richest dyes,
Require the borrow' d gloss of art p

Speak not of fate : ah ! change the theme,
And talk of odours, talk of wine,
Talk of the flowers that round us bloom :
'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream ;
To love and joy thy thoughts confine,
Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom

Beauty has such resistless power,
That even the chaste Egyptian dame
Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy :
For her how fatal was the hour,
When to the banks of Nilus came
A youth so lovely and so coy '

But ah ' sweet maid, my counsel hear
(Youth should attend when those advise
Whom long experience renders sage)
While music charms the ravish1 d ear ,
While sparkling- cups delight our eyes,
Be gay, and scorn the frowns of age

What cruel answer have I heard ?
And yet, by heaven, I love thee still :
Can aught be cruel from thy lip ?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
From lips whioh streams of sweetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey sip ?

Go boldly forth, my simple lay,
Whose accents flow with artless ease,
Like orient pearls at random strung:
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels bay ;
But oh 1 far sweeter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are sung 1
Sit W. Jones— Bom 1746, Died 1794.

1013. — TETRASTIC.

FROM THE PEBSIAJT.

On parent knees, a naked new-born child, ,
Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee

smiled;

So live that, mTrkrng in thy last long sleep,
Calm thou mayst smile, while all around thee

weep.

Sir W Jones— Born 1746, Died 1794.

FRANCIS FAWXBS.]

THE BROWN JUG

[SIXTH PERIOD —

1014— THE BROWN JUG

Dear Tom, this "brown jug thai now foams

with mild ale
(In which I will drink to sweet Nan of tho

vaJe),

Was once Toby Fillpot, a thirsly old soul,
As o'er drank a bottlo, or fathom' d a bowl ,
In bousing about 'twas his praise to excel,
And among jolly topers he bore off tho bell.

It chanced as in dog-days ho sat at his ease,
In his flower-wovon arbour, as gay as you

please,
With a friend and a pipe puffing sorrows

away,
And with, honest old stingo was soaking his

clay,
IT.s "breath-doors of He on a sudden were

shut,
And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt.

His body when long in the ground it had lain,
And time into clay had resolved it again,
A potter found out in its coverts so snug,
And with part of fat Toby he form'd this

brown jug ,
Now sacred to friendship, and mirth, and

mild ale,
So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the

vale!

Frafficis Fawlces—Born 1721, Dic<2 1777

1015. — ODE TO SOLITUDE

O Solitude, romantic maid '
Whether by nodding towers you tread,
Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,
Or climb the Andes' clifted Bide,
Or by the Nile's coy source abide,
Or starting from your half-year's sleep,
From Hecla view the thawing deep,
Or, at the purple dawn of day,
Tadmor's marble wastes survey,
You, recluse, again, I woo,
And again your steps pursue

Plumed Conceit himself surveying,
Folly with her shadow playing,
Purse-proud, elbowing Insolence,
Bloated empiric, puifd Pretence,
Noise that thiough a trumpet speaks,
Laughter in loud peals that breaks,
Intrusion with a fopling's face
(Ignorant of time and place),
Sparks of fire Dissension blowing,
Ductile, court-bred Flattery, bowing,
Restraint's stiff neck, Grimace's leer,
Squint-eyed Censure's artful sneer,
Ambition's buskins, steep' d in blood,
Fly thy presence, Solitude

Sage Reflection, bent with yoaia,
Conscious Virtue void of fcai H,
Muffled Silence, wood-nymph Hhy,
Meditation's piercing eye,
Halcyon Peace on moas rochnod,
Botrospoct that scans the mind,
Wrapt oaith-gazing Boveno,
Blushing artless Modesty,
Health that snuffs the moimng air,
Full-eyed Truth with bosom bore,
Inspiration, Nature's child,
Seek tho sohtaiy wild

You, with tho tragic muso retired,
The wise Euripides inspired ,
You taught tho sadly-pleasing air
That Athens saved from rums bare
You gavo tho Coan's tears to flow,
And unlock' d the springs of woo ,
You penn'd what onled Naso thought,
And pour'd tho melancholy noto
With Petrarch o'er Yaucluse you atiay'd,
When death snatch' d his long-loved maid
You taught the rooks her loss to mouin,
Ye strow'd with flowers hoi viigm uin.
And late in Hagley you wore scon,
With bloodshot eyes, and sombio mien ,
Hymen his yellow vestment toi o,
And Dirge a wreath of cj press woro
But chief your own tho solemn lay
That wept Naroissa young and gay ;
Daikness olapp'd her sablo wing,
While you touch' d the mournful string ;
Anguish left the pathless wild,
Grim-faced Melancholy smiled,
Drowsy Midnight ceased to yawn,
The starry host put back tho dawn ;
Aside their harps even seraphs flung
To hear thy sweet Complaint, O Young 1
When all nature 's hush'd asleep,
Nor Lovo nor Guilt their vigils keep,
Soft you leave your oavern'd don,
And wander o'er the woikw of men ;
But when Phosphor bringH tho dawn
By her dappled couiserB drawn,
Again you to tho wild retreat
And the early huntsman meet,
Whoio, as you pensive pace along,
You catch the distant shepherd's song,
Or brush from herbs tho pearly dow,
Or the lining primrose view
Devotion lends hei heaven-plumed wings,
You mount, and nature with yon sings
But when mid-day fervours glow,
To upland aaiy shades you go,
Where never sunburnt woodman came,
Nor sportsman chased the timid game ,
And there beneath an oak reclined,
With drowsy waterfalls behind,
You ainfr to rest,
Till the tuneful frrd of night,
From the neighbouring poplar's height,
Wake you with her solemn strain,
And teach pleased Echo to complain*

With you roses brighter bloom*
Sweeter every sweet perfume ,

From 1727 fo 1780 ]

THE WISH.

[JAMKS MBERICK,

Purer every fountain flows,
Stronger every wilding- grows
Let those toil for gold who please,
Or for fame renounce then ease.
What is fame ? an empty bubble.
Gold P a tiansient shining trouble.
Let them for their country bleed,
What was Sidney's, Raleigh's meed P
Man 's not worth a moment's pain,
Base, ungrateful, fickle, vain.
Then let me, sequester d fair,
To yonr sibyl grot repair ,
On yon hanging cliff it stands,
Scoop'd by nature's salvage hands,
Bosom 'd in the gloomy shade
Of eypiess not with age deoay*d
Where the owl still-hooting sits,
Where the bat incessant flits,
There in loftier strains I'll sing
Whence the changing- seasons spring ,
Tell how storms deform the skies,
Whence the waves subside and rise ,
Trace the comet's blazing tail,
Weigh the planets in a scale ,
Bend, great God, before thy shrine, —
The bouinless macrocosm 's thine * *

Dr Granger.— Born 1721, Died 1766

1016. — THE CHAMELEON

Oft has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
With eyes that hardly served at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post ;
Yet round the world the blade has been,
To see whatever could be seen
Returning from his finish' d tour,
Grown ten times perier than before ;
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travelTd fool your mouth will stop
" Sir, if my judgment you'll allow —
I've seen — and sure I ought to know."
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travellers of such a oast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass'd,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talk'd of this, and then of that ;
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the Chameleon's form and nature.
** A stranger animal," ones one,
" Sure never lived beneath the sun
A lizard's body lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its foot with tnpio claw disjoin'd ,
And what a length of fayO behind '
How slow its pace ' and then its hue —
Who ever saw so fine a blue p "

" Hold thoro," the other quick replies,
" 'Tis gieen, I saw it with these eyes,

As late with open mouth it lay,
And waim'd it in the sunny ray;
Stretch'd at its ease the beast I view'd,
And saw it eat the air for food."

" I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it bine ;
At leisure I the beast survey'd
Extended in the cooling shade."

"'Tis gieen, 'tis green, sir, I assure

ye"

" Green ' " ones the other in a fury
"Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes P "
" 'Twere no great loss," the friend replies ,
" For if they always serve you thus,
You'll find them but of little use "

So high at last the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows .
When luckily came by a third >
To him the question they referr'd,
And begg'd he'd tell them, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.

" Sirs," cries the umpire, " cease your

pother ,

The creature 's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the artii-mf^l last night,
And view'd it o'er by candle-light ,
I mark'd it well, 'twas black as jet —
You stare — bnt, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it ' — " Pray, sir, do ,
I'll lay my life the thing is blue "
"And I'll be sworn, that when you've soon
The reptile, you'll pronounce him gieon "
" Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,"
Replies the man, " I'll turn him out ,
And when before your eyes I've set him,
If you don't find him black, I'll eat him "

He said , and full before their sight
Produced the beast, and lo ! — 'twas white
Both stared; the man look'd wondrous

wise —

" My children," the Chameleon cries
(Then first the creature found a tongue),
" You all are right, and all are wrong :
When next you talk of what you view,
Think others see as well as you -
Nor wonder if you find that none
Prefers your eye-sight to his own "

James Memck.— Born 1720, Died 1769.

1017— -THE WISH.

How short is life's uncertain space !

Alftg i how quickly done '
How swift the wild precarious chase '
And yet how difficult the race '

How very hard to run !

Youth stops at first its wilful ears

To wisdom's prudent voice ,
Till now arrived to riper years,
Experienced age, worn out with cares,
Bepents its earlier choice.

JOHN SCOTT ]

THE TEMPESTUOUS EVENING.

[SIXTH PERIOD —

"What though its prospects now appear

So pleasing and refined ?
Tet groundless hopo, and anxious fear,
By turns the busy moments share,

And prey upon the mind,

Since then false joys our fancy cheat

With hopes of leal bliss ,
To guardian powers that rule my fate,
The only wish that I create

Is all comprised in this —

May I, through He's uncertain tide,

Be still from pam exempt I
May all my wants be still supplied,
My state too low t' admit of pude,

And yet above contempt !

But should your providence divine

A greater bliss intend ,
May all those blessings you design
(If e'er those blessings shall be mine),

Be centred in a fnend !

James Merrick — Born 1720, Dw& 1769,

TEMPESTUOUS EVENING-.

There's grandeur in this sounding storm,
That drives the hurrying clouds along
That on each other seem to throng,
And **!*•* m many a varied form ,
While, bursting now and then between,
The moon's fa™ misty orb is seen,
And casts faint glimpses on the green.

Beneath the blast the forests bend,
Arid thick the branchy rum lies,
And wide the shower of foliage flies ,
The lake's blaok waves in tumult blend,
Revolving o'er and o'er and o'er,
And foaming on the rooky shoze.
Whose caverns echo to their roar.

The sight sublime enrapts my thought,
And swift along tho past it strays,
And much of strange event surveys,
What history's faithful tongue has taught,
Or fancy form'd, whose plastic skill
The page with fabled change can fill
Of ill to good, or good to ill.

But can my soul the scene enjoy,
That rends another's breast with pain p
0 hapless he, who, near the main,
Now sees its billowy rage destroy !
Beholds the foundering bark descend,
Nor knows but what its fate may 'end
The moments of his dearest friend '

Jolvn, 8cott— Born 1780, Died 1783

1019.— ODE ON HEARING- THE DRUM.

I hate that drum's discordant sound,
Parading round, fvnfl round, and round •

To thoughtless youth ib pleasure yields,
And luios from cities and Irom fields,
To sell their liberty for ohiurms
Of tawdry laco, and glrlt'ring aims ;
And when ambition's voice commands,
To march, and fight, and fall, in foreign lands.

I hato that drum's disooidant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round •
To mo it talks of ravaged plains,
And burning towns, and ruin'd swains,
And mangled limbs, and dying gioans,
And widows' tears, and orphana' moans ;
And all that misery's hand bestows,
To fill tho catalogue of human woos.

John 8colt—J8orn 1730, Died 1783

1020.— ODE ON PRIVATEERING.

How custom steels the human breast
To deeds that natuie's thoughts dotost !
How custom consecrates to fame
What reason else would givo to shamo !
rair spimg supplies tho favouring galo,
The naval plunderer spreads his sail,
And ploughing wide the wat«'ry way,
Exploies with anxious eyes his prey.

Tho man he never saw before,
The man who "him no quarrel boro,
He meets, and avarice prompts the fight ;
And rage enjoys the dreadful sight
Of decks with streaming crimson dyed,
And wi etches struggling in the tide,
Or 'midst th* explosion's homd glare,
Dispersed with quivering limbs in air.

The merchant now on foreign shores
His captured wealth in vain deploros ;
Quits his fair homo, 0 moufnful change '
For the dark prison's scanty range ;
By plenty's hand so lately fed,
Depends on casual alms for broad ;
And with a father's anguish torn,
Sees his poor offspring loft forlorn.

And yet, such man's misjudging mind,
For all this injury to his kind,
The prosperous robber's native plain
Shall bid him welcome homo again ;
His name the song of every street,
His acts the theme of all we meet,
And oft the artist's skill shall place
To public view his pictured face !

If glory thus be earn'd, for mo
My object glory ne'er shall be ;
No, first in Cambria's loneliest dale
Be mine to hear the shepherd's tale '
No, first on Scotia's bleakest hill
Be mine tho stubborn soil to till '
Bemote from wealth, to dwell alone,
And die, to guilty praise unknown !

JoTm Scott.— Born 1730, Died 1783.

fo X780.]

THE FIRESIDE.

[NATHANIEL OOTTOMT.

1031.— SONG,

MADS HXTBMFOBE BY A GENTLEMAN, OCCA-
SIONED BT A FLY DBINKINO OUT OF HIS
CUP OF ALE.

Busy, cunous, thirsty fly,
Drink with me, and drink as I ;
Freely welcome to my cnp,
Could' st thou sip and sip it up
Make the most of life you may,
Life is short, and wears away

Both alike are mine and thino,
Hastening quick to their decline :
Thme's a summer, mine no more,
Though repeated to threescore ,
Threesooie summers, when they're gone,
Will appear as short as one

Wilham Oldys — Bom 1696, Di&l 1761.

1022.— SONG.— MAY-EVE, OB KATE OP
ABERDEEN

The silver moon's enamour' d beam,

Steals softly through, the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,

And kiss reflected light
To beds of state go, balmy sleep

('Tis where you've seldom been),
May's vigil whole the shepherds keep

With Kate of Aberdeen

Upon the green the virgins wait,

In rosy ohaplets gay,
Till morn unbars her golden gate,

And gives the promised May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,

The promised May, when seen,
Not half so fragrant, half so fair,

As Kate of Aberdeen.

Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,

We'll rouse the nodding grove ,
The nested birds shall raise their throats,

And hail the maid I love
And see — the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green :
Fond bird ' 'tis not the morning breaks,

Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightsome o'er the level mead,

Where midnight fairies rove,
Like them the jocund dance we'll lead,

Or tune the reed to love
For see, the rosy May draws nigh ;

She claims a virgin queen ,
Jjr\f\ hark ? the happy shepherds cry,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

John Cwmngham. — Born 1729, Died 1778

1023 —CONTENT, A PASTOEAL.

O'er moorlands and mountains, rude, barren,
and bare,

As wilder' d and wearied I roam,
A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair,

And leads me o'er lawns to her home.

Yellow sheaves from rich Oeres her cottage

had downed,

Green rushes were strew' d on her floor,
Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly

round.
And deok'd the sod seats at her door.

We sat ourselves down to a cooling repast,

Fresh fruits, and she cull'd me the best ,
While thrown from my guard by some glances
she cast,

Lovo shly stole into my breast f
I told my soft wishes , she sweetly replied

(Te virgins, her voice was divine !),
I've rich ones rejected, and great ones
denied,

But take me fond shepherd — I'm thine.

Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek,

So simple, yet sweet were her charms !
I 3nss*d the npe roses that glow*d on her
cheek,

And look'd the loved maid m my arms.
Now jocund together we tend a few sheep,

And if, by yon prattler, the stream,
Bechned on hei bosom, I sink into sleep,

Her image still softens my dream

Together we range o'er the slow-rising hills,

Delighted with pastoral views,
Or rest on the rook whence the streamlet
distils,

And point out new themes for my muse
To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire,

The damsel's of humble descent ,
The cottager Peace is well-known for her
sire,

And shepherds have named her Content.

John, Ownwrngr/KWi— Born 1729, Died 1773.

1024— THE FIRESIDE.

Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud.

In folly's maze advance ;
Though singularity and pnde
Be called our choice, we'U step aside,

Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs $
No noisy neighbour enters here ;
Nor intermeddling stranger near,

To spoil our heartfelt joys.

CHTCCSTOPHEB ANSTEY ]

A PUBLIC BBEAKFAST

If pol.J happiness we pnze,
"Withm our breast this icwel lies ;

And they aie fools who roam
Tho woild has nothing to bestow ;
From our own. selves our joys must flow,

And that door hut — our homo.

Of lost was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat, the ark ;
Giving hor vain excursion o'er,
The disappointed bird once more

Explored the sacred bark.

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers,
We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know,
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good

A paradise below.

Our babes shall richest comforts bring ;
If tutored right, they'll prove a spring

Whence pleasures ever rise
"We'll form their minds, with studious care,
To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And tram them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,

And crown our hoary hates :
They'E grow in. virtue every day ;
And thus our fondest loves repay,

And recompense our cares.

No borrowed joys, they're all ou* own,
While to the world we live unknown.

Or by the world forgot .
Monarohs ' we envy not your state ;
We look with pity on the great,

And bless our humbler lot.

Our portion is not large, indeed;
But then how little do we need !

For nature's calls are few
In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may suffice,

And make that little do

We'll therefore relish with content
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,

Nor aim beyond our power ;
For, if our stock be very small,
*Tis prudence to enjoy it all,

Nor lose the present hour.

To be resigned when ills betide,
Patient when favours are denied,

And pleased with favours given ;
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part ;
This is that incense of the heart,

Whose fragrance smells to heaven.

We'll ask no long protracted treat,
Since winter-life is seldom sweet ,

Bub when our feast is o'er,
Grateful from table we'll arise,
Nor grudge our sons with envious eyes

The relics of our store.

Thus, hand in honct, through life we'll go ;
Its ohoquorod paths of joy and wo

With cautious stops we'll troarf ;
Quit its vain scones without a tear,
Without a trouble or a foor,

And mingle with the dead

While conscience, like a faithful fnond,
Shall through the gloomy valo attend,

And cheer our dying breath ,
Shall, when all other comforts ooaso,
like a kind angel, whiRpor peace,

And smooth the bod of death

Natiwrnel Cotton —Born 1721, Died 1788

1025 —A PUBLIC BREAKFAST.

What blessings attend, my dear mother all

those
Who to crouds of admirers their persons

expose'

Do the gods such a noble ambition inspire ,
Or gods do we mako of each ardent desire ?
0 generous passion ' 'tia yours to afford
The splendid assembly, the plentiful board ;
To thee do I owe such a breakfast this morn,
As I ne'er saw before, since tho hour I wa«

born;
'Twas you made my Lord Baggamuffonn oomo

here,

Who they say has boon lately created a Poor ,
And to-day with extreme complaisance and

respect aak'd
All the people at Bath to a general breakfast

You've heard of my Lady Bunbutter, no

doubt,

How she loves an assembly, fandango, or rout ,
No lady in London is half so export
At a snug private party, her friends to divert ;
But they say that of late she's grown sick

of the town,

And often to Bath condescends to come down
Her Ladyship's favourite house is the Boar
Her chariot, and servants, and horses arc thoro,
My Lady declares that retiring is good,
As all with a separate maintenance should ;
For when you have put out tho conjugal firo
'Tis time for all sensible folk to ictiro ,
If Hymen no longer his fingors will scorch,
Little Cupid for others can whip in hifl torch,
So pert is he grown, since tho custom began
To be mamed and parted as quick as you cau

Now my Lord had the honour of coming

down post,

To pay his respects to so famous a toast ,
In hopes he her Ladyship's favour might win,
By playing the part of a host at an inn
I'm sure he 's a person of great resolution,
Tho' delicate nerves, and a weak consti-
tution;

J?Vou 1727 to 1780 ]

A PUBLIC BREAKFAST.

[CHRISTOPHER ANSTEY.

For he earned us all to a place cross the
river,

And vow'd that the rooms were too hot for
his liver ,

He said it would greatly our pleasure pro-
mote,

If we all for Spring-Gardens set out in a
boat

I never as yet could his reason explain,

Why we all sallied forth in the wind and the
1 rain,

For sure such confusion was never yet
known

Here a cap and a hat, there a cardinal
blown,

"While his Lordship, embroider'd, and pow-
der'd all o'er,

Was bowing, and handing the ladies a-shore ,

How the Misses did huddle and sonddle, and
run,

One would tihvnk to be wet must be very good
fun,

For by waggling their tails, they all seem'd
to take pains

To moisten then* pinions like ducks when it
roans ;

And 'twas pretty to see how, like birds of a
feather,

The people of quality flock' d all together ,

All pressing, addressing, caressing, and fond,

Just the same as those animals are ixx a
pond

Tou've read all their names in the news I
suppose,

But, for fear you have not, take the list as it
goes —

There was Lady Greaeownster,
And Madam Van-Twister,
Her Ladyship's sister
Lord Cram, and Lord Tulter,
Sir Brandish O'Culter,
With Marshal Carouzer,
And Old Lady Mouzer ;

And the great Hanoverian Baron Pans-
mowzer ,

Besides many others, who all in the rain
went,

On purpose to honour t*hfa grand entortain-
— ment

The company made a most brilliant appear-
ance,

And ate bread and butter with great perse-
verance ,

All the chocolate, too, that my Lord set
before 'em

The ladies dispatch'd with the utmost de-
corum

Soft musical numbers were heard all around,

The horns and the clarions echoing sound —
Sweet were the strains, as od'rous gales

that blow

O'er fragrant banks where pinks and roses
grow

The Peer was quite ravish'd, while close to
his side

Sat Lady Bunbutter, in beautiful pride '

Oft turning his eyes, he with rapture sur-

vey'd
All the powerful charms she so nobly dis-

play 'd

As when at the feast of the great Alexander,
Timotheus, the musical son of Thersander,
Breath' d heavenly measures —

The pnnce was in pain,

And could not contain,
While Thais was sitting1 beside "him ,

But, before all his peers,

Was for shaking the spheres,
Such goods the kind gods did provide fri™

Grew bolder and bolder,

And cocfd up his shoulder,
Like the son of great Jupiter Ammon,

Till at length quite opprest,

He sunk on her breast,
And lay there as dead as a salmon

0 had I a voice that was stronger than

steel,
With twice fifty tongues to express what I

feel,
And as many good months, yet I never could

utter
All the speeches my Lord made to Lady Bun-

butter '
So polite all the time, that he ne'er touch' d

a bit,
While she ate up his rolls and applauded his

wit,
For they tell me that men of true taste, when

they treat,
Should talk a great deal, but they never

should eat ;

And if that be the fashion, I never will give
Any grand entertainment as long as I Iive^—
For I'm of opinion 'tis proper to chear
The stomach and bowels, as well as the ear.
Nor me did the charming concerto of Abel
Regale like the breakfast I saw on the table :
I freely will own I the muffins preferr'd
To all the genteel conversation I heard,
E'en tho' I'd the honour of sitting between
My Lady Stuff-damask, and Peggy Moreen,
Who both flew to Bath in the London

machine.
Cnes Peggy, "Thjs place is onohantingly

pretty,

We never can see such a thing in the city
You may spend all your life-tune in Cateaton

street,

And never so civil a gentleman meet ,
Tou may talk what you please, you may

search London through,
you may go to Carlisle's, and to Almanac s

too,
And I'll give you my head if you find such a

host,

For coffee, tea, chocolate, butter, and toast
How he welcomes at once all the world and

his wife,
And how civil to folk he ne'er saw in. hie

50

THE THESE WARNINGS.

[SIXTH PJBBTOD. —

" TKeso horns," ones my Lady, "so tioHo one's

ear,
Lord ' what would I give that Sir Simon was

here '
To the next public breakfast Sir Simon shall

go»
For I find lioio are folka one may ventuio to

know,

Sir Simon would gladly his Lord&hlp attend,
And my Lord would bo pleased with so

ohearful a friond "

So whon we had wasted more bread at a

breakfast
Than the poor of our parish have ate for this

week past,

I saw, all at once, a prodigious groat throng
Come bustling, and rustling, and jostling

along;

For his Lordship was pleased that the com-
pany now
To my Lady Bunbuitor should curt'sey and

bow,
And my Lady was pleased, too, and seom'd

vastly proud

At once to receive all the thanks of a croud ;
And when, like Chaldeans, we all hod ador'd
This beautiful imago set up by my Lord,
Somo few msigmfloant folk went away,
j Just to follow th' employments and calls of

the day ,
Bat those who knew better their time how to

spend,

The fiddling and dancing all chose to attend
Miss Olunoh and Sir Toby perform' d a Co-
tillon,
Just the same as OUT Susan and Bob the

postillion ,
All the while her mamma way expressing her

joy,

That her daughter the morning so well could
employ.

— Now why should tho muso, my dear

mother, relate
The misfortunes that fall to the lot of tho

great'
As homeward we come — 'tis with sorrow

you'll hear

What a dreadful disaster attended tho poor
For whether some envious god had decreed
That a Naiad should long to ennoble hor

breed;
Or whether his Lordship was charm'd to

behold

His face in the stream, like Narcissus of old ,
In handing old Lady Bumfidget and daughter,
This obsequious Lord tumbled into the water ,
But a nymph of the flood brought him safe to

tho boat,
And } loft all the ladies a' cleaning1 his

coat. —

Thus the' feast was concluded, as far as I

hear,

To tho great witifffaction of all that wore
there

0 may he give breakfasts as long as ho stays,
For I ne'er ato a bettor in all my born days.
In haste I oonoludo, &c &o. &c.

Qlvnstoplwr Anstey —Born 1724, Dw& 1805,

1026 —THE THREE WARNINGS,

The tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit tho ground ;
'Twas therefore said by ancient sagos,

That love of life increased with yearn
So much, that in our lattor stagow,
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,

Tho greatest lovo of life appears.
This great affection, to boliovo,
Which all confess, but few porcoivo,
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleased to hoar a modern talc.

When spoifcs went round, and all wore gay,
On neighbour Dodson's wedding-day,
Death colled aside tho jocund groom
With "h™ into another room,
And looking grave — * You must," flays ho,
" Quit your swoet bndo, and como with mo "
" With you ' and quit my Sudan's side ?
With you ' " the hapless husband cnod ;
" Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard '
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared
My thoughts on othor matters go ,
This is my wedding-day, you know "

What more ho urged I have not heard,

His reasons could not well be stronger ,
So death tho poor dohnquont spared,

And loft to hvo a little longer
Yet calling up a serious look,
His hour-glass trembled whilo ho spoke —
" Neighbour,** ho said, " farewell ' no moro
Shall Death, disturb your mirthful hour
And farther, to avoid all blamo
Of cruelty upon my name,
To givo you timo for preparation,
And fit you for your future station.
Three several warnings you shall have,
Before you're summoned to the grave ,
Willing for once I'll quit my prey,

And grant a land reprieve ,
In hopes you'll have no moro to say ,
But, when I coll again this way,

Well pleased the world will leave."
To those conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.

What next the horo of our tale befell,
How long ho lived, how wise, how well,
How roundly ho pursued his course,
And smoked his pipo, and stroked his horsey

The willing1 muse shall tell
Ho chaffered, then he bought and sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,

Nor thought of Death as near :
His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,

From 1727 to 1780.]

THE BEGGAB.

He pass'd his hours in peaoe
Bat while he view'd his wealth increase,
While thus along life's dusty road
The beaten track content ho trod,
Old Tune, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year
And now, one night, m. musing mood,

As all alone he sate,
The unwelcome messenger of Fate

Once more before him stood

Half -killed with anger and surprise,
" So soon returned ' " Old Dod&on ones
" So soon d'ye call it ? " Death replies ;
" Surely, my friend, you're but in 3est '

Since I was here befoie
'Tis six-and-thirty years at least, ]

And you are now fourscore." |

" So much the worse," the clown lejoined , i

" To spaie the aged would be kind I
However, seo your search be legal ;
And your authority — is Jt regal p

Else you are come on a fool's errand, j
With but a secretary's warrant

Beside, you promised me Three Warnings, j

Which I have looked for nights and mornings , j

But for that loss of tune and ease, ;

I can leoover damages " |

" I know," cries Death, " that at the best
I seldom am a welcome guest ,
But don't bo captious, friend, at least ;
I little thought you'd still be able
To stump about your farm and stable
Tour years hare run to a gieat length ,
I wish you joy, though, of your strength ' "

" Hold," says the farmer, " not so fast !
I have been lame these four years past "

" And no groat wonder," Death leplies •
" However, you still keep your eyes ;
And sure to soe one's loves and friends
For legs and arms would make amendb "

" Perhaps," says Dodson, " so it might,
But latterly I've lost my sight "

" This is a shocking tale, 'tis true ,
But still there's comfort left for you
Each strives your sadness to amuse ,
I warrant you hear all the news "

"There's none," ones he, "and if there

were,
I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear."

"Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined,
" These are unjustifiable yearnings ,

If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,
You've had your Three sufficient Warn-
ings;

So come along, no more we'll part , "
He said, and touched Trim with his dart
And now Old Dodson, turning pale, \

Yields to his fate — so ends my tale

Mrs. Thrale.—Born 1740, Died 1822.

1027 —THE BEGGAR.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man 1

Whose trembling limbs have borne "hi™ to

your door,

Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,
Oh ' give relief, and Heaven will bless your
store

These tattered clothes my poveity bespeak,
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened
years;

And many a furrow in my gnef-worn cheek
Has been the channel to a stream of tears.

Yon house, erected on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect diew me from my
road,

For plenty thero a residence has found,
And grandeur a magnificent abode

(Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor r )
Here craving for a mor&el of their bread,

A pampered menial forced me from the door,
To seek a shelter in a humbler shed.

Oh ' take me to your hospitable dome,
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the
coldi

Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor and miserably old

Should I roveal the source of every grief,
If soft humanity o'er touched your breast,

Your hands would not withhold the kind

relief,
And tears of pity could not be repross'd

Heaven sends misfortunes — why should we

repine p
'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state

you &ee

And your condition may bo soon like mine,
The child of sorrow and of misery.

A little farm was my paternal lot,

Then, like the lark, I sprightly haal'd the

morn,
But ah ' oppression forced mo from my oot ,

My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.

My daughter — once the comfort of my ago '
Lured by a villain from her native home,

Is cast, abandoned, on the woild's wild stage,
And doomed in scanty poverty to roam

My tender wife — sweet soother of my care '
Struck with sad anguish at the stern
decree,

Fell — lingering fell a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man !
Whose trembling limbs have borne Tivm to

your door,

Whose days ore dwindled to the shortest span,
Oh ' give relief, and Heaven will bless your
store

Thoinat> Moss — About 1798.
50'

WILLIAM ORAWPIJBD ] THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR

[SIXTH PERIOD —

1028— THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAJR.

Hear me, ye nymphs, and every swam,

I'll tell how Peggy grieves me ;
Though, thus I languish, thus complain,

Alas ' she ne'er believes me.
My vows and sighs, like silent air,

Unheeded never move her ;
At the bonny bush aboon Traquair,

'Twas there I first did love her.

That day she smiled, and made me glad,

No maid seem'd ever kinder ;
I thought myself the luckiest lad,

So sweetly there to find her
I tried to soothe my amorous flame

In words that I thought tender ;
If more there pass'd, I'm not to blamea

I meant not to offend her.

Yet now she scornful flees the plain,

The fields we then frequented ;
If e'er we meet, she shows disdain,

She looks as ne'er acquainted
The bonny bush bloom* d fair in May,

Its sweets I'll aye remember ,
But now her frowns make it decay,

It fades as in December.

Te rural powers, who hear my strains,

"Why thus should Peggy grieve me ?
Oh I make her partner m my pains,

Then let her smiles relieve me.
If not, my love will torn despair,

My passion, no more tender,
PI! leave the bush aboon Traquair,

To lonely wilds Til wander.

Wm. Crawfurd.—Born 1700 (?), Died 1750 (?).

1029 — TWEEDSIDE

What beauties does Flora disclose '

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed '
Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those,

Both nature and fancy exceed.
Nor daisy, nor sweet-blushing rose,

Not all the gay flowers of the field,
Not Tweed gliding gently through those,

Such beauty and pleasure does yield.

The warblers are heard in the grove,

The tin-net, the lark, and the thrush,
The blackbird, and sweet-cooing dove,

With music enchant every bush
Come, let us go forth to the mead,

Let us see how the primroses spring;
We'll lodge in some village on Tweed,

And love while the feather' d folks «r"g

How does my love pass the long day ?

Does Mary not tend a few sheep P
Do they never carelessly stray,

While happily she lies asleep P

Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest ;

Kind nature indulging my bliss,
To relieve the soft pains of my breast,

I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

"Pis she does the virgins excel,

No beauty with her may compare
Love's graces around her do dwell ;

She's fairest where thousands are fair
Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray s

Oh ' tell me at noon where they feed ,
Shall I seek them on smooth-winding Tay

Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed ?

Wm. Orawjwd—Sorn 1700 ("), Died 1750 (?)

1030— ON MRS. A H, AT A CONCERT

Look where my dear Haxnilla smiles,

Hamilla ' heavenly charmer ;
See how with all their arts and wiles

The Loves and Graces arm her
A blush dwells glowing on her checks,

Pair seats of youthful pleasures
There Love in smiling language speaks,

There spreads his rosy treasures.

O fairest maid, I own thy power,

I gaze, I sigh, and languish,
Yet ever, ever will adore,

And triumph **** **» y anguish
But ease, O charmer, ease my carer

And let my torments move thoe ;
As thou art fairest of the fair,

So I the dearest love thee

Wm CrawJwd.--Born 1700 (?), Died 1750 (P).

1031 —VERSES WRITTEN WHEN ALONE
IN AN INN AT SOUTHAMPTON.

Twenty lost years have stolen their hours

away,

Since in this inn, even in this room, I lay
How changed f what then was rapture, firo,

and air,

Seems now sad silence all and blank despair >
Is it that youth paints every view too blight,
And, life advancing, fancy fades her light ?
Ah, no f — nor yet is day so far declined,
Nor can time's creeping coldness icach the

mind

'Tis that I miss the mspixer of that youth ,
Her, whose soft smile was love, whoso soul

was truth

Her, from whose pain I never wish'd relief,
And for whose pleasure I could smile at

Prospects that, viewed with her, inspired

before,
Now seen without her can delight no more.

From 1727 to 1780 ] ALLEGOBIOAL DESOBIPTTON OF VEBTU [GILBEBT WEST.

Death snatch'd my joys, by cutting off her

share,
But left her griefs to multiply my care

Pensive and cold tTns room in each changed

part

I view, and, shook' d, from ev'ry object start
There hung the watch that, beating hoars

from day,

Told its sweet owner's lessening life away
'There her dear diamond taught the sash my

name,

'Tis gone ' frail imago of love, life, and fame
That glass she dress'd at, keeps her form no

more;
Not one dear footstep tunes th' unconscious

floor
There sat she — yet those chairs no sense

retain,

And busy recollection smarts in vain.
Sullen and dim, what faded scenes are here '
I wonder, and retract a starting tear,
Gaze in attentive doubt — with anguish swell,
And o'er and o'er on each weigh'd object

dwell.

Then to the window rush, gay views invite,
And tempt idea to permit delight
But unimpressive, all in sorrow drown' d,
One void foigetful dosort glooms around
Oh life ' — deceitful lure of lost desiies '
How short thy period, yet how fieice thy

fires'
Scarce can a passion start (we change so

fast),
Ere now lights strike us, and the old are

past
Schemes following schemes, so long life's

ta&to explore,

That ere wo learn to live, we live no more
Who then can think — yet sigh, to part with

breath,

Or shun the healing hand of friendly death p
Guilt, penitence, and wrongs, and pain, and

strife,
Form the whole heap'd amount, thou flatterer,

Mo'

Is it for this, that toss'd 'twixt hope and fear,
Peace, by new shipwrecks, numbers each

now year ?

Oh take me, death ' indulge desired repose,
And draw thy silent curtain round my woes
Yet hold — one tender pang revokes that

pray'r.

Still there remains one claim to tax my care
Gone though she is, she left her soul behind,
In four dear transcripts of hor copied mind
They chain me down to Me, new task supply,
And leave me not at leisure yet to die '
Busied for them I yet forego release,
And teach my wearied heart to wait for

peace
But when their day breaks broad, I welcome

night,
Smile at discharge from care, and shut out

light

Aaron Hill.— Bom 1685, Died, 1750

1032— ALLEGOBICAL DESCBEETION OF
YKJBTU

So on ho passed, till he comen hath
To a small river, that full slow did glide,
As it uneath mote find its wat'ry path
For stones and rubbish, that did choak

its tide,

So lay the mouldering piles on every side,
Seem'd there a goodly city once had been,
Albeit now fallen wore her royal pride,
Yet mote her ancient greatness still be

Still from her rums proved the world's im-
perial queen

For the rich spoil of all the continents,
The boast of art and nature there was

brought,

Corinthian brass, Egyptian monuments,
With hieroglyphic sculptures all inwrought,
And Parian marbles, by Greek artists

taught

To counterfeit the forms of heroes old,
And set befoie the eye of sober thought
Lycurgus, Homer, and Alcidos bold.
All these and many more that may not here

bo told

There in the middest of a rum'd pile,
That soem'd a theatre of ciicuit vast,
Where thousands might be seated, he ere-

while

Discover' d hath an uncouth trophy placed ,
Seem'd a huge heap of stone together cast
In nice disorder and wild symmetry,
Urns, broken friezes, statues half defaced,
And pedestals with antique imagery
Emboss'd, and pillars huge of costly porphyry.

Aloft on this strange basis was ypight
With girlonda gay adoin'd a golden chair,
In which aye smiling with self-bred delight,
In careless pnde reclin'd a lady fair,
And to soft music lent her idle ear,
The which with pleasure so did her enthral,
That for aught else she had but little

care,

For wealth, or fame, or honour femmal,
Or gentle love, sole king of pleasures natural.

Als b/ her side in richest lobes array* d,
An eunuch sate, of visage palo and dead
Unseemly paramour for loyal maid '
Yet him she courted oft and honour'd,
And oft would by her place in princely

sted,
Though from the dregs of eaith he springen

were,
And oft with regal crowns she deck'd his

head,
And oft, to soothe her vain and foolish

ear,
Sho bade him the great names of mighty

Kesars bear.

COLLET GIBBER ]

SONG— THE BLIND BOY

[SIXTH PERIOD —

Thereto herself a pompons title bore,
For she was yam of her great ancestry,
But vainer still of that prodigious store
Of arts and learning, which she vaunts to

lie

In the rich archives of her treasury
These &he to strangers oftentimes would

show,

With grave demean and solemn vanity,
Then pioudly claim as to her merit due,
The venerable praise and title of Yoi*tu.

Yertu she was yclept, and held her court
"With outward shows of pomp and

majesty,

To which natheloss few others did resort,
But men of base and vulgar industry,
Or such perdy as of them cozen' d be,
Mimes, fiddlers, pipers, eunuchs squeaking

fine,

Painters and builders, sons of masonry,
Who well could measure with the role and

line,
And all the orders five right craftily define

But other skill of cunning architect,

How to contrive the house for dwelling

best,

With self-sufficient scorn they wont neg-
lect,
As corresponding with their purpose

least;

And herein be they copied of the rest,
Who aye pietending love of science fair,
And generous purpose to adorn the breast
With liberal aits, to Veitu's couit lepair,
Yet nought but tunes and names and coins
away do bear.

For long, to visit her once-hortour*d scat

The studious sons of learning have for-
bore

Who whilom thither ran with pilgrim feet,

Her venerable roliques to adore,

And load their bosom with the sacied
store,

Whereof the world large treasure yet
enjoys

But Eithence she declined fiom wisdom's
lore,

They left her to display her pompous

toys
To virtuosi vain and wonder-gaping boys

Gilbert West— Bom 1706, Died 1755.

1033.— SONG— -THE BLOTD BOY,

0 say ! what is that thing calTd light.
Which I must ne'er enjoy P

What are the blessings of the sight P
O tell youi poor blind boy I

You talk of wond'rous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright ;

I feel hiTn warm, but how can ho
Or make it day or night P

My day or night myself I make,

Whene'er I sleep or play ;
And could I ever keep awake,

With me 'twere always day.

With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe ;

But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne er can know

Then let not what I cannot have

My cheer of mind destroy ,
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,

Although a poor blind boy.

Colley Cibl&r—Born 1671, Died 1757.

1034— THE HAPPY

How blest has my time been ' what joys have

I known,
Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessy my

own'

So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain,
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain.

Through walks grown with woodbines, as

often wo stray,
Around us our boys and guls frolic and

How pleasing their sport is ' tho wanton ones

see,
And boirow their looks from my Jessy and

me

To try her sweet temper, ofttimos am I soen,
In revels all day with the nymphs on tho

green
Though painful my absence, my doubts sho

beguiles,
And meets me at night with complacence and

smiles

What though on her chocks tho roue loses its

hue,
Her wit and good humour bloom all tho year

through,
Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her

truth,
And gives to hor mind what ho steals from

her youth.

Yo shepherds so gay, who xnako love to

And cheat, with false vows, tho too credulous

fair,
in search of true pleasure, how vainly you

room1

To hold it for life, you must find it at home.
Edward Mooro,-~Bom 1712, Died 1757,

From 1727 to 1780.] MONODY TO THE MEMOBY OF HIS WIFE [CUTITBEBT SHA.W.

1035 —SALLY IN OTO ALLEY

Of all the girls that are so smart,

There's none lake pretty Sally,
She IG the darling1 of my heait,

And she lives in our alley
Thoro is no lady m tho land,

Is half so sweet as Sjily
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley

Her father he makes cabbage-nets.

And through the streets does cry 'em
Her mother &he sells laoes long,

To such as please to buy 'em
But sure such folks could ne'er beget

So sweet a girl as Sally '
She is the darling of my heait,

And she lives m oui alley

When she is by, I loavo my work

(I lovo her so sincerely),
My master comes like any Turk,

And bangs me most severely
Hut let him bang his belly full,

I'll bear it all for Sally ,
Sho is tho darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alloy.

Of all the days that's in tho woek,

I doaily love but ono day ,
And that's tho day that comes betwixt

A Saturday and Monday ,
Tor then I'm dro^B'd all m my best,

To walk abroad with Sally ,
Sho is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alloy

My master carries mo to churoh,

And often am I blamed,
Because I leave him in tho lurch,

As soon as text is named
I leave the church in sermon tune,

And slink away to Sally ,
She is tho darling of my heart,

And she lives m our alley.

Hewry Carey. — Died 1743

1036.— FROM "A MONODY TO THE
MEMORY OF HIS WIFE "

* # # Where'er I turn my eyes,

Some sad memento of my loss appears ;
I fly the fated house — suppress my sighs,
Resolved to dry my unavailing tears

But, ah i in vain — no change of time or

place

Tho memory can efface
Of all that sweetness, that enchanting air,
itfow lost , and nought remains but anguish
and despair

Where were the delegates of Heaven, oh

where '

Appointed virtue's children safe to keep '
Had innocence or virtue been their care,

She had not died, nor hod I lived to weep
Moved by my tears, and by her patience

moved,

To see her force the endearing smile,

My sorrows to beguile,
When torture's keenest in^o she proved ,
Sure they had warded that untimely dart,
Which broke her thread of life, and lent a

husband's heart

How shall I e'er forget that dreadful hour,

When, feeling death's royistless power,

My hand she press' d wet with her falling

tears,
And thus, in falt'ring accents, spoke hor

fears-
"Ah, my loved lord, the transient scene is

o'er,

And we must part (alas f) to meet no more r
But, oh ' if e'er thy Emiri's name was dear,
If e'er thy vows have charm'd my ravish'd

ear,

If from my lov'd embrace my heart to gam,
Proud friends have frown'd, and fortune

smiled in vain ,

If it has been my sole endeavour still
To act in all obsequious to thy will ,
To watch thy very smiles, thy wish to know,
Then only truly blest when thou wert so
If I have doated with that fond excess,
Nor love could add, nor fortune make it

less,

If this I've done, and more — oh, then be kind
To the dear lovely babe I leave behind '
When time my once-loved memory shall

Some happier maid may take thy Emma's

place,

With envious eyes thy partial fondness see,
And hato it for the love thou bore to me •
My dearest Shaw, forgive a woman's fears,
But one woid more (I cannot bear thy tears) :
Promise and I will trust thy faithful

vow

(Oft have I tried, and ever found thee true)

That to some distant spot thou wilt remove
This fatal pledge of hapless Emma's love,
"Wheie safe thy blandishments it may par-

take,
And, oh i be tender for its mother's sake

Wilt thou 9

I know thou wilt — sad silence speaks assent ,
And. in that pleasing hopo thy TnmTnn. dies

content "

I, who with more than manly strength have

bore

The various ills imposed by cruel fate,
Sustain the firmness of my soul no moie —

But sink beneath the weight
Just Heaven (I cried), from memory's earliest
day

CUTHBEBT SHAW.] MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF HIS "WIFE [SIXTH PERIOD — .

No comfort has thy wretched suppliant

known,

Misfortune still with unrelenting sway
Has claim1 d me for her own

Bat 0 in pity to my grief, restore

This only source of bliss ; I ask — I ask no

more-
Vain hope— th* irrevocable doom is past,

Even now she looks — she sighs her last-

Vainly I strive to stay hor fleeting breath,
And with rebellious heart protest against her

death

Perhaps kind Heaven in mercy dealt the

blow,
Some saving truth thy roving soul to

teach;
To wean thy heart from grovelling views

below,
And point out bliss beyond misfortune* s

reach,
To show that all the flattering schemes of

Joy,
"Which towering hopo so fondly builds in

air,

One fatal moment can destroy,
And plunge th* exulting maniac in despair.
Then, O ' with pious fortitude sustain
Thy present loss — haply, thy future gain ,

Nor let thy Emma die in vain ,
Time shall administer its wonted balm,
And hush *V« storm of gnef to no unpleasmg

calm.

Thus the poor bird, by some disastrous fate

Caught and imprison' d in a lonely cage,
Torn from its native fields, and dearer mate,

Flutters a while and spends its little rage .
But, finding- all its efforts weak and vain,

No more it pants and rages for the plain ;
Moping a while, in sullen mood

Droops the sweet mourner — but, ere long,
Prunes its light wings, and pecks its food,

And meditates the song
Serenely sorrowing, breathes its piteous case,

And with its plaintive warblmga saddens
all the place.

Forgive me, Heaven— -yet— yet the tears will

flow,
To think how soon my scene of bliss is

past!

My budding joys just promising to blow,
All nipt and wither'd by one envious

blast!

My hours, that laughing wont to fleet away,
Move heavily along ;

Where's now the sprightly jest, the
jocund song

How shall I cheat the tedious day?
And O the joyless night '

Where shall I rest my weary head P
How shall I find repose on a sad widow* d
bed?

Sickness and sorrow hovering round my bed,
Who now with anxious haste shall bring

relief,
With lenient hand support my drooping head,

Assuage my pains and mitigate my gnef ?
Should worldly business call away,
Who now shall in my absence fondly

mourn,
Count every minute of the loit'ring day,

Impatient for my quick return ?
Should anght my bosom discompose,
Who now with sweet complacent air
Shall smooth the rugged brow of care,
And soften all my woes P

Too faithful memory Cease, 0 cease

How shall I e'er regain my peace P
(0 to forget her f) — but how vain each art,
Whilst every virtue lives imprinted on my
heart.

And thou, my little cherub, left behind,
To hear a father's plaints, to share his

woes,
When reason's dawn informs thy infant

mind,
And thy sweet lisping tongue shall ask the

cause,

How oft with sorrow shall mine eyes run o'er,
When twining round my knees I trace
Thy mother's smile upon thy face ?
How oft to my full heart shalt thou restore
Sad memory of my joys — ah ' now no more '
By blessings once enjoy' d now more dis-

tress'd,
More beggar by the nohos once possessed.

My little darling ' dearer to mo grown

By all the tears thou'st caused — (0 strange

to hear ')

Bought with a life yet dearer than thy own,
Thy cradle purchased with thy mother's
bier'

Who now shall soek, with fond delight,
Thy infant stops to guide anghb '
She who with doating eyes would gaze
On all thy hfatle artless ways,
By all thy saft endearments blest,
And clasp thee oft with transport to her
breast,

Alas ' is gone — yot shalt thou prove
A father's dearest tend'rest love ,
And 0, sweet senseless smiler (envied state '),
As yet unconscious of thy hapless fate,

When years thy judgment shall mature,
And reason shows those ills it cannot cure,
Wilt thou, a father's grief to assuage,
?or virtue prove the phoenix of the earth
Like her, thy mother died to give thee birth),

And be the comfort of my age •*
/Vhen sick and languishing I lie,
Wilt thou my Emma's wonted caro supply ?

to 1780]

SONG-.

THOMPSON.

And oft as to thy Iist'mng ear
Thy mother's virtues and her fate I tell,

Say, wilt thou drop the tender tear,
Whilst on the mournfol theme I dwell ?
Then, fondly stealing1 to thy father's side,

Whene'er thon seest the soft distress,
Which I would vainly seek to hide,

Say, wilt thon strive to make it less ?
To sootho my sorrows all thy cares employ,
And in my cup of grief infuse one«flrop of

Quthleit Sliaiu —Born 1738, Died 1771

1037.— HUNTING SONG

The sun from tho east laps tho mountains

with gold ,
The moadows all spangled with dew-drops

behold t
Hear ' the lark's early "rnpfan proclaims the

now day,
And the horn's cheerful summons rebukes our

delay.

CHORUS

With the sports of the field there's no

pleasure can vie,
While jocund we iollow the hounds in full

cry

Lot tho drudgo o£ tho town make riches his

spoit ,
Tho slave of the state hunt the smiles of a

court

No care and ambition our pastime annoy,
But innocence still gives a zest to our joy.

With the sports, &c

Mankind are all hunters in various degree ,
The priest hunts a living — the lawyer a fee,
The doctor a patient — the courtier a place,
Though often, like us, he's flung out in the
chase

With the sports, <fcc

The cit hunts a plumb — while the soldier

hunts fame,

The poot a dinner — the patriot a name ;
And the practised coquotte, though she seoms

to refuse,
In spite of her airs, still her lover pursues

With the sports, &c

Let the bold and the busy hunt glory and
wealth ,

All tho blessing we ask is tho blessing of
health,

With hound and with horn through the wood-
lands to roam,

And, when tired abroad, find contentment at
home

With the sports, &c.

Paul WlutcUead—Born 1710, Died 1774.

1038.— THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL.

The topsails shiver in the wind,

The ship she casts to sea ,
But yet my soul, my heart, my mind,

Are, Mary, moor'd by thee
For though thy sailor's bound afar,
Still love shall be }"% leading star.

Should landmen flatter when we're sailed,

O doubt their artful tales ,
No gallant sailor ever fail'd,

I£ Cupid filTd his sails
Thou art the compass of my soul,
Which steers my heart from pole to pole.

Sirens in ev'ry port we meet,
More fell than rooks and waves ;

But sailors of the Brrta&h fleet
Are lovers, and not slaves

No foes our courage shall subdue,

Although we've left our hearts with you.

These are our cares , but if you're kind,

We'll scorn the dashing main,
The rooks, the billows, and the wind,

The powers of Fiance and Spam
Now Britain's glory rests with you,
Our sails are full — sweet girls, adieu '

Edwwd Thompson — Born 1788, Died 1786.

1039— SONG.

Behold upon the swelling wave,
With streaming pendants gay,

Our gallant ship invites the bra?
While glory leads the way ,

And a cruising we will go.

Whene'er Monsieur comes in view,

From India richly fraught,
To gain the prize we're firm and true,

And fire as quick as thought

With hearts of oak we ply each gun,

Nor fear the least dismay ,
We either take, or sink, or burn,

Or make them run away.

The lovely maids of Britain's isle

We sailors ne'er despise ,
Our courage rises with each smile,

For them we take each prize

Tho wind sets fair, the vessel's trim,

Then lot us boldly go ,
Old Neptune guides us while we swim,

To check the haughty foe

United let each Briton join,

Courageously advance,
We'll baffle every vain design,

And chock the pride of Fiance

Edward Tlwwpson — Born 1738, Died 1786

EDWAKD THOMPSOIT ]

SONG

[SIXTH PERIOD —

1040 — SONG

Loose every sail to the breeze,
The course of my vessel improve ;

I've done with the toils of the seas,
Ye sailors, I'm bound to my love.

Since Emma is true as she's fair,
My griefs I fling all to the wind •

'Tis a pleasing return for my core,
My mistress is constant and kind.

My sails are all fiH'd to my dear ;

"What tropic bird swifter can move ?
Who, cruel, shall hold his career

That returns to the nest of his love '

Hoist every sail to the breeze.

Come, shipmates, and join in the song1 ;
Let's drink, while the ship cuts the seas,

To the gale that may drive her along

Edward Thompson.— Bom 1738, Died, 1786.

I04I.—FROM HIS "INVOCATION TO
MELANCHOLY.' '

*****
Child of the potent spell and nimble eye,
Young Fancy, oft in rainbow vest array* d,
Points to new scenes that in succession pass
Across the wondrous mirror that she bears,
And bids thy unsated soul and wand'nng eye
A wider range o'er all her prospects take ,
Lo, at her call, New Zealand's wastes arise '
Casting their shadows far along the -main,
"Whose brows, cloud-eapp'din joyless majesty,
No human foot hath tiod since tune began ,
Here death-like silence ever-brooding dwells,
Save when the watching- sailor startled hears,
Far from his native land at darksome night,
The shrill-toned petrel, or the penguin's

voice,
That skim their trackless flight on lonely

wing,
Through the bleak regions of a nameless

Here danger stalks, and drmte with glutted

ear

The weaned sailor's moan, and fruitless sigh,
"Who, as he slowly cuts his danng way,
Affrighted drops his axo, and stops awhile,
To hear the jarring echoes lengthened dm,
That fling from pathless cliffs their sullen

sound

Oft here the fiend his grisly visage shows,
His limbs, of giant form, in vesture clad
Of drear collected ice and stiffen' d snow,
The same he wore a thousand years ago,
That thwarts the sunbeam, and endures the

day
'Tis thus, by Fancy shown, thou kenn'st

entranced
Long tangled woods, and ever stagnant lakes,

That know no zephyr pure, or temperate

gale,

By baneful Tigris banks5 where, oft they say,
As late in sullen march for prey he pi owls,
The tawny lion sees his shadow' d foim,
At silent midnight by the moon's pale gleam,
On the broad surface of the dark deep wave ,
Here, parch' d at mid-day, oft the passenger
Invokes with Kngeiinghope the tardy breeze,
And oft with silent anguish thinks in vain
On Europe's milder air and silver springs. *
Thou, unappall'd, canst view astounding

fear
With ghastly visions wild, and train un-

bless'd

Of ashy fiends, at dead of murky night,
Who catch the fleeting soul, and slowly pace,
With visage dimly seen, and beckoning hand,
Of shadowy forms, that, ever on the wing,
Flit by the tedious couch of wan despair
Methmks I hear him, with impatient tongue,
The lagging minutes chide, whilst sad he

sits
And notes their secret lapse with shaking

head.
See, see, with tearless glance they mark his

fall,
And close his beamless oye, who, trembling.

meets
A late repentance, and an early grave

With thine and elfin Fancy's dreams well

pleased,

Safe in the lowly vale of letter' d ease,
From all the dull buffoonery of life,
Thy sacred influence grateful may I own ,
Nor till old age shall lead me to my tomb,
Quit thee and all thy charms with many a

tear

On Omole, or cold Sorocte's top,
Singing defiance to the thieat'niug storm,
Thus the lone bird, in winter's rudest honr,
Hid in some cavern, shrouds its ruffled

plumes,
And through the long, long night, regardless

hears
The wild wind's keenest blafifc and dashing

rain.

Hewn/ Headley —Bom 176C, Died 1788

1042— SONNET TO VALCLUSA.

What though, Valclusa, the fond bard be

fled,

That woo'd his fair in thy sequestor'd bowers,
Long loved her IivinjLfel&ig bemoan* d her

And hung her visionarjWKrine with flowers '
What though no more tit teach thy shades to

The hapless chances that to love belong*,
As erst when drooping o'er her turf forlorn,
He chorm'd wild Echo with his plaintive
song.

From 1727 to 1780 J

ODE TO MANKIND.

NUGENT.

Yet still, enamour* d of the tender tale,

tale Passion haunts thy grove's romantic

gloom,

Yet still soft music breathes in every gale,
Still undecay'd the fairy garlands bloom,
Still heavenly incense nils eaoh fragrant vale,
Stall Petrarch's Genius weeps o'er Laura's

tomb.

Thomas RntsseU.--Born 1762, Lied 1788.

1043.— SONNET, SUPPOSED TO BE
WRITTEN AT LEMNOS.

On this lone isle, whoso rugged rocks affright
The cautious pilot, ton revolving years
Great Paeon's son, unwonted erst to tears,
Wept o'er his wound alike eaoh rolling light
Of heaven he watch'd, and blamed its linger-
ing night
By day tho sea-mew, screaming round his

cave,
Drovo slumber from his eyes, the chiding

wave,
And savage bowlings chased his dreams by

night
Hope still was hw ; in each low breeze that

sigh'd
Through his rude grot, ho heard a coming

oar

In eaoh white cloud a coming sail he spied ;
Nor seldom hnton'd to tho fancied loar
Of (Eta's tonontH, or tho hoarser tide
That parts famod Trachia from th* Euboio

shoio.

T7wmas Russell— Boi n 17G2, Lied 1788.

1044.— ODE TO MANKIND.

Is there, or do -the schoolmen dream-
Is there on oarth a power supreme,

The delegate of heaven,
To whom an uncontroll'd command,
In every realm or sea and land,

By special graco is given ?

Then say, what signs this god proclaim ?
Dwells he amidst tho diamond's flame,

A throne his hallow'd shnne ?
The borrow'd pomp, the arm'd array,
Want, fear, and unpfctemce, betray

Strange proofs of •flower divine '

If service due from human kind,
To men in slothful ease reclined,

Can form a sov'ieign's claim
Hail, monarchs ' ye, whom heaven ordains,
Our toils unshared, to share our gains,

Ye idiots, blind and lame I

Superior virtue, wisdom, might,
Create and mark tho ruler's right,

So reason must conclude :
Then thine it is, to whom belong
The wise, the virtuous, and the strong, *

Thrice sacred multitude '

In thee, vast All ' are these contain' d,
For thee are those, thy parts ordain'd,

So nature's systems roll
The sceptre 's thine, if such there be ;
If none there is, then thou art free,

Great monarch ' mighty whole '

Let the proud tyrant rest his cause
On faith, prescription, force, or laws,

An host's or senate's voice '
His voice affirms thy stronger due,
Who for the many made the few,

And gave the species choice

TJnsanctin'ed by thy command
TTnown'd by thee, the sceptred hand

The trembling slave may bind ;
But loose from nature's moral ties,
The oath by force imposed belies

The Tinftgsft'p frm g Tnm^,.

Thy will 's thy rule, thy good its end ,
You punish only to defend

What parent nature gave
And he who dares her gifts invade,
By nature's oldest law is made

Thy victim or thy slave

Thus icason founds the just degree
On universal liberty,

Not private rights resign' d
Through various nature's wide extent,
No private beings e'er were meant

To hurt the general kind.

Thee justice guides, thee right -nmrn tains,
Th' oppressor's wrongs, the pilf'rer's gams,

Thy injured weal impair.
Thy warmest passions soon subside,
Nor partial envy, hate, nor pride,

Thy temper'd counsels share

Each instance of thy vengeful rage,
Collected from eaoh oluno and age,

Though malice swell tho sum,
Would seem a spotless scanty scroll,
Compared with Marius' bloody roll,

Or Sylla's hippodrome.

But thine has been imputed blame,
The unworthy few assume thy name,

The rabble weak and loud ;
Or those who on thy ruins feast,
The lord, the lawyer, and the priest ;

A more ignoble crowd

Avails it thee, if one devours,

Or lesser spoilers share his powers,

While both thy claim oppose P
Monsters who wore thy sullied crown,
Tyrants who pulTd those monsters down,
. Alike to thee were foes.

ALEX Boss]

WOO'D, AND MAEBIED, AND A'

[SIXTH PERIOD —

Far other shone fair Freedom's band.
Far other was th* immortal stand,

When Hampden fought for thee
They snatoh'd from rapine's gripe thy spoils,
The fruits and pnze of glorious toils,

Of arts and industry

On thee yet foams the preacher's rage,
On thee fierce frowns th' historian's page,

A false apostate tram •
Tears stream adown the martyr's tomb ;
Unpitied in their harder doom,

Thy thousands strow the plain

These had no charms to please the sense,
No graceful port, no eloquence,

To win the Muse's throng
Unknown, unsung, unmark'd they lie
But Caesar's fate o'ercasts the sky,

And Nature mourns his wrong

Thy foes, a frontiess band, invade ,
Thy friends afford a timid aid,

And yield up half the right
E'en Locke beams forth a mingled ray.
Afraid to pour the flood of day

On man's too feeble sight

Hence are the motley systems framed,
Of right transferr'd, of power reolaim'd ,

Distinctions weak and vain
"Wise nature mocks the wrangling herd ;
For unreclaun' d, and untransf err' d,

Her powers and rights remain

While law the royal agent moves,
The instrument thy choice approves,

We bow through T»m to you
But change or cease the inspiring choice,
The sov'reign sinks a private voice,

Alike in one, or few '

Shall then the wiefah, whose dastard heart
Shrinks at a tyrant's nobler pait,

And only dares betray,
With reptile wiles, alas ' prevail,
Where force, and rage, and priestcraft fail,

To pilfer power away P

O .' shall the bought, and buying tribe,
The slaves who take, and deal the bribe,

A people's claims enjoy ?
So Indian murd'rers hope to gain
The powers and vutues of the &lain,

Of wi etches they destroy

" Avert it, Heaven i you love the bravo,
Tou hate the treach'rous, willing slave,

The self-devoted head ,
Nor shall an hireling's voice convey
That sacred prize to lawless sway,

For which a nation bled "

Vain prayer, the coward's weak resource !
Directing reason, active force,

Propitious heaven bestows
But ne'er shall flame the t mnd'nng sky,
To aid the trembling herd that fly

Before their weaker foes

In names there dwell no magic charms,
The British virtues, British arms

Unloosed our fathers' band •
Say, Greece and Borne ' if these should fail,
What names, what ancestors avail,

To save a sinking land P

Far, for from us such ills shall be,
Mankind shall boast one nation free,

One monarch truly great .
Whose title speaks a people's choice,
Whose sovereign will a people's voice,

Whose strength a prosp'rous state

Earl Nugent-— Born 1709, Died 1788

1045 — WOO'D, AND MAJBEIED, AND A'.

The bride cam* out o* the byre,

And, 0, as she dighted her checks '
Siis, I'm to be married the night,

And have neither blankets nor sheets ,
Have neither blankets nor sheets,

Nor scarce a coverlet too ,
The bnde that has a* thing to borrow,
Has e'en right muokle ado
Woo'd, and married, and a',

Mained, and woo'd, and a' (
And was she noo voiy weel off,

That was woo'd, and mamod, and a* ?

Out spake the bride's father,

As he cam' in frae the pieugh
0, haud your tongue, my doohter,

And ye'se get gear enough ,
The stirk stands i' the tether,

And our braw bawsmt yade,
Will carry ye hame your corn —

What wad ye be at, ye jade ?

Out spake the bride's mither,

What deil needs a* this pride ?
I had nae a plock in my pouch

That night I was a bnde ,
My gown was linsy-woolsy,

And ne'er a sark ava ,
And ye hae ribbons and buskins,

Mae than one or twa

Out spake the bude's bnther,

As he cam' in wi' the kye :
Poor Wilhe wad ne'er hoc ta'on ye,

Had he kent ye as weol as I ,
For ye're baith proud and saucy,

And no for a poor man's wife ;
Gin I caxma get a better,

I'se ne'or tak one i' my life

* * * *

Alex Row —Bom 1698, Died 1784..

From 1727 to 1780 ]

THE FLOWEBS OF THE FOREST

[Miss J.A.NB ELLIOT

1046— MAST'S DBEAM.

He moon had climb' d the highest fall

Which rises o'er the source of Bee,
And from the eastern summit shed

Her silver lighi on tower and tree ,
When Mary laid her down to sleep,

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea,
"When, soft and low, a voice was heard,

Saying, " Mary, weep no more for me ' "

She from her pillow gently raised

Her head, to ask who there might be,
And saw young Sandy shivering stand,

"With visage pale, and hollow ee
" 0 Mary dear, cold is my clay ,

It lies beneath a stormy sea
Far, far from thee I sleep in death ,

So, Mary, weep no more for mo f

Three stormy nights and stormy days

We toss'd upon the raging mam ,
And long we stiove our bark to save,

But all our striving was m vain
Even then, when horror chill' d my blood,

My heart was fill'd with love for thee
The storm is past, and I at lost ,

So, Mary, weep no more for me '

0 maiden dear, thyself prepare ,

We soon shall meet npon that shore,
Where love is free from donbt and care,

And thon and I shall part no more ' "
Loud crow'd the cook, the shadow fled,

No more of Sandy could she see ,
But soft the passing spurt said,

" Sweet Mary, weep no more for mo ! "

4ta>. .Rosa — Botn 1698, tyed 1784.

1047.— ATOD BOBIN GBAY.

When the sheep are m the f auld, and the kye

at home,

And a' the warld to sleep are gone ,
Th& waes o' my heart fa* in showers f rae my

ee,
When my gudeman lies sound by mo

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sooht me for

hisbnde,
But saving a oroun, he had naethmg else

beside;
To TOflflc that oroun a pund, young Jamie gaed

to sea;
And the cretin and the pund wore baith for

me.

He hadna been awa a week but only twa,
When my mother she fell aok, and the cow

was stown awa ,
My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at

the sea,
And auld Bobin Gray cam' a-courtin' me

My father oouldna work, and my mother

I toiled day and xucht, but their bread I

oouldna win ,
Auld Bob maintain' d tftffm baith, and, wi"

tears in his ee,
Said, " Jennie, for their sates, Oh, many

me I"

My heart it said nay, for I look'd for Jamie

back;
But the wind it blew high, and the bhip it

was a wreck,
The ship it was a wreck— why didna Jamie

dee?
Or why do I live to say, Wae 's me ?

My father argued HP-I'>* . my mother

speak,
But she lookit in my face till my heart was

like to break;
Sae they gied Jnre\ my frff*1*^ though my heart

was in the sea ;
And auld Bobin Gray was gndeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When, sitting sae mournfully at the door,
1 saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna thmTr

it he,
Till he said, " I'm come back for to marry

thee"

Oh, sair did we greet, and muckle did wo

say,
We took but ae kiss, and we toio omselvos

away.
I wish 1 were dead' but I'm no like to

dee,
And why do I live to say, Wae 's me ?

I gang like a ghaist, and I carom to spin ,
I dauma think on Jamie, for that wad be a

sin,

But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,
For auld Bobin Gray is kind unto me.

Lady AnnoAarnaid, — Born 1750, Died 1825.

1048— THE FLOWEBS OF THE
FOEEST.

I've heard the lilting at our yowe-milkxng,
Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day ;
But now they are moaning on ilka green

loaning —

The Flowers of the Forest are af wodo
away.

At buchts, in the morning, nae blythe lads

are scorning,

The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and woe ,
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and
. sabbing,
Ilk ano lifts hex leglen and hies hex away

MBS. COCKBtTBN ]

'J*H[M FLOWERS OF THE FOREST

[SIXTH PERIOD —

In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are

jeering*
The bandsters are lyart, and rankled, and

At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae

neeching —

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede
away.

At e'en, at the gloaming, nae swankies are

roaming,
'Bont stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to

play;
But ilk one sits dreaxie, lamenting- her

dearie —

The Flowers of the Forest are a" wede
away.

Bole and wae for the order, sent our lads to

the Border '
The English, for ance, by guile wan the

day,
The Flowers of the Forest, that fouoht aye

the foremost,

The prime o' our land, aie could in the
clay.

We hear nae mair lilting at our yowe-

Women and bairns are heartless and wae ,
Sighing and moaning on ynVfl- green loaning—
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede
away.

Miss feme Elliot — About 1740.

1049.— THE FLOWERS OF THE
FOREST.

I've seen the smiling

Of Fortune beguiling ;
I've felt all its favours, and found its decay •

Sweet was its blessing,

Kind its caressing*,
But now 'tis fled — fled far away.

I've seen the forest
Adorned the foremost
With flowers of the fairest most pleasant and

g»y,

Sae bomne was their blooming '
Their scent the air perfuming '
But now they are wither' d and weedeu away.

I've seen the morning
With gold the hiTlfl adorning,
And loud tempest storming before the mid-
day.

Fve seen Tweed's silver streams,
Shining in the sunny beams.
Grow dnrmly and dark as he row*d on his
way.

Oh, fickle Fortune,

Why this cruel sporting P
bh, why stall perplex us, poor sons of a day ?

Nae mair your smiles can cheer me,

Nae mair your frowns can fear me ;
For the Flowers of the Forest are a' wede
away

Mrs CocM>urn—Eorn 1679, Died, 1749.

1050 — TULLOCHGORUM.

Come gie's a sang, Montgomery cned,
And lay your disputes all aside ,
What signifies 't for folks to chide

For what *s been done before them p
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory,
Let Whig and Tory all agree

To diop their Whigmegmorum.
Let Whig and Tory all agree
To spend this night with mirth and glee,
And olieerf n' sing alang wi' me

The reel of Tullochgorum

O, Tullochgorum' s my delight;

It gars us a1 in one unite ,

And ony sumph that keeps up spite,

In conscience I abhor hrm
Blithe and merry we 's be a',
Blithe and merry, blithe and morry,
Blithe and meny we 's be a',

And mak' a cheeifu' quorum
Blithe and merry we's bo a*,
As lang as we hae breath to diaw,
And dance, till we be liko to fa',

The reel of Tulloohgorum

There need na be sae great a phrase
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays ,
I wadna gie our ain strathspeys

For TmTF a hundred score o' 'om
They're douff and dowio at the best,
Douff and dowie, douff and dowio,
They're douff and dowie at Iho best,

Wi' a' their variorums
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Their allegros, and a' the rest,
They oanna please a Highland taste,

Compared wi' Tulloohgorum

Let warldly minds themselves oppress
Wi' fear of want, and double cess,
And sullen sots themselves distress

Wi' keeping up decorum
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,

Like auld Philosophorum P
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,
And oanna rise to shake a fit

At the reel of TuUoohgornm ?

172* fc> 1780]

BRAID CLAITH.

May choicest blessings still attend
JLach honest-hearted open fnend ;
And calm and quiet be his end,

And a' that's good watch o'er him !
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Peace and plenty, peace and plenty,
May peace and plenty be his lot,

And dainties, a great store o' 'em !
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Unstain'd by any vicious blot ,
And may he never want a groat,

That's fond of TuUochgorum.

But for the discontented fool,
Who wants to be oppression's tool,
May envy gnaw his rotten soul,

And discontent devour Trim '
May dool and POIIOW be his chance,
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow,
May dool and soirow be his chance,

And nane say, Wae's me for 'ixn '
May dool and soriow bo his chance,
And a' the His that come frae France,
Whatever ho bo that winna dance

The rool of Tullochgorum »

John 8kvMwr.—Born 1721, Died 1807.

105 1 . — AJMT5TNTA.

My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-
hook,
And all the gay haunts of my youth I

forsook ,

No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove ,
For ambition, I said, would soon cure me of

love
Oh, what had my youth with ambition to

do?
Why left I Amynta? "Why broke I my

vow?
Oh, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook

restore,

And I'll wander from lore and Amynta no
more.

Through regions remote in vain do I rove,
And bid the wide ocean secure me from

lovo f
Oh, fool' to imagine that aught could

subdue
A love so well-founded, a passion so true '

Alas ' 'tis too late at thy fate to repine ,
Poor shepherd, Amynta can never be thine .
Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are

vain,
The moments neglected return not again.

Bvr (hlbert Elhot—Ih,ed 1777.

1052. — BBAED CLAITH.

Ye wha ore fain to hae your name
"Wiote i' the bonme book o' fame,
Let ment nae pretension claim

To laurell'd wreath,
But hap ye weel, baith back and wame,

In guid braid claith.

He that some ells o' this may fa',
And slae-black hat on pow like snaw,
Bids bauld to bear the gree awa,

Wi' a' this graith,
When bemly clad wi' shell fn' braw

O' guid braid olaith

Waostioks for H-m wha has nae feck o't f
For he's a gowk they're sure to geek at ;
A duel that ne'er will be respeckit

While he draws breath,
Till his four quarters are bededat

Wi' guid braid claith.

On Sabbath-days the barber spark,
When he has done wi' scrapra' work,
Wi' siller bioachie m his sork,

Gongs trigly, faith '
Or to the Meadows, or the Park,

In guid braid claith

Wcel might ye trow, to see them there,
That they to sliav o your haffits bare,
Or curl and sleek a pickle hour,

Would be light Ituth,
When pacin' wi' a gawsy air

In guid braid claith

If ony mettled stirrah green
For favour fiae a lady's een,
He maunna care for bem' seen

Before he sheath
His body in a scabbard clean

O' guid braid claith.

For, gin he come wi' coat threadbare,
A f eg for hiTD she winna care,
But crook her bonny mou f ou sair,

And scauld him barbh
Wooers should aye their travel spare,

Without braid claith

Braid claith lends fouk an unca heeze ;
Moks mony kail-worms butfcerflecs ,
Gies mony a doctor his degrees,

For little skaith
In short, you may be what you please,

Wi* guid braid claith.

For though ye hod as wise a snout on,

As Shakspero or Sir Isaac Newton,

Your judgment fouk would hae a doubt on,

I'll tak my aith,
Till they could see ye wi' a suit on

O' guid braid olaith

Robert F&rgw>son.~Born 1751, Lied 1774.

ROBT. FERGTTSSON ]

THE FABMER'S INGLE

[SIXTH PBBIOD.—

1053— THE FARMER'S INGLE

"Whan gloamin grey out owre the welkin

keeks,

Whazx Batie ca's his owsen to the byre ,
"Whan Thrasher John, sail dung, "hig bam

door steeks,

An* lu<3ty lasses at the dightm' tire ,
"What bangs fu8 leal the e'emn's coming

canld,
An1 gais snaw-tappit Winter freeze in

vain;
Gars dome mortals look baith blithe an

bauld,

Nor fley'd wi* a' the poorfath o' the plain j
Begin, my Muse ' and ohaunt in hamelj
strain.

Frae the big stack, weel winnow't on the hill,

Wi' divots theekit frae the weet an* dnffc ;
Sods, peats, and heathery turfs the chunley

fill,
An' gar their thickening smeek salute the

lift
The gudeman, new come frame, is blithe to

find,

Whan he out owre the Tia.Ho.-n flings his een,
That ilka torn is handled to his mind,
That a* his honsie looks sae cosh an' clean ;
For cleanly house lo'es he, though e'er sae
mean.

Weel kens the gudewif e, that the ploughs
require

A heartsome meltith, and refreshin' synd
O1 nappy liquor, owre ableezrn' fire .

Sair wark an' poortith downa weel be join'd.
Wi' butter' d bannocks now the girdle reeks,

I' the far nook the bowie bnskly reams ,
The readied kail stands by the chunley cheeks,

An" haud the riggm' het wi* welcome
streams,

Whilk than the daintiest kitchen nicer

Frae this, lat gentler gabs a lesson lear :

Wad they to labouring lend an eident hand,
They'd rax fell strong upo' the simplest fare, '

Nor find their stamaoks ever at a stand
Fu' hale an' healthy wad they pass the day ,
At night, in calmest slumbers dose fu'

sound ,

Nor doctor need their weary life to spae,
Nor drogs their noddle and then sense

confound,

Tfll death slip steely on, an' gie the hindmost
wound.

On sicken food has mony a doughty deed
By Caledonia's ancestors been done ;

By this did mony a wight fu' weirhke bleed
In brulaes frae the dawn to set o* sun

Twas this that braced their gardies stiff an*
strang;

_ Tb&t bent the deadly yew in ancient days ;

xAid Denmark's daring sons on yird alang ,

Garr'd Scotish thristles bang the Roman

bays;
For near our crest their heads they dought

na raise.

The couthy cracks begin whan supper's owre ,

The cheering bicker gars them glibly gash
O' Simmer's showery blinks, an' Winter's

sour,
Whase floods did erst their mailings produce

hash.

'Bout kirk an' market eke their tales gae on ,
How Jock woo'd Jenny here to be his

bride,

An' there, how Marion, for a bastard son,
Upo' the cutty-stool was forced to ride ,
The waefu' soauld o' our Mess John to
bide.

The fient a cheep 's amang the bairmeg now ,
For a' their anger's wi* their hunger gane
Ay maun the childer, wi' a f astan' mou,

Grumble an' greet, an' mak an unco maen
In rangles round, before the ingle 'a low,
Frae gudame's mouth auld waild tales they

hear,

0' warlocks loupin round the wirnkow
0' ghaists, that win in glen an kirkyard

drear,

Whilk touzles a' their tap, an1 gars them
shake wi* fear '

For weel she trows, that fiends an* fames be
Sent frae the doil to fleetoh us to our ill ,

That ky hae tint their tniTTr wi' evil eo ,
An' corn been soowder'd on the glowin'
kiln

O mock nao this, my friends ' but rather

Te in life's brawest spring wi* reason clear ,
Wi* eild our idle fancies a' return,
And dim our dolefu' days wi' bairnly fear ,
The mind 's ay cradled whan the grave is
near

Tet Thiift, industrious, bides her latest days, \
Though Age her sair-dow'd front wi' runcles

wave,

Yet fiae the russet lap the spindle plays ;
Her e'enm stent reels she as weal's the

lave.
On some feast-day, the wee things bu&kit

braw,

Shall heese her heart up wi' a silent joy,
Fu' cadgie that her head was up an' saw
Her am spun clcedm' on a darhn' oy ,
Careless though death shou'd mak the feast
her f oy

in its auld lorroch yet the deas remains,
Where tho gudeman aft streeks him at his

ease;

A warm and canny lean for weary banos
O' labourers doylt upo' the wintry loas
Bound him will baudrins an' the collie come,
To wag their tail, and oast a thankfu' ee.
To him wha kindly flings them mony a crum

From 1727 to 1780]

A SUNDAY IN EDINBURGH

[BOBT FEUGUSSOIT.

O' kebbuok whang' d, an' daanty fadge to

pne,
This a' the boon they crave, an' a' the fee

Frae him the lads their morain' counsel tak
What stacks he wants to thrash, what

rigs to till,

How big a birn maun lie on bassie's back,
For meal an* mu'ter to the thirlin' null
Niest, the gudewif e her hirelin' dampels bids
Glowr throngh the byre, an' see the hawkies

bound;

Tak tent, case Crummy tak her wonted tids,
An' ca' the loiglen's treasure on the

ground;

Whilk spills a kobbuok nice, or yellow
pound

Then a' the house for sleep begin to green,
Their joints to slack frae industry a while ,

The leaden god fa's heavy on thoir e'en,
An' hafflins steeks them, frae their daily
toil

The cruizy. too, can only blink and bleei ,
The reistit ingle 's done the maist it dow ,

Taoksman an' cottar eke to bed maun steer,
Upo1 the cod to clear their drumly pow,
Till wauken'd by the dawnm's ruddy glow

Peace to the husbandman, an' a' hi A tribe,
Whase care foils a' our wants frae year to

year '

Lang may his sock and cou'ter turn the gleyb,
An' banks o' coin bend down wi' laded

car '

Hay Scotia's simmers ay look gay an' green ;
Her yellow ha'rsts frae scowry blasts de-
creed1

May a' her tenants sit f u* snug an' bien,
Frae the hard grip o' oils, and poortith

freed,

An' a lang lasting tram o' peacefu' hours
succeed '

Robert Fergusson. — Born 1751, Died 1774

— TO THE TEON-KIEK BELL.

Wanwordy, crazy, dinsome thing,
As e'er was framed to jow or ring '
"What gar'd them sic in steeple lung,

They ken themsel ,
But weel wat I, they couldna bring

Waur sounds frae helL

Fleece-merchants may look bauld, I trow,
Sin' a' Auld Eeekie's childer now
Maun stap their lugs wi' teats o' woo,

Thy sound to bang,
And keep it frae gaun through and through

Wi* iamn* twang.

Tour noisy tongue, there's nae abidin't ,
Lake soauldin' wife's, there is nae guidin't;
When I'm 'bout ony business eident,

It's sair to thole ,
To deave me, then, ye tak a pride in't,

Wi* senseless knoll.

Oh i were I provost o* the town,
I swear by a' the powers aboon,
I'd bring ye wi' a reesle down ,

Nor should you think
(Sae sair I'd crack and clour your crown)

Again to clink

For, when I've toom'd the meikle cap,
And fain wald fa' owre in a nap,
Troth, I could doze as sound 's a tap,

Were't no for thee,
That gies the tither weary chap

To wauken me.

I dreamt ae night I saw Auld Nick :
Quo' he—" This bell o' mine's a trick,
A wily piece o' politic,

A cunmn' snare,
To trap f ouk in a cloven stick,

Ere they're aware.

As long's my dautit bell hmgs there,
A' body at the khk will skair ,
Quo' they, if he that preaches there

Like it can wound,
We downa care a single hair

For joyfu' sound "

If magistrates wi' me would 'gree,
For aye tonguo-taokit should you be ;
Nor flog wi' anti-melody

Sic honest fouk,
Whase lugs were never made to dree

Thy dolef u* shock,

But far frae thee the bailies dwell,
Or they would scunner at your knell ;
G-ie the foul thief his riven bell,

And then, I trow,
The byword hauds, " The diel hunsel

Has got his due "

Rober* Fergusson. — Boi n 1751, Died 1774.

1055.— A SUNDAY IN EDINBUBGH.

On Sunday, here, an alter'd scene
0' men and manners meets our een.
Ane wad maist trow, some people chose
To change their faces wi* their olo'es,
And fain wad gar ilk neibour think
They thirst for guidness as for drink ;
But there 's an unco dearth o' grace,
That has nae mansion but the face,
And never can obtain a part
In benmost corner o' the heart
Why should religion mak us sad,
If good fine virtue 's to be had ? &t

JOHN BYROM ]

CARELESS CONTENT.

[SIXTH PEBIOIX-*

Na • rather gleef u* turn your face,
Forsake hypocrisy, grimace ;
And never hae it understood
You fleg mankind frae being good.
In afternoon, a' brawly buskit,
The joes and lasses loe to frisk it.
Some tak a great delight to place
The modest ton-grace owre the face ;
Though yon. may see, if so inclined,
The turning o' the leg behind
Now, Comely-Garden and the Park
Befresh them, after forenoon's wark :
Newhaven, Leith, or CanonmiUs,
Supply them in their Sunday's gills ;
Where writers aften spend their pence,
To stock their heads wi* drink and sense.

While dandenn oits delight to stray
To Castlekdl or public way,
Where they nae other purpose mean,
Than that fool cause o* being seen,
Let me to Arthur's Seat pursue,
Where bonnie pastures meet the view,
And mony a wild-lorn scene accrues,
Befitting Willie Shakspere's muse.
If Fancy there would join the thrang,
The desert rocks and hilla among-,
To echoes we should hit and play,
And gie to mirth the live-lang day

Or should some canker' d biting shower
The day and a' her sweets deflower,
To Holyrood-house let me stray,
And gie to musing a' the day ,
Lamenting what auld Scotland knew,
Bein days for ever frae her view
O Hamilton, for shame > the Muse
Would pay to thea her couthy vows,
Gin ye wad tent the humble strain,
And gie's our dignity again '
Foi oh, wae 's me ' the thistle springs
In domicile o* ancient kings,
Without a patriot to regret
Oar palace and our ancient state.

Robert Fcifjussoa. — Boi/i 1T51, Died 1774

1056. — CARELESS CONTENT.

I am content, I do not care,

Wag as it will the world for me ;

When fuss and fiet was all my fare,
It got no ground as I could see .

So when away my canng went,

I counted cost, and was content.

With more of thanks and less of thought,
I strive to make my matters meet ;

To seek what ancient sages sought,
Physic and food in sour and sweet :

To take what passes in good pait,

And keep the hiccups from the heart.

With good and gentle-humour' d hearts,
I choose to chat where'er I come,

Whate'er the subject be that starts ;

But if I get among the glum,
I hold my tongue to tell the truth,
And keep my bieath to cool my broth.

For chance or change of peace or pain,
Tor fortune's favour or her frown,

For lack or glut, for loss or gam,
I never dodge, nor up nor down :

But swing what way the ship shall swim,

Or tack about with equal trim

I suit not where I shall not speed,
Nor trace the turn of every tide ;

If simple sense will not succeed,
I make no bustling, but abide •

For aTn-mTig wealth, or scoring woe,

I force no friend, I fear no foe

Of ups and downs, of ins and outs,

Of they're i' the wrong, and we're i' the right.

I shun the rancours and the routs ;
And wishing well to every wight,

Whatever turn the matter takes,

I deem it all but ducks and drakes.

With whom I feast I do not fawn,

Nor if the folks should flout me, faint -f

If wonted welcome be withdrawn,
I cook no kind of a complaint .

With none disposed to disagree,

But like them best who beat like me.

Not that I rate myself the rule
How all my betters should behave ;

But fame shall find me no man's fool,
Nor to a set of men a slave

I love a friendship free and frank,

And hate to hang upon a hank.

Fond of a true and trusty tie,

I never loose where'er I ImTc ;
Though if a business budges by,

I talk thereon just as I think ;
My word, my work, my heart, my hand,
Still on a side together stand

If names or notions make a noise,
Whatever hap the question hath,

The point impartially I poise,
And read or wnto, but without wrath ;

For should I burn, or break my braim,

Pray, who wdl pay me for my pains ?

I love my neighbour as myself,
Myself like him too, by his leave ;

Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf,
Came I to crouch, as I conceive *

Dame Nature doubtless has design' d

A Tflftp the monarch of his mind.

Now taste and try this temper, sirs,
Mood it and brood it in your breast ;

Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs,
That maTi does right to mar his rest,

Let me be deft, and debonair,

I am content, I do not care.

Jo?w Bi/rom.— Born 1691, Died, 1763

Prom 1727' to 1780 ]

A PASTORAL.

[JOHN BTBOM.

1057— APASTOBAL.

My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent,
"When Phoebe went with me wherever I went ;
Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my

breast
Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was

blest t

But now she is gone, and has left me behind.
What a marvellous change on a sudden I

find'
When things were as fine as could possibly

be,
I thought 'twas the Spiing . but alas ' it was

she.

With such a companion to tend a few

sheep,
To nse up and play, or to lie down and

sleep •

I was so good-humour'd, so cheerful and gay,
My heart was as light as a feather all day ;
But now I so cross and so peevish am grown,
So strangely uneasy, as never was known.
My fair one is gone, and my joys are all

drown'd,
And my heart — I am sure it weighs more than

a pound.

The fountain that wont to lun sweetly

along,
And danoe to soft muimurs the pebbles

among ,
Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was

there,
'Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to

hoar

But now she is absent, I walk by its side,
.And still, as it murmurs, do nothing but

chide,

Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain p
Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me

complain.

My lambkins around me would oftentimes

play,

And Phoebo and I wero as joyful as they ;
How pleasant their sporting, how happy their

time,
When Spring, Love, and Beauty were all in

their prime ;
But now, in their frolics when by me they

I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass ;
Be still, then, I cry, for it makes me quite

mad,
To see you so merry while I am so sad.

My dog I was ever well pleased to see
Come wagging his tail to my fair one and

me;
And Phoebe was pleased too, and to my dog

said,
'* Come hithei, poor fellow j " and patted his

head.

But now, when he 's fawning, I with a sour

look
Cry " Sirrah ' '* and give him a blow with my

crook-
And I'll give him another; for why should

not Tray
Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe 's

away P

When walking with Phoebe, what sights

have I seen,
How fair was the flower, how fresh was the

gieen1
What a lovely appearance the trees and the

shade,
The corn fields and hedges, and everything

made!
But now she has left me, though all are still

there,

They none of them now so delightful appear •
'Twas nought but the magic, I find, of her

eyes,
Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

Sweet music went with us both all the wood

through,
The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale

too,
Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did

bleat,
And chirp ' went the grasshopper under our

feet
But now she is absent, though still they

sing on,

The woods are but lonely, the melody 's gone
Her voice in the concert, as now I have

found,
Grave everything else its agreeable sound.

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue ?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue P
Does ought of its sweetness the blossom be-
guile P
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not

smile P

Ah ' rivals, I see what it was that you drest,
And made yourselves fine foi — a place in her

breast .

You put on your colours to pleasure hex eye,
To be pluok'd by her hand, on her bosom to
die

How slowly Time creeps till my Phoebe

return'
While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I

burn.
Methinks, if I knew whereabouts he would

tread,
I could breathe on, his wings, and 'twould

melt down the lead.

Ply swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear,
And rest so much longer for 't when she is

here.

Ah Colin ' old Time is full of delay,
Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou

canst say. 51 *

DODDBIDGE ]

THE GOSPEL

[SIXTH PERIOD.—

Will no pitying power, thai hears me com-
plain,

Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain ?

To be cured, thon must, Colin, thy passion
remove ;

But what swain is so silly to live without
love'

No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return,

For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly for-
lorn

Ah I what shall, I do? I shall die with de-
spair;

Take heed, aU ye swains, ho^r ye part with
your fair

John, Byrom — JBorol691, Died 1763.

1058— THE GOSPEL.

Mark the soft-falling snow,
And the diffusive rain ,
To heaven, from whence it fell,
It turns not back again ;

But waters earth

Through every pore,

And calls forth all

Its secret store

Arrayed in beauteous green,
The hVHa and valleys shine,
And man and beast are fed
By providence divine ,

The harvest bows

Its golden ears,

The copious seed

Of future years

" So," saith the God of grace,
"My gospel shall descend,
Almighty to effect
The purpose I intend ,

Millions of souls

Shall feel its power,

And bear it down

To millions more.

Joy shall begin your march,
And peace protect your ways,
While all the mountains round
Echo melodious praise ;

The vocal groves

Shall sing- the God,

And every tree

Consenting nod "

Doddndge.— Born 1702, Died 1751.

1059.— EVENING HYMN.

Interval of grateful shade,
Welcome to my weary head »
Welcome slumber to mine eyes,
Tired with glaring vanities !

My great Master stall allows
Needful periods of repose •
By my heavenly Father blest,
Thus I give my powers to rest ;
Heavenly Father ' gracious name '
Night and day his love the same ;
Far be each suspicious thought,
Every amaous care forgot
Thou, my ever bounteous God,
Crown' st my days with various good
Thy kind eye, that cannot sleep,
These defenceless hours shall keep ,
Blest vicissitude to me '
Day and night I'm still with thee.

What though downy slumbers flee,
Strangers to my couch and me P
Sleepless, well I know to rest,
Lodged within my Father's breast.
Whale the empress of the night
Scatters mild her silver light ;
While the vivid planets stray
Various through their mystic way ;
While the stars unnumber'd roll
Bound the ever-constant pole ,
Far above these spangled skies,
All my soul to God shall rise ,
Midst the silence of the night,
Mingling with those angels bright,
Whose harmonious voices raise
Ceaseless love and ceaseless praise.
Through the throng his gentle ear
Shall my tuneless accents hear ,
From on high shall he impart
Secret comfort to my heart
He, in these serenest hours,
Guides my intellectual powers,
And his Spirit doth diffuse,
Sweeter far than midnight dews,
Lifting all my thoughts above
On the wings of faith and love
Blest alternative to me,
Thus to sleep or wake with Thee !

What if death my sleep invade ?
Should I be of death afraid ?
Whilst encircled by thine arm,
Death may strike, but cannot harm.
What if beams of opening day
Shine around my breathless clay $
Brighter visions from on high
Shall regale my mental eye
Tender fnends awhile may mourn
Me from their embraces torn;
Dearer, better fnends I have
In the realms beyond the grave
See the guardian angels nigh
Wait to waft my soul on high '
See the golden gates displayed f
See the crown to grace my head !
See a flood of sacred light,
Which no more shall yiold to night '
Transitory world, farewell1
Jesus calls with him to dwell
With thy heavenly presence blest,
Death is life, and labour rest.

From 1727 to 1780 ]

A CHRISTMAS HYMN.

[JDODDRIDGIE.

Welcome sleep or death to me,
Still secure, for still with. Thee

-—Bwn 1702, Died 1751

1060— TO-MOEEOW, LOED, IS THINE

To-morrow, Lord, is thine,
Lodged in thy sovereign hand ,
And if its sun arise and shine,
It shines by thy command

The present moment flies,
And bears our life away ,
Oh, make thy servants truly wise,
That they may live to-day '

Since on this winged hour
Etoimty is hung,
Awako, by thine almighty pow'r,
Tho aged and the young-

" One thing" demands our caio .
Oh, bo it still pursued ,
Lost, slighted once, the season fair
Should never be icnew'd '

— Bewn 1702, Died 1751

1061 —ON EECOVBEY PEOM

SICKNESS

My God, thy service well demands

The lomnant of my days ,
"Why was this fleeting bioath renow'd,

But to renew thy praise ?

Thino arms of everlasting lovo

Did this weak frame sustain,
Whon life was hovering o'ei the grave,

And nature sunk with pain

Thou, when the pains of death wore felt,
Didst chase the fears of hell ,

And teach my pale and quivering lips
Thy matchless grace to tell

Calmly I bow'd my fainting head

On thy dear faithful breast ,
Pleased to obey my Father's call

To hia eternal rest.

Into thy hands, my Saviour God,

Did I my soul resign,
In fiim dependence on that truth

Which made salvation mine.

Back fiom the borders of tho grave

At thy command I come ,
Nor would I urge a speedier flight

To my celestial homo

"Where thou determm'st mine abode,

There would I choose to be ;
Pot in thy presence death is life,

And earth is heaven with thee

Doddndge — Born 1702, Ihed 1751.

1062 — PEEPAEING TO MEET GOD.

He comes , thy God, 0 Israel, com.es ,

Piepaie thy God to meet
Meet him in battle's force array 'd,

Or humbled at his feet

He foim'd the mountains by his strength,

Ho makes the winds to blow ,
And all the secret thoughts of man

Must his Creator know.

He shades the morning's op'nmg rays,

And shakes the solid world,
And stars and angels from their seats

Are by hi a thunder hurl'd.

Eternal Sovereign of the skies,

And ph.gill thine Israel daio
In mad rebellion to arise,

And tempt th' unequal war ?

Lo, nations tremble at thy frown,

And f aant beneath thy rod
Crush' d by its gentlest movement down,

They fall, tremendous God.

Aveit tho terrors of thy wrath,

And let thy mercy shine ,
While humble penitence and prayer

Approve us truly thine

Doddridge — Born 1702, Died 175L

1063 —A CEEISTMAS HYMN.

Hail, progeny divine '
Hail, Virgin's wondrous Son,
Who, for that humble shrine,
Didst quit tho Almighty's throne !

The infant Lord

Our voices sing,

And be the King

Of grace adored.

Te princes, disappear,
And boast your crowns no more,
Lay down your sceptics here.
And in the dust adore

Where Jesus dwells,

The manger baro

In lustre far ^

Your pomp excels.

OHABT.TDS

COME, 0 THOU TBAYELLEB.

[SIXTH PERIOD — .

With Bethlehom's shepherds mild
The angels bow their head,
j^-nfl round the saored child
Theii guardian -wings they spread ,

They knew that where

Their Sovereign lies,

In low disguise,

Heaven's court is there

Thither, my soul, repair,
And earthly homage pay
To thy Redeemer fair,
; As on his natal day :

I kiss thy feet;

And, Lord, would be

A child lake thee,

"Whom thus I greet.

Doddndrje —Bom 1702, Died 175*.

1064 — COME, 0 THOU

PART I

Come, 0 thou Traveller unknown,
Whom still I hold, but cannot see '

My company before is gone,
And I am left alone with thee :

With thee all night I mean to stay,

And wrestle till the break of day.

I need not tell thee who I am ;

My misery and sin declare ,
Thyself hast oalTd mo by my name,

Look on thy hands, and read it there -
But who, I ask thee, who art Thou ?
Tell me thy name, and tell me now

In vain thou strugglest to get free,
I never will unloose my hold '

Ait thou the Han that died for me ^
The secret of thy lovo unfold

Wrestling, I will not let thoe go,

Till I thy Name, thy Nature know

Wilt thou not yet to me reveal
Thy new, unutterable Name ?

Tell ino, I still beseech thee, toll
To know it now, resolved I am .

Wrestling, I will not let thee go,

Till I thy Name, thy Nature know.

What though my shrinking flesh complai
And murmur to contend so long ?

I nse superior to my pain -
When I am weak, then I am strong '

And when my all of strength sjHn.ll fail.

I shall with the God-Man prevail.

n.

Yield to me now, for I am weak ,
But confident m self -despair -

Speak to my heart, in bleepings speak
Be eonquer'd by my instant pray'r

Speak, or thou never hence shalt move,

And tell me if thy Name is Love

'Tis Love ! 'tis Love ! thou diedst for me
I hear thy whisper in my heart '

The morning breaks, the shadows flee,
Pure, universal love thou art

To me, to all, thy bowels move,

Thy Nature and thy Name is Love

My pray'r hath power with God the grace

Unspeakable I now receive ;
Through faith I see thee face to face :

I see thee face to face, and live '
In vain I have not wept and strove .
Thy Nature and thy Name is Love.

I know thee, Saviour, who thou art,
Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend

Nor wilt thou. with the night depait,
Bat stay and love me to the end ,

Thy Nature and thy Name is Love

The Sun of Righteousness on me
Hath rose, with healing in his wings

Wither'd my nature's strength, from thee
My soul its life and succour brings ,

My help is all laid up above ,

Thy Nature and thy Name is Lovo

Contented now upon my thigh
I halt, till life's shoit journey end ,

All helplessness, all weakness, I
On thee alone for strength depend ,

Noi have I power from thee to movo ,

Thy Nature and thy Name is Love.

Lame as I am, I take the piey ,

Hell, earth, aud sin, with ease overcome ,
I leap for joy, pursue my way,

And, as a bounding halt, fly homo ,
Through all eternity to provo
Thy Nature and thy Name la Lovo

Qlmles Wesley —Bwn 1708, Died 1788.

1065— WEABY OF WANDERING-.

Weary of wand'nng from my God,
And now made willing to return,

I hear, and bow me to tho rod ,
For thoe, not without hope, I mourn ;

I have an Advocate above,

A Fnend befoie the throne of Lovo

0 Jesus, full of truth and grace,
More full of grace than I of sin ;

Yet once again I seek thy face,
Open thine arms, and take me in ;

And foeely my backslidings heal,

And love the faithless sumer still

Thou know'st tho way to bring- mo back,

My fallen spirit to restore ,
0 f for thy trutiti and moroy's sake,

Forgive, and bid me sin no moio ;
The rums of my soul repair,
And make my heart a house of pray'r

Mom 1727 to 1780

FBOM THE GEBMAN"

[JOHN WESUBY.

The stone to flesh again convert; ,

The veil of sin again remove •
Sprinkle thy blood upon my heart,

And melt it by thy dying love;
This rebel heart by love subdue,
And make it soft, and make it new.

Give to mine eyes refreshing tears,
And kindle my relentings now ;

Fill my whole son! with fil-m-l fears ;
To thy sweet yoke my spirit bow ;

Bend by thy grace, O bend or break,

The iron sinew in my neck !

Ah I give me, Lord, the tender heart,
That trembles at th' approach of sm

A godly fear of sin impart ,

Implant, and root it deep within ,

That I may dread thy gracious power,

And never dare t' offend thee more

Cliaarles Wesley —Born 1708, Died 1788.

1066.— JESU, LOVEB OP MT SOUL.

Josu, Lover of my soul,

Let me to thy bosom fly,
While tho nearer waters roll,

While the tempest still is high
Hide mo, O my Saviour, hide,

Till the storm of lilo bo past ,
Safo into the havon guide,

0 receive my soul at last '

Other refuge have I nono,

Hangs my helpless soul on thee;
Leave, ah ' leave mo not alone,

Still support and comfort mo
All my trust on thee is stay'd ,

All my help from thee I bring ,
Cover my defenceless head

With the shadow of thy wing

Thou, Q Christ, art all I want ;

More than all m thee I find
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,

Heal the sick, and lead the blind •
Just and holy is thy Name ;

1 am all unrighteousness •
False and full of sm I am ;

Thou art ML of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with thee is found,

Grace to cover all my sin ;
Lot tho healing streams abound,

Make and keep me pure within :
Thou of life the fountain art ,

Freely lot me take of thee ;
Spring thou up within my heart,

Else to all eternity.

CJiarles Wesley — JBom 1708, Died 1788

1067. — FBOM TEBSTEEGE.

Thou hidden love of God, whose height,
Whose depth unfathom'd, no man knows,

I see from far thy beauteous light,
Inly I sigh for thy repose

My heart is pam'd, nor can it be

At rest, till it finds rest in thee

Thy secret voice invites me still
The sweetness of thy yoke to prove ;

And fain I would , but though my will
Seems fix'd, yet wide my passions rove ;

Yet hindrances strew aJl the way,

I aim at thee, yet from thee stray

'Tis mercy aH, that thou hast brought
My mind to seek her peace in thee ,

Yet while I seek, but find thee not,
No peace my wand'ung soul shall see ,

0 when shall aJl my wanderings end,

And all my steps to thee- ward tend !

Is there a thing beneath the sun

That strives with thee my heart to share ?
Ah, tear it thence, and reign alone,

The Lord of every motion there '
Then shall my heart from earth be free,
When it hath found lopose in thee

0 hide this self from me, that I
No moie, but Chnst in me, may live ;

My vile affections crucify,

Noi lot one darling lust survive r

In aH things nothing may I see,

Nothing desiro or seek, but thee '

0 Love, thy sovereign aid impart,
To save me from low-thoug-hted care ;

Chase this self-will through all my heart,
Through all its latent mazes there

Make mo thy duteous child, that I

Ceaseless may, " Abba, Father," cry »

Ah no ' no'er will I backward turn :
Thine wholly, thine alone, I am ;

TJince happy he who views with scorn
Earth's toys, foi thee his constant flame!

0 help, that I may never move

Fiom the blest footsteps of thy love.

Each moment draw from earth away
My heart, that lowly waits thy call ,

Speak to my inmost soul, and say,
" I am thy Love, thy God, thy An ' "

To feel thy power, to hear thy voice,

To taste thy love, be all my choice

JoJvn Wesley — Born 1703, Died 1791.

1068— FJBOM THE GEBMAN.

I thirst, thou wounded Lamb of God,
To wash me in thy cleansing blood ;
To dwell within thy wounds • then pain
Is sweet, and life or death is gam

JOHN WESLEY ]

FROM COUNT ZINZENDOBJF

blXTH I*EBIOD —

1069 — FROM COUNT ZINZENDOEF

Jesus, thy Blood and Righteousness
My beauty are, my glorious diess
'Midst flaming- worlds, in these array'd,
With joy shall I lift up my head

Bold shall I stand in thy great day ,
For who aught to my charge shall lay ?
Fully absolved through these I am,
From sin and fear, from guilt and shame.

The holy, meek, unspotted Lamb,
Who from the Father's bosom came,
Who died for me, even me t' atone,
Now for my Lord and Q-od I own.

Lord, I believe thy precious blood,
Which, at the mercy-seat of God,
For ever doth for sinners plead,
For me, even for my soul, was shed

Lord, I believe, were sinners more
Than sands upon the ocean shore,
Thou hast for all a ransom paid,
For all a full atonement made.

When from the dust of death I rise,
To claim my mansion m the skies,
Even then, — this shall be all my plea,
Jesus hath lived, hath died for me

Take my poor heart, and let it be
For ever closed to all but thee '
Seal thou my breast, and let me wear
That pledge of leve for ever there '

How blest are they who still abide
Close shelter' d in thy bleeding side !
Who life and strength from thence derive,
And by thee move, and in thee live

What are our works but sin and death,
Ml thou thy quick'nmg spirit breathe p ,
Thou givf st the power thy grace to move :
O wondrous grace ' 0 boundless love !

How can it be, thou heavenly King,
That thou shouldst us to glory bring p
Hake slaves the partners of thy throne,
Deck'd with a never-fading crown P

Hence our hearts melt , our eyes overflow ,
OTIT words are loat , nor will we know,
Nor will we *>»TiTr of aught beside,
" My Lord, my Love is crucified "

Ah, Lord ! enlarge our scanty thought,
To know the wonders thou hast wrought ,
Unloose our stammering tongues, to tell
Thy love immense, unsearchable.

First-born of many brethren Thou '
To thee, lo T all our souls we bow ;
To thee our hearts and hands we give :
Thine may we die, thine may we live T

John Wesley.— Bom 1703, Died 1791

Thus Abraham, the Fnend of God,
Thus all heaven's armies bought with blood,
Saviour of sinners Thee proclaim ,
Smners, of whom the chief I am.

Jesus, be endless praise to thee,
Whose boundless mercy hath for me,
For me, and all thy hands have made,
An everlasting ransom paid.

Ah r give to all thy servants, Lord,
With power to speak thy gracious word ;
That all, who to thy wounds will flee,
May find eternal life in thee

Thou God of power, thou God of love,
Let the whole world thy mercy prove L
Now let thy word o'er all pievail ,
Now take the spoils of death and hell.

JbTwfc Wesley.— Born 1703, Died 1791.

1070— FEOM SCHEFFLER.

Thee will I love, my strength, my tower;

Thee will I love, my joy, my oiown ;
Thee will I love, with all my power,

In all thy works, and thee alone •
Thee will I love, fall the pure fire
Fills my whole soul with chaste desire.

Ah, why did I so late thee know,
Thee, lovelier than the sons of men I

Ah, why did I no poonei go
To thee, the only ease in pain '

Ashamed I sigh, and inly mouin,

That I so late to thee did turn

In darkness willingly I stray'd ,
I sought thee, yet from thee I roved ,

Far wide my wand' ring thoughts were spread;
Thy creatures more than thee I loved

And now if more at length I see,

'Tis through thy light, and comes from thoe.

I thank thee, uncreated Sun,

That thy bright beams on me have shmed 5
I thank thee, who hast overthrown

My foes, and heal'd my wounded mind,
I thank thoe, whose enlivening voice
Bids my freed heait in thee rejoice*

Uphold me in the doubtful race,

Nor suffer me again to stiay ;
Strengthen my feet with steady pace

Still to press forward in thy way ;
My soul and flesh, 0 Loid of might,
Fill, satiate, with thy heavenly light.

Give to mine eyes lefreshmg toars ,
Give to my heart chaste, hallow'd fires 5

Give to my soul, with filial fears,
The love that all heaven's host inspires ;

That all my powers, with all their might,
In thy sole glory may unite.

r

! From 1727 to 1780 ]

DEATHLESS PRINCIPLE, ARISE'

[A TOPLADTC.

Thee will I love, my 307, my crown,
Thee -will I love, my Lord, my God ;

Thee will I love, beneath thy frown,
Or smile, — thy sceptre, or thy rod

What though my flesh and heait decay,

Thee shall I love in endless day '

John Wesley — Bom 1703, Died 1791.

1071 — FROM THE GEEMAN

O Thou, to whose all-searching sight
The darkness shineth as the light,
Search, piove my heait , it pants for thee ,
O burst these bonds, and set it free '

Wabh out its stains, refine its dross,
Nail my affections to the cross ,
Hallow each thought , let all within
Be clean, as thou, my Lord, art clean !

If in this darksome wild I stray,
Bo thou my Light, bo thou my Way,
No foes, no violence I fear,
No fraud, while thou, my God, art near.

When rising floods my soul o'eiflow,
When sinks my heart in waves of woe,
Jesus, thy timely aid impart,
And raise my head, and cheer my heart.

Saviour, where'er thy steps I see,
Dauntless, iinlued, I follow thoo 1
O let thy hand suppoit me still,
And lead me to thy holy hill !

If rough and thorny bo the way,
My strength proportion to my day ,
Till toil, and grief, and pain shall cease,
Where all is calm, and joy, and peace

Jo7«i Wesley.— Born 1703, Died 1791.

X072 —LOVE DIVINE, ALL LOVE
EXCELLING

Love divine, all love excelling,

Joy of heaven to earth come down ;
Fix in us thy humble dwelling,

All thy faithful mercies crown ;
Jesus, Thou art all compassion '

Pure unbounded love Thou art ,
Visit us with thy salvation,

Enter every trembling heart.

Breathe, oh, breathe thy loving Spirit

Into every troubled breast ,
Let us all m Thee inherit,

Let us find the promised rest ,
Take away the love of sinning,

Alpha and Omega be ,
End of faith, as its beginning,

Set oui hearts at liberty.

Come, almighty to deliver,

Let us all thy life receive j
Suddenly retuin, and never,

Never moie thy temples leave :
Thee we would be always blessing,

Serve Thee as thy hosts above ,
Pray and praise Thee without ceasing,

Glory in thy precious love.

Finish then thy new creation,

Pure, unspotted may we be ;
Let us see thy great salvation

Perfectly restored by Thee
Changed from glory into glory,

Till in heaven we take our place '
Till we cast our crowns before Thee,

Lost in wonder, love, and piaiso

A. Toplady—Boin 1740, Died 1778

1073 —DEATHLESS PEINCIPLE, AJBISE '

Deathless principle, arise f
Soar, thou native of the skies '
Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,
To his glorious likeness wrought,
Go, to shine before his ihione —
Deck his mediatoiial crown '
Go, his triumphs to adorn —
Made for God, to God loturn '

Lo, He beckons fioxn on high '
Fearless to his pie«-onco fly —
Thine the mont of his blood,
Thine the iighteousness of God '
Angols, joyful to attend,
Hovenng, round thy pillow bend ,
Wait to catch the signal given,
And escort theo quick to heaven !

Is thy earthly house distreat,
Willing to retain its guest ?
'Tis not thou, but it, must die —
Fly, celestial tenant, fly,
Burst thy shackles— drop thy clay —
Sweetly breathe thyself away —
Singing, to thy crown remove —
Swift of wing, and filed with love !

Shudder not to pass the stream,
Venture all thy care on Him ,
TTi-m — whose dying love and power
Stall' d its tossing, hush'd its roar :
Safe is the expanded wave,
Gentle as a summer's eve ;
Not one object of his care
Ever suffer' d shipwreck there r

See the haven full in view '

Love divine shall bear thee through :

Trust to that propitious gale,

Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail !

Saints in glory perfect made

Wait thy passage through the shade .

Ardent for thy cowing o'er,

See, they throng the blissful shore !

A.TOPLADY]

BOOK OP AGES, CLEFT FOB MB

[SIXTH PERIOD.

Mount, their transports to improve —
Jom the longing choir above —
Swiftty to their wish be given —
Kindle higher joy in heaven ' —
Such the prospects that arise
To the dying Christian's eyes !
Such the glorious vista, Faith
Opens through the shades of death '

A. Toplady.—Sorn 1740, DM* 1778

1074.— BOCK OF AGES, CLEFT FOB ME.

Book of Ages, cleft for me,

Keep me ever near to Thee '

Let the water and the blood

From thy wounded side which flow'd,

Be of sin the double cure,

Cleanse me from its guilt and pow'r '

Not the labour of my hands
Can fulfil thy law's demands ;
Could my zeal no respite know
Could my tears for ever flow, —
All for sin could not atone ,
Thou must save, and Thou alone !

Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to thy cross I cling ,
Naked, come to Thee for dress ;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace ,
Leprous, to the Fountain fly ,
Wash me, Saviour, or I die '

While I draw this fleeting breath,—
When my eyes shall close in death, —
When I soar to worlds unknown, —
See Thee on thy judgment tin one, —
Book of Ages, cleft f 01 me,
Lot me hide myself in Thee '

A Toplody—Bo.n 1740, Diect 1778

JD75.— COME, HOLT SPIBIT, COME

Come, Holy Spirit, come,
Let thy bright beams anee ;
Dispel all sorrows from our minds,
All darkness from our eyes

Convince us of our sin,
Then lead to Jesus' blood ,
And, to our wond'nng view reveal
The boundless love of God '

Bevive our drooping faith,
Our unbelief remove,
And kindle in our hearts the flame
Of never-dying lovo.

'Tis thine to cleanse the heart,
To sanctify the soul,
To pour fresh life in every pait,
And new create the whole

Dwell, therefore, in our hearts,
Our minds from bondage free,
Then sTin.11 we know, and praise, and love,
The Father, Son, and Thee '

J3cw£ — Born , Died

1076 —BE WISE TO BUN THY BACE.

Be wise to run thy race,
And oast off ev'ry load ,
Strive to be noh m woiks of grace,
Be noh towaids thy God.

If profit be thy scope,
Diffuse thine alms about ,
The worldling prospers laying up,
The Christian, laying out '

Returns will not be scant,
With honour in the highest ,
For who relieves his brother's want,
Bestows his alms on Christ.

Give gladly to the poor —
'Tis lending to the Lord , —
In secret to increase thy store,
And hide in heav'n thy hoard.

There thou mayst fear no thief,
No rankling rust, nor moth ,
Thy treasure and thy heart aro safe, —
Where one is, will bo both.

Hart. — Born , Diod (

THE SEYENTH PEEIOD,

FROM 1780 TILL THE PRESENT TIME.

mjutu great Yanety and abundance of the literature of tins period might, in some measure,
JL have been predicted from the progress made during the previous thirty or forty years,
in which, as Johnson said, almost every man had come to write and to express himself cor-
rectly, and the number of readers had been multiplied a thousand-fold The increase m
national wealth and population naturally led, in a country lite Great Britain, to the improve-
ment of literature and the arts, and accoidingly we find that a more popular and general style
of composition began to supplant the conventional stiffness and classic restraint imposed upon
former authors The human intellect and imagination were sent abroad on wider surveys,
and with more ambitious views To excite a great mass of hearers, the public orator finds it
necessary to appeal to the stronger passions and universal sympathies of his audience , and in
writing foz a large number of readers, an author must adopt airmlgj* means, or fail of success.
Hence it seems natuial that as society advanced, the character of our literature should become
assimilated to it, and paitake of the onwaid movement, the popular feeling, and rising energy
of the nation Thore were, however, some gieat public events and accidental circumstances
which assisted m bringing about a change The American war, by exciting the eloquence of
Chatham and Burko, awakened the spirit of the nation The enthusiasm was continued by
tho poet Cowper, who sympathized keenly with his fellow-men, and had a warm love of his
native country Oowpor wrote from no system , he had not lead a poet for seventeen years ,
but he drew tho distinguishing features of English life and scenery with such graphic
power and beauty, that the mere poetry of ait and fashion, aj*d the stock images of de-
scriptive vorae, could not but appear mean, affected, and common-place Warton's " History of
Poetry," and Percy's "Eehques," threw back the imagination to the bolder and freer era
of our national literature, and the German drama, with all its horrors and extravagance,
was something bettor than more delineations of manners or incidental satire. The French
Revolution came noxt, and seemed to break down all artificial distinctions. Talent and
virtue only were to bo regarded, and the spirit of man was to enter on a new course of free
and glorious action. This dream passed away , but re hod sunk deep into some ardent minds,
and its fruits were seen in bold speculations on the hopes and destiny of man, in the strong
colourings of nature and passion, and in the free and flexible movements of the native genius
of our poetry Since then, every department of literature has been cultivated with success.
In fiction, the name of Scott is inferior only to that of Shakspeare , in criticism, a new era
may be dated fiom the establishment of the Edinburgh Review ; and m historical composition, if
we have no Hume or Gibbon, we have the results of far more valuable and diligent research.
Truth and nature have been more truly and devoutly worshipped, and real excellence more
highly prized It has been feared by some that the principle of utility, which is recognised as
one of the features of the present age, and the progress of mechanical knowledge, would be
fatal to the higher efforts of imagination, and dimmish the territories of the poet. This seems
a groundless fear It did not damp the ardour of Scott or Byron, and it has not prevented the
ptfetry of Wordsworth from gradually working its way into public favour If we have not the
chivalry and romance of the Elizabethan age, we have the ever-living passions of human nature,
and the wide theatre of the world, now accurately known and discriminated, as a field for the
exercise of genius. We have the benefit of all past knowledge and literature to exalt our stan-
dard of imitation and taste, and a more sure reward in the encouragement and applause of a
populous and enlightened nation " The literature of England," says Shelley, " has arisen, as
it were, from a new birth In spite of the low-thoughted envy which would undervalue con-
temporary merit, our own will be a memorable age in intellectual achievements, and we live
among such philosophers and poets as surpass, beyond comparison, any who have appeared
since the last national struggle for civil and religious liberty. The most nnfailmg herald, com-
panion, and follower of the awakening of a great people to work a beneficial change in opinion

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SHVENTH PERIOD —

or institution, is poetry At suoh periods there is an accumulation of the power of com-
municating and receiving intense and impassioned conceptions respecting ™ai? and nature The
persons in whom this power resides, may often, as far as regards many portions of their nature,
have little apparent correspondence with that spirit of good of which they aie the ministers
But even whilst they deny and adjure, they are yet compelled to serve the power which is seated
on the throne of their own soul It is impossible to read the compositions of tho most
celebrated writers of the present day without being startled with the electric life which burns
within their words ^ They measure the circumference and sound the depths of human nature
with a comprehensive and all-penetrating spirit, and they are themselves perhaps the most
sincerely astonished at its manifestations, for it is less their spirit than the spirit of the age
Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration , the mirrors of the gigantic
shadows which futurity casts upon the present , the words which expiess what they understand
not , the trumpets which sing to battle, and feel not what they inspire , tho influence which
is moved not, but moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world " — Cham-
bers' "Cyc. Eng.Lit ," vol ii p. 256 "What dear household names we have is this peiiod '
Cowper, in all his breathings of home, and happiness, and liberty , Dibdm, with his famous
Sea-songs ; James Grahame, with his quiet and peaceful Sabbath Morn and Eve , Edwin Ather-
stone, with his gorgeous Pall of Nineveh, which will be ere long acknowledged one of the
greatest poems ever written. Then Sir Walter Scott, with the story of Abbotsford, and
Keats in his exquisite beauty, and Heber in his saintly Hymns We have Leigh Hunt, in all
his spnng-hke and quaint beauty — God bless thee, Leigh Hunt, thou hast oast many a bright
ray of sunshine on the gloomy path of *>"» world. We have Macaulay and Lookhart , we have the
quiet Bernard Barton and sweet William and MaryHowitt, and Eliza Cook and T K Hervey,
D. M Moir and Thomas Aird, who will stand as one of Scotland's greatest bards yet We
have the exquisite poems of the Hon Mrs. Norton, and the poems of Keble and Wordsworth,*
— we mean the Archdeacon of Westminster, and of Archbishop Trench, so quaint, so thought-
ful, so precious We have Dean Alford, so fresh with beauty and truth, and which perhaps
may last, great, and learned, and acute, and profound as Ms New Testament is, which may
last longer than even it. Monsell and Mrs Alexander, Lyte, Horatius Bonar, Alexander Smith,
Dr Neals, Arnold, William Kennedy, Charles Swain, Owen Meredith, and, domestic, yet groat
and grand, W. C. Bennett. We have all these in their beauty and their truth. Southey, Colo-
ndge, Wordsworth, belong to this period , Shelley, Byron, all are ours. And were we to take
the names in history, and metaphysics, and divinity, and political economy, and the drama, we
should find the age great and glorious, notwithstanding its many faults and shortcomings.
Dobell, P. J Baaley, Catherine Winkworth, all add to the list in whom the people of our isle
may well glory, and thank God

BIOG-EAPHIOAL NOTICES.

WILLIAM COWPEB.

"William Cowper, the most popular poet
of his generation, and the best of the English
letter-writers, was born at Berkhamstead,
where his father was rector Of noble family
on both sides, he was appointed, after a few
years spent at the law, with Thurlow for his
fellow-student, to a clerkship in the House of
Lords; but having to appear before that
august body, he was overcome by nervous
terror and attempted suicide. The appoint-
ment was of course given up, and after he had
been some time at St Albans under medical
treatment, he retired to that seclusion which
he never afterwards left He went first to
Huntingdon, where his brother resided There
he formed an acquaintance with a clergyman
of the name of TTnwin, and became a member
of his family. On Mr. Unwin's death, he con-
tinued to reside with his widow, and now the

names of Mary TJnwm and William Cowper
are indissolubly joined in the story of Cowper' s
life as well as in his writings On the advice
of John Newton, a man, remarkable on many
ways, and then curate at Olney, tho Unwins
and Cowper removed to that town Here he
engaged, at Newton's suggestion, in writing
hymns , but his melancholy gaming ground,
he was for two years laid aside On his re-
covery in 1775, he took to gardening, to hare-
keeping, and to poetry. This last became his
favourite employment In 1782, when he-
was past fifty, he published his first volume,
containing c Table Talk,1 « The Progress of
Eiror,' ' Conversation,' c Expostulation,'
' Hope,' * Chanty,' etc., all of thorn marked
by an earnest tone, and containing several
protests against the infidelity which the
school of Voltaire was then seeking to make
popular. The sale was slow, both from the
themes of which it treats and from a certain

From 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

want of melody that unpaired the versifica-
tion , but the book was warmly praised by
Johnson, then near V»3 end, and by Franklin
Lady Austen, a widow who had come to reside
in that neighbourhood, now made the ac-
quaintance of Cowper, told him the story of
John Gilpin, whose feats of horsemanship he
was to immortalize, and advised him to try
his hand at blank verse. This advice
produced the 'Task' and in the same
volume appeared 'Tirocinium,' 'John Gilpin,'
published two years before, and the 'Sofa'
' The Task/ says Southey, 'is one of the bost
didactic poems in our language , * 'a glorious
poem,1 as Burns calls it , 'at once descriptive,
moral, and satirical , ' and its success was
instant and decided After the publication of
this volume Cowper entered upon the more
arduous work of the translation of Homer,
setting himself forty lines a day At length
the forty thousand verses were completed,
and in 1791 he published the whole by sub-
scription in two volumes quarto , ' the best
version of the great poet,' as both Southey
and Wilson think Meanwhile the friendship
with Lady Austen had been dissolved, and
Cowper had removed to Weston, about a
mile from Olney. Here he had for a tune the
society of his cousin, Lady Hesketh, and of
the Throokmortons, the owners of Weston
But his malady returned, and was aggravated
by the illness of Mrs TJnwm Hoping that
both might bo relieved by a change of sceno,
he removed again into Norfolk, where his
friend Hayloy was settled There, in 1796,
Mrs. TJnwm died, and after hor death the
poet lingered on for thiee years under the
same dark shadow of despondency, occasionally
writing, and listening with interest to all that
was read to him, but without permanent relief
His last piece, ' The Castaway,' which shows
no decay of mental power, though he was then
in his seventieth year, is amongst the most
touching poems in any language

" Cowper' s personalhistory is one of the most
affecting in literature. He had the richest
wit and humour, yet a large part of his life
was spent in sadness Of an eminently hum-
ble and confiding spirit, he lived in dread of
eternal condemnation He wrote pieces which
have given consolation to all classes of Chris-
tians, yet he himself took no comfort from
them, he even regarded them as aggrava-
tions of his guilt Happily all this has now
passed away. He bequeathed an inexhausti-
ble treasure to mankind, and he now knows
the blessedness he has so touchmgly described

"The qualities which give Oowper a high
place in our poesy it is not difficult to define
Por humour and quiet satire , for appreciation
of natural beauty and domestic life , for
strong good sense and devout piety , for public
spirit and occasional sublimity, for gentle
and noble sentiment, for fine descriptive
powers employed with skill on outward scenes
and on character, for ease and colloquial free-

dom of style ; and for the strength and har-
mony of his later versification especially, he
has rarely been equalled: and for these
qualities combined he has never been sur-
passed

"And it is this combination that most excites
admiration. His satire is often keen but never
personal. He is earnestly religious, but his
religion never blunts his sensibilities to the
glories of nature ; nor does it ever, though
eminently spiritual, unfit *"*" to appreciate
the saoredness of human rights or the fault of
wrong-doing He has evidently been polished
by intercourse with the world, but he has pre-
served a very unworldly degree of purity and
simplicity. Never was poet more lonely or
sad, and yet by none has domestic hap-
piness been more impressively described.
With the ripeness and decision of age, he has
the sportiveness and susceptibility of youth.
Nor is it easy to decide whether we are at-
tracted most by the excellence of each quality
or by the softness and harmony of the whole

" No one of these qualities, however, nor the
combination of them all, is sufficient to explain
the healthy influence he exerted on English
poetry or the love with which he is now re-
garded He is practically the founder of the
modern school of poets — an honour he owes
chiefiy to his reality and naturalness It is
this excellence which gives attractiveness to
all he has written Pope's poems are, at
least, as finished as tho best of Cowper' s, and
more finished than most of his earlier pieces
Young is often apparently as religious, some-
times as merry and certainly as witty. Thom-
son's pictures of nature have greater variety
and more ideal beauty than Cowper's But
Pope's poetry is art, Cowper' s nature. Young's
religion and mirth seem to belong to two
different men. From every line Cowper has
written, the very man beams forth, always
natural, consistent, and unaffected ; while his
descriptions of nature excite sensations rather
than ideas, and the poet lives and moves in
every scene In short, his poetry has the
polish and vigour of the eighteenth century,
the warmth and feeling of the seventeenth,
with a naturalness and a reality all his own
And this last, the naturalness and a reality of
a loving, gentle, devout heart, is the secret of
his strength." — Dr Angus's "Handbook of
Eng Lit." pp 234-237 See Allibone's " Cnt.
Diet Eng Lit ", Shaw's " Hist. Eng. Lit " ;
Gilfillan's ed. of Cowper's Poems; Grim-
shawe's " Life of Cowpor " ; Southey's " Life
and Works of Cowper "

WILLIAM HAYLEY.

William Hayley, born 1745, died 1820, at
one tune a popular poet, the fnond and
biographer of Cowper, was educated at Tnmty
Hall, Cambridge. He wrote "Triumphs of

BIOGRAPHIOAL NOTICES

PHBIOD —

Temper,"' "Triumphs of Music," poetical
epistles, odes, essays, &o. Tfrfl works in 1785
occupied so. volumes — See Shaw's *6Hist.
Eng. Lit " 5 Beeton's " Diet. XTmv. Biog " ;
AJlibone's " Orit Diet Eng Lit " ; Sonthey's
" Life and Correspondence" ; "Lond. Month
Bev,"oiii 26*7; cv 1, "Blaokwood's Mag"
sir. 184, 303; "Memons of the Life and
Writings of Hayley," written by himself,
and edited by John Johnson, LL.D , 1823,
2 vela 4to

DB. EBASUMS DARWIN

Dr. Erasmus Darwin, " an ingenious, philo-
sophical, though f q-Tnoifrtl poet," says Chambers
in one of his best articles, "was born at
Elston, near Newark, in 1731. Haying
passed with credit through a course of educa-
tion at St. John's college, Cambridge, he ap-
plied himself to the study of physio, and took
his degree of bachelor in medicine at Edin-
burgh in 1755. He then commenced practice
in Nottingham, but meeting with little encour-
agement, he removed to Lichfleld, where he
long continued a successful and distinguished
physician, la 1757 Dr. Darwin married an
accomplished lady of Lichfield, Miss Mary
Howard, by whom he had five children, two
of whom died in infancy. The lady herself
died in 1770 ; and after her decease Darwin
seems to have commenced his botanical and
literary pursuits He was at first afraid that
the reputation of a poet would injure mm in
his profession , but being firmly established in
the latter capacity, he at length ventured on
| publication. At this time he lived in a
picturesque villa in the neighbourhood of
Liohfield, famished with a grotto and fountain,
and here he began the formation of a botanic
garden The spot he has described as 'adapted
to love-scenes, and as being thence a proper
residence for the modern goddess of botany '
In 1781 appeared the first part of Darwin's
* Botanic Garden,' a poem in glittering and
polished heroic verse, designed to describe,
adorn, and allegorize the Lrnntoan system of
botany The Rosicrucian doctrine of gnomes,
sylphs, nymphs, and salamanders, was adopted
by the poet, as ' affording a proper machinery
for a botanic poem, as it is probable they
were originally the names of hieroglyphic
figures representing the elements.* The novelty
and ingenuity of Darwin's attempt attracted
much attention and rendered him highly
popular. In the same year the poet was
called to attend an aged gentleman, Colonel
Sochevell Pole, of Eadbourne Hall, near Derby.
An intimacy was thus formed with Mrs Pole,
and the colonel dying, the poetical physician
in a few months afterwards, in 1781, married
the fear widow, who possessed a jointure of
jfi600 per annum. Darwin jwas now released
from all prudential fears and restraints as to

the cultivation of his poetical talents, and he
went on adding to his floral gallery. In 1789
appeared the second part of his poem, con-
taming the 'Loves of the Plants' Ovid
having, he said, transmuted men, women, and
even gods and goddesses into trees and flowers,
he had undertaken, by similar art, to restore
some of them to their original anunality, after
having remained prisoners so long* in their
respective vegetable mansions —

* Prom giant oaks, that wave their branches

dark,

To the dwarf moss that clings upon their bark,
What beaux and beauties crowd the gaudy

groves,

And woo and win their vegetable loves
How snowdrops cold, and blue-eyed harebells

blend
Their tender tears, as o'er the streams they

bend,

The love-sick violet, and the primrose pale,
Bow their sweet heads, and whisper to the

gale,

With secret sighs the virgin lily droops,
And jealous cowslips hang their tawny cups,
How the young rose, in beauty's damask pride,
Drinks the warm blushes of his bashful brido ;
With honied hps enamour'd woodbines meet,
Clasp with fond arms, and mrr their kisses

sweet'

Stay thy soft murmuring waters, gentle nil ,
Hush, whispering winds , ye rustling leaves

be still,

Best, silver butterflies, your quivering wings ;
Ahght, ye beetles, from your airy rings ,
Ye painted moths, your gold-eyed plumage furl,
Bow your wide horns, your spiral trunks

uncurl ;

Glitter, ye glow-worms, on your mossy beds ,
Descend, ye spiders, on your lengthen'd

threads ,
Slide here, ye horned Rimils, with varnish'd

shells;
Te bee-nymphs, listen in your waxen colls ' '

This is exquisitely melodious verse, and in-
genious subtle fancy. A few passages have
moral sentiment and human interest united to
the same powers of vivid painting and ex-
pression —

* Boll on, ye stars ' exalt in youthful prime,
Mark with bright curves the pnntless steps

of Time ,

Near and more near your beamy oars approach,
And lessening orbs on lessening orbs encroach ,
Flowers of the sky1 ye, too, to age must

yield,

Frail as your silken sisters of the field '
Star after star from heaven's high arch shall

rush,

Suns mTik on suns, and systems systems crush,
Headlong, extinct, to one dark centre fall,
And death, and night, and chaos mingle all !
Tsn o'er the wreck1, emerging from the storm,
Immortal nature lifts her changeful form,

From 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

Mounts from her funeral pyre on wings of

flame,
And soars and shines, another and the same ' '

In another part of the poem, after describing
the cassia plant, * cinctured with gold,' and
borne on by the current to the coasts of Nor-
way with all its ' infant loves,' or seeds, the
poet, in his usual strain of forced similitude,
digresses, in the folio wing happy and vigorous
lines, to ' Moses concealed on the Nile,' and
the slavery of the Africans : —

* So the sad mother at the noon of night,
From bloody Memphis stole her silent flight ;
Wrapp'd her dear babe beneath her folded vest,
And clasp' d the treasure to her throbbing

breast ,

With soothing whispers hnsh'd its feeble cry,
Press' d the soft kiss, and breathed the secret

sigh
With dauntless steps she seeks the winding

shore,
Hears unappalTd the glimmering torrents

roar;

With paper flags a floating cradle weaves,
And hides the smiling boy in lotos leaves ,
Gives her white bosom to his eager lips,
The salt tears mingling with the milk he sips,
Waits on the reed-crown' d brink with pious

guile,

And trusts the scaly monsters of the Nile
Erewhilo majestic from his lone abode,
Ambassador of heaven, the prophet trod ;
Wrench.' d the red scourge from proud op-
pression's "hands,

And broke, cursed slavery ! thy iron bands
Hark ' heard ye not that piercing cry,
Which shook the waves and rent the sky P
E'en now, e'en now, on yonder western shores
Weeps pale despair, and writhing anguish

roars;

E'en now in Afrio's groves with hideous yell,
Fierce slavery stalks, and slips the dogs of

hell;

From vale to vale the gathering ones rebound,
And sable nations tremble at the sound '
Ye bands of senators ' whose suffrage sways
Britannia's realms, whom either Ind obeys ,
Who right the injured and reward the brave.
Stretch your strong arm, for ye have power

to save i

Throned m the vaulted heart, his dread resort,
Inexorable conscience holds frig court ;
With still small voice the plots of guilt alarms,
Bares his mask'd brow, his lifted hand

disarms ;

But wrapp'd in night with terrors all his own*
He speaks in thunder when the deed is done.
Hear him, ye senates ' hear this truth sublime,
' He who allows oppression shares the crime ' ' '

" The material images of Darwin are often
less happy than the above, being both ex-
travagant and gross, and grouped together
without any visible connexion or dependence
one on the other. He has such a throng of

startling metaphors and descriptions, th©
latter drawn out to an excessive length and
tiresome minuteness, that nothing is left to
the reader's imagination, and the whole passes
like a glittering pageant before the eye, ex-
citing wonder, but without touching the heart
or feelings. As the poet was then past fifty,
the exuberance of his fancy, and his peculiar
choice of subjects, are the more remarkable.
A third part of the c Botanic Garden' was
added in 1792. Darwin next published his
'Zoonomia, or the Laws of Organic Life,'
part of which he had written many years
previously This is a curious and original
physiological treatise, evincing an inquiring
and attentive study of natural phenomena.
Dr Thomas Brown, Professor Dugald Stewart,
Paley, and others, have, however, successfully
combated the positions of Darwin, particularly
his theory which refers instinct to sensation.
In 1801 our author came forward with an-
other philosophical disquisition, entitled
c Phytologia, or the Philosophy of Agriculture
and Gardening' He also wrote a short
treatise on ' Female Education,' intended for
the instruction and assistance of part of his
own family This was Darwin's last publica-
tion He had always been a remarkably
temperate man Indeed, he totally abstained
from all fermented and spirituous liquors, and
in his Botanic Garden he compares their effects
to that of the Promethean fire He was, how-
ever, subject to iTiflamTrmtion as well as gout,
and a sudden attack earned "him off in his
seventy-first year, on the 18th of April, 1802.
Shortly after his death was published a poem,
'The Temple of Nature,' which he had
ready for the press, the preface to the work
being dated only three months before his
death The 'Temple of Nature' aimed,
like the Botanic Garden, to amuse by bringing-
distinctly to the imagination the beautiful and
sublime images of the operations of nature.
It is more metaphysical than its predecessor,
and more inverted in style and diction

" The poetical reputation of Darwin was as
bright and transient as the plants and flowers
which formed the subject of his verse. Cow-
per praised Ma " song ' for its rich embellish-
ments, and said it was as ' strong ' as it was
* learned and sweet * ' There is a fashion in
poetry,' observes Sir Walter Scott, 'which,
without increasing or ^uniTnaTymg the real

value of the materials moulded upon it, does-
wonders in facilitating its currency while it
has novelty, and is often found to impede its '
reception when the mode has passed away/
This has been the fate of Darwin. Besides
his cotene at laohfield, the poet of ' Flora* had
considerable influence on the poetical taste
of his own day. He may be traced in the
'Pleasures of Hope ' of Campbell, and in other
young poets of that time. The attempt to
unite science with the inspirations of the
Muse was in itself an attractive novelty, and
he supported it with various and high powers.

BIOG-EAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PTBBIOD —

His command of fancy, of poetical language,
dazzling- metaphors, and sonorous versifica-
tion, was well seconded by his curious anc
multifarious knowledge The effect of the
whole, however, was artificial, and destitute
of any strong or continuous interest The
Bosicrncian machinery of Pope was united to
the delineation of human passions and pur-
suits, and became the auxiliary of wit and
satire; but who can sympathize with the
loves and metamorphoses of the plants ? Dar-
win had no sentiment or pathos, except in
very brief episodical passages, and even his
eloquent and splendid versification, for want
of variety of cadence, becomes monotonous
and fatiguing There is no repose, no cessa-
tion from the glare of his bold images, his
compound epithets, and high-toned melody.
He had attained to rare perfection in the
mechanism of poetry, but wanted those im-
pulses of soul and sense, and that guiding
taste, which were required to give it vitality,
and direct it to its true objects " — Chambers'
" Cyo Eng. Lit " vol u pp 270, 271. See
AUibone's c Cnt Diet. Eng. Lit." , Donald-
son's "Agricult Biog" , "Memoirs of Dar-
win's Life," by Anna Seward, Lond 1804,
8vo.; "Edin.Rev" iv. 230

MRS. GHABLOTTE SMITH.

"Mrs Charlotte Smith was the daughter
of Mr. Turner, of Stoke House, in Surrey,
and was born on the 4th of May, 1749.
She was remarkable for precocity of
talents, and for a lively, playful humour,
that showed itself in conversation and
in compositions both in prose and verse
Being early deprived of her mother, she was
carelessly though expensively educated, and
introduced into society at a very early age
Her father having decided on a second mar-
riage, the friends of the young and admired
poetess endeavoured to establish her in life,
and she was induced to accept the hand of
Mr. Smith, the son and partner of a rich West-
India merchant The husband was twenty-
one years of age, and his wife fifteen ' This
rash union was productive of mutual discon-
tent and misery Mr Smith was careless
and extravagant, business was neglected, and
his father dying, left a will so complicated
and voluminous that no two lawyers under-
stood it in the same sense. Lawsuits and
embarrassments were therefore the portion of
this ill-starred pair for all their after-lives
Mr. Smith was ultimately forced to sell the
greater part of his property, after he had been
thrown into prison, and his faithful wife had
shared with him the misery and discomfort
of his confinement. A numerous family also
gathered around them, to add to their so-
licitude and difficulties, In 1782 Mrs. Smith

published a volume of sonnota, irregular in
structure, but marked by poetical feeling and
expression. They were favourably received
by the public, and at length passed through
no less than eleven editions, besides being
translated into French and Italian After
an unhappy union of tweni/y-thiee years, Mrs.
Smith separated from her husband, and,
taking a cottage near Chichester, applied her-
self to her literary occupations with cheerful
assiduity, supplying to her children the duties
of both parents. In eight months she com-
pleted her novel of c Emmeline,' published in
1788 In the following year appeared anothei
novel from her pen, entitled ' Etheknde ' , and
in 1791 a third, under the name of ' Celestma '
She imbibed the opinions of the French Re-
volution, and embodied them ui a romance
entitled * Desmond * This work arrayed
against her many of her friends and readers,
but she regained the public favour by her tale,
the e Old Manor House/ which is tho best
of her novels. Part of this work was written
at Eartham, the residence of Hayley, during
the period of Cowper's visit to that poetical
retreat. 'It was delightful/ says Hayley,

* to hear her read what she had just written,
for she read, as she wrote, with simplicity
and grace * Cowper was also astonished at
the rapidity and excellence of her composition.
Mrs. Smith continued her literary labours
amidst private and family distress She
wrote a valuable little compendium for
children, under the title of * Conversations ' ,

* A History of British Birds ' , a descriptive
poem on 'Beaohy Head/ &c The delays in
the settlement of her property, which had been
an endless source of vexation and anxiety to
one possessing all the susceptibility and ardour
of the poetical temperament, were adjusted
by a compromise , but Mrs. Smith hod sunk
into ill-health She died at TiKord, near
Farnham, on the 28th of October, 1806 Tho
poetry of Mrs. Smith is elegant and senti-
mental, and generally of a pathetic oast. She
wrote as if 'melancholy had marked her for
her own ' The keen satire and observation
evinced in her novels do not appear in her
verse, but the same powers of description are
displayed. Her sketches of English scenery
are true and pleasing. ' But while wo allow/
says Sir Walter Scott, 'high praise to tho
sweet and sad effusions of Mrs Smith* s muse,
we cannot admit that by these alone aho could
ever have risen to the height of eminence
which we are disposed to claim for her as
authoress of her prose narratives " — Cham-
bers' "Cyo. Eng Lit." pp. 278, 274.

MISS SUSANNA BLAMIBE

" Mies Susanna Blamire was born at
DardewEall, near Carlisle, and remained thero
from the date of her birth (1747) till she was

From 1780 to 1866.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

twenty years of age, when she accompanied
her siater — who had married Colonel Graham,
of Duchray, Perthshire — to Scotland, and con-
tanned there some years. She became en-
amoured of Scottish music and poetry, and
thus qualified herself for writing such sweet
lyncs as 'The Nabob' and 'What ails this
heart o' mine ?* On her return to Cumber-
land, she wrote several pieaes illustrative of
Cumbrian manners She died unmarried in
1794 Her poetical pieces, some of which had
been floating through the country m the form
of popular songs, were collected by Mr. Fa-
trick Maxwell, and published in 1842."—
Golfillan's " Less-Known Brit. Poets," vol in.
pp 290, 291. See Allib one's " Cnt Diet. Eng.
Lit." ; Chambers' " Cyc. Eng. Lit."

ANNA LETITIA BABBAULD.

Anna Letitia Barbauld, bom 1743, died
1825, daughter of a schoolmaster in Leicester-
shire, named Aflrmt and wife of Bochemont
Barbauld, a Frenchman by extraction, and
minister of a dissenting congregation at Pal-
grave, in Suffolk. A little before her mar-
riage she published c Miscellaneous Poems,'
and soon after e Hymns in Prose for Children '
lyric, Barbauld became a minister of a church
at Newington in 1802, which brought
Mrs. Barbauld into greater connexion with
the literary circles of the day Her style is
simple and graceful, adorned by much ex-
quisite fancy and imagery Her most valued
contributions have been her sacred pieces.
That on ' The Death of the Righteous * is one
of the gems of English sacred poetry. —
See Shaw's "Hist. Eng. Lit"; Beeton's
"Diet. Univ. Biog."; Alkbone's "Ont Diet.
Eng. Lit." , " Lon. Monthly Bev," 1785 5 Bos-
well's « Life of Johnson."

MISS ANNA SEWABD.

"Miss Anna Seward, born 1747, died 1809,
known as the e Swan of lachfield,' daughter
of a canon in the cathedral of that city,
wrote ' Sonnets,* and a poetical novel, called
'Louisa.' Her poems were bequeathed to
Walter Scott for publication, but they are
now utterly forgotten."— Shaw's "Hist.
Eng. Lit." See Chambers' " Cyc Eiig. Lit."

MBS HUJSTJWB.

" Mcs Hunter, born 1742, died 1821, was the
wife of the eminent surgeon, and sister of Eve-
rard Home. She wrote verses and songs which
were extensively read in their day, and some of
•win i oh TTpy<Jbfl Ti frg 'married to immortal' music "
—Dr. Angus's " Handbook Eng. Lit." p 266.

See Chambers' " Cyc Eng. Lit." , Allibone's
"Cnt Diet. Eng. Lit.", "Edin Rev" i.
421-426, "Blackwood's Mag." xh. 409.

MBS. AMELIA OPIE

"Mrs. Amelia Opie, born 1769, died 1853.
She was the wife of an artist, herself a
novelist, and friend of most of the literary
celebrities of her age. She wrote a volume of
miscellaneous poems, published in 1802." — Dr.
Angus's " Handbook Eng. Lit " p. 266. See
Chambers' " Cyc. Eng. Lit."

MBS. GBANT.

"Mrs. Grant, widow of the minister of
Laggan, in Inverness-shire, was born in
1754, and died in 1838. She was the author
of several able and interesting prose works
She wrote 'Letters from the Mountains,'
giving a description of Highland scenery and
manners, with which she was conversant
from her residence in the country, also
« Memoirs of an American lady ' (1810), and
« Essays on the Superstitions of the High-
landers,* which appeared in 1811 The
writings of this lady display a lively and
observant fancy, and considerable powers of
landscape painting They first drew attention
to the more striking and romantic features of
the Scottish Highlands, afterwards so fertile
a theme for the f genius of Scott." — Cham-
bers' "Cyo. Eng Lit." voL u. p 279.
See AHibone'a " Cnt. Diet. Eng. Lit."

MBS UGHE.

" Mrs. Mary Tighe, born 1774, died 1810, was
the daughter of the Bev. William Blatohford,
of the county of Wioklow, Ireland. Her
history seems to be but little known to the
public, as I have tned in vain to find some
account of her hf e , but her early death, which
took place at Woodstock, near Kilkenny,
March 24th, 1810, after six years of protracted
suffering, has been commemorated by Moore,
in a very beautiful lyric

" Mrs. Tighe is" chiefly known by her poem
of ' Psyche,* in six cantos, written in the Spen-
serian stanza, founded on the classic fable of
Apuleras, of the loves of Cupid and Psyche, or
the allegory of Love and the Soul tyvxr))
Many of the pictures in this, the chief pro-
duction of her muse, are conceived in the true
spirit of poetry, while over the whole compo-
sition is spread the richest glow of purified
passion. It as a poem, however, to be read as
a whole, and cannot well be appreciated by any
detached passages. A luxurious, dreamy sweet-

52

BIOGBAPHECAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PBBIOD.—

ness pervades the descriptions, and gives them
a peculiar charm, while the elegance of the
oasy-flowing language attests the complete
power of the poet over her theme Some of
her minor pieces also are exceedingly beau-
tiful ; and the lines ' On Receiving a Branch
of Mezereon* are scarcely exceeded, for beauty
and pathos, by anything of the kind in the
language/'— Cleveland's "Eng. Lit. 19th
Cent."

BOBEBT BLOOMFmTX

"Bobert Bloomfield, born 1766, died 1828,
wasa farmer* s boy, and became, through the in-
fluence of the Duke of Grafton, a government
clerk, with a somewhat unhappy lot in both po-
sitions He wrote ' The Farmer's Boy ' (1798),
'BuralTales' (1810), 'WildMowers,' and other
pieces, volumes of cheerful description of rural
life, with much, moral feeling and smoothness of
versification: his great fault is his want of
passion , his great excellence, the truth and
reality of Tuf delineations Some of Mg lines,
those, for example, on the c Soldier's Home/
"Wilson thinks equal to Burns." — Dr. Angus' s
" Handbook Eng. Lit." p. 266. See AUibone's
" Crit. Diet. Eng. Lit." ; Drake's " Literary
Hours"; "Blaokwood'sHag." 1822.

JOHN LEYDEBT.

"John Leyden, a distinguished oriental
scholar as well as a poet, was a native of
Denholm, Boxburghshire He was the son of
humble parents j but the ardent borderer
fought his way to learning and celebrity His
parents, seeing his desire for instruction, de-
termined to educate "F»™ for the Church, and
he was entered of Edinburgh College in 1790,
m the fifteenth year of his age. He made
rapid progress, was an excellent Latin and
Greek scholar, and acquired also the French,
Spanish, Italian, and German, besides study-
ing the Hebrew, Arabic, and Persian. He
became no mean proficient in mathematics
and various branches of science Indeed,
every diffiouliy seemed to vanish before his
commanding talents, his retentive memory,
and robust application. His college vaca-
tions were spent at home , and as his father's
cottage afforded him little opportunity for
quiet and seclusion, he looked out for accom-
modations abroad. 'In a wild recess,' says
Sir Walter Scott, ' in the den or glen which
gives name to the village of Denholm, he con-
trived a sort of furnace for the purpose of
such chemical experiments as he was adequate
to performing. But his chief place of re-
tirement was the small parish church, a
gloomy and ancient building, generally
believed in the neighbourhood to be haunted
To this chosen place of study, usually

looked during week days, Leyden made
entrance by means of a window, read there
for many hours in the day, and deposited his
books and specimens in a retired pew It was
a well-chosen spot of seclusion, for the kirk
(excepting during divine service) is rather a
place of terror to the Scottish rustic, and that
of Cavers was rendered more so by many a
tale of ghosts and witchcraft of which it was
the supposed scene, and to which Leyden,
partly to indulge his humour, and partly to
secure his retirement, contrived to make some
modern additions. The nature of his abstruse
studies, some specimens of natural history, as
toads and adders, left exposed in there spint-
vials, and one or two practical jests played
off upon the more curious of the peasantry,
rendered his gloomy haunt not only venerated
by the wise, but feared by the simple of the
parish.' From this singular and romantic
study, Leyden sallied forth, with his curious
and various stones, to astonish his college
associates. He already numbered among his
friends the most distinguished literary and
scientific men of Edinburgh. On the expira-
tion of his college studies, Leyden accepted
the situation of tutor to the spns of Mr.
Campbell of Fairfield, whom he accompanied
to the university of St Andrews. There he
pursued his own researches connected with
ozientallearnmg, and in 1799 pubhsheda sketch
of the 'Discoveries and Settlements of the
Europeans in Northern and Western Africa.'
He wrote also various copies of verses and
translations from the northern and oriental
languages, which he published in the Edin-
burgh Magazine In 1800 Leyden was or-
dained for the church. He continued, how-
ever, to study and compose, and contributed
to Lewis's Tales of Wonder and Scott's
Minstrelsy of the Sootish Border. So ardent
was he in assisting the editor of the Mins-
trelsy, that he on one occasion walked between
forty and fifty miles, and back again, for the
sole purpose of visiting an old person who
possessed an ancient historical ballad. TTip
next publication was a new edition of ' The
Coxnplaynt of Scotland,' an ancient work
•written about 1548, which Leyden enriched
with a preliminary dissertation, notes, and a
glossary. He also undertook the management,
for one year, of the Soots' Magazine His
strong desire to visit foreign countries induced
his friends to apply to government for some
appointment for him connected with the learn-
ing and languages of the East. The only situa-
tion which they could procure was that of
surgeon's assistant ; and in five or six months,
by incredible labour, Leyden qualified himself,
and obtained his diploma 'The sudden
change of his profession,' says Scott, * gave
great amusement to some of fag friends*' £0.
December, 1802, Leyden was summoned to
join the Christmas fleet of Indiamen, in con-
sequence of his appointment as assistant,
surgeon on the Madras establishment. He

J?Vow 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

finished "hig poem, * The Soenes of Infancy,'
descriptive of his native vale, and left Soot-
land for ever After his anval at Madras,
the health, of Leyden gave way, and he was
obliged to remove to Prince of Wales Island
He resided there for some time, visiting Su-
matra and the Malayan peninsula, and amass-
ing "the curious information concerning1 the
language, literature, and descent of the Indo-
Chinese tnbes, which afterwards enabled him •
to lay a most valuable dissertation before the '
Asiatic Society at Calcutta. Leyden quitted j
Prince of Wales Island, and was appointed a I
professor in the Bengal college. This was
soon exchanged for a more lucrative appoint- j
ment, namely, that of a judge in Calcutta. {
fTiB spare tune was, as usual, devoted to >
oriental manuscripts and antiquities ' I may |
die in the attempt/ he wrote to a friend, ' but
if I die without surpassing Sir William Jones
a hundredfold in oriental learning, let never a
tear for me profane the eye of a borderer *
The possibility of an early death in a distant
land often crossed the mind of the ambitious
student In his * Soenes of Infancy ' he ex-
presses his anticipation of such an event in a
passage of great melody and pathos

* The silver moon at midnight cold and still,
Looks, sad and silent, o'er yon western hill ,
While large and pale the ghostly structures

grow,

Bear'd on the confines of the world below.
Is that dull sound the hum of Teviot's stream ?
Is that blue light the moon's, or tomb-fire's

gleam?

By which a mouldering pile is faintly seen,
The old deserted church of Hazeldean,
Where slept my fathers in their natal day,
Till Teviot's waters roll'd their bones away P
Their feeble voices from the stream they

raise —

6 Bash youth ! unmindful of thy early days,
Why didst thou quit the peasant's simple

lot?
Why didst thou leave the peasant's turf-built

cot,

The ancient graves where all thy fathers lie,
And Teviot's stream that long has murmur' d

by?
And we — when death so long has closed our

eyes,

How wilt thou bid us from the dust arise,
And bear our mouldering bones across the

From vales that knew our lives devoid of

stain?
Bash youth I beware, thy home-bred virtues

save,
And sweetly sleep in thy paternal grave.' *

" In 1811 Leyden accompanied the governor-
general to Java. 'His spirit of romantic
adventure,' says Scott, ' led him literally to
rush upon death , for, with another volunteer
who attended the expedition, he threw himself

into the surf, in order to be the first Briton of
the expedition who should set foot upon Java.
When the success of the well-concerted move-
ments of the invaders had given them posses-
sion of the town of Batavia, Leyden displayed
the same ill-omened precipitation, in his haste
to examine a library, or rather a warehouse of
books, in which many Indian manuscripts of
value were said to be deposited. A library in
a Dutch settlement was not, as might have
been expected, in the best order , the apart-
ment had not been regularly ventilated, and
either from this circumstance, or already
affected by the fatal sickness peculiar to Ba-
tavia, Leyden, when he left the place, had a
fit of shivering, and declared the atmosphere
was enough to give any mortal a fever. The
presage was too just: he took his bed, and
died in three days (August 28, 1811), on the
eve of the battle which gave Java to the
British empire.' The Poetical Remains of
Leyden were published in 1819, with a Memoir
of his Life, by the Eev. James Morton. Sir
John Malcolm and Sir Walter Scott both
honoured his memory with notices of his life
and genius. The Great Minstrel has also
alluded to his untimely death in his ' Lord of
the Isles.'

' Soaiba's Isle, whose tortured shore
Stills rings to Comevreokin's roar,

And lonely Colonsay ;
Soenes sung by him who sings no more,
His bright and brief career is o'ei,

And mute i"H tuneful strains ,
Quench' d is his lamp of varied lore,
That loved the light of song to pour .
A distant and a deadly shore

Has Leyden' 9 cold remains.9

The allusion here is to a ballad by Leyden,
entitled * The Mermaid/ the scene of which is
laid at Corrieyreokra, and which was published
with another, « The Cout of Keeldar,' in the
Border Minstrelsy. His longest poem is his
c Soenes of Infancy,' descriptive of his native
vale of Teviot. His versification is soft and
musical , he is an elegant rather than a forcible
poet His ballad strains are greatly superior
to his ' Scenes of Infancy ' Sir Walter Scott
has praised the opening of c The Mermaid,9 as
exhibiting a power of numbers which, for
mere melody of sound, has seldom been ex-
celled in English poetry*" — Chambers' " Cyc.
Bng. Lit." vol. it pp. 288, 289,

OHAELES DIBDIN.

Charles Dibdin, born at Southampton,
1745, died 1814, an EngliRh actor, dramatist,
and distinguished sea-song writer, was edu-
cated at Winchester, and originally intended
for the Church ; but going to London at the
early age of sixteen, he produced an opera

52*

BIOGBBAPHICAIi NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PERIOD •

called " The Shepherd's Artifice," -which was
brought out at Covent Garden In 1778 he
was appointed musical manager at Covent
Garden. Subsequently he built the " Circus,"
afterwards called the " Surrey, " and in 1788
published his " Musical Tour." In the follow-
ing year he gave his entertainment called
"The "Whim of the Moment," of which he
was sole author, composer, and performer
la •$"« piece he sang his ballad of "Poor
Jack," whioh completely won the ear of the
public ; and from that tune, his reputation as
a balladist was established. He wrote no
fewer than nine hundred songs, according to
some ; and twelve hundred, according to others.
"Whichever number is correct does not much
signify, as a soil so prolific must have pro-
duced many weeds. Many of his lyncs, how-
ever, have great merit. They have solaced
the seaman during long voyages, sustained
tnyti jn ^Q storm, and inspired hirn in battle ;
and they have been quoted to restore the mu-
tinous to order and discipline* In 1805 he
retired from public life, and received a govern-
ment pension of £200 per 0.™™™, "Poor
Tom Bowling" was written upon a brother of
his, who had been the captain of an East
Indin.Tnfl.Ti, and was twenty-nine years older
than the author. Thomas, a son of Charles,
was long connected with the London stage as
an actor and dramatist. He wrote and adapted
a vast number of pieces; but none of them
are distinguished by much original merit He
also wrote a work of amusing "Bemiais-
cences." Died in Pentonville, 1841.— See
Shaw's "Hist. Eng Lit.", Allibone's "Cnt.
Diet Eng. Lit."; " Media's Life."

WILLIAM GHFFORD.

William Ghfford, born at Aahburton, Devon-
shire, 1756, died 1826, a modern English,
writer, was the son of poor parents, and was
left an orphan before he had reached his
thirteenth year. He was apprenticed to the
sea; but, fh silking that occupation, was put
to shoemaking, at which employment he con-
tinued till he was twenty years of age By
that tune he had displayed some indications of
genius, when a Mr Cookesley, a surgeon of
Ashburton, sent him to Oxford. After leaving
college, he made the tour of Europe, as the
travelling companion of Lord Belgrave , and,
on his return to England, settled in London
as a literary man In 1794 he published his
"Baviad," a poetical satire, whioh annihilated
the Delia Crusca school of poets, of which
Mrs. Piozzi formed a leading member. In the
following year his " Maviad " appeared, and
exposed, the low state to which dramatic au-
thorship had then fallen. In 1797 he became
the editor of the " Anti-Jacobin," established
by Mr. Canning and other gentlemen, and got

entangled in a quarrel with Dr. Woloot, to
whom, as " Peter Pindar," he wrote a poetical
epistle In 1802 he published his translation
of Juvenal, which Sir Walter Scott says " is
the best version ever made of a classical
author" In 1804 his edition of Massmgor
appeared, and, in 1816, that of Ben Jonson
Subsequently, editions both of Ford and
Shirley were published, but not entirely
edited by >»i™, his death having taken place
before he had completed them In 1809 he
became the editor of the London " Quarterly
Beview ; " and it is in this capacity that he is
best known. As a critic, he has been much cen-
sured for his seventy, with which he mingled
no inconsiderable degree of injustice " He
was a man with whom I had no literary sym-
pathies," says Southey ; " perhaps there was
nothing upon which we agreed, except greab
political questions. ... He had a heart
full of kindness for all living creatures, except
authors , them he regarded as a fishmonger
regards eels , or as Isaak Walton did worms,
sings, and frogs. I always protested against
the indulgence of that spirit m his ' Beview ' "
Scott says he was good " as a commentator, "
but, as a critic, the " fault of extreme seventy
went through his critical labours , " and, m
general, he flagellated with so little pity, that
people lost their sense of the criminal's guilt;
in dislike of the savage pleasure which the
executioner seemed to take in inflicting punish-
ment. He held the editorship of the "Beview"
till 1824— See Shaw's "Hist. Eng. Lit",
Allibone's « Cnt Diet. Eng. lit." , Chambers'
"Cyo.Eng Lit."

GEOBGE CAFNXNTGk

" The Eight Honourable George Canning,
born 1770, died 1827, was, on the paternal
side, of Irish extraction. Has father came to
London, entered himself of the Middle Temple,
and was called to the bar Meeting with little
practice, he abandoned the law for literature,
but being unable to -ma.^^.^ faniBQlf m this
new vocation, became a wine-merchant, in
which capacity he failed, and died of a broken
heart. His mother became an actress, and
married an actor. He also dying, she was
now married to a Mr Hunn, a linen-draper of
Exeter, and lived long enough to see her son
attain the eminence to which his distinguished
abilities entitled him George was educated
first at Hyde Abbey School, Winchester, then
at Eton, and then at Oxford, where he was
recognized as a high-class man He then en-
tered Lincoln's Inn, to follow the law as a
profession, but, being introduced by Mr. Pitt
to the House of Commons, he abandoned the
bar, and devoted himself wholly to the study
of politics. This was in 1793. In 1796 ho
was appointed TJnder-Seoretary of State, and

F.om 1780 to 1866]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

in 1800 received a fortune of .£100,000 by Ms
marriage with Joanna, the daughter of General
Scott. In 1804 he was appointed treasurer
of the navy; and in 1807, a year after the
death of Pitt, he was appointed, for the second
tune, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs
In 1809 he fought a duel with Lord Castle-
reagh , and in 1812 became member for Liver-
pool, which again elected him in 1814, 1818,
and 1820 In 1816 he became president of
the Board of Control, and in 1822 was named
Governor-General of India, and was about to
embark for that country, when Lord Castle-
reagh, then Marquis of Londonderry, com-
mitted suicide. This circumstance led to Mr.
Canning's relinquishing his appointment) and
again accepting that of Secietary of State for
Foreign Affairs In 1827 he became Premier,
the great object of a long and arduous poli-
tical Me. The last tune he spoke in Parlia-
ment was on the 29th of June, 1827 Born
in London, died at the villa of the Duke
of Devonshire, Chiswiok. — Mr Canning had
great oratorical ability, with considerable
poetical power, and much brilliancy of wit
He was a firm supporter of the cause of
Catholic emancipation, and the main pro-
moter of the independence of Greece" —
Beeton's " Diet TJmv Biog "—See Maunder ;
AQibone's " Ont Diet Eng Lit."

THOMAS JAMBS MATKLAS

" Another satirical poem, which attracted
znxLoh attention in literary circles at the tune
of its publication, was ' The Pursuits of
Literature,' in four parts, the first of which
appeared in 1794. Though pubhshed anony-
mously, this work was written by Mr
Thomas James Mathias, a distinguished
scholar, who died at Naples in 1835. Mr
Mathias was some time treasurer of the
household to her Majesty Queen Charlotte.
He took his degree of B A in Trinity College,
Cambridge, in 1774. Besides the ' Pursuits
of Literature,' Mr. Mathias was author
of some 'Bunic Odes, imitated from the
Norse Tongue,' 'The Imperial Epistle from
Kien-Long- to George in * (1794), ' The Shade
of Alexander Pope/ a satirical poem (1798),
and various other light, evanescent pieces on
the topics of the day Mr Mathias also
wrote some I»atm odes, and translated into
Italian several English poems. He wrote
Italian with elegance and purity, and it has
been said that no Englishman, since the days
of Milton, has cultivated that language with
so much success The ( Pursuits of Litera-
ture' contains some pointed satire on the
author's poetical contemporaries, and is en-
riched with a vast variety of notes, in which
there is a great display of learning George
Steevens said the poem was merely ' a peg to

hang the notes on ' The want of true poetical
genius to vivify this mass of erudition has
been fatal to Mr. Mathias His works appear
to be utterly forgotten "—Chambers' " Cyo.
Eng. Lit.," vol u pp. 296, 297.

JOHN WOLCOT.

Eev. John Woloott, usually styled "Peter
Pindar," born at Dodbrooke, Devonshire,
about 1738, died in London, 1819, an
eminent English burlesque poet, who was
educated for the profession of medicine, and,
in 1767, became physician to Sir William.
Trelawney, governor of Jamaica He sub-
sequently returned to England, and entered
into orders, but after having been dis-
appointed of a valuable living in the island
of Jamaica, set up in practice as a, physician
in Cornwall Having discovered the self-
taught artist Opie at Truro, he repaired with
hinyL to London, and there distinguished him-
self as a writer of burlesque poetry His
productions principally consisted of odea and
satires directed against George III , Pitt, and
the leading men of the time. A complete
edition of his works, in 4 vols , was published
in 1816— See Shaw's "Hist. Eng Lit.";
Chambers' " Cyc Eng Lit "

WILLIAM BLAKE.

William Blake, born 1757, died 1828. He
attiacted great attention, as an engraver and
author, by the eccentricity of his genius His
" Gates of Paradise " ; " America, a Pro-
phecy " , " Illustrated Edition of Toung's
6 Night Thoughts ' " , " Illustrations of Blaar's
6 Grave ' " , " Songs of Innocence and Ex-
perience " ; " Vision of the Daughters of
Albion", " mu&tirafaons of Dante," are full
of quaint and exquisite, and sometimes sub-
lime, beauty. Charles Lamb says "Blake
is a real name, I assure you , and a most ex-
traordinary man he is, if he is still living.
He is the Blake whose wild designs accompany
a splendid edition of Blair's 'Grave' He
paints in water-colours marvellous strange
pictures — visions of his brain — which he
asserts he has seen. They have great merit
I must look upon him as one of the most ex-
traordinary persons of the age." Pilkington,
in his " Dictionary of Painters," writes ; " Full
of feeling and delicacy, and looked on with
wonder and respect by the world" Mr
Jameson speaks in equally glowing terms —
" The most original, and, in truth, the only
new and original version of the scripture idea
of Angels which I have met with, is that of
William Blake, a poet-painter Somewhat
mad, as we are told, if indeed his madness
were not rather (the telescope of truth,' — *

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PBBIOD*—

sort of poetical clairvoyance, bringing the
unearthly nearer to him than to others "
"What can be more exquisitely quaint and
beautiful tfrp-T* several, one in particular, of
the poems we have quoted — See AThbone's
«Crit Diet. Eng lit"; "Sacred and Le-
gendary Ait," by Mr Jameson.

JAMES GRAHAME.

"James Grahame, the author of the 'Sab-
bath,' was the son of a respectable attorney
in Glasgow, and was born in that city, on
the 22nd of April, 1765. He was educated
at the excellent public schools of that city,
and hod a very early and strong desire to enter
the clerical profession , but it was the long-
ohorished wish of his father that he should be
bred to his own nailing Accordingly, our poet
sacrificed Trig own wishes to those of T*ng parent,
and studied the law Many irksome years —
the best years of his life — were wasted in this,
to Trnn most uncongenial pursuit, and it was
finally abandoned. For many years, however,
he toiled on in it, and, from a sense of what he
owed to has family, he gave to it all the at-
tention of which a mind devoted to higher
purposes was capable

"In 1804 he published anonymously his
poem of c The Sabbath.' He had kept from
all his friends, and even from his wife, who
was possessed of a fine literary taste, all
knowledge of what he had been engaged in,
and laid a copy of his poem on. his parlour
table, as soon as it appeared. Mrs. Grahame
was led by curiosity to examine it, and, while
doing so, he was walking up and down the
room, awaiting some remark from her. At
length she burst into enthusiastic admiration
of the performance, and, well knowing her
husband's weak side, very naturally added —
'Ah, James, if you could produce a poem like
this ' ' Longer concealment was impossible ;
and Mrs. Grahame, justly proud of her hus-
band's genius, no longer checked its bent

" * The Sabbath * was warmly received
throughout Scotland It came from the
heart, and it spoke to the heart of the
nation. Grahame's vocation was now con-
firmed ; and, in the following two years, during
the long recess of the Scottish courts, he re-
tired with his family to a cottage at TftrVMn,
on the classic banks of the Esk, and gave
himself up to

c Calm contemplation and poetic ease.'

" He now determined to abandon the law,
and zealously prepared himself for the ministry.
This had been his early, his constant wish His
appearance, voice, manner, as well as his
talents and his piety, were all in keeping with
that calling He was ordained in 1809, and
soon after settled with his family at Shipton,
in Gloucestershire. This year he published

his ' British Georgios,' a didactic agnoultural
poem. His health had long been delicate, and
he was induced, in 1811, to go to Edinburgh
for a change of air and for medical advice But
it was apparent to all that his days on earth
could not be long He had a natural desire
of breathing his last in his own native city,
and Mrs Grahame set out with him, on the
llth of September, for Glasgow He was
barely able to reach the place, and died there
on the 14th of September, 1811, in the forty-
seventh year of his age, most sincerely and
deeply lamented by a large circle of friends.

"Of the character of Grahame's poetry,
there is now scarcely but one opinion. Its
great charms are its elevated moral tone, and
its easy, simple, and unaffected description*
His e Sabbath* will always hold its place
among those poems which arer and deserve to
be, in the hands of the people. He exhibits
great tenderness of sentiment, which runs
through all his writings, and sometimes
deepens into true pathos We do not know
any poetry, indeed, that lets us in so directly
to the heart of the writer, and produces so
full and pleasing a conviction that it is dictated
by the genuine feelings which it aims at com-
municating to the reader. If there be less
fire and elevation than. in. the strains of some
of his contemporaries, there is more truth and
tenderness than is commonly found along with
those qualities" — Cleveland's " Eng. Lit.
19th Cent."

GEOBGE CEABBE.

" George Crabbe, born 1754, died 1832 If
Cowper be rightly denominated the poet of
the domestic hearth, George Crabbo is emi-
nently the poet of the passions in humble
life. In his long career he is tho link connect-
ing the age of Johnson and Burke with that
of Walter Scott and Byron , and his admirable
works, while retaining in their form much of
the correctness and seventy of the past age,
exhibit in their subjects and treatment that
intensity of human interest and that selection
of real passion which constitute the distin-
guishing characteristic of the writers who
appeared at the beginning of the present
century He was born at the little seaport-
town of Aldborough, in Suffolk, where his
father was an humble fisherman, and per-
formed the duties of salt-master, or receiver of
the customs duties on salt; and his child-
hood was miserable through bodily weakness
and the sight of continual dissensions between
his parents After a dreamy and studious
childhood, during which his thirst for know-
ledge was encouraged by his father, a man of
violent passions but of considerable intel-
lectual development for one in his humble
position, young Crabbe was apprenticed to a
snrgeon and apothecary, and first exercised
his profession in his native town. Pas-

5Vow 1780 to 1866.1

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

sionately fond of literature and botany, Ms
success m business was so small that he de-
termined to seek his fortune in London, where
he arrived with only about £3 in his pocket,
and several unfinished poems, which he pub-
lished, but which were coldly received. After
some stay in London he found himself reduced
to despair, and even threatened with a prison
for some small debts he had contracted , and
after vainly applying for assistance to various
persons connected with Aldborough, lie ad-
dressed a manly and affecting letter to Ed-
mund Burke, who immediately admitted Trim
to his house and friendship From frfa« mo-
ment his fortune changed; he was assisted,
both with money and advice, in bringing out
his poem of ' The Library,' was induced to
enter the Church, and was promised the
powerful influence of Lord Chancellor Thuilow
He became domestic chaplain to the Duke of
Rutland, and lived some time at the Tnggmfi-
cent seat of Beauvoir, but this dependent
position seems to have been accompanied with
circumstances distasteful to Crabbe's manly
character. It, however, enabled him to marry
a young lady to whom he had been long
attached, and he soon after changed the
splendid restraint of Beauvoir for the humbler
but more independent existence of a parish
priest From this period till his death, at the
great ago of seventy-eight, his life was passed
in the constant exercise of his pastoral duties
in various parishes, and in tho cultivation of
literature and his favourite science of botany
" In his first poem, * The Library,' it was
evident that Crabbe had not yet hit upon
tho true vein of his peculiar and powerful
genius It was not till the appearance of
1 The Village,' in 1783, that he struck out that
path in which he had neither predecessor nor
rival. The manuscript of this poem was sub-
mitted to Johnson, who gave his advice and
assistance in the correction and revision of the
style The success of ' The Village ' was very
great, for it was the first attempt to paint the
manners and existence of the labouring class
without dressing them up in the artificial
colours of fiction. Crabbe allowed about
fourteen years to pass before he again ap-
peared before the public During the interval
he was busied with his professional duties, and
enjoying the happiness of domestic hf e, which
no *"&•" was ever more capable of appreciating •
he, however, does not appear to have relaxed
his habit of composition His next work was
'The Parish Register,' in which the public
saw the gradual ripening of his vigorous and
original genius , and this was followed, at
comparatively short intervals, by 'The Bo-
rough,' 'Tales in Verse,' and 'Tales of the
Hal.' These, with the striking but painful
poems, written in a different measure, entitled
' Sir Eustace Gray,' and ' The Hall of Justice,'
make up Crabbe's large and valuable contri-
bution to the poetical literature of his country.
Almost all these works are constructed upon a

peculiar and generally similar plan Crabbe
starts with some description, as of the Village,
the Parish Church, the Borough — -just such a
deserted seaport-town as his native Aid-
borough — from which, he naturally proceeds to
deduce a series of separate episodes, usually of
middle and humble life, appropriate to the
leading idea. Thus, in ' The Parish Begister'
we have some of the most remarkable births,
marriages, and deaths that are supposed to
take place in a year amid a rural population ,
in the ' Borough,' the lives and adventures of
the most prominent characters that figure on
the narrow stage of a small provincial town.
The 'Tales' are a series of stones, some
pathetic and some humorous, each complete in
itself, and in the 'Tales of the Hall,' two
brothers whose paths in life have separated
them from boyhood, meet in their old age,
and recount their respective experiences ' Sir
Eustace Grey' is the story of a -madman
related with terrific energy and picturesque-
ness by himself; and in the ' Hall of Justice '
a gipsy criminal narrates a still more dreadful
story of crime and retribution. With the
exception of the two last poems, written in a
peculiar rhymed short-lined stanza, Crabbe's
poems are in the classical ten-syllabled heroic
verse, and the contrast is strange between the
neat Pope-like regularity of the metre, and
the deep passion, the intense reality, and the
quaint humour of the scenes which he displays.
He thoroughly knew and profoundly analysed
the hearts of men • the virtues, the vices, the
weakness, and the heroism of the poor ho has
anatomized with a stem but not unloving
hand. No poet has more subtly traced the
motives which regulate human conduct ; and
his descriptions of nature are marked by the
same unequalled power of rendering interest-
ing, by the sheer force of truth and exactness,
the most unattractive features of the external
world. The village tyrant, the poacher, the
smuggler, the miserly old maid, the pauper,
and lite criminal, are drawn with the same
gloomy but vivid force as that with which
Crabbe paints the squalid streets of the fish-
ing-town, or the fen, the quay, and the heath.
Tho more unattractive the subject the more
masterly is the painting, whether that subject
be man or nature Crabbe is generally accused
of giving a gloomy and unfavourable view of
human hfe ; but his pathos, when he is pa-
thetic, reaches the extreme limit which sensi-
bility will bear, and m such tales as Phoabe
Dawson, Edward Shore, the Parting Hour,
the intensity of the effect produced by Crabbe
is directly proportioned to the 'simplicity of
the means by which the effect is attained.
In painting the agonies of remorse, the wan-
dering reason of sorrow or of crime, he is a
master, and the story of 'Peter Grimes'
might be cited as on unequalled example of
the sublime in common hfe None of the great
Flemish masters have surpassed Crabbo m
minuteness as weU as in force of delineation,

BIOGKRAPEICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

and like them Ms delineation is often moat
impressive when its subject is most vile and
even repulsive." — Shaw's " Hist Eng. Lit ,"
pp. 898-400 See AUibone's "Cnt. Diet.
Eng. Lit "

SAMUEL EOGEES.

Samuel Bogers, born at Newington Green,
near London, 1763, died 1855, an eminent
English poet, was the son of a London banker,
in whose house of business he was placed, after
having received an efficient private educa-
tion. From his earliest years he had a pre-
dilection for poetry, and at the age of twenty-
three produced his first volume of verses, under
the title of "An Ode to Superstition, and
other Poems/' Between the appearance of his
first publication and that of his second, " The
Pleasures of Memory," which was given to the
world in 1792, he travelled upon the Continent
and in Scotland. Six years later he brought
out another volume, after which he remained
silent during fourteen years; for he added
nothing to his poetical works until the year
1812, when he published a fragment entitled
" Columbus." During this interval, however,
he had retired from active participation in the
affairs of the bank, and had given himself to
the cultivation of the friendship of the cele-
brities of his time. " e The house of Bogers,'
in St. James's Place, became a little paradise
of the beautiful, where, amid pictures and
other objects of art, collected with care and
arranged with RTnll, the happy owner nestled
in fastidious ease, and kept up among his
contemporaries a character in which something
of the Horace was blended with something
of the Mecamas."

" Jaquelme " was put forth in 1814; " Hu-
man Life" in 1819; and in 1822, the poet,
then sixty years of age, produced the first part
of his " Italy " The complete edition of this
latter poem was not published until 1836,
when it appeared in a magnificent form, having
been illustrated under his own direction, by
Stothard, Tomer, and Prout, at a cost of
.£10,000. Up to his ninety-first year he wrote
an occasional piece, composed, like all his
works, with laborious slowness, and polished
lone by line into elegance. That Bogers was
a shrewd observer and brilliant talker, besides
a poet, is evinced by the publication of his
" Table Talk,'* which appeared after his death
" We have in his works a classic and graceful
beauty," says an eminent critic, "no slovenly
or obscure lines , fine cabinet pictures of soft
and mellow lustre, and, occasionally, trams of
thought and association that awaken or recall
tender heroic feelings " He had been in the
habit of taking constant exercise till within a
short fame before his death, and was at last
only prevented from appearing in public by an
accident with which he met in the streets
Ortxm inhfe " Excelsior " says, " Who has ever

read the works of this noble-hearted poet,
without their having produced a grateful and
refreshing influence, or without their fiercer
passions being softened and calmly elevated P
— None, surely r

" Who has not felt that a loving brother is
conversing with him when perusing his
'Pleasures of Memory , ' or that a chaste son
of nature, with a classically-moulded mind, is
their guide through fc Italy * P

"He has not written much, certainly, when
we survey his long life , — but we feel that a
deeply pure and noble, an unostentatiously-
kind and loving spuit, has dictated every
line with which he has blessed the world.

"This poet's kindness and sympathy of
heart are so deeply felt in his writings, as
they have been displayed in his life He has
not attempted a flight into any wild imagi-
native regions, but he has sought, and success-
fully, to throw flowers of beauty over the
rugged paths of man, and the rums o'er which
the Past has stalked and shattered with his
destructive heel ' " — See Beeton's " Univ.
Biog", Maunder; Chambers' " Cyo. Bng.
Lit.", Shaw's " Hist Eng. Lit "

WILLIAM WOBDSWOBTH.

<c William Wordsworth was born on the
7th of April, 1770, at Cookermouth, in Cum-
berland His parents were of the middle
class, and designed him for the Church ; but
poetry and new prospects turned him into
another path. His pursuit through life was
poetry, and his profession that of stamp-
distnbutorfor the Government, in the counties
of Cumberland and Westmoreland. He made
his first appearance as a poet in 1793, by the
publication of a thin quarto volume, entitled
c An Evening Walk , an Epistle in Verso, ad-
dressed to a Young Lady ' In the same year
he published ' Descriptive Sketches in Verse,
taken during a Pedestrian Tour among the
Alps,' of which Coleridge thus writes in his
6 Biographia Literana - ' — ' During the last of
my residence at Cambridge, 1794, I became
acquainted with Mr Wordsworth's first publi-
cation, entitled " Descriptive Sketches,"
and seldom, if ever, was the emergence of an
original poetic genius above the literary
horizon more evidently announced ' Two
years after, the two poets, then personally
unknown to each other, were brought together,
at Nether Stowey, in Somersetshire Coleridge
was then in his twenty-fourth, and Words-
worth in his twenty-sixth year A congeniality
of pursuit soon ripened into intimacy, and, in
September, 1798, accompanied by Miss Words-
worth, they made a tour in Germany.

"Wordsworth's next publication was the
first volume of his 6 Lynoal Ballads,' published
just after he had left for the Continent, by
Joseph Cottle, of Bristol, who purchased the
copyright for thirty guineas. But it proved

From 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

a great failure, and Cottle was a loser by the
bargain The critics were very severe upon
it Jeffrey in the ' Edinburgh/ Byron in his
' English Bards and Scotch Beviewers,' and
James Smith in his ' Bej acted Addresses,* and
others of less note in the literary world, all
fired their shafts of reason and ridicule at
him. Many years, therefore, elapsed before
Mr Wordsworth again appealed as a poet
But he was not idle , for in the same year that
witnessed the failure of his ' Lyrical Ballads,'
he wrote his e Peter Bell/ though he kept it
by *»™ many years before he published it

"Wordsworth married, in the year 1803,
Miss Mary Hutohinson, of Penrith, and settled
among his beloved lake? — first at Grasmere,
and afterward at Bydal Mount Southey's
subsequent retirement to the same beautiful
country, and Coleridge's visits to his brother
poets, originated the name of the 'Lake
School of Poetry,' by which the opponents of
their principles and the critics of the e Edin-
burgh Eeview ' distinguished the three poets,
whose names are so intimately connected. In
1807, he put forth two volumes of his poems,
and in the autumn of 1814 appeared, in quarto
form, the celebrated ' Excursion ' It consists
of sketches of life and manners among the
mountains, intermingled with moral and de-
votional reflections It is merely a part of a
larger poem, which was to be entitled ' The
Becluse,' and to be prefaced by a minor one,
delineating the growth of the author's mind,
published since Ibis death under the name of
'The Prelude* 'The Beoluse* was to be
divided into three parts — the 'Excursion'
forms the second of those , the first book of
the first part is extant in manuscript, but the
rest of the work was never completed

"No sooner did the 'Excursion' appear, than
the critics were down upon it with a vengeance
c This will never do,' was the memorable open-
ing of the article in the ' Edinburgh ' A few
thought it ' would do,' and praised it , but
while it was still dividing the critics, ' Peter
Bell' appeared, to throw among them yet
greater differences of opinion. The denders
of the poet laughed still louder than before ,
while his admirers believed, or affected to be-
lieve, that it added to the author's fame
Another publication the next year — ' The
White Doe of Bylstone' — was even more
severely handled by one party, while, with
( the school,' it found still gi eater favour than
anything that he had written In 1820, he
published his noble series of ' Sonnets to the
Baver Duddon,' which contain some of his
finest poetry. Two years after appeared his
« Ecclesiastical Sonnets,' which were composed
at the same time that Southey was writing his
' History of the Church '

" In 1831 he visited Scotland, and, on his
way to the Lakes, had an affecting- interview
— the last he ever had— with Sir Walter, who
was rapidly failing, and was about to set off
for an Italian clime. The evening of the 22nd

September was a very sad one in his antique
library Lockhart was there, and Allan, the
histoiical painter Wordsworth was also
feeble in health, and sat with a green shade
over his eyes, and bent shoulders, between his
daughter and Sir Walter. The conversation
was melancholy, and Sir Walter remarked
that Smollett and Fielding had both been
driven abroad by declining health, and had
never returned. Next morning he left Abbots-
ford, and his guests retired with sorrowful
hearts Wordsworth has preserved a memento
of his own feelings in a beautiful sonnet. In

1833 he visited Staffa and lona. The year

1834 was a sort of era in his life, by the
publication of his complete works in four
volumes. HIB friends, however, now began to
faJl around him. That year poor Coleridge bade
adieu to his weary life. This must have
touched many a chord of association in Words-
worth's heart In 1836, his wife's sister, and
his constant friend and companion, died, and
blow followed blow in fatal succession

" As if to console him for the loss of so
many that were dear to his heart, worldly
honours began to be heaped upon him. In
1835, c Blackwood's Magazine ' came out
strongly in his defence. In 1839, amid the
acclamations of the students, he received the
degree of Doctor of Civil Law from Oxford
University In 1842 he received a pension
of oS300 a yeai, with permission to resign his
office of stamp-distributor in favour of his
son. Next yeai he was appointed to the
laureateship left vacant by the melancholy
death of Southey. After this he lived a quiet
and dignified life at Bydal, evincing- little
apparent sympathy with the arduous duties
and activities of the e very-day world — a world
which he left, calmly and peacefully, at a good
old age, on the 23rd of April, 1850

" No author in the English language iba-s so
divided the critics as William Wordsworth.
A few place him in the first class of our poets,
while the large majority, certainly, of readers
see nothing in his poetry that can fairly give
him such a rank Gladly would I add my
humble testimony in unison with that of his
ardent admirers, if I honestly could, but,
whether right or wrong, I cannot. I cheer-
fully grant that his style is simple and often
vigorous , that his versification is smooth and
easy, that Tn« blank verse is manly and
idiomatic; that he shows great power of
minute and faithful description, and that,
throughout his poetry, maybe found senti-
ments of pure morality and deep wisdom, such
as must ever exert a happy moral influence.
And yet he never moves me; there is no
passion IB him, there seems to be a want of
naturalness in most that he has written ; ho
never warms me to admiration, or melts me
to tenderness Southey himself has, to my
mind, well expressed the real fault of both
his mystical brethren — ( Both Coleridge and
Wordsworth, powerfully as they can write,

BIOGKBAPHICAL NOTICES

[SEVENTH PBBIOD —

and profoundly as they usually think, have
been betrayed into the same fault— that of
making things easy of comprehension in, them-
selves, difficult to be comprehended by their
•way of stating them. Instead of going to the
natural springs for water, they seem to like
the labour of digging wells '

" The following estimate of his character,
from a recent cntio, seems to me very just —
'His devotion to external nature had the
power and persuasiveness of a passion; his
perception of its most minute beauties was
exquisitely fine ; and his portraitures, both of
landscapes and figures, were so distinctly out-
lined as to impress them on the mind almost
as vividly and deeply as the sight of them
could have done. But he was defective in the
stronger passions, and hence, in spite of the
minuteness of his portraitures of character,
he failed to produce real human beings capable
of stirring the blood, and what was even
more serious, he himself was incapacitated
from feeling a genial and warm sympathy in
the struggles of modern man, on whom he
rather looked as from a distant height with
the commiseration of some loftier nature
Prom the characteristics enumerated arose the
great faults of his works. His landscape
paintings are often much too minute He
dwells too tediously on eveiy small object and
detail, and from his over-intense appreciation
of them, which magnifies their importance,
rejects all extrinsic ornaments, and occa-
sionally, though exceptionally, adopts a style
bare and meagre, and even phrases tainted
with mean associations. Hence all his per-
sonages— being without reality — fad to
attract, and even his strong domestic af-
fections, and his love for everything pure and
simple, do not give a sufficient human inter-
est to his poems. His prolixity and tedious-
ness are aggravated by a want of artistic stall
in construction , and it is owing to this that
he is most perfect in the sonnet, which ren-
ders the development of those faults an im-
possibility, while it gives fiee play to his
naturally pure, tasteful, and lofty diction
His imagination was majestic, his fancy lively
and sparkkng , and he had a refined and Attic
humour, which, however, he seldom called into
exercise ' " — Cleveland's " Ensr. Lit 19th
Cent,"

SAMUEL TAYLOR COUBETDGE

"Samuel Taylor Coleridge, born 1772, died
1834, 'the most imaginative of modern poets,'
was the son of the Rev John Colendge, ricar
of Ottery, and was born at that place in the
year 1772. Losing his father in early life, he
obtained, by the kindness of a friend, a pre-
sentation to Christ Church Hospital, London
CI enjoyed,' he says, 'the inestimable ad-
vantage of a very sensible, though at the same
time a very severe master, the Rev. James

Bowyer, who early moulded my taste to the
preference of Demosthenes to Cicero, of Homer
and Theocritus to Virgil, and again of Virgil
to Ovid, Ac* He made extraoidinary ad-
vances in scholarship, and amassed a vast
variety of miscellaneous knowledge, but in
that random, desultory manner which through
life prevented him from accomplishing what
his great abilities qualified "him for achieving
His reputation at Christ Church promised a
brilliant career at Cambridge, which university
he entered in 1790, in his nineteenth year. In
1794 he became acquainted with the poet
Southey, then a student at Bahol College,
Oxford, and a warm friendship soon ripened
between them , and at Bristol they formed
the resolution, along with a third poet, Lovell,
of founding what they termed a Pantisocrasy,
or a republic of pure freedom, on the banks
of the Susquehanna, in Pennsylvania In 1795
the three poets married three sisters, the
Misses Pricker, of Bristol, and thus the whole
pantisocratic scheme was upset

"After his marriage, Colendge settled at
Clevedon, near Bristol, and projected many
plans of industrious occupation in the fields
of literature, but he soon became tirod of
this retreat, and removed to Bristol, where he
was materially aided m his designs of publica-
tion by that most generous and sympathizing
publisher, Joseph Cottle He first started a,
weekly political paper, called the • Watchman,'
most of which he wrote himself , but from his
indolent irregularity, the work stopped at the
tenth number Failing m this, he retired, in
the latter part of 1796, to a cottage in Nether
Stowey, in Somersetshire, on the grounds of
his friend and benefactor, Mr Poole, and near
Mr Wordsworth He was at this time in the
habit of contributing verses to one of the
London papers, as a moans of subsistence,
and it was while residing here that the greater
part of his poems were composed, though
many were not published till later those wore
his * Lyrical Ballads,' * Chiistabel,' the ' ATI,
dent Mariner,1 and his tragedy of ' Remorse *

"In 1798 he was enabled, through the
munificence of Mr Thomas Wedgwood, to
travel in. Germany, and to study at some of
its famed universities He was very indus-
trious m the study of tho literature and
philosophy of that country, and may be con-
sidered as the introducer of Gorman philosophy
to the notice of British scholars. After his
return from Germany, Coleridge settled with
his family at Keswiok, in Cumberland, near
the 'Lakes,' in which region Wordsworth and
Southey resided, and hence the appellation of
' Lake Poets,' given to these three individuals.
In the meantime, his habit of opium-eating,
into which he had beon seduced from its ap-
parent medicinal effects, had gained tremen-
dously upon him, and had undermined his
health. There is no portion of literary history
more sad than that which reveals the tyran-
nical power which that dreadful Habit had

From 1780 to 1866.]

.BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

over Mm, and his repeated but vain struggles
to overcome it. It made Trim its victim, and
held him, bound hand and foot, with a giant's
strength In consequence of his enfeebled
health, he went to Malta in 1804, and returned
in 1806. From this period till about 1816,
he led a soit of wandering- life, sometimes
with one fnend and sometimes with another,
and much of the time separated from his
family, supporting himself by lecturing, pub-
lishing*, and writing for the London papers.
The great defect in his character was the want
of resoluteness of will He saw that his perni-
cious habit was destroying his own happiness,
and that of those dearest to him, entangling
him in meanness, deceit, and dishonesty, and
yet he had not the strength of will *o break it
off.

" In 1816 ho placed himself under tho care
of Mr. Gillman, a physician in Highgate,
London, and with his geneious family he le-
aided till his death. Most of his prose works
he published between the years 1817 and 1825
— the two 'Lay Sermons,' the 'Biograptua
Literaria,' the ' Fnend,' m three volumes, and
the 'Aids to Eeflection,' and the ( Constitution
of the Church and State ' After his death,
which took place on tho 25th of July, 1834,
collections were made of his * Table Talk,' and
other * Literary Itemams '

" Few men have exerted a greater Lofl uence
upon tho thinking mind of the nineteenth
century than Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whether
we regard his poetry or his prose writings. He
wrote, however, for the scholastic few rather
than for the reading many. Hence he has
never become what may be called a popular
writer, and never will be. But if he exerted
not so great an influence upon the popular
mind directly, he did indirectly through those
who hare studied and admired his works, and
have themselves popularized his own recondite
conceptions. His 'Aids to Inflection in the
Formation of a Manly Character' is a book
full of wisdom, of sound Christian morality,
and of the most just observations on life and
duty, and from his 'Series of Essays — the
Fnend/ might be culled gems of rich, and
beautiful, and profound thought that would
make a volume of priceless worth. His poetry
mutes great vividness of fancy to a lofty
elevation of moral feeling and unsurpassed
melody and versification ; but then much of
it must be said to be obscure He himself,
in fact, admits this, when he says, in a later
edition of one of his poems, that where he
appears unintelligible, 'the deficiency is in
the reader.1 Stall, there is enough that is
clear left; to delight, instruct, and exalt the
mind , and few authors have left to the
world, both in prose and poetry, so much
delicious and invigorating food on which tho
worn spirit may feed with pleasure and profit,
and gain renewed strength for the conflicts of
the world, as this philosophic poet and poetic
philosopher.

" In conversation, Coleridge particularly
shone. Here, probably, he never had his
equal, so that he gained the title of the
* Great Conversationalist.' * It is deeply to
be regretted,' says an admiring critic, * that
his noble genius was, to a great extent,
frittered away in conversation, which, he
could poior forth, unpremeditatedly, for
hours, in uninterrupted streams of vivid,
dazzling, original thinking.* * Did you ever
hear me preach?' said Coleridge to Lamb.
'I never heard you do anything else,' was
his friend's reply. Certainly through this
medium he watered with his instructions a
large circle of discipleship , but what trea-
sures of thought has the woild lost by his
unwillingness to make his pen the mouthpiece
of his mind!" — Cleveland's "Eng Lit 19th
Cent." See Alhbone's " Cnt. Diet. Eng.
Iat." , Gilfillan's " Literary Gallery."

EOBEBT SOTTTHET.

Eobert Southey, born at Bristol, 1774;
died at Keswiok, Cumberland, 1843; an
eminent English poet and general writer, was
the son of a linendraper at Bristol, and was
sent to Westminster School in 1788, from
which establishment he was dismissed four
years afterwards, in consequence of having
written a sarcastic attack upon the system of
corporal punishment pursued in the school.
He was, however, entered of Baliol College,
Oxford, it being intended that he should take
holy orders. For this pursuit he himself had
little sympathy, indeed, he was quite un-
qualified for it, being then a sceptic both in
politics and religion. At Oxford he declared
that ho learned only two things— to row and
to swim , but, even while there, that literary
industry, which is almost without a parallel,
became a habit with him. About a year after
leaving Oxford, he made the acquaintance of
Colendge, and the two poets married on the
same day two sisters. After supporting him*
self for a short time by lecturing on history,
in Bristol, he sold his poem, entitled " Joan
of Arc," to Cottle, the Bristol bookseller, for
fifty guineas His maternal uncle, the Rev.
Mr. "Hill, chaplain of the British factory at
Lisbon, at whose expense Southey had been
kept at Oxford, visited England shortly after
his nephew's first appearance as a poet, and
endeavoured to induce him to enter the
Church, but although Southoy had by this
timo become reconciled to her doctrines, he
steadily refused to take orders On his uncle's
return to Lisbon, Southey accompanied, and
remained in Spain and Portugal during six
months. In 1796 he produced " Letters from
Spain and Portugal , " and in the following
year entered himself as a student of the law
at Gray's "fan He wrote to his publisher,
" I advance with sufficient rapidity in Black*

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SEVENTH PERIOD, —

stone and ' Madoo ' I Hope to fmfoh my poem
and begin my practice in about two years "
At the end of this time ihe poem was com-
pleted, but the law was given up as imprac-
ticable After a second visit to Lisbon, he
obtained, upon His return to England, an
appointment as private secretary to the
Chancellor of the Exchequer for Ireland , but
in six months the poet relinquished what he
called "a foolish office and a g-ood salary."
This was in 1801, and with this year dates
his entrance upon literature as a profession.
He obtained sufficient employment from the
booksellers, and after maVi-ng several success-
ful appearances as an author, he, in 1804,
settled at Greta Hal], near Keswick, Cum-
berland, where the remaining years of his life
were passed. In 1807 he received a pension
from the Government ; in 1813 he succeeded
Mr. !Pye as poet laureate ; and under the
ministry of Sir Robert Peel, a second pension
of £BOO per <m-nnTn w&s bestowed upon him
He was at the same time offered a baronetcy
by Sir Robert , but this Southey declined,
because too poor to support the dignity He
lost his first wife in 1837, and two years later
was muted to Miss Caroline Bowles, the
poetess He was the author of more than one
hundred volumes of poetry, history, travels,
&o ; and, moreover, produced one hundred
and twenty-six papers of various lengths,
upon history, biography, politics, and general
liter&tuie. The principal efforts of his life of
unwearied industry were, " Joan of Arc " ,
M Madoo " ; " Thalaba, the Destroyer " ; " The
Curse of Kehama," poems • the lives of Kelson,
BTinyan, John Wesley, Kirke "White, prefixed
to his " Remains , " the History of the
Peninsular War, of Brazil, and of Portugal ,
" Sir Thomas More , or, Colloquies upon the
Church ", " The Doctor " , and essays moral
and political His " Life and Correspondence,"
edited by his son, were published in 1850 His
son-in-law, the Rev. J. Wood Warter, also
gave to the public his commonplace books —
See Shaw's " Hist. En? Lit " ; Chambers'
"Cyo. Eng. Lit"; "Life of Southey," by
Warter.

CHARLES T.AM?.

Charles Lamb, born in London, 1774 , died
at Edmonton, 1834 ; a distinguished English
essayist and humorist, was the son of a clerk
to Mr. Salt, a bencher of the Inner Temple, in
which legal stronghold he first saw the light.
He was sent at an early age to Christ's Hos-
pital, where Coleridge was his schoolfellow.
Reared in the very heart of the metropolis, he
throughout life evinced a strong perception of
the splendour, squahdness, excitement, and
oddities of the great world of London " I
often shed tears," he said, " in tne motley
Strand, for fulness of joy at so much life "
An impediment in his speech prevented his

gaming an exhibition at the university, and,
in 1792, he became a clerk in the India House,
a post he retained during thirty-three years
With the exception of one terrible circum-
stance, his Lfe was very uneventful. In 1796
his sister, worn out by constant toil at her
needle, took her mother's life in an uncon-
trollable fit of frenzy. He first appeared as
an author in a small book of poems, published
in conjunction with Coleridge and Lloyd. Al-
though this was severely handled by the
" Anti- Jacobin," Lamb was not deterred from
authorship , for, some time afterwards, he
produced a drama, entitled " John Woodvill "
His delightful " Essays of Eka," upon which
his fame mainly rests, were first printed in
the " Lon&on Magazine " He was highly
esteemed by a large intellectual ciicle, among
which may be named his life-long friend
Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, Southey, Rogers, and
TaJfourd The last gentleman published
"Lamb's Letters," and " Final Memorials,"
in 1848 , and those who would fully appreciate
his captivating essays, and morsels of auto-
biography scattered through his writings,
should consult these tributes to a genial and
estimable man. His complete works include
two volumes of verse, the " Essays of Elia,"
and " Specimens of English Dramatic Poets
who lived about the time of Shakspere " The
"Farewell to Tobacco," "Essay on. Roast
Pig," " Christ's Hospital Thirty Years Ago,"
and the "Old Benchers of Lincoln's Inn,"
may be mentioned as representative bits of
his refined, quaint, easy humour In one of
his last essays of e-Elia," he records his
feelings on being released from drudgery at
the India House, in a delightful manner. The
paper is called " The Superannuated Man , "
and the event happened in 1825 His death
was the consequence of what was at first
thought but a alight accident For quaint,
genial, and unconventional humour, Lamb
has, perhaps, never been excelled — See Shaw's
"Hist Eng Lit."; Professor Spalding,
Beeton's "Diet Univ. Bioe." Chambers'
" Cyc Eng. Lit."

WILLIAM SOTHEBY.

William Sotheby, born in London, 1757 ;
died 1833 , an English writer, who, after
serving as an officer in the 10th Dragoons,
retired to his estate near Southampton, where,
as well as in London at a subsequent period, he
devoted his leisure to literature He produced
some tragedies and poems, and translated
Wieland's " Oberon," the "Gteorgios" of
Yirgil, and Homer's « Hiad " and " Odys-
sey"

WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES.

" William Lisle Bowles, bom 1762, died
1850, the son of the Rev. William Thomas

JVow 1780 to 1866.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

Bowles, vicar of King's-Sutton, Northampton-
shire, was born at that place on the 25th of
September, 1762 In 1766 he was placed on
the Wykeham foundation at Winchester, under
Dr. Joseph Warton. Naturally a timid, diffi-
dent boy, he ever expressed a grateful obliga-
tion to the kind encourgement he received
from that eminent man, who sympathized very
cordially with any manifestations of poetio
talents During his last year at Winchester,
be was at the head o£ the school, and in con-
sequence of this distinction he was elected, in
1781, a scholar of Trinity College, Oxford
In 1783 he gained the chancellor's prize for
Latin verse, the subject being Oalpe Obsessa,
'The Siege of Gibraltar' In 1789 he pub-
lished twenty of his beautiful sonnets, which
were followed in the same year by ' Yerses to
John Howard, on his State of the Prisons and
Lazarettos,' and in 1790 by 'The Giave of
Howard' These and other poetical works
were collected in 1796, and so well were they
received, that repeated editions were pub*
lished.

" In 1797 he was married to Magdalen,
daughter of the Rev Charles Wake, pre-
bendary of Westminster She died some years
before him, leaving no children Having en-
tered the ministry, he obtained the vicarage
of Bremhill in 1804, which was his constant
residence for nearly a quarter of a century
In (the latter part of his life he resided at
Salisbury, where he died on the 7th of April,
1850

" It would be difficult to enumerate all of
Mr. Bowles's publications but the following
are his principal poems ' The Battle of the
Nile,' published in 1799 , ' The Sorrows of
Switzerland,' in 1801; 'The Spuit of Dis-
covery, or Conquest of Ocean,' in 1805 , c The
Missionary of the Andes/ in 1815, *The
Grave of the Last Saxon,' in 1822 , ' St John
in Patmos,' in 1882 His last poetical com-
positions were contained in a volume published
in 1837, entitled 'Scenes and Shadows of
Days Departed, a Narrative , accompanied
by Poems of Youth, and some other poems of
Melancholy and Fancy, in the Journey of Life
from Youth to Age.' He also piinted several
editions of a pleasing little volume of simple
poetry, entitled ' The Village Verse-Book,'
wntton to excite in the youthful nund the
first feelings of religion and humanity, from
familiar rural objects.

" In 1807, Mr Bowles edited « The Works
of Alexander Pope, an Verse and Prose,' in.
ten volumes, and in this labour (it would
seem not of love) he displayed, as editor, what
is rather a singnlar phenomenon in the literary
world, prepossessions adverse to the claims
and merits of his author He laid down this
proposition as a universal truth, 'that all
images drawn from what is beautiful or sub*
lime in the works of nature, are more beautiful
and sublime than a/n/y images drawn from art ,
and that they are therefore, per se, more

poetical ' The truth of this dogma was of
course warmly disputed, and Campbell, Byron,
and others entered into the contest in behalf
of Pope. The latter, doubtless, had the
better of the argument a pyramid may
raise as strong emotions in the breast as the
mountain , and, as Byron said, a ship in the
wind, with all sails set, is a more poetical
object than 6 a hog in the wind,' though the
hog is all nature, and the ship all art.

" Mr Bowles is probably more indebted for
his fame to his Sonnets than to any of his other
writings Of these, Mr. Hallam, in an ad-
dress recently delivered at the anniversary of
the Royal Society of Literature, thus speaks
*The Sonnets of Bowles may be reckoned
among the first fruits of a new era in poetry
They came in an age when a commonplace
facility in rhyming on the one hand, and an
almost nonsensical affectation in a new school
on the other, had lowered the standard so
much, that critical judges spoke of English
poetry ae of something nearly extinct, and
disdained to read what they were sure to
disapprove. In these sonnets there was ob-
served a grace of expression, a musical versi-
fication, and especially an air of melancholy
tenderness, so congenial to the poetical tem-
perament, which still, after sixty years of a
more propitious period than that which im-
mediately preceded their publication, preserves
for their author a highly respectable position
among our poets ' " — Cleveland's " Eng Lit.
19th Cent " See AUibone's " Crit Diet Eng.
lit " , Chambers' " Cyo. Eng. lat."

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOB.

Walter Savage Landor, born 1775, died
1864 " His father was a gentleman of good
family and wealthy circumstances residing in
Warwickshire lie son entered Rugby at an
early age, and thence proceeded to Trinity
College, Oxford. Like many others who have
taken important literary positions, he left the
university without a degree , and though in-
tended at first for the army, and afterwards
for the bar, he declined both professions, and
threw himself into literature, with the assist-
ance of a liberal allowance from his father
In 1795 his first work — a volume of poems —
appeared, followed early in the present century
by a translation into Latin of ' Gebir,' one of
fag own English poems Landor had no small
facility in classical composition, and he ap-
peared to have the power of transporting
himself into the times and sentiments of
Greece and Borne. This is still more clearly
seen in the ' Heroic Idylls ' (1820), in Latin
verse , and the reproduction of Greek thought
in 'The Hellenics' is one of the most suc-
cessful attempts of its kind At the death,
of his father, the poet found himself in pos-
session of an extensive estate, but longing for

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

£ SEVENTH PEBIOIX—

a lafe of greater freedom and less monotony than
that of an English country gentleman, he sold
bis patrimony, and took np his abode on the
continent, -where he resided during- the rest
of his life, "with occasional -visits to his native
country. The republican spirit which led fa™
to- take part as a volunteer in the Spanish
rising- of 1808 continued to burn fiercely to
the last. He even went so far as to defend
tyrannicide, and boldly offered a pension to
the widow of any one who would murder a
despot. Between 1820 and 1830 he was en-
gaged upon his greatest work, c Imaginary
Conversations of Literary Men and States-
men.' This was followed in 1831 by c Poems,'

* Letters by a Conservative/ ' Satire on Sa-
tirists ' (1836), ' Pentameron and Pentalogue '
(1837), and a long series in prose and poetry,
of which the chief are the 'Hellenics,' en-
larged and completed, ' Dry Sticks fagoted,'
and cThe Last Fruit off an old Tree ' He
resided towards the close of his life at Bath ;
but some four or five years before his death a
libel on a lady, for which he was condemned
to pay heavy damages, drove him again from
his country, and he retired to his Italian
home near Florence, and there in serene old
age 'the Nestor of English poets,' one of the
last literary IvnTrs with the age of the French
Republic, passed quietly away. He died on
the 17th of September, 1864, an exile from
his country, misunderstood, from the very
individuality of ~H3a genius, by the majority of
his countrymen, but highly appreciated by
those who could rightly estimate the works
he frftg left behind him.

"It has been well said of the author of

* Imaginary Conversations,* that no writer
presents 'as remarkable an instance of the
strength and weakness of the tuman understand-
ing- * Lander was a man of refined tastes and
cultured mind A gentleman by birth, every
line of his writings gives proofs of the learned
and polished intellect But unhappily his
great powers were marred by the heedlessness
and rashness of his disposition, strong pas-
sions, and an unrestrained will There is no
regard for the thoughts and feelings of others
He, therefore, is too fond of paradox land
unfounded assertion. His opinion must be
received, because it is his; he runs against
every one else, and believes what no one else
believes, and scouts those ideas which have
received universal assent Thus, Napoleon
Buonaparte was a man of no genius ; Alfieri
the greatest man that Europe has seen ; Pitt
was a poor creature, and Fox a charlatan. It
was this unhappy inconsistency, paradox, and
wilfulness, which prevented his writings ob-
taining that position which was then: due
Els style ia nervous and graceful In the
'Imaginary Conversations' the tones and
manners of the age or individual are well
rendered, and the whole work is evidently that
of a man deeply in earnest, yet wanting in that
gentleness, consideruteness, and prudence, j

which are required in a really valuable pro-
duction"— Shaw's "Host. Eng. Lit.," pp.
459, 460

THOMAS MOOEE.

Thomas Moore, born at Dublin, 1789 , died
1852, a celebrated poet, was the son of a
small tradesman at Dublin, and after receiving
some education at a school in the same city,
was entered of Trinity College, Dublin, in
1794 He had already commenced rhyme-
making, and had inserted two poems in a
Dublin Magazine. His collegiate career was
somewhat distinguished, but being of the
Roman Catholic faith, he was not permitted
to take honours. About 1799 he went to
London, and entered himself of the Middle
Temple, with the view of adopting the law as
his profession In 1801 he produced the
" Odes of Anacreon," which he hod composed
while at college, and m the following year the
" Poetical Works of the late Thomas Littlo,"
a collection of lynos in imitation of Catullus.
He now began to be introduced to the fashion-
able circle in which, throughout his after-life,
he sought to move Through the influence of
Lord Moira he was, in the following year,
appointed to a post at Bermuda , but finding,
on his arrival, that the situation was dis-
tasteful to him,hereturned almost immediately.
He pursued his homeward journey throughout
the United States, and visited New York,
Virginia, Boston, Niagara, and Quebec Soon
after his arrival in England, he put forth fofl
"Odes and Epistles,*' which being severely
criticised by Jeffrey, led to the "bloodless
duel" between himself and that gentleman,
satirized by Byron in his "English Bards
and Sootob Reviewers " At this period he
was much courted by the noblo and the
fashionable, and was a constant guest at
Holland and Lansdown Houses He had a
Sweet voice, and being a good musician, was
m the habit of singing the melodies of his
native land with much success at aristocratic
reunions This fact led to his engaging him-
self to write a series of Irish melodies, tho
accompaniments to which were to be adapted
from Irish airs by Sir John Stevenson. This
task was not completed until 1834. Of a
mimlaT character were his "National Airs'*
and " Sacred Songs " In 1812, his friend
Mr Perry, editor of the "Morning Chronicle,"
negotiated on his behalf with tho Messrs
Longman the sale of a quarto volume of
poems, for which Moore was to receive 3,000
guineas* Five years afterwards, this poem
appeared under the title of " Lalla Rookh,"
and was immediately highly successful This
brilliant composition was something quito
new to the public, who were captivated with
its rich colouring, its melody, and its oriental
spirit. The "Fudge Family in Paris" was
his next work, and was the result of a visit

Ftom 1780 to 1866*.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

to the French, capital, made in company -with
Mr Bogers He soon afterwards learned that
his deputy at Bermuda, " after keeping back
from Trim the proper receipts of his office,
had made free with the proceeds of a ship
and cargo deposited in his hands." For
this, Doctors* Commons made a claim upon
him to the amount of £6,000. The poet's
friends proffered assistance, but he honour-
ably resolved to pay off the ftl«im out of the
earnings of "hi3 pen. The remaining years
of Ms life may be described as an untiring
pursuit of poetry, prose, and fashionable
society. As Byron said, he dearly loved a
lord, and was never so happy as when he was
in the presence of a noble The simple enu-
meration of his chief productions will show,
however, that he did not trifle with or neglect
the magnificent gifts with which nature had
endowed Trim. During the subsequent twenty
years he laboured incessantly, and gave to the
world, among others, "The Loves of the
Angels," a poem, "The Epicurean," a prose-
poetical romance; "Fables of the Holy Al-
liance," "Memoirs of Captain Book;" "The
Summer Fdte ; " " The Life of Lord Edward
Fitzgerald ; " " The History of Ireland; " and
"The Lite of Shendan" Some tune pre-
viously to the year 1821, Lord Byron entrusted
Moore with his manuscript autobiography,
which was to be published for Moore's benefit,
but not until after Byron's death In 1821
Moore sold the MS to Murray, and engaged
to edit it tor the sum of 2,000 guineas. In
1824 Byron died, but Lady Byron, deeming
that the publication of the autobiography
was calculated to injure the character of her
husband and his family, offered to repay to Mr.
Murray the sum he had advanced to Moore.
This the poet would not accede to ; but, after
some altercation, Moore himself repaid the
sum he had obtained from the publisher, and
theMS. was burnt. He, however, wrote a "Life
of Byron " for the Messrs. Longman for alike
sum. As a poet, he displayed grace, pathos,
tenderness, and a luxuriant imagination ; Ms
melody was tender and flowing, but it was
deficient in power and naturalness His
literary merits obtained for him, in 1835, a
pension of ,£300 per annum. The "Irish
Melodies" and "Lalla Booth" have passed
through many editions, and are still ex-
ceedingly popular. During the last years of
his life, Moore was engaged in completing a
collected edition of his poetical works, which
was published after his death. His character
was vain, but kindly, and many proofs of his
goodness of heart appear in the "Memoirs
and Correspondence of Thomas Moore,*'
edited by Earl Bussell in 1855— -Shaw's
" Hist. Eng Lit " ; Dr Angus' s " Handbook
of Eng Lit." , Earl Russell's " Memoirs of
Moore ; " Chambers's " Cyc. Eng. Lit.;" Pro-
f Oiisox Spalding.

JOHN HOOKHAM FEEEE.

John Hookham Frexe, born 1769, died 1846,
a friend of Canning, whom he assisted in the
paper called "The Anti-Jacobin," was Charge*
d' Affaires in Spain with General Moore, and
afterwards Resident at Malta, where he died,
aged 77. He was the author of the once
celebrated satiric poem, published in 1817,
entitled "Prospectus and Specimen of an
intended National Work by William and
Eobert Whistlecraffc, &o." It was written in
" ollava rima," and was a clever burlesque of
romantic writings, with here and there a
touch of real poetry It was the model on
which Byron wrote his " Beppo " He was
also the author of the " War Song of Brun-
nenburg-," published by Ellis as a fourteenth
century production, but really written by the
author when at school at Eton, during the
great discussion on the " Eowley Poems," by
Chatfcerton Frere, also, made an admirable
translation into English verse of the " Achar-
Dians," "Knights," " Birds," and "Frogs"
of Aristophanes, which was printed at Malta.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

Thomas Campbell, born at Glasgow 1777,
died at Boulogne 1844, one of the most
chaste of modern poets, was the youngest of
a family consisting of eleven sons and daugh-
ters. After passing thiough the University
of Glasgow, in which he excelled as a Greek
scholar, he went to Edinburgh, where, in
1799, he published his " Pleasures of Hope,"
which Byron, who ought to be a judge, pro-
nounced to be "one of the most beautiful
didactic poems in the language " It, how-
ever, has some of the faults of a juvenile
performance, notwithstanding the splendour
of its diction, and the fervour with which it
is throughout imbued. The profits arising
from tfrig performance enabled frim. to visit
the Continent. During this tour he had &
view from a distance of the battle of
Hohenlinden, which he afterwards celebrated
in his epic poem of that name. On his re-
turn to Edinburgh he continued to write, but
in 1803 removed to London, where he began
to pursue literature as a profession. In 1806
he received from the Fox Ministry a pension
of .£200 a year, which he enjoyed for life.
In 1809 he published his "Gertrude of
Wyoming," which Lord Jeffrey pronounced
"a polished and pathetic poem in the old
style of English pathos and poetry " It is
unquestionably superior to the " Pleasures of
Hope" in purity of diction, and in every
other quality its equal. In 1820 he became
the editor of the " New Monthly Magazine,"
which post he held till 1830 In 1824 ap-
peared his "Theodorie," a poem of great
sweetness, though deficient in power In
£331 he established the " Metropolitan Maga-

BIOGRAPHICAL 1TOTICJ30

ziue," which he managed only a shod; tune.
In 1842 he published his " Pilgrim of
Glencoe," which did not raise his poetical
character above the point it already had at-
tained Boring his intervals of repose from
severer duties, he occasionally produced smaller
effusions, which, from their strength and
beauty, have long kept possession of the
popular mind. His lyrics are, perhaps, the
noblest bursts of poetical feeling, fervour,
and enthusiasm, that have ever flashed from
any poet. Campbell, also, wrote several
prose biographies and other works. He was
elected twice to the Lord Rectorship of
Glasgow University, and took an active part
in forming the London University, now Uni-
versity College, which he indeed claimed the
merit of originating. His body rests in
Westminster Abbey, where, near the centre
of the Poet's Corner, there is a marble statue
of "kirn by Marshall.— Shaw's "Hist Eng.
Lit."; Dr. Angus's "Handbook", Beeton's
"Diet Umv. Biog." ; Alhbone's "Crit. Diet.
Eng. lit."

MATTHEW GBEGOBY LEWIS.

Matthew Gregory Lewis, born in London,
1775, died at sea 1818, an English novelist,
was the son of a wealthy man, who was
Deputy Secretary-at-War. After studying at
Chrisixshnroh, he went to Germany, where he
became acquainted with Gothe, and imbibed
a taste for the mysterious and the tragic. The
best-known of his romances is the <( Monk,"
first published in 1794, a work charged with
horrors and libertinism of spirit He was,
nevertheless, a kind and charitable man, as
was evidenced by his treatment of the slaves
upon the Jamaica estates he inherited from
his father. He was a fluent versifier, and his
" Alonzo the Brave " is still found to contain
interest. In 1812 he produced a drama
entitled " Eimour the Tartar," and subse-
quently a work called "Besidence in the
West Indies," since reprinted in Murray's
Home and Colonial Library.

WALTBTS SCOTT

Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh in
1771, died 1&32. His mother was daughter
of Dr Ruthorford, Professor of Medicine in
the University of that city. By both sides
he was connected with those ancient Border
families whose deeds and characters his
genius was to make immortal. A weakly
constitution, and a lameness which he con-
tracted in early life, induced his friends to
send him into the country, and his boyhood
was spent near Kelso, within reach of many
of the scenes which he has enshrined in his
writings When but thirteen years of age he
read Percy's «< Reliques," and that work

acted upon his fancy as Spenser's "Fairy
Queen" acted upon the fancy of Cowley,
exciting an intense love for poetry, and es-
pecially for poetry of the ballad form. At
the High School of Edinburgh, and at the
University, he gamed no great character for
scholarship, being- averse to Greek, addicted
to athletic sports, and fond of miscellaneous
reading He acquired, however, a taste for
German literature, which was then beginning,
under the patronage of Henry Mackenzie,
the author of the "Man of Feeling," to
attract attention. Afterwards, among his
first literary productions, he published, in
1796, translations of Burger's "Lenore" and
"The Wild Huntsman" At Gilsland he
became acquainted with Miss Carpenter,
whom he married. The young couple retired
from Edinburgh to reside at Lasswade, and
Scott's life was henceforth one of severe
study. In 1799 appeared his translation of
" Gotz of the Iron Hand," and the same
year he obtained the appointment of Shenff-
substitute of Selkirkshire, worth about ,£300<
a year. Scott now made some of his roads,.
as he called them, into the districts of Liddes-
dale and Annandale, in continuation of a
plan he had already formed for collecting
Border ballads. In 1802 the result appeared
in the publication of the " Minstrelsy of the
Scottish Border " In the care with which
this work was compiled, containing, as it did,
some forty pieces never before published, and
in the wide and picturesque learning with
which the whole was illustrated, might have
been seen the germs of that taste for romantic
poetry, as well as for antiquarian lore,
which was soon to make him, in those fields,
the first man of his country or age He next
edited the romance of " Sir Tnstram," which
he supposed to have been written by Thomas
the Bhymer, who flourished about 1280.
This tale he illustrated with a commentary,
and completed by adding a number of hues in
imitation of the original. He now changed
his residence to Ashestiel on the Tweed, and
in 1805 published "The Lay of the Last
Minstrel," the first of those works which
were to exercise such influence on our later
literature The success of this volume was
immense, and it suggested to Scott that
poetry was his calling rather than the bar —
Shaw's "Hist. Eng Lit"; Dr Angus's
" Handbook " , Chambors's " Cyc. Eng. Lit " ;
Maunder's "Biog. Diet", Beaton's "Diet
Univ. Biog." j "Life of Sir Walter Scott," by
J. G. Lockart , Washington Irving' a Sketch
of his Visit to Abbotsf ord

GEORGE GOBJXXNT, LOBD BYBOST.

" George Gordon, Lord Byron, was born in
London in 1788, and was the son of an
unprincipled profligate and of a Scottish
heiress of ancient and illustnous extraction,

Fnnn 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

but of a temper so passionate and uncon-
ti oiled, that it reached, in its capricious
alternations of fondness and -violence, very
nearly to the limit of insanity Her dowry
was &poodily dissipated by her worthless
husband, and the lady, with her boy, was
obliged to retire to Aberdeen, wheie they
livod for soveial year sin very straitened circum-
stances The future poet inherited from his
mother a susceptibility almost morbid, which
such a kind of early training must have still
farther aggravated. His personal beauty was
remarkable , but that fatality that seemed to
poison in him all the good gifts of fortune and
nature, in giving him * a head that sculptors
loved to model,' afflicted him with a slight
malformation in one of his feet, which was
ever a source of pain and mortification to his
vanity Ho was about eleven years old when
the death of his grand-uncle, a strange, eccen-
tric, and misanthropic recluse, made him heir-
prcsumptive to tho haromol title of one
of tho most ancient aristocratic houses in
England — a house which, had figured in our
history fiom the time of the Crusades, and
had boon for several generations notorious
for the vices, and even crimes, of its represen-
tatives With the title he inherited large,
though embarrassed estates, and the noble
picturesque residence of Nowstead Abbey,
near Nottingham This sudden change in the
boy's prospects of course relieved both mother
a,nd child horn the pressure of almost soidid
poverty, and ho was sont first to Harrow
School, and afterwards to Trinity College,
Cambridge At school he distinguished him-
self by his moody and passionate character,
and by the romantic intensity of his youthful
friendships Precocious in everything, he had
already felt with morbid violence lie senti-
ment of love. At college ho became no-
torious for the irregularities of his conduct,
for his contempt of academical discipline, and
for his friendship with several young men of
splendid talents but sceptical principles He
was a greedy, though desultory reader, and
his imagination appears to have been es-
pecially attracted to Oriental history and
travels.

" It was while at Cambridge that Byron,
made his first literary attempt in the publica-
tion of a small volume of fugitive poems,
entitled ' Hours of Idleness, by Lord Byron,
a Minor ' This collection, though m no re-
spect inferior to the youthful essays of ninety-
nine out of every hundred young men, was
seized upon and most severely criticised in the
'Edinburgh Beview,' a literary journal then
just commencing that career of brilliant
innovation which rendered it so formidable
The judgment of the reviewer as to the total
want of value in the poems was perfectly
just; but the unfairness consisted in so
powerful a journal invidiously going out of
its way to attack such a very humble produc-
tion as a volume of feeble and pretentious

commonplaces written by a young lord. The
criticism, however, threw Byron into a frenzy
of rage He instantly set about taking his
revenge in the satire 'English Bards and
Scotch Eeviewers/ in which he involved in
one common storm of invective not only his
enemies of the 'Edinburgh Beview,' but
almost all the literary men of the day — Walter
Scott, Moore, and a thousand others, from
whom he had zeoeived no provocation what-
ever He soon became ashamed of his
unreasoning and indiscriminate violence ,
tried, but vainly, to suppress the poem , and
became indeed, in after-life, the fhend and
sincere admiier of many of those whom he
had lampooned in this burst of youthful re-
taliation Though written, in tlie classical,'
declamatory, and regular stylo of Gifford,
himself an imitator of Pope, the 'English
Bards ' shows a feivour and power of expres-
sion which enables us to see in it, dimly, the
earnest of Byron's intense and fiery genius,
which was afterwards to exhibit itself under
such different literary foims.

"Byron now went abiood to travel, and
visiting countries then little frequented, and
almost unknown to English society, he filled
his mind with the pictuiesque hfe and scenery
of Greece, Turkey, and the East, and ac-
cumulated those stones of character and
descuption which he pouied forth with such
royal splendom in his poems Tho two first
cantos of ' Childe Harold ' absolutely took the
public by stoim, and coined the enthusiasm
for Byron's poetry to a pitch of frenzy of which
we have now no idea, and at onco placed Tnm
at the summit of social and literary popu-
laiity These weio followed in rapid and
splendid succession by those romantic tales,
written somewhat upon the plan which Scott's
poems had rendered so fashionable, the
* Giaour,' 'Bride of Abydos,* ' Corsair/ 'Lara '
As Scott had drawn his materials from feudal
and Scottish life, Byron broke up new ground
m describing the manners, scenery, and wild
passions of the East and of Greece — a region as
picturesque as that of his rival, as well known
to "him by experience, and as new and fresh to
the public he addressed. Boturmng to Eng-
land in the full blaze of his dawning fame, the
poet became the lion of the day His life
was passed in fashionable frivolities, and he
drained, withfevensh avidity, tho intoxicating
cup of fame He at this period manned Miss
Milbonke, a lady of considerable expectations ;
but the union was an unhappy one, and
domestic disagreements were embittered by
improvidence and debt. In about a yeai,
Lady Byron, by the advice of her family, and
of many distinguished lawyers who were con-
sulted on the subj'ect, suddenly quitted her
husband , and the reasons for ta.Tn.ng this step
will ever remain a mystery Tho scandal of
the separation deeply wounded the poet, who
to the end of his life asserted that he never
knew the real motive of tho divorce; and

53

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

PERIOD •

the society of the fashionable world, passing
mih its usual capnoe from exaggerated
idolatry to as exaggerated hostility, puisued
its former darling with a furious howl of re-
probation. He again left England , and from
thenceforth his life was passed uninterruptedly
on the Continent, in Switzerland, in Greece,
and at Rome, Pisa, Ravenna, and Venice,
where he solaced his embittered spirit with
misanthropical attacks upon all that hifl
countrymen held sacred, and gradually plunged
deeper and deeper into a slough of sensuality
and vice While at Geneva he produced the
third canto of e Childe Harold,* c The Prisoner
of Chillon,' * Manfred,' and ' The Lament of
Tasso ' Between 1818 and 1821 he was prin-
cipally residing at Venice and Ravenna , and
at this period he wrote ( Mazoppa,' the five
first cantoe of c Don Juan,' and most of his
tragedies, as 'Manno ITaliero,' 'Sardanapa-
lus,' ' The Two Foscari,' ' Werner,' « Cam,'
and ' The Deformed Transformed,' in many of
which the influence of Shelley's literary
manner and philosophical tenets is more or
less traceable; and here, too, he teirmnated
' Don Juan,' at least as far as ib ever was
completed. The deep profligacy of his private
life in Italy, which had undermined his con-
stitution as well as degraded his genius, was
in some measure redeemed by an illegitimate,
though not ignoble connexion with the young
Countess Guiccioli, a beautiful and accom-
plished girl, united by a marriage of family
interest with a man. old enough to be her
grandfather. In 1823, Byron, who had deeply
sympathized with revolutionary efforts in
Italy, and was wearied with the companion-
ship of Leigh Hunt and others who surrounded
him, determined to devote his fortune and his
influence in aid of the Greeks, then struggling
for their independence He arrived at Mis-
solonghi at the beginning of 1824 , and after
giving striking indications of his practical
.talents, as well as of his aidour and self-
•sacrifice, he succumbed under the marsh fever
•of that unhealthy region, rendered still more
ideletenous by the excesses which had ruined
his constitution. He died, amid the lamenta-
tions of the Greek patriots, whose benefactor
he had been, and amid the universal soirow
of civilized Europe, on the 19th of April,
1824, at the early age of thirty-six.

" The plan of « Childe Harold,' though well
adapted for the purpose of introducing de-
scriptive and meditative passages, and carrying
the reader through widely-distant scenes, is
not very probable or ingenious. It is a series
of gloomy but intensely poetical monologues,
put into the mouth of a jaded and misan-
thropic voluptuary, who takes refuge from
his disenchantment of pleasure in the con-
templation of the lovely or historical
scenes of travel. The first canto principally
describes Portugal and Spain, and contains
many powerful pictures of the great battles
rendered memorable the struggle

between those oppressed nationalities, aided
by England, against the colossal power of
Napoleon. Thus we have the tremendous
combat of Talavera, and scenes of Spanish
life and manners, as the bull-fight. The second
canto carries the wanderer to Greece, Albania,
and the JEgean Archipelago , and here Byion
gave the first earnest of his unequalled genius
in reproducing the scenery and the wild life of
those picturesque regions In the third canto,
which is perhaps the finest and mtensest in
feeling of them all, Switzerland, Belgium,
and the Rhine give splendid opportunities, not
only for pictures of nature of consummabe
beauty, but of incidental reflections on
Napoleon, Voltaire, Bousseau, and the great
men whose glory has thrown a new magic
over those enchanting scenes. This canto
also contains the magnificent description of
the Battle of Waterloo, and bitter and melan-
choly but sublime musings on the vanity of
military fame. In the fourth canto the reader
is borne successively over the fairest and
most touching scenes of Italy — Venice, Fer-
rara, Florence, Borne, and Ravenna , and not
only the immortal dead, but the great monu-
ments of painting and sculpture are described
with an intensity of feeling that had never
before been seen in poetry. The poem is
written in the nine-lined or Spenserian stanza j
and in the beginning of the first canto the
poet makes an effort to give something of the
quaint and archaic character of the * Fairy
Queen,* by adopting old words, as Spenser had
done before him; but he very speedily, and
with good taste, throws off the useless and
embarrassing restraint In intensity of feeling,
in richness and harmony of expression, and
in an imposing tone of gloomy, sceptical, and
misanthropic reflection, ' Childe Harold *
stands alone in our literature , and the free-
dom and vigour of the flow, both as regards
the images and the language, make it one of
the most impressive works in htoraturo.

"The romantic tales of Byion are so
numerous that it will be impossible to examine
them in detail They are all marked by si-
milar peculiarities of thought and treatment,
though they may differ m the kmd and degree
of their respective excellences ' The Giaour,'
'The Siege of Corinth,' * Mazoppa,' 'Panama,'
' The Prisoner of Chillon/ and ' The Bride of
Abydos,' are wiitten in that somewhat irre-
gular and flowing versification which Scott
brought into fashion , while * The Corsair/
'Lara,' and 'The Island,' are in the regular
English rhymed heroic measure. It is difficult
to decide which of these metrical forms Byron
uses with greater vigour and effect. In ' The
Giaour,' c Siege of Corinth,' ' The Bride ' and
' Corsair,' the scene is laid in Groeco or the
Greek Archipelago, and picturesque contrasts
between the Christian and Mussulman, as well
as the dramatic scenery, manners, and costume
of those regions, are powerfully set before
the reader. These poems have in general a

From 1780 to 18(56 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

fragmentary character they are made up of
imposing and intensely interesting moments of
passion and action Neither in these nor in
any of his works does Byron show the least
power of delineating variety of character
There aie but two personages in all his poems
— a man in whom nnbndled passions have
desolated the heart, and left it hard and im-
penetiable as the congealed lava-stream, or
only capable of launching its concealed fixes
at moments of strong emotion; a man con-
temptuous of his land, whom he rules by the
very force of that contempt, sceptical and
despairing, yet feeling the softer emotions
with an intensity proportioned to the rarity
with which he yields to them. The woman is
the woman of the East — sensual, devoted, and
loving, but loving with the unreasoning attach-
ment of the lower animals These elements of
character, meagre and unnatural as they are,
are, however, sot before us with such consum-
mate force and intensity, and are framed, so
to say, in such brilliant and picturesque sur-
roundings, that the leader, and particularly
the young and inexperienced reader, invariably
loses sight of their contradictions , and there
is a time when all of us have thought the
sombre, scowling, mysterious heroes of Byron
the very ideal o£ all that is noble and ad-
mirable Nothing can exceed the skill with
which the most picturesque light and shade is
thiown upon the featuios of those Rembrandt-
like or rather Tmioietto-like skotoh.es In all
these poems we meet with inimitable descrip-
tions, tender, animated, or profound, which
harmonize with the tone of the dramatis per-
sonas thus the famous comparison of enslaved
Greece to a corpse, in the ' Giaour,' the night-
scene and the battle-scene in the 'Corsair*
and 'Lara,' the eve of the storming of the
city in the ' Siege of Corinth,' and the fiery
energy of the attack in the same poem, the
exquisite opening lines in c Panama/ besides
a multitude of others, might be adduced to
prove Byron's extraordinary genius in com-
municating to his pictures the individuality
and the colouring of his own feelings and oha-
lacter — proceeding, in this respect, in a manner
precisely opposed to Walter Scott, whose
scenes are, as it were, reflected in a mirror, and
take no colouring from the poet's own indi-
viduality. If Scott's picturesque faculty be
like that of the pure surface of a lake, or the
colourless plane of a mirror, that of Byron
resembles those tinted glasses which convey
to a landscape viewed through them the yellow
gleam of a Cuyp, or the sombre gloom of a
Zurbaran ' Lara ' is undoubtedly the sequel
of the 'Corsair/ the returned Spanish noble
of mysterious adventures is no other than
Conrad of the preceding poem, and the dis-
guised page is Gulnare The c Siege of Co-
rinth' is remarkable for the extraordinary
variety and force of its descriptions — a va-
riety greater than will generally be found m
Byron's tales. 'Panama' deuves its chief

interest; from the deep pathos with which the
author has invested a painful and even repul-
sive story; and in the 'Piisoner of Chillon'
the hopeless tone of sorrow and uncomplaining
suffering which runs through the whole gives
it a stiong hold upon the reader's feelings
« Mazeppa/ though founded upon the adven-
tures of an historical person, is singularly and
almost ludicrously at variance with the real
character of the hero. The powerfully-written
episode of the gallop of the wild steed, with
the victim lashed on his back, makes the
reader forget all incongruities

" In ' Beppo ' and the " Vision of Judgment *
Byron has ventoied upon the gay, airy, and
satirical The former of these poems is a
little episode of Venetian intrigue narrated in
singularly easy verse, and exhibiting a minute
knowledge of the details of Italian manners
and society. It is not perhaps over moral,
but it is exquisitely playful and sparkling
The 'Vision' is a most severe attack upon
Southey, in which Byron vigorously repels the
accusations brought by his antagonist against
the alleged immorality of his poems, and
carries the war into the enemy's country,
showing up with unmerciful bitterness the
contrast between Southey's former extreme
liberalism and his then rabid devotion to
Court principles, and paiodymg the very poor
and pretentious verses which Southey, as Poet
Laureate, composed as a sort of apotheosis of
George III Though somewhat ferocious and
tiuoulent, the satiie is brilliant, and contains
many picturesque and oven beautiful passages,
and was ceitamly, under the oiicumstances of
provocation, a fair and allowable attack The
' Island,' in four cantos, is a striking incident
extracted from the narrative of the famous
mutiny of the Bounty, when Captain Bligh
and his officers were cast off by his rebellious
crew in an open boat, and the mutineers,
under the command of Christian, established
themselves in half-savage life on Pitoairn's
Island, where their descendants were recently
living Among the loss commonly read of
Byron's longer poems I may mention the ' Age
of Bronze,' a vehement satirical declamation ;
the ' Corse of Minerva/ directed against the
spoliation of the frieze of the Parthenon by
Lord Elgin, in which the descuption of sunset,
forming the opening of the poem, is inexpres-
sibly beautiful ; the 'Lament of Tassp/ and
the ' Prophecy of Dante/ the latter written in
the difficult terza rima, the first attempt, I
believe, of any English poet to employ that
measure The 'Bream' is in some respects
the most complete and touching of Byron's
minor works. It is the narrative, in the form
of a vision, of his early love-sorrow for Mary
Chaworth. There is hardly, in the whole
range of literature, so tender, so lofty, and so
condensed a life-drama as that narrated in
these verses Picture after picture is softly
shadowed forth, all pervaded by the samo
mournful plow, and 'the doom of the two

53*

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PBBIOD. —

creatures ' is set before us in all its hopeless
misery

" The dramatic works of Byron are m many
respeota the precise opposite of what might a
pnor* have been expected fiom the peculiar
character of his genius. In form they are
cold, severe, lofty, partaking far more of the
manner of Alfieri +h«n of that of Shakspeare
Artful involution of intrigue they have not,
but though singularly destitute of powerful
passion, they are full of intense sentiment
The finest of them is ' Manfred,' whioh, how-
ever, is not so much a drama as a dramatic
poem, in some degree resembling ' Faust,' by
winch mdeed it was suggested. It consists
not of action represented in dialogue, but of
a series of sublime soliloquies, in which the
mysterious hero descubes nature, and poms
forth his despair and his self -pity The scene
with which it opens has a strong resemblance
to the first monologue of Goethe's hero , and
the invocation of the Witch of the Alps, the
meditation of Manfred on the Jungfrau, the
description of the ruins of the Coliseum, are
singularly grand and touching as detached
passages, but have no dramatic cohesion
In this work, as well as in ' Cain,' we see the
fall expression of Byron's sceptical spirit,
and the tone of half melancholy, half mocking
misanthropy which colours so much of his
writings, and which was m Trnn partly sincere
and partly put on for effect , for Byron was
far from that profound conviction in his anti-
religious doctrines which glows so fervently
through every page written by his fnend
Shelley, who unquestionably exerted a very
powerful influence upon Byron at one part of
his career The moie exclusively historical
pieces — * Manno Fahero/ * The Two Fosoari '
— are derived from Venetian annals , but
neither in the one nor in the othei has Byron
clothed the events with that living and intense
reality which the subjects would have received,
I will not say from Shakspeare, but even from
Bowe or Otway There is in these dramas a
complete failure in variety of character , and
the interest is concentrated on the obstinate
harping of the principal personages upon one
topic — their own wiongs and humiliations
This is indeed at times impiessive, and, aided
by Byron's magnificent powers of expression,
gives us noble occasional tirades, but it is
essentially undramatic, for it is inconsistent
with that play and mutual action and reaction
of one character or passion upon another, in
which dramatic inteiest essentially consists
In * Sardanapalus,9 the remoteness of the
epoch chosen, and our total ignorance of the
interior life of those tunes, remove the piece
into the region of fiction But the character
of Myrrha, though beautiful, is an ana-
chronism and an impossibility, and the an-
tithetic contrast between the effeminacy and
sudden heroism in Sardanapalus belongs
rather to the satire or to the moral disquisi-
tion than to tragedy. « Werner,' a piece of

domestic interest, is bodily borrowed, as far
as regards its incidents, and even much of its
dialogue, from the Hungarian's Story in Miss
Lee's * Canterbury Tales ' It still retains
possession of the stage, because, lake ' Sarda-
napalus,' it gives a good opportunity for the
display of stage decoration and declamation ,
but Byron's share in its composition extends
little further frhfm the cutting up of Miss
Lee's prose into tolerably regular but often
very indifferent lines.

"'Don Juan* is the longest, the most
singulai, and in some respects the most
characteristic of Byron's poems It is,
indeed, one of the most remarkable and sig-
nificant productions of the age of revolution
and scepticism which almost immediately
preceded its appeaiance. It is written in
octaves, a kind of versification borrowed from
the Italians, and particularly from the kalf
senous half comic writers who followed in
the wake of Ariosto The outline of the
story is the old Spanish legend of Bon Juan
de Tenorio, upon which have been founded so
many dramatic works, among the rest the
'Festm de Pieire/ of Moli&re, and the im-
mortal opeia of Mozart The fundamental
idea of the atheist and voluptuary enabled
Byron to carry his hero through various ad-
ventures, senous and comic, to exhibit his
unrivalled power of description, and left Kim.
unfetteied by any necessities of time and
place Byion's Don Juan is a young Spanish
hidalgo, whose education is described with
stiong satmo power, intermingled with fre-
quent and bitter personal allusions to
those against whom the author has a grudge ,
and being detected in a scandalous intrigue
with a married woman, he is obliged to leave
Spam He embarks on board a ship which is
wrecked m the Greek Archipelago, all hands
perishing- after incredible suffeiings in on open
boat, and IB thrown exhausted and almost
dying on one of the smaller Cyolodes Here
he is cherished and sheltered by Haidoo, a
lovely Greek girl, the half-savage daughter of
Lambro, the master of the isle, now absent
on a piratical expedition Haidoe and Juan
ore married, and in the midst of the wedding
festivities Lambro returns, Juan is over-
powered, wounded, and put on board tho
pirate's vessel to be corned to Con&taxLtinoplo,
and Haideo soon afterwards dies of gnof and
despair Juan is exposed for solo in tho
slave-market at Stamboul, attracts the notice
of the f avounte Sultana, who buys him and
introduces him m the disguise of an odohsquo
into the seraglio ; but Juan refuses tho lovo
of Gulbeyaz, and afterwards escapes from
Constantinople in company with Smith, an
Englishman whom he has encountered in
slavery. The hero is then mode to amve at
the siege of Izmail by the Russian army
under Souvaroff; the horrible details of tho
storming and capture of the city are borrowed
from official 'and histoiical sources, and repro-

from 1780 to 1866.]

BIOGEAPHICAL NOTICES.

duoed with the some fidelity as the pictures of
the shipwreck from Admiral Byron* s narrative
of his own calamities Jnan distinguishes
himself in the assault, and is selected to carry
the bulletin of victory to the Empress
Catheime The Court of St. Petersburg is
then described, and Juan becomes the favour-
ite and lover of the Noithern Senuramis , but
his health giving way, he is sent on a diplo-
matic mission to England Here the author
gives us a very minute and sarcastic account
of English aristocratic society, and m the
midst of what promises to tuin out an amus-
ing though not over moral adventure the
nairative abruptly breaks off e Don Juan,' in
the imperfect state in which it was left, con-
sists of sixteen cantos, and there is no reason
why it should not have been indefinitely ex-
tended It was the anther's intention to
bring hisheio's adventures to a regular teimi-
nation, but so desultory a seiies of incidents
have no real coherency The merit of this
extraordinary poem is the richness of ideas,
thoughts, and images, which form an absolute
plethora of witty allusion and sarcastic re-
flection , and above all tho constant passage
fiom the loftiest and tenderest tone of poetry
to the most familiar and mocking style
These transitions are incessant, and the arti-
fice oi such suddon change of sentiment which
at first dazzlos and enchants the reader, ulti-
mately wcanes him The tone of morality
is throughout very low and selfish, even
materialistic . ovoiything in turn is made the
subject of a sneoi, and tho brilliant but
desolating lightning of Byron's sarcasm blasts
alike the weeds of hypocrisy and cant, and
the flowers of faith and tho holiest affections
This Mephistophelos-like tone is rendered
more effective by perpetual contrast with the
warmest outbursts of feeling and the most
admirable descriptions of nature the air of
superiority which is implied in the very nature
of sarcasm renders c Don Juan * peculiarly
dangerous, as it is peculiarly fascinating, to
young readers In spite of much superficial flip-
pancy, tins poem contains an immense mass
of profound and melancholy satire, and in a
very large number of serious passages Byron
has shown a powei, picturesqueness, and pathos
which in other works may indeed be paralleled,
but cannot be surpassed." — Shaw's "Hist.
Eng Lit ," pp 435 to 444 See Allibone's
"Crit Diet Eng Lit.", " Edm. Eev,," xxvii ,
27 , " Quarterly Eev ," xii t 172 ; Sir Walter
Scott's "Letters" to Mr Morntt, May 12,1812,
to Lord Byron, July 3 and 16, 1812 , Lock-
hart's "Life of Scott" , Macaulay in "Edin
Eev ," June, 1831, in his " Cnt and Histor
Essays," 1854, vol i , 345, 347, 348 , " Con-
versations of Lord Byion," by Thomas Med-
win , " The Last Days of Byron," by Major
Wm Parry , " Lord Byron and some of his
Contemporaries," by Leigh Hunt, "Conver-
sations on Religion with Lord Byron and
Others," by James Kennedy, MD., 1830;

" Conversations with Lord Byron," by Lady
Blessmgton, 1836; "Life of Byron," by
John Galfc, 1837 , " Life of Lord Byron," by
Armstrong, 1846 , " Recollections of tho Last
Days of Byron and Shelley," by E J Tre-
lawney, 1858, Moir's "Sketches of Poet
Lit of the Past Half Cent " , Alison's "Hist
of Europe," 1815-52, chap v ; Kewstead
Abbey in Washington Irvmg's " Crayon Mis-
cellanies" , " Quar Eev ," vols. vii , x , xi ,
xix , xxvu , xxxviu. , Articles of Lord Jeffrey
in " Edin Eev ," vols ix , xix , xxi , xxui,
xxvu , xxvm , i.xix , xxxv , xxxvi , xxxvm. ;
Articles in " North Ameucan Eev ," vols v.,
xm., 227, 450, xxi , xxxi., xxxvi , Ix , Moore's
" Life of Byron "

PEECT BTSSHE SHELLEY

" The life of this poet, who was born in
1792, and died in 1822,' says Dr Angus, " is
not unlike Byron's There was a flrrmlar title
to wealth and honouis, the same boyhood of
fierce passion, an unhappy training, an early
manhood of blighted domestic life — blighted
by his own folly and ciime, a spirit of atheistic
levolt against all religious and social claims ,
though this last was greatly diminished to-
wards the close of his course, after his mar-
riage with the daughter of William G-odwin,
and might have been dimunshed much more,
had his life not toiuunated prematurely by
drowning when he was but thirty years old

"From eailiest years he showed poetic
tastes, and when only eighteen he produced
the atheistical poem of ' Queen Mab/ written,
in tho rhythm of Southey's ' Thalaba,' and
containing passages of great melody and
beauty The fault of this poem, besides its
sceptical notes, mere lepetifaona of the sneers
of Yoltaire and others, is the vagueness of the
meaning. His next piece was 'Alostor, or
the spirit of Solitude,' intended to sketch the
sufferings of a genius like his own : he thirsts
for a fnend who shall understand and sympa-
thize with him, and, blighted by disappoint-
ment, sinks into an untimely grave Tho
descriptions of scenery in this poem are sin-
gularly nch and beautiful the whole is
written in blank verse 'The Eevolt of
Islam/ written while the poet lesided at
Marlow, has the tame peculiarities of thought
and style as ' Alastor,' though with less
human interest and more energy. 'Hellas'
and 'The Witoh of Atlas' belong more or
less to the same class as ' Queen Mab ' all
contain attacks on kingcraft, priestcraft, re-
ligion, and marriage, with airy pictures,
scenes, and beings of the utmost mdibtinclr
ness and unearthly splendour. In Italy ho
wrote his ' Adonais,' on elegy on the death of
Keats, a touching monument over tho grave
of his friend Here, also, he composed tho
' Prometheus Unbound,7 a daspic drama, and

J3IOGKRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SEVENTH PERIOD.-

in the following year, 1819, e The Cenci,'
tragedy, one of the finest of the poet's produc-
tions, a tale that reminds the reader of the
dramas of Otway His odes on ' The Skylark"
and ' The Cloud ' are more poetical and perfect
than any other of his pieces. ' The Sensitive
Plant ' is a good specimen of the beauty anc
gracefulness of his versification, of the fanci-
fulness of his imagery, and of the profound-
ness of his meaning, which now seems within
our grasp and again eludes it." — " Handbook
Bag Lit, "pp. 253, 254.

JOHN TTFIATg.

" John Keats, born in Moorfields, London,
1796, died 1821, was apprenticed to a surgeon
in his fifteenth year. During his apprentice-
ship he devoted most of his time to poetry,
and in 181*7 he published a volume of juvenile
poems This was followed, in 1818, by his
long poem cEndymion,' which was severely
censured by the ' Quarterly Review,* an attack
which has been somewhat erroneously de-
scribed as the cause of his death It is pro
bable that it gave a rude shock to Keats's
highly sensitive nature, and to a physical
condition much weakened by the attention
which he had bestowed upon a dying brother
But he had a constitutional tendency to con-
sumption, which would moat likely have deve-
loped itself under any circumstances* He went
for tie recovery of his health to Borne, where
he died on the 24th of February, 1821. In
the previous year he had published another
volume of poems, * Lamia,' * Isabella,' «fco , m
which was included the fragment of his re-
maikable poem entitled e Hyperion.'

"It was the misfortune of Keats to be
either extravagantly praised or unmercifully
condemned. This arose on the one hand from
the extreme partiality of friendship, and on
the other from resentment of that friendship,
connected as it was with parijy politics and
with peculiar views of society. That which
is most remarkable in his works is the won-
derful profusion of figurative language, often
exquisitely beautiful and luxuriant, but some-
times purely fantastical and far-fetched The
peculiarity of Shelley's style, to which we may
give the name of incantation, Keats carries
to extravagance — one word, one image, one
rhyme suggests another, till we quite lose
sight of the original idea, which is smothered
in its own sweet luxuriance, like a bee stifled
in honey. Shakspeare and Ms school, upon
whoso manner Keats undoubtedly endeavoured
to form his style of writing, have, it is true,
this peculiarity of language ; but in them the
images never run awaj with the thought—the
guiding master-idea is ever present These
poets never throw the reins on their Pegasus,
even when soaring to 'the brightest heaven
of invention." With them the images are

produced by a force acting ab infra 3 like wild
flowers springing from the veiy richness of
the ground In Keats the force acts ab extra, ,
the flowers are forcibly fixed in the earth, as
in the garden of a child, who cannot wait till
they grow there of themselves Keats deserves
high praise for one veiy peculiar and oiigmal
merit he has treated the classical mythology
in a way absolutely new, representing the
Pagan deities not as mere abstractions of art,
nor as mere creatures of popular belief, but
giving them passions and affections like our
own, highly purified and idealized, however,
and in exquisite accordance with the lovely
scenery of ancient Greece and Italy, and with
the golden atmosphere of primeval existence
This treatment of a subject, which, ordinary
readers would consider hopelessly worn and
threadbare, is certainly not Homeric, nor is it
Miltomc, nor is it in the manner of any of the
great poetswhohave employed the mythological
imagery of antiquity , but it is productive of
very exquisite pleasure, and must, therefore,
be in accordance with true principles of art.
In ' Hyperion,' in the ' Ode to Pan,' in the
verses on a ' Grecian Urn/ we find a noble
and airy strain of beautiful classic imageiy,
combined with a perception of natural loveli-
ness so luxuriant, so nch, so dehoate, that the
rosy dawn of Greek poetry seems combined
with all that is most tenderly pensive in the
calm sunset twilight of romance Such of
Keats' a poems as are founded on more modern
subjects — e The Eve of St Agnos,' for example,
or ' The Pot of Basil,' a beautiful anecdote
versified from Boccacio — aro, to our taste,
mf enor to those of his productions in which
the scenery and personages are mythological.
It would seem as if the seventy of ancient
art, which in the last-mentioned works acted
as an involuntary check upon a too luxuriant
fancy, deserted him when he left the antique
world, and the absence of true, deep, intense
passion (his prevailing defect) becomes neces-
sarily more painfully apparent, as well as tho
discordant mingling of the prettmossos of mo-
dern poetry with the directness and unaffected
simplicity of Chaucer and Boccacio But
Keats was a true poet. If wo consider his
extreme youth and delicate health, his Rohlary
and interesting self-instruction, tho seventy
of tho attacks made upon him by hostile and
powerful critics, and above all tho original
richness and picturesquenoss of his concep-
tions and imagery, even when they run to
waste, he appears to be one of the greatest of
the young poets— resembling the Milton of
' Lycidas,' or the Spenser of the * Tears of the
Muses.' "—Shaw's « Hist. Eng. Lit ," pp. 456,
457.

BISHOP HEBEB.

" Reginald Heber, the son of the Eov.
Begonald Heber, was born at Malpas, in

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

Cheshire, on the 21st of Apnl, 1783 His
youth was distinguished by a precocity of
talent, docility of temper, a love of reading,
and a veneration for religion. The eagerness,
indeed, with which he read the Bible in his
eaily years, and tho accuracy with which he
remembered it, were quite remarkable After
completing the usual course of elementary in-
struction, he entered the University of Oxford
in 1800. Tn the first year he gained the Uni-
versity prize for Latin verse, and in 1803 he
wrote his poem of ' Palestine,' which was
received with distinguished applause. His
acadoirioal career was brilliant from its com-
mencement to its close. After taking his
degrse, and gaining the University prize for
the best English prose essay, he set out, in
1805. on a continental tour He returned the
following year, and in 1807 * took orders,' and
was settled in Hodnet, in Strop shue, whore
for many years he discharged the duties of
his large pariah, with the most exemplary
assiduity

" In 1809 ho married, and in the same year
published a series of hymns, e appropriate for
Sundays and principal holidays of the year '
In 1812, ho commenced a ' Dictionary of the
Bible/ and published a volume of * Poems and
Translations,' the translations being chiefly
from Pindar After being advanced to two
or three ecclesiastical preferments, in 1822
ho received tho offer of the bi&hopiio of Cal-
cutta, made vacant by tho death of Dr Mid-
dleton Never, it is behoved, did any man
accept an office from a highei sense of duty.
He was in the possession of affluence — had
the fairest prospects boforo him — and hod
recently built at Hodnot a parsonage-house,
combining every comfort with elegance and
beauty. But his exalted piety considered this
call as a call from Heaven, from which he
might not shrink, and he resolutely deter-
mined to obey the summons. Accordingly, in
1823, he embarked for India, whoio he arrived
in safety, ' with a field before Tiim that might
challenge the labours of an apostle, and, we
will venture to say, with as much of the spirit
of an apostle in him as has rested on any man
in these latter days * Indeed, he was pecu-
liarly well qualified to fill this high and
responsible station, as well by his amiable and
conciliatory temper as by his talents, learning,
and zeal in the cause of Christianity. He en-
tered with great earnestness upon his duties,
and had already made many long journeys
through his extensive field of labour, whon he
was suddenly out off by on apoplectic fit,
which seized MT" while bathing, at Tnchino-
poly, on the 3rd of April, 1826.

" Besides the works of Bishop Hebor al-
ready mentioned, there were published, after
his death, 'Parish Sermons at Hodnet/ in
two volumes, and a * Narrative of a Journey
through the Upper Provinces of India, from
Calcutta to Bombay/ in two volumes" —
Cleveland's "Eng Lit 19th Cont.," pp. 180, 181.

CHAELES WOLFE

" Charles Wolfe, the youngest son of
Theobald Wolfe, Esq , was born in Dublin
on the 14th of December, 1791. As a
youth, he showed great precocity of talent,
united to a most amiable disposition. After
the usual preparatory studies, in which he
distinguished himself, he entered the Uni-
versity of Dublin in 1809. He immediately
attained a high rank for his classical attain-
ments, and for his true poetic talent ; and the
first year of his college course he obtained a
prize for a poem upon e Jugurtha in Prison '
Before he left the University, he wrote a
numbei of pieces of poetry that were truly
beautiful, but especially that one on which his
fame chiefly rests, the ' Lines on the Burial of
| Sir John Mooie '

"In 1814, he took his bachelor's degree,
and entered at once upon the study of divinity
In 1817, he was ordained as curate of the
church of BaJlyclog, in Tyrone, and afterwards
of Donoughmoie. His irost conscientious and
incessant attention to his duties in a wild and
scattered parish soon made imoads upon his
health, and he was advised to go to the south
of France as the most Likely moans to avert
the thieatencd malady— -consumption Ho
remained but little more than a month at
Boideaux, and returned home, appearing to
have been benefited by tho voyago But the
fond hopes of his friends weio soon to be
blasted — the fatal disease had taken too
stiong a hold upon its victim — and, after a
protracted illness, accompanied with much
suffering, which he bore with great Christian
fortitude and patience, he expired on the 21st
of February, 1823, in the thirty-second year
of his age "—Cleveland's "Eng. Lit. 19th
Cent ," pp. 131, 132.

HERBERT KNOWLES.

" Herbert Knowles, born 3 798, died 1817,
a native of Canterbury, produced, when a
youth of eighteen, several fine religious
stanzas, which, being published in tho * Quar-
terly Review/ soon obtained general circula-
tion and celebrity : they have much of the
steady faith and devotional earnestness of
Cowper."— Chambers's " Cyo. Eng. Lit.,"
vol n. p. 411.

EOBEET POLLOK.

" Eobert Pollok, a Scotch poet, who was
educated for the Church, but produced, before
he had attained his 26th year, a very remark-
able poem, entitled ' The Course of Time '
Upon the recommendation of Prof essor Wilson,
Messrs Blookwood, of Edinburgh, published
the work, which attracted the most unqualified
admiration in the religious world It speedily

BIOGEAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PEBIOD •*-

ran. through several editions , having in the
year 1857 attained its twenty-first The youn^
poet's constitution was frail, and was undei-
mined by his intense application. He was
preparing to start for Italy, bat died at
Southampton, 1327, born in Renfrewshire,
1799."— Beeton's "Diet. Umv Biog " See
Chambers's " Cyo Eng lit ," vol 11. p 412.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

James Montgomery, born at Irvine, Ayr-
shire, 1771; died at Sheffield, 1854, an Eng-
lish poet, was the son of a Moravian preacher,
and was sent to be educated at the settlement
of that sect at Fulneck, near Leeds There
he was distinguished for his indolence and
melancholy ; and, although poetry and fiction
were forbidden, he contrived to read, clan-
destinely, '" Robmson Crusoe " and Cowper's
poems His inattention to his studies caused
hitn to be placed by the school authouties
with a shopkeeper, fiom whom, in 1789, he
ran away. A few months afterwards, he sent
a volume of poems to a London bookseller,
and followed it himself to the great metro-
polis. The poems were declined, but the
young poet obtained a situation in tho pub-
lisher's office In 1791 he wrote a tale, his
first prose production, for the "Bee," an
Edinburgh periodical, and soon afterwards
published a novel, which was declined, because
the hero gave utterance occasionally to a
strong expression The young author was
greatly hurt at this, for he was of a deoply
religious cast of mind, and imagined he had
only done that which was right in imitating
Pielding and Smollett He returned to a
situation for some time, and at length entered
the service of Mr Gales, a printer and book-
seller at Sheffield, who permitted him to
write political ai fades for the " Sheffield
Register," a paper conducted on what was
then called revolutionary principles A wai-
rant being issued for the apprehension of
Gales, he fled to America, and Montgomery
started a paper on " peace and reform " prin-
ciples, called the " Sheffield Iris," and was
soon afterwards indicted for producing some
doggrel verses, which had been brought to his
printing-office to be printed For this he was
fined j£20, and sentenced to three months' im-
prisonment On another occasion, for pub-
lishing an account of a not at Sheffield, he
was fined £30, and was imprisoned for six
months. His subsequent career was com-
paratively uneventful. In 1806 he produced
"The Wanderer in Swfczerland," which
quietly ran through three editions, and was
subsequently followed by other and better
works of the same nature, the chief of which
were— "The West Indies," "The World be-
fore the Flood," and " Greenland," a poem
descriptive of the establishment of the Mo-

ravians in that desolate region, which sect he
had again joined In 1823 he produced
"Original Hymns for Public, Private, and
Social Devotion " In 1825 ho resigned the
editorship of the IC Sheffield Iris , " where-
upon he was entertained at a public dinner
by his fellow townsmen His interesting
•'History of Missionary Enterprise in tho
South Seas" was produced in 1S30. Five
years later he was offered the chair of rhe-
toric in the University of Edinburgh, which
he declined Sir Robert Peel about the same
time bestowed upon him a pension of <£150
In 1836 he left the house of his old employer,
Gales, where he had lived during forty years,
for a more convenient abode He delivered
several courses of lectures upon " Tho British
Poets" at Newcastle-on-Tyne and other
places, during some years , but, in 1841, he
visited his native country on a missionary
tour. Hia last effort was a lecture " On some
Passages of English Poetry but little known "
Orton writes of James Montgomery . — " A
universally beloved poet of the Goldsmith
genus, jjig patriotic and philanthropic prin-
ciples cast a halo around his name and illume
his works His poems against slavery are
the breathings of a noble and free-born soul
There are many passages in 6 The West
Indies " of surpassing loveliness, and which
have often brought tears to our oyos In,
his 'Greenland,' thd descriptions of nature*
in that clime are often magnificent The.
mountainous icebergs swim distinctly and
flash their light before our mental tight, and
there is an icy clearness and freshness about
the whole The wondrous superstitions of
that ignorant country aie finely and graphi-
cally told and we feel, whilst perusing this fine,
poem (even though it be m summer), a cold
but bracing atmosphere enveloping us, so
strong is its effect on the imagination. But
as he is beloved by every child who knows
his works (and who does not?) as well as
'children of an older growth,' we will only
add our blessings, and bid him adieu." —
" Excelsior," p 61. See Shaw's " Hist Eng.
Lit", Dr Angus's "Handbook", Gilfillan's
" Gallery Lit. Portraits " , Chambers's " Cyc.
Eng Lit."

THE HON. WILLIAM R SPE3STCER.

" The Hon. William Robert Spencer, bora
1*770, died 1834, published occasional poems
of that description named vors de socittd, whose
highest object is to gild the social hour They
were exaggerated in compliment and adulation,
and wittily parodied lu the 'Rejected Ad-
dresses.' ^ As a companion, Mr. Spencer was
much prized by the brilliant circles of the
metropolis, but falling into pecuniary diffi-
culties, he removed to Paris, where he died.
His poems were collected and published in
1835. Sir Walter Soott, who knew and

From 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

esteemed Spencer, quotes the following
' fine lines ' from one of his poems, aa
expressive of his own feelings amidst the
wreck and desolation of his fortunes at
Abbotsford —

The shade of youthful hope is there,
That linger' d long1, and latest died ,

Ambition all dissolved to air,
With phantom honours by his side

What empty shadows glimmer nigh ?

They onoe were Friendship, Truth, and

Love'
Oh ! die to thought, to memory die,

Since lifeless to my heart ye prove ! "

— Chambers* s " Cyc. Eng lit ," vol u. pp
420-21.

JAMES HENET LEIGH HUNT.

James Henry Leigh Hunt, born at South-
gate, Middlesex, 1784 , died 1859 , an English
poet, essayist, and critic, was the son of a
West Indian gentleman, who was resident in
America when the War of Independence burst
forth Being a stanch royalist, he was com-
pelled to seek refuge in England, where he
entered into orders, and afterwards became
tutor to Mr Leigh, nephew to the Duke of
Chando&. Leigh Hunt was educated with
Coleiidge, Lamb, and Barnes, at Christ's
Hospital, London, which he loft at fifteen
He had already written vorses, which were
published under the title of " Juvenilia, or, a
Collection of Poems wiitten botwoon the Ages
of Twelve and Sixteen " After leaving school,
he first became assistant to his brother
Stephen, an attorney and afterwards obtained
a clerkship in the War-office In 1805, his
brother John started " The News," and for
this paper Loigh wrote reviews of books and
theatrical criticisms These last wore com-
posed in a more elegant style than had been
the case with such literary performances
hitherto , and, in 1807, he edited them,
and published the series, under the title of
"Critical Essays on the Performers of the
London Theatres" A year afterwards, ho
resigned his situation in the War-office, to
nndeitake the joint editorship of the "Exa-
miner " newspaper, which he and his brother
John had established. The bold political
strictures of this pnnt caused its proprietors
to undergo three Government prosecutions
The first was in 1810, for an attack on the
regency ; this was, however, abandoned. But
next year, the Hunts were again tried by Lord
Ellenborough, for alleged seditious sentiments
expressed in an article on military flogging.
On this occasion, the emarkable defence of
Lord (then Mr ) Brougham greatly contributed
to their acquittal by the jury A third article,
in which the Prince-Eegent was severely cri-
ticised, and called " an Adonis of fifty," led

to their being condemned to two years' im-
prisonment, with a fine of ,£500 each. This
sentence caused Hunt to become very popular,
and to receive the sympathy of Byron, Lamb,
Keats, Shelley, and Moore While in prison ho
wrote " The Descent of Liberty, a Masque,"
" The Stoiy of Rimini," and ' The Feast of
the Poets , " and, on his lelease, Keats ad-
dressed to him his fine sonnet, " Written on
the Day that Mr Leigh Hunt left Prison."
His next literary labour was ' Foliage, or,
Poems Original and translated from the Greek
of Homer, Theocritus, &c " In 1818, he
commenced a small periodical after the model
of Addison's "Spectator," &c , called "In-
dicator " In 1823, the " Quarterly Review "
attacks on the " Cockney school " of poets,
to which he belonged, elicited from his pen a
satire against Mr Gilford, its editoi, called
" Ultra Crepidonus " His fortunes were at
this period at a very low ebb, and ho was in-
duced to accept the kind invitation of Shelley
to go to Italy, wheie himself and Loid Byron
then were. But Shelley meeting his death
almost as soon as Hunt had reached Italy, he,
for some time, resided with Lord Byron,
leaving his house, however, with feelings less
friendly than he had enteied it In 1828^
after his leturn to England, he published
" Lord Byron and some of his Contemporaries,
with Eecollections of the Author's Life and
his Visit to Italy," a book which contained
severe cntioims of Lord Byron's personal
character, but which, at a later period, Hunt
admitted were of too haxsh a nature During
the subsequent ten years, he edited the
" Companion," a sequel to the " Indicator , "
wrote " Captain Sword and Captain Pen,"
contributed to the magazines and reviews, and
published a play — "The Legend of Florence."
In addition to these, he superintended the
publication of the dramatic works of Wy-
cherly, Farquhar, and Congreve , wrote " The
Palfrey a Love Story of Old Times;" pro-
duced a volume of Selections, called " One
Hundred Romances of Eeal Life ; " and wrote
a second novel of a more ambitious nature
than the first, under the title of " Sir Ralph
Esher; or, Memoirs of a Gentleman of the
Court of Charles H" Leading, hencefoith,
the uneventful life of a studious man of
letters, the record of his career is nothing-
more thftn a catalogue of the names of his
literary productions, with the dates of their
publication Firstly, there are his essays and
criticisms on poets and poetry Of these the
chief are "Imagination and Fancy," "Wit
and Humour," " Men, Women, and Books,"
"A Jar of Honey from Mount Hybla," and
" A Book for the Corner." Among his genial,
chatty, antiquarian sketches, we have " The
Town : its Remarkable Characters and
Events," and " The Old Court Suburb , or,
Memorials of Kensington, Regal, Critical, and
Anecdotal " " Stones from the Italian Poets,
with Lives," and the diamatic works ol

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SEVENTH PEKIOID —

Sheridan, were of similar character with his
former editions of Congreve, &c His last
efforts were his Autobiography, in 3 vols ,
published in 1853, and " The Religion of the
Heart : a Manual of Faith and Duty." He
became the recipient, in 184*7, of a pension of
«£200 pei annum from the Crown He died m
1859

JOHN CLARK

John Clare, bomatHelpstone, Northampton-
shire, 1793 ; the son of a farm-labourer, who
was early sent to work in the fields "When
he became able to read he purchased a few
books, and, by degrees, initiated himself into
composition in verse. In 1818 he produced a
" Sonnet to the Setting Sun," which attracted
the notice of a -bookseller at Stamford, and led
to the publication of a small volume entitled
"Poems descriptive of EuralLife andScenery,"
which was favourably received He subse-
quently produced the ce Village Minstrel, and
other Poems ; " and, in 1836, the "Rural
Muse " These are all pleasing effusions, but
exhibiting neither strength nor much
originality.

JAMES SMITH

James Smith, born 1775, died 1839, known
best in connexion with his brother Horace,
wrote clever parodies and criticisms in the
"Picnic," the "London Review," and the
"Monthly Mirror" In the last appeared
those imitations, from his own and brother's
hand, which were published in 1813 as '• The
Bejeoted Addiesses , " one of the most suc-
cessful and popular works that has ever ap-
peared James wrote the imitations of
"Wordsworth, Cobbett, Southey, Coleridge, and
Crabbe, Horace, those of Scott, Moore,
Monk Lewis, Fitzgerald, and Dr. Johnson

HORACE SMITH.

Horace Smith, born 1779, died 1849, was a
moie voluminous wiiter than his brother He
was the author of several novels and verses
"Brambletye House," 1826, was in imitation
of Scott's historical novels. Besides this he
wrote "Tor Effl," " Walter Colyton," "The
Moneyed Man," " The Merchant," and several
others His beat performance is the "Address
to the Mummy," some parts of which exhibit
the finest sensibility and an exquisite poetio
taste.

PROFESSOR JOHN WILSON.

Professor John Wilson, born at Paisley
1785, died at Edinburgh 1854, an eminent

Scotch poet and essayist, who received his
education at Oxfoid After taking his dogioes
on arts, he quitted the University, and retired
to the beautiful estate of EUery, on Lake
Wmdennere He had spent some portion of
the year in Edinburgh, and there made the
acquaintance of Sir Walter Scott, who spoko
of him in a lebter as " an eccentric genius "
After putting forth some minor lyiioal at-
tempts, he, in 1812, published " The Isle of
Patmos," which was well received. His
piepossossions, both political and literary, led
him to attach himself to the little band of
young Tones, with Scott at their head, who
caused "Blaokwood's Magazine" to be
started as an outlet of Scottish Toryism In
1816 Wilson produced "The City of the
Plague , " in 1820 he was nominated to the
chair of moral philosophy in the Univor&ity of
Edinburgh. He next published " Lights and
Shadows of Scottish Life," and the " Trials of
{ Margaret Lyndsay," political articles, and
literary criticisms In 1825 he began his
celebrated " Noctes Ambrosianoo," under the
name of Christopher North. In the interval
(1836-46) he wrote, as a pendant to the
" JSToctes," his " Dies BoreoloV but these
met with less success. In 1855 a collected
edition of his works was commenced — See
Shaw's "Hist Eng Lit", Dr Angns's
" Handbook Eng Lit " , Professor Spolding ;
Gilfillon's " Gal. of Lit. Port "

J H WIFFEN".

" J H Wiffen, born near Woburn 1792,
died 1856, an English poet and translator,
who was a member of the Society of
Fnends, and for some years followed the
profession of schoolmaster His earliest
efforts in literature were some pooms con-
tributed to the Rev M Pairy's " History of
Woburn," and a volume of verso, entitled
"Aonian Hours" In 1819 ho received the
appointment of private socictary to the Duko
of Bedfoid. As a translator, ho produced
Tasso's "Jerusalem Deliv^od," and iho
poems of Oarcilasso de la ^ega. As an
original writer, he published •• Historical
Memoirs of the House of Eussoll " — Boeton's
"Diet. Univ Biog"

FELICIA HEMANS.

"Felicia Hemans, born 1793, died 1835
Female authorship in England is of com-
paratively modem date Aftor the period
when the maiden queen condescended to figure
as a little occidental luminary in poetry, a
single star or two glitters in the sky of the
17th century, they bepfin to assemble on
greater numbers m the 18th , and in the con-
clusion of that century and tho commencement

From 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

of the present the literature of England
piesents the names of many females, in all
departments of knowledge, of pre-eminent or
of respectable merit. We regret that we are
forced to confine our selection to the name
that has been universally acknowledged to
stand at the head of our English poetesses

" Mrs. HemanS) originally Miss Felicia
Dorothea Browne, was the daughter of a
merchant, a native of Ireland, and born in
Liverpool, in September, 1793. The failure of
her father in tiade caused the retuement of
the family into Wales, and the childhood of
the poetess was spent among the inspiring
scenery of Denbighshire Prom a child she
was a versifier, and produced her first publica-
tion at the age of fifteen. At that of eighteen
she was maraied to Captain Hemans The
union was unhappy , her husband six years
afterwaids, for his health, went to Italy, and,
without any formal deed of separation, " they
never met again " Mrs Hemans continued
in her Welsh seclusion, the exertions of her
penv the education of her children, and the
duties of lehgion and benevolence, furnishing
her with ample employment. She died in
Dublin, during a visit to her brother. Major
Browne, in 1835. Her deathbed was an
affecting scene of Christian fortitude, resigna-
tion, and hope

" Mrs Hemans, like several modern writers,
is most popular in her minor poems Delicacy
of feeling, warmth of affection and devotion,
depth of sympathy with nature, and haimony
and brilliancy of language, are the features of
those charming little pieces. Her larger works
have the same characteristics, but become
languid and fatiguing from their very unifor-
mity of sweetness Her translations from
modern languages, and her ohivalrio poems,
exhibit great spirit and splendour of associa-
tion and imagery. Over her whole poetry, in
the phrase of Sir W Scott, there is too much
flower for the fruit Her stylo has been
peculiarly popular in America, and much of
the later American poetry is moulded on it.
The larger works of Mrs Hemans are e The
Sceptic,' 'The Vespers of Palermo' (a
tragedy) ; ' The Forest Sanctuary , ' ' Eecords
of Woman * " — Scrymgeour's " Poetry and
Poets of Britain," pp. 467, 468. See S. C.
Hall's " Book of Gems."

BERNAJBD BAETON.

Bernard Barton, born 1784, died 1849, was
a member of the Society of Friends, and the
amount of attention which he attracted is
perhaps mainly owing to the then unusual
phenomenon which he presented of a Quaker
poet — the title, indeed, by which he came to
be commonly known. He published a volume
of " Metrical Effusions" in 1812 , "Napoleon,
and other Poems," 1822, "Poetic Vigils,"

1824 ; " Devotional Verses," 1826 Numerous
other pieces appeared separately, and in

' L. E LANDON.

" L E Landon, born 1802, died 1838— our
English Sappho. Her mind was a golden urn
filled with lusciously-scented rose-leaves, but,
alas i the breath of hf e was not there Her
heart was a crushed rose-leaf, yet giving forth
from that bruising the richest fragrance of
pensive Poesy.

" She lived in the world as in a lone gloomy
cavern, and scarcely saw through its twilight
the fioweis that bloomed around ; hei imagi-
nation (and she was all imagination) feasting
only on those entwined by the dewy fingers of
Memory and Fancy, the tearful dews of twi-
light lay thick upon them, and she sickened
and died through excess of fragrance; for,
however delicious the breath of flowers, it is
alas ! also true, that, in too great a profusion,
it is poisonous, and bears on its pinions the
angel of death '

" Thus, then, did L E L. breatho her last ;
and bitter tears of love fell fast and watered
the flowers o'er her early grave '

" Like Sappho, she sang of passionate love ,
like Sappho, she paved the way to, and dropped
into, an untimely and tragical giave ' " —
Orton's « Excelsior," pp 41, 42 See D M.
Moir's ' Poetical Literature of the Past Half
Century j " S. C. Hall's " Book of Gems "

JOANNA BATLUE

Joanna Baillie, born at BothweU, near
Glasgow, 1762, died 1851, the daughter of a
Presbyterian oleigyman, lived the greater part
of her life at Hampstead. She wrote various
plays, of which her tragedy of " De Mont-
fort " is perhaps the finest

WILLIAM KNOX.

" William Knox, a young poet of consider-
able talent, who died in Edinburgh in 1825,
aged thiity-six, was author of * The Lonely
Hearth/ 'Songs of Israel,' 'The Harp of
Zion/ &c Sir Walter Scott thus mentions
Knox in his diary — ' His father was a re-
spectable yeoman, and he himself, succeeding
to good farms under the Duke of Buccleuoh,
became too soon has own master, and plunged
into dissipation and ruin. His talent then
showed itself in a fine strain of pensive poetry."1
Knox spent his later years in Edinburgh,
under his father's roof, and, amidst all Ms
errors, was ever admirably faithful to the
domestic affections — a kind and lespectful son,
and an attached brother. He experienced on

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SEVENTH PEEIOD. —

several occasions substantial proofs of that
generosity of Scott towards his less fortunate
brethren, -which might have redeemed his in-
finite superiority in Envy's own bosom It
was also remarkable of En ox that, from tho
force of early impressions of piety, he was
able, in the very midst of the most deplorable
dissipation, to command his mind at intervals
to the composition of verses alive with sacred
fire, and breathing of Scriptural simplicity and
tenderness " — Chambers1 " Cyo. Eng Lit ,"
voL 21 p. 453.

THOMAS PRENX3LE

Thomas Pnngle, born at BlaiHaw, Teviot-
dale, 1789, died 1834, a Scotch poet and
writer of travels, was the son of a farmer, and
educated at the Grammar-school of Kelso and
the TT Diversity of Edinburgh After publishing
sevoi Jl minor effusions, he started the " Edin-
buTk'i Monthly Magazine," having among his
coadjutors Lookhart, Dr Brewster, Hogg, and
Wilson Pringle, experiencing some pecuniary
embarrassments, separated from the periodical,
and in 1820 went out with his brothers to
tho Cape of Good Hope Through the in-
fluence of Scott and others, he obtained the
post of librarian to the Government at Cape
Town. He also set up an academy, and
started a newspaper, when his print, " The
South-African Journal," having been declared
by the governor to contain a libel upon him,
Pringle fell under th© ban of the Government
authorities, and in time became ruined in his
prospects In 1826 he returned to London
The remaining years of his life were spent as
a working literary man His chief works
were "A Narrative of a Residence in South
Africa," "An Account of English Settlers in
Albany, South Africa," and several small
collections of poems. His poetry is fluent and
pleasing.

ROBERT MONTGOMERY.

Robert Montgomery, born 1808, died 1855,
a popular preacher at Percy Chapel, Charlotte
Street, Bedford Square. His poems passed
through numerous editions, but they are
stilted and unnatural in expression. Their
religious subjects, and the clever puffing which
they leoeived, contributed to their success
The chief of them were the " Omnipresence
of the Deity," " Satan," " Luther," " Mes-
siah," and "Oxford" He is perhaps best
known by the scathing criticism which he
received in the celebrated essay by Maoaulay.

THOMAS HOOD.

"Thomas Hood, born 1798, died 1842.
Poor Hood 1 who does not honour thy name,

thou man of the most opposite qualitips, wit
and pathos, yet brightly excellent in each '

"Whoever knows thy works loves thce
deeply, and pities thy unfortunate lot How
could the World let its most loving and feeling
son die in such utter poverty 9

" Hood's poems of wit aie tlio drollest, and
his poems of sympathy on behalf of his suffoi-
ing and forgotten fellow-oieaturos are tho
most deeply touching, yea, harrowing, in their
noble earnestness, ever written

" Who, knowing even his well-known f Song
of the Shirt * and ' Bridge of Sighs,' can over
cease to deluge his name with endearing
epithets P Our tears flow, and we become
all heart1

" Let the present age do that justice to his
memory which may partly atone for his
sorrows and neglect when living I

"The world should never be without a
Hood, to sing the sorrows of the wretched
rind forlorn, and appeal to their more fortunate
brethren m their behalf ' "—Orion's "Ex-
celsior," p 55 See Allibono's "Cut Diet
Eng Lit", S. C Hall's "Book of Gems,"
Beeton's "Diet TJmv Biog ," D M Hour's
" Poetical Literature of the Past Half-Con-
tury."

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

" He was, next to Mooie, tho most success-
ful song-wntei of our age His most attrac-
tive lyrics turned on the disti esses of tho
victims of the affections in elegant life ; but
his muse had also her airy and cheeiful strain,
and he composed a surprising number of light
dramas, some of which show a likelihood of
maintaining their ground on the stage He
was born in 1797, the son of an eminent and
wealthy solicitor, near Bath Destined for
the church, he studied for some time at Oxford,
but could not settle to so sober a profession,
and ultimately came to depend chiefly on lite-
lature for suppoit His latter years woio
marked by misfortunes

" This amiable poet died of jaundice in 1830
Has songs contain the pathos of a section of
our social system , but they are more calculated
to attract attention by their refined and happy
diction, than to melt us by their fooling-
Several of them, as c She wore a wreath of
roses,' ' Oh no, we never mention her,' and 'Wo
met— 'twas in a crowd,' attained to an extra-
ordinary popularity. Of his livelier ditties,
| I'd be a butterfly ' was the most felicitous
it expresses the Horatian philosophy in terms
exceeding even Horace in gaiety " — Chambers*
" Cyo. Eng Lit.," vol 11 p. 471.

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

" Hartley Coleridge, born 1*796, died 1849,
the eldest pon of Samuel Coleridge, produced

JVom 1780 to 1866.]

BIOGBAPHIOAL NOTICES.

some excellent poems, and from 1820 to 1831
was a contributor to ' Blackwood's Magazine '
He also wrote some excellent biographies of
* The Worthies of Yorkshire and Lancashire *
He lived mostly in the neighbourhood of the
lakes Grasmeie and Rydal, pleasing himself,
rather than pleasing others, by the indulgence
of an Tinfoitunate piopensity to intemperance,
which he hod contracted at college, and which
never left him thiongh life " — Beeton's " Diet.
TTniv Biog " See ASibone's " Cut. Diet. Eng.
Lit"

N.T CAERINGTON.

The subject of our present paper was born
at Plymouth, in 1777, of respectable parent-
age. Nothing remaikable occuried in his life
until he reached his sixteenth year, when he
was apprenticed to Hi Thomas Foot, a mea-
smei the pursuits of his profession, however,
weie unsuitable to hie literaiy predilections
The love of poetry, as embodied in the beauti-
ful creations of God, had taken possession of
his soul, and when once under the dominion
of that delightful passion, wo feel a gi owing
dislike to noise and bustle , it leads its vo-
taries to the contemplation of Nature in all
her loveliness and giandeur , it leads them to
meditate amid her solitary haunts and quiet
soclutsions, ovoiy flower is noh with a thousand
memories, evoiy shrub with a thousand as-
sociations. Literature stamps an everlasting
charm and an everlasting truth on those
scones which nse in simple majesty around
us

In the dockyard there could be little that
was congenial , its noise was little suited to
the spirit that had learned to love the crea-
tions of poet and of painter He might,
indeed, have dreamt of beautiful things while
at his labours , he might have depicted the
blushing scenery of nature, colouring it with
the golden and purple tints of his fancy , he
might have listened to the sweet music of
heaven and earth , but ever and anon the
truth would come that he was far from these,
and they far from him

Each day, as it glided by, bore with its
fading glories the entreaties of our poet for
a change of situation it was in vain he
asked, the boon was refused After some
three years of hope and fear he ran away.
He had no sooner done this, than he felt the
effects of his own rashness, for not having
courage to return home, he seemed an out-
cast and an exile In this emergency he
entered on " shipboard," and soon after was
present at the victoiy off Cape St Vincent,
on the 14th of February, 1797 Having
written some verges on the occasion, the first
he ever penned, they met the eye of his oap-
toin, who appieoiatod thoir monts, and became
deeply interested in their author Having
learned his storT% he piomisod to send him to

his parents immediately on their arrival in
England The youthful bard soon obtained
forgiveness, and was once more reinstated in
the home of infancy. He was now allowed to
choose hrs own profession, and ere very long
became a public schoolmaster

Seven years after this, we find him removed
to Haidstone, in Kent In 1805 he married,
and continued to pursue his avocation with
success until 1809, when he returned to
Plymouth, at the earnest lequest of some
friends, who were anxious to place their sons
under his care , he remained here till within
six months of his death his duties allowed
him little or no recreation In 1820 he pro-
duced ma ee Banks of Tamar," which, was well
received ; and four years afterwards he pub-
lished " Daitmooi," with still gi eater success.
Priends now gatheied round him, and even
royalty itself smiled. He continued from
this time to write occasional pieces for maga-
zines until disabled by sickness In 1830
he relinquished his school and removed to
Bath, where he died a few months afterwaids.
His bunal-place seems suited to his character
it lies m the secluded village of Combehay,
somewhat more than three miles from his
latest residence, " deep sunk "ma romantic
and sequestered vale

Our authoi's finest poem is, unquestion-
ably, "Dartmoor" It is marked by much
truth and beauty, and its strain is lively and
joyous , thoio are a few melancholy notes, a
few pensive touches, its versification is in
general harmonious, and rts description
strong and characteristic , its imagery correct,
and its associations pleasant , its episodes are
full of sweetness , it scents of the gorse and
broom which grow on our heaths, and sounds
with the murmuring of brooks and the dashing
of the rushing torrent.

.And who is theie amongst us who feels
not the power of local sympathy' How
beautiful and bright those hills up which we
toiled in childhood' how thick they stand
i with sweet associations' how lovely those
woodbine lanes along which our feet used to
stray, and what remembrances entwine their
green hedge-rows and shady trees ' The very
I wild-fl owei s that trembled in the evening
' breeze seemed more exquisite than others
How quiet and calm the village we were ac-
customed to visit, with its straw-ioofod
cottages, low porches, and latticed panes,
with its ancient church and ivied parsonage '
There seems to bo a deeper shade in those
yews that skirted the church-yard, and a more
softened repose breathed over the lonely graves
And thus we ever cling to those streams, and
walks, and flowers, and trees, and peaceful
huts, and Elizabethan mansions we gazed on
in bygone years ; memory adorns thorn with
a more than rainbow beauty

The sky of Italy may be bright and
sunny, but the sky which mantled over tho
place of our birth, and which witnessed our

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES

[SEVENTH PBBIOD —

youthful sports, seems to us more sunny and,
more bright Other lands may be graced
with the narcissus and the orange-blossom,
and may be breathed on by gentle winds and
balmy gales, and there may be silvery
whisperings in their woods, but that nook
which beheld us laughing in the joyance of
childhood seems to be graced with sweeter
flowers and breathed on by moie softened
gales , and from out its woods comes a more
silvery music Other countries may be decked
with high-crested mountains and deep dark
lakes reflecting in their still waters the mag-
nificent sunset and sunrise and the resplendent
glory of the starry host , but there is a retreat
which yields to us thoughts more stirring
and feelings more throbbing than any of
these.

There are times when the soft and volup-
tuous please not, when we seek the solitary
region ; tjie stern features of nature are then
more suited to the soul; we love its severer
beauties ; the voice of waters amid the solem-
nity of seeming desolation is proper music,
none other is desirable The singing of the
birds harmonizes not, the cooing of the dove
is unwelcome ; the whispering of trees, hum
of bees, and tmglmgs of the sheep-bell belong
not to creation in its wilder domains. The
silvery chime of the chapel-bell would be
ungrateful , nothing but the torrent's hoarse
and dashing sounds are in accordance. In
such a spot, all solitary and alone, sublime
thoughts will often pass over the spirit, and
shake it as with a storm ; a mightier power
is disclosed, a more tremendous energy, the
busy world is shut out, the transient affairs
of mortals shrink into littleness , the immortal
stands divested of its earthhness ; we feel, as
it weie, a new being. With the vast sky
above, and the wide waste below, the mind
puts on its highest and loftiest attributes —
See Allibone's " Cnt. Diet. Bng. Lit. ," I) M.
Moir'a "Poetical Lit. of the Fast Half-
Century."

"WILLIAM BECKFOED.

" William Beekford, born 1770, died near
Bath, 1844, the only legitimate son of Alder-
man Beckford, who, in the time of G-eorge HL,
was twice mayor of London. He is known by
his great wealth, which enabled him to erect
the magnificent structure called Fonthill ; and
by his being the anther of 'Vathek,' and
several other works. This work is an Arabian
tale, which was composed at one sitting.
'It took me,' said he, 'three days and two
nights of hard labour. I never took off my
clothes the whole time * It is a work of great
genius, and, according to Byron, for correct-
ness of costume, beauty of description, and
power of imagination, the most eastern and

sublime tale of all European imitations ' —
Beaton's " Diet ITniv Biog " See Allibone's
" Orit Diet Eng. lit "

JOHN GIBSON LOCKHAJRT.

" John Gibson Lookhart, born at Cambus-
nethan, Scotland, 1794, died at Abbotsfoid

I 1854, a modern English writer, author of tho
* Life of Sir Walter Scott/ and other valuable
contributions to literature, was the son of a

,' minister of the Presbyterian Church of Scot-
land, and was educated at Glasgow University,
and aftei wards at Balhol College, Oxfoid.
After a short sojourn in Germany, he went to
Edinburgh in 1816, intending to practise the
law at the Scottish bar He soon, however,
became a prominent member of a small band
of Scotch writers, whose chief was Wilson
In 1817, on the establishment of ' Blackwood's
Magazine,' Lockhart was one of its principal
writers The Toryism of the new periodical,

| and of its 'writers, caused both to become
especial favountes with Sir Walter Scott,
whose political views were of the same nature
Lockhart, in a short time, became an intimate
fnend of the great novelist, who advanced his
inteiests on every occasion In 1820 ho
married Sophia, eldest daughter of Scott, and
went to reside at Abbotsford During tho
succeeding five years he worked with great
industry and success in literature Ho pro-
duced, among others, 'Valerius, a Roman
stoiy , ' * Adam Blair, a story of Scottish
Life,' 'The Life of Burns,' 'The Info of
Napoleon , ' and published his translations of
the Spanish Ballads In 1826 he became
editor of the c Quarterly Beview,' and retained
the appointment until 1853 In biogiaphy
and biographical sketches he was particularly
excellent, as is attested by his ' Life of Scott/
and the smaller piece, entitled ' Theodore
Hook ' His health becoming delicate, he re-
signed the editorship of the * Quarterly Eo-
view,' and went to Borne in 1853 , but, after
a shoit stay, he took up his residence in
Scotland."— Beeton's "Diet. Univ. Biog"

T. K HEEVEY

T K. Hervey was born in Manchester, in
1804 After receiving his education at Oxford
and Cambridge, he devoted some time to legal
studies , but soon abandoned Coke and Black-
stone for the more congenial pursuit of letters
He published <e Australia, and other Poems , "
" The Poetical Sketch-Book , " <e Illustrations
of "Modern Sculpture 5" "The English He-
licon;" "The Book of Christinas." The
genius of T. K. Hervey, for he has genius at

From 1780 to 1866.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

once pathetic and refined, is not unallied to
that of Pnngle and Watts, but with a dash of
Thomas Moore. He writes uniformly, with
taste and elaboration, polishing- the careless
and rejecting the crude , and had he addressed
himself moie earnestly and unreservedly to
tho task of composition, I have little doubt,
from several specimens he has occasionally
exhibited, that he might have occupied a
higher and more distinguished place in our
poetical literature than he can be said to have
attained His *' Australia," and several of
his lyrics, were juvenile pledges of future ex-
cellence which maturity can scarcely be said
to have fully ledeemed —See Moir's e Poet
Lit of the Past Half-Century , " Alhbone's
" Cnt Diet Eng Lit ," "British Critic,"
Aug 1824, "Literary Gazette," 1829, p
360 ; Dr. Hawks's (New York) « Church
Becord , " «' Blackwood's Mag,," xvu 98, 99 ,
six. 88, 89 , " Men of the Tune," 1856.

BIGHT HON. JOHN WILSON CBOKEB.

" Bight Hon John Wilson Croker, born in
Galway, Ireland, 1780 , died at Hampton,
1857 , was educated for the bar, and, in 1800,
was entered a student at Lincoln's Inn He
devoted much of his tune, however, to liteia-
ture and politics, displaying in the latter field
strong Tory tendencies In 1807 he became
Member of Parliament for Downpatrick, in
Ireland, and m 1809 Secretary to the Ad-
miralty. This post he held for twenty years,
during which he sat as Member in the House
for various boroughs. Meanwhile he was
almost continually engaged with his pen, and
was a ready and versatile writer His most
extensive production is an edition of 'Bos-
well'js Life of Johnson,' which Macaulay
criticised with great seventy in the ' Edin-
burgh Beview.' He wrote, besides, ' Stones
from the History of England,' and edited
' The Suffolk Papers,' ' Walpole's Letters to
Lord Hertford,' and several other works." —
Beeton's " Diet, of TTmv. Biog "

MBS. SOTTTHET.

"Mrs Southey, born 1787, died 1854, a
popular poetess, and wife of the Poet-Laureate,
was the only child of Captain Charles Bowles,
of BucMand, near Lymington. Her earliest
production was the * Birthday.' But for more
than twenty years, the writings of Caroline
Bowles were published anonymously, and it
was not unta after the publication of c Ellen
Fitz-Arthur,' and several of the pathetic
novelettes which she had contributed to
'Blackwood's Magazine' under the title of
•Chapters on Churchyards,' that her name

and identity became known beyond a limited
circle Among the fnonds who had been at-
tracted to her by her genius, in the eoiher
part of her caieer, were the poets Southey and
Bowles , the former of whom became her
husband in 1839 At the date of the mar-
riage, Southey had been a widower two yeais,
his former wife having been vutually dead to
1mm for many more On his death, 3fr&.
Southey was left with means m sufficient, in
her state of health, to provide the ordinary
comforts of life , but was placed on the Civil
List for a pension of ,£200 a year The prin-
cipal of Mrs Southey 's works are 'Ellen
Fitz-Arthtir a Poem,' 'The Widow's Tale,
and other Poems , ' ' Solitary Hours,' prose
and verse; 'Chaptcis on Churchyards,'
* Tales of the Factories , and ' E>obin Hood,
a Fiagment, by the lato Robert Southey and
Caroline Bowles : with other Poems/ " —
Beeton's "Diet. Univ Biog."

ELIZABETH BBOWNING-

" Elizabeth Browning, originally Miss Bar-
rett, wife of the poet , born in London, date
unknown , died at Floienoe, in 1861 ; gave
early indications of genius, and was educated
with the utmost caie At the age of seven-
teen she published ' An Essay of Mind, with
other Poems,' and m 1838 appeared her
'Seraphim,' which was succeeded by 'The
Eomaunt of the Page,' ' The Drama of Exile,'
c Isabel's Child,' ' Casa Guidi Windows,' and
several miscellaneous pieces, all of which
occupy a high place in our poetical hterature.
Besides these original works, she had trans-
lated the c Prometheus Bound,' of JSschylus,
and contributed a senes of papers to the
London * Athenssum ' on the Greek-Christian
poets In 1856 appeared her ' Aurora Leigh,'
which has many admirers " — Beeton's " Diet.
Umv Biog."

DAVID MACBETH MOIB

** David Macbeth Moir,born at Musselburgh,
1798, died 1851, a modern poet and prose
writer, who was educated for and practised
the medical profession. He made his first
appearance as an author in 1812, by publish-
ing a small volume of poems. He next wrote
for some local magazines and journals, and,
at the commencement of ' Blackwood's Maga-
zine,' he became a contributor to its pages,
and remained so until his death. For the
same magazine he also wrote ' The Auto-
biography of Mansie Wauch.' In 1831 ho
published the e Outlines of the Ancient
History of Medicine,' and, in the same year,
exeited himself energetically while the cholera
raged m Musselburgh, where he practised his

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

profession, and subsequently published a
pamphlet entitled * Practical Obseivations on
Malignant Cholera ' In 1851 he delivered a
course of lectures upon the * Poetical Litera-
ture of the Past Century,' at the Edinburgh
Philosophical Institution. As a poet, he was
tender and pathetic, rather than forcible and
original His poetical works were collected
in 1852, and to them was prefixed his life.
Dr Moir was a graceful essayist, and a com-
petent man of science, and was, moreover, a
kind and excellent man." — Beeton's "Diet
TJnrv Biog."

or, the Soldier and Statesman,' 3 vols , c Cha-
racter of Curran's Eloquence and Politics '
POETICAL * Pans in 1815, and other Poems ,'
'Catiline, a Tragedy, with othei Poems/
' The Angel of the World,' an Arabian, and
'Sebastian,' a Spanish tale,' 'Poems Illus-
rative of Gems from the Antique ,' ' Scenes
from Scripture,' and a vast body o£ miscel-
laneous poetry scattered through tho periodical
j literature of the day "—Cleveland's "Eng
Lit 19th Cent Soe Gallon's " Galleiy of
Literaiy Portraits , " Alhbone's " Diet. Eng.
Lit"

I

GEOEGE CROLY

" George Cioly was bom in Ireland toward
the close of the last century, and was educated
in Trinity College, Dublin, where he took his
regular Mastei's degiee, and was ordained
' deacon and pnest ' in Ireland After tins
he went to England to settle, and was recom-
mended by Loid Brougham (though differing
nmch from him m public views) to the living
of St Stephen's church, Walbrook, London,
where he still continues, discharging his duties
with assiduity, and with a true zeal for the
cause of the truth and the gospel He is an
independent thinker and writer, and prefers
freedom of thought and speech to preferment
in e the church *

"Few authors of the nineteenth century,
who have written so much, have written so
well as Dr Croly His prose style is clear,
rich, idiomatic, and at times eloquent , while
as a poet he has many great and shining
qualities—* a rich command of language,
whether for the tender or tho senous, an ear
| finely attuned to musical expression, a fertile
and lucid concoptive power, and an intellect
at once subtle and masculine Hundreds of
•copies of verses from his indefatigable pen,
some of them of surpassing excellence, lie
scattered about — iich bouquets of unowned
flowers — thioughont tho \vide, unbounded
fields of periodical liteiatuie '

" The following, I behove, is a full list of
Dr Croly's works "While they are so highly
creditable to the learning anil talents of their
author, they give evidence of an astonishing
industry that could accomplish so much, inde-
pendent of his paiochial duties THEOLO-
GICAL " Divine Providence , or, Throe Cycles
of Revelation / ' A New Interpretation of the
Apocalypse ' 'The True Idea of Baptism,'

* Sermons Preached at St Stephen's, Wal-
brook,' 'Sermons on Important Subjects,*
'Speeches on the Papal Aggression,' Pam-
phlets on 'Momage with a Deceased Wife's
Sister,' and on the "Propoze'T. Admission of
Jews onto Parliament ' POLITICAL and MIS-
CELLANEOUS • ' The Political Life of Edmund
Burke;' * The Personal History of George IV. ,'

* Historical Essays on Luther, &o ,' ' Sala-
thiel' (the Wandering Jew), 3 vols. ; ' Marston,

LORD MACATTLAY

" Lord Macanlay, born October 25, 1800, died
1859 He was the son of Zachary Macaulay, an
ardent philanthropist and one of the earliest
opponents of the slave trade Educated at
Trinity College, Cambridge, of which College
he became a Fellow, and called to the bar at
Lincoln's Inn, he suddenly achieved a literary
reputation by an article on Milton, in tho
' Edinburgh Review,' in 1825 This was the
first of a long series of brilliant litoiary and
historical essays which he contributed to the
same periodical He entered Parliament in
1830, and was almost immediately acknow-
ledged to be one of the first orators in tho
House He went to India in 1831 as a
Member of the Council in Calcutta and as
President of the Law Commission. Soon aftor
his leturn ho was elected by the city of Edin-
burgh as their representative in Parliament
(1840), and become successively Socrotaiy at
War and Paymaster of tho Forces Ho lost
his election in 1847, in consequence of
opposing the religious prejudices of his con
stituents, and from this tuno ho dovotod all his
powers to the undivided cultivation of letters.
Although he sat in Paihamont again from
1852 to 1856, he took httlo part in tho debates
of the House. He was laisod to the peerage
in 1857

"Macaulay is distinguished as a Poet, an
Essayist, and an Historian His «I-ay& of
Ancient Rome' are the best known of his
poems , but the lines which ho wrote upon
his defeat at Edinburgh m 1847, and m which
he turns for consolation to literature, are, m
our judgment, the finest of all his poetical
pieces His Essays and his History will, in
virtue of their inimitable stylo, always give
Maoaulay a high place among English classics
His style has been well characterized by a
friendly but discerning critic . — 'It was
eminently his own, but his own not by strange
words, or strange collocation of words, by
phrases of perpetual occunonce. or tho
straining after original and striking- terms of
expression Its characteristics were vigour
and animation, copiousness, clearness, above
all sound English, now a rare excellence.
The vigour and hf e were uaabatrng , perhaps

V,m 1780*o 1866]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

in that conscious strength which cost no
exertion he did not always gauge and measure
the force of his own woids. Those who
studied the progress of his writing might
perhaps see that the full stream, though it
never stagnated, might at first overflow its
banks , in later days it ran with a more direct,
undivided torrent. His copiousness had
nothing tumid, diffuse, Asiatic , no ornament
for the sake oi ornament. As to its clear-
ness, one may read a sentence of Maoaulay
twice to judge of its full force, never to com-
prehend its meaning. His English was pure,
both in idiom and in words, pnie to fasti-
diousness ; not that he discarded, or did not
make free use of, the plainest and most homely
terms (he had a sovereign contempt for what
is called the dignity of history, which would
keep itself above the vulgar tongue), but every
word must be genuine English, nothing that
approached real vulgarity, nothing that had
not the stamp of popular use, or the authority
of sound English writers, nothing unfamiliar
to the common ear *

" Macaulay's Essays are philosophical and
historical disquisitions, embracing a vast
range of subjects , but the larger number and
the most important relate to English History.
These Essays, however, were only preparatory
to his great work on the ' History of Eng-
land/ which he had intended to write from
the accession of James II to the time imme-
diately preceding the French Eevolution. But
of this subject he lived to complete only a
portion. The two first volumes, published in
1849, contain the reign of James II and the
Eevolution of 1688; two more, which ap-
peared in 1855, bring down the reign of
William HI. to the peace of Eyswiokin 1697;
while a fifth, published in 1861, after the
author's death, nearly completes the history
of that reign. Maoaulay, in a Review of Sir
James Mackintosh's c History of the Eevolu-
tion,' observed that ca History of England,
written throughout in this manner, would be
the most fascinating book in the language
It would be more in request at the circulating
libraries than the last novel.* The unex-
ampled popularity of Macaulay's own History
verified the prediction. In a still earlier
Essay he had remarked that we had good
historical romances and good historical essays,
but no good histories, and it cannot be
denied that he has, to a great extent, attained
his ideal of a perfect history, which he defines
to be ( a compound of poetry and philosophy,
impressing general rules on the mind by a
vivid representation of particular characters
and incidents.' "— Shaw's " Hist Eng Lit."

EBENEZER ELLIOTT.

"Ebenezer Elliott, born near Eotherham,
7<Hffcfiiure, 1781, died near Bamsley, 1849, an

English poet, who was an iron-merchant at
Sheffield, and became famous as a writer of
'Rhymes' against the Corn Laws. These
first appeared in a local paper, after their
author had settled at Sheffield, and produced
a powerful effect upon all who read them.
When they re-appeared m a single volume, in
conjunction with * The Eanter,' he no longer
sung in comparative obscurity, but commanded
a wide circle of admirers In 1834 a collected
edition of his works was published His
effusions have procured for him the right of
being emphatically the bard of Yorkshire, as
he is certainly, like Crabbe, the poet of the
poor and of the Corn Law struggle, before that
ended in the triumphal achievement of the
aspirations of his muse." — Beeton's "Diet
Univ. Biog "

EOBEET BURNS.

Robert Burns was the greatest poet that
Scotland ever produced , born at Alloway, near
Ayr, in 1759; died 1796 He received a
common school education. His chief advances
in general knowledge he owed to the books
he read, among which he mentions as fa-
vourites the " Spectator," the works of Pope,
and the poems of Alton Ramsay , among im-
printed books were the songs and ballads,
mostly of unknown authorship, which then
circulated through that part of Scotland, and
some of which were collected by Percy and by
Scott A little later Bums' reading became
more extensive, and to his list of favourites
weie added Thomson, Shenstone, Sterne, and
Henry Mackenzie. When sixteen years of
age he fell in love, and his feelings, as he tells
us, at once burst into a song. His first
volume of poetry was issued, in 1786, from the
provincial press of Edmarnock it became
immediately popular, and has ever since
exercised the greatest influence on the mind
and taste of Scotland.

His "Tarn O'Shanter" was deemed by
Burns himself to be his best piece, and in thii
judgment Campbell, Wilson, and Montgomery
concur. The combination it exhibits of the
terrible and the ludicrous is very charac-
teristic His "Bruce's Address," "A
Cotter's Saturday Night," " The Mountain
Daisy," "The Mousie'a Nest," and his lyric
to "Mary in Heaven" are equally charac-
teristic, though in a very different strain ; as
are "Mary Morrison" and "Ae fond Ess,"
— " a poem that contains," says Scott, " the
essence of a thousand love tales" Indeed,
nothing is more remarkable in Burns than hiq
range of subjects, and the appropriateness,
both of language and of feehng, with which
he treats them Romantic landscape, the
superstitions of the country, the delights of
good fellowship, the aspirations of ambition,
the passion of love — all arc treated with a
master hand, while he displays in each, as

54

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.'

[SEVENTH PERIOD. —

occasion requires, the pathos of Sterne or of
Biehardson, the humour of Smollett, the de-
scriptive power of Thomson, and the sarcasm
of Pope or of Churchill though all are too
often disfigured with irreverence and licen-
tiousness His songs, however, are the mam
foundation of his popularity . of these he has
written upwards of two hundred with great
geniality and power. The common Scottish
dialect was never used with more freshness or
grace than by Mm The success of his poetry
induced him to take the farm of EUisland,
near Dumfries, where he married his " bonny
Jean," and united the functions of exciseman
with those of a farmer. He entered upon lus
new occupation at Whitsuntide, 1788 The
farming proved a bad speculation In 1791
he relinquished it, and removed to Dumfries,
subsisting entirely upon his income in the
Excise, which yielded jfi70 a year In this
office, a dangerous one to men of his ten-
dencies, intemperance gradually gained upon
him, disappointment and «elf -reproach em-
bittered his life ; want threatened him ; and
in his thirty-seventh year he sank into an
untimely grave A more mournful history
the records of our literature do not supply.
It must be added that in his poems are sad
proofs that he quarrelled with the moral
teaching of Presbytenanism, as well as with
what he deemed its narrowness and doctrines.
TKa youth and early manhood, his simplicity
and genius, it is impossible to contemplate
without admiration; but his closing years
were darkened by neglect, and, alas I by low
habits unworthy of his fame. His letters,
published in Dr. Crane's " Life of Burns,"
must be read by all who would understand his
character, though they give a less favourable
impression of his naturalness and simplicity
than his poems.— -See Shaw's " Hist. Eng
Lit ;" Dr. Angus'a "Handbook."

ALEXANDER WILSON.

" Alexander Wilson, a distinguished
naturalist, was also a Scottish poet. He
was a native of Paisley, and born July 6th,
1766 He was brought up to the trade of a
weaver, but afterwards preferred that of a
pedlar, selling muslin and other wares. In
1789 he added to his other commodities a
prospectus of a volume of poems, trusting, as
he said, —

' If the pedlar should fail to be favour'd

with sale,
Then I hope you'll encourage the poet *

He did not succeed in either character ; and
after publishing his poems he returned to the
loom. In 1792 he issued anonymously his
best poem, 'Watty and Meg," which was at
first attributed to Burns. A foolish personal
satire, and a not very wise admiration of the

principles of equality disseminated at the time
of the French Revolution, drove Wilson to
America in the year 1794. There he was once
more a weaver and a pedlar, and afterwards a
schoolmaster. A love of ornithology gained
upon mm, and he wandered over America,
collecting specimens of birds In 1808 ap-
peared his first volume of the * American
Ornithology,' and he continued collecting and
publishing, traversing swamps and forests in
quest of rare birds, and undergoing the greatest
privations and fatigues, tall he had committed
an eighth volume to the press. He FwiV under
his severe labours on the 23rd of August, 1813,
and was interred with public honours at Phila-
delphia In the ' Ornithology' of Wilson we
see the fancy and descriptive powers of the
poet. The following extract is part of his
account of the bald eagle, and is extremely
vivid and striking : —

" ' The celebrated cataract of Niagara, is a
noted place of resort for the bald eagle, as well
on account of the fish procured there, aa for
the numerous carcases of squirrels, deer, bears,
and various other animals, that, m their at-
tempts to cross the river above the falls, have
been dragged into the current, and preci-
pitated down that tremendous gulf, whore,
among the rocks that bound the rapids below,
they furnish a rich repast for the vulture, the
raven, and the bald eagle, the subject of the
present account. He has been long known to
naturalists, being common to both continents,
and occasionally met with from a veiy high
northern latitude to the borders of the tomd
zone, but chiefly in the vicinity of the sea,
and along the shores and cliffs of our lakes
and large nvers Formed by nature for
braving the severest cold, feeding equally
on the produce of the sea and of the land,
possessing powers of flight capable of out-
stripping even the tempests themselves,
unawed by anything but man, and, from the
ethereal heights to which he soars, looking
abroad at one glance on an immeasurable ex-
panse of forests, fields, lakes, and ocean doop
below him, he appears indifferent to the little
localities of change of seasons, as in a few
minutes he can pass from summer to winter,
from the lower to the higher regions of the
atmosphere, the abode of eternal cold, and from
thence descend at will to the tomd or the
arctic regions of the earth Ho is, thorofoio,
found at all seasons in the countries he in-
habits ; but prefers such places as have boen
mentioned above, from the great partiality he
hasforfish.

^ " ' In procuring these, he displays, in a very
singular manner, the genius and energy of
his character, which is fierce, contemplative,
dating, and tyrannical , attributes not excited
but on particular occasions, but whon put
forth, overpowering all opposition. Elevated
on the high dead Hmb of some gigantic tree
that commands a wide view of the neighbour-
ing shore and ocean, he seems calmly to oon-

.from 1780 to 1866.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

template the motions of the various feathered
tribes that pursue their busy avocations
below, the snow-white gulls slowly winnowing
the an , the busy tiingte coursing along the
sands, trams of ducks streaming over the
surface, silent and watchful cranes intent
and wading, clamorous crows, and all the
winged multitudes that subsist by the bounty
of this vast liquid magazine of nature. High
over all these hovers one whose action in-
stantly arrests his whole attention By his
wide curvature of wing, and sudden suspension
in air, he knows him to be the fish-hawk,
settling over some devoted victim of the deep
His eye kindles at the sight, and balancing
himself with half-opened wings on the branch,
he watches the result. Down, rapid as an
arrow from heaven, descends the distant
object of his attention, the roar of his wmga
reaching the ear as it disappears in the deep,
making the surges foam around At this
moment the eager looks of the eagle are all
ardour , and, levelling his neck for fight, he
sees the fish-hawk once more emerge, strug-
gling with his prey, and mounting in the air
with screams of exultation. These are the
signal for our hero, who, launching into the
air, instantly gives chase, and soon gams on
the fish-hawk ; each exerts his utmost to
mount above the other, displaying in these
rencontres the most elegant and sublime aerial
evolutions. The unencumbered eagle rapidly
advances, and is just on the point of reaching
his opponent, when, with a sudden scream,
probably of despair and honest execration, the
latter drops Ms fish . the eagle, poising him-
self for a moment, as if to take a more certain
aim, descends lake a whirlwind, snatches it in
his grasp ere it reaches the water, and bears
Ms ill-gotten booty silently away to the
woods.'

" By way of preface, * to invoke the cle-
mency of the reader,1 Wilson relates the
following exquisite trait of simplicity and
nature.-—

" 'In one of my late visits to a friend in
the country, I found thoir youngest son, a fine
boy of eight or nine years of age, who usually
resides in town for his education, just return-
ing from a ramble through the neighbouring
woods and fields, where he had collected a
large and very handsome bunch of wild
flowers, of a great many different colours;
and, presenting them to his mother, said,
"Look, my dear mamma, what beautiful
flowers I have found growing on our place !
Why, all the woods are full of them ! red,
orange, and blue, and 'most every colour
Oh ' I can gather you a whole parcel of them,
much handsomer than these, all growing in
our woods ' Shall I, mamma ? Shall I go
and bring you more ? " The good woman re-
oeived the bunch of flowers with a smile of
affectionate complacency . and, after admiring
for some tune the beautiful simplicity of
Nature, gave her willing consent, and the

little fellow went off on the wings of eostacy
to execute his delightful commission.

" * The similarity of this little boy's en-
thusiasm to my own struck me, and the reader
will need no explanations of mine to make the
application Should my country receive with
the same gracious indulgence the specimens
which I here humbly present her, should she
express a desire for me to go and bring her
more, the highest wishes of my ambition will
be gratified , for, in the language of my little
friend, our whole woods are full of them, and
I can collect hundreds moie, much handsomer
than these.'

" The ambition of the poet-naturalist was
amply gratified" — Chambers1 " Cyc. Eng.
lit " vol. ii. p 486-87.

HECTOR MACNEILL.

Hector Maoneill was born in 1746, and died
in 1818 He was brought up to a mercantile
life, but was unsuccessful in most of Ms
business affairs. In 1789 he published a
legendary poem, " The Harp , " and in 1795
his moral tale, " Scotland's Skaith ; or, the
History o' Will and Jean" The object of
this latter production was to depict the evils
of intemperance He wrote several Scottish
lyrics The latter years of the poet were
spent in comparative comfort in Edinburgh,
where he enjoyed the refined and literary
society of the Scottish capital till an advanced
age.— gee Chambers' "Cyo. Eng. lit,"

EOBEET TAtfffAHILL.

"Robert TannaML, a lyrical poet of a
superior order, whose songs rival all but the
best of Burns's in popularity, was born in
Paisley on the 3rd of June, 1774. His edu-
cation was limited, but he was a diligent
reader and student. He was early sent to
the loom, weaving being the staple trade of
Paisley, and continued to follow his occupation
in his native town until his twenty-sixth year,
when, with one of his younger brothers, he
removed to Lancashire. There he continued
two years, when the declining- state of Ms
father's health induced "h-*™ to return. He
arrived in tune to receive the dying blessing
of Ms parent, and a short tune afterwards
•we find him writing to a friend — ' My brother
Hugh and I are all that now remain at home,
with our old mother, bending tinder ago and
frailty , and but seven years back, nine of us
used to sit at dinner together.' Hugh
married, and the poet was left alone with his
widowed mother. On this occasion he adopted
a resolution which he has expiossed in the
following lines ^g_ju_

^*- 54*

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

THE m,iAJj vow.

Why Heaves my mother oft the deep-
drawn sigh p
Why starts the big tear glistening in her

eye5
Why oft retire to hide her bursting

grief?
Why seeks she not, nor seems to wish

relief?
JTis for my father, mouldering with the

dead,

My brother, in bold manhood, lowly laid ;
And for the pains which age is doom'd

to bear,
She heaves the deep-drawn sigh, and

drops the secret tear.
Yes, partly these her gloomy thoughts

employ,

Bnt mostly this o'erolouds her every joy;
She grieves to thiTife she may be buiden-

some,
Now feeble, old, and tottering to the

tomb

0 hear me, Heaven ' and record my

vow,

Its non-performance let thy wrath
pursue '

1 swear, of what thy providence may

give,
My mother qh%n her due maintenance

have.
'Twas hers to guide me through life's

early day,
To point out virtue's paths, and lead the

way-
Now, while her powers in fngid languor

sleep,
'Tis mine to hand her down life's rugged

steep;

With all her little weaknesses to bear,
Attentive, kind, to soothe her every care.
*Tis Nature bids, and truest pleasure

flows
Prom lessening an aged parent's woes.

** The filial piety of Tannahill as strikingly
apparent from this effusion, but the inferiority
of the lines to any of his Scottish songs
shows how little at home he was in English
Pig mother outlived him thirteen years
Though Tannahill had occasionally composed
verses from a very early age, it was not till
after this time that he attained to anything
beyond mediocrity Becoming acquainted
with Mr. E A Smith, a musical composer,
the poet applied himself sedulously to lyrical
composition, aided by the encouragement and
the musical taste of his friend. Smith set
some of his songs to original and appropriate
airs, and in 1807 the poet ventured on the
publication of a volume of poems and songs,
of which the first impression, consisting of
900 copies, were sold in a few weeks It is
related that in a solitary walk on one occasion

his musings were interrupted by the voice of
a country girl in an adjoining field singing by
herself a song of his own —

* We'll meet beside the dusky glen, on
yon burnside — '

and he used to say he was more pleased at
this evidence of his populaiity, than at any
tribute which had ever been paid him Ho
afterwards contributed some songs to Mr
George Thomson's 'Select Melodies,' and
exerted himself to procure Irish, airs, of which
he was very fond Whilst delighting- all classes
of his countrymen with his native songs, the
poet fell into a state of moibid despondency,
aggravated by bodily weakness, and a ten-
dency to consumption He had prepared a
new t edition of his poems for the press, and
sent* the manuscript to Mr Constable, the
publisher; but it was returned by that gentle-
man, in consequence of his having more new
works on hand than he could undertake that
season. This disappointment preyed on the
spirits of the sensitive poet, and his me-
lancholy became deep and habitual. He
burned all his manuscripts, and sank into a
state of mental derangement. Betuining
from a visit to Glasgow on the 17th of May,
1810, the unhappy poet letired to rest , but
' suspicion having been excited, in about an
hour afterwards it was discovered that he had
stolen out unperceived Search was made in
eveiy direction, and by the dawn of the
morning the coat of the poet was discovered
lying at the side of the tunnel of a noigh'
bounng biook, pointing out but too surely
wheie his body was to be found ' Tannahill
was a modest and temperate man, devoted to
his kindred and friends, and of unblemished
purity and correctness of conduct His lament-
able death arose from no want or irregularity,
but was solely caused by that morbid disease
of the mind which at length overthrew his
leason. The poems of this ill-starred sou of
genius are greatly inferior to his songs. They
have all a commonplace artificial oharactoi.
His lyrics, on the other hand, are noh and
original both in description and sentiment
His diction is copious and luxuriant, par-
ticularly in describing natural objects and the
peculiar features of the Scottish indscape
His simplicity is natural and unafiectod , arid
though he appears to have possessed a deeper
sympathy with nature than with the workings
of human feeling, or even the passion of love,
he is often tender and pathetic His ' Gloomy
Winter's now awa' ' is a beautiful concentra-
tion of tenderness and melody." — Chambers'
" Cyc. Bng. Lit." vol. n. pp. 490-91.

RICHAED GALL.
Pochard Gall, born 1776, died 1800. Hi

From 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

was contemporary with. TairnaTnlT, and pos-
sessed a kindred taste of song writing.

JOHN MAYNE.

" John Mayne, author of the ' Siller Gun,"
' Glasgow,' and other poems, was a native of
Dumfries , boin in the year 1761, and died
in London in 1836 He was brought up to
tho printing business, and whilst apprentice
in the ' Dumfries Journal ' office, in 1777, in
his sixteenth year, he published the germ of
his ' Siller Gun ' in a quarto page of twelve
stanzas The subject of the poem is an an-
cient custom in Dumfries, called ' Shooting
for the Siller Gun,1 the gun being a small
silver tube presented by James VI, to the in-
corporated trades as a piize to the best
marksman. This poem Mr. Mayne continued
to enlarge and impiove up to the time of his
death The twelve stanzas expanded in two
years to two cantos ; in another year (1780)
the poem was published — enlarged to three
cantos— in ' Ruddiman/s Magazine , * and in
1808 it was published in London in four cantos
This edition was seen by Sir Walter Scott,
who said (in one of his notes to the ' Lady of
the Lake ') ' that it surpassed tho efforts of
Fergussou, and came near to those of Burns '
In 1830 tho ' Siller Gun ' was again reprinted
with the addition of a fifth canto Mr. Mayne
was author of a shoit poem on 'Hallo-
ween,' printed in e Ruddiman's Magazine ' in
1780 , and in 1781 he published at Glasgow
his fine ballad of ' Logan Bioes,' which Burns
had seen, and two linos of which he copied
into his ' Logan Water/ The c Siller Gun ' is
humorous and descriptive, and is happy in
both The author is a shrewd and lively
observer, full of glee, and also of gentle and
affectionate recollections of his native town
and all its people and pastimes. The ballad
of ' Logon Braes ' is a simple and beautiful
lyric, superior to the more elaborate version
of Burns. Though long resident in London
(as proprietor of the ' Star ' newspaper), Mr.
Mayne retained his Scottish enthusiasm to
the lost ; and to those who, like ourselves,
recollect him in advanced life, stopping in the
midst of his duties, as a public journalist, to
trace some remembrance of his native Dum-
fries and the bonks of the Nith, or to hum
over some rural or pastoral song which he hod
heard forty or fifty years before, his name, as
well as his poetry, recalls the strength and
permanency of early feelings and associations "
— Chambers' " Cyc Eng Lit." vol. 11 pp 492-
93.

SIB ALEXANDER BOSWELL

" Sir Alexander Boswell, born 1775, died
1822, the eldest son of Johnson's biographer,

was author of some amusing songs, which are
still very popular. ' Auld Gudeman, ye're a
Druohen Carle,' 'Jenny's Bawbee,' Jenny
Dang the Weaver,' &o., display considerable
comic humour, and coarse but characteristic
painting. The higher qualities of simple
rustic grace and elegance he seems never to
have attempted In 1803 Sir Alexander col-
lected his fugitive pieces, and published them
under the title of * Songs chiefly in the Scottish
Dialect* In 1810 he published a Scottish
Dialogue, in the style of Fergusson, called
' Edinburgh, or the Ancient Royalty , a Sketch
of Manners, by Simon Gray ' This sketch is
greatly overcharged. Sir Alexander was an
ardent lover of our early literature, and re-
printed several works at his private printing-
press at Anchinleok When politics ran high,
he unfortunately wrote some peisonal satires,
for one of which he received a challenge from
Mr Stuart, of Dunearn. The parties met at
Auchtertool, in Fifeshire- conscious of his
error, Sir Alexander resolved not to fire at his
opponent ; but Mr. Stuart's shot took effect,
and the unfortunate baronet fell. He died
from the wound on the following day, the 26th
of March, 1822. He hod been elevated to the
baronetcy only the year previous." — Cham-
bers' " Cyc Eng Lit." vol u p 494.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

" Allan Cunningham, born 1785, died 1842.
This poet, novelist, and miscellaneous writer,
was born of comparatively humble parentage
in Dumfries-shire. He began life as a stone-
mason , but his early literary ability was such
that, being introduced to Cromek, the editor
of ' Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song,'
and undertaking to procure contributions to
that work, he sent to the Editor, as genuine
remains, compositions of his own Cromek
hod slighted some original pieces shown to
him as the production of Cunningham, and in
retaliation, the young poet presented him with
fabricated ' antiques ' These form the bulk
of Cromek* s collection The cheat was long
unsuspected ; but the suspicious sagacity of
the Ettrick Shepherd and others, especially
Professor Wilson (see 'Blackwood's Maga-
zine,' Dec., 1819)r ultimately demonstrated
the imposition, much to the reputation of the
real author.

"Mr Cunningham repaired, in 1810, to
London, and obtaining an appointment of
trust in the sculptor Chantrey's studio, he
settled himself here for life In this congenial
position of comfort and independence, he
possessed opportunities for the employment
of his active pen, and for intercourse with
men of kindred genius His warm heart, his
honest, upright, and independent character,
attracted the affectionate esteem and lespeot

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

of all who enjoyed his acquaintance. He died
in London in 1842

" His larger works are, the ' Maid of Elvar,'
a species of epic in Spenserian stanzas, illus-
trative of Dumfries-store in days of yore,
and e Sir Marmaduke Maxwell,* & wild
tumultuous collection of Bolder superstitions.
His reputation rests chiefly on his smaller
pieces, which are airy, natural, and intensely
Scotch , vigorous and even splendid in their
higher moods, affectmgly pathetic in their
softer strains TT-IH novels, ' PaulJones,' &c , are
full of glittering description, and exaggerated
and unnatural character." — Scrymgeour's
«* Poetry and Poets of Britain," p. 436 See
AUibone's " Cnt. Diet. Bug. Lit./' D M.
Moir's " Poetical Literature of the Pasb Half-
Century , " S. C Hall's "Book of Gems "

JAMES HOGG-.

James Hogg, horn in Ettnok Vale, Selkirk-
shire, 1770, died 1835, known better as the
"Ettriok Shepherd" His school was the
mountain's side, where he kept the cattle and
sheep His education was scanty; but a
quick and retentive memory, great natural
gifts, and a fine appreciation of the wondrous
scenes around him, called up the slumbering
muse, and in 1801 he published a small
volume of songs. "The Mountain Bard"
followed in 1807. Soon afterwards he left
his occupation and resided at Edinburgh,
supporting himself entuely by his pen. The
"Queen's Wake" (1813) brought him into
very favourable notice It was followed by
"Mador of the Moor," "Winter Evening
Tales," &o. Hogg's chief delight was in
legendary tales and folk lore. Fancy, rather
than the description of life and manners, is
the prevailing character of tho poet's wiitings.
A modem ciitio says — "He wanted ait to
construct a fable, and taste to give due effect
to his imagery and conceptions. But there
are few poets who impress us so much with
the idea of direct inspiration, and that poetry
is indeed an art 6 unteachable and untaught.' "
—See Shaw's "Hist Eng Lit ;" Beeton's
"Diet. Univ. Biog.;" Maunder: Chambers'
"Qyc.Eng.Lit."

WILLIAM TENEANT.
" William Tennant, born at Easter-An-
rtruther, Fife, 1785, died 1848 , a Scotch poet,
who studied for a short time at the University
of St. Andrews. He was so unfortunate as
to lose the use of his feet while still young
Unaided, he taught himself German, Por-
tuguese, Hebrew, Syriac, Chaldaic, and other
languages After spending many years as a
schoolmaster and classical teacher, he, m

1835, received the appointment of professor o
Oriental languages in the University of St
Andiews. He wrote three dramas, exhibiting
considerable poetical power , the well-known
poem of ' Anster Fair,' * Tho Lifo of Allan
Eamsay,' and other works." — Beeton's "Diet.
TTniv Biog" See D M Moir's "Poetical
Literature of the Past Half -Century."

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

" William Motherwell, born 1798, died 1835,
poet and journalist , when a youth, obtained a
situation in the sheriff clerk's office at Paisley
where he continued for many years. In 1827
he published an interesting and pleasing col-
lection of ballads, entitled " Minstrelsy, An-
cient and Modern , ' and was afterwards
successively editor of the ' Paisley Magazine/
' Paisley Advertiser/ and the c Glasgow
Courier ' In 1833 was published a collected
edition of his own poems, some of which
possess a pathos and an intensity of fooling
seldom equalled. These qualities are strikingly
exhibited in his * Jeame Morrison,' and ' My
heid is like to rend, Willie,' an address by a
dying girl to her lover , while his success in
imitating the old mystic ballad is well exempli-
fied in the e Ettrn Lang of Sillerwood,' « Hoi-
bert the Grim,' and other pieces Some years
after his death, a monument to his memory
was erected by subscription in tho necropolis
of his native city, Glasgow " — Boeton's "Diet.
Univ Biog." See Chambers's " Cyc. Eng.
Lit "

ROBERT NICOLL.

"Robert Niooll, born in Perthshire, 1814;
died 1837 , a Scotch poet, tho son of parents
in humble circumstances, and whose efforts at
self -education were pursued under the most
disadvantageous circumstances. At the age
of twenty-one he produced a small volume of
poems, which became exceedingly popular, and
passed through several editions He shortly
aftei wards obtained tho post of editor of the
'Leeds Times,' which, under his control, was
more than tripled in its circulation His proso
writings consisted, for tho most part, of poli-
tical articles contributed to the before-men-
tioned print, and were marked by strongly
liberal sentiments and a clear, energetic style.
His health, which had always been frail, and
was probably shattered by his youthful
studies, gave way after he had been engaged
ipon his editorial duties about a year , and
he removed to Edinburgh, where he died
almost as soon as he had loached manhood-"
-Beeton's " Diet Univ. Biog "

From 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

ROBERT GILFILLAN.

Robert Gilfillan, a native of Dunf ermline,
has written songs marked by nrctoh gentle and
kindly feeling, and a smooth flow of versifica-
tion, which makes them eminently suitable for
being set to music — See Chambers' "Cyo.
Eng. Lit ," vol. li.

WILLIAM LAIDLAW.

"William Laidlaw is son of the Ettnck
Shepherd's master at Blaokhouse. All who
have read Lockhart's ' Life of Scott,' know
how closely Mr Laidlaw was connected with
the illustrious baronet of Abbotsford He
was his companion in some of his early wan-
derings, his friend and land-steward in ad-
vanced years, his amanuensis in the com-
position of some of his novels, and he was
one of the few who watched over his last sad
and painful moments ' Lucy's Flittm.' ' is
deservedly popular for its unaffected tender-
ness and simplicity In printing the song,
Hogg added the last four lines to ' complete
the story'" — Chambers' "Cyo. Eng Lit,"
vol. u. p. 507.

JAMES HISLOP.

" James Hislop was bom of humble parents
in the paiish of Kirkconnel, in the neighbour-
hood of Sanquhar, near the source of the
Nith, in July, 1798 He was employed as a
shepherd-boy in the vicinity of Airsmoss,
where, at the gravestone of a paorfcy of s1fl.m,
Covenanters, he composed the striking poem,
'The Cameraman's Dream' He afterwards
became a teacher, and his poetical effusions
having attracted the favourable notice of Lord
Jeffrey, and other eminent literary characters,
he was, through their influence, appointed
schoolmaster, first on board the Dons, and
subsequently the Tweod man-of-war He died
on the 4th December, 1827, from fever caught
by sleeping one night in the open air upon the
island of St Jago His compositions display
an elegant rather than a vigorous imagination,
much chasteness of thought, and a pure but
ardent love of nature" — Chambers* " Cyc
Eng lit ," vol u p. 508

WILLIAM AYTOUN.

" William Aytoun, author of * Lays of the
Scottish Cavaliers,' was a member of the
Edinburgh bar, but never, we believe, devoted
himself to any extent to the severer duties of
his profession. He was long, however, one of
the standing wits of the Parliament House,
as the law courts of Edinburgh are locally

denominated. He succeeded Mr Moir as
Professor of Literature and Belles Lettres in
the university of Edinburgh, where his lec-
tures— full of pith, energy, and distinguished
by fine literary taste — weie in great vogue.
Professor Aytoun was for some years one of
the chief contributors to 'Blackwood's Maga-
zine,* and few numbers appeared from which
fotq hand was absent At the time of the
railway Tnam'a he flung off a senes of papers,
— the first entitled, c How we got up the Glen
Mutohkm Railway,' descriptive of the doings
in the Capel Court of Edinburgh and Glasgow;
papers which for bioad, vigorous humour, and
felicitous setting forth of genuine Scotch, cha-
racter, are almost unrivalled. Under the nom
de guewc of Augustus Dunshunnei — then first
adopted — the professor frequently contributed
pieces of off-hand criticism on books and men
to 'Blackwood,' taking especial delight in
showing up what he conceives to be the weak
points of the Manchester school; and, hu-
morous though the general tone of the papers
be, hesitating not to dash headlong at piles
of statistics intended to prop up the fallen
cause of protection Aytotm's politics, as
may be inferred from his sole work published
•yo. an independent form, the 'Lays of the
Scottish Cavaliers,* were high Tory, or, rather,
they amount to a sort of poetic and theoretical
JoiCobitism, which finds vent m enthusiastic
laudation of the Maiquis of Montr ose and the
Viscount Dundee, as models of Scottish
heroes The ballads in question ore strongly
tinged by deep national feeling, and remind
tho reader of Macaulay's 'Lays of Ancient
Rome;' and, from the more picturesque nature
of the subject, are, perhaps, even still more
highly coloured. ( Edinburgh after Flodden,'
the ' Death of Montrose,' and the 'Battle of
Edliecrankie,' are strains which Scotchmen
will not willingly let die. Professor Aytoun
married one of the daughters of Professor
Wilson, otherwise Christopher North" —
" Men of tho Tune." See AUibone's " Cnt.
Diet. Eng. Lit."

HENRY HART MTLMANT.

"We are surprised that this poet is not
more universally known by his countrymen '

" There is an onency of colour about his
imagination that dyes every object upon which
it falls with the richest tints. Or it may be
compared to the nchly-stamed window of
some dim cathedral, which throws on every
spot or figure over which the light passing
through it falls, a most heavenly and saintly
glory

"His ' Fall of Jerusalem' has a fresh
breezy beauty and delightfulness about it,
joined with a vigorous action, that cornea us
on a bold, rapid stream to its conclusion

" His other poems show great command of
powerful and yet classical language, a chaste

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

elegance of thought, a profusion of glowing
imagery, and a vigorous manly spirit that do
"farmi honour both, as a man and a Christian
minister." — "Excelsior," p 50.

SYDNEY YENDYS.

cc Borne has been the subject of many a song
of triumph and many a note of woe — in her
youth, when she sat upon the seven hiUs like
a new-fledged eagle, sunning herself in the
eye of heaven ; in her full maturity, when she
waved her wings above the universe, and went
forth conquering and to conquer ; in the
autumn of hex splendour, when the clouds
began to close — when the long-baffled waves,
with steady march, rolled on to coyer her,
and when, her energies exhausted, her power
paralyzed, she tottered on her base, and fell
from the foremost place in the firmament,
like Lucifer the morning star. Macaulay
sings —

'Hail to the Grand Asylum,

Hail to the hill-tops seven T
Hail to the fire that burns for aye,

And the shield that fell from Heaven ' '

He tells us of the dauntless courage and the
high resolve, the love of country and the love
of home, the affection that burnt like a Vestal-
name in a Roman's heart and the blood that
ran like fire along a Roman's, veins ; how the
mystic horseman fought in the battle by the
Iiake BegiUus, and how good Horatius kept
the bridge in the brave days of old We hear
from Bulwer how Bienzi ruled and how he
fought and how he fell, and how all Rome itself
was the funeral pile of the last of the Roman
Tribunes Byron, in verses as magnificent
and melancholy as the rums he celebrates,
gives us the last act of the mighty drama, the
diadem dashed down, the sceptre snapped, the
* royalty- in ruins.' while Shelley, with a
• spirit as ethereal as the moonlight, wanders
among the shattered battlements and fallen
fanes, and touches with his sad and solemn
beauty, like flowers upon a warrior's grave,
the hoary vestiges of the Imperial City. And
now we have another poet discoursing upon the
same theme, but striking a different string
*TTp for the Cross and Freedom ' ' The eye
is not for ever closed in death, the soul is not
for ever departed it is there yet — it lives —
it breathes. The sun ye thought had looked
his last upon you from the weeping west shall
gather up his glories once again, and flash
with all the splendour of his prime Ye
thought that liberty was lost, the toy of
fools, the sport of fiends, the fancy-haunting
dream of shackled men * but lo I a beacon-
fire in the distance , it spreads from mount to
mount, ^ from height to height, and the red
flame flings a lustre on the midnight heavens,
and lights up on the earth faces sad, but stem

and resolute ; and in the shadow of the build-
ings that encircled their illustrious forefathers,
upon the soij where the Ceesars trod, and be-
neath the firmament that canopied the C&sars'
kingdom, they swear that Borne shall yet be
free.

" Vittono Santo goes forth as a Missionary
of Freedom; devotes himself to the task of
rousing up his countrymen, and inciting them
to shake off the Austrian yoke And, depend
upon it, before a man surrenders himself thus
unreservedly to a noble cause, he must count
the cost No holiday game will life be to him,
no gentle transit down the stream of Time —
no pleasant dwelling with the eyes and smiles
of happy children round him — no joyful
greeting of kinsfolk — no tranquil lasting
at the close of life among his old familiar
scenes — no peaceful gathering of his ashes to
his fathers when his day is done He must
up and arm himself for a conflict such as few
can stand He must * bear all things, believe

Sail things, hope all things, endure all things *
His must be the forty years' sojourn in the
! wilderness, to catch at last, perchance, but a

glimpse of the promised land afar off. He
must be content to ' sit in the gate and be the
heathen's jest, silent and self-possessed ' He
must count upon the curses of the woild, the
flippancy, the carelessness, the cold contempt
of those he would arouse , the deadly sickness
of a bleeding heart, a baffled hope, an enter*
prise abortive He must be ' all things to all
men ' he must till the barren soil, that yields
as harvest naught but thorns and briars , he
must see the flame of enthusiasm leap up and
then die out in darkness, like a midnight
rocket from a sinking ship , he must expect
to find his passionate appeals fall dead — pro-
fitless as dew upon the desert , he must lead
on the forlorn hope and perish in the breach ;
he must be the scapegoat doomed to boar the
labour and the toil, 'the fastings, the foot-
wandermgs,' the fearful weight of thought and
care and anxious expectation.

" The world considers such a character a
fool Who, say they, but a madman would
sacrifice ease, comfort, respectability, for the
sake of following the phantom of a dis-
tempered brain ; a visionary good which never
can be grasped. The world has sot up images
of clay and fallen down and worshipped thorn,
and the smoke of ten thousand sacrifices has
gone up like a frowning oloud, and hangs
between earth and heaven, shutting out the
blessed light And when one rises who will
only bow before the sacred presence of the
Truth; one with deep vision to detect the
counterfeit, and a loud prophet-voice to give
his spirit utterance, — when he smites down
the idol, and standing on its reeking ruins,
bids its blinded votaries shake their fetters
off—he has to undergo Tittorio Santo's perils
and to share "Vittono Santo's doom

" But to the Poem, which is a record of the
Missionary of Freedom as he pursues hia

F,om 1780«ol866]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

arduous task. We meet lam in various dis-
guises, and exercising1 his influence upon dif-
ferent natures — now smiting upon the ' cold,
proud, rocky heart1 of the worldling, now
•flftsfarpg out h^s thoughts like lightning upon
the careless crowd teaching the minstrels in
their own souls' language the noblest theme
that can inspire their song , and evoking from
the depths of woman's gentle nature that
mild but spiritual splendour which is the
crowning glory of a great cause, like the
orescent on the biow of night Time would
fail us were we to expatiate upon each several
scene, we must therefore content ourselves
•with presenting one or two extracts and
introducing a few comments

" The opening of the poem strikes us as
being very powerfully conceived The sun is
setting and his last streaks of glory are light-
ing up the heavens, the ' purple heavens ' of
Eome. They touch with all their sad and
solemn beauty the cramped and fettered limbs
of her who once was mistress of the world
They flit among the towers and battlements
which flash the splendour back no more , but
receive the sunshine shudderingly, and with a
fearful air, like a prisoner through the grated
window of his cell and still the bright
beams come and go as they were wont to do,
and seem to wonder why they meet not with
the olden welcome. Upon an ancient battle-
field a band of youths and maidens meet,
they sing and dance although their land is a
desolation and themselves but slaves — they
dance upon the spot where their great fathers
fought and bled to bind another ohaplet round
the laurelled brows of what was then their
Count? y. The Missionary approaches, dis-
guised as a monk, and bids them stop, they
dance upon a grave — the grave that holds his
Mother ' They yield to his solicitations and
withdraw a space • he follows and begs them
to forgive his vehemence, and bids them listen
how he loved his Mother : —

1 She loved me, nursed me,
And fed my soul with light. Morning

and Even,

Praying, I sent that soul into her eyes,
And knew what heaven was though I was

a child

I grew in stature and she grew in good-
ness.
I was a grave child ; looking on her taught

me

To love the beautiful : and I had thoughts
Of Paradise, when other men have hardly
Look'd out of doors on earth (Alas ' alas !
That I have also learn'd to look on

earth
"When other men see Heaven ) I toiTd,

but ever,

As I became more holy, she seem'd holier ,
Even as when climbing mountain-tops,

the sky
Grows ampler, higher, purer as ye rise '

"And then he tells them how strange
robbers seized her, bound her, while he and
I all her other children denied hei in her agony ;
I counted out the gold that bought her pangs ,
> and when she lifted up her shackled hands
| and prayed forgiveness for them — struck her '
The wellmgh quenched but still existing spirit
of his auditors is roused by this tale of vio-
lence, and with execrations they attempt to
kill him, -when he bids them stand off, for they
are partneis in the wrongs and sharers in the
unhallowed gain; that his Mother is their
! Mother —

1 Her name is ROME Look round,
And see those features which the sun

himself
Can hardly leave for fondness Look

upon

Her mountain bosom, where the very sky
Beholds with passion : and with the last

proud

Imperial sorrow of dejected empire,
I She wraps the purple round her outraged
« breast,

| And even in fetters cannot be a slave '

i "And then he launches into a long and
1 eloquent harangue he dresses up the past in

all its ancient pomp, as sunset streaming
' through stained windows lights up the dust-
; dimmed statues of ancestral rulers he shows
, them their present state, a life in death — a
• mockery of existence — 'a broken mirroi,
I which the glass in every fragment multiplies .'
I and looking forward, with a prophet's vision
j he evokes the phantoms of the future, the
! glories nebulous as yet, but destined to become
I the stars of earth — the fixed and flashing

diadems upon the brow of Tune Then by his

Country's wrongs, —

' By her eternal youth,
And ooeternal utterless dishonour,
Her toils, her stripes, her agonies, her

soars —

And her undying beauty —
By her long agony and bloody sweat,
Her passion of a thousand years, her

glory,
Her pnde, her shame, her worlds subdued

and lost,
He swears She shall be free ' *

Alas ' the heartless slaves have stolen away
one by one, and when the poor enthusiast
looks to find an answering echo to his great
appeal, he is alone with the grass and the
ruins and the broad blue sky and the soft
wind of heaven. And yet not quite alone
for one of the band of revellers, a Boznan
maiden, has been attracted, spell-bound by
the words that have fallen, like flakes of fire
from a burst bombshell, from Vittono Santo's
tongue and now she timidly approaches him
and asks if there be no office in the great work
which Borne* s daughters can fill — no services

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PHBTOD —

which, they can render to their common
mother A mighty change has passed upon
her spirit in these few brief moments the
missionary, all unconscious, held the master-
key of her affections, and now she is his in life
and death

* Alas ' the lore of women, it is known

To be a lovely and a fearful thing ;
All that they have upon that die is
thrown.*

She knows he has entered upon a perilous
enterprise — that he carries his hf e in his hand ,
but she will surrender fortune, fame, friends,
everything-, to be his follower, to execute his
orders, and to live within the shadow of his
presence But what can she do ? What part
in the drama can she sustain ? Woman can-
not grasp an abstract idea This Borne, tfns
Country, this impersonation of the frowning
rums which she saw around but bewildered her
she wanted to observe some glance of ' human
nature in the idol's eyes' — some touch of
hitman feeling in the Queen they strove to
reinstate — some symbol of humanity upon the
banners of the host. It was Borne she loved
personified in Rome's deliverer , it was Santo' s
wild and witching words that woke the music
from her heart-strings, and so she strives to
do his will, to prove herself not unworthy of
her leader. And nobly does she execute her
mission : Yittorio is imprisoned by a libertine
young lord, Francesoa purchases his freedom
at the pnoe of herself, and * in her superb high
loveliness, whose every look enhanced the
ransom,' begs —

* Another maiden hour for prayer and

tears.

Franoesca wore a poniard. She is now
A maid for ever.'

" The poet has displayed a very high degree
of talent m the conception of ^>"s sharacter
The labyrinthine mazes of passion are de-
veloped with a master hand The dazzling,
blinding rush of fresh thoughts and feelings
evoked mysteriously, hke the fabled well-
spring of Helicon, from the heart of the young
Italian girl the moments of doubt, suspense,
hesitation • the conflict between fear and love
— the fear of offending, of being oast off as
useless, of being but a drag upon the chariot-
wheels of the emancipator the love which
has dawned suddenly upon her like an Oriental
sunrise, and which she knows cannot perish
but with her existence— the love which would
be contented with the humblest post in his
great enterprise : the set determination to do
the wishes of her master— and the woman* s
weakness asking for some tangible reality,
some symbol of the divinity she is to serve —
some star to twinkle with a human radiance
on what, to her, would else be but one broad
and ^ blinding blue — the still, intense oom-
mnnings with her own spirit when she learns
that he is doomed to die by c the greatest

libertine in Milan ' — the &hud<lonngs of soul
as she contemplates her scheme for his libeia-
tion, and her last act of glorious self-forget-
fulness, when she accomplishes her object, and
| baffling the base hopes of the tyrant, dies ,
and in dying shows the greatness of a woman's
heart, the unsullied lustre of a woman's love
There is to us something mexpiessibly touch-
ing in this portrait, so pure, so exalted, yet E>O
true to nature , something which appeals to
our best feelings, and nobly vindicates the
noble origin of our common humanity And
j it is not merely a fine idea of the poet, a
, beautiful creation of the fancy with a rain-
bow's brilliancy and a rainbow's unsubstantial
life it is the personification of a great fact,
a special instance of the love which lies about
us like the grass upon the meadows True,
the sacrifices woman has to make now arc not
what they were then ; but though the light
has come down from the mountains to the
valleys — no more a beacon but a household
fire — it stall exists Ten thousand silent wit-
nesses are standing round us of the fact, more
eloquent in their silence. There are sacrifices
offered up every day within our ken as noble
as the Roman girl's, and the more wo con-
template and admire them the bettor will our
lives become. We cannot bear the vulgar hand
which rudely tears away the veil that hides so
many sacred scenes , but we give honour to
the man who shows us Woman in her noble
nature, her generous devotion of herself to
others ; for we feel he gives an impulse to our
spmt, subdues our miserable selfishness, in-
spires us with a hopeful and a healthy spirit,
lightens our burden in this lingering hfe-
jouiney, and lifts us nearer Heaven '

' Thou little child,
Thy mother's joy, thy father's hope —

thou bright,
Pure dwelling where two fond hoaitu keep

their gladness —

Thou little potentate of lovo, who comont
With solemn sweet dominion to the old,
Who see thoo in thy meny iancios

charged
With the grave embassago of that dear

past,
When thoy were young like thoo — thou

vindication
Of God — thou living witness against all

men
Who have been babes — thou everlasting-

promise
Which no man koops — thou portrait of

our natuio,
Which in despair and pndo we Room and

worship —

Thou housohold-god, whom no iconoclast
Hath broken ' '

"That 'strain falls on us like a snow-flake
on a fevered lip Childhood gleams on us once
again — those early days when we were inno-
cent and happy, when earth with its flowers

From 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

- and sunshine seemed a Paradise which would
never pass away — when the moon and the
stars were a mystery, and we believed that
God was up, far away in the great blue
heaven — when we felt as secure in the domestic
circle, as Adam did within the * cherubim-de-
fendod battlements' of Eden Childhood1
Before the serpent drew its trail across our
path and dimmed the lustre which it takes a
life-long labour to regain — before we tasted of
the Trees of Life and Knowledge and found
them dust and ashes in our mouth — * Tiees
of death and madness ' An immeasurable
gulf divides us from that blessed time — we
have passed from out that dream-land where
we were supremely happy in oui ignorance —
we have plunged into the fiery furnace of the
world, and taken part in its toils and thiob-
brngs, and restless heaving passions We
have felt the fever-strife of existence — the
elements which constitute at once the blessing
and the bane of manhood Many a hard lesson
havo we learned, many an agonizing thought
has maddened our brain, and many a wild
woo has swept across our heart-strings and
struck out harsh discord. Love has looked
upon us with her heavenly eyes, like a fairy I
from a fountain, and then died away in bub-
bling music, leaving us longing to follow her,
but not knowing whither. Fame, Fortune,
all the wreckers' lights the world hongs out
to tempt poor mortals to destruction on its reefs
and shoals, have met us Death has thrown his
shadow on our path, and muffled in his mantle
those wo called our own And then in some
still moment — some hour when we are sitting
silently over our lonely fireside, the ghosts of
our early days appear like ' gleams of a re-
moter world ' — old thoughts, old feelings, old
associations, come to life again— then, gazing
on the laughing landscape we have left for
ever, the golden sunrise which has gathered
to a burning heat, the fresh young corn-blade
which has matured through many a storm and
sunbeam till it bows beneath the weight of its
own age and longs for the sickle , — who has
not sometwnes wished he was a child again ?
Sometimes the wish steals on us when the
white-robed past confronts the sin-stained
present, and aggravates its hue by contrast ,
but life was breathed into the frame of each
that he might answer a purpose, and we must
ever Onward ' Knowledge is power, though
it be stamped into the spirit with a burning
brand • and he acts nobly who girds himself
up for action. There may be tears for him,
and throbbings of the heart, and passionate
sad voices from the past ; there may be soli-
tude and silence — the solitude of a being
friendless in a peopled world, but let him
pass on with a resolved but stricken spirit,
believing that the path he treads is that of
duty and the goal is God , and he shall find
that knowledge, purified by faith, is better
than unconscious innocence • his shall be the
crystal calmness of the current that has

passed the rapid and the precipice, and gono
to rest in some sequestered spot, the mirror
of the Heaven that hongs above it

" Let us glance fora moment at the closing
scene The Honk has fulfilled his mission,
the task which was appointed him he has
accomplished • and now prisoned, condemned,
sentenced to die on the morrow, he knows his
hour has come A number of his partisans
are gathered in the dungeon to bid hun fare-
well, to hear his parting words, to listen to
the last instructions of their leader ere he
passes from them for ever, and leaves them
to carry on the cause alone It is a solemn
and a critical moment He is standing in the
shadow of death and on the brink of the un-
seen world • the stormy post lies behind him
like the dashing ocean in the wake of the
baik that nears the haven. He has stemmed
the flood and grappled with the fury of the
whirlwind. He has lived among the strife of
elements, the war of deadly passions. He had
to kindle the first feeble watch-fire, and fan
its faint and sickly flame, he had to seek
materials to work upon, and then to mould
them to his purpose; he had to teach the
ignorant, to stimulate the faint-hearted, to
cheer the wavering, to check the undisciplined
ardour of the over-zealous — and all alone.
But now his voice is softened, and a calm-like
sunset rests upon his noble features.

c Let us brighten
This last best hour with thoughts that,

shining through
To-morrow's tears, shall set in our worst

cloud
The bow of promise '

" He puts away from him now the sound of
war, the shock of arms, the noise of hosts,
the banners and the blazoned ensigns ; and
he endeavours to instil into the minds of his
followers a knowledge of their higher duty,
of a more difficult but nobler task which, may
be theirs. He bids them—

1 Learn a prophet's duty :
For this cause is he born, and for this

cause,
For this cause comes he to the world,—

to bear
Wvtoiess '

" Truly, as his audience thought, 'tis a hard
saying — Who shall hear it ? It is comparatively
easy when the commander says, * Up and at
them,' to charge down the hill upon the enemy,
like the Life Guards at Waterloo ; but it is a
greater and a hundred-fold more difficult task
to stand as those Guards stood for seven mortal
hours upon the eminence without stirring
a step or firing a shot. It is a gallant thing
to fight with the free and the brave in defence
of our country, our shrines, our hearth-stones,
and our fathers' sepulchres — action animates
and prevents the spirits drooping , companions
in arms, though they be few, incite us on • we

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PEBIOD.-

fhng1 fear, doubt, irresolution to the -winds —
and death is indifferent to us, for we know
that glory deoks the hero's bier if it does not
bind his brow. But to "bear witness f

* Speak, speak thy message ;
The world runs post for thee The good

by nature,
The bad by fate, — whom the avenging

gods
Having1 condemn' d have first demented.

Know
By virtue of that madness they are

thine.

Lay-brothers working where the sanctity
Of thine high office comes not. Savage

friends
Who, scattering in their wrath thy beacon,

light

The fire thai; clears the wilderness. Un-
conscious

Disciples, writing up the martyr's title
In Hebrew, Greek, and Latin on his

cross.
Love him who loves thee ; his sweet love

hath bought
A place in Heaven. But love him more

who hates,
For he dares hell to serve ihee. Fray for

fai-pri

Who hears thee gladly; it shall be

remember'd
On high. But, martyr ! count thy debt

the greater
To the reviler; 7ie hath bought thy

With his own soul In all thy toils forget

not
That whoso sheddeth his life's blood for

thee

Is a good lover , but thy great apostle,
Thy ministering spirit, thy spell-bound,
World-working giant, thy head hiero-

phant
And everlasting high priest, is that

sinner
Who sheds thine own.'

'• To "bear witness r what a world of mean-
ing lies hidden in these few words ' how many
of the grandest elements of human nature it
requires to mould a character like this ! Every
man values the honest hearty good word of
his neighbours, and there are associations
gathered round the heart of each of us which
it is impossible to efface. To be estranged
from those we have lived with and loved from
infancy— to pass from under the shadow of
the faith that has fostered us — to look upon
old sights, old haunts, familiar scenes, and
find they are but fiends to mock us with a
memory of what once was — to see contempt
and scorn assume the place where love was
wont to reign — to know that the affections we
prized more than life are changed to worm-
wood—to watch our tried and trusted friends
deliberately range themselves in the f oemen's

ranks — to have the harrowing conviction
burned in upon the soul that we must go on
now alone — go along the path we have chosen,
and forego all the pleasures on which we
counted to render existence endurable — those,
tJiese things try the temper and the tone of
spirit — these constitute a frightful and a fiery
ordeal at which human nature shudders And
yet all this must frequently be undergone for
the cause of Truth. The alternative is a
terrible one, and many waver , but such have
not the elements of real greatness in them,
the qualities which constitute one who must
bear Witness. The world has its laws and
customs, its usages and ordinances, and
woe to the man who sets himself in opposition
to these. The world has its idols, its creed,
its rule of faith — woe to the man who rises
and declares its worship blasphemy — its creed
a falsehood — its rule of faith a damnable de-
lusion Woe1 truly; but unutterable woe
would it be if these men did not nse up ever
and anon, to smite the lazy blood into the
cheeks of humanity, to exorcise the demon
that directs the rabid multitude , to breathe
a holier feeling through a land defoood by
blood and onme. They are the pioneers of
Freedom, the vanguard of the hosts of Truth
And their fate is to be reviled and iidiculed —
blasphemed and buffetted — tortured body
and soul with all the ingenuity of cruelty
Well — so it is, and so it will be : they have
counted the cost; their death-smile is tho calm
of conquest ; and —

* They flee far
To a sunnier strand
And follow Love's folding star
To the evening land.'

" Vittono Santo is one of those — and now
his last hour has come. He has to take a
final look at that cause which he has watched
alone from its cradle • which he has reared
amid ten thousand obstacles, and guided
through ten thousand dangers he is leaving
it in the hands of his followers, and with aU
the solemnity of sorrow, with all tho majesty
of a man sublime in suffering and crowned
with the diadem of death, he endeavours to
form their minds, to instil into them those
great principles which have regulated his own
career He gives them a glimpse of tho higher
mysteries, and strives to stimulate their souls
to pierce the mist which hides them from tho
common ken He labours to communicate to
them that strong, calm, deep, earnest feeling
which is an ark of refuge to a persecuted cause,
and still on every clond that either frowns or
falls imprints the bow of promise Thus
having spoken words of comfort and assurance
to the companions of his toil, having done
everything in his power for the promotion of
the enterprise — with peace upon his brow, he
passes from them like the orb of day into the
chambers of the West : and then — * the night
cometh , ' — but it is a ' night of stars ' The

Prom 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

greater luminary lias set, yet bis ' apostle
lights ' have caught the mantle that fell from
him as he ascended, and ere the musket-shots
of the minions of the tyrant have passed
through his body, there is a band of twenty
thousand insurgents at the gates — led on by
a woman '

' Yes ' Freedom's battle once begun,
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won '

You may place what barriers ye will in the
way of Truth and Liberty — ye cannot stop
them. You may burn and slay and torture
their votaries ; you may drive them into the
mountains , you may scatter their ashes to the
winds and waters : — from grave and guillotine
and gory block proceeds an influence that
passes like electric fluid through the hearts of
men and mocks your mad endeavour.

* Truth is the equal sun,

Ripening no less the hemlock than the
vine

Truth is the flash that turns aside no
more

From castle than from cot. Truth is a
spear

Thrown by the blind. Truth is a Ne-
mesis

Which leadeth her beloved by the hand

Through all things j giving him no task
to break

A bruised reed, but bidding Tnm stand
firm

Though she crush worlds.'

"Truth is the hidden treasure which a
baffled and bewildered universe has been en-
gaged in seeking for sue thousand years.
What is Truth ? 'Tis a question which has
been often asked by the broken heart and
the bleeding breast , by the dauntless spirit
and the undimmed eye It has been asked in
the full triumph of faith, when the light of
eternity illuminated the world-mysteries , it
has gone up to heaven with the stifled sob
from the stricken spirit , it has been uttered
to the silent forest by the lonely anchorite ;
it has been proclaimed in the majesty of hope,
in the agony of despair, in the ghastly
eloquence of death Truth stands ever in
still, silent beauty, like a star which reeks not
of the clouds which come and go, and make
wild warfare in the heavens. These shall pass
away — the strife of tongues shall cease — the
vain possessions and pursuits of earth shall
vanish from their votaries — the workmen on
the walls and battlements of this vast Babel-
tower shall be arrested in their labour like
the moon at Ajalon— the incubus shall be re-
moved from the bosom of humanity, and the
emancipated universe shall recognize their
victim and their Conqueror — the solution of
this world-enigma — the Everlasting Truth.
But then the end oometh. Meanwhile there
must be agony and tears and death , there

must be the faggot and the fire ; there must
be hollow-heartedness and mockery : for
battle must be waged between the true and
false till tune shall be no more. There will
be—

* Dim eohoings —
Not of the truth, but witnessing the

truth-
Like the resounding thunder of the rock
Which the sea passes — rushing thoughts

like heralds,
Voices which seem to dear the way for

greatness,
Cry advent in the soul, like the far

shoutings
That say a monarch comes. These must

goby,
And then the tng.Ti who can outwatch this

vigil
Sees the apocalypse '

" There is a hearty purpose and a solemn
earnestness m ' The Ifcoman * which we think
is calculated to teach an admirable lesson to,
and produce a powerful effect upon, the minds
of the present age Never perhaps was it
more necessary to inculcate independent
thought and self-reliance, never more re-
quisite to guard individuals against losing
their identity in the mass , never more need-
ful to fix the image of Truth in the heart, and
tend it day and night as the virgins watched
the fire of Testa Our poet shows us the
dignity of man — the power he can exercise,
the active power of kindling great thoughts
in his fellow-men — rousing them up from
their lethargic sleep — snapping the fetters
which cramp their spiritual freedom, and
bidding them pursue the path which God has
placed before them, and along which duty
guides them — peradventure to a grave. He
shows us also Man's passive power — the
nobler of the two, and by far the more dif-
ficult to practise — the power which can impel
the soul right onward, like an arrow to its
mark, which yields not to the sun-smile of
fortune nor to the pitiless peltangs of the
tempest-cloud the power from which the
shafts of scorn fall off with deadened point ,
which walks unscathed through the fiery
furnace of a nation's mockery ; and gazes
with an unblenched eye upon the ghastliest
insignia of death He shows us Pity bending
with unutterable tenderness , Love sacrificing
self at the altar of its divinity , Resolution stem
as fate, sheathing the spirit as in a panoply
of steel , Hope, baffled, bleeding, but like the
dolphin, beautiful in death j Faith lifting its
flashing eyes to Heaven, and speaking forth
the words of inspiration. He takes us by the
hand and conducts us reverently among the
rums of the past — he leads us within the
circle of its magic presence, and bids us look
and wonder.

"We must conclude as we commenced.
What went ye out for to see P * The moral of

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PEBIOD —

all human tales ' — the melancholy monument
and memento of mortal grandeur and mortal
vanity—the City of the dead, who erst was
Queen of Nations — the Time-swept, bnt Time-
conquenng, Capitol — Imperial Rome.
' AH through the lorn
Vacuity winds came and went, but stirr'd
Only the flowers of yesterday. IFpstood
The hoar unconscious walls, bisson and

bare,
Like an old man, deaf, blind, and grey, in

whom
The years of old stand in the sun, and

Of childhood and the dead From

parapets
Where the sky refts, from broken niches

— each
More than an Olympus, — f or gods dwelt

in them,——

Below, from senatorial haunts and seats
Imperial, where the ever-passing fates
Woro out the stone, strange hermit birds

croak* d forth
Sorrowful sounds, like watchers on the

heights
Crying the hours of rum. When the

clouds
Dress' d every myrtle on the walls in

mourning,

With calm prerogative the eternal pile
Impassive shone with the unearthly light
Of immortality When conquering suns
Triumph' d in jubilant earth, it stood out

dark
With thoughts of ages like some mighty

captive

Upon Ms deathbed in a Christian land,
And lying, through the chant of Psalm

and Creed,
Unshnven and siJem, with peace upon his

brow,
And on his lips strange gods '

"Ashes to ashes — dust to dust- we will
not disturb the majestic repose, nor break the
silence which broods above the princely se-
pulchre , but we will be —

e Like some village children
Who found a dead king on a battle-field,
And with decorous care and reverent pity
Composed the lordly ruin, and sat down
Graver without tears.' "

—Lester's
4>62.

1 Criticisms," 3rd edit., pp. 440-

P. J. BAILEY.

P. J. Bailey, born 1816, a member of the
bar, son of the proprietor of the *' Nottingham
Mercury," is the author of ''Festus," "The
Angel World," and " The Mystic." Few
poems upon their first appearance have ex-
cited so much attention as " Festus.' ' Bailey
was but about twenty years of age when this

poem was finished The second edition, pub-
lished in 1842, was much enlarged, and in
later editions it has been still further aug-
mented, to about three times its original length.
It contains many exquisite passages of genuine
poetry, and is one of the most remarkable
books of the present century.

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER.

c{ Bryan Waller Procter, born about 1790,
a modern English poet, generally known under
the pseudonym of Barry Cornwall. He was
educated for the legal profession, and, during
many years, held an important appointment
as one of the commissioners of lunacy. His
first volume of poems was produced in 1819,
under the title of ' Dramatic Scones, and other
Poems1 His 'English Songs,' Memoir and
Essay prefixed to an edition of Shakspere,
' Maroian Colonna,' and others, evinced, in
their author, the possession of a graceful and
refined order of mind Some of his songs
became popular; and one of his tragedies
(that entitled 'Mirandola') which was pro-
duced at Covent Garden Theatre, was highly
successful A collection of some charming
essays and tales in prose by him was pub-
lished in America." — Beeton's " Diet, TJmv.
Biog"

CHARLES SWAIN.

" Charles Swain, born at Manchester, 1803,
a modern English writer, known as the ' Man*
Chester Poet,' was educated for commercial
pui suits, but after spending fourteen years
in the office of his uncle, the proprietor of
large dye-works, he abandoned commerce to
acquire the art of engraving, which ho after-
wards practised as a profession. His first
essay in poetry was made in 1828, at which
time he produced a collection of lyrics, upon
subjects of history and imagination His
later works were, 'Beauties of the Mind/
'Dryburgh Abbey, an Elegy upon the Death
of Sir Walter Scott,' 'English Melodies/
' Dramatic Chapters,' and c Rhymes for Child-
hood ' To evince their respect for him his
fellow-townsmen presented him with a testi-
monial."— Beeton's "Diet. TJmv. Biog."

ALFRED TENNYSON.

"Alfred Tennyson, born 1810 He received
the ' Laurel ' after the death of Wordsworth
in 1850. He first appeared as a poet under
his own name in 1830, in his twentieth year.
A second volume of poems was issued in 1833,
and in 1842 he re-appeared with two volumes
of 'Poems,' many of which were his early
pieces altered and retouched. His other

from 1780 to 1866 ]

BIOGBAPHICAL NOTICES.

•works are, ' The Princess, a Medley,' 1847 ;
* In Memonarp.,' 1850 (the latter a senea of
beautiful elegiac poems on the death of his
young fnend Arthur Hallam, son of the his-
torian) , ' Ode on the Death of the Duke of
Wellington,' 1852, and 'Maud, and other
Poems,' 1855. The popularity of Mr. Tenny-
son has been steadily on the increase, and he
has a band of devoted worshippers. His
chief defect is obscurity of expression, with a
certain manneiism* The characteristics of
liis poetry lie rather in its external dress of
imagery and language, than in any bias to-
wards a particular line of thought or subject.
His pieces might be classed, in the manner of
Mr. Wordsworth, into Poems of the Affections;
Poems of the Fancy , Studies from Classical
Statuary and Gothic Biomance, &o Many of
them, from the apparent umntelligibility of
their external shape, have been supposed to
bear an esoteric meaning The 'Princess,9
especially, apparently a Gothic romance in a
drawing-room dress, has been supposed to
figure forth not merely the position which
women and their education hold in the scale
of modern civilization, but to indicate also
the results of modern science on the relations,
affections, and employments of society. The
Terse of Mr Tennyson is a composite melody,
it has great power and large compass;
original, yet delightfully mingled with the
notes of other poets His mind is richly
stored with objects which he invests some-
times with the sunny mists of Coleridge,
sometimes with the amiable simplicity of
Wordsworth, or the palpable distinctness of
Hood. His late works reflect the thought and
contemplation of the age.*' — Scrymgeour's
« Poetry and Poets of Britain," p 503-4.

OrtoiL says of Tennyson. — "Not exactly
cypress, but a wreath of weeping willow,
should encircle ^n? name. He is enamoured
with ideal beauty and purity of soul, and he
sings the praises of holy and exalted friend-
ship more than the warmer passion of Love
He may be characterized as an elevated phi-
losopher with a poet's expression, which a
delicate perception of the beautiful and true
has given him.

" His harp is not strung with strings whose
wild, loud notes shall first awaken, and then
petrify the snoring World, but with silken,
silvery, gossamer chords, whose fairy melody
is heard only by the delicate spiritual ear.

"Yet keeps he perhaps too close to the
shores of Time, and dares not, or will not,
sail the mighty oceans of mind, and bring us,
like golden fruit, from beyond their distant
shores sublime and inspiriting ideas of Fu-
tuiity. He keeps his wings too closely furled,
when we consider his poetical powers »

" May Tune give him courage and bear him
happiness , — root Tip the willow which points,
with its thousand drooping and nerveless
arms, to the cold EABTH, and transplant the
Poplar, which ever points, with its one fiim,

giant finger, to tho bright, glorious, and
joy-inspinng HEAVENS!" — "Excelsior," p.
23

So classical, so full of refined beauty,
breathing all the spirit of loveliness. How
exquisite fr»3 OEnone— " Dear Mother Ida,
hearken, ere I die " How the plaintive
language breaks on the an? in delicious ac-
cents ! We tTrmV we see the gentle (Enone
and the three fair deities of Olympus, with
the sunbeam darting through the vine-leaves,
and the olive upon their 'finely-chiselled'
forms, so moulded to perfect symmetry. She
recals all the tendeinesa of her love — " Dear
Mother Ida, hearken, ere I die '" The sylvan
shades, and the clear sti earns, and the grassy
meads, and the flowery banks, and the modest
violet, and the golden crocus, seem to echo in
softest whispers to the melancholy prayer —
" Dear Mother Ida, hearken, ere I die." And
the rippling- of the waters, and the light blue
of heaven, and the fleecy clouds, and the rich
perfumes of rose and hyacinths, re-echo in
tones of deep, still witchery — " Dear Mother
Ida, hearken, ere I die " The dulcet cadence
floats over the dark waves of ocean; and
faithful (Enone, with her clustering hair and
serene countenance, lifts her dewy eye to the
broad canopy of midnoon, and once more
throbs out — " Dear Mother Ida, hearken, ere
Idie!"

THOMAS AIRD.

" Thomas Aird, born at Bowden, Boxburgh-
shire, 1802, an original poet of considerable
power, a contributor to periodical literature,
and author of the ' Old Bachelor in the Old
Scottish Tillage,' ' Behgious Characteristics,'
and * The Devil's Dream,' a poem pronounced
c a wonderful piece of weird, supernatural ima-
gination.' He was editor of the * Edinburgh
Weekly Journal,' the * Dumfries Herald,' and
of an edition of the poems of Dr. Morr, the
•Delta' of 'Blackwood's Magazine.'"—
Boston's " Diet. Univ. Biog." See Allibone's
"Crit. Diet. Eng. Lit."

EDWIN" ATHEESTONE.

Edwin Atherstone, a truly great poet. He
has published "The Last Days of Heroula-
neum," "Abradates and Panthea," "The
Fall of Nineveh," and other works. His
productions display " power and vigour,
splendid diction, and truly poetic feeling*"

ALAEIO A. WATTS.

c< Alaric Alexander Watts, born in London,
1799, a modern English poetical writer, who,
in early life, became the literary assistant to

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PERIOD.*

Crabbe, the writer of the 'Technological
Dictionary,' and having put forth a small
collection of poems in 1822, which obtained
some success, he was appointed editor of the
' Leeds Intelligencer,' and subsequently of the
1 Manchester Courier ' In 1825 he commenced
the publication of the * Literary Souvenir,'
which was continued as an annual until 1836.
This work contained contributions by Camp-
bell, Wordsworth, and Coleridge, and was
illustrated by Turner, Leslie, Roberts, and
other eminent artists, the engravings being
executed by Heath, assisted by the best en-
gravers of the day. He also attempted to
establish a fine-art journal, called 'The
Poetical Album;' but it ceased to appear
after the second year. In 1833 he commenced
the 'United Service Gazette,' of which he
remained the editor until 1843. He was
subsequently connected with the * Standard '
and other newspapers A collected edition of
his poetical pieces appeared an 1851, with the
title of * Lyrics of the Heart,' and two years
subsequently, he received a pension of .£100
per armmn from the Government." — Bee ton's
"Diet. Univ. Biog."

LORD HOTTGHTON.

"Lord Houghton, born 1809, a modern
English politician, poet, and prose writer A
few years after concluding his university
career at Cambridge, he was elected Member
of Parliament for Pontefraot, and distinguished
himself therein as a zealous supporter of all
questions relative to popular education and
complete religious equality Hia literary
efforts were various in kind and of an excellent
character As a poet, he produced ' Poems
of Many Tears,' ' Memorials of Many Scenes,'
' Poems, Legendary and Historical,' and * Palm
Leaves ' His ' Life, Letters, and Literary
Remains of John Keats ' was an appreciative
and delightful commemoration of departed
genius. Ho was understood to have been the
writer of several interesting articles in the
' Westminster Review ' He published several
of his speeches, delivered from his place in the
House of Commons, and wrote a number of
political pamphlets, the most important of
which wero * Thoughts on Party Politics,'
' Real Union of England and Ireland,' and
'The Events of 1848 ' "— Beeton's "Diet.
Univ. Biog "

ELIZA COOK

Eliza Cook, born 1817, the daughter of a
tradesman in tho borough of Southwark,
London, gained considerable reputation, when
on her twentieth year, as a poetical contributor
to some of the higher class of London pe-
riodicals—•" The New Monthly Magazine,"
"The Metropolitan," "The Literary Gazette,"

&o In 1840 a volume of her poems was
published in London, and was reproduced in
New York, in 1844, under the title of " Melaia,
and other Poems " Many editions of her
poems have since been published in England
and America. " The Old Arm Chare," " The
Old Farm Ghite," "Home in the Heart,"
"The Last Good-bye," and " I miss thee, my
Mother1" are known and loved by thousands,
both old and young In September, 1849,
appeared the first number of " Eliza Cook's
Journal" Professor Cleveland says: "The
characteristics of her poetry are great free-
dom, ease, and heartiness of sentiment and
expression , and she makes you feel at once
that her whole heart is in all she writes , that
she gives full utterance to the depths of her
soul — a soul that is in sympathy with all that
is pure and true." — Cleveland's " Eng. Lit.
19th Cent " See AUibone's " Cnt. Diet. Eng.
Lit."

WILLIAM AND MART HOWITT.

" William Howitt, born at Heanor, Dorby-
shiie, 1795, a living English littdratcw, tho
son of a member of the Society of Fuonda,
who educated him and his five brothers in tho
punciples of Quakerism Although ho had
been sent to seveial schools kept by Quakera,
his education was almost entirely owing to
his own perseverance Up to his twonty-
eighth year, when he married and commenced
with his wife a career of literature, hiH time*
hod been spent in acquiring mathematical and
scientific knowledge, in studying tho clasmcai
authois, and in mastering- the Gorman,
French, and Italian tongues. His btudicn
wero varied by rambles in tho country,
shooting, and fishing ; and those again loci
him to obtain an amount of information
relative to English lural life and nature,
which was afterwards lepioducod in IHH woikn.
The lady who became his wifo was, liko him-
self, a member of tho Society of FriondH, and
strongly imbued with literary tastes. In 182U,
the first year of their marriage, they published
together a volume of poomw, entitled, 'The
Forest Minstrel,' and followed it up by con-
tributions to the c Amulot,' * Litoiary Sou-
venir,' and other annuals then in votfiio
These contributions, with some original piocoH,
were collected and publiHhod, in 1827, under
the title of 'The Desolation of Eyam,' &c
' The Book of tho Seasons,' * Popular History
of Priestcraft,' ' Tales of tho Pantika ; or, Tra-
ditions of the most Ancient Times,' ' Rural Lif o
of England,* ' Colonization and ChriHtiauity,'
and several other works, were produced by
him during the ten following years. In 183U
and succeeding year, he wrote his 'Boy's
Country Book,' and •Visits to Romarkablo
Places.' In 1840 he wont to Germany for tho
purpose of educating his children, and his
sojourn there led to the production of the

From 1780 to 1806.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTKHR

* Rural and PomoRtio life of Germany/
* (ionnan JMxporionooB/ &o. In 1847 and the
four following years ho published his * Homoa
and Haunt** of tho moat eminent KngliHh
VootB,' « Tho Hall axid Hamlet; or, Scones and
Characters of Country Life,' * Tho Year-Hook
of tho Country,' and a novel, * Madame Dor-
rington of tho Done.' In 1840 ho contributed
to tho * People' 8 Journal,' aud afterwards
boAatno part proprietor of xt ; but a quarrol
between himself and his partner lod him to
OKtablwh a rival publication — ' Ilowitt'a
Journal,' which, however, hko itn predecessor,
was subsequently unHiiccoHHful. In 1852 ho,
with hw two sons and Hr. It H. Homo, Hailed
for Australia, whore ho, for some time, worked
as a 'differ.' JIo alHO viHitod Tasmania,
Sydney, &o., and oomnninioated his observa-
tions m a number of letters to tho * Times '
newspaper, whioh ho afterwards collected and
published, with some now matter, under tho
title of 'Laud, Labour, and Gold,* in

" Mary "Bothfttn TTowitt, born at Uttoxctor,
Staffordshire, about 1804, an Knghsh au-
thoroHH, wife of tho above, cawo of a family
of Quakers, and oommotuxMl hor literary
career, whortly uftor her mariiago, with a
volume of poomn, called * Tho Konmt MniHtrol.1
After having pubhHhtwl Hovorul volunuw of
graceful poetry, and a mitnbor of books for
tho young, who, on visiting Uwuutuy with hor
hunband, procmndod to aoquiro tho Hwodish
and Danuth languages, with a view of
transiting tho novels of Misa JBromor and
tho tales of ilanH 0. Andaman. Tho traiiH-
latiouH of MIHH Bronior'H workn wore pub-
linhfld batwnnn 1844 and 1853; and tho
* IinproviMatoro,* a reproduction in Ku^liHh of
AinlorHon*H novel, iu 18/J7. JioHidoH \xmtt an
imiuHtriouK contnbntor to the periodical!*, nho
wrote a volumo of ' UallaclH, and other Poomn j *
•HkoUiluM of Natural JHntory in Vornoj*
two UOVO!H, colled *Tho II mr of WoHt-Way-
laud/ aud 4 Wo<xl Txiiffhton;' and tranfllatod
1 KnnomoBor'H Jlintory of Mogio * for Uohn'w
c Hpiontiflc Librftry/ Tho valnablo work on-
tith«l ' Literature and llomanoo of Northern
,' pu\>liHhod OH tho joint production of
and huhband, IK altuoHt entirely her
work."— H(Wton'H «'I)iot. Univ.Biog,"

'"Hiero can bo no Huror proof of tho
ffonuinmiaHH of tho poctioal pow<»r POHHOBHOC!
by Mary Ilowitt, than tho fact that hor fine
piocoK ovor rocur iipfain and u#ain to tho
tiiemorioH of all imaginative roadorn, ThiH
cau \w only owing to thoir fommino tomlor-
IKIHH, ihoir oarneHt tono, their gontlo muHie,
mid their Himplo but gonuine uaturo " —
Moir'H " HkotdhoH of Poet Lit. of tho Pa*t
Half Oont."

OhriHtophor North, in WB "Nortt,o« Am-
nroHianw,11 sayn : — " Hor language i» oharte
and ftimple, hor fooling tender and pure, and

her obhorvatiou of nature accurate and in-
tonBO."

"Sweet IVTary Howitt! lior nivmo brin|?fi
magio with li, lot \w MM) it wlum and whero
wo will ! It in ono crowded with plwmant
awRociationH ; tolHng of windoru loarnod by
tho wayHido and uiulov the hedgorowu ;
breathing perfuin<w— not tho perfumer of balla
and lotitn — of violotH and wild AoworH; lead-
ing tho mind to pure and ploanaut thought-
fulneHH."— 4< Now Monthly Miig." te» l^fcow-
ton'fl "Mmaln I'oetH of Grntt Ifriiiun;"
Allibono'a u(Jrit. Dint. Wng. I^tt. ;" MrH. 9*
0. Hall; Allan (Jnimmgham'H " Hiog. and
Orit. Hifit. of lAt. of Lawt Fifty '

REV.

1>ALK, M.A.

Kev. Tliomofl 3)alo, M.A., Canon of Ht, PnurH
Cathedral and lute Vicar of Bt< Panoraa, poet
and popular author, wan born at Jt'ontonvillo,
lx>ndon, Anguttt, 1707. Ilia mother ditui
when ho wan but three yoaw* old; raid hin
father, having marrknl tt^ttin, Wdtit to tho
"Wont Iwliw to edit a public journal thorn,
where ho atao died, loaving ILIH only HOD. A
proHontation to ChriHt'H JIoHpitul wan
eventually obtiuiutd for him, whom, umlor
the Jute Pr. TrolJope, by whom ho WUH niOHt
kindly treaixKl, lu» wwvotl a miponor cluHHtoal
education. lu J817 ho on ^ rod tlic Umvormty
of <1ambri<tgo, having prcviouHly publiHluxi liin
" Widow of Nain," which wa« Hixwiily fol-
lowed by tho " Outlnw of TauruH," and " litwl
and Adah, it Tula of tho Klowl," hiH ilrnt work
pawHing through nix «ditiotiH within a very
Hliort porioeL JIo WOK ordaincul, it) 1823, fimt
curate of tit. JMinhonVH, donthill, Ixnidon;
aud aftorwardM, m IKi5, by tho Hpcoial favour
of Hir Kobort JM, appoliitod to bo Vicar of
St. iiii<lA*R. In 1«4«, through ilm Kttme in-
fluotioo, he Ixwmo a ('anon of Kt* PaufM;
! aiul, in 184«, Vioar of Ht, I'oncniM. Ho had
proviotiHly held the Uittttwnhip of Wt. Mar-
gnret, Iiothbury ; but rcmlgnod It in 1840.
With tho exception of IIIH t«)om«f of whteh a
collootod edition waH publinhcul in IBJid, IUH
odition of <1owj)ort and hin tnuiHlutiou of
SopHoftleH, hi« lator writiugH aro (»x<«luHiv«»ly
rehgiouH, coriHiHthig olii*«fiy of Hwinoiw—
"'Hie J)om(wtio Liturgy ancl Kntnily Chaj>-
lai»," "aiio HablMbtb (^mpaTilon/* Ao. frh<.y
diKplay a flno ix»no of thought, uolid orndition,
aud the purent titMto.

WTNTHttor MA<!KW()imi

1H02,

Winthrop Mnnkworth Vrwul, born
1880, HOTI of Mr. Sergeant I'riujcl, <
the HottHft of <<oniTno«H, and biKiamA
of the Board of Control. HIH twrly lifo »tid
writingfi gave pronuno of future

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

[SEVENTH PERIOD.—

While at Eton, he started "The Etonian,"
and was one of the chief contributors to
" Knight's Quarterly Magazine " His poems,
which, have been recently published in a
collected form, are some of the most remark-
able which have appeared in modern tunes.

COVENTRY PATMORE.

Coventry Patmore, an English poet, was
born at Woodford, in Essex, 23rd July,
1823. His father was in his day a well-lmown
literary celebrity, and in 1846 Mr. Coventry
Patmore became an Assistant Librarian to
the British Museum, which office he continues
to hold. He has published three volumes, of
which the second, the " Angel m the House,"
is a poem of undoubted ment , but the third,
"Faithful for ever," has been severely
criticised He is understood to be a con-
tributor to the " Edinburgh Review "

ALEXANDER SMITH.

Alexander Smith, a poet, was born on 31st
ef December, 1880, at Kilmarnock, Ayrshire.
Bis early intention was to qualify himself for
the ministry, but circumstances of various
kinds prevented him from entering on the
preparatory studies While following the
business of a lace-pattern designer in Glas-
gow, he began to wiite verses and sent some
extracts from his first sustained poem to the
Rev George Gilfillan, of Dundee, then under-
stood to be one of the writers for tho "Critic,"
who inserted them in that journal His " Life
Diama" was afterwards published, and,
although severely criticised, was admitted on
all hands to contain lines of tho highest
poetical ment In 1854 Mr. Smith was
elected to the secretaryship of the Edinburgh
University. His "Life Drama" and "City
Poems " are his principal works.

THE VERY REV. EEERY ALFORD, D D.

The Very Rev Henry Alf ord, D D , Doan
of Canterbury, a poet and Biblical critic, was
born in London in 1810, and educated at
Hmmster Grammar School, and Trinity
College, Cambridge. He has published
several poetic productions, which have been
WeU ^ received, has held several University
appointments, and various preferments
in the Church. His editions of the Greek

He la also the author of several papers, con-
tributed to serials and other periodical pub-
lications, and his work entitled " The Poet*
of Greece " exhibits an intimate and correct
knowledge of the language. He has published

many volumes of sermons, and ciitioal
memoirs on matters poitainmg to ancient
history Owing to his eminent talents as
a preacher, he was appointed, by Lord
Palmorston, Dean of Canterbury, in 1857.

ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.

Archbishop Trench, a scholar, poet, and
divine, was born at Dublin in September,
1807, and graduated at Cambridge in 1820,
after which he spent some years in travelling
abroad While holding the mcumboncy of
Cardndge, Hants, he published, m 1838, two
volumes of poems. These, having boon well
received by the public, wore followed by
" Genoveva," " Elegiac Poems," which also
elicited favourable notices. In 1841 ho be-
came Curate to the present Bishop of Oxford,
at Alverstoke, and aftorwaids Rootor of
Itohmstoke He was also Hulsean Lecturer
at Cambridge, and in 1847 ho was appointed
to the impoitant office of Theological PiofosRor
in King's College, London. On the death of
Dr Buokland, which caused a v«icaiicy in tho
Deanery of Westminster, ho was nominated to
that office, since which he has boon preferred
to the Archbishopric of Dublin Hw normonn
ore conRiderod eloquent and impioRpivo.
Those preached at tlie special services for tho
working classes, delivered at WoRiminHtor
Abbey, have been attended by very crowded
conefregations. He has pnhliHliod several
works on theological subjects ; among thoso
are " Notes on tho Parables," " Notes on the
Miracles," "Tho Sermon on tho Mount," &o ;
and his lectures on tho " KngliHh Language "
and on tho " Study of Words " havo hod a
large circulation.

GERALD MASSEY.

Gerald Massoy, an Enfflinh poot, was born
May, 1 828, noor Trmg, in Herts. I TIB paronln
woro so stooped in povoity that tho children
rocoivod scarcely any education. Wlion only
outfit years old, Goral<l wan nont to work m a
neighbouring silk mill, hut tho mill bomg
burned clown, tho boy took to Htraw plaiting.
He had loomed to rood at a penny Hchool ;
and, when falcon, wont up to London aw an
errand boy, and Bpont all his spare timo in
reading and writing. Whon out of a situa-
tion, ho has gono without a moal to purchase
a book. His first appoaranoo in pnnt was in
a provincial paper; ho puUiahocl a small
collection of his versos in IIIB nativo town,
and during tho political oxoitomont of 1848
echtod a cheap papor called the " Spirit of
Freedom." His wilting was ao bold and
vigorous, that his political manifestations coat
him five situations in olevon monthw Ho WOH
a warm advocate of tho oo-operative Rv«tem,

From 1780 to 1806.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES,

and thus wan introduced to tho Rev. CharloR
KingHloy and othorn who were promoting that
movement. Still continuing1 to wnto, hi8
name began to be known; and in 1853
" UhriHtabol " took the public completely by
surpriHO. Vivo editions of tho work wore
published in two years , hw pecuniary circum-
stances improved in proportion to his fame
an a poet ; and in ItiftS he removed to Edin-
burgh, whore in 185G ho issued " Craigcrook
(Jostle," in his own estimation his bent work.
A collected edition of his poems has lately boon
published.

CHARLES MACKAY.

Oharlos Maokay, a poet and journalist,
wan born at Perth, in 1814. Ho ifl a do-
Hooiidant of an honourable .Highland family,
tho MackayH of Strathnovor. Having received
tho rudiments of hit* education in London, he
waH in 1827 Hont to a school at JJruHHolH, and
ho remained in Belgium and Germany for
Bomo yoarw. On hin return to thiH country ho
abandoned hiH mtontion of entering the lOoHl
India Service, for which ho luul been originally
intended by hiH uncle, Uoaoral MocXay, aud
devoted lumHolf to literature. In 1HIJJ5, after
the publication of a Hinall volume of poomn
which attracted the noticoof Mr. John Block,
he became connected with the " Morning
Chrouido," While employed 111 IUH arduouH
HtudicH OH Hub-editor of a daily papor, Mr,
JVIackay publwliod two poetical workH, " Tho
Hopo of tho World," and "Tho Salamondrmo,"
a third edition of which, illuHtratod by Gilbert,
api>oarcd in 1850 ; within the name period ho
publwhod throo workM in prow, viss., "Tho
ThiwnoH and it« UYibuturioK," "Popular
ItoluHionH," and "Longbaard, Urd of Lon-
don, a Jtomauno." Jn 1844 he icmioved from
Jx)tidon to dilaHgow, to miooetd the late Mr,
Weir aH oditor of tho ** Argtw," thon a loiwi-
ing liberal journal in tho Wont of Hootlawd*
During hw rewdcnoo in HcotJauci he prodiwjed
" Tho LegeiulH of tho Mew, and other PoeniH,*'
4t A HonoH of Twelve LetterH to Jjord Morpoth
on tho Education of tho People," aud a
volume entitled " Tho Hoetwry and Poetry of
tho KtigliHh Lakes : a Hummor Kambto." Jlo
alrto publiHhed "VoiccH from tho Crowd/'
which contained tho Hpiiit'Htfrring Hong
" Tho Good Time Coming/* It waH while Mr.
Maokfty romamcsd in Scotland that ho iwxdvwl
from tho UuiverHity of Olangow tho honorary
dogrco of LJj.l). In 1847 ho roturnwl to tho
xnotropoliB, where ho Huooocdmlto tho political
editorwhipof tho *' IlluHtratod London NOWH."
lie publwhed, in 1848, hw " Town I.ynoM } ".
in 1850, •• Kfforia, or tho Spirit of Nature ; and
other FOOQIH," to wluch wan prottxod "An
In<iuiry into tho allowed Anti-poofcioal
T«w(Umci«H of tho profwmt Ago/' In 1851 ho
edited for tho Poroy Society, with Nofem atul
aa Introduction, an important antiquarian

'work, entitled "A Collection of Songu and
JJaJladH relative to the Jjondon 'Pronticon and
TradoH, and to tho AltairH of l^ondoa
^cnorully, during the Fourteenth, Fifteenth,
and Sixteenth ConturieH." Ho altto edited
" A Hook of Knglwh Songs," and "Aliook
of Hcjottwh HougH, with Wotos and Obflorva-
tionn." In 1850 Dr. Maokay publinhod tho
" Lump of Uold," and in the following year
" Under (Jlroeii LoaveH," two poetical works
abounding with VOI?HQH of tho utmont melody,
rich with the ohoicoHt Knglmh opitUotH and
phraneM, After tho publication of tliOHO worktf
Dr, Maokay mode a tour to America*, whoro
ho delivered U>oturcw upon " Poetry and Song,"
receiving every where a cordial and outhuHiaHtio
reception; IUH pootry and HongH, owing por-
hapM to tho higher ntandard of education ia
tho Northern Statow, IxMiig woll known and
approoiated among our TrauHatlantio oouninfl.
After hit* return to thiM country ho publinhod
hiH "Life aud Lilx^Hy in America,1 ' which
IH characterized in the Alhwitruni on a bright,
freHh, aud hopeful book ; worthy of an
author whoHO HongH are oftoiiOHt hoard on
the Atlantic. Bo idno oditoil a (31iriHtma»
book, entitled "The Home Affcujtioim as
portwiye<l by tho PootH." Dr. Miiokny latoly
publiHhtid a nitrrativo pomn, entitled "A
Man'H Ihuirt," and lutH jnwt (iditod "A
Collection oi the Jacobite DulladH of Mcot-
laiul." He han been ac.iivcly cugivgcd iu
joiirnalinni, uud wan i*outi«ctiCMi with tho
" Umdon U,(^viow." Uko all the groat Hong-
writcrH, Dr. Mackay IK a muHician, and tho
oompoHor of all the zuclmiioH publiHli<»d with
nuuiy of hiH wmgx. llo POWWJHHOH in a high
degree the raro faculty of a tnto lyric poot,
that of working IUH wordn and inuHio up into
liarmony and uniHon with tho fooling* they

OXptOHH.

MATTIIKW AUNOLD.
" TIo WOH tlio oldcHt won of Dr. Arnold, the
woll-known and highly .cHtcottKul MaHtcr of
Itugby School, and wan born at ^leham,
1K22. lie won tho Nowdogato prissc for
KngliHh VQTHO at Oxford in IH-Ui, and btwamo
a follow of Oriel <'<>11<»K« in 1H45. lie won
elected ProfoHHor of Peltry at Oxford in 1H57,
He haw taken an uotivopurt in tho promotion
of middlo-cloHH oduc^ation, atul haM oontribtitcd
largely to the periodical literaturo of the day/'
"Diet. Univ* Jiiog."

WILLIAM CX)X BKNNKTT,
11 lie waw born at Oroonwidi in IHiift, an<l,
a« a morloru I'lngUHu Kong-writor, UIH pooinx of
childhood and othor homo hubjectH huvo
doHorvcdly attauicd oolobrity. HIH Hrnt volunui
of * Poem«* waH publwhed 1847 ; * War Ho ijWi»t
1H57 ; * Queen Kleauor'H V«ng««tttiwi and
othor JPoomH,1 I8f>8; *tfongH by & Hong-

BIOGKAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH J/ERIOD. —

writer/ and 'Baby May and other Poems
on Infants,' both in 1859 His verses have
a large number of readers as well in America
as in England, and he is now a contributor to
the Wrekfy Dispatch newspaper" — Beeton's
"Diet. Univ. Biog."

EGBERT BEOWNIXG
" Robert Browning is one of the most dis-
tinguished of modern English poets. He was
Vtrci near London in 1812. In 1836 he
published ' Paracelsus,' which was favourably
received ; and in 188*7 produced c Stratford/ a
tragedy, in which Mr. Maoready, the actor,
personated the hero His other works are
4 Sordello,' ' Pippa Passes/ • The Blot m the
Scutcheon/ ' King Victor and King Charles/
'Dramatic Lyrics/ « Return of the Druses/
c Colombo's Birth-day/ * Dramatic Romances/
&o. Of all his writings, perhaps his * Pippa
Passes ' and ( The Blot in the Scutcheon '
are the best His latest work, 'The Ring
and the Book/ appeared in 1868." — Bee ton' a
"Diet TTmv Biog"

Criticis ng the " Ring and the Book/' the
AtkoncBum, in one of its numbers published in
1869, on the publication of the last volume,
thus spoke of it —

" At last, the opus magnum of our generation
lies before the world — the ' ring is rouuued ' ,
and we are left in doubt which to admire
most, the supremely precious gold of the
•material or the wondrous beauty of the woik-
Jtaanship. The fascination of the work is still
so strong upon tw, our eyes are still so spell-
bound by the immortal features of Pompilia
(which shine through the troubled miats of
the story with almost insufferable beauty),
that we feel it difficult to write calmly and
without exaggeration , yet we must record at
once oar conviction, not merely that ' The
Ring and the Book ' is beyond all parallel the
supremest poetical achievement of oar time,
but that it is the most precious and profound
spiritual treasure that England has produced
since the days of Shakspeare. Its intellec-
tual greatness is as nothing compared with
tfca transcendent spiritual teaching Day
after day it grows into the soul of the reader,
until all the outlines of thought are brightened
and every mystery of the world becomes more
and more softened into human emotion. Once
and for ever must critics dismiss the old stale
charge that Browning is a mere intellectual
giant, difficult of comprehension, hard of as-
similation. This great book w difficult of
comprehension, is hard of assimilation; not
because it is obscure — every fibre of the
thought IB clear as day ; not because it is in-
tellectual,—and it is intellectual in the highest
sente, — but because the capacity to compre-
hend such a book must be spiritual ; because,
although a child's brain might grasp the
general features of the picture, only a purified

nature could absorb and feel its profoundost
meanings. Tho man who tosses it aside be-
cause it is * difficult' is simply adopting a
subterfuge to hide his moral littleness, not
his mental incapacity It would be unsafe to
predict anything concerning a production so
many-sided ; but we quite believe that its true
public lies outside the literary circle, that meii
of inferior capacity will grow by the Aid of it,
and that feeble women, onoo fairly initiated
into the mystery, will cling to it as a succour
passing all succour save that which is purely
religious Is it not here that we find tho
supremacy of Shakspeare' s greatnons P Shaks-
peare, BO far as we have been ablo to observe,
places the basis of his strange power on his
appeal to the draff of humanity. Ho is the
delight of men and women by no means
brilliant, by no means subtle j while he holds
with equal sway the sympathies of tho most
endowed. A small intellect may roach to tho
heart of ShakRpoarean power ; not so a small
nature The key to the mystery is spiritual.
Since Shakspeare we have had many poets—
poets, we mean, offering a distinct addition
to the fabric of human thought and language.
We have had Milton, with his stately and
crystal speech, his special disposition to
spiritualize polemics his profound and silent
contemplation of heavenly procohsionn Wo
have had Dryden, with his noivous filter-
ings of English diction , and wo have had iho
so-called Puritan Bingcrs, with their sweetly
English fancies touched with formal charity,
like wild flowers sprinkled with holy wator.
In latter days, wo have boon wealthy indood.
Wordsworth has consecrated Nature, given
the hills a new silence, shown in simple linos
the solemnity of deep WOOC!H and tho. sweet-
ness of running brooks. Koata and Sholloy
caught np tho solemn consecration, and
ntteied it with a human pasHion and an
ecstatic emotion that woro thomnolvoH a
revel vtion. Byron has mado hits Kpimotheaa
and somewhat discordant moan. NumborloHS
minor men, moieover, have brightened old
outlines of thought and mado clear what
before was dim with tho mystery of tho
original prophet. In our own timo, Carlylo
— a poet in his savago way — has drivon somo
new and pplend.d truths (and as many orrorn)
into the heart of tho pooplo. But it is doubt-
ful, very doubtful, if any of tho writers wo
have named — still less any of tho writers we
have not named — standn on so distinct and
perfect a ground of vantage as to be al-
together sale as a human gmdo and helper.
The student of Wordsworth, ior example, IB
in danger of being hopelofl&ly narrowed and
Dwarfed, unless he turnn elsewhere for
qualities quite un-WordHWorthian ; and the
same is true of the students of Milton and of
Shelley. Of Shakspeare alone (but perhaps,
to a certain extent, of Barns) would it bo
safe to say, ' Communion with his noul IB
ample in itself , his thought must freshen, can

1780 ir» 1800.J

BlOtlUAI'IHOAL NOTIONS.

never cramp, in ovor many-Hided and full of
the froo air of tlio woild.' ThiH, then, is
supremely tugnitioant, that Whakapoaro— un-
liko the ({rook dramatiHta, uuhko tho Uibheal
poolH, tmliktt all Mnglwh HingorH wive Chauoor
only — had no special toaohmg whatever I lo
WOH too human J-or Hppoial touching. Ho
touohod all tho ohordH of hunian lifo ; and life,
HO far from containing- any nnivimial IOHHOH,
IH only a npooial teaching for each individual
— a Hihyllinit riddlo, by which uauh mau may
educate limwolf after hu own fashion."

JOHN KKULK, M.A.

" John TCoble, M.A , a highly popular writer
of Hacked poetry, for many yearn VKUW of
Jlurnloy, in Hampshire. Soon after taking
HUH H,A. dogroo ho waH chonoa follow of Oriol
College, Oxford; and from IHtfl to 1841 wan
profoHHor of poetry at. bta umvormty. II IH
ttluof worlcH are tho '(JhriHtian Your,1 ofwhinh
thounandn of oopion havo boon Hold, and
« Lyra Inuooonfcium.' Horn 17»3 ; diod INfiC."
—Boston's " Diet. Univ. Uiot?."

IION1. OANOMNM MfiWAUHTrr HAItAII
NOKTON.

** ThtH modorn Knglinh po<il<»HH wai* 0110 of
thotliroo dang'htorH of Thoman SluTidan, HOU
of the oolobratod Richard HririHloy Shoridan.
ftho wan born iti IHOH. Hor failu^r dynig
wlulo who W&H Htill very youn^, hor oaro
dovolvod upon hor mother, who tfavo lior a
high oduoation. Ai tho a^o of tunotoun nho
booamo tho wifo of tho lion, U«(^r^o (/happlo
Norton, tho barriHior and poU<io-niagiHtrato, a
union whioh provod an unhappy otio. fn
182$) Hho eommonood hor oarcor of authorHlup
by publinhintf anouymotiHly tho * HOITOWH of
l^oHalio/ a i»alo, and othor poomn, In tho
following year who achieved tho groatoHt
suoctiHH ah a pootoHH, with tho production of
hor * Undying Ono,' and oth<w poomH, whioh
tho QmrMy Jtoxww doclarod to bo worthy
of Lord Myron. Tho ' (/hild of tho MundH,'
( Aunt Carry* n Ballad* for Children,' and
* Htuarl of "Onnloath,* a novol, woro hor wib-
notiticmt workB. In 1854 hor warm HympatluoH
with tho Hooial wrongM of hor HOX found ox-
proMHion in a work ontitlod • JMngliHh T41WH for
Women in tho 19th Century.1 Thin work wan
privately printed ; bnfc a very largo circulation
was obtained for a later effort of tho Homo
character, which wan named l A Ixittor to tho
Queen on Lord Chancellor Cranworth'H Mar-
riage ami Divorce Bill.' In 1802 Hho publtahod
a poem ontitlod * Tho Lady of Oarayo/ which
mot with oontudorablo public favour."—

ALMXANDKJR SMITH.

" Alexander Smith, a modem kSootoh poot,
waHbornin 1830,auclditid Jau.5, IH(>7, HewuH
intended for tho miiuntry ; but oiroumHtaucen
having- oouHpuod to pr«vonihi« outoring upon
tho noooHnary oourne of atudy, ho wan put to
tho buHinoHH of a laco-dot-iK-nor in (ilawgow;
while following which, ho <i(»votod hiH loiuuro
to the eompoHitiou of verww. Having1 for-
warded Home o> tracts* from hin ' Liio Drama*
to tho Rov. (Jioorgo (Hlllllati, of J)undeo1 tliat
l^outJoman wa» HO highly ploanod with tho
youthful poet'H oifiiHioiiH OH to obtain a place
for thorn in tho oolumiiH of tho drill? Jlu
aubtwquontly produood ' (Jifcy I'oomn ' an-1
' Jhjdwm of Doira," and three volumoH of prom,
entitled * Droatnthorp/ ' A Hummer 111 Hk\»k'
and 'Alfred Hagnrt'M HouHohold ' ; ho alno
edited an edition of tho workH of HuniM. in
1851) ho wax appointed noerotary to the K<Hu-
burgh UttivorHity."— Uootoil^ «6Dict, Univ.

1UCIIAKI> CltBNKVTX TRENCH, D.I>.

" rrho proHont AnthbiHhop of Dublin ia Ixmt
known as a modern KnHliHh philolo^or. Ho
watt born in 1 * 07, and after ocmiplotintf lu.i
HtudioH at the Univormty of Cambridge, miturtid
into onh^n, and betuuno a country ouralo.
II I'H oarliont ollortH in htoraiuro wore UH a
poot, in imitation of tho ohaHto Htyle of
Wor<lHworih. After obtaining Homo ]irofc>r<
itKuit in the (Jhuroh, ho bo<uuno in IMC a
Holoni< pnuuihor at tho Univernity «>f ( toutitoldgo,
and in 1HAO, a tor the death of Dr. JUidktand,
wa» appointod Dean of WoHtmiiwtor, in
iH<;4hoHUoeeo(led Dr. Whately «w Arohbinhop
of Dublin. II in mont huporttvnt workw were,
on the Miraolen,' l Proverbx and their
* HywmymH of tho N<tw TeHtatuent/
and 'Tho Htutly of WordB.' "— JJootouf«
" Diet. Uiiiv. JMog."

MItNJKHT JONKS.
JOIIOM wan educated in Germany,
and having kept bin torinH aH a law-ntuddni of
the Middle Tomplo, WOH called to tho bar m
IH'U. In the following1 year ho joined tho
( ihartiHt movement, and noon booamo one of
the itiont ooUHptououc and native lottdora of tho
parfcv ; romaitnug MO until ('hartiftn expired
in 1858. During thm period he oditod tho
/Vo/;/r'« I>d}X'r and other (lhartiHt poriodioalH,
In 1848 he wat* tried for making u wodiUouft
Hpecwh, and oon<lomned to two yearn' im-
priHonmont, Ho ntc-od for Halifax in JK17,
and Nottingham in IhA^ and 1857, without
mioooHH. In January! 1800, when it wan *up»
pOHed thai Mr. Hugh Uirloy would low hi*
•mat for Muu»h«Htor, through being * gov«m-

BIOGRAPHICAL JXOTICES.

[SEVENTH PERIOD.—

ment contractor at the time of his election,
Mr. Jones was chosen by ballot to fill the
expected vacancy against Mr Milner Gibson,
but died a few days after. He was an honest
politician, for he refused a laige fortune rather
than give up his principles He wrote the
'Revolt of Hindostan,' 'The Battle Day,'
and other poems. He was born about 1820."
— Beeton's "Diet. TJniv. Biog."

REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY.

" The Rev, Charles Kmgaley, a distinguished
modern novelist and essayist. At fourteen
years of age he became the pupil of the Rev.
Derwent Coleridge, son of the poet he after-
wards went to Cambudge University, where
he distinguished himself both in classics and
mathematics. He was at first intended for
the law, but the church was afterwards
chosen. In 1842 he was appointed curate of
Eversley, m Hampshire , two years later he
succeeded to the same living. He maimed,
about the same time, a daughter of Mr.
Grenfell, who represented Truro and Great
Mario w in Parliament for maay years, and
•whose other daughter became the wife of
the eminent historian Mr J A. Fronde His
first acknowledged contributions to literature
were a volume of 'Village Sermons/ and
1 The Saint's Tragedy,* a drama in verse, pub-
lished in 1848. ' Alton Locke, Tailor and
Poet,' was his third essay, and, from its
first appearance, it commanded the greatest
attention. The bold and earnest views of its
author — ' the Chartist clergyman,' as he was
called — sank deeply into the public mind This
novel has been several times reprinted; its
treatment of social and political questions
remaining as fresh and valuable as when the
book first came before the public. A second
novel, — 'Yeast, a Problem,' was first pub-
lished in ( Fraser's Magazine,' and afterwards
reprinted in 1851 : this is a philosophical
rather than a political novel. TT*q subsequent
works were ' Hypatia ; or, New Foes with an
old Face,' a beautiful descriptive fiction,
illustrating the times of the early Christian
church in the East , ' Westward Ho ' or, the
"Voyages and Adventures of Sir Amyas Leigh

in the Reign of Queen Elizabeth ' ' and * Two
Years Ago.' These novels, by their great
excellence, have placed their author among the
foremost of recent writers. Mr Kingsley
also produced a volume for juvenile reading,
called ' The Heroes,' in which the deeds of
some great chiefs of the Giooian mythology
are nai rated in a captivating manner.
Among the more important of his religious
writings maybe enumerated, cTho Message
of the Church to Labouring Men,' ' Sermons
on National Subjects, preached in a Village
Church,' and ' Sermons for the Times ; ' all
of these being inspired by a pure, generous,
and enlightened Christian feeling. He ex-
pounded mental philosophy in his ' Phaeton ,
or, Loose Thoughts for Loose Thinkers,' and
his ( Alexandria and her Schools , ' while, for
natural philosophy and the observation of
nature, he contributed his ' Glaoous ; or, the
Wonders of the Shore ' He likewise wrote
for Fras&r's Magazine, the North Bntwfo
Review, and the JKncyclopcodia- Bntanmoa,.
His last works of importance are ' Tho
Roman and the Teuton,* lectures delivered at
Cambridge in 1864 , and a novel entitled
( Heraward the Wake ; or, the Last of the
English.' A bold, independent, and earnest
thinker, Mr. Kingsley, in every ono of his
popular and exceTent work , contributed to
elevating the tone of modern society, and to
giving it a more enlarged and refined appreci-
ation of the good, beautiful, and truo, whether
in art or nature. He succeeded Sir James
Stephen as piofessor of modern history in tl'O
University of Cambridge, in 1859 Born at
Holne Vicarage, Devonshire, 1810."— Boclou's
" Diet. Univ. Biog."

HENRY KINGSLEY.

" Henry Kingsley, brother of tho preceding,
was educated at King's College, London, and
at Oxford. In 1852 he wont to Australia,
from which he returned in 3 858. Ho contri-
buted to 'Fraser's' and ' Maximilian's '
magazines , ' Ravenahoe,' ' Gooffry Hatnlyn,'
and * The Hillyars and tho Burtonfl,' being the
best known of his productions. Born 1830.''—
Beeton's " DICD. Univ. Biog."

SEVENTH PERIOD.

From 1780 to 18GG.

1077.— THE CHARACTER OP CHATHAM.

A. Pattioin, alas ! ilxo few thai have boon

found
Whoro mort thoy flourinh, upon English

ground,

1 ho country1!* need lui.ro floantily nuppliod ;
And the lant left tho soono whoa Chatham

died.

.ft. Not HO ; ilia virtue Hlill udoruH our ago,
Though, tho chief aotor dlod upon the Htago.
lu him DtiinoHtuouori was hoard agam,
JUboity taught him Imr Athenian rtram;
»Sho olothod him with authority and a\vo,
ftpoko from Inn lips, and m hm Jookn gave

law

IliH Hiionnli, his form, IUH aniion full of grace,
And rill hi* country boammg in hm fatx),
Ho Htood an Homo inimitable hand
Would Htrivo to make a Paul or Tully rtiuul.
No Hyoophant or nlavo that danul opjxtKo
1 for Hiidrod oatiHo, but trtunhlud whoa ku rono ;
And ovary venal Htioklor for the yoke,

himHolf cruuh'd at Iho lirnt word ho

Hpoko,

Jlinrn 1731, DM 1800.

1078.— TIIM OJtJOMNLANJ)

That sound bonpoakn Halvation on hor way,
rrho truiniKit of a hfo-roHtorintf day ,
'TiH hoard where JhJn^land'n ountorii

HhinoH,

And iu the tfulfn of hor Cornul>ion ininon.
And Htill it HproudH. Koo (lormany HOIK! forth
Jlor HonK to pour it on the fuvthcHt noith;
I«'irod with a Konl poonliar, thoy dofy
TJio ntffo and rigour oC a polar nicy,
And plant Huc<xmHfully Hwoot Hliarout'H roHO
On i»y plaiiiH aud in otonutl HXIOWH
Oh bloHH'd within tho oucloHuro of your

rookH,
Kor hordH hiivo yo to bount, nor bloating

Ko fortiliaing1 Htroamw your fioldH <livi<lo,
That Hhow rovcrHod tho villut* on thou hide ;

No grovoB haro yo, no ohoorful Booiid of

bird,

()r voioo of turtle in your land IH hoanl ;
Nor gratofid ogltuitino rogaloH tho nnioll
Of thoHo that walk at ovouing whoro yo

dwell;

But Wmtor, arm'd with terrors hero un-
known,

Hitn ubHoluto on IUH unnhakon throno,
PiluH up hiH HtoroH aniidnt tho frozen wattfco,
Aud bidH tho mountain*} ho hat) biult gtaud

fart;

JftookouH the logioiiH of IIIH Htonnn away
From hapuior HCOUOH to inako your laudw a

proy j

ProolainiH tho Noil a con<numt ho ILIIH won,
And KooriiH to Hhuro it with tho dintant HUU.
Vot Tauth IH yotiiH, romoto, mionviod inlo !
And I\uu'((s tho gonuino olI'Mpring of hor mnilo ;
Tho prido of lottcuM Jgnoranoc^ that bindn
In olutmri of error our aocxmipliKhM mindw,
That dookn with all the Hplondour of tho true,
A fulHO roligion, IH unknown to you*
Nature indeod vouolxHafen for our delight
Tim Hwoofc vioiHHitudcH of day and nighbj
Koft airH aud genial mointuro food and cheer
Held, fruit, aud ilowor, aud every creature

hero;
But brighter buauiH than Liu who firo» tho

HklOH

Jffavo rlnon at length on your admiring oyoH,
That Hhoot into your darkort oaveH tho day
From whioh our nioor oi>tioH turn away,

ip 1731, DM 1800.

1079.— RUI4AL SOUNDS.

Nor rural HightH ulono, but niral HoundH,
Mxhilarato tito Hpint, and rontoro
Tlio tono of langui<l nature. Mighty wimU
That Hwoep tho nkirt of Hotnu far-Hpnnuliug

wood

( )f anoiont growth, inako tmiHin not unlike
rl'ho da»h of (KMwin on IIIH winding Hhoro,
And lull tho npirit while thoy iUL tho mind,
Uniiiunbor'd braiiohoH waving in tho blattt,
And all thoir ItuwuH fant iluttoring all at otioe.

COWPKR.]

FROM "CONVERSATION/'

[.SEVENTH PBRTOI> —

Nor less composure waits upon the roar
Ot distant floods, or on the softer voice
Of neighbouring fountain, or of nils that slip
Through the cleft rook, and chiming as they

fall

Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length
In matted grass, that -with a livelier green
Betrays the secret of their silent course.
Nature inanimate displays sweet sounds,
But animated nature sweeter still,
To soothe and satisfy the human ear.
Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and

one
The livelong night; nor these alone whose

notes

Nice-finger' d art must emulate in vain,
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sub-
lime

In still-repeated circles, screaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl
That hails the using moon, have charms for

me.

Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh,
"Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever

reigns,
And only there, please highly for their sake.

Cowp&r. — Born 1731, Died 18<K)

1080 — FROM " CONVERSATION."

The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose,
In contact inconvenient, nose to nose,
As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz,
Touch'd with a magnet, had attracted his.
His whisper' d theme, dilated and at large,
Proves after all a wind gun's airy charge —
An extract of his diary — no more—
A tasteless journal of the day before
He waJk'd abroad, overtaken in the rain,
CaJl'd on a friend, drank tea, stept home

again;

Resumed his purpose, hod a world of talk
With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk j
I interrupt him with a sudden bow,
Adieu, dear sir, lest you should lose it now.
A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see,
Quite as absurd, though not so light as ho
A shallow brain behind a serious mask,
An oracle within an empty cask,
The solemn fop, significant and budge ;
A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge ;
He says but little, and that httle said,
Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead.
His wit invites you by his looks to come,
But whan you knock, it never is at home :
"Ks like a parcel sent you by the utage,
Some handsome present, as your hopes pre-
sage;

'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove
An absent friend's fidelity of love ;

But when unpaok'd, your disappointment

groans
To find it stuff d with bnokbats, earth, and

stones.
Some men employ their health — on ugly

tnok —
In making known how offc they have boon

sick,

And give us in recitals of disease
A doctor's trouble, but without the foes ,
Relate how many weoks they kept their bod,
How an emetic or cathartic sped ;
Nothing is slightly tonch'd, much less forgot ;
Nose, ears, and eyes seem present on tho

spot.

Now the distemper, spite of draught or pi!3,
Victorious seem'd, and now tho doctor's skill ;
And now — alas I for unforeseen mishaps I
They put on a damp nightcap, and relapse ;
They thought they must have died, they wore

so bad,
Their peevish hearers almost wish they had.

Some fretful tempers winoo at every touch,
You always do too little or too much :
Ton speak with hfo, in hopes to entertain,
Your elevated voice goes through the brain ;
You fall at once into a lower key,
That's worse, the drone-pipo of a humble boo.
The southern sash admits too strong a light ,
You rise and drop the curtain — now 'tia

night.
He shakes with cold — yon stir the firo, and

strive

To make a blaze — that's roasting him alivo.
Serve him with venison, and ho ohooaoH fwh ,
With sole — that's just tho sort he would not

wiah.

He bakes what he at first profess' d to loathe,
And in duo timo feeds heartily on both ,
Yet still o'erolouded with a constant frown,
He does not swallow, but ho gutyH it down.
Your hope to ploaso him vain on every plan,
Himself should work that wonder, it ho can.
Alas ' his efforts double his distress.
Ho likes yours httle and his own still loss ,
Thus always teasing others, alwayn toawod,
His only pleasure is to bo displeased

I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain,
And bear the marks upon a blushing face
Of needless shame and self-imposed disgrace.
Our sensibilities arc so acute,
The fear of being silent makes us mute.
We sometimes think wo could a speech, pro-
duce
Much to the purpose, if our tongues were

loose ;

But being tried, it dies upon the lip,
Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip ,
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.

Cowper.—Born 1731, Died 1800.

ON HIS MOTHBB'S

THE RECEIPT OF HIS
MOTHEB'S PICTURE.

Oh that those lips had language! Lifo has

paas'd

With mo but roughly since I hoard thoo last.
Those lips aro tluuo-—thy own Bwoot smiles I

800,

Tho Rarao thai oft in childhood Bolaood mo ;
Voioo only fails, olao, how ditttinut they way,
"Griovo not, my child, ohaao all thy foars

away ! "

Tho mock intelligence) of those doar eyos
(l)lost l>o tho art that oan immortalize,
Tho art that bafHoa iirao'H tyrannic claim
To qnonclx it) horo shinoa on mo still tho

aamo.
Faithful roxnombranoor of ono HO doar,

0 woloomo guoHt, though tmoxpootod hoto I
Who bidd'Ht mo honour, with an artloHS song
Affootionato, a mother lost HO long.

1 will obey, not willingly alone,

But gladly, an the proocpt wore her own i
And whilo that faco renews my fihal grief,
Fancy shall woavo a charm for my relief j
Khali Ktoop mo in KlyHian rovorio,
A momentary droain, that thou art who.
My mother ! whon 1 loum'd that thoa want

dead,

Say, want thou eonfldoun of tlto twiw I Bhod P
HovorM thy npirit o*«r thy Horrowing Hon,
Wrotoh tmw ilum, lifo'n journoy junt bogtmP
Porhapn thon, gavont mo, though mumcm, a kiHH ;
PorhapH a tear, if nouln can woop in bliHH—
Ah, that maternal umilo I it anftworH — YOM.
£ hoard tho boll tolTd on ihy burial day,
I Raw tho hoavHO that boro thoo H!OW away.
And, turning from my nursery whitlow, drew
A long, long nigh, and wept a lant adion 1
But wan it »uoh P Xt wan. Whoro thou art

£01X0,

AdiouH and farowolk aro a Hound unknown.
May I but moot thoo on that peaceful nhore,
Tho parting eound uLall pat»« my l&pH no

moral
Thy nwidona griovod thomsolvoB at my oon-

oom,

Oft gavo mo promiflo of a quick return t
What ardonily I wiwli'd I long bdiorud,
And, disappointed Htill, WOH ntill dotioivod;
By diHapix>iutmouii ovory day botfiulod,
Dupo of to-morrow ovon from a child.
ThuH many a nacl to-morrow oamo and wont,
Till, all my Btook of infant aorrow »pont,
I Ibarn'd at la«i mibmlnMion to my lot,
But, though 1 IOHH deplored thoo, ne'er forgot.
Whore onoo wo dwolt our namo k hoard no

more,

Children not thine liavo trod my nuraory floor ;
And whoro tho gardener Bobin, day by day,
Drow mo to Rohool along- tho public way,
Dolightod with my bauble ooaoh, and wrapt
In H(\atlot mantle warm, and volvot-oapi,
'Tin now Ixwomo a hiHtory little known,
That onoe wo oall'd the pagtoral house our

own.

Hhorirlivod poflHowtfon ! but tho rocord fair,
That memory koopn of all thy kindiicHH

thoro,

Still outlive*) many a storm, that haw otfaood
A thounand othor thomoa IOHH dooply traood-
Tlay nightly viwiH to my ohambftt noado,
That thou mightfit know mo pafo and warmly

laid;

Thy morning bountioH cro I lofi my homo,
Tho biHouit or oonfootioxmry phitn ;
Tho fragrant watora on my ohoohn bowtow'd
By thy own hand, till froah thoy nhoiie and

glow'd-

AU iliifl, and moro ondoaring wiill than all,
rlhy oouHtant flow of lovo. that know no

faU,
Ko*or roughon'd by Ihoao cutoraots and

breaks,

That humoTir intcrpofiod too oftott raakon j
All thifl, fltill logiblo in memory's pugo,
And fitill to bo KO to my latewi ago,
Addfl joy to duty, makes mo gliul to pay
Huoh honours to thoo aw my oumbom may $
Perhaps a frail memorial, but Etinooro,
Not noorn'd in heaven, though Uitlo notiood

horo.
Could Titno» hln flight xovoraod, routoro tho

hoxirn,
When, playing with thy YOBtioo'B tiBHuod

Tho violot, tho pink, and

1 prickM ilium into paper with a pin

(And thou want htvi^ior than mynolf tho

whilo*
Would Hoftly Hpeak, and ntroko my Koad and

(iould thoHo few ploawvnt hours again appear,
Might one winh bring thorn, would I wiwhthmn

horoP

T would not trufrfc my heart—the doar dolight
HCOUIH HO to bo doHirod, jx^rhapM I might,
.But no— what Horo wo call aur lifo XM Htudi,
Flo little to bo loved, aud tUou HO mu<kh,
That I Hhould ill reunite thoo to ooxLtitrtun
Thy nnbouud Hpirlt into bondH again.
Thou, aa a gallant bark from Albion' H

OOttMt

(Tho ntorins o9f weather1 d and tho c<!trun

r

ShooU into port at oomo wolUhavon'd inlo,
Whoro HpiooH broatho ami ttriglxUtr

There wtn qtuoHoent on tho flood*, that riiow
Jlor boauiotniH form rafloMxul filoar below,
Wlillo airn imprognaiod with hioottH(« play
Around her, fuiiming light tutr

Ho ihon, with

how nwlft ! luwt

" Whoro tompoHiH novor buat nor billovfH

roar;"

And thy lovod conflort on thn 'Ungo^niH il<'o
Of Ufa, long tiinaa, ha« atichorM at iby nutw,
Hut mo, ftoarco hoping to attain that rout,
Always from port withhold} alwuyt cii*-

COWPBB.]

TO MART.

[SEVENTH PEKIOD—

Me howling -winds dnve devious, tempest-

toas'd,
Sails npt, seams opening wide, and compass

lost,
And day by day some current's thwarting

force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous

course
But oh the thought, that thou art safe, and

he'

That thought is joy, arrive what may to me
My boast IB not that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the oaith
But higher far my proud pretensions rise —
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.
And now, farewell — Tune unrevoked has run
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again •
To have renew'd the joys that onoe were

mine,

Without the sin of violating thine ;
And, while the wings of fancy stall are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Tune has but half succeeded in his theft —
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
Coiopen— Barn 1731, Dwd 1800.

1082 —TO MABY (MBS. OTWIN).

The twentieth year is well nigh past
Since first oui sky was overcast ,
Ah, would that this might bo our last '

My Mary I

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow ,
'Twas my distress that brought theo low,

My Mary'

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disused, and shine no more.

My Mary!

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,

My Mary!

But well thou pla/dst the housewife's part,
And all thy threads, with magic art,
Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!

Thy indistinct expressions seem
XajDB language utter1 d in a dream ;
yet me they charm, whate'or the theme,

My Mary!

Thy silver locks, onoe auburn bright,
Are stall more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient hght,

For, could I view nor them nor thoo,
What sight worth seeing could 1 tec .;
The sun would rise in vain for me,

My Mary I

Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign ;
Yet gently probs'd, press gontly mmo,

My Mary I

Such feebleness of lambs thou prov'st,
That now at every stop thou mov'st
Upheld by two , yet still thou lov'nt,

And still to love, though pross'd with id,
In wintry age to fool no chill,
With me is to bo lovely still,

My Mary I

But ah ! by constant heed I know,
How oft the sadness that I show,
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,

My Mary I

And should my future lot bo oast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,

My Mary!

Cowp&r.— Bom 1731, Dutf 1800.

1083.— ENGLISH LIBERTY-

We love
The king who loves the law, roHpootH IUH

bounds,
And reigns content within them, him wo

servo

Freely and with delight, who leavos UH froo .
But recollecting still that ho is man,
We trust him not too far. King though ho

bo,

And king in England too, ho may bo weak,
And vain enough to bo ambitious still j
May exorcise amiss hia proper poworn,
Or covet more than freemen choono to grant :
Boyond that mark is treason. Ho is ours
To administer, to guard, to adorn tho stato,
But not to warp or change it. Wo aro his
To serve him nobly in tho common caiiRO,
True to tho doath, but not to bo hiM slaves.
Mark now tho difference, yo that boast your

love

Of kings, between your loyalty and ours.
Wo lovo the man, the paltry pageant you ;
Wo the chief patron of tho commonwealth,
You tho regardless author of its woos ;
We for tho sake of liberty, a king,
You chains and bondage for a tyrant's sake ;
Our love is principle, and has its root
In reason, is judicious, manly, free ;
Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to tho rod,
And licks the foot that treads it in the dust.

Jtam 1780 to 1800.]

THK WJNTEK EVENING,

[OOWPMH.

Woro kinship an trno treasure as it
Sterling, and worthy of a wiHO man's wteh,
I would not bo a king to bo beloved
CauHoloHH, and daub'd with undiscoming

prawo,

Whore lovo IB moro attachment to tho throne,
Not to tho man who flllH it an ho ought.
'Tin liberty alono that givos tho flower
Of floating- Hfo its liwtro and porf uxno j
And wo aro woodn without it. All constraint,
Except what wiadom lays on ovil mon,
IH ovil , hurtn tho faculties, impodoH
Thoir progroHH in tho rood of Hoionoo, bliuds
Tho eyesight of diwoovory, and bogotu
In thoHO tliat Hiiffor it a nordid ruuid,
UoHtial, a meagre intellect, unfit
To bo tho tenant of inan'H noblo form,
Thoo therefore still, blameworthy aH thou

art,
With all thy IOHS of oinpiro, and though

By public oxigonoo, till annual food
Vails for the craving hunger of tho staio,
Thee I account Htill happy, and tho chief
Among tho nationw, wooing thou art free.
My nativo nook of oavth t thy olimo IH rude,
Replete with vapouw, and cltapoHCH much
All hoartH to HodnoHH, and none more than

nuno

Thmo iniadulterato maunorH are IOHH Hoft
And plan HI bio than Hoofal lifo roqwroM,
And thou hunt now I of dimplinc and art
To give tlu»o what politer Frunno rucwivoH
From nature' H bounty — that humane iwldnwa
And HWCutnoHH, without which no ploamiro IH
Tn oonvorno, oithor nlarvod l>y cold rowirvo,
Or fluah'd with fierce diHputo, a HOiiHoluHH

brawl.

Yet being free, I lovo theo ; for tho wako
Of that one feature) can be woll content,
I^ingraoed OH thou hant boon, poor OH thou

art,

To noek no sublunary rent benido.
Jhit onoo onHlavud, farewell ! I could cmdnro
OhaiiiH nowhere patiently ; and cliainw at

homo,

Whore I am froo by birthright, not at all.
Then what wore loft of roughnoHH ill the grain
Of DritiHh lui/turoR, wanting itH oxcuno
Tliat it bolongn to froonum, would diHgunt
And shook mo. I should thou with doublo

pain

Fool all tho rigour of thy floklo olimo ;
And, if I muHt bowail tho bloHHing loHt,
For which our llompdons and our Sidneys

blod,

I would at loost bowail it undur Hkios
Milder, among a people IOHH auntoro ;
In HConoR which, having novor known mo

froo,

Would not roproaoh mo for tho loss I folt.
Do I forebode unpOHHiblo oventR,
And tromblo at vain droam« P Hoavon grant

I may 1

But tho ago of virfcuouB politioB i« pant,
And wo aro deop in that of cold proteuod.

PatnotH aro grown too Hhrowd to bo Hin
And wo too wirio to trant thorn. lie that

takes

Boop in hiH floft nrodnlity tho stamp
DoHign'd by loud doolaimorM on tho part
Of liberty, thoruHdlvoH tho nlavoH of luwt,
ZnouTH dorimou for hin easy faith,
And laok of knowledge, and with oaute

enough :

For when was public virtue to bo found
Whoro private waw not P Can ho lovo tho

wholo
Who IOVOH no part P Ho bo a nation' ti

friend,

Who iH in truth tho friend of uo man. thor« P
Can ho bo Htronuoun in IIIH country 'H oaiwo
Who ^hghttt tho oharitiOH, for wIioHO dotir

That country, if at all, rannt bo bolovod P
'Tin therefore nobor and good mon aro

Mad

For England's glory, Booing it wax palo
And niokly, while her oluwapiona woar thulr

hoartH

80 IOOHO to private duty, that no brain,
Healthful and nudinturbM by faotiouH famaR,
(Jan dream them truHty to tho gonoral wool.
Sucsli woro they not of old, whoHO tomper'd

bladoH

DiHpornod tho HliockloH of nKurp*d control,
And how' (I them link from link ; Uiou Albion's

HOI1H

Woro HOUR indood ; thoy f(»lt a filial hoart
JJoat high within thorn at a mother* H wrougH ;
And, Hhuiing oat'.h in hin <louioHti« Hpboro,
Slxono brighter Htlll, onoo oullM to publio

viow.

Tin thoroforo many, whono Hoqnflwtor'd lot
Forbidn thoir intorfonmao, looking ou,
Antioipato porforoo nouio cliro cvont ;
And, Hooing tho old otwtlo of tho ntato,
That promiMod onoo moro finmuiKH, HO
That all itH tompOHt-boatort turrotn nhtiko,
Btand motionloHH oxpaotantH of itH fall.
All haw itH date below ; tho fatal hour
Won rogiHtar'd in hoitvou orrt tim<» began.
Wo tutu to dunt, and all our mighUtmt workH
l>io too: tho doop foimdatioriw that wo lay,
Timo ploughn them up, and not u trunu

romaiiiH.

We build with what wo doam citunuvl rook :
A diHtont ago ankw whnro Hut fabrio Htood i
And in tho duttt, wiftod and wuutth'd in vain,
Tho utidiHOovorablo Hoorot HloopH.

.-fijrti 1701, DM 18oa

1084.— THE W1NTKU

Hark! 'tin the twanging horn o'or you<tt*r

bridgo,

Tlifit with its woariMomo but noodful lotigtH
BtwtridoH tho wintry flood, in whidi tho
SOOH hdt unwnnklecl footi rr^HmitxHl bright *

THE WINTER EVENING

[SEVENTH PERIOD. —

He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and

frozen looks ;

News from all nations lumb'nng at his back.
True to his charge, the closo-pack'd load

behind,

Tet cureless what ho brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the destined run ,
And, haying dropp'd th' expected bag, pass

on

He whistles as he goes, kght-heartod wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful . messenger of gnef
Peihaps to thousands, and of- joy to some ;
To t»™ indiffront whether gnef or joy.
Houses in ashes, and the faU of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet
With tears, that trickled down the writer's

cheeks

Past as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charged with am'rous sigts of absent
swains,

0 jymphs responsive, equally affect

His horse and him, unconscious of them all.
But 0 th' important budget » usher* d in
With such heart-shaking music, who can say
What are its tidings ? have our troops

awaked?

Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd,
Snoie to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave P
Is India free P and does she wear her plumed
And 3ewelTd turban with a smile of peace,
Or do we grind her still P The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh— I long to know them

all;

1 burn to set th' imprison* d wranglers free,
And give them voice and utterance once

again.
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters

fast,

Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups
That cheer but not inebiiate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'mng in.
Not such his ev'rnng, who with shining face
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeezed
And bored with elbow-points through both

his sides,

Outsoolds the ranting actor on the stage
Nor his, who patient stands till his f oet throb,
And his head thumps, to feed upon tho breath
Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage,
Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles
TBus folio of four pages, happy work '
Which not even critics criticise , that holds
Inquisitive Attention, while I read,
Fast boa ad in chains of silence, which the

fair,
Though eloquent themselves, yet foar to

.break;

What is ib, but a map of busy life,
Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ?
Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge
That tempts Ambition. ' On the summit see

Tho seals of office glitter in hiH eyes ,

He climbs, he pants, he grasps thorn 1 At hit*

hods,

Close at his hoels, a demagogue amends,
And with a doxt'rous jerk soon twists him

down,

And wins them, but to lose thorn in his turn.
Here rills of oily eloquence in soft
Meanders lubricate the course thoy take ,
The modest speaker is ashamed and gi io\ <><!
T' engross a moment's notice , and yot I>OI?H,
Begs a propitious oar for his poor thought**,
However trivial all that ho conceives.
Sweet bashfulnessl it claims at leant thi»

praise ,

The dearth of information and good flonno,
That it foretells us, always oomos to pan»
Cat'racts of declamation thunder here
There forests of no meaning spread tho page,
In which all comprehension wanders lost ;
While fields of pleasantry amuse us there
With merry descants on a nation's woes
The rest appears a wilderness of strange
But gay confusion , roses for the checks,
And lilies for tho brows of faded ago,
Teeth for tho toothless, ringlets for the bald,
Heav'n, earth, and ocean, plunder' d of thru*

sweets,

Nectareous essences, Olympian dews,
Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'nto airn,
Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits,
And Katterfelto, with Ma hair on end
At his own wonders, wond'nng for hi« broad
fTis pleasant through the loop-holos of

retreat,

To peep at such a world , to see tho stir
Of the great Babel, and not fool tho crowd ;
To hear tho roar she sends thiough all hor

gates

At a safe distance, whore tho dying sound
Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjured Otir.
Thus sitting and surveying thus at C:IHO
The globe and its concerns, I scorn advanced
To some secure and more than mortal liui#lii,
That lib'ratos and exempts me from thorn all
It turns submitted to my view, turns round
With all its generations ; I behold
Tho tumult, and am still Tho Hound of war
Has lost its terrors ore it roachoH mo ;
Grieves, but alarms mo not. I mourn tho

pride

And av'rice, that make man a wolf to man,
Hear tho faint echo of those brazen throats,
By which ho speaks tho language of lua heart,
And sigh, but never tremble at the Round.
He travels and expatiates, as tho boo
Fromflow'r to flow'r, so ho from land to land j
The manners, customs, policy, of all
Pay contribution to tho store he gleans j
He sucks intelligence in ov'ry clime,
And spreads the honey of his deep research
At his return — a rich repast for me.
He travels, and I too. I tread his dock,
Ascend his topmast, through nifi peering eve"!
Discover countries, with a kindred boar*,
Suffer his woes, and share in his esca; es ;

1780 to

WINTER EVENING IN THE COUNTRY.

1

Wlun* rtncy, rtko tho finger of a clock,
ItuiXH ,k tTi'OJit circuit, and IB fttill at homo.

O Wlufenr, Kilor of th* inverted your,
Iky hcattwr'd liaur with aloot like asho« fill'd,
Thy breath congoal'd upon thy lipH, thy

chookH
Fringed with a board made whito with other

BIIOWH

Than thowo of ago, thy forehead wrapp'd in

clondu,

A loafloaH branch thy acoptro, and thy throno
A fllidmg oar, indebted to no whoola,
But urged by storms along itn slipp'ry way,
I love theo, all unlovely as thou acom'Ht,
And dreaded an thou art ! Thou hold' at tho

Run

A priw'nor in tho yet undawmng oast,
Short'nin? hin journey between morn and

noon,

And hurrying him, impatient of hia stay,
2>own to tho rosy wont ; but kindly still
OomponHating hiw IOHH with added hour*
Of ROOM! converts and inHtructive oaHO,
And gath'rmg, at short notice, in one group,
The family diHpetHod, and fixing thought,
Not IOHH dutporHod by daylight and itn oatow,
1 crown thoe king of intimate dolightfl,
Kiro-Hido onjoynumtH, homo-born happmow},
And all tho oomfortH that tho lowly roof
Of undiHturb'd Itotiromout, and tho IIOUTH
Of long nniiitorruptod ov'uiug, know.
No rattling whonl* «tnp whort before thoHO

gatoH ;

No powdor'd port, proficient in tho art
Of Hounding an alarm, tumult/H thoHO doom
Till tho Htroot ringH ; no Htationary HtoodH
Cough thoir own knoll, while, licodloHB of tho

nound,

Tho ftflont olrolo fan thompolvofl, and quake :
But here the noodle plien itH buHy tank,
Tho pattern grown, tho wcll-dopintod flow'r,
Wrought patiently into tho Huowy lawn,
Unfoldfi it» boHom ; budB, aud loavon, and

HprigB,

And curling tonclrilw, graoofiilly diMpoaod,
Follow tho nimble iingor of tho fair ;
A wreath, that cannot fado, of now'ra, that

blow

With most miQOOfm when all boHidos dooay.
Tho poot'ft or hiMtorian^ page by one
Made vooal for ill* atntiHomoiit of tho rent ;
The sprightly lyro, whogo troanuro of nwoot

souudfi
Tho touch from many a trembling chord

nhakoH out ;

And the clear voice flymphouipuw, yot difttinot,
And in tho charming Btrifo triumphant Htill ;
Bogtulo tho night, and Met a koonor edge
On female induntry : tlie threaded Htoel
FhoH Bwiftly, and unfolt tho taHk proceeda.
The volume oloHcd, the euntomary ritow
Of tho lant meal commence. A .Roman meal ;
Huoh an tho mistroHfi of the world once found
DoliciouH, when her patriotn of high note,
VorhapH by moonlight, at thoir hnmblo doorg,
And under an old oak's domestic sha'lo,

Rnjoy'd, Hparo fcant I a radiMh and mi ogg.
PiHconrHo cnKucH, not trivuil, yot not dull,
Nor fiuch as with a frown forbida the play
Of fancy, or proHcribow the Hound of tnirlh •
Nor do wo madly, like- an impious world,
Who doom religion fronzy, and tho Clod,
That mado them, an intruder on thoir joy«,
Start at IUH awful namo, or doom Km pimno
A jarrmg note. U^omow of a graver tono,
JOxciting oft our gratitude and love,
While wo retrace with Moui'ry'H pointing

wand,

That (JiUlw tho pa«t to onr exact review,
The dangers we have 'neaped, the broken

stiaro,

Tho diMappointed foe, doliv'ranco found
Unlook'd for, life proHervod, aud poaoo re-

fitorod,

Fruitw of omnipotent eternal lore.
" O ov'ningB worthy of tho god* I " oxoltUm'cl
Tlie Habiuo bard. 0 ev'ningH 1 reply,
More to bo prized and coveted thutn yotirw,
AH more illumined, and with nobler trtrfhH,
That I, and mine, and thofto wo loro oujoy.

.— Horn 1731, DM 1800.

1085.— WINTfiR KVMNTTNO TN TIIK
OOUNTUr.

Come, Evening, ouco n-;|ain, HOUHOH of

Evening, and continue loug I
MolhiukH i MCC thoo in tho Htroaky w«Kt,
WitlL matron-Htop »low-moviiig, whilo the

night
TroadN on thy Hwooping train! ono hand

employ' d

In letting fall tho curtain of ropono
On bird and beaut, the otlior charged for

man

With flwoot oblivion of tho caroH of day :
Not HumptuouHly wlorn'd, nor uocding aid,
Like homoly-fouturoil uight, of oluHtorizi;r

gomH;

A Htar or two, juBt twinkling on thy brow,
HuflicoH thoo ; wavo that tho moon w tltiru*
No IOKH than horn : not worn indcuul on high
With OHtcntatiouH pageantry, btti Hot
With modoHt grau<Umr in thy purple /,ono,
KcHplcndont IOHH, but of an ttmplw voutid.
Como thou, and thou Hhu.lt find thy vo^ury

calm,

Or make me HO. Oompoxiira IN thy gift ;
And whether I devote thy gmitlo hour*
To bookn, to WWHIC, or tho pootV toil ;
To weaving BctH for bird-alluring frirt ?
Or twining Milken tlmtodH round ivory rooN,
When thoy oomtmuid whom nian wan horn to

ploaw,
I (flight thoo not, but mako Uuw \V»MX>UUJ

Mtill, .

WINTJEB EVENING IN THE COTJNTBY, [SBVENTU PIMIIOD,-*

Just when our drawing-rooms begin to

blaze

With lights, by deal reflection multiplied
From many a miiror, m which he of Gath,
Gohah, might have seen his giant bulk
Whole without stooping, towering crest and

aU,

My pleasures too begin. But me perhaps
The glowing hearth may satisfy a while
With faint illumination, that uplifts
The shadows to the ceiling, there by fits
Dancing unoouthly to the quivering name
Not undelightful is an hour to me
So spent in parlour twilight such a gloom
Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind,
The mind contemplative, with some new

theme

Pregnant, or indisposed alike to all.
Laugh ye who boast your more mercurial

powers,

That never felt a stupor, know no pause,
Nor need one j I am conscious, and confess
Fearless a soul that does not always think.
Me oft has fancy, ludicrous and wild,
Soothed with a waking1 dream of houses,

towers,
Trees, churches, and strange visages, ex-

press'd

ID the red cinders, while with poring eye
I gazed, myself creating what I saw.
Nor less amused have I quiescent watoh'd
The sooty films that play upon the bars
Pendulous, and foreboding in the view
Of superstition, prophesying still,
Though still deceived, some stranger's near

. approach.

'Tis thus the understanding takes repose
In indolent vacuity of thought,
And sleeps and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the

face

Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask
Of deep deliberation, as the man
Were task'd to his full strength, absoib'd and

lost

Thus oft, reclined at ease, I lose an hour
At evening, till at length the freezing blast,
That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons

home

The recollected powers , and snapping short
The glassy thieads with which the fancy

weaves

Hor brittle toils, restores me to myself
How calm is my recess , and how the frost,
Raging abroad, and the rough wind, endear
The silence and the warmth enjoy'd within '
I saw the woods and fields at close of day,
A variegated show ; the meadows green,
Though faded, and the lands, where lately

waved

The golden harvest, of a mellow brown,
Upturned so lately by the forceful share.
I saw far off the weedy fallows smile
Witli verdure not unprofitable, grazed
By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each
His favourite herb ; while all the leafless

groves

That skirt the horizon wore a sabfc hue
Scarce noticed in the kindred dunk of <. vo.
To-morrow biings a change, a total change 2
Which even now, though silently porform'd,
And slowly, and by most nnfolt, tho face
Of universal natuie undergoes
Fast falls a fleecy shower the downy flakes
Descending, and with novor-coasing lapse
Softly alighting upon all bolow,
Assimilate all objects Earth iccoivos
Gladly the thickening mantle , and tho

gieen
And tender blade, that fear'd tho chilling

blast,

Escapes unhurt bonoath so warm a veil.
In such a world, so thorny, and whoio

none

Finds happiness unblightod ; or, if found,
Without some thistly sorrow at its flido,
It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin
Against the law of love, to measure lots
With loss distinguished than ourselves ; that

thus

We may with patience bear our moderate ills,
And sympathize with others suffering more.
HI fares the traveller now, and ho that

stalks

In ponderous boots beside his rooking team.
The wain goes hoavily, impeded Roro
By congregated loadu adhering close
To the clogg'd wheels , and in its sluggish

pace

Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow
The toiling- steeds expand tho nostril wide,
While every breath, by respiration strong
Forced downward, is consolidated noon
Upon their jutting chests. He, foriu'd to

bear

Tho pelting brunt of tho tompoRtuouR night,
With half-shut eyes, and puokor'd chookH, anil

teeth

Presented bare against tho fltorm, plods on.
One hand secures his hat, save when with

both

He brandishes his pliant length of whip,
Resounding- oft, and never hoard in vain.
0 happy — and in my account doniod
That sensibility of pain with which
Refinement is cnclnod — thrioo happy thou f
Thy frame, robunt and hardy, fool** m<l<mil
The piercing cold, but fooln it unimpairM
The learned finger never nood explore
Thy vigorous pulse; and tho unhoalthful

That breathes tho npleon, and searches every

bono

Of tho infirm, is wholonomo air to thoo.
Thy days roll on exempt from hounoliold

caro;
Thy waggon is thy wife , and the i>oor

boasts

That drag tho dull companion to and fro,
Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy

care.
Ah, treat thorn kindly; ruclo an thou aj>

nearest.

Fnm 1780 tn 18M/] OPKNINO OF TTIK SMOOTH) HOOK OF "T11K TAHK." [<1owr»m

Yet nliow that thou hant mercy ' which tho

With noodloHH hurry whiri'd from ploco to

place,
Hunianu as they would Room, not always

ahow.

Poor, yot induntrioufl, moflGHt, quiet, neat,
Suoh claim companion in a night liko ibid,
And have a fi iond in every f ocling heart
Warm'd, while it laHts> by labour, all day

long

Thoy bravo tho hoaflon, and yot find at ovo,
HI clad, and fod but Hpaioly, time to cool.
Tho frugal houwowifo troinblow whilo flhe

Hor Bounty stock of brushwood, blazing

clear,

But dying Hoon, hko all terrestrial joyw
Tho few Hiuall omberH loft Hho uumm well ;
And, while hor miant ratio, with outnproad

hands
And crowded knooH, sit cowering o'er tho

Hparkn,

KotiiOH, content to quakn, HO they bo warm'd.
Tho man fools leant, an, tuoio iiiiuod than

HllO

To wmtor, and tho wirront. in hin veins

Moro briskly moved by JUH so\wr toil

Yot ho, {*<><>< findn liis own dihtroHM in thoirH,

Tho taper HOOU oxtimjuisli'd, winch I Haw

Danglod along at the cold ttnuor'H ond

JuHt whou tho day doc.Jinod, and tho brown

loaf
Lodged on tho nholf, half oaten without

Hauco

Of Havoury chpono, or butter, eoHthor Hiill
Sleep MKHIIH thoir only relugo , for, alan,
Whoro punury in foil, tho thought IK uhainM,
And Hwoot tu>ilo({iual ploawuroH aro btit fow !
With ull this thrift they thrivo not. All tho

oaro

Tnrfonioufl parniwony takoH, but jiiHt
HavoH tho Hiuall inventory, bod and Htool,
Skillot and old carved client, from public

nale.

Thoy Hvo, and livo without oxtortod alms
From grudging handw , but other boant have

nono
To Hootho tlioir honoflt prido, that ncsornH to

bog,

Nor comfort O!HO, but in thoir mutual lovo.
1 praiHO you muoh, yo innok and pationi pair,
For yo aro worthy ; tihooKing lather far
A dry but independent oruHt, hard oarn'd,
And oaton with a High, than to onduro
Tho rugged frowiw and inHolcnt rebtiffrt
Of knavoH in oflico, partial in tho work
Of dintribution ; liberal of thoir aid
To olamorouH importunity in ragH,
But ofttimoH deaf to Buppliantn who would

'JL'o wear a tattor'd garb, howovor ooarno,
Whom famino oiuixiot reconcile to filth :
ThoHO fuk witli painful HhyiumH, and, roftiHod
DooatiHO dosorvmg, nilontly rotiro !
But bo yo of good courage ! Timo itnolf

Shall mtioh bofriond you. Tuuo nhall

inc.roano ,

And ull your numoroufl progeny, woll-train'd,
But hclploHH, in few yearn nliall llud thoir

handH,
And labour too. Moon whilo yo shall Tjot

want
What, oonncious of your virtuca, wo oan

spare,

"Nor what a woalthior than ournolvoH may miul.
I irioun tho man who, whou tho diHtant poor
Need help, donioH them nothing but hi» name.

^— ttmfc 1731, Dmd 1800.

1086.— OPENING OF anrc SECOND BOOK
OF "'ram TASK."

0 for a lodgo in nomo

Somo boundleHK oontigtiity of nhado,

Wlioro rumoui of opi>roHHioii aud doooifc,

Of luiHiuutoHMful or HiioooKKful war,

Might never roaoh mo more. My oar IH

My Houl IH Hick, with ovory day*H roport
Of wrong and outrage, with whiuh

flll'il.

rr\wn\ in no llcnh m man'H obchmito hwut
It dooH not ftuil for man; tho unt'ral boiut
Of broLlmrhood in wworM an tho flax,
Thai, fallH ii^undei* at the touch of liro.
II (j TiudH bin follow guilty of a nkm
Not <u)lour'<l like IUH own ; and having pu*v«r
T' onforoo th(» wrong, for mutk iv worthy <«IUHO
DoomH au<l (Utvotun liiui aH IUH lawful projr.
Land« inttnwwtod by a narrow frith
Abhor oatth othnr. MouuUiiiiH iutorpcmod
Mako (uunnum of nations, who luwl elno,
Liko kindred dropw, boon mmglod into
Than man dovotoH hw brother, and
And worno than all, and mont to bo <
As human nuturo'H broadnnt, fotilent blot,
ChauiH him, and tankn him, ami exact* IIIH

Hwoat
With ntripoH, that Moroy with a blooding

heart

Woopn, wlurti who HOOH ixifli<^t<»d on a boti*/
Thou what IH iuau P And whut man, H^oinjjr

thin,

And having human foolingn, doon not b'.UHltt
And hang IUH hood, to think birnnclf a man ?
( would not havo a Hlitvo to till my grouuvl,
To carry mo, to fan mo whilo 1 wloop,
And trumblo when T wake, for all tho VvoJili
fP]iai HinewH bought and Hold have ovih * artiM.
N« . dear an fntotbixn in, and in my luuurT"
Junt OHtimation prixod above all prico,
1 had muoh rather be myHelf tho nlavc.
And wear tho bondn, than frtHtori tluuu "<i mm.
We havo no nlavoH at homo— TlKJii why

ci>>roa<l ?
And thny theinaolveH, onoo forr;*y.J v*/r tho

wave

OOWPBSR]

THE DIVBBTING HISTOEY OF JOHN GILPIN. [SEVENTH

'Ihat parts us, ore emancipate and loosed
Slaves cannot breathe in England, if their

lungs i

iteceive our air, that moment they are free ;
They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
'1'hat's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then,
And let it circulate through every vein
Of all your empire, that, where Britain's

power
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.

Confer.— Bom 1731, Pied 1800

1087 —THE DIVKJbfcTING HISTOEY OP
JOHN GILPIN.

John Gilpin was a citizen

Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain, eke was he

Of famous London town.

John Gdpi&'s spouse said to her dear,
Though wedded we have been

T^ese twioe ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

7 o-morrow is our wedding day,

And we will then repair
TJnto the Bell at Edmonton

All in a chaise and pair.

My sister, and my sister's ohild,

Myself and children three,
Will fill the chaise , so you must nde

On horseback after we.

He soon replied, I do admire

Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear ,

Therefore it shall be done.

I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know,
And my good friend the calender

Will lend his horse to go.

Gilpin, That's well said j
And for that wine IB dear,
We will be furmsh'd with our own,
Which is both bright and clear.

John Qilpm kiss'd his loving wife ,

O'erjoy'd was he to find
Th%t, though on pleasure she was bent,

She had a frugal mind.

'.Che morning- came, the chaise was brought,

But yet was not allow'd
To drive up to the door, lest all

ohould say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise was stay'd,

A'hfeia they did all get in ,
Biz precious souls, and all agog

To dash through thick and thin*

Smock went tho whip, round wont iho
whoola,

Were never folk so glad ,
The stones did rattlo underneath,

As if Ohoapsido wore mad

John Gilpin at his horse's side

Seized fast the flowing mono,
And up he got, in hasto to ndo,

But soon came down again ;

For saddle-tree scarce reach* d had ho,

His journey to begin,
When, turning round his head, ho saw

Three customers come in.

So down he came ; for loss of time,

Although it grieved fr™ sore,
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,

Would trouble Tbxni much more

'Twas long before the customers

Were suited to their mind,
When Betty screaming came down stairs,

" The wine is left behind ' "

Good lack ' quoth he — yet bring it mo,

My leathern belt likewise,
In which I bear my trusty sword

When I do exercise,

Now Mistress Gilpin (caieful soul ')

Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that she loved,

And keep it safe and sound

Each bottle had a curling car,
Through which the boll ho drew,

And hung a bottle on each fiido,
To make his balance tiuo

Then over all, that he might bo

Equipp'd fiom top to too,
His long red cloak, woll bnwh'd and neat,

He manfully did throw.

Now see him mounted onco again

Upon his mmblo stood,
Full slowly pacing o'er tho fltonoa

With caution and good hood.

But finding soon a smoother road

Beneath his woll-ahod foot,
Tho snorting beast begun to trot,

Which gall'd t>ifti in IIHH soat

So fair and softly, John ho criocl,

But John ho cried in vain ;
That trot became a gallop BOOH,

In spite of curb and roin.

So stooping down, as needs ho imiH'u

Who cannot sit upright,
He grasp'd tho mane with both hia Iiands.

And oko with all his might.

His horse, which never in that sort

Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got

Did wonder more and more.

JFVont 1780 to 18G6.] THE DIYBBTING HISTORY OF JOTIK GILPIN.

[Oowiw.

Away wont Gilpin, nook or nouglii ;

Away wont Hat and wig ;
Ho little dreamt whon lie sot out

Of running' auoh a rig.

Tho wind did blow, the cloak did fly,

Liko atroamer long and gay,
Till, loop and button failing both,

At last it flow away.

Then might all people well discern

Tho bottles ho had slung;
A bottlo swinging at oaoh side,

As hath boon said or sung.

Tho dogs did bark, tho children scream' d,

tip flow tho windows all,
And every HOU! onod out, Well dono I

As loud as ho oould bawl.

Away wont Gilpin — who but ho ?

HIH fame Hoon spread around ;
Ho oarrios weight ' ho ndoB a race !

'Tin for a thousand pound !

And still, an fast an ho drew near.

'Twas wondorful to viow
How in a trice tho turnpike men

Tholr gu,tOH wide open throw.

And now, an ho wont bowing dow*

HIH rooking hood full low,
Tho bottloH twain behind his back

WOBO shatter' d at a blow.

Down ran tho wino into tho road,

Mont pitooua to l>o noon,
Which mode hm horHo'H flanks to amoko

Au they had basted boon.

IJut still ho floom'd to carry weight,

With leathern girdle braced:
For all might woo tho bottlo nooks

Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington

ThoHO gambols ho did play,
Until ho oamo uiito iho Wash

Of Edmonton so gay.

And there ho throw tho waHh about

On both HidoH of tho way,
JuHt liko unto a trundling mop,

Or a wild gooso at play.

At Kdmonton his loving wife

From tho baloony spied
Ilor tender husband, wondering much

To soo how ho did ndo.

Stop, stop, John Oilpin 1 — Hero's tho

hOUHO —

Thoy all aloud did cry ;
Tho dinner waitu, and wo arc tired :
Said Qilpm — Bo am 1 1

But yet his horse was not a whit

Inclined to tairy thoro ;
For why P IUH ownoi hod a house

Full tout miles olT, at Wore.

So liko an arrow Hwift IM flow,

Shot by an orohor Ktrong ;
So did ho fly — wliioh brings nio to

Tho middle of my song.

Away went Oilpin out of breath,

And sore againftt his will,
Till at hut friend tho calender's

His horuo at last stood stilL

Tlio calender, amazed to BOO

IfiH noighbour m Much trim,
Laid down his pipo, flow to tho gate.

And thiiH aoooHtod him :

What nowHf what nowH ? your tidings toll--

Toll mo you must and Hhall —
Say why bareheaded yon arc oomo,

Or why you oomo at all P

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,

And loved a timely joko j
And thus unto tho calender

In merry guiso ho apoko :

I oamo because yonr horse would oomo ;

And, if I well forebode,
My hat and wig will BOOU bo hero—

Thoy aro upon tho road.

Tho calender, right glad to find

HIH fruuul in morry pin,
Hoturn'd him not a Hinglo word,

But to the hoiwo wuut m.

Whence ntraight ho canio with hat and wig ;

A wig that ilow'd bolund,
A hat not much tho worn) lor \voar,

lOuoh comely in its kind.

Ho held them up, and in hin turn

ThuH nhow'd IUH ready wit,
My lioad is twice m big as yourn,

Thoy therefore needs xuuut tit.

But lot mo scrape tho dirt away

That haugH upon your face ;
And «top and oat, for well you may

Bo iu a hungry cane.

Said John, It is my wedding day.

And all the world would storo
If wife should dine at Edmonton,

And 1 should dine at Ware.

So turning to his horno, ho said,

1 am in hoHto to dine ;
'Twan for your pleasure yon come horo,

You shall go bock for miuo.

Ah, luckloHH Hpeech. and booilaHH boost ,"

For which ho paid full dear ;
For, while ho spoko, a braying OSH

Did slug most loud and clear ;

Whereat his horse did snort, an ho

Had hoard a lion roar,
And gallop* d off with all his might,

As ho had done before.

5f>

EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL.

[SEVENTH PBTJIOD. —

Away went Gilpm, and away

Wont Giipm's hat and wig
He lost them sooner than at first ;

For why ? — they were too big,

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw

Her husband posting down,
iLto the country far away,

She puITd out half-a-orown ;

And thus unto the youth she said,

That drove them to the Bell,
This shall be yours when you bring back

My husband safe and well.

The youth did ride, and soon did meet

John, oommg back amain '
Whom in a trice he tried to stop,

By catching at his rein ;

But not performing what he meant,

And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he frighted more,

And made TTKP faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went post-boy at his heels,
The post-boy's horse right glad to miss

The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road

Thus seeing Gilpm fly,
With post-boy scampering in the rear,

They raised the hue and cry —

Stop thief ! stop thief ' a highwayman f

Not one of them was mute ;
And all and each that pass'd that way

Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again

Flew open in short space ,
The tollmen thinking as before

That Gilpin rode a race

And so he did, and won it too,

For he got first to town ,
Nor stopp'd till where he had got np

He did again get down.

Now let us sing long live the king,

And Gilpm, long live he ;
And, when he next doth ride abroad,

May I be there to see !

Oowp&r.— Born 1731, Died 1800.

1088.— EPISTLE TO JOSEPH Tnr.T,T

Dear Joseph— five-and-twenty years ago—
Alas, how time escapes ' — 'tis even so—
With frequent intercourse, and always sweet,
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat
A tedious hoar — and now we never meet '
As some grave gentleman in. Terence says.

('Twas therefore much tho samo in anoiont

days,)
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow

brings —

Strange fluctuation of all human things !
True. Changes will befall, and finaida may

part,

But distance only cannot change the heart :
And, were I call'd to prove th' as&oi.uwn truo,
One proof should serve — a reference to you
Whence comes it then, that in the wauo of

life,

Though nothing have occurred to kindle strife,
Wo find the friends we fancied we had won,
Though num'rous once, reduced to few or

none?
Can gold grow worthless, that has stood tho

touch ?
No ; gold they seem'd, but they were never

such.
Horatio's servant once, with bow and

cnnge,

Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge,
Dreading a negative, and ovoraw'd
Lest he should trespass, bogg'd to go abroad.
" Go, fellow ' — whither P " — turning short

about —
" Nay. Stay at homo — you're always going

out"
" 'Tis but & step, sir, just at tho frcioou s

end"
" For what P " — " An please you, sir, to soo a

friend "
"Afiiend!" Horatio cried, and soom'd to

start—
" Yea, marry shalt thou, and with oil my

heart —
And fetch my cloak , for, though tho niqht

be raw,
I'll sec him too — the firat I ovor Raw "

I knew tho man, and knew his nature mild,
And was his plaything often whon a child ,
But somewhat at that moment pinch' d him

dose,

Else he was seldom bitter or morono
Perhaps his confidence just then betray* d,
His grief might prompt him with tho wpooch

he made ,
Perhaps 'twas moro good-humour gave it

birth,

The harmlofls play of pleasantry and mirth.
Howo'or it was, his language in my miutl,
Bespoke at least a man that know mankind.
But not to moralize too much and strain,
To prove an evil, of which all complain,
(I halo long argument** verbosely spun,)
One btory moro, dear Hill, and I havo done.
Once on a tune an omp'ror, a wise man,
No matter whore, in China, or Japan,
Decreed, that whosoever should offond
Agaanst the well-known duties of a friond,
Convicted onco should over after wear
But half a coat, and show his bosom bare.
The punishment importing this, no doubt,
That all was naught within, and all found

out.

From 1780 to 1800 ] INHCKIPTION ON THE TOMB OF OOWPKR

[WH,

0 happy Britain I wo havo not to f oar
Such hard and arbitrary measure hero ;
Klso, could a law, like that which I relate,
Once have the sanction of our triple state,
Some few, that I have known in days of old,
Would run most dreadful riak of catching1

cold;
Wliile you, my friend, whatever wand should

blow,

Might traverse England safely to and fro,
An honest man, close-buUon'd to the chin,
Broad cloth without, and a warm heart

within

1731, DM 1800.

1089.— TBIBUTE TO A MOTHER, ON
HEB DEATH*

'* For mo who feel, whene'er I touoh the lyre,
My talents siiik bolow my proud desire ;
Who often doubt, and sometimes credit give,
Whan friends assure me that my verso will

live ;
Whom hoalth, too tender for the bustling

throng,

Lod into pensive Hliado and soothing song j
Wlialrfjvor fortimo my uupoliHlunl rhymes
May incut in proHont or in futuro tunas,
Ixrt tlio blast art my grateful thoughts

employ,
Which soothes my sorrow and augments my

joy,
Whence lonely peace and aooiol pleasure

springs,
And friendship dearer than the smile of

kings.

While keener poets, querulously proud,
Lament the ill of poesy aloud,
And magnify with irritation's zool,
Those common evils wo too strongly fool,
The envious comment and tho subtle style
Of specious slander, stabbing with a smile j
.Frankly I wish to make her blessings known,
And think those blessings for her ills atone ;
Nor would my honest pride that praise forego,
Which makes Malignity yot more my foe.
If hoartfolt pain o'er led me to acouso
The ditnffcroufl gift of the alluring Muse,
'Twas m the moment when my verso im-

proKsM

Romo anxious feelings on a mother's breast.
O thou fond spirit, who with pride hast

smJlod,

And frown* d with foar on thy poetic child,
J 'leased, yot alarm' d, whon in his boyish time
lie sigh'd in numbers or ho laugh'd m

rhymo ,
While thy kind cautions wani'd him to

bowaio

Of Penury, the bard's perpetual snaro;
Marking the early temper of his soul,
Careless of wealth, nor fit for base control 1
I

Thou tender Baint, to whom ho owes much

more

Than over child to parent owod before ;
In life's first sottHon, whoa the fovor'a flamo
Shrunk to deformity his shrivelled frame,
And turned each fairer image in his brain
To blank confusion and her crazy train,
'Twas thine, with constant love, through tin*

goring years,

To bathe thy idiot orphan in thy tears ;
Day after day, and night succeeding night,
To turn incessant to the hideous sight,
And frequent watch, if haply at thy view
Deported rouson might not dawn anew ;
Though medicinal art, with pitying care,
Could lend no aid to Have thoe from despair,
Thy fond nmtomal heart adhered to hope and

prayor;
Nor prayed in Tain : thy child from powers

above

Received tho sonso to fool and blose thy love.
() might ho thence receive tho happy skill.
And iorco proportioned to his ardent will,
With truth's unfading radiance to emblaze
Thy virtues, worthy of immortal praise !
Nature, who dook'd thy form with beauty's

flowers,

Exhausted on thy soul her finer powers ;
Taught it with nil her energy to foe!
Love's melting softness, friondHliip's fervid

steal,

The gonoroiw purpose and tho active thought,
With charity's diifuHivu spirit fraught,
There all the best of uuuital gifts she placed,
Vigour of judgment, purity of tasto,
Sujxinor parts without thoir sploonfitl loavon,
Kindness to earth and confidence in heaven.
Wliilo my fond thoughts o'or all thy merit*)

roll,

Thy praise thus pfntthaH from my filial soul j
Nor will the public with harsh rigour blamo
This my juHt homage to thy honoured name ;
To ploaso that public, if to ploam bo mine,
Thy virtuoH train'd me — lot the praiao lx>

thine.

William tfayley.— &<m 1745, DM 1820-

1090.— INSCRirriON ON TIIH TOMB OF
COWTKK.

Vo who with warmth the public triumph foci
OJt talcntH dignified by Bacrod KOO!,
Here, to devotion's bard devoutly just,
Pay your fond tribute dno to Cowpor*s dust !
Kngland, exulting in hit* spotless fame,
Jttauka with hor dearest ttoiiH hiH favourite

namo*

Hoi\ft<j, fuuny, wit, suiRce not all to raine
Ho cloar a iii]<» to aiTuctiou's praiHC :
HIM highest honours to the heart belong;
His virtues form'd the magic of his Hcmg.

William Ilaylvj.—Bvrn 174,5, Died 1&U0.

50 "

. HA.YLEY.]

ON THE TOMB OF MES. UNWIN.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

1091 —ON THE TOMB OF MBS UNWIN
Trusting in God with all her heart and mind,
This woman proved magnanimously kind j
Endured affliction's desolating hail,
And watoh'd a poet through misfortune's

vale

Her spotless dust angelic guards defend f
It is the dust of Unwin, Cowper's friend.
That single title in itself IB fame,
For all who read his verse revere her name

William Hayl&y —Born 1745, Died 1820.

1092— DESTRUCTION OF SENNA-
CHEBIB'S ABMY.

From Ashur's vales when proud Sennacherib

trod,
Poured hw swoln heart, defied the living

God,
Urged with incessant shouts his glittering

powers,
And Judah shook through all her massy

towers ,
Bound her sad altars press the prostrate

crowd,

Hosts beat their breasts, and suppliant chief-
tains bow'd ,
Loud shrieks of matrons thnll'd the troubled

air,
And trembling virgins rent their soatter'd

hair,

High in the midst the kneeling king adored,
Spread the blaspheming scroll before the

Lord,
Raised his pale hands, and breathed his

pausing sighs,

And fix'd on heaven his dim imploring eyes.
"Oh ' mighty God, amidst thy seraph throng
Who sit'st sublime, the judge of right and

wrong,
Thine the wide earth, bright sun, and starry

zone,
That twinkling journey round thy golden

throne ,

Thine is the crystal source of life and light,
And thine the realms of death's eternal

night

Oh ' bend thine ear, thy gracious eye incline,
Lo ' Ashur's king blasphemes thy holy shrine,
Insults our offerings, and derides our VOWH.
Oh I strike the diadem from bin impious

brows,
Tear from his murderous hand the bloody

rod,
And teach the trembling nations ' Thou art

God'"'
Sylphs ' in what dread array with pennons

broad,

Onward ye floated o'er the ethereal road ,
Called each dank steam the reeking marsh

exhales,
Contagious vapours and volcanic gales ;

Gave the soft south with poisonous breath to

blow,

And roLL'd the dreadful whirlwind on the foo f
Hark ' o'or the camp the venom' d tempest

sings,

Man falls on man, on buckler buckler rings ,
Groan answers groan, to anguish anguish

yields,
And death's loud accents shake the tented

fields'
High rears the fiend his grinning jaws, and

wide

Spans the pale nations with colossal stride,
Waves his broad falchion with uplifted hand,
And his vast shadow darkens all the land.

Erasmus Dcurwm. — Bom 1731, fried 1802.

1093 —THE BELGIAN LOVEES AND
THE PLAGUE.

Thus when the plague, upborne on Belgian

air,
Look'd through the mist, and shook his

clotted hair,
O'er shrinking nations steer' d malignant

clouds,

And rain'd destruction on the gaping crowds ;
The beauteous JEgle felt the envonom'd

dart,
Slow roll'd hor eye and feebly throbb'd hor

heart.
Each fervid sigh neom'd shorter than the

last,
And starting friendship shunn'd hor as Rhe

paab'd.

With weak unsteady stop the fainting maid
Seeks the cold garden* R solitary shado,
Sinks on the pillowy moss hor drooping1 head,
And prints with lifeless limbs hor loafy bod.
On wings of love hor phghtod swain purfluoH,
Shades her from winds and shelters hor from

dews,

Extends on tapering polcn tho canvasfl roof,
Spioada o'er the Htraw-wovo mat the flaxen

woof,
Swc»ot buds and blossoms on hor bolntor

atrowH,

And binds his korcluof round hor aching-
brows 4
SoothoH with soft kwR, with tender accents

oharms,

And clasps tho bnprht infection m MH arms.
With pale and languid smilon tho grateful

four

Applauds his virtues and rewards his care ;
Mourns with wot ehook hor fair companions

fled,
On timorous stop, or numbor'd with the

dead,

Calls to hor bosom all ita scattered rayfl,
And pours on Thyrsis tho collected blaze ;

From 1780 to 18CG ]

PHILANTHROPY.— MR HOWARD.

Bravos tho chill night, oaroHHing and oarons'd,
And f oldn her hero-lover to hor broartt
LOHH bold, Loandor, at tho flunky hour,
KyiKl, UH ho «wam, tho far love-lighted tower ;
BroiiHtod with Btrugglmg anus tho toBBing

wave,

And wink benighted in tho watery grave.
LOHH bold, TobioH claim* d tho nuptml bod,
Whore Hovon fond lovorn by a fiend had blod;
And drovo, imjtruotod by IUH angol guide,
Tho onamourod demon from tho fatal bndo.
Sylphs > while your winnowing puuonB fanuod

tho air,

And Hhod gay vinions o*or tho Hlooping pair,
Lovo round their couch effused his rosy

broath,
And with his keener arrows conquer* d death.

Entsmw Darwin — Morn 1731, Died 1802.

1094,— DKATH OF ntiDSA AT THE
BATTLE OF MINDMN.

So Htood Kite on the wood-erowuM hoight,
O'er Mindou'H plain, HpucrLatroMH of tho light.
Sought with bold oyo amid tho bloody Htnfo
1 1 or drawer ncilf, tho partnoi of hor life,
.From lull to lull tho nwhiug honl pumicd,
And viow'd IUH bannoi, or bcliovod nlio vicw'd.
J'JoaHod with tho diHtaut roar, with <iuiokor

trcuul

Flint by Inn hand ono liHpintf boy H!IO Iwl ;
A?id ono fair ffirl amid tho loud alarm
Hlnpt on hor komhiof, oradltjd by hor arm ;
While round hor browH bright boamH of

Ifonour dart,
And Love's warm oddion oirolo round hor

hoart,
Near and more near the intrepid beauty

JWGHH'd,

Saw through tho driving flinoko hm

Saw on IUH holm, hor virgin luindrt inwovo,
Jiriglit ntara of gol<l, and myHtio kriotH of

love,
Heard tho exulting Hhoufc, a They run ' tlioy

rtin!"
« Great ttod'" nho enod, 4< UO'H siifel tho

battle's won'"

A ball now hiflHOfl through the airy tidon
(Some fury wing'd it, and Homo demon

guidofl ').
PartH tho fine looks hor graceful head that

dock,
Womuln hor fair oar, aud Hinkn into her

nock,

The rod Rtrcam, iHmiing from hor asturo VOITIR,
l)yoB her white veil, hor ivory bottom Htainw.
*' Ah mo ' " nhe cried, aud Huiking on the

ground,

hor dear babeH, regardloHK of the

wound}

11 Oh, eotiHO not yot to Ixuit, thou vital urn 1
AVait, giiHhing life, oh wait my IOVO'N

roi.urn ' tf
Hoarno barks tho wolf, the vulture ttoroamH

fiom far t

Tlio angol pity ahunn tho walks of war 1
" Oh Hparo, ye war-houndH, Kparo tlicur tender

age;
On mo, on mo," sho cried, "cxhautrt your

rago ' "
lliou with woak ariu« hor wooping baboa

And, Higluug, hid thorn in hor blood-ntaiu'd

V«Ht.

Jb^tom tout to tout ih' irnpatiout warrior

Foar in IIIH hoart and frenzy in IUH nyou ;
JNli/a'H name along the oamp ho oallH,
** Eliza" eohooB through tho oanvaHH walls ;
Quick through tho murmuring gloom hiH foot-

Htopn troad,

O'er groaning heaps, the dying and tho dead,
Vault o'or the plain, and in the tftnglod wood,
Lo I dead KLiza woltoring in her blood 1
Soon lioai-fl hit} liHtoning- won the weloome

With oi Km arms and sparkling- eye ho

bound* •
"Spdak low," ho crioH, and given IUH littlo

hatid,

" Klieti HltMtpn upon tho dow-oold sand ; "
J><M>r wo<»i>iug babo with bloody imgorrt

And trio<l with pouting lipt* hor

hroiiHt ;
((AlaH ! wo both with <xdd (uul hungor

Why tlo you wooi> P — Mamma will noon

awako*"
" Sho' 11 wake no more 1 " tho hnp'e

Upturu'tl hi« oyeH, and olowpM liw haudH, and

High'd ;
Btrotnh'd on the ground, a while entranced ho

lay,

Aud proMu'd warm kitwoH on tho lif<tl<^HH olay ;
And then upHprutig with wild oonvulHivu

«tart,

And all tho father kindled m IUH hearts •
" Oh hoaveua ! " he oriod, " my (ItHt ranh vow

forgivo ;
ThoHo bin<l to earth, for ihcwo I pray to

live J "
Kound IIIH chill baboH he wrappM

VOHt,

Aud <^hiHr>'d thorn Bobbing to hw

#ra»wiw Jtourwt**—. Horn 1731, DM 1802.

1095.— T>H tLANTTIHOPY— WK. IIOWA Ul).

And now, philanthropy I ttiy nvyK divino
Dart round tho globu from Zombi a to tho lino

ERABHUS PAEWIN.]

PERSUASION TO MOTHERS.

[SEVENTH PJBBIOD.-

O'er each dark prison plays the cheering

Like northern lustres o'er the vault of night.
From, realm to realm, with, cross or orescent

crown'd,

Where'er mankind and misery are found.
O'er burning sands, deep waves, or wilds of

snow,
Thy Howard journeying seeks the houso of

woe.

Down many a winding step to dungeons dank,
Where anguish wails aloud, and fetters

clank;
To oaves bestrew* d with many a mouldering

bone,

And cells whose echoes only learn to groan ,
Where no kind bars a whispering friend

disclose,

"No sunbeam enters, and no zephyr blows,
He treads, unemulous of fame or wealth,
Profuse of toil, and prodigal of health.
With soft assuasive eloquence expands
Power's rigid heart, and opes his clenching

hands;

Leads stern-eyed Justice to the dark domains,
If not to sever, to relax the chains ;
Or guides awaken'd mercy through the

gloom,

And shows the prison, sister to the tomb !
Gives to her babes the self-devoted wife,
To her fond husband liberty and life !
The spmts of the good, who bend from high
Wide o'er th^se earthly scenes their partial

eye,

When first arrayed in Virtue's purest robe,
They saw her Howard traversing the globe :
Saw round his brows her sun-Lie glory blaze
In arrowy circles of unwearied rays ,
Mistook a mortal for an angel guest,
And aak'd what seraph foot the earth im-

press'd
Onward he moves r Disease and Death

retire,
And murmuring: demons hate fr"n and

admire '

EraSiWLS Dwrwvn—Born 1731, Ihed 1802

1096 —PERSUASION" TO MOTHERS TO
SUCKLE THEIR OWN CHILDREN.

Connubial Eair I whom no fond transport

warms

To lull your infant in maternal arms ;
Who, bless'd in vain with tumid bosoms,

hear

Hia tender -mailings with unfeeling1 ear ;
The soothing kiss and milky nJl deny
To the sweet pouting hp and glistening-

eye*—

Ah ! what avails the cradle's damask roof,
The eider bolster, and embroider 'd woof 1

Oft hears the gilded oouch unpiiaod plains,
And many a tear the tassel' d cushion stains !
No voice so sweet attunes his cares to rest,
So soft no pillow as his mother's breast ' —
Thus charm' d to sweet repose, when twilight

hours

Shed their soft influence on celestial bowers,
The cherub Innocence, with smile divine,
Shuts his white wings, and sleeps on beauty's

shrine.

Erasmus Darwin. — Born 1731, Died 1802.

1097— SONG TO MAT.

Born in yon blaze of orient sky,

Sweet May' thy radiant form unfold j

Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye,
And wave thy shadowy locks of gold.

Tor thee the fragrant zephyrs blow,
For thee descends the sunny shower ;

The nils in softer murmurs flow,
And brighter blossoms gem the bower.'

Light graces deck'd in flowery wreaths
And tiptoe joys their hands combine ,

And Love his sweet contagion breathes,
And, laughing, dances round thy shrine.

Warm with new life, the glittering throng

On quivering fin and rustling wing,
Delighted join their votive song,
And hail thee Goddess of the Spring '
JErasnws Loarwm. — Bwn 1731, Died 1802.

1098.— SONG TO ECHO,
i.

Sweet Echo ' sleeps thy vocal shell,
Where this high arch o'orhangs the doll ;
While Tweed, with sun-roflocting stroams,
Chequers thy rocks with dancing bcamu ?

II.

Hero may no clamours harsh intmdo,
No brawling hound or claanon rudo j
Hero no fell boast of midnight prowl,
And loach, thy tortured cliffs to howl

III.

Bo thine to pour those valcH along
Some artless shophoid's evening song;
While night's sweet bird from yon high spray
Responsive listens to his lay.

rv.

And if, like me, some love-lorn maid
Should sing her sorrows to tby fihado,
Oh i sooth her breast, yc rooks around,
With softest sympathy of sound

Erasmus Darwm.— Bom 1731, Died 1802

from 1780 fc» 1800,1 RKOOLL MOTIONS OF JMNOLISH 80HNKR7. [OHAJMOTTB

1099— ON THJH DMPABTUBE OF THE
NIGHTINGALE.

Swoet pool of the wood«, a long adieu '

Farewell soft miuHtrel of tho early year !
Ah ! 'twill bo long ore thou Hhalt Huig anew,

And pour thy mumo on tho night1 H dull oar.
Whether on Hpring- thy wandering flights

await,

Or whether Hilont in our groves yon dwell,
Tho ponmvo muHO ahall own thoo for her

mate,

And Htill protect tho Bong1 Rho loves HO well
With cautious slop tho lovo-lorn youth shaD

glide
Through tho lono brake thab shades thy

moBHy nest ,
And Hhophord girla from oyo» iwofauo fliiall

hido

Tho gentle bird who flings of pity bcmt j
For Htill thy voioo Khali Hoft aflootioiw move,
And Htill bo dour to Borrow and to lovo '

-Jtor» 1740, DM 180C.

noo.— WRITTEN AT TIITO OTX)SH OF

Tho garlandH fado that Spring HO lutoly wove ,
JMooh Himplo ilowoi, wluoh nho had urn nod m

dow,

AnomonioH that Hpanglod oyory grove,
Tho primroHO wan, and harebell mildly

blue.

No moro whall violotfl lingo* in tho d«ll,
Or purple orohiH variogato tho plain,
Till Spring again nhall call forth ovary boll,
And droHH with humid handt) hor wreaths

again.
Ah, poor humanity ' so frail, HO fair,

Aro tho fond VIHIOUH of thy oarly day,
Till tyrant paHwon and ootronivo cww*o
Bid all fay fairy oolourH fa<lo away 1
Another May new biuU and flowers Hhall

biing ;
Ah ! why has happin&HH no second Spring ?

Should tho lono wanderer, fainting on *hin

way,

TtoKt for a moment of tho sultry hourH,
And, though hi» path through thoruu and

roughnoHH lay,
Pluck tho wild XOHO or woodbino'n

flowers ;
Weaving gay wxoatlia boneath HOZIIO Hhelioring

tree,

Tho sonHO of sorrow !io a while may IOHO ;
So have I nought thy floworn, fair Poony '
fc>o charm'd my way with friondHliip and tho

MHHO.

But daik(w now grown life's unhappy day,
Dark with now oloudH of ovil yoi to come ;

Hor ponoil Hiolcoiiinfr Fancy throwK away,

And weary Hope roolixum upon tho tomb,
And point** my WIHUOH to that tranquil nliorn,
Whoro tho palo npootro Care purnuoH no niontl

DM 180C.

no*.— BEOOLMOTJONS OF ENOLTKH

KauntH of my youth !

SOOTIOS of fond day-droamH, I bohold ye yet '
Whoro 'twas BO ploauant by thy northern

To climb the winding Hhoop-palh, aided oft
JJy soatter'd thornu, whoHO Mpiuy brauchoft

boro
Small woolly tafia, ftpoils of the vagrant

lamb,

There Hooking flholtor from the nooxi-day nun :
And ]>loaHaui, Hoatod on tlio Hhort Hoft turf,
l^o look }>«noath upon tlio hollow way,
Wliile heavily upward moved tho labouring

warn,

And ntulking nlowly by, tho nturdy lihid,
To <uxH() IIIH ptuiting team, trlopp'd with a

Hlx>uo
The grating whool.

Advannng liighor Htill,
Tho proHponrt wxhrnn, and tbti village church
But JitlJc o'or tbn Jowly roofH arotuid
I4<»arH itH gray Iwifry and itH Hiniplo vano;
ThoHo lowly roofH of tluitoh arn half doncoal'd
By tho rude arm** of imw, lovoly iu Hpring ;
When on each bough tho rony tinotiurod

bloom

»SitH iliiok, and promtaoft autumnal plenty.
Fur oven thoHO oroharda round tho Norman

farms,
"Which, a« their owners mark'd the prominod

fruit,
OonHolo them, for the vinoyardfl of the Houlli

Where woodn of a«h and l>oo«h,
And partial OOPHOH frmgo tlu> gmon hill foot,
Tho upland Hhephord rearn liin xnodoHt homo ;
rPhoro wandorn by a littlo nainohmH ntroam
That from the hill wolln forth, bright now,

and oloar,

Or after rain with chalky mixture gray,
.But Htill rofroHhmg in itH nhallow courHo
Ilie oottage garden ; mont for tino duHigu'd,
Yet not of beauty dowtituto. Tho vine
MantloH tho littlo conomont ; y«t the briar
DropH fragrant (low among tho July ilowtms ;
Ami patiHiet} ray'd, and froak'd, and moUlml

pinkn,

(irow among balm and ronamary and nut ;
Th ore honoyHiiokloiH flaunt, and roKtm blow
Almost uncultured; Homo with dark

pure

OontntHt their floworu of
white

BLAMIBE]

THE NABOB.

[SBVDNTH

Others like velvet robes of regal state
Of richest orimson ; while, in thorny moss
Enshrined and cradled, the most lovely wear
The hues of youthful beauty's glowing cheek.
With fond regret I recollect e'en now
In spring and summer, what delight I felt
Among these cottage gardens, and h<%*? much
Such artless nosegays, knotted with a rush
By village housewife or her ruddy maid, ^
Were welcome to me 5 soon and simply

pleased.

An early worshipper at nature's shrine,
I loved her rudest scenes — warrens, and

heaths,
And yellow commons, and birch-shaded

hollows.

And hedgerows bordering unfrequented lanes,
Bower* d with wild roses and the clasping

woodbine.

Charlotte Bmtfh.—. Born 1*749, Died 1806.

1 102.— THE NABOB.

When silent time, wi' lightly foot,

Had trod on thirty years,
I sought again my native land

Wi' mony hopes and fears.
Wha kens gux the dear friends I left

May still continue mine ?
Or gin I e'er again shall taste

The joys I left langsyne 1

As I drew near my ancient pile,

My heart beat a* the way ;
Ilk place I passed seemed yet to speak

O' some dear former day ,
Those days that follow'd me afar,

Those happy days o' mine,
Whilk made me fhiTifr the present joys

A' naething to langsyne :

The ivied tower now met my eye,

Where minstrels used to blaw ;
Nae friend stepp'd forth wi' open hand,

Nae weel-kenn'd face I saw ;
Till Donald tottered to the door,

Wham I left in his prune,
And grat to see the laid return

He bore about langsyne.

I ran to ilka dear friend's room,

As if to find them there,
I knew where ilk ane used to sit,

And hang o'er mony a chair ,
Till soft remembrance threw a veil

AoroEs thene een o' mine,
I closed the door, and sobb'd aloud,

To think on auld langsyne !

Some pensy ohiels, a new sprung race,
Wad next their welcome pay,

Wha shudder'd at my Gothic wa's,
And wish'd my groves away.

" Out, out," tiiey cried, " those aged elms,
Lay low yon mournfu' pine."

Na ' na ' our fathers' names grow there,
Memorials o' langsyne.

To wean me £rae these waefu' thoughts*

They took me to the town ;
But saw on ilka woel-kenned face

I miss'd the youthfu' bloom.
At balls they point' d to a nymph

Wham a' declared divine ;
But sure her mother's blushing cheeks

Were fairer far langsyne !

In vain I sought in music's sound

To find that magic art,
Which oft in Scotland's ancient lays

Has thrill' d through a' my heart.
The sang had mony an artfu' turn ,

My ear oonfess'd 'twas fine ;
But miss'd the simple melody

I listen' d to langsyne.

Ye sons to comrades o' my youth,

Forgie an auld man's spleen,
Wha 'midst your gayest scenes still
mourns

The days he ance has seen.
When time has pass'd and seasons fled,

Your hearts will feel like mine ,
And aye the sang will moist delight

That minds ye o' langsyne !
Susanna, Blcwwre.—Bom 1747, Died 1794

1103 — WHAT AILS THIS HEART 0'
MINE?

What ails this heart o' mine ?

What ails this watery eo P
What gars me a' turn polo as death

When I take leave o' theo ?
When thou art far awa',

Thou'lt dearer grow to mo ;
But change o' place and change o1 folk

May gar thy fancy 300.

When I gae out at e'en,

Or walk at morning air,
Hk rustling bush will scorn to say

I used to moot thoc there.
Then I'll sit down and cry,

And live aneath the tree,
And when a loaf fa's i' my lap,

I'll ca't a word frao theo,

I'll hie me to the bower

That thou wi' roses tied,
And whore wi' mony a blushing bud

I strove myself to hide.
I'll doat on ilka spot

Where I ha'e been wi1 thoo ,
And oa' to mind some kindly word

By ilka burn and tree.
Susanna Blairwre '—Born 1747, DM 1794

jflrwn 1780 to 18G«.]

HYMN TO CONTENT.

[ANNA L,

1104 — ODE TO SPRING.

Swoot daughter of a rough and stormy siro,
Hoar Winter' B blooming child, delightful
Spring !

Whoso unshorn looks with loaves

And swelling buds arc crown' d ,

Prom the groon islands of eternal youth
(Crown'd with fresh blooms and over-springing
shade),

Torn, hither turn thy step,

0 thou, whoso powerful voice

Moro sweet than softest touch of Doric rood
Or Lydian fluto, can soothe the madding
winds,

And through the stormy deep

Breathe thy own tender calm.

Theo, best beloved ! the virgin train await
"With songs and festal nton, and joy to rovo

Thy blooming wildH among,

And vales and dewy lawns,

With mitirod feet ; and oull thy oarlioflt sweets
To weave f ronh garlands for the glowing brow
Of him, the favour* d youth
Tliut prompts their whiHi>or'd High.

Unlook thy copious stores, thoao tender

That drop their awootnoftB on the infant budtf,
And Hilont down that ttwoll
The milky oar's groen Htem,

And food the flowering owior'fl early shoots ;
And call those windH, which through the whis*
poring boughs

With warm and pleasant breath

Salute the blowing flowers.

Now lot TOO sit beneath ilio whitening thorn,
And mark thy spreading tints stool o'er the
* dale;

And watch with patient eye

Thy fair unfolding charms.

0 nymph, approach ! while yet the temperate

sun
With bashful forehead, through the cool moist

air

Throws his young maiden beams,
And with chaste kisses woos

The earth's fair bosom ; while the streaming

voil
Of lucid clouds, with kind and frequent shado,

FrotootH thy modest blooms

From Ma severer blazo*

Sweet is thy reign, but short : the rod dog-

star
Shall Booroh thy treason, and the mower's

scythe

Thy greens, thy flowerets all,
Itomorsoloas shall destroy.

Reluctant shall t bid thoo then farewell ;
For 0 ' not all that Autumxi'H lap contains,

Nor Summor'H ruddiest fruit*,

Can aught for thoo atouo,

Fair Spring 1 whoso simplest promise moro

delights
Then all their largest wealth, and through

the hoart

JQaoh joy and new-born hopo
With Hoftont influence broatlios.

Ama L. Uarbzuld.—Uorn 1743, Died 1825.

1105.— TO A LADY, WITH SOME
PAINTKD FLOWEttS.

Flowors to the fair : to you those flowers 1

brzng,
And strive to greet you with an earlier

spring.
Flowers sweet, and gay, and delicate Hko

you;

Emblems of innoconoo, and boauty too.
With flowers the Graces bind their yellow

hair,

And flowery wroftths consenting IOVOTH wear.
Kloworn, the Hole luxury which nature know,
fn JEOdou's pure and guiltloHH gardon grow.
To lortior fownw are rougher tanks aHHign'd ;
The Hholtoriiig oak rowiHtn tho Hioriny wind,
The tougher yow ropolw invading f<»(w,
And tho tall pixio for future »avio» grows :
But this soft family to oaros utiknowu,
Wore born for pleasure and dcdiglit alouo.
(ilay without toil, and lovely without art,
They npnug to ohoor tho seuso and glad tho

hcwirt.

Nor blush, my fair, to own you copy those j
Your best, your sweetest empire if) — to

ploaKO.

Anna L.

.— Born 1743, DM 1825.

1106*— HTMN TO CONTENT.

0 thou, tho nymph with placid eye I
O Holdom found, yet over nigh I

Kecoivo my temperate vow :
Not all tho ntorms that shako tho polo
Can o'er disturb thy halcyon noid,

And smooth tho unaltor'd brow.

0 como, in fumplo vest arrayM,
With all thy sober olioor diHjilay'd,

To bloHH my longing night ;
Thy mion oompo«od, thy even paoo,
Thy mock regard, thy matron graco>

And chaste subdued v

No moro by varying paMHionM beat,
0 gontly guido my p&Krim foot
To find thy hermit cull ;

AJOIJL L. BABBATTLD.]

WASHING DAT.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

Where in some pure and equal sky,
Beneath thy soft indulgent eye,
The modest virtues dwell.

Simplicity in Attio Test,

And Innocence with candid breast,

And clear undaunted oye ;
And Hope, who points to distant years,
Pair opening through this vale of tears,

A vista to the sky.

There Health, through whose calm bosom

glide
The temperate joys in even-tide,

That rarely ebb or now ;
And Patience there, thy sister meek,
Presents her mild unvarying cheek

To meet the offer'd blow.

Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
A tyrant master's wanton rage

"With settled smiles to wait :
Inured to toil and bitter bread,
He bow*d his meek submissive head,

And kiss'd thy sainted feet.

But thou, oh nymph retired and coy !
In what brown hamlet dost thou joy

To tell thy tender tale ?
The lowliest children of the ground,
Moss-rose and violet, blossom round,

And lily of the vale.

0 say what soft propitious hour

1 best may choose to hail thy power,

And court thy gentle sway ?
When autumn, friendly to the Muse,
Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,

^nj shed thy milder day.

When eve, her dewy star beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,

And eery storm is laid }|
If such an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy soothing voice
Iiow whispering through the shade*

Anna, It. BwbcwU.~-Born 1743, Died 1825.

1107.— WASHING- DAT.

The Muses are turn'd gossips , they have lost
The buskin'd step, and clear high-sounding

phrase,
Language of goda. Come, then, domestic

Muse,

In slip-shod measure loosely prattling on,
Of farm or orchard, pleasant curds and cream,
Or droning flies, or shoes lost in the mire
By httde whimpering boy, with rueful face —
Come, Muse, and sing the dreaded washing

day.

Te who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend,
With bow'd soul, full well ye ken the day

Which week, smooth sliding after wook,

brings on

Too soon , for to that day nor peace belongs,
Nor comfort; ere the first gray streak of

dawn,
The red-arm'd washers como and chase

repose.

Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of

mirth,

Ere visited that day ; the very oat,
From the wet kitchen soared, and reeking

hearth,

Visits the parlour, an unwonted guest.
The silent breakfast meal is soon despatched,
Uninterrupted, save by anxious looks
Cast at the louring sky, if sky should lour.

From that last evil, oh preserve us, heavens I
For should the skies pour down, adieu to all
Remains of quiet ; then expect to hear
Of sad disasters—dirt and gravel stains
Hard to efface, and loaded lines at once
Snapp'd short, and linen horse by dog thrown

down,
And all the petty miseries of life.

Saints have been calm while strotoh'd upon

the rack,

And Montezuma smiled on burning coals *
But never yet did housewife notable
Greet with a smile a rainy washing day.
But grant the welkin fair, require not thou
Who call'st thyself, perchance, the master

there,

Or study swept, or nicely dusted coat,
Or usual 'tendance , ask not, indiscreet,
Thy stockings mended, though the yawning

rents

Gape wide as Erebus ; nor hopo to find
Some snug recess impervious. Should'st thou

try
The 'oustom'd garden walks, thine oyc shall

rue <*

The budding fragrance of thy tender shrub*,
Myrtle or rose, all crush'd beneath the

weight

Of ooarse-cheok'd apron, with impatient hand
Twitch'd off when showers impend; or

crossing lines

Shall mar thy musings, as the wot cold nhoot
Flaps in thy face abrupt. Woo to tho friond
Whose evil stars have argod him forth to

.

On such a day tho hospitable ritos ,
Looks blank at bost, and stinted courtesy
Shall he receive , vainly ho foods MB hopes
With dinner of roast chicken, savoury pio,
Or tart or pudding , pnddrng he nor tort
That day shall eat j nor, though the huwband

try —
Mending what can't be helped— to kindle

From cheer deficient, shall his consort's brow
Clear up propitious ; tho unlucky gnost
In silence dines, and early slinks away.

1780 to 18COJ

FBAIHK TO 001).

[ANNA JU

I w<»ll KKnombor, when a child, ilio awo
Thin day struck into mo ; for them the maids,
I H«aroo know why, looked oronB, and drove

xno from thorn ;

Nor Boft oaroHH could T obtain, nor hopo
Usual mdulgonoioH ; jolly or oroamB,
"Relique of contly KuppcrH, and act by
For mo thoir poltod ono ; or bnttor'd toafit,
When butter wan forbid , or thrilling- talc
01 ghost, or witch, or murder So I wont
And sheltered mo boeido tlio paxlour fire ;
Tlioro my dour grandmother, oldest of all

forms,
Tended tho littlo ones, and watched from

harm;

AnxiouHly fond, though oft nor flpootaolos
With olfm cnnnuig Ind and oft tlio pins
Drawn from her ravelTd Htoolang might have

Rourod
Ono IOHH indulgent.

At intorvalH my mother' H voice waa hoard
Utging despatch , briskly the work wont on,
All hands employed to wash, to rinse, to

wring,
Or fold, aud starch, and clap, and iron, and

plait.

Than would I Hit mo down, and ponder nrnoh
Why washings woro, Roniolimos through

hollow holo

Of pijio amusfld wo blow, and scmt aloft
Tlio floating bubbloH , littlo droatuin^ thon
To HOC, Moiitgol(iorf thy Hilkon ludl
14ido buoyant through tho oloudH, HO nour

approach
Tho Hportf* of children and tho toiln of men.

Earth, air, and ftty, and oooan hath itn

And TcrHo in ono of thorn — thin mont of all.

3, J)iod 1825.

1108.— TUB DEATH OF THE "VIRTUOUS.

Swoot in tho Hcono when virtue dioH '
Wliou HinkH a nghtoouH HOU! to roat,

How mildly beam tho olotdng oyoM,
XIow gontly hcuvoa th' expiring broatft 1

So fadoH a fmmmor cloud away,
So Hinkw tho ^alo whoti ntormn arc o'or,

So gontly Hhtitn tho oyo of day.
So dioH a wavo along tho Hlxoro.

Triumphant fimilos tho victor brow,
.Fann'd by Homo angol's purple winff ; —

Wlioro in, 0 Grave I thy victory now P
And whore, inHidiouu Doath 1 thy aling P

Forowtill, ootifliotmff joyH and foarH,
Whoro lifyht and Hhwlo altornato dw(»ll »

Ifow bnffht th' unchimffinp: morn appcarn ; —
Faro well, inconstant world, farewell !

Itn duty dono, — OH rank* tho day,
Ll^lit from itH load tho Hpirit flinw ;

Whxlo hoavon and oarth combine to wiy
" fcJwoot w tho Koono whon virtue dion I "

1740, DM 1825.

1109.— "COME OTTO HE."

Oomo, said JOHUH' Haorod voioo—
Como and mako my patliH yom- choice I
I will guide yon to your homo —
Woary pilgrim, hithor oomo J

Thou who, houttoloHA, solo, forlorn,
Long hast bonio tlio proud world'« ftoorn,
IJong hawt roam'd tho barren woato,
Woary pilgnm, hithor haste 1

Ye who, toHH'd on bods of pain,
Hook for oatte, but nook ux vain —
Yo whoHo Hwollon aud nlooploHH cyo»
Watoh to BOO tho morning nao —

Yo by fiercer anguiHh torn,

Jn Htroug romorwo for gmlt who mourn,

Hero ropoHO youi heavy caro —

A wounded Hpiut who <sau bear!

Sinner, oomo ! for here IH found
Jiuliu that HOWH from every wound —
Ponoo, that ever Khali endure—
IteHt eternal, Haowl, mire.

AnnaJb. JlMbuM.--^*, 1743, Mn

n to.— PIUISB TO GOT).

PraiHo to Ood, immortal prafoo,
For tho lovo that crowns our dayH— -
JiountoouH Hourco of every joy,
Let Thy prauo our toxiguoH employ 1

For tho blowing!* of tho field,
3<\>r tlio ntoroH the gawlenH yield,
For tho vino'H oxaliod juioo,
For tho gonorouti olivo'w xu& ,

Hookn that whiten all tho plain,
Yellow RhoavoH of ripenM grain,
OlondH that drop their fattening down,
Bunt) that temperate wtumth difftino —

All that Spring, with bountooa« luuid,
H»atter»i o'er Ilio nmiling laud ;
All that Hbenvl Autumn pourn
From her rich outflowing Htorcn :

TlioHO to Thoo, my God, wo owe—
Bourco whence all our bloHHingH ilow I
And for theso my wml Hhall raiHO
Grateful vowa aud aolomn pruiHO.

THE ANNIVERSARY.

[SBVBNTH PETWOD —

Tet should rising whirlwinds tear
From its atom tho ripening ear-
Should the fig-troe's blasted shoot
Drop her green untimely fruit —

Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store —
Though the sickening flocks should fall,
And the herds desert the stall —

Should Thine alter' d hand restrain
The early and the latter rain,
Blast each opening bud of joy,
And the rising year destroy ;

Yet to Thee my soul should raise

Grateful TOWS and solemn praise,

And, when every blessing's flown,

Love Thee — for Thyself alone.

Awna £ Bo/r&owZcZ.— Bom 1743, Died 1825

II 1 1.— THE ANNIVERSARY.

Ah, lovely Liohfield ! that so long hast shone
In blended charms peculiarly thine own ,
Stately, yet rural , through thy choral day
Though shady, cheerful, and though quiet,

gay;
How interesting, how loved, from year to

year,
How more than beauteous did thy scenes

appear!
Still as the mild Spring chased the wintry

gloom,
Devolved her leaves, and waked her rich

perfume,
Thou, with thy fields and groves around thee

spread,

loft'st, in unlessen'd grace, thy spiry head ;
But many a loved inhabitant of thine
Sleeps where no vernal sun will ever shine.
Why fled ye all so fast, ye happy hours,
That saw Honora's eyes adorn these bowers P
These darling bowers, that much she loved to

hail,

The spires she called "the Ladies of the
- Vale'"

Fairest and best ' — Oh ' con I e'er forget
To thy dear kindness my eternal dobt P
Life's opening paths how tenderly it smoothed,
The joys it heightened, and the pains it

soothed P

No, no * my heart its sacred memory bears,
Bright 'mid the shadows of o'erwholming

years;

When mists of deprivation round me roll,
*Tis the soft sunbeam of my clouded soul

Ah, dear Honora ' that remember 'd day,
First on these eyes when shone thy early

ray'
Scarce o'er my head twice seven gay springs

had gone,

Scarce five o'er thy unconscious childhood
flown,

When, fair as their young flowers, thy infant

frame

To our glad walls a happy inmate camo.
O summer morning of unrivall'd light r
Fate wrapt thy rising in prophetic whito '
June, the bright month, when nature joys to

wear

The livery of the gay, consummate year,
Gave that envermiled daysprmg all her powers,
Gemm'd the light leaves, and glow'd upon the

flowers ;

Bode her plumed nations hail the rosy ray
With warbled orisons from every spray.
Purpureal Tempe, not to thee belong
More poignant fragrance or more jocund

song.
Thrice happy day! thy clear auspicious

light

Gave " future years a tincture of thy white , "
Well may her strains thy votive hymn deoroo,
Whose sweetest pleasures found their source

in thee ;

The purest, best that memory explores,
Safe in the past's inviolable stores.
The ardent progress of thy shining- hours
Beheld me rove through Liohfield's verdant

bowers,

Thoughtless and gay, and volatile and vain,
Curded by nymphs and youths, a frolic tram j
Though conscious that a little orphan child
Had to my parents' guidance, kind and mild,
Recent been summon' d, whoa disease and

death

Shed dark stagnation o'er hor mother's breath.
While eight sweet infants' wailful enow de-
plore

What not the tears of innocence restore ;
And while the husband xnouin'd hw widow' d

doom,

And hnng despondent o'er tho closing tomb,
To us this loveliest scion ho consign' d,
Its beauty blossoming, its opening mind.
His heartfelt IOSH had diawn my April tears,
But childish, womanish, ambiguotw yoars
Find all their gnofa as vaninhiug an keen ;
Youth's rising sun soon gilds tho flhowory

On the expected trust no thought I bont,
Unknown the day, unheeded tho event
One sister dear, from sploon, from falnohood

free,

Rose to the verge of womanhood with me j
Gloom'd by no envy, by no diHCord jarr'd,
Our pleasures blondod, and our Htudion nharod j
And when with day and waking thoughts they

closod,

On tho same couch our agilo limbs ropoHod,
Amply in friendship by hor viriuoH bloat,
I gave to youthful gaioty tho rest;
Considering not how near tho period cbxyw,
When that transplanted branch should moot

our view,

Whose intellectual fruits were doom'd to rise,
Food of tho future's heart-expanding joys j
Born to console mo when, by Fate severe,
The Much-Beloved should press a ttmoloss bier

jfrvm 1780 to 18(10,]

THE LOT OF THOT7HAND8.

HUNTMtr.

My friond, my HiHtcr, from my arniH bo torn,
fchokoning ami milking on her bridal morn ;
Wlulo Hymen, Hpoodiug from thiH mournful

dome,
Should (hop liin darkened torch upon lior

tomb.

'TwaH ovo ; tho «un, in Hotting glory dioHt,
Spread hiH gold skirts along tlio orimnon

WOfltj

A Sunday' H ovo I Honora, bringing thoo,
VnondHhip's soft Sabballi long it rose to mo,
Whon on tho wing of circling aoaBons borne,
Annual I hailed ita consecrated morn

In tho kind interchange of mutual thought,
Oux homo myHolf , and gentle Bister sought ,
Our pleasant homo, round which tho ascending

gale

BroathoH all tho freshness of tho sloping vale ;
On hor groon vorgo tho Hpaoious walls arino,
Viow hor fair fields, and catch hor balmy

sighs;

See hor near hillH tho bounded prospect close,
And hor bluo lako in glassy broadth ropOHo
With arms outwinod, and amiimg as wo

talk'd,

To tho matornal room wo oaroloHB walk'd,
Whoro nat its honour 'd mistress, and with

Hmilo

Of lovo mdulgont, from a floral pile
Ilio gayoHt glory of tho sitminor bower
Cull'ciior tho luw-airivod — tho Immiui ilowor,
A lovely infant-girl, who pcmmva xtood
OloHO to hor knooH, tuid oharuiM UH an wo

viow'd
0 ' liaHt thou markM tho fliunmcr'H buddod

rone,
Whon 'mid tho veiling incwn itw orintKon

So l>loom'd tho bounty of that fairy form,
Bo hor dark lookH with goldon tingon warm,
Play'd round tho timid curve of that whito

nook,

And flwootly shaded half hor bliinhing oliook.
0 ! hant thou Hoon tho Htar of ovo on high,
Through tho Boft dunk of Buxumor's balmy

sky

•Shod itH groon light, and in tho glaiwy atroam
JOyo tho mild reflex of itH trembling boam P
Bo look'd on UH with tender, baHhfiil ga^o,
Tlia doHtinod <sharmor of our youthful dayH ;
WhoHo Hold itH native elevation jorn'd
To tho gay wildnosH of tlio infant mind ;
KHtoom and Ha^rod confidence improHs'd,
Whilo our fond armH tho boautooun child

oareHH'd.

Aiwv, Sward, — Jfarn 1747, J)wd 1801).

x 112*— BONO.

The Roaflon comoH when firtit wo met,

Uut you return no more ;
Why cannot I tho days forgot,

Which timo can. ne'er reutoro P

O dayH too nwoot, too bright to lawt,
Are you iudood for over pant P

Tho fleeting nhadowH of delight,

In memory 1 traoe ,
In fancy niop thoir rapid flight,

And all the pant replace :
l)ut, ah ! I wake to ondloHH WOOH,
And tears tho fading vinioiiH cloHo 1

Mn. Hunter.— -Horn 1742, DM 1821,

1113.— SONG-.

O tuneful voioo 1 I ntill doploro

ThoHe aocontn which, though heard no more,

Still vibrato on my heart j
In ooho'H oavo I long to dwell,
And Htill would hear tho wad farowoH,

Whon wo woro doom'd to part.

Bright oyofl, 0 that tho tank woro mine
To guard tho liquid firos that Hhino,

And round your orbite play;
To watch them with a vofltal'H oaro,
And food with HmiloH a light so fair,

That it may ne'er decay 1

Mrs. Uwtion—Jtorn 3743, DM 1821.

- — TO Mr PAtKaiTBlt, OK UKINO
HHPAIiATKD Jh^UM HJOIi OJN JEIW14

Dear to my heart afllifo*H warm Mtroam
Which animatoH thin tnorial dlfiy,

For theo Jt court tho waking di*oam,
And deck with HtmloM tho future day ;

And tluiH bogtiilo tho proHunt pain

With hopeH that wo Hliall meet again.

Yoi, will it bo aa when tho pa«t

Twined every joy, an<l oaro, and thought,
And o'er our mindn one mantlo cimt

Of kind affoctiottn finely wrought P
Ah no I tho grouu<UoHH hopo WOT*O vum,
For HO wo ne'er can moot again I

May ho who claimH thy tondor hoart
Dohorro itH lovo, UH I havo done 1

For, kind an<l gontlo UH thou arir,
If HO beloved, thou'rl fairly won.

Drlght may the wtorocl ton»h remain,

And ohoor thuo till we moot again 1

Mrs. Hunter.—!}*™ 174S3, DM 18SH.

1115.— THE LOT OF TKOUHANDH.

Wlion hope lien dood within tho
By Hocret Horrow clone concuMil

MBS. OPED.]

THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE.

Wo shrink lest looks or words impart
What must not bo reveal' d.

'Tis hard 'to smile when one would woep ;

To speak when one would silent be ;
To wake when one should wish to sleep,

And wake to agony.

Yet suoh the lot by thousands oast
Who wander in this world of care,

And bend beneath the bitter blast,
To save them from despair.

But nature waits her guests to greet,
Where disappointment oannot come ,

And tune guides with unerring feet
The weary wanderers home.

3frs. Hwter.— Born 1742, Died 1821,

1116.— THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE.

Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake,

And hear a helpless orphan's tale,
Ah ' sure my looks must pity wake,

'Tis want that makes my oheek so pale.
Yet I was once a mother's pnde,

And my brave father's hope and joy ;
But in the Nile's proud fight he died,

And I am now an ophan boy.

Poor foolish child ' how pleased was I

When news of Nelson's victory came,
Along the crowded streets to fly,

And see the lighted windows flame !
To force me home my mother sought,

She could not bear to see my joy ;
For with my father's life 'twas bought,

And made me a poor orphan boy.

The people's shouts were long and loud,

My mother, shuddering, cloyed her ears ;
" Bejoice ' rejoice ' " still cried the crowd ,

My mother answer'd with her tears.
" Why are you crying thus," said I,

" While others laugh and shout with j'oy P '
She kiss'd me — and with such a sigh !

She call'd me her poor orphan boy.

" What is an orphan boy ? " I cried,

As in her face I look'd, and smiled ;
My mother through her tears replied,

" You'll know too soon, ill-fated child '"
And now they've toll'd my mother's knell,

And I'm no more a parent's joy ;
O lady, I have learn' d too well

What 'tis to be an orphan boy !

Oh I were I by your bounty fed '
Nay, gentle lady, do not chide—

Ttost me, I mean to earn my bread ;
The sailor's orphan boy has pnde

Lady, you weep ' — ah ? — this to me P
You'll give me clothing, food, employ ?

Look down, door parents ' look, and soo
Your happy, happy orphan boy !

Mrs. Qpfe.— Born 17G9, DM 1853.

1117. — A LAMENT.

There was an eye whose partial glance
Could ne'er my numerous failings see j

There was an oar that still untired
Could listen to kind praise of me.

There was a heart Time only mado
For me with fonder feelings burn ,

And which whene'er, alas ' I roved,
Still longed and pined for my return.

There was a lip which always breathed
E'en short farewells with tones of sadness ,

There was a voice whose eager sound
My welcome spoke with heaitfelt gladness.

There was a mind, whose vigorous powers
On mine its fostering influence thiew ;

And called my humble talents forth,
Till thence its dearest joys it diew.

There was a love that oft for mo
With anxious fears would overflow ;

And wept and pray for mo, and sought
From future ills to guard — but now

That eye is closed, and deaf that oar,
That hp and voice aio muto for over '

And cold that heart of faithful lovo,

Which death alone fioin mine could flovor !

And lost to mo that ardent mind,
Which loved my varied tankH to HOO ;

And, Oh i of all the inawo 1 gaiu'cl,
This was tho dearest far to mo

Now I, unloved, unchoor'd, alono,
Life's dreary wildornoHH muHt tread,

Till Ho who loves tho broken heart
In mercy bids mo join tho dead.

But, « Father of tho fathorloaa,"

0 ' Thou that hoar' H! tho orphan' H cry,

And " dwollowt with tho contrite luwirt,"
As well as in " Thy place on high,"—*

0 Lord ' though like a furled leaf,
That's sever* d from its parent troo,

1 struggle down life's Btormy tide,
That awful tide which loads to Thoo. —

Still, Lord ' to thoo tho voice of praise
Shall spring triumphant from my breant ;

Since, though I tread a weary way,
I trust that he I mourn is BLEST !

Mrs. Opie.—Born, 1709, Died 1853

From 1780 fn 186ft.]

THE

POOK.

[MuH. GRANT*

i n 8.— SONG.

do, youth beloved, in distant glades

Now fricwdH, now hopon, now joyw to find I
{ Yet HomotimoH doign, 'nudnt fairer maulH,

To think on hor ihou loav*wt belaud.
Thy love, thy fate, dear youth, to nharo,

Must never l>o my happy lot ,
But them maywt Kraut thin humble prayer,

forgot mo not 1 forgot mo nut !

Tot, nhcrald tho thought of my diHtross

Too painful to thy foolmgH bo,
Hood not tho wiflh I now oxproHH,

Nor ovor deign to think on mo •
But oh ' if grief thy stopn attend,

If want, if HioknoHH ho thy lot,
And thon roquuo a soothing inond,

Foigot mo not ' forgot mo not '

Mrs. 02HC.— Uwn 1700, Dwd 1853.

ni9.-~ON A SPftlO OF IIRATIt

Howor of tho waflto ' tho hoath-fowl HhuuH
For thoo tho hrako and tangled wood —

To thy protecting- nhado Hho rmiH,
Thy tender budu tmpply hoi food ,

Her young forwako her downy plumoH,

To rout upon thy opening bloomn.

Flower of tho doHort though thon art '
Tlio door that range tho mountain fioo,

Tho graceful doo, tho Htatoly hart,
'Choir food and wlwltor Hook from thoo j

Tho boo thy oarlioHt bloBHom grocjtn,

And draws from thoo hor ohoiooHt nwootH.

Gem of tho heath ! whoao modest bloom
HhodH boauty o'«r tho lonely moor ;

Though thou dtaponHo no nob porftmio,
Nor yot with Hploudid tintn tilluro,

Hath valour*H ortwt and boauty'H bowor

Oft hant thou dook'd, a favoiirito Howor,

>1owor of tho wild ! whoHO i)«ri>lo glow
AdornM tho duHky mountain' H sido,

Not tho gay IXUOH of Irin* bow,
Nor gardon'H artful rariod prido,

With all itn wealth of Bwootn <$ould ohoor,

Liko thoo, tho hardy mouutainoor

oC liirt hoart ! thy fragranoo mild
Of poaoo a7id froodoin HOMHL to bivatho ;

To pluok thy bloHHcmiH in tho wild,
And dock IUH bonnet with tho wreath,

Whoro dwelt of old hin niwtio HITOH,

IH all hiH Hiinplo wiHh roquiroH.

Slower of hin dear loved native land !

Alan, when dmtant far more dear I
"Whon ho from Homo cold foroiurn wtrand,

LookH homeward through tho blinding tear,
How muHt hiH tifihmg heart doploro,
That homo and thoo ho H«OH no inoto !

H20.— THH HKtHCiANT) WX)K.

Where ycnulur ridgy mountuinH lioiuul iho

Hcono,

Tho narrow opening glonn that intervene
Still nholtor, in Home lowly nook ohHuum,
One poorer tliau tho roHt— wlutro all are

poor;

Rome widuwod matron, liopelosH of relief,
Who to her Hcorot br«aHt nouftnoH lu»r griof ;
Dojoctod HigliH tho wintry night away,
And lonoly imimw nil tho nuinmor <lay •
Her gallant HOIIH, who, Hiuit with honour'^

ilio phiuitom Fame through war'w

alaiuiH,
Itolnrn no moroj wiiotch'd on HnuloHtan'H.

plain,

Or Hunk honoath tho unfathomable main ;
Tn vain hor oyen tho watery wauto explore
For horooH — fated to return no more!
Lot othorn blcHH tho morning'H reddening

bourn,
Foo to her poaoo — it broaktt tho

droam

Tliat, iu their primo of manly bloom
J&astorod tlio long-loHt wariaorH to her broanl ;
And iw they Htrovo, with HiiuloH oi filial love,
Thoir widowed parctit'H iLiiguwh to removn,
Through IKT Hiiiall oaHtmiout broko tho in-

triiHivo day,

And oliiiHcd tho plontmig ntiagcH away 1
No time can o'oi IKT bariiHh'd JOVH nmioi^,
Kot ah ! a heart otico broken bcalH no moi-o.
Tlwi <l(wy boanm that gloam from pity'« oj«,
Tho "KtillHniall voice" of Kiverod Hymputhy,
hi vain the niournor4H norroww would boguile,
Or Hteal from weary wo otto languid Hiuilo ;
Yot what they coxi thoy do— tho ucuiity

So often oponM for tho wandering poor,
To hor earth cottager complacent deal*,
While tho kind glanoo tho molting heart

And Htill, when ovoniug RtroukH tho wont with

gold,

Tho milky tiibwtn from tho lowing fold
With cluM»rfiil haste oflic.iouH ehildron bring,
And ovcn'y Hiniling flowor that doc-lw tho

Ah ' httl<^ know the fond altmitivo train,
That Hpring and floweretw Hiuilo for h«r in

vain :

Yet hence thoy l<«trn to r(weron<»e modest woo,
And of their little all a part bestow,
U't th<mo to wealth an<l proud diHthitttion

bom,

With tho cold glance of mnolenco and HCOJ u
Hogard tho Hiijtpliant wretoli, antl harnhly

griovo

ITio blocjding heart their bounty would r<<h<»\(> :
Far diir<>rent thoHo, while from a bouutooun

hoart

With tho 7>oor Hiifloror thciy divldft a part,;
Humbly t/hoy own that all thoy havo U nvtkn
A boon prouuriouH from mdulgont Iltnwou :

TIGHE ] THE MABEIAGB OF CUPID AOT> PSYCHE. [SEVENTH

Aad the next blighted crop or frosty spring
Themselves to equal indigence may bring.

Qrwt.— Born 1754, Died 1338.

— THE MAERIAQ-E OP CUPID AND
PSYCHE , PSYCHE'S BAJSflSHMENT.

• She rose, and aH enchanted gazed

On the rare beauties of the pleasant scene :
Conspicuous far, a lofty palace blazed
Upon a sloping bank of softest green ,
A fairer edifice was never seen ;
The high-ranged columns own no mortal

hand,
But seem a temple meet for Beauty's

queen ;
Like polished snow the marble pillars

stand,
In graoe-atteznper'd majesty, sublimely grand.

Gently ascending from a silvery flood,
Above the palace rose the shaded hill,
The lofty eminence was crown* d with wood,
And the rich lawns, adorn' d by nature's

skill,

The passing breezes with their odours fill ;
Here ever-blooming groves of orange glow,
And here all flowers, which from their

leaves distil

Ambrosial dew, in sweet succession blow,
And trees of matchless size a fragrant shade

bestow

The sun looks glorious 'mid a sky serene,
And bids bright lustre sparkle o'er the tide ;
The clear blue ocean at a distance seen,
Bounds the gay landscape on the western

side,

While closing round it with majestic pnde,
The lofty rooks mid citron groves arise ;
"Sure some divinity must here reside,"
As tranced in some bright vision, Psyche

cries,
And scarce believes the bliss, or trusts her

charmed eyes

When lo r a voice divinely sweet she hears,
From unseen lips proceeds the heavenly

sound*

" Psyche approach, dismiss thy timid fears,
At length his bride thy longing spouse has

found,

And bids for thee immortal joys abound ;
For thee the palace rose at his command,
For thee his love a bridal banquet crown' d,
He bids attendant nymphs around thee

stand,
(Prompt every wish to serve — a fond obedient

band."

Increasing wonder fill'd her ravish'd soul,
For now the pompous portals open'd wide,

There, pausing oft, with timid foot sho

stole
Through halls high-domed, enrich' d with

sculptured pnde,

While gay saloons appear' d on either flido,
In splendid vista opening to her sight ,
And all mth precious gems so beautified,
And furnish' d with such exquisite delight,
That scarce the beams of heaven emit such

lustre bright.

The amethyst was there of violet hue
And there the topaz shed its golden ray,
The ohrysoberyl, and the sapphire bluo
As the clear azure of a sunny day,
Or the mild eyes where amorous glancoa

play;
The snow-white jasper, and the opal's

flame,

The blushing ruby, and the agate gray,
And there tho gem which bears his luckless

name
Whose death, by Phoebus mourn'd, insured

Th-iiTfi deathless fame*

There the green emerald, there cornelians

glow,

And rich carbuncles pour eternal light,
With all that India and Peru can show,
Or Labrador can give so flaming bright
To the charm* d mariner's holf-dazsslod

sight

The ooral-pav&d baths with diamonds blaze ;
And all that can the f omalc heart delight
Of fair attire, the last recess dinplayn,
And all that luxury can ask, her oyo aurvoyn.

Now through the hall melodious zmiflio

stole,
And self-prepared tho splendid banquet

stands,

Self-poured the iioctar spaikloa in tho bowl,
The lute and viol, touch* d by unHonn hands,
Aid the soft voices of tho choral banclH ;
O'er tho full board a brighter Inmtro bourns
Than Persia's monarch at hia feast com-
mands

For swoot refreshment all inviting scomH
To taste celestial food, and pure ombrowial
streams.

But when mock ovc hung out her dewy

star,
And gently veiled with gradual hand tho

sky,

Lo ' tho bright folding doois retiring far,
Display to Pnycho's captivated oyo
All that voluptuous OOHO could o'er

supply

To soothe tho spirits in aorono repose :
Beneath the velvet's purple canopy,
Divinely form'd a downy couch arofto.
While alabaster lamps a milky light tUsoloHe.

Once moro sho hears tho hymeneal strain ;
Far other voices now attune tho lay ;

17PO to 180(1 ] UIIE MAUIttAGE OF CUTTO AND TOTCHK

rJTi««K.

Tho swelling sounds approach, awlula

Tellium,

And then retiring, faint diHHolvod away ;
Tlio expiring InmpH omit a fooblor ray,
And soon 111 flagrant doath ox:tinguiHhJd

lie

Ilion virgin terrors "Psycho's Honl dismay,
Whon through th' obuouring gloom B!IO

nought can spy,
But Hoftly rustling Bounds doolaio Romo "boing

nigh.

Oh, yon for whom I writo ' whoso hearts

can molt
At tho soft thrilling voioo whoao powo*

yon prove,

Yon know what charm, unutterably folt,
AttondH tho unexpected voico of lovo
Abovo tho lyre, tho luto'w Hoft notoH abovo,
With Hwoot ouohantuiont io tho HOU! it

htoaln,

And l)oibVH it to Klymnm'n liappy grovo;
Yon boat can toll tho rapture Pnyoho fcolH,
Whoii IGVO'H anibroHial lip tho vown of ilymon

" 'Tis ho, 'tin my dolivoror ' (loop imprest
Upon my heart those sounds T woll recall,"
Tho bluHhini» maid oxclaim'd, and OIL Ins

A tear of trembling ocHtiwy lot fall
Hull, ore tho bnic/iOH of tlto moiinng oall
Amora from hoi purple, liunud bod,
Psycho in vain explores the vacant hall ,
Hor tnudur lover from h<ir aims m flotl,
While Hltwp hiH downy wingn had o'er hor
oyohds spread.

Illuminoil bright wow shmoH tho splondid

(lowo,

MclodlonH ficconts hor arrival hail :
iJut not tho torch's bluxu can choHo the

gloom,

And all tho soothing powers of music fail ,
Tromblmg nho souks hor couch wilh horror

palo,

But lli'st a latnp ooiusouls 111 socrot shade,
Whihi unknown terrors all hor HOU! assail
Thus lialf thoir treacherous couusol is

obciy'd,
li'or still hor gozitlo soul abhors tho murdorous

blado.

And now with softest whispers of delight,
Love welcomes Psycho still moxo fondly

dear;
Not uuobsorv'd, though hid in deepest

night,

Tho silent anguish of her socrofc fear.
llo thinks tliat tondeinosH oxaitos tho toar,
By tho lato miago of hor parent's grief,
And half offended Hooks in vain to choor ;
Yet, whilo ho spoakB, her sorrows fool

rolioi,
Too soon more koon to sting from this HUH-

ponwion brief !

Allow'd to settle on (sciential
Soft nloop, exulting, now <»v(»ri.H IUH n\vay,
From PHyoho*H anxiourt pillow gladly ilioH
To veil thoHO orlw, whoKO puro and lambent

ray

Tlio poweis of heaven mibimnHivoly ol>oy.
Trembling and broathlaHK thcu H!IO Hoftly

roHO,
And Hoizod tho lamp, whoro it obnouroly

lay,

With hand too rawlily daring to diwcloKO
Tho aaorod veil which hung myntonouH o'or

hor WOOH.

Twice, aw with agitated Htoj) nho wont,
Tho lamp oxpiuug Hlioiio with doubtful

gloam,
AH though it wam'd Imr fjom hor rawh

intent -
And twice H!IO paunod, and on HH trembling

beam
Gazed with Hiwpondod breath, while voices

Hooin
With miTrmuring Hound along tho roof to

High ;

As one junt waking from a troublous droam,
With palpitating hoart and Hiraiiiitig oyo,
Still fix'd wilh loar romuiiiH, Htill tlunkH the

danger nigh.

Oh, daring MUHO ' wilt* them judood. onway
To paint the wonders wliioli that lamp

could show ?

And caiinL thou ho]u) in living words to Hay
Tbo cltuuslm^ glori(»H of that licit vmily vn'W i*
Ah ! woll I wwn, tluiii if with p<»n«il truo
That Hploudid vmion <*oitl<l bo woll oxproHH'd,
Tho icarful awo imprudent Pnyolm Know
Would Hoiiso with ntpturo ovory woxult^ring

brwiHt,
Wlion LOVO'H all-potoiit chaiins divinely Htood

(JOllfOHH'd

All imporooptiblo to human tonoli,
II in wmgH diHplay coloHtial OHHOUOO light ;
Tlio oloar eifuJgonco of tho blaxo IH Hitch,
Tho brilliant plnma^o H)UUOH HO hoavonly

bright,
That mortal oyon turn duxxlod from tho

night ,
A youth ho HOOUIH, in maiiliood'H fnvslioHi

yearn ,
Konnd IIIK fair nook, aw (ilinging with

delight,

JOaoli golden curl roHplon donbly nnpoarH,
Or ghaduH hin darker biow, which gra<'«

majoHtio woarn .

Or o'er liin gitilolOHH front tlio rmgloU

Hlieir rayw of Kumiy luntrci H(M»tn to throw,
That front than poliHhoil ivory mom
Ilia blooming chookn with <looi><T

glow

Than TOHOH HotittorM o'or a bod of HUOW :
While on IUH lipH7 diHtillM In buhny down

57

MABY TIGKHE.]

THE LILY.

[SEVENTH PJURIOP. —

(Those lips divino, that ovon m Rilonco

know

The hoart to touch), porsiiasion to mfuao,
Still hongs a losy charm that novor vainly

The friendly curtain of indulgent sleep
Disclosed not yet his eyes* rosiatleus sway,
But from their silky veil there seem'd to

peep

Some brilliant glances with a softened ray,
Which o'er his features exquisitely play,
And all his polish* d limbs suffuse with

light.
Thns through some narrow space the azure

day,

Sadden its cheerful rays diffusing bright,
Wide darts its lucid beams, to gild the brow

of night.

TTift fatal arrows and celestial bow
Beside the couch were negligently thrown,
Nor needs the god his dazzling arms to

show
Tfia glorious both , such beauty round Trim

shone
As sure could spring from Beauty's self

alone,
The bloom whioh glow*d o'er all of soft

desire
Could well proclaim him Beauty's cherish'd

son
And Beauty's self will oft those charms

admire,
And steal his witching smile, his glance's

living fire

Speechless with awe, in transport strangely

lost,

Long Psyche stood with fix'd adoiing eye ,
Her limbs immovable, her senses toss'd
Between amazement, feat, and ecstasy,
She hang's enamour' d o'er the deity
Till from her trembling hand extmgtush'd

falls

The fatal lamp — he starts — and suddenly
Tremendous thunders echo through the

halls,
While rum's hideous oiash bursts o'er th*

affrighted walls

Dread horror seizes on her sinking hoart,
A mortal dullness shudders at her breast,
Her soul shrinks fainting from death's icy

dart,
The groan scarce utter'd dies but Mlf

express' d,
And down she sinks in deadly swoon

oppress' d ,
Bub when at length, awaking from her

trance,

The terrors of her fate stand aZl confess' d,
In vain she oasts around her timid glance ,
The rudely frowning scenes her former joys

enhance

, No traces of those joyn, aliia, remain '
A doHert solitude alono appears ;
No veidant shade rclioven tho Handy plain,
The wide-spread waste no gentle fountain

cheers,

One barren face tho dreary prowpoct woarH ,
Nought through tho vast horizon moots hor

eyo

To calm tho dismal tumult of hor fears ;
No trace of human habitation nigh :
A sandy wild beneath^ above a threatening
sky
Mary TigJw. — Bow 1773, Died 1810.

1 122.—- THE LILT.

How withered, perish'd seems tho form

Of yon obscure unsaghtly root '
Tet from the blight of wintry storm,

It hides secure the precious fruit.

The careless eye can find no giaco,

No beauty in the scaly foldn,
Nor see within the dark embrace

What latent loveliness it holds

Yet in that bulb, those Hapless scales,

The lily wraps her silver vest,
Till vernal suns and vernal gales

Shall kiss once more hor fragrant breast.

Yes, hide beneath tho mouldering heap
The undehghtmg slighted thing ,

There in tho cold eaith buricrl deep,
In silence lot it wait tho spring

Oh ' many a stormy night eliall closo
In gloom upon the barion c«trtli,

While still, in undiHturb'cl iopono,
Uninjured lies the future birth

And Ignorance with sceptic cyo,

Hope's patient Rimlo shall wondering view
Or mock hor fond credulity,

As her soft tears tho spot, bodow.

Swoot smile of hope, doliciotiH tear '
Tho sun, tho shower indeed Hliall corao ,

Tho promis'd verdant shoot appoai ,
And nature bid her bloHHomw blooin.

And thou, 0 virgin qucon of Hi>rni£ !

Shalt, from thy dark and lowly bod,
Bursting thy green shoath'n Hilkou Htrm&

Unveil thy charms and porfumo Hhod;

Unfold thy robes of purest white,
Unsullied from their darknomo grave,

Aid thy soft petals' silvery light
In the mild breeze unfettered wavo.

So Faith shall sook tho lowly dust
Whore humble Sorrow loves to Ho,

And bid her thus her hopes intrust,
And watch with patient, cheerful oyo;

owl 780 to 1866. J

THE FARMERS LTFR

And boor tlio long, cold wiutiy night,
And boar hor own degraded doom ;

And wait till Heaven' H reviving light,
Ktomuil spring ' bhull burnt tlio gloom.

!V/7ie.— Born 1773, Lied, 1810.

1123-— THE FARMER'S LIFE.

Tho f aimer 'H life displays in every part
A moral loswon to tho sensual heart.
Though m tho lap of plenty, thoughtful still,
Ho lookB beyond tho piosont good or ill ;
Nor estimates alono ono blessing's worth,
From changeful hcasons, or oapnoiouH oarth !
lint views tlio future with tho present hourn,
And lookn for f ailuron aH ho lookH for showcis ; /
For oamial OH for certain want proparon,
And round Inn yaid the reeking hayRtaek

real H ,

Oi olovor, bloNHom'd lovely to tho wight,
His toam'H noli store through many a wintry

What though abundance round hta dwelling1

Thongli ever moiHt Inn self-improving mcadu
Supply IUH din i y with a copious flood,
And WHiin to pioitiiHo uiLcrcfuinskul food;
That prmiiiHo fails wlion Imnoil (loop in tmnw,
Ami vtigciibtivo JIUOOH ceaHo to How
For thiH IUH plough tumw up tho dotitmed

laudu,

Whouoct Htormy winter dntWH itH full dwnandH ;
For thin tlio wu'd minutely Hmall ho HOWH,
Whonw, Hound and Hwcot, tho liardy turnip

IJut how tmliko to April's oloHuiff dayt* !
Hitfh cliinbH tlio HUD. and darts hm powotful

rayH,
Wlii ton H tho froHh-drawn mould, and piercoH

through
Tho QiimhrouH olod« tliat tunablo round tho

plough.
O'er hoavon'rt bright azuro, honoo mtli joyful

oyt»H

Tlie farmer HOOH dark oloudn aHHOinbliwg rwe ;
Borne o'or IUH fioldH a hoavy torrcmt fallH,
And Ht/rikoH the oarth in honty driving Hqualln.
"Kight wolcomo down, ye prooioiiH dropH,"

ftnt Hoon, too soon, tho partial blowing fliew
** Jioy, bring tho harroww, try how docip thu

ram
Hitfl forced itn way." He comofl, but comoH in

vain;

Dry duHt bonoath tho bnbbling eurfooo InrkH,
And mocks hiH pains tho more tlio more ho

works.

Still, 'midst lingo clodH, ho pltmgoH on forlorn,
That laugh IUH harrowfl and tho fthoworK to

K'on thiiH tho living clod, tho fltubborn fool,
Htormy lociuroH of tho school,

Till tnod with gentler moaiiH, tliu duncu to

ploaao,

TIiH head imlnboH an^ht icuHon by dogroftH ;
As wlion from eve till morning' B wakeful

hour,

Light oonFttant rum oviuoon floorot power,
And, ore the day rOHnmoH its woutod Himlos,
ProHenta a choorf nl oany ta«k for OiloH.
Down with a touch tho mellow HOI! in laid,
And yon tall crop neat claimH law i.iinoly aid ;
llnther well-jAeaflod ho hies, aHHurod to find
Wold LrackloRB hauntu, and objoctu to MB

mmd.
Shut up from broad rank bladoH that droop

bolow,

Tho nodding wheat-ear forms n gnwoful bow,
With milky kernels wtartjng full wuigh'cl

down,
Ere yet tho Ron hath tmgod itH head with

brown.

There thousands in a flock, for over gay,
Loud chirping HparrowB welwrtuc in the day,
And from tho muzon of the leafy thoru
Drop one by ono upon tlio bondi&g corn,
Giles with a polo aRKiuls thoir clow1 retcoatH,
And round Ihe gruRH-grown dewy border

beat*,

On either wido completely ovorHprcnd,
JCoro branchoH l>ond, there oom o'oratoopH liin

liead
Grooxi (Covert httil ' for through the varying

year

No liourn HO Hwoot, no Hcetie to lum HO doar
Jloro WiHdom'H plaoul <\yo d<jli}?ht<»«l HOOH
UiH froquowt mtorvalw oi louol.y <»iwio,
And wiUi one my hiH infant HOU! iuHi)ir(kfi,
«luHt khulluiK1 thovo lu«r luivor-clyiug iireH.
Wliunce Holltxide dorivoH pccmliai oluu*mH,
Andlioavon-(ln*ootod thought hin boHoui warmH.
Junt whoro the parting bought light nhndowB

play,
Source in tlio Hhado, nor in tlio Hoorohizig

day,

Strotoh'd on tlio turf ho ILOH, a peopled bed,
Whei'o Hwarmizig iiiHoota orocj> around his

head.
rllio Hmull dust-colour' d beotlo climbs with

pain
O'er tlw smooth plantain loaf, a RpnoiooA

plain!
Thence higher etill, by comitloKM stops con*

voy'd,

Tfe gainH the pnrnmit of a Hhivoring blado,
And flirtw hiM filmy wingu, and lookn around,
Kxultuig in hiH dirttanco from the ground
rHie tondor npqoklod moth hero duncmg noon,
OWio vaulting graHHhoppor of gloHsy green,
And all prolific tSammor'ft ^porting train,
Their little hvon by variotw poworu Htwiain.
Hut wliat can nniwwiHtod vwion do ?
What but recoil where moist it would IIUTHUO ;
His patient gosso bnt finwh with a High,
When MUHIC waking npeakn thu Hkyltvrk nigh.
Junt Htavting from, the corn, ho cliom ily HingH,
And truKtH with oonHcioiw prido hiH downy

87*

ROBT. BLOOMMHLD.] BANQUET OF AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. [SEVENTH

Still louder breathes, and in the face of day
Mounts up, and oaJIa on Giles to mark Ms

way

Close to his eyes his hat he instant bends,
And forms a friendly telescope, that lends
Just aid enough to dull the glaring light,
And place the wandering bird before his sight,
That oft beneath a light olood swoops along,
Lost for awhile, yet pours the vanod song ;
The eye still follows, and the oloud mores by,
.Again he stretches up the clear bluo sky ;
fTift form, his motion, undisiiuguish'd quite,
Save when he wheels direct from shade to

light

E'en, then the songster a mere speck became,
Gliding like fancy's bubbles in a dream,
The gazer sees , but yielding to repose,
Unwittingly his jaded eyelids close
Delicious sleep 1 From sleep who could for-
bear,
With guilt no more than doles, and no more

care;
Peace o'er his slumbers waves her guaxdian

wing,
Nor Conscience once disturbs him with a

sting;

He wakes refreshed from every trivial pain,
And takes his pole, and brushes round again.
Its dark green hue, its sicklier tints all

fail,

And ripening harvest rustles in the gale
A glorious sight, if glory dwells below,
Where heaven's munificence makes all things

show,

O'er every field and golden prospect found,
That glads the ploughman's Sunday morning's

round;

When on some eminence he takes his stand,
To judge the smiling produce of the land
Here Vanity slinks back, her head to hide ;
What is there here to natter human pnde P
The towering fabric, or the dome's loud roar,
And steadfast columns may astonish more,
Where the oharm'd gazer long delighted stays,
Yet traced but to the architect the praise ,
Whilst here the veriest clown lhat treads the

sod,

Without one scruple gives the praise to God ,
And twofold joys possess his raptured mind,
From gratitude and admiration join'd.
Here, 'midst the boldest triumphs of her

worth,

Nature herself invites the reapers forth ;
Dares the keen sickle from its twelvemonth's

rest,

And gives that ardour which in every breast
From infancy to age alike appears,
When the first sheaf its plumy top uproars.
No rake takes here what Heaven to all

bestows —

Children of want, for you the bounty flows '
And every cottage feom the plenteous store
Receives a burden nightly at its door.
Hark ' where the sweeping scythe now rips

along;
Each sturdy mower, emulous and strong,

Whoso writhing form meridian hoat defies,
Bends o'er his work, and ovory sinew triOH ;
Prostrates the waving treasure at his fcofc,
But spares the rising clover, ahort and wweot.
Come Health1 como Jollity1 light-footed

como;
Here hold your revels, and mako this your

home.

Each heart awaits and hods you as its own :
Each moisten' d brow that scorns to wear a

frown
The unpeopled dwelling mourns its tenants

stray'd-

E'en the domestic laughing dairymaid
Hies to the field the general toil to share
Meanwhile the farmer quits his elbow-chair,
His cool bnok floor, his pitcher, and hit* cane,
And braves the sultry beams, and gladly floos
His gates thrown open, and his team abroad,
The ready group attendant on his word
To turn the swath, the quivering load to rear,
Or ply the busy lake the land to clear.
Summer's light garb itself now cumbrous

grown,
Each his thin doublet in the shade throws

down
Where off; the mastiff skulks with half-shut

eye,

And rouses at the stranger passing by ;
While unrestrotu'd the social converse flows,
And every breast Love's powerful iinpulao

knows,

And rival wits with more than rustic grace
Confess the presence of a pretty face

Rob&rt Bloomfield — Born 17GC, Died 1823.

1124.— BANQUET OF AN ENGLISH
SQUDSE.

Then came the jovial day, no stroalcH of iod
O'er the broad portal of tho mom wore

spread,

But one high-sailing mint of dazzling- white,
A screen of gossamer, a magio light,
Doom'd instantly, by simplest whophord'H

ken,

To reign awhile, and bo exhaled at tow
O'er loaves, o'or blonsoniH, by Ida power

restored,
Forth came tho conquering1 HUH and look\l

abroad ,

Millions of dow-drops foil, yot millions hun#,
Lake words of transport trembling on tho

tongue,
Too strong for utterance. Thus tho infant

boy,
With rosebud cheeks, and foaturoH tnnod to

Joy,
Weeps whilo he struggles with restraint or

pain;
But change tho soono, and make him laugh

again,

M owl WO to 1800]

THE SOLDIKft'8 HOME.

[ROUT.

ITiH heart rekindles, and liis ohook appears
A thousand times more lovely through his

tears

!From tho first glimpse of day, a bupy snono
Was that high-swelling lawn, that doHtmod

green,

Winch shodowloss expanded far and wide,
Tho mansion's ornament, tho hamlet's piido ,
To ohoer, to order, to direct, contrive,
l<lvcn oM Sir Ambiose had boon up at five ,
There his whole household labour' d in IUH

view —

But hf»ht IH labour whore tho task is now
Some wheeled tho turf to build a grassy

throne
Bound a hugo thorn that spiead his boughs

alone,

JBough-rmed and bold, as master of tho plaoo ;
Five generations of tho Iligham raoo
Hod pluck' d IIIB flowois, and still he hold his

sway,
Waved his white head, and folt tho bioath of

May
Some fioni tho greenhouse ranged exotics

round,

To bank m open day on English ground
And 'midst thorn ju a lino of splendour drew
Long wreaths and garlands guthor'd in tho

dew
Some spread tho snowy canvaws, propp'd on

liiftH

O'tn Hhcltcrmrf tables with tlioir whole supply,
Homo hwuiiK tho Utnujsoythe. with meny face,
And ei'oppM tho daimos for a daucung space ;
Some rollM llio mouldy burrol m his might,
I»Yom prmou diirkneHH into <mooi f ul light,
And JoiMiod him round with OIIUH \ and others

born

Thn creaking liam})or with its costly store ;
Well eorkM, well flavoured, and woll tox'd,

that oaino

Prom LuHittuiitui mountains dour to fame,
Wkoiu'n (Saiuib wteor'd, aiwl lod tho aoiuinurinff

way

To eastern triutnpliH and th(b rtjalms of day.
A thousand minor tasks iill'd every hour,
Till tLo stm gahiM tho xouith of his powor,
When ev<»ry path was thronged with old uud

young,

And many a hkylark in his strength upHprnnjf
To bid thoni wole,ouio Not a faoo was thoro
Hut, for May-day at least, had bauish'd care ;
No cringmg looks, no pauper tultm to tell,
No timid glance — they know thoir host too

well—

'Proodom was thoro, and joy in every aye •
Hu«k Ktrnu>H woro England's l>oast m days

gone l>y.
Ilouottth the thorn was good Sir Ambrose

found,

II is gnostfl (in ample crofioont form'd around ,
Nairn O'H own csarj)ot spread tlie space between,
Wh<no blithe domestics plied in gold and

The venerable «haplain waved his wand,
And hileneo follow'd a» ho stietoh'd his hand ,

Tho deep carouse can iiover bo/tst tho bliss,

Tho animation of a hceno bko this

At length tho damask' d cloths wore whisk' d

away

Like fluttering sails upon a summer's day;
Tho hoy-day of enjoyment f oun<l ropoho j
Tho worthy baronet nmiCHtic roKo.
They viow'd him, while his ulo was filling

round,

Tho monarch of his own paternal ground
His cup was full, and whore tho blossoms

bow'd

Over his lioiul, Sir Ambrose spolco aloud,
Nor stopp'd a dainty form or phrase to cull.
His heart elated, like IUH uup WUH lull —
" Full bo your hopes, and rich the crops that

fall;

Health to my neighbours, happiuoRH to all "
Dull must that clown bo, dull as wiutur'ti

sleet.

Who would not instantly bo on Ills feet
An echoing health to mingling* shouts give

place,
" Sir Ambrose ITighiuu and IUH noblo raoo ! "

Ilolert

1x25— Tira SOLDIER'S irOMK.

My untriod Mnso shall no high twin

JNor strut 111 arms — farewell my cap and

plume !

Itrief )>c my verso, a lask within my powor j
1 toll Tny feuhngH in one hapi>y houi :
Ihit what an hour was that ! whim from the

main

I reaoh'd thia lovely valloy ouoo again !
A ftloritntH htirvoHt HUM my eager sjght,
JIalf shock1 d, half waving 121 a Hood of light ;
On that poor cottage roof where 1 was bom,
The Him look'd down as in Hfo's uarly moru.
I gaacd laonml, but not a soul appeared ,
T lisiott'd on tho threshold, noUinig hoard ;
J called my father thrice, but no one cumo ;
It was not fear or grief thai Jihook my inuuci,
Uni an o'orpoweimg HUUKO of pe<u*o and homo,
Of toils gone by, poiluipH of joys to come.
The door invitingly htood open witlo ,
I shook my dust, and HO! my Ktalf amdo.
How sweet it WOK to broatho that cooler

air,

And take possession of my father's chair !
ncnoath my (»lbow, oil tho solid framo,
Api>earM tho rough initials ol my nanio,
Cut lorty years before ' Tho wuiio old <loek
Struck the same boll, mid gavo my lieait a

T never ean forget. A short, bw/o sprung,
And while a sigh was ireuibhug on my

Oaught thfl old dqtitflinpr almanacs behind,
And up they Hew like baimuvH ID the wind ;

BOBT.

TO HIS "WIFE.

[SEVENTH PERIOD. —

Then gently, singly, down, down, down they

wont,

And told of twenty years that I had spent
Fair from my native land. That instant

came

A robin on the threshold ; though so tame,
At first he look'd distrustful, almost shy,
And east on me his coal-black steadfast eye,
And seem' d to say (past friendship to renew)
" Ah ha I old worn-out soldier, is it you ? "
Through the room ranged the impnson'd

humble bee,
And bomb'd, and bounoed, and struggled to

be free ;

Bashing against the panes with sullen roar,
That threw their diamond sunlight on the

floor;
That floor, clean sanded, where my fancy

stray 'd,

O'er undulating waves the broom had made ,
Reminding me of those of hideous forms
That met us as we pass'd the Cape of storms,
Where high and loud they break, and peace

oomes never ,
They roll and foam, and roll and foam for

ever.
But here was peaoe, that peace which home

can yield,

The grasshopper, the partridge in the field,
And ticking clock, were all at once become
The substitute for olanon, fife, and drum,
"While thus I mused, still gazing, gazing

stall,

On beds of moss that spread the window-sill,
I deem'd no moss my eyes had ever seen
Had been so lovely, brilliant, fresh, and

green,
And guess' d some infant hand had placed it

there,

And prized its hue, so exquisite, so rare
Feelings on feelings mingling, doubling rose ;
My heart felt everything but calm repose ,
I could not icckon minutes, hours, nor years,
But rose at once, and bursted into tears ,
Then, hke a fool, confused, sat down again,
And thought upon the past with shame and

paui,

I raved at war and all its horrid cost,
And glory's quagmire, where the brave are

lost.

On carnage, fire, and plunder long I mused,
And ouised the murdering weapons I had

used

Two shadows then I saw, two voices hoard,
One bespoke age, and one a child's appeared.
In stepp'd my father with convulsive start,
And m an instant clasp' d me to his heart.
Close by him stood a little blue-eyed maid ,
And stooping to tho child, the old man said,
" Come hither, Nancy, kiss me once again
This is your undo Ghailes, come homo from

Spam."
The child approach'd, and with her fingers

light,
Stroked my old eyes, almost deprived of

sight.

But why thus apm my tale — thuH todionH bo ?
Happy old soldier ' what 's tho world to me !

Robert JBZoowjffaZeZ.— Horn 176C, Died 1823.

1126 — TO HIS WIFE.

I rise, dear Mary, from the soundest rent,
A wandering, way-worn, musing, singing

guest.

I claim tho privilege of hill and plain ;
Mine are the woods, and all that they con-
tarn ;

The unpolluted gale, which sweeps tho glade ;
All the cool blessings of tho solemn shade ;
Health, and the flow of happiness sincere ,
Yet there 7s one wish — I wish that thou wort

here,

Free from the trammels of domestic ooro,
With me those dear autumnal swoots to share ;
To share my heart's ungovernable joy,
And keep tho birthday of our poor lame boy.
Ah ' that 's a tender string ' Yot HIHOO I find
That scenes like these can soothe tho horoH&'d

mind

Trust me, 'twould sot thy jaded apmtfl froo,
To wander thus through vales and woods with

me.

Thou know*st how much I love to steal away
From noise, from uproar, and the blaze of

day,

"With double transport would my heart re-
bound
To lead thoo whore tho clustoiing nuts are

found,

No toilsome efforts would our tank demand,
For tho brown treasure stoop** to moot the

hand.

Bound tho tall hazel bods of inoflft npponff
In groon swards nibbled by tlio Joiorit door,
Sun, and alternate shade, while o'er otir

heads

The cawing rook his glossy pinionH Hproiwln ;
The noisy jay, his wild woodH cMung

through ,
Tho nng-dove'a chorus, and tho mailing

bough ,
Tho far-resounding gato; tho lato'w shrill

scream ,

The distant ploughman's halloo to IUH team.
This is tho chorus to my Houl HO dour ;
It would delight thoo too, wort thou but

For wo might talk of homo, and muflo o'or

days
Of sad distress, and iroavoii'H mynloriouH

ways;

Our chequor'd fortunes with a amilo rotraoo,
And build now hopes upon OUT infant raco ;
Pour our thanksgivings forth, and woop tho

while;
Or pray for blessings on our native isle.

FHHH, 1780 tn

LINKS TO MY

But vain ilio wish ' Mary, thy sighs forbear,
Nor grudge tlio pleasure which thou count not

share;

Mako liomo dobghtful, kindly wish for mo,
And I'll leave hilla, and dales, and woods for

thoo.

falwt BlQomjicl<l.—J3orn 17CC, JDwcZ 1823.

27.— SONG FOR A KEGHLAND DROVEB
BBTUBNINO PBOM ENGLAND.

Now faro-thoo-woll, England no further Til

roam,
But follow my shadow that points tho way

homo
Your gay southern shorofl shall not tompi mo

to stay ,
"For my Maggy' H at homo, and my ohildron at

play I
'Tis this makes viy bonnot nit hght on my

brow,
Gives my fliuows tholr strength and myboHom

its glow.

Farewell, mouutainocrH ' my companions,

adieu ,
Soon, many long1 imloH when I'm sovorod from

yon,
I shall iniHH your while horns on tho blink of

tlui burn,
And o'er tho rough heaths, whoro you'll novor

roiurn ;
J3ut in bravo English pasluro'4 you ojumol

complain,
Whilo your drover speeds back to his Maggy

again.

0 Tweed 1 gontlo Twood, an I pass your grocm

valos,
More than life, more than lore, my tired Hpirit

iuhalOH;
Thoro Scotland, my darling, IIOH full lu my

viow,
With her boro-footod IOHHOH and mountains HO

bluo,
To tho mountains away my lioart bounds like

For homo in so nwoot, and my Muggy HO kind.

AB day after day I Htill follow my oonrso,
And in fancy traoo back every stream to its

souroo,
llopo ohoors mo up luUH, whoro tho road IIOH

boforo,
O'or hills just as high, and o'er tracks of wild

moor;

Tho koou polar star nightly rising to viow ,
But Maggy's my Htar, just as steady aud txuo.

0 ghoslri of my fathers ' 0 heioes, look

tbwrxt
Kix my wandonng thoughts on your deeds of

renown ;

I^or tho glory of Sootlaud roagus warm in my

breast,
And fortitude growu both from toil and from

rest ;
May your deeds and your worth bo for over

in viow,
And may Maggy boar sous not unworthy

you.

Lovo, why do you urgo mo, RO woary and

poor?

I cannot step faster, I oannot do morn •
l*vo pasHod silver Twood, o'on tho Tay flows

behmd ,
Yet fatigue I'll disdain ; — iny reward E shall

find,
Thou, sweet smile of innocotioo, thou art my

prize ,
And the joy that will spailJe in Maggy'tJ bluo

oyoH

She'll watch to tho Routhward ;— i>orhaps she

will High,
That tho way is so long, and tho mountains

so liigh ;
Porha]>s some hngo rook in tho dusk Hho may

see,
And will say in her fonduoHfl, " that snroly is

ho ' "
flood wifo, you'ro deoeivod • I'm still far from

my homo ,
(Jo, sloop, my dcsir Maggy, — lo-morrow I'll

come.

Ifalwrt IlUH)Mfwltl.—Jlwu 17(J(J, Hurt 182JI.

1128,— LINKS ADPBERBED TO MT
OHILDKEN.

(ionius of the forest ftliados,

Lend thy power, and loud thmn oar j
A stronger trod thy lonoly gljwlon,

AmidHt ihy dark and 1)ounding doer ;
InquiHug childhood olaims tho verne,

O lot Ihom not inqutro in vain ,
IJe with mo whilo I thus rehearse

Tho glories of thy wylvun roijyu,

Tliy dells by wintry currentri worn,

Heoluded haunts, how dear to mo 1
From all but nature's converse borzio,

No oar to hoar, TIO eye to H«O
Thoir hooonr'd l(«wc»s the groon oaks roorM,

And crowiiM tho upland's griwofui swell ;
While answoriug through the valo was hoard

Each distant hoifor's tinkling' bell.

Hail, groouwood shades, that, si etching far,

Deiy o'en Hnmrnor's noontide power,
When August 111 Ms burning car

Withhold* the elonds, withholds Uio showor.
The dooplonod low from either hill,

Down haxol aislos and arches gromx
(ITao herd's rude tracks from rill to rill),

JLtoar'd echoing through tho Holwtm

JOHN LBTDEN]

DYING IN A FOBEIGN LAND.

[SEVENTH PBHRIOD -

From my charm* d heail tho numborH sprung,

Though birds had ceased the choral lay ;
I potir'd wild raptures from my tongue*

And gave delicious tears their way
Then, darker shadows seeking still,

Where human foot had seldom strayed,
I road aloud to every hill

Sweet Emma's lovo, "the Nut-brown maid "

Shaking his matted mano on high.

The gazing colt would raiso his head,
Or timorous doe would rushing fly,

And leave to me her grassy bod ;
Where, as tho assure sky appeared

Through bowers of even varying form,
'Midst the deep gloom methought I heard

The daring progress of the storm

How would each sweeping ponderous bough

Resist, when straight the whirlwind cleaves,
Dashing in strengthening eddies through

A roaring wilderness of leaves P
How would the prone descending showor

From the green canopy rebound P
How would the lowland torrents pour ?

How deep tho pealing thunder sound P

But peace was there no lightnings blazed ;

No clouds obscured the face of heaven ,
Down oach gieen opening while I gazed,

My thoughts to home and you were given
0, tender minds ' in life's gay morn,

Some clouds must dim your coming day ;
Yet bootless, pride and falsehood scorn,

And peace like this shall cheer your way.

Now, at the dark wood's stately side,

Well pleased I mot the sun again ,
Here fleeting fancy travell'd wide ;

My seat was destined to tho mam
For many an oak lay stretch'd at length,

Whose trunks (with barkno longer sheathed)
Had reach" d then? full meridian strength

Befoie your father's father breathed '

Perhaps they'll many a conflict brave

And many a dreadful storm defy ,
Then, groaning o'er the adverse wavo,

Bnag home the flag of victory
Go, then, proud oaks, we meet no more '

Go, grace the scenes to mo denied,
The white cliffs round my native shore,

And tho loud ocean's swelling tide.

" Genius of tho forest shades,"

Sweet from the heights of thy domain,
When the gray evening shadow fades,

To view the country's golden grain ;
To view tho gleaming village spire

'Midst distant groves unknown to mo —
Groves that, grown bright in borrow'd fire,

Bow o'er the peopled vales to thee

Where was thy elfin train, that play
Bound Wake's huge oak, their favourite
tree,

Dancing the twilight hours away p
Why wore they not revealed to me ?

Yot, smiling faiiios loft behind,
Affection brought you all to view ,

To lovo and tenderness ichignod,

My heart heaved many a faigh for you.

When morning still unclouded roao,

BofreBh'd with sloop and joyouB dreams,
Where fruitful fields with woodlands closo,

I traced the births of various strcamR
From beds of clay, hero creeping rilln,

Unseen to parent OURO, would steal ,
Or, gushing fiom tho northward hills,

Would glitter through Tovo's winding dale

But ah ' ye cooling springs, farewell '

Hords, I no more your freedom shore ;
But long my grateful tongue shall toll

What brought your gazing stranger thoro.
" Genius of tho forest shadoH,"

Lend thy power, and lend thine oar ;
But dreams still lengthen thy long glades,

And bring thy peace and feiloiico hore

Robert BloomfieU. — 'Born 17CC, Died 1823.

1129— DYING IN A FOBEIGN LAND.

The silver moon at midnight cold and atill,
Looks, sad and silent, o'er yon wotttorn hill ,
While laigo and pale tho ghostly strnotttros

grow,

Bear'd on tho confines of tho world below
Is that dull sound tho hum of ToviofH

stream P
Is that blue light tho moon's, or tomb-fur's

gleam P

By which a mouldering pile is faintly HOOII,
The olddofrorlod church of Ilr/oKli'iiu,
Wheiro fclcpt my fathers in tlioir natal clay,
Till Teviot'a waters rolled tlioir boiioH awtty V
Thou fooblo voicoH from tho Ktiuaiu thoy

raise —

" Bash youth ' unmindful of thy early <lay«,
Why didbt thou quit the peasant' H mmpla

lot?
Why didst thou loavo tho peasant's InrMmilt

cot,

Tho anoiont graves where all thy fathom Jus
And Toviot'fl stream that long liaH iiiurniurM

by?
And wo — when death so long hoH closed our

oyo«u

How wilt thou bid n« from tho (hist ariwo,
And boar our mouldering boncH iwjmsw tho

main,
From vales that know onr lives devoid of

stain P
Bash youth ! beware, thy homo-brod virtues

save,
And sweetly sloop in tliy paternal grave."

Jolm Lcydan. — Born 1775, Lh}C> iSll.

From 17RO fr> 18Ca.]

TUB MERMAID.

[JOHN LBJYDHN.

1130— SONNMT Ott SABBATH MORN.

With silent awo I hail tho sacred morn,
Tlxat soaiooly wakoH while all tlio fields arc

Htlll ;

A Koothing calm on every broozo OH borno,
A graver murmur oohooH from tho hill,
And softer mngH iho linnoi from iho thorn ,
Tho nkylai'k warbles in a tono IOSH shrill,
Hail, light horono' hail, sacred Sabbath morn '
Tho nky a placid yellow ItiHtro thrown ,
Tho gales that lately sigk'd along1 tho grovo
Have hiwhod tlioir drowny wings m dead

ropoHG ;

Tlio hovormft i ock of cloudu forgets to movo .
So soft tho day whou tho first morn arose 1

JoJm Lw/dcn —Jiom 1775, DM 1811.

TO AN INDIAN GOLD
COIN.

Slavo of tho dark and dirty mnio !

What vanity haw brought thoo horo ?
TFow can I lovn to hoc thoo hluno

So bright, whom I liavo bought so doar P

Tlio tont-ropcH flapping louo L hoar
For twilight oonvorwo, arm m arm ;

Tho jaokitVw Hhriuk biunts on mmo oar
Whou mirth and miuwi wont to chooir

By OhorioaVH dark wandering KtmuiiH,
Wlioro oano-tuftH Hha<low all tho wild,

Swoot viHloiiH haimt my wakiug droamH
Of Toviot lovod whilo Htill a child,
Of ttuftlod ro(»kH HtupondoiiH pilod

By Knk or Kdon'H olanRio wavo,

Whoro IOVOH of youthand frioxtdHlups flmilod,

UnonrHod by thoo, vilo yollow fcdavo !

Fiwlo, day-droamH wwoot, from momory fado !

Tho porMi'd }>liHH of youtli'H firnt prime,
That onco HO bright ou fancy played,

ItovivoH no more in aftor-tmio.

Far from my Haorod natal climo,
I hanto to an untnnoly grave ;

Tho danng thoughtH that floar'd fmblimo
Arc Hunk in oooan'H nouthorn wave.

Slave of tho mine ! thy yollow light
UloamN baloful OH tho tomb-firo droar

A gontlo vimon oomoH by night
My lonoly widowed hoari to choor •
Her oyoH aro dim with many a tour,

That onoo wore guiding KtarH to mine ;
Her fond heart throbH with many a fear '

I cannot boar to ROO thoo Mhino.

Por thoo, for thoo, vilo yollow Rlavo,
T loft a heart that lovod mo truo !

1 croflH a ttio todiouH oooan-wavo,
To roam in climes unkind and now.

Tho cold wind of tho Htrangor blow
Chill on my withered heart ; tho gravo

Dark and untimely mot my view—
And all for thoo, vilo yollow wlavo '

Ha ! oom'Ht thou now HO late to mook
A wandoror'H baniHhod heart forloni,

Now that hiH framo tho lightning Hliook
Of Hun-rayw tipt with death was borno P
From love, froia friondHhip, country, torn,

To momory '« fond rogrotn tho prey ;
Vilo wlavo, thy yollow drown I Hoorn I

Go mix thoo with thy kindrod oluy !

John Jbcydt'n.—Jlnru 1775, DM 1811

1132.— THE MERMAID.

On Jura'B hoath how nwootly wwoll
Tho murmnrH of tho mountain boo !

How softly mourns tho writliod ulioll
Of Jura'H Hhoro, it« parent «oa !

liut softer floating o'or tho dooj),
Tho Mormaid'H Hwuot Hea-Hootliing lay,

rlliat chanu'd tho dancing wavru» to i-tloep,
Jieforo tho bark oC OolonHay.

Aloft tho purple* pcnnonw wavo,
AH, parting gay front Ormau'H whoro,

From Morvon'rt warn, tho Houmcm bravo
U'lioir gallant olxioftatn homo ward buro.

In youtli'H gtty bloom, tho bravo Maophail
Htill blaiuod tho ling<jring bork'tt dola> :

For her ho oliid tho flagging Bail,
Tho lovoly maid of Oolounay.

" And raiHO,*' ho cried, " tho song of lore,
Tho maiden Hung with tearful Hniilo,

Wlion flrwt, o'er Jtira'n lullH to rovo,
Wo loft afar tho lonoly Mo 1 "

" Whon on thin ring of ruby rod
Shall dio," Hho Raid, " the (inmKon huo,

Know that thy fttvouvito fair in dood,
Or provoH to thoo and lovo uutruo."

Now, lightly poiHod, the riwrig oar
DiHpoiHOH wido tho loamy Hpray,

And echoing far o'er Orman'n whoro,
ItOHOuiulu tlic HOiig of

" Softly l>low, thou woHtom broozo,
Softly xuHtlo tlirough tho Kail !

Sootho to rowt tho f aiTowy noaH,
JJoforo my lovo, Hwoot wontoin gale !

"Wlioro tho wavo IH tingod with rod,
And tho rnnfiot Hoa-loavoH grow,

3M[annorH, with prtulont dread,
Shun tho shelving roofw "below,

THE MERMAID.

[SBVBNTH PBTUOD.-

As you pass thiough Jura's Bound,
Bend your course by Scarba's shore ;

Shun, 0 shun, tho gulf profound,
Where Comevreokin'B surgos roar '

If from that unbottom'd deep,

With wrinkled form and wreathed train,
O'er the verge of Scarba's steop,

The sea-snake heave his snowy mane,

Unwarp, unwind his oozy coals,

Sea-green sisters of the mam,
And in the gulf where ocean boils,

The unwieldy wallowing monster oharn,

Softly blow, thon western breeze,

Softly rustle through the sail 1
Soothe to rest the furrow* d seas,

Before my love, sweet western gale 1 "

T'.'us all to soothe the chieftain's wo,
Far from the maid he loved so dear,

Tue song arose, so soft and slow,
He seem'd her parting sigh to hear.

The lonely deck he paces o'er,

Impatient for the rising day,
And still from Oman's moonlight shore,

He turns his eyes to Colonsay.

The moonbeams crisp the curling surge,
That streaks with foam the ocean green ;

While forward still the rowers urge
Their course, a female form was seen.

That sea-maid's form, of pearly light,
Was whiter than the downy spray,

And round her bosom, heaving bright,
Her glossy yellow ringlets play.

Borne on a foamy crested wave,

She reached amain the bounding prow,

Then clasping fast the chieftain bravo,
She, plunging-, sought the deep below.

Ah ' long beside thy feigned biei,

The monks tho prayer of death shall say,

And long for theo, the fruitless tear,
Shall weep the maid of Colonsay !

But downward like a powerless corse,
The eddying waves the chieftain bear ,

He only heard tho moaning hoarse
Of waters murmuring in his ear

The murmurs Rink by slow degrees,
No more the waters round fa™ rave ,

LuU'd by tho music of the seas.
He lies within a coral cave.

In dreamy mood reclines he long,
Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose,

Till, -warbling wild, the sea-maid's song
Far in the crystal cavern rose.

Soft as that harp's unseen control,
In morning dreams which lovers hear,

Whose strains steal sweetly o'er tho soul,
But never reach the waking ear.

As sunbeams through the tepid air,
When clouds dirtnolvo tho down unROon,

Smile on the floworH that bloom moro fair,
And fields that glow with livelier groon—

So molting soft tho music foil ;

It seom'd to sootho tho fluttering spray —
" Say, heard* st thou not those wild notes swell?

An I 'tis the song of Colonsay."

Like one that from a fearful dream
Awakes, tho morning light to viow,

And joys to soo the purple beam,
Yet f oars to find the vision true,

He heard that strain, so wildly swoot,
Which bade his torpid languor fly ,

He fear'd some spoil had bound IIJ.H foot,
And hardly dared his limbs to try

" This yellow sand, this sparry oavo,
Shall bend thy soul to beauty 'H sway ;

Can'st thou the maiden of tho wavo
Compare to her of Colonsay ? "

Boused by that voice of silver Hotmd,
From tho pavod floor ho lightly sprung1,

And glancing wild his eyes around

Where the fair nymph her troHaos wrunjj,

No form he saw of mortal mould ;

It shone liko ocean's snowy foam ,
Her ringlets waved in living gold,

Her mirror crystal, pearl tho comb.

Her pearly comb tho wiron took,

And careless bound hor troanoH wild ;

Still o'er tho minor stolo hor look,
As on the wondering youth sho smiled.

Like music from tho greenwood troo,
Again sho laisod tlio iuoltm« lay ,

" Fair wanior, wilt thon dwuJl with mo,
And leavo tho zmud of Colouwiy P

Fair ifl tho crystal hall for ino
With rubies and with omontldH not ;

And swoot tho muwio of tho Hoa
Shall sing, whon wo for lovo aro mot.

How swoot to danco with gliding foot

Along tho lovel tide HO groou,
Bosponsivo to tho oadonco Hwoot

That broathos along tho moonlight scono 1

And soft tho music of tlio mam
Rings from tho motloy lortoiHo-Hlioll,

While moonbeams o'oi tlio watory plain
Scorn trembling 111 itn fitful

How swoot, whon billowH hoavo thoir head,
And shako thoir tmowy ftroHtu on high,

S 01 one in Ocean' a aapphiro-bort
Beneath tho tumbling Hiirgo to ho j

To traco, with, tranquil stop, tho (loop,
Whoro pearly drops of froaon (low

In concave shells unconnoiouH sleep,
Or shine with lustre, silvery blue 1

J'Vow 1780 to 18CC.]

THE MERMAID.

[Jouw

Thon all tho Htnmnor <mn, from far,
Pour through tho wavo n» hof Lor ray ;

Whilo cUttiucmdH m a bower of Hpar,
At ovo shall «hod a brighter, day.

Nor fitormy wind, nor wintry galo,
That o'or tho angry oooon Hwoop,

Shall o'ci our coral groves tutHOdl,
Calm 111 tho bonom. of tho (loop

Through tho groon moads bonoath tho soa,
Knainour'd wo shall fondly htray —

Thou, gontlo wairior, dwoll with mo,
Ami leave tho maid of OolonHay ' "

" Though bright thy lookw of glintoning gold,
tfair maidon of tho foamy mam '

Thy life-blood IH tho watoi cold,
While nuno boatw high in ovory vein

If I, bonoatb thy Hparry oavo,
Should in thy Hnowy OTUIH roolhio,

Inconstant UH tho rontloHH wavo,
My hoitrt would grow OH oold as tluno "

AH oygnot down, proud nwoll'd hoi broant,
Hor oyo oonfoHn'd tho poarly toatr

HIM hand Hho to hor bottom proHH'd,
k< IH Ihoro no hoait for rupluvo horo P

zbn, uprmig from tho luPid soa,
DOOM no warm Mood thtm ctuiouiH fill,
No hoiirii-pulito not, wil<l aiul frw\
To joy, to LOVO'H dohcioiiH thrill V "

" Though all tho Hpltuidour of tho Hoa
Around thy faultloHB boauLy nluno,

That hoari., that riotH wild un<l f row,
Can hold no wynipaihy with mine.

ThoHO HparTclmg- oyoK, no wild and gay,
Thoy Hwim not in tlio light of lovo ;

Tlio boauiooiiH maid of Oolonway,
Hor oyoH aro inildor than tho dovo !

H'mi now, within tlio lonoly iHlo,
Hor cy{jn uro dhu with toiirH for ino j

And catiHt thou think that Hiron Hinilo
Can luro iny «oul to dwoll with thoo P "

An oossy Him hor limhH o'(jrft]>roa<l,
CJnfoldK m length hor Hisaly train ;

Sho toHH'd in proud diHdai;i hor hoad,
And lawh'd with wobbcVl fin tho main.

"T)w<jll horo alono ! " tho Monnaid criod,
" And viow far off tho Hott-uymplw play ,•

Tlio prjHon-woll, tho assuro tido,
fcjluill bur thy stops from Colonwiy.

Whono'or, liko oocan*H woaly brood,
I cloavo with rapid Hn tlio wavo,

Far from tho daughtor of tho Hood,
Conceal thoo in thiH coral cavo.

I fool my fornior soul return,
Tt kindloH at thy cold dwdain ,

And how a mortal darod to Hpum
A daughtor of tho foamy nuiin! "

Rho flod, ground tho oiyHtal oavo

Tho rolling wavon roHumo thoir rotwl ;

On tho brand ]>orial idly ravo,
But cuter not tho uymph'a abode.

Ancl many a weary night wont by,

AH in tho lonoly oavo ho lay ;
And many a Kim roll'd through tlio f&y,

And poui'd itn boomu on Oolonsay.

And oft bonoath tho Hilvor moon
JIo hoard afar tho Monnaid Ming;

And oft to many a moting Imio,

Tho Hholl-fonu'd lyros of oooan ring"-

And whtsn tho moon wont down tho nicy,
Still roHO, m droamH, hm uativo plain,

And oft ho thought hiw lovo was by,
And oluiTru'd "h'^ with HOIIIO toudor fltram :

And hoart-Hiok, oft ho wakod to woop,
Whon ooaHod that voioo of Hilvor Hound,

And thought to pliuigo him iu tho doop
That wuill'd hiH oryHtal oavorn round.

"Bnt wtill tho ring, of ruby rod,

JiotamM itiH vivid orJmHon liuo,
And oaoh doHpairjng aoooiit Hod,

To find Inn gontlo lovo HO trno.

Wlion w»von 3ong lonoly ;no?itliH woro gono,
Tlio Mm maid to IUM cavo in cauui,

N*o moro niiHMhap<'n fioui tho vsono,
Hut liko a maid of mortal fraiuo

" (> givo to mo that i uby ring,

'J'hat on thy Jingcir glancxm j?ay,
Ait<l thou Hhiilt hoar tho Mwinaul Ming

Tho Hong tliou lovowt of OolonHay,"

ruby ring, of orinwon fyroin,
Shall on thy fingur glitter gf^y,
[f thou wilt boar mo through tho main
Again to vitut Colongay."

" Kxtwpt thou <itut thy form(»r lovo,
(jontont to dwoll for ayo with mo,

Thy soorn my fimiy frame might inovo
To tear thy hmbH amid tho oca."

" Thon boar mo Hwiffc along tho main,
Tho lonoly iwlo again to KOO,

And whou I hero rotiirn again,
X plight my faith to dwoll with tliao."

An oozy film hor limbn o'ornproad,
WhiJo nlow imCoJdn hor Hcaly train ;

With glnoy fangH hor liandn woro clad ;
Hho lawli'd with wobb((d /ioi tho main.

Uo granpH tlio Mormaid'H ncialy Hi
AH with broad, fin Mho oara hor way ;

Bonoath tho nilont moon Hho glidou,
Tliut Hwootly wloopB on OolonHay.

Proud HwollH hor hoitrt ! Hho duouw at lont
To luro him with hor hilvor tongue,

And, an tho ^halving rooks Hho puHH'd»
Sho raiHod hor voioo, and Hwootly Hung.

JOHN LBJTDTBN ]

TO IANTHE.

[SEVENTH

In softer, sweeter strains she sung,
Slow gliding o'er the moonlight bay,

When light to land the chief bom spiung,
To had the maid of Colonsay

O sad the Mermaid's gay notes fell,

And sadly RTnV i emote at sea '
So sadly mourns the writhed shell

Of Jura's shore, its parent sea.

And ever as the year returns,

The charm-bound sailors know the day ,
For sadly still the Mermaid mourns

The lovely chief of Colonsay.

Jolvn, Ii&y&&n.—Born 1775, Died 1811,

1133 — TO IANTHE.

Again, sweet siren, breathe again
That deep, pathetic, powerful strain,

Whose melting tones of tender woe
Fall soft as evening's summer dew,
That bathes the pinks and harebells blue

Which in the voles of Teviot blow.

Such was the song that soothed to rest,
Ear in the Green Isle of the west,

The Celtic warrior's parted shade,
Such are the lonely sounds that sweep
O'er the blue bosom of the deep,

When ship wreck' d manners arc laid.

Ah i sure as "Hindu legends toll,
When music's tones the bosom swell,

The scenes of former life letuin ,
Ere, sunk beneath the morning star,
We left our parent climes afar,

Immur'd in mortal foims to mourn.

Or if , as ancient sages ween,
Depoited spirits, half unseen,

Can mingle with the mortal throng,
'Tis when from heart to heart we loll
The deep-toned music of the soul,

That warbles in our Scottish song.

I hear, I hear, with awful dread,
Tho plaintive music of the dead '

They leave the amber fields of day
Soft as the cadence of the wave,
That murmurs round the mermaid's grave,

They mingle in the magic lay.

Sweet sounds I that oft have soothed to rest
The sorrows of my guileless breast,

And charm9 d away mine infant tears .
Fond memory shall your strains repeat,
Like distant echoes, doubly sweet,

That in the wild the traveller hears.

And thus the exil'd Sootian maid,
By fond alluring love betray 'd

To visit Syria's date-crown'd shore,

In plaintive strains thai Rootliod cloHpair,
Did " BothwoU's banks that bloom ho fair,"
And scenes of early youth, doploro

Soft syren ' whowo enchanting strain
Floats wildly round my raptor 'd brain,

I bid your pleasing haunts adieu '
Yet, fabling fancy oft shall load
My footsteps to the silver Tweed,

Through scenes that I no more must view

John Leydcn.—Born 1775, Died 1811.

1134— ODE TO THE EVENING- STAB.

How swoot thy modest light to view,
Fair Star, to love and lovers dear 1

While trembling on the falling dow,
Like beauty shining through a tear*

Or, hanging o'er that mirror-stream,
To mark that image trembling there,

Thou scem'st to undo with softer gloom,
To see thy lovely face so fair.

Though, blazing o'er the arch of night,
The moon thy timid beams ontuhino,

As for as thine each stairy light ,— -
Her rays can never vie with thine.

Thine are the soft enchanting hours,
Whan twilight lingers on the plain,

And whispers to the closing flowers
That soon the sun will TIHO again

Thine is the bioezo tliat, mumming bland
As music, waftw the lover' H High,

And bids the yielding heart expand
In love's dohoiouH ocHta,sy

Fan- Stai ' though I bo cloom'cl to provo
That rapturc'n toain ore uuxodwith pain,

Ah, still I fool 'tiH Hwoot to love f
But sweeter to bo loved again.

JoJtn Lcyden. — JBwn 3775, Died 1811.

1135— SCOTLAND.

Land o£ my fathers '—though no mangrove

hero

O'er thy blue Htrotimshoi floxilcbi anchor roar,
Nor scaly palm hor linger' <1 wuonH Hhooi, ,
Nor luscious goava wavo her yellow frmt ;
Nor golden apples glimmer from the troo j —
Land of dark heaths and mountains, thou art
free'

Untainted yot, thy stream, fair Teviot ! rune,
With unatoned blood of Gambia's sons.

from 1780 to 1860.1

LOVE ANT) GLOBT.

DlBDIN,

No drooping Hlavo, with Rpiut bow'd to toil,
<lrowB, Hko tho wood, nolf-iootod to the Boil,
Nor cringing- vuHHal on tlioHO iwinHiod inoocU
T« bought and bartoi'd, OK tlio flock ho foodH.
Froo OH tho lark thai oarolH o'or IUH head,
At dawn tho hoalthy ploughman loavoH IUH bod,
Bmdrt to tho yoke hta Hturdy fltoorn with oaro,
And, whittling1 loud, direct H tho mining- uharo .
Froo aH IIIH lord, tho poawant treads tho plain,
And hoapH hin hatvoHt on tho groaning- warn ;
Proud of his laws, tonacuoua of IUH nght,
And Tain of Scotia' H old unconqtior'd might.

John LcytU'n —Horn 1775, Died 1811.

1136.— THE TAB FOB ALL WEATITEBS.

I flail' A from tho l)o\viw in tho " Nan«y,"

My jib how H!LO Hmaok'd through tho broos'o '
Sho's a VOHHO! UH tijjfht to my lanoy

AH ovor Hail' (I on tho Halt HCMIH.
So adiou to tho wluto cliifH of Britain,

Our girlH and our doar nativo Hhoro 1
TAjr if Homo hard rook wo HlioiUd Hplit on,

Wo Hhall no\cr soo tliom any nioro
But sailorH wuro bom lor all woiithorti,

Groat gwiH lot it blow, high 01 low,
Our duty koopH im to our tothoiH,

And whoro tho galo dnvtm wo munt go.

When wo ontnr'd tint RiriutM of (Jibraltar

1 vorily thought nhoSl have Htmk,
Vor tho wind bc^an HO for to altcir,

>Sho yaw'd juHt OH tho' rlio wan drmik.
Tho H<iuall toro tho mammal to nhivorH,

ffolm a- weather, tho hoai^o boatnwam oriofi j
Brace tho forowail athwart, HCO H!IO (inivorn,

AH through tho ronffh tompcmt nho flion
But Hailorn WOK* bom for all woathors,

(Jroat warn lot it blow, hiffh or low,
Our duty konpH \i H to our tothorH,

And whoro tho #alo drivoH wo mnwt go.

Tho fitorm oamo on thicker and faHtor,

AH black junt an i>itoh WIIH tho nky,
AVhon tmly a doloful <lwiiHl«*r

liofol throo poor Hiu'Iorn and T
Bon Buiitliuo, Ham Hhrond, ntirl Dick ITandHail,

liy a blaHt that oamo furiouH and hard,
Juwt wlulo wo woro furling tho inainHail,

Woro ovory HOU! Hwt»pt from tho yard.
But HailorH wo^o boni for till woathorn,

Groat giiiiH lot it blow, hi#h or low,
Our dxity koopH UH to our totluiiH,

And whoro tho J,M!O dnvon wo munt go.

Poor iJon, Sam, and Diuk cnod pocoavi,

AH for I, at tho nnk of niy noc.k,
Whilo they Hank down in pcaoo to old Dtfvy,

Caught a ropo, and HO landed on dock.
Woll, what would you havo P Wo woro ntrandod,

And out of a fine jolly crow
Of throo hundred that tuul'd, novor landed

Hut L and, I think, twenty-two.

But snilorfl woro born for all woathorH,
Croat gtrnn lot it blow, liijfli or low,

Our duty koopH UH to our tothorn,
And whoro tho galo drivoH wo muwt go.

Charles Dildin.—tiorn 1745, Died 1814.

1137.— SIR SIDOTY SMITH.

GonUofolkB, in my tuuo, J'vo knodo many a

rhymo,

But tho Honpf I now troublo you with
Lays Homo claim to upplatiHo, mid you'll

giant it, bocauHO

Tho flnbjot^H Hir Hidnoy Bmitli, it IH ;
Tho subjQot'H Sir Sidwoy Smith.

Wo all know Sir Bidnoy, a man of «nch Icitlnoy,

Ho'd fight every foo ho could moot ;
Givo him ono nhip or two, and without nioro

ado,
Ho'd engage if ho mot a wliolo floot, ho

would ;
Ilo'd ong^iffo if ho mot a wliolo floot

ho took, every day, all that oatuo in IUH
way,

Till fortnno, that ohaiitfoablo olf,
Oidor' d auuKloutn HO, that, whilo taking tho

foo,

Hir Hidnoy pfot Idikon hmiHolf, ho did j
Sir Hidnoy jrot lakon linnHolf.

JIiH oaptors, ripfht tflad of tho prixo tlw^y now

hod,

Rojootod oaoh offor wo bid,
And Hworo ho nhould ntay, look'd up till

doomnday,
But ho Hworo hoM bo hang'd if lio did, ho

did;
But ho eworo he'd bo hang'd, if ho did.

So BIT Sid got away, and MH #aolor noxt day

Grind " Baor(t, diablo, morblou !
Men priHonnior 'Hoapo, I 'two ^otiu von ncnipo,

And I four t znunt run away, too, 1 innnt ;

I foar I uittKt run away too."

(Jhwlcs DtWin.— jtom 1745, DM 1814,

1138.— L07E A3SO) OIOUY.

Yonng Honry was an Jmvvo a youth
AH ovor ffroood a galliwit ntory ;

And Jano WUH fair aH lovely truth,
Sho Hi«h'd for Lovo, and ho for Glory I

With hor IUH faith ho meant to plight,
And told hor xaaziy a gallant ntory ;

Till war, thoir coming joy« to blight,
Coll'd Mm away from Lovo to Olory 1

CHARLES DIBDIN J

NONGTONGPAW

[SEVENTH PRBIOD •

Young Henry met tho f oo with pride ,
Jane follow* d, fought ' oh, haploss story '

In man's attire, by Henry H side,
She died for Lovo, and ho for Glory

Qlwrlus Drtfon.— Born 1745, Dwd 1814

1139 —NONGTONGPAW.

John Bull for pastime took a prance,

Some time ago, to peep at Franco ,

To talk of sciences and arts,

And knowledge gjan'd in foreign parts.

Monsieur, obsequious, heated him speak,

And answer' d John in heathen Greek .

To all he aak'd, 'bout all ho saw,

'Twas, " Monsieur, je vous n'entends pas "

John, to the Palais-Royal oomo,

Its splendour almost struck TITF". dumb.

" I say, whose house is that there here p"

" House i Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur,"

" What, Nongtongpaw again ' " ones John ,

" This fellow is some -mighty Don :

No doubt he's plenty for the maw,

I'll breakfast with this Nongiongpaw."

John saw Versailles from Marly 's height,

And cried, astonish' d at tho sight,

" Whose fine estate is that there here ?"

" State ' Je YOUS n'entends pas, Monsieur "

" His P what, the land and houses too ?

The fellow's noher than a Jew .

On everything he lays his olaw '

I should like to dine with Nongtongpaw."

Next; tiipping oomo a courtly fair,

John cried, enchanted with her air,

' What lovely wench is that there here p"

" Ventoh ' Je vous n'ontonds pas, Monsieur "

" What, he agum ? Upon my life !

A palace, lands, and then a wrfo

Sir Joshua might delight to draw

I should hko to sup with Nongtongpaw "

"But hold ' whose funeral's that?" ones John.
" Je vous n'ontonds pas " — " What, is ho gono P
Wealth, fame, and beauty could not savo
Poor Nongtongpaw then from tho grave '
Bos race is run, his game is up, —
Td with him breakfast, dine and sup ,
But since he chooses to withdraw,
Good night t' ye, Mounseer Nongtongpaw '"

OJwrles Dibdm — Born 1745, Died 1814.

1140.— TOM BOWLING.

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,

The darhng of our crew,
No more he'll hear the tempest howling.

For death has broach' d him to

His form was of tho nranlient beauty,

KIR heart was kind and Roft,
Faithful, below, ho did his duty,

But now he's gono aloft.

Tom never from his word departed,

His virtues wore so rare,
His friends wore many and Iruo-hoartod,

His Poll was kind and fair
And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,

Ah, many' s tho time and oft '
But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,

For Tom is gone aloft.

Tot shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,

When He, who all oommandu,
Shall givo, to call lifo'p crow together,

The word to pipe all hands
Thus Death, who kings and tana despatches

Jn vain Tom's Mo has doff'd,
For, though his body's under hatohoH,

His soul is gone aloft
Charles DibdMn.—Born 1745, DM 1814.

1141— THE GRAVE OF ANNA

I wish I was whoro Ajana hos,

For I am sick of lingering hero ,
Aad ovary hour affection crios,

Go and partake her humblo bier,

I wish I could i For when sho cliod,
I lost my all , and Ho has proved

Since that sad hour a dreary void ,
A waste unlovely and unloved

But who, when I am turn'd to clay,

Shall duly to her grave repair,
And pluck tho ragged moHH away,

And woods that have " no buHinoHH tlioro P"

And who with piotTB hand nhall brin^
Tho floworfi who ohoriHh'd, wiow«dropa cold,

And violets that unheeded Hpriag
To scatter o'er her hallow'd mould P

And who, while memory IOVOH to dwoll

Upon her namo for over dour,
Shall fool his heart with passion swell,

And pour tho bittor, bitter tear P

I did it , and would fata allow,

Should visit still, should Rtill deplore—

But health and strength have loft ino now.
And I, alaH r can woop no more.

Take thon, Rwoot moid ! thig fdmplo titroin,

Tho latrb I offer at ihy shrino ,
Thy grave muni thon tuadook'd romata,

And all thy memory fade with tnmo.

And can thy soft porsuasivo look,
Thy voice that might with muHio vior

Thy air that every gazor took,
Thy matchless eloquence of oyo ;

From 1780 to 1806.]

TO A TOFT OP J3AJKLY VIOLETS.

Thy Kpints froIicRomo as good,
Tliy courage by no illH dwmay'd,

Thy patience by 110 wrong,* mibdnod,
Thy ffay good-humour, oan they fade ?

Poihaps — "but sorrow dims my oyo ,
Cold turf which I no moro munt view,

Boor namo which T no more nmut High,
A long, a, lost, a sad adion '

William QiOM.-J*arn IfSG, DM 182C.

1142.— GREENWICH HTLL

Though clouds obscured tho morning hour,
And koon and eager blow iho blawt,

And drilling foil iho chocrlims nhowor,
AH, doubtful, to tho (fluff wo piiHH'd .

All Roon, propitious to onr prayer,
(Save promiHQ of a bnghtor <lay,

Tho dotulrt diHporHod m puror air,
Tho blasts iu. ssophyrH diod away.

Plo havo \vo, lore, a day onjoyM,

On wluohwo both — mul y<>t, who knowsP —
May dwell with ploasuro uualloyM,

And dread no thorn Ixmoath tlm TOHO

How ploawant, from that domo-c',rown'<l hill,

To viow tho varied WOHC bulow,
Woodw, HliipH, and KpiroH, ami, lovotior Htill,

rI1ho circling- Thamtm iiiajontic How '

How Hwoot, OH indolently laid,
Wo overhung that Imig-clrawn dale,

To watoh tho chocjuorM light and Hhado
That glauood upon tho Hhiftiug Hail !

And whon tlio nluulow'H rapid growth
ftooloiui'd tho noon-lido hotir oxjurod,

And, though nuwcariod, " nothing loath,*'
Wo to our Himplo moid retired ,

Tho wportivo wilo, tho blauioloHH jont,
Tho oaroloHR miu<rH HpontanoouH flow,

Oavo to that Himplo moal a KOHt
Whioh riohor tabloK xuay not know.

Tho babo that on tho mothor'H broaHt
Ifaa toy*d and wanton'd for awlu'lo,

And, Kinking in unconHciouH rent,
Look** up to oatoh a parting Hinilo ,

Fools loflB aflaurod tlian then, dear maid,
Whon, oro thy ruby lipH could part

(AH cloHo to mmo thy cli(>ok won laid),
Thino oyoH had opon'd all thy heart.

Thou, then I mark'd tho chaHton'd joy
That lightly o'or thy fo&tnroH fitolo,

From VOWB repaid (my Hwoot employ),
l^rom truth, from innoconoo of soul :

Whilo ovory word dropt on my oai'
So floft (and yot it nooni'd to thrill i.

So flwoot that 'twaa a hoavon to hear
And G'OXL thy pause had muBio ntill

And 0 ! how liko a fairy droam

To gazo in gilonoo on tho tido,
Whilo soft and waim tho Btuany gleam

Slept on tho glassy surfaco wide !

And many a thought of fancy bred,
Wild, Roothmg-, tondor, uudoiiuod,

Play'd lightly round tho heart, and shou
DoliciouH languor o'or the mind.

So hours liko niomonts wjng'd tlioir fii^li
Till now tho boatmen on tho Khoro,

Impatient of tho waning li^ht,
l&oouiU'd UB by tho daHhing oar.

Well, Anna, many days liko thin

I cannot, mtwt not hopo to
For I haro found au hour of UIHH

StxQ followed by an ago of oaro.

Tot of b xvhon memory intorronos —
But you, doar maid, bo happy still,

Nor o'or rogrot, niidnt fairer ROOJIOH,
Tho day wo paHH'd on (Jroouwicli Ihll,

.—. l$ow 1756, DM 1826.

1143,— TO A TUFT OP MAKIT VIOLETS,

Swoot floworc i that from your hmnblo beds

Thus promaturxily dawi to rino,
And trnHt your unprotootod hoa<U

To cold Aquarius' watery ftkiea j

liotiro, retire 1 thono topid airn
Are not tho genial brood of May;

That Sun with light uKtlignont glaren,
And flattorH only to betray.

Stern wintor'n reign IM not yot pa«t —
Lo i wliilo your budH prepare to blow,

On icy pinionH oomoH tho blaHt,
And nipu your root, uoid layw you low.

Alan, for fltioh nngontlo doom !

JJut I will Hhiuld you, and wipply
A kindlier "Hoil on which to bloom,

A nobler bod on which to <Uo.

Come then, oro yot tho morning ray
Hart drunk tho (low that gomn your orost

And drawn, your balmioat Hwootfi away ;
0 come, and grace my Anna's broaHt.

To droop, fond flowers I but, did yo know
What worth, what goodueHR thoro roHi<lo,

Your oupe with. livolioHt tuxtn would glow,
And Hprood their loavon with oouHoioun
pride;

CANNING,]

THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

For there has liberal natnro joiii'd

Her notes to the stores of art,
And added to tlie vigorous mind

The soft, the sympathizing heart.

Oomo then, ore yet the morning ray
Has dmnk the dew that goms your orost,

And /Irawn yoiu balmiest sweets away,
0 come, and grace my Anna's breast.

O l I should think — that fragrant bed
Might I but hope with you to share —

Yea**? of anxiety repaid

By one short hour of transport there.

M"*<? bless' d your lot, ye there shall live
Your httle day , and when ye die,

Sweet flowers I the grateful Muse shall give
A verse — the sorrowing maid a sigh.

While I, alas ' no distant date,

Mix wrfch the dust from whence I came,

Without a fnend to weep my fate,
Without a stone to tell my name

WHbam Ghfford.-^Bom 1756, Died 1826.

1144, — THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY
AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER.

FBTDND OF HUMANITY.

Needy Knife-grinder ' whither are you going ?
Rough is your road, your wheel is out of

order,
Bleak blows the blast — your hat has got a

hole in't,

So have your breeches !

Weary Knife-grinder ' little think the proud

ones,

Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day,

" Knives and

Scissors to grind 0 1 "

Tell me, Knifo-gnndor, how came you to

grind knives P

Did some noh man tyianmoally use you ?
Was it the squire, or parson of the parish,
Or the attorney P

Was it the squire, for killing of his game P
Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining-?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
AH in a lawsuit P

(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by

Tom Paine P )

Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your

Pitiful story ]

PERIOD — *

Story ! God bless you ! I have nono to toll,

sir,

Only last night a-drinking at tho Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you soo,

were

Torn in a souffle.

Constables came up for to tako mo into
Custody, they took mo before tho iiiHtico ;
Justice Oldmixon put mo m tho parwh-

Stocks foi a vagrant.

I should be glad to drink yourhonoui's health

in

A pot of beer, if you will givo mo Bixponco ;
But for my part, I never lovo to moddlo
With politics, sir.

FBTBND OB1 HUMANITY.

I give thee sixpence ' I will soo thoo d d

first-
Wretch whom no sense of wrongs can rouse

to vengeance —

Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
Spiritless outcant '

Qcorg& Coffining. — Born 1770, DM 1827.

1 145 —SONG BY EOGERO IN "THE
ROVERS "

Whene'er with haggaicl eyes I view
This dungeon that I'm rotting in,
I think of those companions truo
Who studied with mo at the U-

mvorHity of Gotfcingon,
mvorsity of Uottixigou.

Sweet kerchief, check* d with hcavouly blue,

Which onoo my lovo Rat knotting in —
Alas, Matilda then was truo I
At least I thought so at tho XT-

nivorHity of Oottmgon,
nivormty of Goilingon.

Barbs f barbs ' alas ' how swift you flow,

Her neat post-wagon trotting in !
Yo bore Matilda from my view;
Forlorn I languiHh'd at tho U-

nivorHity of Gottingon,
nivorwty of Gottmgoju.

This faded form ! this pallid huo '

This blood my veins is clotting in,
My years arc many — they woro fow
When first I ontor'd at the U»

niversity of Gottingcn,
nivorsity of Gottingcu.

1780 to I860 ]

THE PILGRIMS AND TUB PEAS.

WOLCOT.

Tlioro first for thoo my passion grow.

Sweat, sweet Matilda Pottingon '
Thou wast tlio daughter of my Tu-
tor, law professor at tlio U-

nrvorsity of Gottingon,
iirvorBity of Gottingon

Sun. moon, and thou vain woild, adieu,
Tliut kings and priests aro plotting in
Hero dooxn'd to starve on water gru-
ol, novor sliall I soo tlio U-

nivorHityof Gottingon,
mvorsityof Gottmgen.

George Cannwg —Bom 3770, Dud 1827.

1146.— LINES ON THE DEATH OF HIS

ELDEST SON.

Though short thy span, God's unimpoaoh'd

decrees,
Which made thai shortou'd span 0110 long

Yet, merciful jn chastening, gavo thoo scope
KV>r mild lodooming vhtuoH, iaith and hope,
Mook resignation, pious charity,
And, since thiH world waw not tlio woildfor

tluw,
Far fiom thy path removed, with partial

oaro,
Ktrifo, glory, gam, and pleasure's ilowory

Hiian* ;
Itado oaHh'n tumptatloiiH panw tlicu ImrinloHH

i»y,

And ttx'd on Jloavau thine uurevortod oyo !
Oh ! inarkM from birth, and nurtured for the

In youth, with inoru than learning H wMom

WlHOl

AH Haintud martyrH, patient to endure !
Simple IIH iniwtMLii'd infuney, and pure !
J^iru from all Htain (nave that of human elny,
Which (/hrint'H utotiing blood hath waHh'd

away) !

Ky mortal HufTeringH now no more opproHH'd,
Mount, HinloHM Kpint, to thy doHtinedroHt!
Whiln 1— rovcTHod our nature* H kindlier

doom—-
Poui forth u father' H HorrowH on thy tomb.

Uea*t/t* Uannwtj.—Jtvrn 1770, DM 1827.

n4?.-/EHB HLGBJMS AND THH PMAS.

A brace of HinnerH, for no good,

Woro ordor'cl to the Vir«iii Mary'a Hlirino,
Who at 3*>rotto dwelt in wtwc, stone, wood,

And in a ourl'd white wig look'd wondrouw
lino.

Fifty long miles had those and rogues to

travel,
With something in thoir filioes mueh worse

than gravel

In short, their toon HO gontlo to aimiHo,
The prioat had oidei'd poaa into thoir nhoos.

A nostrum famous in old popish times
For puiifying KOII!H that stunk with crimes,

A Hort of apostolie salt,

That popwh parHonw for its powoi'ri exalt,
For keeping noulu of Hiimoi-H swoot,
JtiHt au our kitchen salt keeps moat.

The knayos sot off on tho Haino day,
Peaw 111 thc»vr nh<xw, to go and pray ;

But very diffoi ont wan fchoir Hpocd, I wot
One of tho sinners ^allop'd on,
Light as a bullet irom a gim ,

Tho other limp'd as if ho had been shot.

One saw tho Virgin, soon ycmtvi cnod ;

Had MH soul whitowashM all HO clover,
When home again ho nimbly hied,

Made fit with naintH above to live for over.

Tn coming back, howovor, lot me nay,
He mot IUH brother rogue about half-way,
Hobbling with outntrotoh'd lianw and bonding

iiiB tho HOU!H and bodies of tho peas ,
HJLH oyoH in tooiM, IUH chcokH aiul lirow in

HWOJbt,

Dooi) HympathiKing with Ins groaning loot.
"How now1" tho light-toed whitowitHh'd

" You laxy lubber ' "
"Ooufoiiiid it'" ciiod tho t'other, "'tin no

joke ;
My fool, 01100 hard as any rook,

Are now an soft an blubber

EXCUHO mo, Virgin Mary, that 1 RWOIUP :
AH for Lor otto, I shall not get thuvo ;
No ' to the dovil iuy ttiufuJ HOU! iinwt f^o,
J^or hang me if T lia'n't lost ovory too 1

But, brother sinner, do explain
How 'tis that you aro not in pain —
What power hath workM a wcnulor for

your toes—

Whilst I, just like a snail, am oniwling,
Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling,
Whilst noli a ram-al oomes to oaso my
woes I1

How in't that you can like a fyroyhouud j-o,

Merry as if nought had happwi'd, burn y<5 '*"
"Why," cried tho other, grinning, "you

must know,

That just before 1 vent-tirod on my journoy,
To walk a little moro at oaso,
I took tho liberty to boil my poas."

J>. W'wlrofi— - Hunt MM, /'/r

DJB. WQLOOT ]

DR. JOHNSON'S STYLE.

[SEVENTH

1148— DB, JOHNSON'S STYLE.

I own I like not Johnson's turgid stylo,
That gives an inch the importance of a milo,
Casts of manure a wagon-load around,
To raise a simple daisy from the ground j
Uplifts the club of Hercules — for what ?
To crush a butterfly or brain a gnat ,
Creates a whirlwind from the earth, to draw
A goose's feather or exalt a straw ;
Sets wheels on wheels in motion — such a

clatter

To force up one poor nipperkm of water ;
Bids ocean labour with tremendous roar,
To heave a cookie-shell upon the shore ;
Alike in every theme his pompous art,
Heaven's awful thunder or a rumbling cart r

Dr. TTolcot.— Born 1738, Died 1819.

1 149 —ADVICE TO LANDSCAPE
PAINTERS.

Whate'er you wish in landscape to excel,

London 's the very place to mar it ;
Believe the oracles I tell,

There's very little landscape in a garret.
Whate'er the flocks of fleas you keep,
'Tis badly copying them for goats and shesp ;
And if you'll take the poet's honest word,
A bug must make a miserable bird

A rushlight in a bottle's neck, or stick,
HI represents the glorious orb of morn ;

Nay, though it were a candle with a wick,
'Twould be a representative forlorn.

I think, too, that a -man would be a fool,
Por trees, to copy legs of a joint stool ,

Or even by them to repiesont a stump
Also by broomsticks — which, though woll ho

ng
Each with an old fox-coloui'd wig,

Must make a very poor autumnal clump

You'll say, " Yet such ones oft a person seen
In many an artist's trees ;
And in some paintings we have all behold
Green baize hath surely sat for a green field
Bolsters for mountains, hills, and whoatou

mows ,
Cats for ram-goats, and ours for bulls and

cows "

All thin, my lads, I freely grant ,
But better things from you I want.
As Shakspeare says (a bard I muoh approve),
"last, list' oh, list! if thou dost painting
love." b

Claude painted in the open air '
Therefore to Wales at once repair,
"Where scenes of truo magnificence you'll
find;

Besides this great advantage — if in dobt,
You'll have with creditors no totc-a-toto ,

So leave the bull-dog bailiffs oil bohmd ;
Who, hunt you with what noise they may,
Must hunt for* needles in a stack of hay

Dr. TToZcofc-r Bora mS, DM 1819.

1150.— THE APPLE DUMPLINGS AND
A KING.

Once on a time, a monarch, tired with

Whipping and spurring,
Happy in worrying
A poor defenceless harmless buck
(The horse and rider wot as muck),
Prom his high consequence and wiwdom

stooping,

Enter' d through cunowity a cot,
Where sat a poor old woman and her pot.

The wrinkled, bloar-oyod, good old gruuny,
In this same cot, illumed by many a

cranny,

Had finish' d applo dumplings for her pod
In tempting low the nakod dunipluitfH Itiy,
When lo ' the monarch, in his uHual way,
Like lightning spoke, " What' a thin P what'w
this? what, what?"

Then taking up a dumpling in
His eyes with admiration did expand ;
And oft did majesty tho dumpling grapple •

ho cried,

" 'Tis monstrous, monstrous haul, nidood !
What makes it, pray, so hard''*" Tho tkuxio

replied,
Low curtsying, " Ploa.no your inajoHty, tho

applo "

" Very astonishing indeed ! wtranffo thmjy ! "
(Turning tho dumpling round) lojomM tho

king

" 'Tis mont extraordinary, thon, all tliw IH —
It beats Pinctto'H conjuring1 all to IIKKKJH
Strange I should uovor of a dumpling droam !
But, goody, toll mo whoro, wlioro, whoro'H tho
seamP"

*' Sir, thoro'H no soam," quoth H!IO ; " I uovor

knew

That folks did applo dumpkngH HOW."
" No i " cried tho wtaring monarch with a grin ;
" How, how tho dovil got the applo in P "

On which tho damo tho curious Hohomo re*

voal'd
By which tho applo lay so sly conceal1 <1,

Which mado tho Solomon of "Britain atart ;
Who to the palace with full apood ropafr'd,
And queen and princosHOH Re boautoouH geared

AH with tho wondora of tho dumpling art.

JFVowi 1780 to 186G ]

WHITBBEAITS BKEWEBY.

[DR. WOLCOT.

There did ho labour one "whole wouk to filiow
The wiadom o£ an applo-dumpling maker ,

And, lo ' so deep was majonty in dough,
The palace soom'd tho lodging of a bakor '

Dr. TTofco*.— Born 1738, Died 1819

H5l.-.WHITBREAD'S BREWERY
VISITED BY THEIR MAJESTIES

3?ull of tho art of browing boor,

The monarch hoard of Whitbroad'fl famo ;
Quoth ho unto tho yucon, "My door, my

dear,
Whitbroad hath got a maivolloiis groat

namo.
Charly, wo mufit, muat, imiHt HOO Whitbroad

brow —

Rich as UH, Charly, riohor than a Jow
Shamo, shame wo have not yot his browhouso

soon i "
Thus Hwootly said tho king- unto tho quoon.

Jtud hot with novelty' H delightful

To MiHtor Whitbroad forth ho Hont a puqo,

To nay that xnajcwiy proponed to viow,
With ilijiwt of wondrous knowlcd/jo doop

inilamod,
II w valH, and tul)H, and hopH, and liOffhluMuUi

famod,
And loam tho noblo Hoorot how to brow

Of Huoli undroamt-of liononr proud,
Mowt rov'rontly tho browor bow'd ;
So humbly (HO tho humblo atory goon),
llo touch' d o^on torra firmo. wlLh IUH UOHO ;

Then said unto tho pago, hight Tiilly BawuH,
*' Happy aro wo tliat our groat king Hhoiild

As worthy unto majoHty to nhow
How wo poor ChiBWoll pooplo brow."

Away Hprung liilly Biunun quiok tw thought :
To majoHty tho woloomo tiding }>r{)«Klit,
How Wliitbrood htarinj? ntood liko any

Htako,

And trembled , then tho civil tliiupi ho Hold ,
On whioh tho king- did ainilo uiul nod IUH

hoad;
tfor monarohs liko to soo thoir BubjootH

Such horrors unto kings momt pleasant arc,
Proclaiming rovoronoo and humility :

High thoughts, too, all thoho Hhakuig Jatrt

declare,
Of kmgly grandeur and groat capability '

Pooplo of worship, wealth, and birth,
Look on tho humbler HOOIH of earth,
Indeed in a moat humblo light, Ood knows 1

High stations are lake Dover's towenng oliffs,
Whoro ships below appear liko littlo nkiffs,
Tho people walking on tho strand liko
crows.

Muse, sing tho stir that happy Whitbzoad

made .

Poor gentleman I most terribly afraid
Ho should not charm enough his guests

divrno,
Ho gavo his maids now aprons, gowns, and

smookB ;
And lo ' two hundred pounds woro npont in

frookn,

To mako tho apprentices and dzaymon fine :
Busy as horsos in a field of clover,
DogH, oat», and ohoirs, and Htoolu, woro

tumbled ovoi,

AmidHt tho Whitbroad rout of preparation,
To treat tho lofty ruler of tho nation.

Now movod king, queen, and prinoeHHOfl so

grand,

To viHit tho first browor in tlio land ;
Who HomotimoH HWI!!H his boor and grinds his

meat

Jn a *mug corner, christen' d OhiHWoll Street ,
lint oftouor, oliarui'd with ftwlnoiiablo air,
AniidHt tho gaudy groat o± Portinan Square.

Lord AyloHbury, and Donbiffh'H lord alrto,

JtliH (Jraoo tho Duke ot Montague hkowino,
With Liwly ifaroourt join'd tho rawo nho\v,
And ibc'd all SnutlUiold'a wond'ring oyoH •
Vor lo1 a greater nhow no'ov graced UIOHG

(j.uartorH,

Since Maty roiwtod, just bko onibn, the
inartyrH.

TlniH wo« the browhoiiso flll'd with gabbling

notao,

Whilst draymen, and tho browov'n boyn,
JDovour'd tho qiuoMtiottri that tho king did

Oflk;

In difTorent partioH were they staring noon,
Wond'ring to think iJh.oy saw a kuig and

quoon r
Behind a tub woro some, and Homo bohuul

a oaek.

Some draymon forced tltomMolvofl (a protty

lunohoon)

Into tho mouth of many a gaping puuolioon, -
And through tho bung-holo wiikM with

ouriouH oyo,
To view and bo osHurod what Hort of tluugu

and quoon», and klngn,
whoHO most lofty elation thousand*

And lo f of all tho gaping pnnohoon clan,
Jb'ow woro tho mouths that had not got a
man,

Now majortty into a pump HO dpop
Did with on oporo-gloHfl HO ouriotw poop :
Examining with caro each wontlrouH matter
That brought up water !

58 *

DB. WOLCOT ]

WHITBREAD'S BEEWEBY.

[SETENTJI PERIOD. —

Thus have I seen a magpie in the street,
A chattering bird we often meet,
A bird for curiosity well known,

"With head awry,

And cunning eye,
Peep knowingly into a marrow-bone

And now his curious majesty did stoop
To count the "nails on every hoop ,
And lo I no single thing came in his way,
That, fall of deep research, he did not say,
""What's this? hae hao? What's that?

What's this P

What's that P"
So quick the words too, when he deign* d to

speak,
As if each syllable would break its neck.

Thus, to the world of great whilst others

crawl,

Our sov'reign peeps into the world of small
Thus microscopic geniuses explore

Things that too oft the public scorn ,
Yet swell of useful knowledges the store,

By finding systems in a peppercorn.

Now boasting Whitbiead serious did declare,
To make the majesty of England stare,
That he hud butts enough, he knew,
Placed side by side, to reach to Kew,
On which the kmg with wonder swiftly cried,
" What, if they reach to Kew, then, side by

What would they do, what, what, placed

end to end P "

To whom, with knitted calculating brow,
The man of beer most solemnly did TOW,

Almost to Windsor that they would extend.
On which the kmg, with wondering mien,
Repeated it unto the wondeimg queen ,
On which, quick tinning- round his Halter' d

head,
The biewer's horse, with face astonish'd,

neigh.' d ,
The brewer's dog, too, pour'd a note of

thunder,
iEfoittlcd ^I1'H chain, and wafffir'd h^s tail for

wonder.

Now did the friTig for other boors inquire,
For Calverl's, Jordan's, Thralo's entire ,
And after tpJJ"-ng> of these diffoiont boors,
Ask1 d Whitbread if his portor equalTd theirs.

This was a puzzling disagreeing question,
Grating like arsenic on his host's digestion ;
A kind of question to the Han of Cask
That oven Solomon himself would ask.

Now majesty, alive to knowledge, took
A very pretty memorandum-book,
With gilded leaves of asaos'-skm so white,
And m it legibly began to wiite—

A <flifl.tnring place beneath the grates
For roasting- chestnuts or potates.

MEM.

'Tis hops that give a bitterness to beer
Hops grow in Kent, says Whitbroad,
elsewhere.

Is there no cheaper stuff? whoro doth it

dwell?
Would not horse-aloes bitter it as well ?

MEM.

To try it soon on our small boor —
'Twill save us several pounds a yo.tr.

To remember to forgot to ask
Old Whitbread to my houso ono day.

MEM.

Not to forgot to take of beer the cask,
The brower offer' d mo, away

Now, having pencill'd his remarks so shrewd,
Sharp as the point indoorl of a now pin,

His majesty his watch moHt wigcly viow'd,
And then put up his asHos'-skin.

To Whitbread now doign'd majonty lo flar,
"Whitbread, are all your horson fond of

hay?"

"Yes, please your majesty," in humble notes
The brewer answer* d — "Also, siro, of oatn ,
Another thing my horses, too, maintains,
And that, an't ploaso your majesty, arc

grams "

"Grains, grains'" said majesty, "to fill

their crops ?
Grains, grains ' — tluit comos from hops — yo«,

hops, hops, hops ? "
Hoio was the king, like hounds HomotimoM, at

fault—
"Siro," onod the humble browor, "givo me

leave

Tour flaorod maj'oaty to Tmclonoivo ;
Grains, siro, 010 novoi inodo from hopn, }>nt

malt."

"True," said tho cautious monarch with a

Hmilo,
"Fiom malt, malt, malt — I mount malt all

the while "
"Yes," with tho swootost bow, rojomM tho

brewer,
"An't ploaso your majesty, you <lnl, I'm

suro"

" YOR," anflwor'd majoftty, with quick roply,
"I did, I did, I did, 1, 1, 1, 1 "

Now did tho kmg adiruxo tho boll flo fine,
That daily asks tho draymou all to dino ;
On which tho boll rung out (how very proper fj
To show it was a boll, and had a clapper.
And now before their sovereign's curio 'is
eye—

180(1]

EPIGBAM ON SLEEP.

[Bra. WOX.OOT.

Parents and children, £010 fat hopeful

sprigs,
All snuffling, scjiiiniiug, granting1 in then*

styo —
Appoar'd tlio browor'a tribe of handsome

Pigs,
On wluch tho observant man wlio filly a

throno,

Declared tho pigs wore vastly like his own ,
On which the biewor, swaJlow'd up in joys,
Four and aHtoniHhmont in both hin oyon,
Hi* Houl brimful of sentiments BO loyal,
Exolaim'd, " 0 heavens ' and can my swine
Bo doom'd by majesty BO fine P
Heavens ' oan my pigs compare, sire, with
pig-s royal P "

To which tho king asHontorl with a nod ;

On which tho biowoi bow'd, and said, " Good

God ' "

Thon wmk'd significant on Miss,
Significant of wondor and of bliBB,

Who, bridling in hor ohm divine,
CroMs'd hor fair hands, a doar old mrad,
And then hor lowest curtsy made

For finch high honour done hor father's
Hwmo

Now did hi« imfjosty, HO granous, Bay
To Mister Wlutbvoad 111 his ilynifi way,

" Whitbroad, d'yo niok th' uxoihonuui now

and thon P
JIao P what P Miss Wlutbroad *s still a maid, a

maid P
What, what's tho matter with tho mem P

D'yo hunt P — hae, hunt P Wo no, yon aro too

old ;

You'll bo lord-mayor — lord-mayor ono day ,
YOH, yoH, I've hoard HO j yo«, yes, so I'm told;

JL>on't, don't tho fine for sheriff pay ;
Til prick you every yoar, man, I declare ;
YOH, Wlutbwad, yo«, yoH, yoa ahall be lord-
mayor.

Whitbroad, d'yo keep a ooaoh, or jcb ono,

Job, job, tliiit'H choapOHt ; yoH, that'H l)OHt,

tli at' H bont

Yon put your UvorioH on tho dmymon-— hao P
11 ao, Wlutbroad1 you hiivo foiithor'd well

your nest.
"Wliat, whut'H the price now, hao, of all your

HtookP
Jiut, Whitbroad, what'H o'clock, pray, what'n

of clock P"

Now Whitbroad inward said, " May I bo ourfct
If T know what to anwwor first "

Thon hoaroh'd IIIH bruins whh ruminating'

«yo»

Uut ere tho man of malt an answer found,
(Jniok on hw h(jol, lo, majonty tnn;'d round,
Skipp'd off, and balk'd tho honour of reply.

Dr. WQl*>i.—]ton\. 1738, J)M 1819.

1152.— LOBD GliEOOBY.

"Ah opo, Lord Gregory, thy door,

A midnight wanderer Hi#hH ;
Haid riiHh the ram», tho tom}>ostfl roar,

And lightnings deavo tho akiofl."

" Who comes with woo at this drear night,

A pilgnrn of tho gloom ?
If flho whoso love did oiico dolight,

My cot sliaU yield hor room "

" Alas ' thou heard' st a pilgrim mourn

That once was pnzod by thoo
Think of tho ring by yonder burn

Thou gav'tft to love and mo

Hut shouldst thon not poor Mariou know,

I'll turn my feet and pait;
And think tho storuin that round me blow,

far kinder than thy heart "

Dr. WolcoL—Born 1738, Dw<l 1810.

1153.— MAY DAY.

Tho daiaiofl poop from ovoi y field,
And violotH sweet thou odour yield ;
Tho piiri)lo bloHHom paiutw tlio thorn,
And HtrcuimH rofloot the blush of morn.
Thon liwln and IIIMHOH all, bo gay,
For this IH uatiiro'H holiday.

Lot lunty Labour drop hiH fliul,
Nor woodkxuui'H hook a troo i
U^he o^c HhulJ (xniHo IIIH nook to bow,
Aud (Uoddcn yield to rent thu plough.
Thou JiulH, &o.

Dohold tho lark in other float,
WhUo rupture HwollM tho Injuid noto I
What waubloH ho, with morry choor P
" Lot Ijovo and Pl<saHuro rulo tho yoar I"
Thon ladH, &o.

la ! Sol lookn down with radiant tyo,
^nd tlirowH a smile around hin Hky ,
Embracing1 hill, and vulo, and sti'uaui,
And warming nature with hia beoiu.
Thou lads, <&o

Tlio inwoot tribes m niyriadH pour,
And IUHH with zcipliyr every llowor ,
Shall tliowo oar ioy hoartw roprovo,
And toll UH wo aro iocs to JJOYO P
Tlion ladH, ACJ

Dr. IKbZcot.-nBowi, 17a8, J)M 1810.

1154.— jaPIG-BAM" ON SLRMt*
Como, ffontlo Hlc<»pl attoncl thy \otary'fi

And, thoti«h doath'u iinu«<», to my couoh
repair ,

DB. WOLOOT.]

TO MT CANDID

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

How sweet, though bfeloss, yet with He to

he,
And, without dying, 0 how sweet to die f

Dr. Wolcot — Born 1738, Died, 1819

1155.— TO MY CANDLE.

Thou lone companion of the speotred night '
I wako amid thy friendly watchful light,

To steal a precious hour from lifeless sleep
Hark, the wild uproar of the winds ' and hark,
Hell's genius roams the regions of the dark,

And swells the thundering horrors of tho
deep.

From cloud to cloud the pale moon hurrying

flies,
Now blacken* d, and now flashing through

the skies ,

But all is silence here beneath thy beam
I own I labour for the voice of praiso —
For who would sink in dull oblivion's

Who would not live in songs of distant days ?

Thus while I wondering pause o'er Shakspero's

page,
I mark in visions of delight the sage,

High o'er the wrecks of man, who stands

sublime ;

A column in the melancholy waste
(Its cities humbled and its glories past),

Majestic 'mid the solitude of tune.
Yet now to sadness let me yield the hour —
Yes, let the tears of purest friendship shower '

I view, alas ' what ne'er should die —
A form that wakes my deepest sigh —

A form that feels of death the leaden sleep —
Descending to the realms of shade,
I view a pale-eyed panting maid ,

I see the Virtues o'er their favourite weep

Ah ' could the Muse's simple prayer

Command the envied trump of fame,
Oblivion should Eliza spare —

A world should echo with her name
Art thou departing, too, my trembling fnond ?
Ah, draws thy little lustre to its end ?

Yos, on thy frame Fate too shall fix hor

seal—

O let me pensivo watch thy pale decay ,
How fast that frame, so tender, wears away,

How fast bhy hf e the restless minutes steal '

How slender now, alas ! thy thread of fire »
Ah ' faUmg^-f ailing— ready to expire '

In vain thy struggles, all will goon bo o'er.
At life thou anatchest with an eagei loap j
Now round I see thy flame so feeble creep,

Faint, lessening, quivering, glimmering, now
no more J

Thus shall the sons of science sink away,
And thuR of beauty fade the fairest flower —

For where's tho giant who to Time shall flay
" Destructive tyrant, I airest thy power '"

Dr. Wolcot—Bom 1738, Dicti, 1819

1156— SCOTLAND

How pleasant came thy rushing, silver

Tweed'

Upon my ear, when, after roaming long
In southern plains, I've roach'd thy lovely

bank'
How bright, renown&cL Sark ' thy HUlo

stream,

Like ray of column' d light chasing a shower,
Would cross my homeward path , how swoct

the sound,

When I, to hear tho Doric tongue'H roply.
Would ask thy well-known name '

And munt I loavo,

Dear land, thy bonny braos, thy dalon,
Each haunted by its wizard stream, o'orhung
With all tho varied charms of bush and troo P
And must I leave the friends of youthful

years,

And mould my heart anew, to take tho stamp
Of foreign friendships in a foreign land,
And learn to love the music of Htrango

tongues '

Yes, I may love tho music of strange tonguoH,
And mould my heart anew to tako tho Htamp
Of foieign friendships 111 a foreign land
But to my parched mouth's roof cloavo tliw

tongue,

My fancy fade into tho yellow loaf,
And thia oft-pauamg hoait forgot to tlirob,
If, Scotland ' thoo and thino I o'er forgot.

James Qraluime. — Jtott* 1765, Died 1811.

1157.— A SPRING SABBATH WALK.

Most oomcftt was his voico ! moHt mild HUH

look,
As with raised hands ho blofla'cl IIIH parting1

flock.

Ho is a faithful pastor of tho poor ;
Ho thinks not of hminolf; liiw Mawtor'8

wordw,

" Food, food my ahoop," aro ovor at hw hoart,
The cross of Christ ia ayo before his oyes.
Oh how I love with molted HOU! to loavo
Tho houBO of prayor, and wandor in tho

fields •
Alone ' What though tho opening spring bo

chill1

1780 to 1866 ]

A SUMMEB SABBATH WALK.

[JAM ran

What though iho laik, cliook'd in IUB airy

path,

Eko out hiB Hong, poioh'd on tho fallow olod,
Thai still o'orfcops tho blade ! What though

no branch

Have spi ood its foliage, save tho willow wand,
That dipfl its palo leaves in tho swollen

stream '
What though tho clouds oft lower' their

thioats but ond

In Bunny showers, that aoarooly fill tho foldn
CM! mosH-couch'd violot, or interrupt
Tho moilo's dulcet pipo — melodious bird '
Ho, hid behind tho nulk-white sloo-thorn

Bpray

(Whono ooily flowers anticipate tho loaf),
WolcomoH tho time of buds, tho infant year

Sweet ia tho Minny nook to which my Btopn
Have brought mo, hoidly oonwciouB where 1

roam'd,

Unheeding whoi o — HO lovoly, all around,
Tho woikn of God, array* d in vernal Biuilo '

Oft at tliiH HoaHon, muwng I prolong
My doviouH range, till, Bunk from view, tho

Hlffl

Emblaxo, with upward-slanting ray, tho

breawt

And wing unqmvormg of tho wheeling lark,
Descending vocal from hor Utoht iliftliL,
Wlulo, (liKrutiitrdiul of you lonely Htm —
The harbinger of olnll night/H ^littering

llOHt

Sweot redbreast, Heotia'H Philomela, chants
In doHultory Hti aiiiH his ovonmtf hymn

(irahrwic.--l}orH, 1705, JMril 18,1 1,

1158.— A

SATJIJATir WATJC.

iw thiH louolniOHri ;
My heart plouHant tlio c.ool beneath

That throw OCI-OHH tlio Htrcain a

Hhade

ILuro nature in her imdnoon wluK^xiv KpcakH ;
Kow poacjofuJ ovory Hound i — th« riwg-dovo'H

]>laiut,

MoanM from tho forest' H yloQinjoHt rotroat,
Wliilt* ovc»ry other woodhnid lay IH mtilo,
Have when tho wren UiiH from lior down-coved

iiont,
And irom tho root-HprigH tullH hor dilty

clear—
Tho graHwhoppor'H oft-paiiHing chirp — tho

buzx,

Aup'ily Hhrlll, of moHH-ontanglod boo,
Tluit HOOIL an l<KM<ul boouiH with full twaug

away-—

'Hie «ud<loii ruHlimjA of the nunnow Hlioal
fcJcarod from tho HhallowM by my i>iiHwnff

tread.
Dimpling tho water glidoH, with hero and

thero

A glossy fly, nktmming in oircletH pay
Tho troachorouff aurfaco, whilo tlio (

trout

Watohos hiH timo to spring , or from abovo,
Some feather' d dam, purveying 'mong tho

boughB,
Darts from hor porch, and to her plumoloss

brood
JBoorH off tho prize. Sad emblem of man's

lot'

Ito, giddy insect, from hiH natlvo loaf
(Whoro Bafo and happily ho might havo

lurk'd)

Blato upon ambition's gaudy wiupfK,
Forgetful of his origin, and worHo,
TTnthinkmg of his ond, fliOH to tho Rtream,
And if from hoKtile vigilance ho 'uoapo,
Buoyant ho fluttorn but a httlo while,
MiHtakoB tho inverted imago of tho Hky
Per heavou itwolf, and, sinking, meets IUH

fato
Now, lot ino traoo tho stream tip to itn

BOUTCO

Among tho hillB, its runnol by degroen
Dunmiahmp, tho murmur turnH a tmklo.
Olofcsor and oloHor still tho bankfl approach,
Tonglo'l HO thick with pleaching bramble

With btior and hanol branch, and hawtJiorn

That, fain to quit tlio dinglo, ftlad 1 mount

Tnto tho open mi gmtoful the brooxo

Thut fiwiH my tlirobbnig toiuplow 1 KiniliiH fio

plum
Spread wiilo bolow : how Hwoot tlui

Hut, oh I more swoet tho thought, hoaat-

soothuig thought,
Tliat thouHandH and ton thouHandH of tho

HOHH

Of toil partako thi« day tho Common joy
Of roHt, of 3x31100, of viewing hill and dalo,
Of breathing in tlio Hilonoo of tho woodH,
And bleHHing him who gavo tho Sabbath-day.
VOH ! my hoari ilattejH with a freer tlirob,
rPo think that now tho townHniuu \\jinderH

forth

Among tho fields and moodowH, to cirgoy
rrhe eoolnoHH of the day'H doolme, to HOC
HIM children wporb around, and Him ply pull
Tho flower uiid wntwl proiniB(?uoiw, aw a boon
Wliwsh proudly in hiH broawt they Hinilirig fix.

Again I turn mo to tho hill, and tiarn
Tho wizard stream, now BOIIOXJO to bo diH-

corn'd,
WoodleuH itH banks, but grooxi with feniy

loavoH,
And thinly BtroVd with hoath-bclln up and

down,
Now, when tlio downwaid BUII han loEl tlio

glonH,

>]ach mountam'M rugged linoamoutH
Upon iho adverse Hlopo, wlioro HtnlKH
Tho Hhopliord'a Hhaclow tin own uthwuvii tho

ohanm,
AH on tho topmowt ridgo ho hoiuowurd liio«.

JAMBS

AN AUTUMN SAJ3BATH WALK

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

How doep the hush1 the ton out's channel

fcy,

Presents a stony stoep, the echo's haunt
But hark a plaintive sound floating along '
*Tis from yon heath-roof d shieling, now it

dies

Away, now rises full ; it is the song
"Which Ho, who listens to the hallelujahs /
Of choiring seraphim, delights to hoar ,
It is the music of the heart, the voice
Of venoiable ago, of guileless youth,
In kindly circle seated on the ground
Before thoar wicker door Behold tho man '
Tho grandsrre and the uomb , his silvery looks
Beam in the parting ray, before Trim lies,
Upon tho smooth-oropt sward, the open book,
Hia comfort, stay, and ever-new delight ;
While heedless at a side, the lisping boy
Fondles the lamb that nightly shares his

couch.

James QralMme — Born 17G5, Diod 1811

1159— AN AUTUMN SABBATH WALK

When homeward bands their several ways

disperse,

I love to linger in the narrow field
Of rest, to wander round from tomb to tomb,
And thrnk of some who silent sleep below
Sad sighs tho wind that from those ancient

elms
Shakes showers of leaves upon the wither' d

The seio and yellow wreaths, with eddying

sweep,
Pill up the funows 'tween the hillock'd

graves
But list that moon ' 'tis the poor blind man's

dog,
His guide for many a day, now come to

mourn

.The master and tho friend — conjunction iaro '
A man, indeed, ho was of goutle soul,
Though biod to biave the deep the lightning's

flash
Had dimm'd, not closed, his mild but sightless

oyos

He was a welcome guest through all his range
(It was not wido) ; no dog would bay at him
Children would run to moot him on his way,
And lead him to a sunny seat, and climb
His knee, and wonder at his oft-told tolas
Then would he teach tho olfirm how to plait
The rushy cap and crown, or sedgy &hip
And I have seen T«yn lay his tremulous hand
Upon their heads, while silent moved his lips.
Peace to thy spirit, that now looks on mo
Perhaps with greater pity than I felt
To see thee wandering darkling on thy way

But let me quit this melancholy spot,
And roam where nature gives a parting snulo.
As yet tho blue-bells linger on tho sod

That oopso the sheopfold img, and in tho

woods

A second blow of many flowers appeal R,
Flowers faintly tinged, and broatlmig no

perfume
But fruits, not blossoms, form tho woodland

wreath
That circles Autumn's brow. Tho ruddy

haws
Now clothe tho half-loaf M thoin ; tlio bramblo

bends

Beneath its jetty load , tho hazol haii^n
With auburn bunchoH, dipping in tho hliram
That sweeps along, and threatens to o'orilow
The loaf-strewn bonks oft, Htatno-hko, 1

gaze,

In vacancy of thought, upon that stream,
And chase, with di earning- eye, tho o<l< lying

foam,

Or rowan's cluster 'd branch, or harvoHi hlxoaf,
Borne rapidly adown tho dizzying flood

James Gra,lwmo.—Boin 17G5, DM 1811.

1160 — A WINTER SABBATH WALK.

How dazzling whito tho snowy acono ! (loop,

deep

Tho stillness of tho winter Sabbath day —
Not oven a foot-tall heard fcJmooth aro tho

fields,

Each hollow pathway level with tho ]>lam •
Hid ore tho bushos, nave that here mid thoio
Aro seen tho topmost shoots oi buor 01

broom
High-ndgod tho whirled drift haw almost

roach 'd
The powdor'd koy-stouo of tho churohyai d

porch
Mute hangH tho hooded boll, tho tombs lio

buried,

No step approachoH to tlio houso of prayer.
The flickering fall IB o'or : tho oloudn din-

porso,
And show tho sun, hung o'or tho wolkin'B

verge,

Shooting a bright but inoffootnal beam
On all tlio sparkling1 waHto. Now JH the timo
To visit natuio in her grand attire.
Though penlouH tho mountainous aHuoni,
A noble rooomponRo tlio (huigor bruitfx
How beautiful tho plain HtrotohM far below,
Unvaried though it l>o, save by you Hlroum
With azure winding**, or tho loitfloHH wood 1
But what tho beauty of tho plain, compaiod
To that sublimity wliich roigiiH enthroned,
Holding joint rnlo with Bolitudo divino,
Among yon rocky foils that bid dofiancso
To stops tho moat advontmoUHly bold P
Thore silonco dwollw profound , or if tho cry
Of high-poi&od oaglo brook at times tho

hush,
Tho mantled oohoos no response return.

A SCOTTISH COUNTRY WEDDITO.

But lot mo now explore tho deep-sunk doll.
No foot-print, save tho covey's or tho flock's,
Is soon alontf iho rill, wlioio nun-why springs
Htill roar tlio grassy blado of vivid groon.
Itawoio, yo feliophords, of those troaoliorons

haunts,

Nor linger thoro too lonq tho wintry day
Soon oloHOH j and full oft a honviar fall,
Hoap'd by iho blast fills up tho shelter' d

glen,

While, gurghng doop below, tho buried lill
Minos for it&olf a snow-coved way' Oh,

then,
Tour helpless charp.o drive from tho tempting

spot,
And keep them on tho bleak hill's stormy

&ido,
Where night- winds Hwoop tho gathering- drift

away
So tho groat Shepherd loads the hoavon.y

flock

From faithless pleasures, full into tho stoims
Oi life, where long they boar tho bitter blast,
Until at length the vernal Han looks forth,
JJodimm'd with HhowerH ; then to tho pastures

gioou

He brings them whcio tlio qniot watorn glide,
The stream of life, the Siloah of tho soul.

James Graham? — Iforn, iTGtf, I)n>d 181 1

IJUHTAL op THR

JiKUlTJUOUB.

But wood and wild, the mountain and tho

dale,

Tho hotiHo of prayer itnolf , — no place iuHpiros
^niotiouH more accordant with tho day,
Thau dooH tho field of graven, tho land of

roHt —

Oft at tho eloHO of evening prayer, tho toll,
The Holoirm funeral- toll, putiHuig, proolaiius
Tho Romeo of the tomb, the homewaid

crowdH

J)ivido on either hand ; tho pomp drawn noar ;
The okoir to moot tho (load go forth, and Hiiig,
a I am tho roHunootion and tlio life."
Ah mo! those youthful boarorn robed in

whito,
They toll a mournful tide , some blooming

friend
IH gone, doad in hor prune of years • — 'Twiut

uhe,
Tho poor man'H fiiond, who, \/hen flho oould

wot givo,
With angol toiigtio pleaded to thono who

oould ,

Wibh angel tongue and mild hoHooohmg eye,
That ne'or bimought in vam, Have when H!IO

pray'd

Por longer hfo, with hooi-t roHitrn'd to die, —
Bojoicod to die , for happy VIHIOUH bloHn'

Jlor voyago'H last dayw, and hovering round,
Alighted on hor soul, giving presage
That heaven was nigh . - 1) what a burnt
Of rapture from hor lipa I what toaw of joy
Hor heavenward oyoH suffused! Thono oyou

are oloaodj

But all her loveliness is not yot flown :
Sho Rrnilod in death, tmd still hor cold palo

faoo

Botaiufl that Rmilo ; au when a. waveloss lake,
In which tho wintiy stars all bright appear,
Is shooted by a nightly ft out with 100,
Still it roEootH tho Jaeo of hoavou michangod,
Uniulflod by tho broozo or wwooping blast.
Again that knoll ' Tho slow

Tho pall withdrawn, Death's altar, thick om

boHH'd

With naolanoholy ornaments — (tho name,
Tho rooord of hor bloHsoiiung ago), — appears
Unveil' d, and on it dust to dust is thrown,
Tho final rite. Oh < hark that Ballon Hound 1
Upon tho lower 'd bier tho shovoU'd clay
Falls fast, and fills tho void.

JLUH,O» Qmhauie. — Born 1705, DM 1811.

1162— -A SCOTTISH COTOTKY

Now, 'xiuil the gonoral glow of

blooms,
Coy maidens blush oonsout, nor slight tho

gift
From ncughbonnng fair brought homo, till

now refusal!
Hwaius, Hoizo the sunny hourn to mako yotir

hay,

For woman's smilos aro fiokle as tho sky :
Dospoak the pnost, bespeak the minstrel too,
Ere May, to wodlook hostile, stop the banns.
Tli' appointed day arrives, a blithoHomo

day

Of fostivo jollity ; yot not devoid
Of soft regret to her about to loavo
A parent's roof; yoH, at tho word, join hands,
A tear reluctant staits, as she beholds
Hor mother's looks, her father's silvery hairs
JJui HonouH thouglits take ilight, wluiu from

tho bam,

Soon OB tho bonds are knit, a jotwnd sound
Strikes briskly up, and nimble foot beat fast
Upon tho oarthon floor Through many a

rool
With various utops uncouth, some now, some

old,
Some all tho dancer's own, with Highland

flings

Not void of graoo, the lads and lassos ntrivo
To dance each other down; and oft whon

quito
Forospont, the fingers meriily c-nickM, tho

bound.

JAMEB GRAHAME ]

THE IMPRESSED SAILOR BOY.

f SEVENTH PETITOD —

Tho rallying shout well-timod, and sudden

change

To sprighthor tuno, revive the flagging foot,
And make it fool as if it tnpp'd in air
When all arc tirod, and all his stock of

xoeb

The mm&trel o'er and o'er again has ran,
The choonng flagon circles lound , moanwhilo,
A Bofton'd tune, and slower measure, flows
Sweot from the strings, and stills the bois-
terous 307

May bo The Bonny Broom of Cowdonknowos
(If simply pla/d, though not with master

hand),

Or Patie's Mill, or Bush aboon Traquair,
Inspire a tianqtul gladness through the

breast ,

Or that most mournful strain, the sad lament
3Tor Hodden-field, drives mirth from every

face,
And makes the firmest heart stiivo haid to

curb

The rising tear , till, with unpausing bow,
The bhtho strathspey springs up, reminding

some
Of nights when Gow*s old arm (nor old the

Unceasing, save when reeking cans went

round,
Made heart and heel leap light as bounding

roe

Alas ' no more shall we behold that look
So venerable, yet so blent with mirth,
And festive joy sedate ; that ancient garb
Unvaried— tartan hose and bonnet blue '
No more shall beauty's partial eye draw forth
Tho full intoxication of his strain,
Mellifluous, strong, exuberantly rich '
No more amid the pauses of tho dance
Shall he repeat those measures, that in days
Of other yoais could soothe a falling prince,
And light hia visage with a transient smile
Of melancholy joy — like autumn firm
Gliding a sere tree with a passing beam '
Or play to spoitivo children on tho green
Dancing at gloaming horn , or willing choor,
With strains unbought, tho shophoid's bridal
„ day'

But light now failing, glimmering candlos
, shine

In ready chandeliers of moulded clay
Stuck round the walls, displaying to tho view
The ceiling rich with cob web-di apery hung
Meanwhile, from mill and smiddy, field and

born,
"Fresh groups come hastening in . but of them

all,

The miller boars tho gi oo, as rafter high
He leaps, and, lighting, shakos a dusty cloud

all round

In harmless merriment, piotractod long,
The hours glide by At last, tho stocking

thrown,

And duly every gossip nte perform1 d,
Youths, maids, and matrons, lake their several

ways,

Whilo drouthy carles, waiting for tho moon,
Sit down again, and quaff till daylight dawn.

James

Ihnl 1811

1163.— THE IMPRESSED SAILOR BOY.

Low in a glen,
Down which a littlo stream had fnrrowM

deep,
'Tweon mooting birohon boughH, a Hhelvy

channel,

And brawling mingled with tho woHtoni tide ,
Far up that stream, almost beyond tho roar
Of storm-bulged breakers, foaming o'er the

rocks

With fuiious dash, a lowly dwelling Inik'd,
Surrounded by a circlet of the stream
Befoie tho wattlod door, a greensward plat,
With daisies gay, pasttuod a playful lawl) ;
A pebbly path, deep worn, led up the hill,
Winding among tho trees, by wheel nn-

touch'd,
Save when tho winter fuol waw brought

home—-

One of the poor man's yearly festival*.
On ovoiy side it was a sholtoi'd npot,
So high and huddonly tho woody stoops
Arose One only way, downward the Htroam,
Just o'er tho hollow, 'twcon tho mooting

boughs,
The distant wavo was aeon, with now and

then
Tho glimpse of pawing sail, but when the

breoio

Crested the distant wavo, thw hltlo nook
Was all so calm, that, on ilia limbered. HJ»M»J»,
Tho swoct bud ehaiitod motion less, the leaves
At times scarce fluttering 3Ioie dwelt a

paii,

Poor, humble, and content , ono wm ulono,
Their Wilham, happy Irved at homo to blohrt
Their downward yoaw ; h(», wmplo youth,
With boyish foiulnoHH, fancied ho could lovo
A Hoaman'H life, and with tlio liHlirrH HinlM,
To try their wayw far 'inong tlio wuMlorn

iwlos,

Rir as St Kil<lifH roHk-witllM Hlioro abnqtt,
O' or which ho Haw ten tkouHami pinimm wher^l
Confused, dimmuiK tho sl.y thono flreiuy

fillOlGS

Gladly he loft — ^lio lia<l a homeward Loart •
No more IIIH WIH!IOH wiuudoi to tlio wavon,
But Btill ho IOVOH to cant a backward look,
And toll of all lio Haw, of all ho loain'd ,
Of pillar'd StaiTa, lono iona'H IH!<S
Whoro Sootland'n kingH arc laldj of LowiH,

And of tho mainland mountain-circled locliH ;
And ho would sing tlio rower*' timing chant
And chorus wild Onco on a Hixmmor'H ovo,
Whon low tho sun behind tho Highland hillrt
Was almost set, ho snug that song to choor

1780 to 18GC ]

SONNET.

[IT. KiBinra WHITE.

The aged folks ; upon tho inverted qncrn
Tho father «at , tho mother's spindle hnng
.Forgot, and backward twirl' d iho hall-wpmi

tlxoad,
loatomng with partial, woll-ploasod look, sho

Upon hor flon, and inly bless' d tho Lord,
That ho was safe return' d Sudden a nowo
Burats lushing through tho trees , a glauco of

stool

Dazzles tho oyo, and fierce tho savage band
Glare all around, then hinglo out their proy.
In vain the mothoi clasps hor darling boy ,
In vain tho RUG offers their little all
William. IB bound ; they follow to tho shore,
Imploio, and woop, and pray , knee-deep thoy

stand,
And view in mute despair tho boat rocodo.

GraJutmo. — Bom 1765, JDwftJ 1811.

1164— TO MY SON

Twico has tho BUU connnonood hw annual

round,
Since first thy footsteps lottor'd o'er tho

ground ,
Since first thy tongno was Innad to blows iiuno

oar,

IJy faltormg out tho naino to fathers dour
Ohl lutturo's language, with hor looks com-

biiiod,

More prooioufl far than periods thrice refined '
Oh I sportive looks of lovo, devoid of guilo,
I prize you more than boatvty'H magic Huiilo ;
YOB, in that faoo, uncon«oioufl of its oharm,
I gaze with bliss unminglod with aJorm.
All, no I full oft a boding horror flics
Athwart my fancy, uttering fateful cries
Almighty Power ' hiH harmless lifo dofond,
And, if wo part, 'gainst ino tho mandate send.
And yot a wish will riHo — would I might live,
Till added yearn his raomory flrmnoBH give '
Vor, oh 1 it would a joy in death unpait
To think I Htill survived within hiH hcuirt ,
To think ho'll oast, midway tho valo of yoarH,
A rotroHpootivo look bedimm'd with toai-H,
And tell, regretful, how T look'd and Hpoko ,
What walks I loved, where grew my f avounto

oak;

IIow gently I would load liim by tho hand ;
How gently UHO tho aopout of command ;
What loro I taught him, roaming wood and

wad,

And how the man <loHoondod to tho child ;
How woll J lovod with him, on Sabbath

mom,

To hoar tho anthom of tho vocal thorn,
To loach religion, unolliod to strife,
And traoo to him tho way, tho truth, tho lifo.

But far and farther still my viow T bond,
And now I BOO a child thy atopH attend ;

To yondor churchyard-wall thou takoht thy

way,
Wlulo round thoo, ploosod, thou BOo'Ht tho

infant play ,
Then lifting him, wlulo tears suffuse thino

oyos,
Pointing, thou toll'st him, Thoro thy graud-

BHO lies.

James Cfraliamo — Jjomi, 1705, Died 3831.

1165 —TO AJST BA.ELT PBIMTiOSE.

Mild offHpring of a dark and Hull en niro !
Whoso modoHt iorm, RO dolicatoly lino,

Was uurHod in whirling Htonuw,

And cradled ui tho wiudn.

Thoo, whon young Spring first

Winter's sway,
And dared tho sturdy blusterer to tho fight,

Thoo on thin bank ho throw

To mark hiti victory.

In this low valoj tho proinwo of the year,
Sorono, thou oponoHt to tho nipping gale,

Unnoticed and alono,

Thy iendei elegance

Ho virtuo l>looinn, brought forth aanitl tho

HtoruiH
Of chill advorHiiy , in some lono wallc

Of lifo she roiurH her hoad,

ObHCiiro and tinobHervotlj

While ovory bleaching broosso tliat on hor

blown,
OliaHtons hor HpotloRH purity of breast,

And lior<lcjnH hor4to boar

Sorono the itlw of* lifo.

White.— .Jtorn 1785, J)M 1800.

n 66.— SONNK3T.

Wliat art thou, Mighty Ono ' and whore thy

Hoai ?
Thou broodoHi on ilu> calm thai oliooi'H ilio

An<l thou dost bear within thino awful hnndH
rriio rolling thun<ler» and tho lightnitigH ilc^i ;
Btorn on thy dark-wrought oar of cloud and

wind,
Thou gnid'st tho northern storm at wight'H

douxl noon,

Or, on tho rod wing of tho fierce monwoon,
DiHUirb'td/ tho nloopiug giant of ilio Jnd.
Tu the drear silence of the polar Hpin

T)oHt thou ropOBe P or in tho solitude
Of sultry tructH, whoro tho lone oatavan
Hoar« nightly howl tho LigorV hungry
brood f

H

WHITE J

THE STA.K OF BETHLEHEM.

Vain thought1 tho confines of his throne to

tiace,
Who glows through all the fields of boundless

space

IT Eirko White — Eom 1785, Died 1806.

— THE STAB OF BETHLEHEM.

When mar shall' d on the nightly plain,
The glittering host bestud the sky ,

One star alone, of all the train,
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye

Hark ' hark ' to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem ,

But one alone the Saviour speaks,
It is the Star of Bethlehem

Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud — the night was dark ,
The ocean yawn'd — and rudely blow'd

The wind that toss'd my foundering bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem ,

When suddenly a star arose,
It was the Star of Bethlehem

It was my guide, my light, my all,
It bade my daik forebodings cease ;

And through the storm and dangers' thrall,
It led me to the port of peace

Now safely moor'd — my penis o'er,
I'D. sing, first in night's diadem,

For ever and for eveimoio,

The Star — the Star of Bothlohom '

S. EirJce White — Bqrn 1785, Died 1806

1168 —A HYMN FOE FAMILY WORSHIP

0 Lord ' another day is flown,

And we, a lonoly band,
Are met once more before thy throne,

To bless thy fostering hand.

And wilt thou bend a listening oar

To praises low as our? p
Thou wilt ' for thou dost love to hoar

The song which meekness pourn

, And, Jesus, thou thy smiles wilt deign,
1 As we before thee pray ,
'For thou didst bless the infant train,
And we are less than they.

0 let thy grace perform its part,

And let contention ooaso .
And shed abroad in every heart

Thine everlasting peace I'

Thus chaston'd, clcanHod, entirely tluno,

A flock by JGBUH led ,
The Sun of Holiness hhall nhino

In glory on our head

And thou wilt turn our wandering foot,

And thou wilt bloss our way ;
Till worlds shall fade, and faith whall greet

The dawn of lasting day

IL JSTwfo White.— Xoru 1785, Dutl 180G.

1169.— THE CHBISTIAD

Thus far have I pursued my solemn tlioino,
With self -rewarding- toil, thun far have

sung

Of godlike deeds, far loftier than boHonm
The lyre which I in oarly dayw have

strung ,
And now my spirits faint, and I liavo

hung

The shell, that solaced me in satldoHt hour,
On the dark cypress, and the string

which rung
With Jesus' praise, their harpingH now

are o'er,

Or, when the breeze comes by, moan, and ore
hoard no more.

And must the harp of Judah sloop again ?

Shall I no moio leanunato tho lay F
Oh ' Thou who visitcst tho sons of mon,
Thou who dost listen when tho hutublo

Pray,

One little space prolong my mournful day,
One little lapse suspend thy last docrco '
J am a youthful traveller HI tho vvuy,
And this fahght boon would coiiNecritto to

thoo.

Ero I with Death shako handn, un<l nmilo that
I am free.

, JLEvrke Wlwto.—Jtom 1785, IHnl 1800.

ri7o.—-THE SHIPVTOEOKED SOLITARY'S
SONG.— TO TIIM NIGHT.

Thou, spirit of tho flponglod night 1
I wod thoo from tho watoh-toww high,
Where thou clost Hit to guwlo tho biirk
Of lonoly mariner.

The winds arc wliiHthng o'or tho woldH,
Tho distant main IK moaning low $
Come, let us Hit and weave a song —
A melancholy song I

Sweet is tho scented gale of morn,
Aaid sweet tho noontide's fervid beam,
"But sweeter far the solemn calm
That marks thy mournful reign*

FROM CLIFTON OBOVJE.

[H. Knuo WHITM

I've pasw'd hero many a lonely year,
And never human TOICO havo hoard ,
I've pass'd horo many a lonely year
A solitary man.

And I havo lingor'd in tho shade,
From sultry noon's hot beam , and I
Have knelt boforo my wicker door,
To wng my evening song.

And I have hail'd the gray morn high
On tho bluo mountain' H miaiy brow,
And tried to tuno my littlo rood
To hymns of harmony.

But novor could I tune my rood,
At morn, or noon, or ovo, so sweet
As when upon tho ocean shore
I haiTd thy star-beam mild.

Tho day-spring brings not joy to mo,
Tho moon it whmpoiH not of poaeo '
But oh ! whon darknoHH robes tho heavens,
My woes aro mix'd with joy.

And then I talk, and ofton think
Aerial voices an»wor mo ;
And oh ' I iiru not thou alone —
A Hohtary man.

And whon tlio bUxMtormg wmtoi wmd«
Howl in tho woods tlmt clothe my cavo,
I lay 2i)(3 on my lonely mat,

Ami pleasant aro my droainH.

And Fanoy givow mo back my wifo ;
And Kuuciy gives me back my child ;
fcJho givoH mo back my little homo,
And ull its placid, joys

Then hatof ul is tho morning hour
That callfi mo from tho dream of
To find myself still lono, and hoar
Tho Homo dull sounds again.

If. KwU Wlwla —Horn 1785, Died 180G.

XI7I.— FBOM CLIFTON GBOVE.

Iio ' in tho west, fast fades the lingering light,
And day'H lant vestige takes its wlont flight.
No xnoro is hoard the woodman's moatmrod

htroko
Whioh, with tho dawn, from yonder dingle

broke,
No more, hoarse clamouring o'er tho upbftod

head,
Tho crows assembling, seek their wind-rook'd

bed.
Still1 d is tho vHlago hum — tho woodland

Rounds
Havo ceased to echo o'or tho dewy grounds,

And general tulenco roignn, save when bnlow,
The murmuring Trent is scarcely hoard to

flow;
And save whon, swung by 'nightod rustic

late,

Oft, on its hingo, rebounds tho jarnng gate :
Or, whon tho sheep-boll, in tho djHtant vale,
Breathes itu wild niunic on tho downy gale.

Now, whon tho rustic wears the social smilo,
Ituloanod from day and itn attendant toil,
And drawH hit; housohold round their ovoning

fire,

And tolls tho oft-told talos that novor tiru
Or, whoio tho town's bltio turrotH dimly rino
And raoniifacturo ttuuts tho ambient Hki<H,
Tho pale mechanic loaves tho laboiunig loom,
Tho air-pent hold, tho pestilential loom,
And nwhos out, impatient to bo^m
Tho stated oofir«o of customary wiu
Now, now, my solitary way 1 bond
Whoro solemn fftoyoH in awful stato uupond,
And cliffn, that boldly nso above the phtin,
BoHpoak, blost Ohftou ! thy subhmo domain.
Hoio, louoly wandering o'er tho sylviui liower,
I come to pass the meditative hour ;
To bid awlnlo tho strife of PIIHHIOU <jcaso,
And woo tho calms of HoUtudo and poaco.
And oh ' thou Haorod powor, who roar'ht on

Thy lottiy throno whoio waving poiAiuv Hii(li 1
CloniuH of woodlnnd nhacloH > wlioi-u mild

control

Steals with VOHIHUOHH wlU'.hory i*o tbo iu>iil,
Oomo with thy vvontoil turdonr and mnpu'o
My glowing boHom with thy hallowM fin*.
And thou, too, Fancy ' from thy Htarry Hphoro,
Whoro to tho hymning orbs thou lond'Ht tliino

car,

Do thou dowsend, and bless my rayisli'd wight,
Vcul'd in Hoft visions of sorouo delight*
At tby ccnumand tho gale tbat POHHOH by
Hoars in its whiH])urs uiystio harmony,
Thou wavoHt thy wand, and lo 1 wliat formn

appear '

On tho dark cload what giant shapoH cai-cor '
The ghoHtn of OHfliuu Hkim tho misty yalo,
And hosbs of sylphids on tho inoon-boam nail.

Tills gloomy alcovo, darkling to tho night,
*Whoro mooting trees uroato eternal night ;
Save whcu from yonder Htroain tlio Huniiy ray
Kofloctod gives a dubious ghutin of day ,
KooallH ondoaring to my alter' d niiud,
TnnoH, whon beneath tho boxen hudgo reclined
I watdi'd tho lapwing to her olamorouH

brood ;

Or lured tho robin to its Hoattor'd food ,
Or woke with song tho woodland oolio wild,
And at each gay response delighted, Mini led.
How oft, whon childhood throw I!H golilun

ray

Of gay romance o'or every happy day,
Hero would I run, a visionary boy,
Whon tho hoarse tompoat uhoolc tho vaulted

sky,

H. KTKOJ WHITE ]

A HTMN

And fancy-led, behold the Almighty's form
Sternly careenng on the eddying storm ,
And heard, while awe congeal' d my inmost

soul,

His voice tenifio in the thunders roll
With seoret joy, I view'd with vivid glare,
The volley' d lightnings oleave the sullen aar ;
And, as the warring winds around reviled,
With awful pleasure big, — I hoard and smiled
Beloved remembiance1 — Memory which en-
dears

This silent spot to my advancing years
Here dwells eternal peace, eternal rest,
In shades like these to live, is to be blost,
While happiness evades the busy crowd,
In ruial coverts loves the maid to shroud.
And thou, too, Inspiration, whose wild flame
Shoots with electric swiftness through the

frame,
Thou here dose love to sit, with up-turn'd

eye,

And listen to the stream that murmurs by,
The woods that wave, the gray-owl's silken

flight,

The mellow music of the listening night.
Congenial calms more welcome to my breast
Than maddening joy in dazzling lustre drest,
To hoavon my prayers, my daily prayers I

raise,

That ye may bless my unambitious days,
Withdrawn, remote, from all the haunts of

strife

May trace with mo the lowly vale of life,
And when her banner Death shall o'or mo

wave,

May keep your peaceful vigils on my grave
Now, as I rove, where wide the prospect

grows,

A livelier light upon my vision flows
"No moie above, th' embracing branches

meet,

No more the river gurgles at my foot,
But soon deep down the cliff's impending

side
Through hanging woods, now gleams its silver

tode

Dim is my upland path, — across the Green
Fantastic shadows fling, yet oft between
The chequer 'd glooms, the moon hor cho&to

ray sheds,
Where knots of blue-bells droop their graceful

hoods,

And beds of violets blooming fmid the treos,
Load with waste fragrance the nocturnal

Say, why does man, while to his opening

Each shrub presents a source of chaste delight,
And Nature bids for him her treasures flow,
And gives to him alone his bliss to know,
Why does he pant for Vice's deadly charms ?
Why olasp the siren Pleasure to his arms ?
And suck deep draughts of her voluptuous

breath,
Though fraught with ruin, infamy, and death ?

Could he, who thus to vile enjoyments clings,
Know what calm joy from purer source*

springs,
Could he but feel how sweet, how free from

strife,

The harmless pleasures of a hannloHS life,
No more his soul would pant for joyw impure,
The deadly chalice would no moro allure,
But the sweet potion ho wan wont to Hip,
Would turn to poison on his conscious lip.

H. Kvrko White — Itom 1785, Died, 180G.

1172— A HYMN

0 Lord, my God, in morny turn ;
In mercy hear a sinner mourn '
To Thee I coll, to Thoo I cry,

Oh I loave mo, leave mo not to dio I

1 strove against Thoo, Lord, I know ;

I spurn'd thy giaoo, I mock'cl tliy law ;
The hour in past — the day 's gone by,
And I am loft alone to dio

O plooBuies past, what arc ye now
But thorns about my blooding brow ?
Spoctres that hover round my bruin,
And aggravate and mock my pain.

For ploafluro I have given my soul j
Now, Justice, lot thy thundorw roll '
Now, Vengeance, smilo — and with a blow,
Lay the rebellious ingrato low.

Yot, JGSUH, Josus ' thoro I'll cling ,
I'll ciowd beneath IIIH Hholtoimg wnijy;
I'll olttflp tho oroRS , arid, holding- tlwro,
Even me, oh blibs ' — IUH wjath may Hpuro.

1L lV7u<? While.— Bom 1785, Vwl 180C.

1173.— THE PARISH WOttKIlOUKM AND
APOTHECARY.

Thoirs is yon house that hol<ln ilio parinh

poor,
Whoso walla of mud scarce botwr tLo brokou

door,
Thoro, where tho putrid vapourn flagging,

And tho dull whool HumH doleful through tho

day;
There children dwott who know no puftontH*

ooro,
Parents, who know no children' H lovo, dwell

thoro t

Heart-brokon matrons on their joyloas bod,
Forsakon WIVOB and mothorw novor wod,
DejecAed widows with unheeded toarH,
And crippled ago with more than childhood

fears,

ISAAC ASfEPORD.

Tho lamo, tho blind, and, far tho happiest thoy
Tho moping idiot and the madman gay.

Hero, too, tho Hick their final doom receive
Hoio brought amid tho scones of grief, to

grieve,
Whore tlio loud groans from Rome had chamber

flow,

Mix'd with tho clamours of tho crowd bolow j
Here sorrowing, thoy oach kindred Morrow scan,
And tho cold chanties of man to man
Whoso laws indeed for lum'd ago provide,
And strong compulsion plucks tho scrap from

prido ,
But still that scrap is bought with many a

sigh,

And pride imbittor^ what it can't dony
Say yo, opproHH'd by Homo fantaHtio WOOM,
Some jarring nerve that bafflon yonr repose ;
"Who prosH the downy couch, while wlavoH

advance

With timid eye, to load tho dintant gliuioo j
Who with had prayeiHtho weary doctor toano,
To name the nainoloHH over-new diuoiiHu ,
Who with mock patience diro complamtH

onduro,

Wliich real pain, and that alono, can ouio ;
How would yo boar in real pain to ho,
3)oapinod, neglected, loft alone to die F
How would yo bear to draw your Utont breath
Whoio all that'w wretched pa\o tho way for

death f
Such is that room which one mcta beam

And nuked rafteiH form tho Hlopiug Hi<l<»H ;
Where the vile bancln that biud tho tiiatoh *vro

And lalli and mnd arc all that ho between ,
Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patuh'd,

givoH way

To tho rude tompoHt, yet oxoludon tlio day
Hero, on a matted flock, with duHt o'orwproafl,
Tho drooping wretch roolinon MM languid h«ad ;
For him no hand tho cordial cup applicH,
Or wipoH tho tear that Htagnaton in IUH eyoH ,
No friondH with Hoft diHOourHO hi« pain boguilo,
Or promiHO hope till Hioknosfl wearH a Hiulle.
Hut noon a loud and huHty HuminonH callH,
Shaken tho tlwi roof, and ochoon round tho

Anon, a figure ontors, <niaintly neat,
All prido and bntunoHH, buHtle and conceit,
With look* unnJtoi'd by thoHO aoones of wo,
With ftpood that, ontoriug, npoakn hin haHto

to go,

Ho bidH the gassing throng around him fly,
And carrion fate and phyHio in hit* eyo ,
A potent quack, long vorHod in hnman illn,
Who firHt in«ult« tho victim whom ho lullH ;
Whotto murdorouw hand a drowsy bench protect,
And whoHO moHt tender moroy IH neglect
J^iul by the pannhfor attendance hero,
Il« woarrt contempt upon hiH napionfe Hneor ,
hi liawio he nookK tho bed where miHOvy IIOH,
fiupatioiico markM in hiH averted eyo«;
Awl, Homo habitual qnorieH hurried o'or,
Without reply, ho ruahos on tho door ;

HIH drooping patient, long iiuircnl to pain,
And long nulioodod, known rcnionHtrunt^e vuiut
Ho coauos now tlio feoblo help to crave
Of man , and Hilont sinks into tho grave t

George CraUc — Uoiit 1754, Diott 1832.

1174.— ISAAC ASHFOttD, A NOBLE
PEASANT.

Next to those huhon, but in nought allied;
A noble poaHunt, IHEUUJ Ahliforcl, died.
Noble ho wan, contomnmg all tlnn^ \ tuoan,
HIH truth uuquoHtionM and his soul t-oicoio:
Of no man'n prosonce Inaaofclt aliaul ,
At no man'n quoHtion Tnaao lookM (lira nay 'cl •
Hliaiuo know him not, ho dreaded no diH^race ;
rrruth, Himple truth, wan wiitton in IUH faoo ;
Yob whilo the HoriouM thought hiw HOU! appiovod,
Ckwful ho HooinM, and goutloneHH ho loved;
To bliHH domcHtic ho hiH heart ronignM,
And with tho fmiiowfc, had tlio fondest mind :
Woro othern joyful, ho look'tl Hiniling ou,
And j^avo allowance whore ho needed none ;
<Jood ho rcfuHod with future ill to buy,
.Nor know a joy that canned ruHcction'H High,
A fueud to viituu, IIIM imcloudcid 1)3 oast
.No (»nvy htiniK, no jvulutiHy distrcHs'd ,
(liannol tho pool ' it \voimdH tlic'ir woalcr mind
r!V) luiht-t ono iavoui vvliu'U their ucighlioui H line')
Yot fur waw ho from Htous^)nd(» rmnovwl;
lid folt himiaiioly, and lio warmly IOVCM!
I inark'd hiH luition whou IUH hiiaut dicwl,
And IUH old noi^libonr for olfcuco WUH tried;
Tlio Htill tcarH, Hiooling- down that furrowM

chock,

Spokopity pltiinc'i* than tho tongue nan Hpoak.
If pnde wore his, 'twas not thoir vulgar prido,
Wlio, in then: biiKo (umtwnpt, tho groat dorldo ;
Nor prido 111 learning, though my clcik agreed,
If fato nhoiild call him, Anliford might Hucoood ;
Nor pride in riiHtic nkill, although we know
Nono h'm tmporior, and hiH oqxials few
Hut if that Hpirit in hit* KOII! had placo,
It wan the jcalotiH prule that Hhiuw (lis^wwo 5
A jirido in honest faino, by virtno gaiu'd,
In Htuidy boyH to viituouH labourn traui'dj
in tho i>owcr that guards IUH country 'H

And all that JOnglinhmen enjoy and boa«t ;
Prwlo in a life that Hlandor'n tongue defied,
In fact, a noblo pam-dcm, iniHnanicd prido.

Tin had no party's Togo, no wn-t'vy'H whim;
OhriHtian and countryman wan nil \vith him ;
IVue to IUH church ho cauio, no Sunday-

Hhowor

\opt linn at liomo in that important hour ;
^"or hiK iirm foot could <mo porHua<linK h<jct
iy tho Hbong glare of llioir now light direct :
Mhi liopo, in mine own Hobor li^ht I ga/rk<
But should bo blind and lose it in your blnxo."

In trniGH hoyoro, when many a htnuly swain
Folt it his pride, IUH comfort to complain,

G30.

PHCEBE DAWSON.

[SEVENTH PERIOD. --•

Isaao their wants would cootho, his own. would

bide,

And feel in that his comfort and his pndo.
At length he found, whon seventy years were

run,

!His strength departed and his labour done ;
When, save his honest fame, he kopt no more ;
But lost his wife and saw his children poor ;
'Twas then a spark of — say not discontent —
Struck on his mind, and thus ho gave it vont
" Kind are your laws ('tis not to bo denied)
That in yon house for ruin'd age provide,
And they are just , when young, we give you

all,

And then for comforts in our weakness oall.
Why then this proud reluctance to be fed,
To join your poor and eat the parish-bread ?
But yet I linger, loath with Tnrn to feed
"Who gains his plenty by the sons of need
He who, by contract, all your paupers took,
And gauges stomachs with an anxious look :
On some old master I could well depend ;
See Vm. with joy and thank him as a fiiend ,
But lU on hun who doles tho day's supply,
And counts our chances who at night may die •
Yet help me, Hoaven ' and lot me not com-
plain

Of what befalls me, but the fate sustain "
Such were his thoughts, and so resign' d ho

grew,

Daily he placed the workhouse in his view !
But came not there, for sudden was his fate,
He dropt expiring at his cottage-gate

I feel his absence in the hours of prayer,
And view his seat, and sigh for Isaao there ,
I see no more those white looks thinly spread
Bound the bald polish of that honour' d head ,
No more that awful glance on playful wight
CompelTd to kneel and tremble at the sight ,
To fold his fingers all in dread the while,
Till Mister Ashford soften'd to a smile ,
No more that meek and suppliant look in

prayer,
Nor tho pure faith (to give it force) are

there

But he is blest, and I lament no more,
A wise good man contented to bo poor

George CraWc—Bow 1754, Died 1832

1175 — PHCEBE DAWSON
Two summers since, I saw at Lammas fair,
The sweetest flower that over blossom1 d thoio ,
When Phcobe Dawson gaily cross' d tho green,
In haste to see and happy to be Boon ,
Her air, her manners, all who saw admired,
Courteous though coy, and gentle though

retired ,

The joy of youth and health her eyes dis-
played,

And ease of heart her every look convoyed ;
A native fflnTl her simple robes express' d,
An ffi& Tintutor*d elegance she drees' d ;

The lads around admired so fair c. night,

And Phoobo felt, and felt fcho gtivo, cloligL.fi.

Admirers soon of every ago pho fpun'd,

Her beauty won them and her worth lutmnM;

JSnvy itsolf could no contempt dfaplay,

They wish'd hor well, whom yet they wmKd

away,
Correct in thought, alio judged a sorvimfu

place

Preserved a rustic beauty from diHcrraoo ;
But yet on Sundoy-ovo, in freedom' H hour,
With secret joy sho folt that bounty* H powor ;
When somo proud blirts upon tho heart would

steal,

That, poor or rich, a beauty Htill muni fool.
At length, tho youth ortlain'd to inovo her

breast,

Before tho swains with bolder spirit proMttM ;
With looks less timid made hiw pannion

And pleased by manners, most unlike her own ;
Loud though in love, and confident though

young;

Fierce in his air, and voluble, of tongue ;
By trade a tailor, bhongh, in scorn of trade,
He earvod the squire, and brush' d the coat ho

made ,

Tet now, would Phmbe lior consent afford,
Hor slave alone, again he'd mount tho board ;
With her should years of growing lovo IKJ

spent,
And growing wealth — sho sigh'd and lookM

consent
Now, through tho lane, up hill, and cross

the giecn

(Seen by but few and blushing to bo Hoon —
Dejected, thoughtful, anxious, and afrawl),
Led by tho lover, walk'd tho silent maid
Slow through tho moadoww roved thoy mar;/

a mile,

Toy'd by each bank and trifled at oaoh htylo ;
Where, as ho painted ovary bliHHful view,
And highly oolora'rl what ho ntroiiffly clrow,
The pensive damsel, prone to ton<ior fcuum,
Bimm'd tho false prowpoct with prophetic

tears
Thus passed tho allotted hours, till, lingering

lato,

Tho lovor loitor'd at the mauler' H gato ;
There ho pronounced adiou! and yet

stay,
Till ohiddon — soothed — mtroatod — forco.1

away'
Ho would of coldnoHR, though indulged, com-

plain,

And oft retire and oft return again ;
When, if his toaHinjy vox'd hor tfontlo mind,
Tho griof assumed oompoll'd hor to bo kind f
For ho would proof of phghtod kinclnoHH oravo,
That sho roaontod first, and then f orgavo,
And to his grief and ponanoo yielded more
Than his preemption had required before t—

Ah' fly temptation, youth, refrain!
refrain !

Bach yielding maid and each
swain 1

Pnnn, 1780 to 1866,]

AN ENGLISH PEN"— (HPSIES.

[Gno. CEABBF.

Lo' now with rod rent cloak and bonnet

black,
And torn green gown loose hanging at her

back,

Ono who an infant in her arms sustains,
And Rooms in pationoo striving- with her pains,
Pinch' d arc hor looks, as ono who pines for

broad,
WhoHG cares are growing and whoso hopes are

fled;

Palo her parch'd lips, her heavy eyes sank low,
And tears iznnotioed from their channels flow,
Sorene her manner, till some sudden pain
Frets the meek soul, and then she's calm again ;
Hor broken pitcher to the pool she takes,
l&nd every stop with cautious terror makes ;
Per not alone that infant in her arms,
But nearer cause hor anxious soul alarms ,
With water burden' d then she picks her way,
Slowly and cautious, in the clinging1 clay ;
Till, in mid-green, she trusts a place unsound,
And deeply plunges in the adhoHivo ground ;
Thence, but with pain, her slender foot sho

takes,
While hope tho mind as strength tho frame

forsakes ,

For when so full tho cup of Borrow grown,
Add but a drop, it WHtantly o'orflowH
And now her path but not hor pence she

gains,
Safe fiom her tank, but whivmng with hor

Bur homo who roaches, open loavoH the door,
And placing firht hor infant on llio floor,
Slio baron her bosom to the wind, and nitn,
And sobbing htniggloH with the rining fitH ,
In vain, they come, aho foolH th' inflating gnof ,
That BhutH the awolling boHom from relief ;
That wpoaka in fooblo orios a soul diHtroHH'd,
()r tho Hod laugh that cannot bo roproHR'd ;
Tho neighbour-matron loaves hor wheel, and

fliOR

With all the aid hor poverty supplies ;
Unfoo'd, the calls of uatnro Hho oboya,
Not lod by profit, not allurod by proiHO ;
And waiting long, till UIOHO contentions oooso,
Sho spooks of comfort, and departs in pooco.
Friond of distrowa ! tho mourner f OO!H thy

aid,

She cannot pay thoo, but thou wilt bo paid.
But who this child of weakness, want, and

coroP

'Tig Phoobo Dawson, pride of Lammas fair ;
Who took hor lovor for his sparkling OVOH,
"BxproHHionH worm, and lovo-inspiring lien •
Compassion first ofuuul'd hor gentle heart
For all hiH Buffering, all his bottom's smart
" And then his prayers ! they would a savage

move,

And win tho coldest of the sex to love."
But ah ! too Boon his lookH SUCCOHH declared,
Too late her loss tho marriage-rite repair 'd ;
The faithless flatterer then hia vows forgot,
A captious tyrant or a noiay sot .
If prowont, railing till ho saw her pain'd ;
If absent, spending what thuir labours goln'd ;

Till that fair form in want and sickness pined,
And hope and comfort fled that gentle mind.

Then fly temptation, youth; resist!
refrain!

Nor lot mo preach for ever and in vain 1

George QrMe.—Born 1754, Died 1803.

117(5.— AN ENGLISH FEN— GIPSIES.

On either side

IB level fen, a prospect wild and wide,
With dikes on either hand by ocean's pelf

supplied:

Far on tho right tho distant soa is soon,
And salt the springs that food tho marsh

between .
Beneath an ancient bridge, tho straiton'd

flood
Bolls through its sloping- bonks of slimy

mud;

Near it a sunken boat resists tho tide,
That frets and humos to tho opposing Ride ;
rrho runhoft sharp that on tho bordorn grow,
Bond tlioir brown flowerets to tho btroam

below,
Impure in all its COUTHG, in all its progress

H!OW

Horo a grave Mora scarcely doiprns to bloom,
Nor wcaiH a rony blntJi, nor Hhodn pcrftuuo »
Tho few dull fioworu that o'er tho i>laco arc

nprood,

Partake the nature of tlioir f onny bod.
Horo on ito wiry Atom, in rigid bloom,
Growtj tho nalt lavender that laokH perfume ;
Horo tho dwarf eallowB oroop, tho fleptfoil

harflh,

And the soft Rlimy mallow of tho marsh ;
Low on tho car tho dtatant billowH sound,
And just in view appears tlioir wtony bound ;
Nor hodge nor troo conceals tho glowing

sun ;

BirdH, wave a watery tnbo, tho difltriot klnni,
Nor chirp among tho roods whore bittor watorH

run.

Again, tlio country wan incloRod, a wido
And Handy road has baukw ou oithor nldo ;
Wlioro, lo ' a hollow on tho loft appear Td,
And ihoro a gipwy iribo tlioir tont had roarT<1 i
'Twas open Rproad to catcli tho morning fiun,
And thoy had now their early mool begun,
When two brown boys junt loft their groHfly

float,
Tho early traveller with their prayorH to

greet $

While yot Orlando hold his ponoo in hand,
He saw their RiHtor on hor duty stand ;
Some twelve years old, demure, affootwl, r 7,
Proparod tho forco of early poworw to try;
Sudden a look of languor lie doHorioH,
And woll-foign'd approhenniou m hor oyow ?
Train' d, bnt yot savage, in her Kpcaking foes
Ho mark'd the features of hor vagrant race,

•V,)

GEO. On ABBE.]

THE DYING SAI&OB.

[SEVENTH

When a light laugh and roguish, leer erpress'c
The -noe implanted in her youthful breast ;
JPorth from the tent her elder brother came,
"Who seem'd offended, yet forbore to blame
The young designer, but could only trace
The looks of pity in the traveller's face.
Within the father, who from fences nigh,
Had brought the fuel for the file's supply,
"Watch' d now the feeble blaze, and stood de-
jected by ,

On ragged rug, just borrow* d from the bed,
And by the hand of coarse indulgence fed,
In dirty patchwork negligently dress'd,
-Reclined the wife, an infant at her breast ,
In her wild face some touch of grace remain 'd,
Of vigour palsied, and of beauty stain' d ;
"Her bloodshot eyes on her unheeding mate
"Were wrathful turn'd, and seem'd her wants

to state,

'Cursing fog tardy aid Her mother there
With gipsy state engrossed the only chair,
Solemn and dull her look; with such she

stands,
.And reads the milkmaid's fortune in her

hands,
Tracing the lines of life; assumed through

years,

Each feature now the steady falsehood wears ;
"With, hard and savago eye she views the

food,

And grudging pinches their intruding brood
.Last in the group, the worn-out grandsire

sits

Neglected, lost, and living but by fits ;
Useless, despised, his worthless labours done,
.And half protected by the vicious son,
"Who half -supports him, he with heavy glance
Tiews the young ruffians who around >»™

dance,

And, by the sadness in his face, appears
To trace the progrebs of their future years ,
Throtigh what strange course of nuseiy, vice,

deceit,

Must wildly wander each unpractised cheat ,
What shame and gnef, what punishment and

pain,
.Sport of fierce passions, must each child

Ere they like Tnm approach their latter end, "
Without a hope, a comfort, or a friend I

George Crabbe.—Bo™ 1754, Died 1832

1177.— THE DYING- SAILOR.

Yes ! there are real mourners — I have seen
A. fail, sad girl, mild, suffering-, and serene ,
Attention (through the day) her duties claim' d,
And to be useful as resign' d she aim'd .
Neatly she dseat, nor vainly seem'd t* expect
Rty for grief, or pardon for neglect ,
But, when her wearied parents sunk to sleep,
Sho conght her place to meditate and woep :

Then to her mind was all the past display'd,
That faithful memory brings to sonrow'a aid
For then she thought on one regretted youth,
Her tender trust, and his unquostion'd truth ;
In every place she wander'd, where they'd

been,

And sadly-sacred held the porting acono,
Where last for sea he took his leave— that

place

With double interest would she nightly trace ;
For long the courtship wau, and he would Hay,
Each tune he saol'd, — " This once, and thou

the day:"

Yet prudence tarried 5 but, when last he wont,
He drew from pitying love a full consent.

Happy he saiTd, and great the caro she

took,
That he should softly deep, and smartly

look;

White was his better linen, and his check
Was made more trim than any on the deck ;
And every comfort men at soa can know,
Was hers to buy, to moke, and to bestow:
For he to Greenland saiTd, and much she

told,
How he should guard against the climated

cold,

Yet saw not danger ; dangers ho'd withstood,
Nor could she trace the f over in his blood .
His messmates snulod at flushings on his

cheek,
And he too smiled, but seldom would ho

speak,

For now he found the danger, folt tho pam,
With grievous symptoms he could not explain ,
Hope was awaken'd, as for home ho soil'd,
But quickly sank, and never more prevail' d.

He call'd his friend, and prefaced with a

sigh

A lover's message — " Thomas, T muHt dio
Would I could see my Sally, and could runt
My throbbing temples on hor faithful broaht,
And gazing, go ! — if not, thin trifle lake,
And say, till death I woro it for hor ttako ;
Yes! I must die— blow on, sweat broosso,

blow on '

0-ivo me one look, before my life bo gono,
Oh ! give me that, and lot mo not doHpiiir,
One last fond look — and now repeat tho
prayer "

He hod his wish, had moro; I will not

pomt

The lovers* meeting • Hho beheld him faint, —
With tender foam, she took a nearer viow,
Gfor terrors doubling- as hor hopes withdraw ;
BCe tried to smile* and, half succeeding, said,

Yes ! I must die ," and hope for ovor fled.

Still long she nursed him ; tender thoughts,

meantime.
Wore interchanged, and hopes ftud Vlcwa*

sublime.

To her he came to die, and every day
She took some portion of the &oad away :

Prm 1780 to 1868 J

REFLECTIONS.

[Gtao* CaABBB.

With him she pray'd, to fam Ma Bible read,
Soothod tho faint heart, and held the aching

head;
She oamo with smilos the hour of pain to

choor;

Apart, she sigh'd ; alone, sho shod the tear ,
Thou, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave
Fresh light, and gilt the proapoot of tho gravo.

Ono day he lighter soem'd, and they forgot
Tho care, the dread, the anguish of their lot ;
They spoke with cheerfulness, and seem'd to

think,

Yet said not so — " perhaps he will not sink ."
A sudden brightness in his look appear* d,
A sudden vigour in his voioo was hoard , —
She had been reading in tho book of prayer,
And led fa™ forth, and placed him in hia

chair;

lively ho seom'd, and spoke of all he know,
Tho fnondly many, and the favourite fow ;
Nor one that day did ho to mind reoall,
But she haH treasured, anfl. sho IOYOS thorn all,
Whon in her way she moots them, they appear
Peculiar pooplo— death hau made them dear.
Ho named his friend, but then his hand sho

proRt,
And fondly whispor'd, "Thoxi muHt go to

rout. ' f

C'I go," ho Haid; but, as ho npoko, nho found
HIH hand raoro cold, and buttering was tho

Hound '
Then gazed affirighten'd , but sho caught a

lout,
A dying look of lovo, and all WOH past !

Sho placed a docont atone his gravo abovo,
Neatly engraved — an offering of hot lovo ;
For that Hhe wrought, for that forsook hor

bod,

Awako alike to duty and tho doad ;
Sho would havo grioved, had friends prosumod

to Hparo
Thn least assistance— 'twas hor proper care.

Ifrro will sho oomo, and on tho grave will

ftit»

Folding hor arm*, in long abstracted fit ;
But, if obHorvor pass, will take hor round,
And carolerta Hoem, for she would not be

found ;

Then go again, and thus hor hour employ,
Whilo viwons please her, and while woes
** doHtroy.

Forbear, nwcot maid 1 nor bo by fancy lod,
To hold myHtonoas converse with tho dead ,
Par Huro at length thy thoughts, thy spirit/ B

pain,

In this nad conflict, will disturb thy brain ,
All havo their tankn and trials, thine arc

hard,

JBut short the time, and glorious tho reword ,
Thy patient hpirit to thy duties give,
Sogard the doad, but, to tho living, live

Orubfo- Jfcw 1754, DM 1832.

1 1 7$.— BEFLECTIONS.

Whon all tho fiercer passions coaso

(The glory and disgrace of youth);
Whon the deluded soul in peace,

Can listen to tho voice of truth ;
When we are taught in whom to tr

And how to spare, to spend, to givo
(Our prudence land, our pity just),

'Tis then we rightly learn to live
Its weakness when tho body feels ;

Nor danger in contempt defies ;
To reason when dosiro appeals,

Whon on experience hope rolies ;
Whon every passing hour wo prize,

Nor rashly on our follies spend,
But use it, as it quickly flics,

With sober aim to serious ond ;
Whon prudence bounds our vtonoSb viows,

And bids us wrath and wrong f orgivo ;
Whon we can calmly gain or lose :-»-

"Tis then wo rightly learn to live.
Tot thus, when wo our way discern,

And can upon our core depend,
To travel safely, when wo loom,

JBohold ! wo'ro near our journey's
We've trod tho maze of error round,

Lontf wandering in tho winding glado ;
And, now tho torch of truth IH found,

It only tthowH us whcro wo fttray'd .
Light for ouTHolvoH, wliot w it worth,

Whon wo no more our way can chooso P
Per othorH, whou wo hold it foith,

They, iu tlioir pride, tho boon roruso.
By long axpOTumao taught, wo now

Can rightly judge of friondu and foos,
Cnn all tho worth of thoao allow,

And all their faultH dUicorn in those ;
}loloniloHH haired, erring- love,

Wo can for wwred truth forego ;
Wo can tho wormoHt friond roprovo,

And boar to praise the fiorocwt foo :
To what effect P Our friends aro gono

Boyond roproof, regard, or oaro;
And of our f OCH romainfi there one,

Tho mild relenting thoughts to Hhoro
Now 'iiB our boant that wo can quail

Tho wildoHt pawRiona in thoir rago ;
Cau thoir doHtruotivo force rupol,

And thoir impotuouti wrath aHHuagc :
Mi I Virtue, dowt iliou turm, whou now

This bold robolhouH raco aro flod ;
Whon all thoflo tyrantn rent, and then

Art wrvmntf with tho mighty doad P
Bovongo, ambition, Boom and prido,

And Htrong dosiro, and jOlorco diadain,
Tho giant-brood by thoo defied,

Lo ! Timo'H roaifftlosH strokes havo riom.
Yot Timo, who could that race subdue

(O'orpowonng strength, appealing rag^'^
Luavos yot a persevering- crow,

To try tlio failing powers of ago.
VoxM by tho constant call of thoHO,

Virtno awhile for oonquont trioa ;
But weary grown, and fond of eaao,

Sho makoH with thorn a oompromluo t
59*

<?ao.

THE WIFE'S FUNERAL.

[SEVENTH PBKIOD. —

Avarice himself she gives to refit,

But rules him with her strict commands,
Bids Pity touch his torpid breast,

And Justice hold his eager hands.
Yet is there nothing men can do,

"Whon chilling age comes creeping on °
Cannot we yet some good pursue P

Axe talents buried P genius gone p
If passions slumber in the bieast,
If follies from the heart bo fled ,
If laurels let us go in quest,

And place them on the poet's head.
Yes, we'll redeem the wasted time,

And to neglected studies flee ,
"We'll build again, the lofty rhyme,

Or live, Philosophy, with thee
For reasoning clear, for flight sublime,

Eternal fame reward shall be ,
And to what glorious heights we'll climb,
The admiring crowd shall envying soe
Begin the song ' begin the theme '—

Alas ' and is Invention dead ?
Dream we no more the golden dream p
Is Mom'ry with her treasures fled **
Yes, 'tin too late, — now Reason guides

The mind, sole judge in all debate ,
And thus th* important point decides,
For laurels, 'tis, alas ' too late
What is possess' d we may retain,
But for new conquests strive in vain.
Beware then, Age, that what was won,
If life's past labours, studies, views,
Be lost not, now the labour's done,
When all thy part is, — not to lose ;
When thou canst toil or gain no moro,
Destroy not what was gain'd before
For, all that's gain'd of all that's good,

When time shall his weak frame destroy.
(Their uso then rightly understood),
Shall man in happier state enjoy
Oh ' argument for truth divine,

For study's cares, for virtue's stnfo ,
To know th' enjoyment will be thine,
In that renew' d, that endless life '

George C?abbc — Bom 1754, Died 1832.

1179— -THE WIFE'S FTJJSTERAL.

Then died, lamented, in the strength of life,

A valued mother, and a faithful wife

Called not away, when tune had loosed each

hold

On the fond heart, and each desire grow cold ,
But when, to all that knit UR to our kind,
She felt fast bound, as chanty can bmd ; —
Not when the ills of age, its pain, its core,
The drooping spirit for its fate prepare ;
And, each affection failing, leaves the heart
Loosed from life's charm, and willing to

depart : —

But all her ties the strong invader broke,
In aU their strength, by one tremendous

stroke'

Sudden and swift the eager post came on,
And terror grow, till every hope was gono,
Still those around appear' <1 for hopo to hook •
But view'd the sick, and woro afraid to

Slowly they boro, with solemn stop, uho

dead,
When gnef grow loud, and bitter tears woio

shod,

My part began • a crowd drew near tho place,
Awe in each eye, alarm in every face ,
So swift the ill, and of so fierce a kind,
That fear with pity minplod m each mind ,
Friends with tho husband camo, their gricfn

to blend ;

For good-man Frankford was to all a friond.
Tho la&t-boru boy they hold above tho bior ;
He know not gnef, but cries expressed Ins,

fear;

Each different ago and BOX reveal' ("I its pain,
In now a louder, now a lower strain I
While the mcok father, listening to their

tones, *

SwelTd the full cadonco of tho gnof by groans.

The elder sister strove her pangs to hade,
And poothing words to younger minds applied
" Be still, bo patient," oft hho ntrovo to ntm '
But fail'd as oft, and woopiug turned awuj .
Curious and sad, upon the f roan-dug hill,
The village lads stood melancholy still ;
And idle children, wandering to and fro,
As nature guided, took tho tone of woo.
Aimed at home, how then they gazed

around
In every place — whoro she — no moro won

found —

The seat at tablo sho was wont to fill ;
The fire-sido chair, still sot, but vacant htill ,
The garden- walks, a labour all her own ,
Tho latticed bower, with trailing hhrubn oYr-

grown,

The Sunday pew who filled with all horruoo, —
Each placo ot hers wan now a haorccl place <
That, while it called up sorrows in tho OVOH,
Pierced the full heart, and forced thorn still

to rise.

Oh sacred sorrow ' by whom BOU!H are tried,
Rant not to puninh mortals, but to guido ;
If thou art nuno (and who Khali proudly daro
To tell his Maker, ho haw had a nharo ?)
Still lot mo fool for what thy pangH arc neut,
And bo my guide, and not my puniBhmont '

George dallc—Buni, 1754, Died lfW2.

nSo.— FROM THE « PLEASURES OF
MEMORY "

Twilight's soft dews steal o'or tho village

green,

With magio tints to harmonise the scono. »
Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet

broke,
When round the ruins of their ancient oak

&AMXJBL BOCHBJBS.] FEOM " TUB PLEASURES OF MEMOJBY." [SAmnnL ItocffiBS.

Tho peasants flock' d to hear the minstrel

And games and carols closed the busy day.
Her wheel at roKt tho matron thrills no moro
With treasured talcs and legendary loro
All, all arc fled , nor mirth nor music flows
To chase tho dreams of innocent repowo.
All, nil are fled , yet still I linger horo !
What secret charms this silent spot endear P
Mark yon old mansion fi owning through

tho trees,
Whoso hollow turret woos the whistling

breeze
That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest

shade,
First to those eyes tho light of heavon con-

vey'd
The mouldering gateway b brown tho graHR-

grown court,

Onoo tho calm ncono of many a simple &port ,
Whon nature pleased, tor life itnoli wan now,
And tho heart promised what tho fancy drew
8<»e, through tho fractured pediment re-

voal'd,
Wh'jro xnoHS inlays tho rudely soulpturotl

shield,

Tho martin' H old hereditary noMj.
Long may the rum f-puro its hallo w'd guest '

» f X

ChiMhood'H lo\od group jvviHitH ovoiy hcono,
Tli(» tangled wood-walk uiul tlio tuft<»d crrcn '
J ndulgont JMoniory \vakon, aud In, thoy hvo '
Clothed with far softer IIUOH than light can

giVO.

Thou flrwt, borit fnond that Heaven awwgnH

bolow,

To Hootho and fwocton all tlio ooroftwe know;
Whoso glad HTiggohtiona ntHl oa«h vain alarm,
Whon nature fadcn and lifo forgets to charm ,
Tiico would the MUHO invoke ! — to tlioo belong
Tho aago*fl preempt and tho poot'H Hong*
What softou'd VIOWH thy inagiegloHH rovoalH,
Whon o'er tho landscape TUIIO'H meek twilight

«toolfl!

AH when in ocean Hmkfl tho orb of day,
Long on tho wavo ri»fl(j(itod ln«troH play ,
Tliy tomjjor'd gloanift of Jiaj>pmoHK roHign'd,
0 lance on tho <larkon'd mirror of the mmd.
Tho Rehool'H lono porch, with reverend XUOHKOH

t tollrt tho ponfnvo pilgrim whore it lay.
IVhitp IH tho boll that rung at poop of dawn,
Qmokonmg my truant foot acroHH tlio lawn -
Unheard the fllioui that runt tho noontide air,
When the slow dial gave a pauHo to core.
Up Hprinpis, at ovory step, to claim a tear,
Some little friendship formed and client-shod

horo;

And not tho lightest loaf, but trembling toomH
With golden visiouH and romantio dreamK

Down by yon hazel copao, at oveniug, bla/od
Tho gipay'H fagot — ^thoro wo wtood and gassod \
Gazed on her nun-bunit face with wilont awe,
Her taitor'd mantle and her hood of straw ;
Hw moving lips, her cauldron brimming o'er ;
Tho drowsy brood that on her bock she bore,

TmpH in tho barn with mousing o\\l(v1»^ bred,
Frcjin riflod roost at nightly rovol iod ,
WhoHO dark oyos Haah'd through Jockw of

blaokoHt Khado,
When in tho bioozo tho distant watch-dog-

bayed

And heroes fled tho sibyl's mutter' d call,
Whoho olfin prowess soalod tho orchard wall.
AH o'oi my palm tho solver piece slio drow,
And traced tho lino of life with Hoorohing

view,
How throbb'd my fluttormg pulse with hopos

and fears,

To loam tho colour of niy luture yoarn '
All, then, what Lonout triumph flunhM zny

bioust ,
Thin tnith once known — lo blona is to bj

Wo led tho bending beggar on hiH way
(Baro wore IIIH feet, liis trossoH wilvor-ffray),
Soothed tho Loon pongs his aged Hpiril felt,
And on lua tale with mute attention dwelt .
AH in lus scrip wo dropt our little atoro,
And sigli'd to think that ULtlo was no moro,
Ho breathed IIIH prayer, "Long may nucli

goodnoHH live ' "
'Twas all ho gave — 'twaa all ho 3iad to giro

Survoy tho globo, each rudor roaltuox])l(jro ;
From licMwoi^H fiuntoHtiay to Newton Hoar
What dittovoiit HphoiCH to huuuui bliuH iiti-

Higii'd '

What nlow ^itulaiioim m tho ^calo of xxund '
\ <»t mark in oooh thcwo inynliiu wonders

wrought ;

( )li mark tho nloqiloHH oiicrgiow of thought. !
Th' iixlvouturous boy that ankH UJH littlo

Hharo,
And hum from home with many a goauip's

pray'r,
'PuriiH 011 tho neighbouring lull, oiico moro to

POO

Tho dear abode of peace and privacy ;
And as ho tnrnH, the thatch among tho trofi,
Tho Httioko's blue wreathn aKceiiduig with tho

breeze,

Tlio vjllutfo-oottimon Hpottod wluto with whoop,
The chur«h>ard yeww round wluch his fathcra

wloop ,

All roiiKo Rt»fl«(ttion'R Badly ploawug train,
And oft lie lookK atid wcf ']>{•'/, and lookH again.

So, when tli'i mild Tupia dared o^pioii)
Ariw yet untaught, and worlds unknown

boforo,

And, with the wonn of Science, wooM tho gtklo
That, rising, swell' d their siraugo oxpaiiHo o£

wail;

So, when ho broathod his firm yot fond aduni,
Borne from hiH leafy hut, IIIH oarvod <:ano(k,
And all IUB soul best loved — HUC!I tears lio

nhod,

Wliilo each soft scono of Hummer-beauty flcwl.
Long o'er the wave a wiutiul look ho <;ant,
Long watch' d tho Htroaming signal from tlio

maat;

SAMUEL BOGHSS ] FROM " THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY " [SEVENTH

Till twilight's dewy tints deceived his eye,
And fairy forests fnnged the evening sky.
So Scotia's queen, as slowly dawned tlie

day,

Rose on her conch, and gazed her soul away
Her eyes had bless'd the beacon's glimmering

height,
That faintly tipp'd tho feathery surge with

light,

But now the morn with orient hues portray 'd
Each castled ftlTff and brown monastic shade
All touch.' d the talisman's resistless spring,
And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the

Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts

inspire,

/^p summer-clouds flash forth electric fire.
And hence this spot gives baok the joys of

youth,
Warm as the life, and with the mirror's

truth.
Hence home-felt pleasure prompts the patriot's

sigh;
This makes him wish to live, and dare to

die.

For this young Foscari, whose hapless fate
Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate,
"When exile wore his blooming years away,
To sorrow's long soliloquies a prey,
*When reason, justice, vainly urged his cause,
For this he roused her sanguinary laws ,
Glad to return, though Hope could grant no

more,
And chains and torture hail'd fcyfl to the

shore.
And hence the charm historic scones im-

part,

Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart.
Aerial forms in Tempo's classic vale
Glance through the gloom and whisper in the

gale,

In wild Vauoluse with love and Laura dwell,
And watch and weep in Eloisa's coll
'Twas ever thus Young Ammon, when ho

sought

"Where Hium stood, and where Polidos fought,
Sat at the helm himself No meaner hand
Steer'd through the waves, and when ho

struck the land,

Such in his soul the ardour to explore,
Pehdes-like, he leap'd the first ashore,
'Twas ever thus As now at Virgil's tomb
"We bless the shade, and bid the vorduro

bloom •

So Tully paused, amid the wrecks of Time,
On the rude stone to trace tho truth sublime ;
"When at his feet in honour* d dust disclosed,
Th' immortal sage of Syracuse reposed.
And as he long in sweet delusion hung
"Where once a Plato taught, a Pindar sung;
"Who now but meetu him musing, when ho

roves

His ruin'd Tusoulan's romantic groves ?
In Rome's great forum, who but hears him

roll
His moral thunders o'er the subject soul ?

And hence that calm delight tho portrait

gives

We gaze on every feature till it IIVOB '
Still the fond lover «eos the absent maid ,
And the lost friend still lingers in ^TH shade '
Say why tho pensive widow loves to weep,
When on her knee she rocks her babo to oloop .
Tremblingly stJl, she lifts his veil to traco
The father's features in hi* infant face.
Tho hoary grandsire smiles the hour away,
Won by the raptures of a game at play ,
He bonds to moot each artloflfl burnt of joy,
Forgets his age, and acts again tho boy

What though the iron school of war oraso
Each milder virtue, and each softer grace ,
What though the fiend's torpedo-touch arrest
Each gentler, finer impulse of tho broast ;
Still shall this active principle preside,
And wake the tear to Pity's self domed.
Th' intrepid Swiss, who guards a foreign

shore,
Condemned to climb his mountain-cliffs no

more,

If chance he hoars tho song so sweetly wild
Which on those cliffs his infant hours be-
guiled,
Melts at tho long-lost scenes that round lum

rise,
And sinks a martyr to repentant sigha.

Ask not if courts or camps cUfisolvo tho

charm

Say why Vespasian loved his Sabino farm ?
Why great Navarre, when France and freedom

bled,

Sought the lone limits of a f orost-flhod ?
When Dioolosian's self-corrected mind
Th' imperial fasces of a world rottitfn'd,
Say why wo trace the labour** of Inn Bj>odo
In calm Salona's philosophic shade P
Say, whon contentious Chariot* renounced &

throne,

To muse with monks unlottor*d and unknown,
What from his &onl tho porting tributo clrow H
What claimed tho sorrows of a last arliou ?
Tho still retreats that soothed hw tranquil

broast

Ero grandeur dazzled, and its cares opprofw'd.
TTndomp'd by time, tho gonorous fnatinot

glows

Far as Angola's wands, as Zembla'H snows ;
Glows in the tiger' a don, tho serpent' H no«t
On ovory form of varied life improau'd.
The social tribes its choicest influence hail :
And whon the drum boats briskly in tho gttlo,
Tho war-worn courRpr ohar#o« at tho Houwl,
And with young vigour wheoto tho pasture

round.

Oft has tho aged tenant of tho valo
Lean'd on his staff to lengthen out the tale 5
Oft have his lips tho grateful tribute

breathed,

From sire to son with pious zeal bequeathed*
When o'er the blasted heath tho day do- <

olmod,

And on the scathed oak warred the winter-
windj

From 1780*ol8G6]

FROM "HITMAN LIFE"

When not a distant taper's twinkling ray
Gloam'd o'or the fuizo to light him on his

way;
When not a sheep-bell soothod his listening

oar,

And the big rain-drops told tho tempest noor
Then did his horse tho homeward track

descry,
Tho track that ehunn'd his sad inquiring

eyo;

And win oaoh wavering1 purpose to relent,
"With warmth so mild, so goutly violent,
That his charm'd hand the careless rein ro-

signM,
And doubts and terrors vamsh'd from his

mind

Bonall the traveller, whoso altoi'd form
Has borno the buffot of the mountain-storm. ;
And who will firnt his fond impatience moot i
His faithful (Top's already at his foot '
Yes, though tho porter spurn him from the

door,
Though all that know him know his face no

more,

HIM faithful dog- shall toll his joy to each,
With that mute eloquence which passes

Hpocoli,

And HOO, the master but returns to die '
Yot who shall bid this watohftil Horvwil fly P
Tho blasts of heaven, tho drenching dews of

oiwih,

Tho wanton insnltw of iiufoolmg mu i.li,
Thoso, when to guard Miwfoi tune's sacred

grave,

Will firm Fidelity exult to bravo,
Lod by what ohart, transports the timid

dove

Tho wroaths of conquest or tho vows of lovo P
Say, through tho clouds what compass points

her flight P
Monarch* have gazed, arid nations blosa'd the

sight
Pile rooks OIL rooks, bid woods and mountains

riflo,

"EolipHo her native shades, lior nativo skies :
'Tie vain ' through other's pathloss wild she

gOOB,

And lights at last whore all hor coros ropono.
Swoot bird ! thy truth shall Harlom's walls

attest,

And unborn agos consecrate thy nost.
When, with the silent energy of grief ,
With looks that ask'd, yot dared not liopo

roliof,
Want with hor babes round generous Valour

clung,

To wring tho slow surrondor from his tongue,
'Twos thino to animate hor closing eye ;
Alas ' 'twas thino perchance tho first to dio,
Orush'd by hor meagre hand when welcomed

from the sky*
Hark ! the boo winds her small but mellow

horn

Blitho to salute the sunny smile of morn*
j O'or thymy downs she bends her busy oourco,
j And many a stream allures her to its source.

'Tis noon — 'tis night. That oyo PO finoljr

wrought,
Beyond tho search of sonne, tho soar of

thought, *

Now vainly asks tho scenes she left behind ?
Its orb so fall, its vision flo confined !
Who guides tho patient pilgrim to hor coll ?
Who bids hor soul with conscious trmmpfo

swell?

With conscious truth retrace tho mazy clue
Of snmmor-soonts, that charmed hor as uhe

flow?

Hail, Memory, hail ' thy universal icign
Guards the least link of Jttomg's glorious

chain

* # *

As tho Rtorn graudour of a Oothi'i tower '
A won us loss deeply in its morning-hour,
Than when tho shades of Time norouoly fall
On ovory broken aroh and mod wall ,
Tbo tondor images wo lovo to traco
Steal from oaoh year a melancholy grooo I
And OH tho Hparks of floouil lovo expand,
AH the heart opens iu a foreign land ;
And, with a brother's warmth, a brother^

smile,

Tho stranger greets oaoh native of bin isle ;
So SCOUOR of hfo, when present and oonfost,
Ktamp but their bolder foaturOH ou tho breast ;
Yot not an image, when remotely viow'd,
J-f owovor trivial, and howovor rndo,
.But WHIM tho heart, and wnkos tho
With ovory cltum of close ailinity !

* * *

Hail, Memory, hail! in thy

mint)

From ago to agotmnumbor'd treasurer
Thought and hor shadowy brood thy call obey,
And l^looo and Kmo itro subjoot to thy away !
Thy ploasuron most wo feol whan most alono ;
Tho only ploaHuros wo can call our own.
Lighter than air, IIopo'n summor-viHious dior
If but a fleeting' cloud obsouro tho sky;
If but a beam of Hobor Koaaon play,
Lo, Fancy 'H fairy frost- work molts away*
But can tho walcn of Art, tho groHp of Power,
Hnatch tlio rich rolics of a wall-span L hour P
Thoso, when tlio trombliug spirit wings her

flight,

Pour round hor path a stream of livmg light ;
And gild those puro and porfot^i roalinH of

rout,
Wlioro Virtue triamphfl, and her sons ar<>

bloat !
Hamucl RMJWH.— n*m 170?, DM 1855.

.— PBOM " HITMAN LIFE."

Tho lark has stung- his carol in tho nlvy,

Tlio* bnos have huiam'd tli(»r uoontido

lullaby ;

Slill in the vale the village bollMrmg rou:id»
Still in Ijlowollyn hall thu ji^

SAMTTEL BOGERS 1

FliOM " THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS."

For now the caudle-cup is circling there,
Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their

prayer,

And, crowding, stop the cradle* to admire
The babe, the sleeping image of his sire
A few short years, and then these sounds

shall hail

The day again, and gladness fill the vale ;
So soon tho child a yonth, the youth a man,
Eager to run the race his fathers ran
Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sii-

loin,
The ale, now breVd, in floods of ambor

shine,

And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze,
'Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,
The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,
(C'Twas on her knees he sat so oft and

smiled."
And soon again shall music swell the

breeze ,
Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the

trees
Vestures of nuptial white, and hymns be

sung,
And violets scatter' d round, and old and

young,

In every cottage-porch with garlands green,
Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless tho

scene,

While, her dark eyes declining, by his side,
Moves in her virgin veil the gentle bride.
And once, alas ' nor in a distant hour,
Another voice shall come from yonder tower ,
When in fr™ chambers long black weeds are

seen,

And weeping heaid where only joy has been ,
When, by his children borne, and fiom his

door,

Slowly departing to return no more,
He rests in holy earth with them that wont

before

And such is human life , so gliding on,
It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone '
Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange,
As full, methinks, of wild and wond'rous

change,

As any that the wand'ring tribes require,
Stretch'd in the desert round their evening

fire;

As any sung of old, in hall or bower,
To minstrol-harps at midnight' a witching
hour'

* * *

The day arrives, the moment wish'd and

feared ;

The child is born, by many a pang endeared,
And now the mother's ear has caught his cry ;
Oh grant the cherub to her asking eye '
He comes — she clasps him. To her bosom

piess'd,

He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest
Her by her smile how soon the straflgor

knows1

How soon by his the glad discovery shows '
As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,

What answering looks of sympathy and joy '
He walks, ho speaks. In many a broken

word
His wants, his wishes, and his gnofo arc

hoard,

And ever, over to her lap ho fiioR,
When rosy Sleep comes on with swoot sur-

prise

Look'd in her arms, his arms aoroRH her flung
(That name most door for ever on hi« tongue),
As with soft accents round her neck ho cliugH,
And, check to cheek, her lulling song HUG

How bleat to feel tho boatings of hiH heart,
JBreatho his swoot breath, and kisn for kisH

impart,
Watch o'er Bis slumbers like tho brooding

dove,
And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love !

But soon a nobler task demands her care,
Apart she joins his little hands in prayer,
Telling of Him who sees in Boorot thoro !
And now the volume on her knoo haH caught
His wondering eye — now many a written

thought

Never to die, with many a Imping swoot,
His moving, murmuring lips endeavour to

repeat
Samuel Rogers — Born, 17C2, DM 1855

1182— FEOM "THE VOYAGE OF
COLUMBUS "

The sails "wore furl'd; with many a molt-
ing close,

Solemn and slow tho evening anthem TOHO,
Eoso to tho Virgin 'Twos the hour of day,
When sotting sunn o'er Hummer Hoan diHpl.ty
A path of glory, opening in tho wjuht
To golden chinos and mlondH of tho blunt ,
And human voices, on tho Hilont air,
Wont o'er tho wavow in HOH#H of

thoro '
Chosen, of men ' 'Twaw thmo, at noon of

night,
First from the prow to hail tho glimmering

lignt

(Emblem of Truth divine, whoHO Koorot ray
Enters tho soul and makoH tho darknoHH day 1) :
" Pedro ' Bodrigo ' thoro laothouffht it slumo !
Thoro — in tho west j and now, alatt t 'tw

gone '—
'Twas all a droam ! wo gazo and gozo m

vain!
But mark and speak not, thoro it comoa

again'
It moves i — what form unsoon, what being

there

With torch-like lustre firos tho murky air P
His instincts, passions, say, how liko our

own'
Oh » when will day reveal a world unknown f "

1780 to 18GC.]

G2HEVRA.

Long on tho deep tho mists of morning lay,
Then roso, revealing as thoy loll'd away
Half-circling lull?, whose overlaying woods
Swoop with their sablo skirta tho shadowy

floods

And say, whon all, to holy transport given,
Embraced and wept as at tho gates of Heaven,
Whon one and all of us, repentant, ran,
And, on our faces, bless* d the wondrous man ,
Say, was I then deceived, or from the skies
Burst on my oar seraphic harmonics P
" Glory to God ' " xranumber'd voices sung,
* Glory to God ''" tho vales and mountain*?

rung,

Voices that hail'd creation's primal morn,
And to tho shepherds sung a Saviour born
Slowly, bareheaded, through tho Hurt wo

bore
Tho Paorod cross, and, kuooluig, kihtt'd the

hhore
But "what a scene was thuro! Njmphfl of

romance,
Youths graceful as tho fawn, with eager

glance,
Spring from tho glades, and down tho alloys

l*?op,
Then headlong rush, bounding from stoop to

And chip their hands, exclaiming tut thoy run,
" Conic and bohold the t'lnldron of tlio Stui ' "
When Iww k, a Higiiul nhot ' Tho voice, it

Ovw tJio f»oa in darlcnoflu and in flamo '
They Raw, thoy hoard; and up tho highest

lull,

AH m a picturu, all at onco wow still '
CroaturoH HO fair, in garment wtraiigcly

wrought,
From citadels, with Hoavon'w own thunder

fraught,
Chock'd their light footHtopH — dtatuo-likothoy

Htood

As wornhipp'd forms, tho Genii of tho Wood !
At length iho spoil clissolvoH 1 Tho warrior' H

lanoo

IWnga on tho tortoise wilh wild diHSonanco !
And HOC, the regal plumes, the couch of Htato '
fttill whoro it movcH tho wise in council wait '
fteo now borno forth tlio monstrous niank of

ffold,
And obon oliair of many a serpent-fold ,

now exchanged for gifts that tlmco

Tho wondrous ring, and lamp, and liorwo of

toasts,
Wliat long-drawn tube transports tho gazer

homo,
Kindling1 with stars at noon thf ethereal

dome!

Tin hero and hero circlet* of solid light
Charm with another solf the cheated sight ;
As man to man another solf disclose,
That now with terror htartw, with triumph

glows 1

Thnn Cora oame, tho youngest of her race,
And in her hands sho hid her lovoly face ;

Yet oft by stealth a timid glance sho oast,
And now with playful step tho mirror pans'd,
Each, bright reflection brighter than tho last !
And oft behind it flow, and oft boforo ,
Tho more sho aoaroh'd, pleased and perplex' d

the more '
And look'd and laugh'd, and blush'd with

quick surprise '
Her lips all mirth, all ecstasy her oyos !

But soon tho telescope attracts her view :
And lo, her lover in his hght canoe
Booking, at noontide, on iho silent sea,
Boforo her lies ' It cannot, cannot bo.
Late OH he loft tho nhoio, she Lmg-or'd tlioro,
Till, less and IOHS, ho moltod into air '
Sigh aftor sigh steals from her gontlo framo,
And say — that murmur — was it not hw

name ?
Sho turns, and thinks, and, lost in wild

ctznazo,
Gazes again, and could for ovor gozo '

Samuel Rnyers — Born 1702, DM 1855.

1183 — GINETOA,

If thou plioultlwt evoi como by clioico or

ohnuco

To Modena, whoro still religiously
Among IIOT atujiont troplucw IH proHcn-ed
liologna'H bucket (m itn chain it liaaiffH
Within that rovorond towor, tho Umrlarulino),
Stop at a })alaoo near tho Itoggio-ffato,
Dwelt in of old by one of tho OrHini.
3tw noble gordonct, terrace abovo tornuto,
And rich in fountains, atatuoH, oyproHHOH,
^Vill long dotaux tlioo ; through their uruh'd

walks,

Dim at noonday, difleovering many a gliinpso
Of kmghtH and dames, michan iziold romance,
And IOVOTH, Buoh OH in heroic noupr,
Porhaps tho two, for grovo« woro thoir dtdight,
I1hat in tho spring-thno, as atone thoy nut,
Venturing together on a tolo of love,
ftoad only part that day. A Hummor mui
Huts ore one half IH Hoon , but, oro thou go,
Enter tho house — prithee, forgot it not —
And look awhile upon a picture there,

'Tia of a lady in her earliest youth,
The very last of that illustrious race,
Done by SSatnpwri — but by whom L caro not.
Ho who obsorvoH it, ore he PUHHOH on,
GazoH his fill, and comes and COUICH again,
That lie may coll it up, whon fur away,

yho sitH, inclining forward an to Hpouk,
Her lips half -open, and her finpcr up,
As though she aoid " Bewaro ! " Her vent of

gold
' Broader' d with flowers, and claHp'd from head

to foot,

An omorald-stono in every golden olaHp ;
And on her brow, fairer than aluboHtcr,
A coronet of poarlH, But then lior fuc-o,

SAVTTBL ROGERS]

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

[SEVENTH PERIOD ~~

So lovely, yet so arch, so fall of mirth,

The overflowings of an innocent heart-—

It haunts me still, though many a year has

fled,
Like some wild melody '

Alone it hangs

Over a mouldering heir-loom, its companion,
An oaken-chest, haAf eaten by the worm,
But richly carved by Antony of Trent
With Scripture-stories from the life of Christ ;
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robes of some old ancestor
That by the way-HLt may bo true or false —
But don't forget the picture , and thou wilt not,
When thou hast heard the tale they told mo

there.

She was on only child , from infancy
The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire
Her mother dying of the gift she gave,
That precious gift, what else remain' d to him P
The young Ginevra was his all in life,
Still as she grew, for ever in his sight ;
And m her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doiia,
Her playmate from her birth, and hor first

love

Just as she looks there in her bridal dress,
She was all gentleness, a]l gaiety,
Her pranks the favourite theme of every

tongue ,

But now the day was come, the day, the hour ;
Now, frowmng, smiling, for the hundredth

tune,

The nurse, that ancient lady, preached de-
corum;

And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco
Great was the joy , but at the bridal feast,
When all sat down, the bnde was wanting

there

Nor was she to be found ' Her father cried,
" 'Tis but to make a trial of our love ' "
And fill' d his glass to all; but his hand

shook,
And soon from guest to guest tho panic

By one as young* as thoughtlos as Ginovra,
"Why not remove it from its lurking plooo P*'
'Twas done as soon as said ; but on the way
It burst, it fell ; and lo, a skeleton,
With here and there a pearl, an emcrald-

'Twas but that instant she hod left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back, and flying still,
Her ivory-tooth imprinted on his finger.
But now, alas I she was not to be found ,
Nor from that hour could anything bo gness'd
But that she was not ' Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Yemoe, and forthwith
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.
Orsini lived , and long nughtst thou have seen
Aa old man wandering as in quest of some-
thing,
Something he could not find— he know not

what.

When he was gone, the house remained awhile
Silent and tenantless — then went to strangers.

Full fifty years were past, and all forgot,
When, on an idle day, a day of search
'Mid the old lumber yi the gallery,
That mouldering chest was noticed ; and 'twas
said

A golden clasp, clasping a abrad of gold !
All else had perished — save a nuptial ring,
And a small seal, hor mother 'H legacy,
Engraven with a name, tho namo of both,
"Ginovra" There then hod fclio found a.

grave1

Within that chest had she conceal' d herself,
Fluttering with joy the happiest of tho

happy;

When a spring-look that lay in ambmh. there,
Fastened her down for ever 1

Samuel Hog or a — "Born 17G2, DM 1855.

1184.— THE SLEEPING- BEAUTY".

Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile —
Tho* shut so close thy laughing eyes,
Thy rosy hps still wear a smilo
And move, and breathe delicious sighs '

Ah, now soft blushes tinge hor chooks
And mantle o'er hor neck of snow
Ah, now sho murmurs, now she spoakfl
What most I wish — and fear to know I

She starts, she trembles, and she woopH !
Her fair hands folded on hor breast *
— And now, how like a Hoint who sloopH '
A seraph in tho roalixw of rent 1

Sleep on Roourc ' Above oontroul
Thy thoughts belong to Hoavon and ihoo
And may the secret, of thy soul
Remain within its sanctuary '

Bcmvucl Rogers — Ztorw 1702, Dwd, 185&

1185,— A WISH.

Mine bo a cot beside tho hill ;
A bee-hive* H hum nhall soothe my oar ;
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.

The swallow, oft, "beneath my thatch
Shall twitter from hor clay-bnilt noat ;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift tho latch
And share my meal, a welcome guofit.

Around my ivied porch nhall Bpnnjy
Bach fragrant flower that drinks the dew ;
And Lucy, at her wheel, Khali Ring
In russet-gown and apron blue.

Prom 1780 to 1800 J THE WOJ&LD IS TOO MUCH WITH US,

[WORDSWORTH,

Tho village-church among tho trees,
"Whore first our marriage-vows wore given,
With merry peals shall swell tho breeze,
And point with taper spire to Heaven

Samuel Rogers. — "Born 17C2, Dwtf 1855

n86— AN ITALIAN SONG.

Door is my little native valo,

Tho ring-dove builds and murmurs thoro ;

Close by my oot she tells her talo

To ovory passing villager

The squirrel leaps fiom troo to troo,

And shells his nuts at liberty.

In orange groves and myrtle "bowers,
That bioatho a gale of fragrance round,
I charm tho f airy-f ootod hours
With my loved lute's romantic sound;
Ot crowns of living laurel weave
For those that win the race at eve.

The shepherd's horn at l>roak of day,
Tho ballot danced m twilight glade,
Tho canzonet and roundelay
Sung in the wlout greenwood rfhado j
These simple joys that never fail,
Shall bind mo to my native valo.

Samuel Jtoycrt> — Horn 17G2, f)ial 1855.

1187. — TO THE BUTTBBFLY.

Child of tho ran! pursue thy rapturous

flight,
Mingling with her thou lov'st in fields of

Hght;

And, whore the flowers of paradise unfold,
C^uaff fragrant nectar from tlioir oups of

gold.
There shall thy wingp, rich as an evening

sky,

flkpand and shut with talent ecstasy '
Yet wort thou onco a worm, a thing that

crept
On tho bare earth, then wrought a tomb and

slept

And suoh is man ; soon from his coll of clay
To burst a Boraph in the blaze of day.

Samuel Roger8.~-Bor>n, 17G2, DM 1855.

n88— ON A TEAB.

Oh that tho chemist's magic art
Could crystallise thin sacred treasure !
Long should it glitter near my heart,
A secret source of pensive pleasure.

Tho little brilliant, ero it fell,
Its lustre caught from Chloci's oyo j
Then, trembling, lelt its corUojll—
The spring of Sensibility i

Sweet drop of pure and poaily light,
In thoo the rays of Virtue shine ,
More calmly clear, more mildly bright,
Than any gem that gilds tho mine.

Bomgn restorer of tho soul '
Who evor fljost to bring relief,
When first wo feel tho rude control
Of Love or Pity, Joy or Grioi.

Tho sago's and tho poet's theme,
In every clime, in every age ;
Thou charm' st m Fancy's idlo dream,
In Reason's philosophic pago.

That very law which moulds a tear,
And bidH it trickle from its source,
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides tho planets m their COUXHO.

tiamuel Itog&ra.—JSorn, 1702, DM 1855.

1189— LONDON, 1802,

Milton ' thou. Hhouldst bo living at this hour ;
JWngloud hath need of thoo , etho IH a f<m
Of sttigiiant watorn , altar, sword, and pen,
!Kirotiido, tlio heroic* wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient JCngliHh dower
Of inward happiness. Wo are aolftwh men ;
Oh 1 raiHO us up, return to un again ;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy Roiil was liko a star, and dwolt apart ,
Thou liadHt a voice whoso sound was liko tho

sea,*

Pure as tho naked heaven*— majoatie, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way
In ohoorful godliness ; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself diclut lay

.— Born 1770, Died 1850.

1190,— THE WOKLD IS TOO MUCH
WITH TJS.

Tho world is too much with TLH ; lato and

noon,
0 citing and spending, wo lay wasto our

powers :

Littlo we soo in nature that is oura ;
We have given our hearts away, & sordid

boon!

This sea that bares her bosom to tho moon,
Tho winds that will bo howling at all hours,
And &ro tip-gather' d now hko sloopuig flower*;
For this, for everything1, wo aro out of tuno ;

WOKDSWOSTH ] ON KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE [SEVENTH

It moves us not Groat God ' I'd rather bo
A pagan suckled in a oreod outworn
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me loss

forlorn ;

Have sight of Proteus coming from tho sea ,
Or hear old Triton blow Ms wreathed horn

Wordsworth.— Born 1770, Died 1850

KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL,
CAMBBIDGE

Tax not the royal saint with vain expense,
With iH-matoh'd aims the architect who

plann'd,

Albeit labouring for a scanty band
Of white-robed scholars only, this immense
And glorious work of fine intelligence '
Give all thou canst, high Heaven rejects the

lore

Of nicely calculated less or more ,
So deem'd the Tna," who fashioned for tho

These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof
Self-poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand

cells,
Where light and shade repose, whoro music

dwells
Lingering— and wandering on, as loath to

die,
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yioldoth

proof
That they were born for immortality

Wordsworth— Bom 1770, Died 1850

1192 — LINES.

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky
So was it when my life began ,
So is it now I am a man ,
So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let mo die '

The child is father of the man ,
And I could wish my days to bo
Bound each to each by natural piety.
Wordsworth.— Born 1770, Died 1850.

1193.— LUCY.

She dwelt among tho untrodden ways,

Beside the spnngB of Dove,
A maid whom there wore none to praise,

And very few to love

A violet by a mossy stone,

Half hidden from the eye ,
Pair as a star when only one

Is ghiTi-ppy m -(Jie sky.

She lived unknown, and fow could know

When Lucy ceased to bo ;
But she is in her grave, and oh,

The difference to me !

Wortlswotth.— Born 3770, Diet 1850

1194— -A PORTRAIT.

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gloarn'd upon my night ;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament ;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ,
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things olso about hor drawn
From May-time and tho cheerful dawzi ;
A dancing shape, au imago gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw hor upon nearer view,

A spirit, yet a woman too '

Her household motions light and free,

And steps of virgin liberty ,

A countenance in which did moot

Sweet records, promises OR awoot ,

A creature not too blight or good

For human nature's daily food ;

For transient sorrowfl, simple wile*,

Piaise, blamo, love, kisses, toorR, aiwl

And now I soo with oyo fiorono
The very pulse of tho machine ;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller betwixt life and death ,
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill,
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comiort, and command ;
And yet a spirit still, and blight,
With something of an axigcl light

Wordswortli.—Jfa<ni 1770, DM 1850.

1195— TINTERN ABBEY

!Pivo years havo pash'd , five Hununuw, with

the length

Of five long -wmlorp ; and again T lu»itr
Those waters, rolling from their niouiituui

springs

With a sweet inland mnnnnr Oaeo again
Bo I behold those stoop and lofty clifl'n,
Which on a wild, secluded Hoono impruHH
Thoughts of more deep sooluHiou, and connect
Tho landscape with tho quiet of tho hky.
Tie day is come when I again ropono
Hore, under thin dark syoamoro, ruwl view
These plots of cottage ground, thorfo orchard

tufts,
Which, ^ at this seaflon, with thoir tmripo

fruits,

Are clad in ono green hue, and IOHO them-
selves

Mow 1780 to

TINTEKN

[WOEDSWOBTH.

Among tho woods and copses, nor disturb
Tlio mid green landscape. Once again I BOO
Those hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, litUo

linos
Of sportive wood run wild, those pastoral

i'aims
Green to the very door; and wreaths of

smoke

Sent up in ailonco from among- tho trees,
With Homo uncertain notice, as might seem,
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some hermit's oave, whore, by hid fire,
Tho hermit sits alone.

Though absent long,

These forms of beauty have not been to mo,
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weannosR, sensations sweet,
Felt m the blood, and felt along the heart,
And pacing even into my purer mind
With tranquil real/oration — feelings, too,
Ol unrouiomborM pleasure , such, perhaps,
As may have had no trivial influence
On that best portion of a good mon'n life,
His little, nameless, unroinombor'cl acts
Of kmtlnoHB and of love. Nor IOBB, I truat,
To tlioiu I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime , that blessed mood
In which tho burthen of the mystery,
In which tho heavy and tho weary weight
Oi all tlii« unuitollitfiblo world
Ts liffhtou'd ; that Horono and bloHhcd mood
hi wluch tho afluctioJiH gently load UH on,
Until tho breath of thin corporeal frame,
And oven tho motion of our human blood
Almost HuHpondod, we arc laid arioop
In body, and booomo a living Haul .
While with an eye made quiet by tho power
( )f harmony and the deep power of joy,
We HUC into tho life of things.

If thin

Ho but a vndn boliof, yet, oh ! how oft,
In darkueMH, and attml the many shapes
Oi joyloHB daylight, when the fretful Htir
Unprofitable, and tho fever of tho world,
Havo bung upon tho boating-H of my heart,
I few oft m spirit have I tinned to theo,
O Hylvan Wye ! — thou wanderer through tho

woods —

How ofton has my spirit turnM to thoo !
And now, with gleams of hulf-oxtiiiguiuli'd

thought,

With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picturo of tho mind revive** again •
While horo I stand, not only with the

Of present pleasure, but with pleasing

thoughts

That 111 thin moment there is life and food
For future years. And HO I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was

when first

I came among those hills , when, like a roc,
I bounded o'er tho mountains, by the Bides

Of tho deep rivers, and tho lonely RtroaniH,
Wherever nature led . moro like a man
Flying fioni something that ho dreads, than

one
Who sought tho thing ho lovod. For nature

then

(Tho coarser pleasures of my boyish days
And theii glad animal movements oil gone

by)

To mo was all in all — I cannot paint
What thon 1 was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a paRHion , tho tall rook,
Tho mountain, and tho deep and gloomy

wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to

mo

An appetite ; a fooling and a love
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
ITnborrow'd from the eye. That time u

past,

And all its aching joys are now no more,
And till itb dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur , other

fflftH

Hu \ e follow'd, for such loss, I would belinvo,
Abundant recompense For I have loam'd
To look on iiattuc, not OH in tho hour
Of thought! ess youth, but hearing oftcn-

tuuokt

The Btill Had munic of humanity,
Nor liai'Hh nor grating, though of amide

power

To cliuhton and subdue And I have felt
A prehonco tl-at dwturbH mo with tho joy
< >f olovated thougbtB , a Ronne sublime
Of Homothinp far inoro deeply interfused,
WhoHO dwelling in tho light of Hotting fiu&fl,
And tho round oooan, and tho living air,
A iid tho blue sky, and in tho mind of man ;
A motion and a npirit that impels
All thinking tliingH, all objects of till

thought,
And rolls tktoughall things. Therefore am 1

HtiU

A lover of tho moadowR and the wood*
And mountamfl, ami of all that wo behold
From tlxiH groon oartli; of nil the mighty

world

Of oyo and oar, both what they luilf create
And what perceive ; well pleased to rocoftnino
Tn nattiro, and the language of tho sonno,
Tho anchor of my purottt thought*), tho nurso,
Tho ffuido, tho guardian of my heart, and

soul
Of all uiy moral being.

Nor, pcrchatw,

If I wore not tlmH taught, tthouhl 1 the juoro
Suffer my genial spirits to dooay •
For thou art with mo horo, upon tho banks
Of thin fair river , thou, my dettroHt fnimd,
My door, dear fnond, and an thy VOK-O I

catch

Tho language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasurefl in tho shooting liK^tn
Of thy wild eyes. Oh • yot a littio wlxUo

WOKDSWOBTE ]

TO A HIGHLAND OiBL

PJEEIOD —

Kay I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear sistor ' And this prayer I make,
Knowing that nature never did betray
The heart that loved her , 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil

tongues,
Bash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish

raen,

Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee m thy solitary walk ,
And let the misty mountain winds be free
To blow against thee . and in after years,
When these wild oostasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh

then,

If solitude, or fear, or pain, or gnef ,
Should be thy portion, with what healing

thoughts

Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations ' Nor, perchance,
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voioe, nor catch from thy wild eyes these

gleams

Of past existence, wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together ; and that I, so long
A worshipper of nature, hithor came,
Unwearied m that service rather say
With warmer love, oh ' with far deeper zeal
Of holier love Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to

me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy

sake

Wordsworth.— Born 1770, Lied 1850.

1196.— TO A HIGHLAND (HEL.

Sweet Highland girl ' a very shower

Of beauty is thy earthly dower '

Twice seven consenting years have shod

Their utmost bounty on thy head

And those gray rocks ; that household lawn ,

Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn ,

This fall of water, that doth make

A murmur near the silent lake ;

This httie bay, a quiet road

That holds m shelter £hy abode—

In truth, unfolding thus, ye seem

Like something- fashion' d in a dream ;

Such forms as from thoir covort poep
When earthly cores are laid asleep *
Yet, dream or vision as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart :
God shield thee to thy latest years '
I neither know theo nor thy poors ;
And yet my eyes are filTd with team.

With earnest fooling I shall pray
For thee when I am far away :
For never saw I mien or face,
In which more plainly I could trace
Benignity and homo-bred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence.
Here soatter'd, like a random Rood,
Bemote from men, thou dost not nood
Th" embamtss'd look of shy distress
And maidenly shamefaoedness j
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a mountaineer :
A face with gladness overspread !
Soft smiles, by human kindness brod '
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about thoo plays ,
With no restraint, bat such as springs
From quick and eager visitingft
Of thoughts that lie beyond the roach
Of thy few words of Engltoh »poooh ;
A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife
That gives thy gestures gtaco and Ufa I
So have I, not unmoved in mind,
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind,
Thus beating up against the wind.

What hand but would a garland ouil
For thee who art so beautiful P
0 happy pleasure ' horo to dwell
Beside thoe in some heathy doll ;
Adopt your homely ways, and drosn
A shepherd, thon a shepherdess '
But I could frame a wish for thoo
More like a gravo reality
Thou art to mo but as a wuvo
Of the wild soa , and I would liavo
Some claim upon thoe, if I oonld,
Though but of common nei#hbourhood-
What joy to hoar thee, and to*«oo !
Thy elder brother I would bo-1
Thy father— anything to thoo !

Now thanks to Hoavon ! that of it«
Hath lod me to this lonely place.
Joy havo I had , and going honoo»
I boar aw*ay my reoomponno.
In spots like those it ia wo prize
Our memory, fool that Hho hath oyo« .
Thon, why should I bo loath to fltir t
I feel this plaoo wan ma<io for hot ;
To give new pleasure liko the pant,
Continued long an lifo »hall lw*t.
Nor am I loath, though ploaned at hoari,
Sweet Highland girl I from thoo to part ,
For I, mothinks, till I ffrow Old,
As fair bof oro mo shall bohold,
As I do now, the cabin small,
The lake, the bay, the waterfall ;
And thee, the spirit of them all (

Wordsworth.— town 1770, Dtafc 1850.

Fnm 1780 to 1866.]

ODE.

[WOBDSWOBTH.

1197.— AN OLD MAN'S BEPLECTIONS.

Down to the vale this water steers,

How merrily it goes I
'Twill murmur on a thousand years,

And flow as now it flows.

And tore, on this delightful day,

1 cannot choose but think
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay

Bosido the fountain's brink.

My eyes are dim with childish tears,

My heart is idly stirr'd;
For the same sound IB in my ears

Which in those days I hoard.

Thus faros it still in our decay ,

And yet, the wiser mind
Mourns lows for what age takes away,

Than what it leaves behind.

The Blackbird in tho summer trees,

The Lark upon tho hill,
Lot loose their carols when they ploaso,

Axe quiet when they will.

With Nature never do they wage

A f oolwh stnfo , they see
A happy youth, and thoix old ago

IH l>oautiful and free.

But wo are proRH'd with heavy lawH ;

And, often glad no more,
Wo wear a face of joy, because

Wo havo been glad of yore.

Worilaujorth.— Mom 1770, Dw<Z 1850.

INTIMATIONS OJP IMIOCOBTALITT FBOM
BEOOLLBCTIONS 0V HABLY CHILDHOOD.

There waa a timo when meadow, grove, and

stream,
Tho earth, and every common sight,

To me did woom
ApparolTd in celestial light,
Tho glory and the freshness of a dream.
It IH not now as it hath boon oC yore ,—
Turn whoroRoe'or I may,

By night or day,

Tho things which I have seen I new can eeo
no more !

Tho Rainbow oomes and goes,
And lovely is tho Rose ,
Tho Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the hoavenR are bare ;

Waters on a starry night
* Are beautiful and fair ,

Tho sunshine is a glorious birth;—
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath pass'd away a glory from tho
earth.

To blessed creatures, I havo hoard the coll

Ye to each other make ; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your

jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,

My head hath its coronal,
The ftJness of your bliss I feel,— I feel it

all.

Oh, ovil day ' if I woro sullen,
While the earth herself is adorning,

This sweet May-morning,
And the children tiro pulling,

On ovory Hide,

In a thousand valleys for and wido,
Fresh flowers ; while the HUH «hino»

warm, «

And tho Babe leaps up on his mother's arm.

I hoar, I hoar, what joy I hoar !
— But there *a a tree, of many one,
A single field which I have look'd upon,

Both of them speak of something that is

gone,

The Pansy at my feet
Doth tho samo talo repeat.
Whither is fled tho visionary gleam f
Where IB it now, the glory and the dream P

Our birth in but a sloop and a forgetting :

Tho HOU! tluit riHOH with UB, our life* a star,

Hath had olHowhoro itn netting,

And oomoth from afar ;
Not in ontiio forgotfulikOHH,
And not in uttor nakodnoHH,
But, trailing cloudu of glory, do wo conic

From God, who IH our homo
Heaven IIOH about UH in our infancy !
ShudoH of tho prison-heuao bogin to clone

Upon tho growing Boy,
But ho boholdH tho light, and whence it flown,

Ho sees it m his joy ;

Tho Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, atiU i» Nature's prioyt,
And by tho vision splendid
IH on hiH way attended ;
At length tho Man porccivon it <lio away,
And fade into the light of common day.

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of lior own ;
YoarningH ulio hath in her natural kind ,
And, even with aomething- of a mother's
mind,

And no unworthy aim,
Tho homely nurse doth all Mho can
To make her f ostor-okild, her inmate man,
Forgot tho gloriOH ho hath known.
And that imperial palace whonoo ho came
* * # *

Tho thought of our past years in mo (lotli

brood

Perpetual benediction*) . not indeed
For that which IH most worthy to be blent ;
Delight and liberty, the ample creed
Of childhood, whether buny or at ro«t,
With now-fledged hope still fluttering- in his

broa«t . —

WOBDSWOBTH.]

YARROW VISITED.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

Not for these I raise
The songs of thanks and praiso ;
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vamshings ;
Blank misgivings of a creature
Moving about in worlds not realised,
High instincts, before whioh our mortal

nature

Did tremble, like a guilty thing aurpusod '
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,

Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain light of all our day,
Are yet a master light of all our seeing ,

Uphold us— cherish — and have power to

make

Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal silence truths that wake

To pensh never ,

Which neither listlossnoss, nor mad en-
deavour,

Nor man, nor boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy

Hence, In a season of calm weather,

Though inland fax we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
• Which brought us hither ;

Can in a moment travel thither, —
And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore

Then, sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song '
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound '
We, in thought, will join your throng
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May r
What though the radiance which was onco so

blight
Be now for ever taken from thy sight, —

Though nothing con bung back the lionr
Of splendour in the gross, of glory in the
flower ,

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind,

In the primal sympathy,

Which, having been, must ever bo,

In the Hoothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering,

In the faith that 'looks through

death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

And oh, ye fountains, meadows, hills, and

groves,

Think not of any severing of your loves !
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ;
I only have relinquish' d one delight,
To live beneath your more habitual sway
I love the brooks, which down their channels

fret,
Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as

they,

' The innocent brightness of a now-born day

Is lovely yet ;

The clouds that gather round the sotting aim
Do take a sobei colouring from on oyo
That hath kept watch o'or man's mortality ,
Another race hath boon, and other palms aro

won
Thanks to tho human heart by which wo

live;

Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and foavH ,
To me tho meanest flower that blown can

give
Thoughts that do often he too deep for tears

— Born 1770, Died, 183U

1199. — YARROW VISITED.

And is this Yarrow P — this the stream

Of which my fancy chonshed,

So faithfully, a waking dream ?

An imago that hath porifih'd '

Oh that some minstrel's harp wore near,

To utter notes of gladness,

And chaso this silence from tho air,

That fills my heart with sadness !

Yet why ? — a silvery current flows

With unoontroll'd meandorings ;

Nor have those eyes by greonor lull*

Been soothed, w all my wandering

And, through her depths, Saint Mary 'a Luko

Is visibly debghtod j

For not a feature of those hills

Is in the mirror slighted.

A blue &ky bonds o'or Yarrow Valo,

Save whoro that pooily whiteness

Is round the riHing sun diffused,

A tender hazy brightness ,

Mild dawn of promise ! that exclude**

All profitless dejection ;

Though not unwilling lioro t' admit

A pensive recollection.

Whcro was it that the famous flowi-r
Of Yarrow Valo lay blooding ?
His bod perchance was yon Hmooth mound
On which tho herd is feeding :
And haply from thin crywtal pool,
Now poacof al as tho morning
Tho watcr-wraath ascended tlirico,
And gave his doleful warning.

Delicious it* the lay that singH

Tho haunts of happy lovortt,

The path that loads thorn to tho grove,

The leafy grove that covers .

And pity sanctifies tho verso

That points, by strength of sorrow, *

The unconquerable strength of love ;

Booi witness, rueful Yarrow !

But thou, that didst appear so fair
To fond imagination,

From 1780 to 1800 ]

TO THE CUCKOO.

[WORDWWOBTIT.

Boat rival in tho light of day

Her delicate creation •

Mook loveliness is round tlxoo spread,

A softnoHS still and holy ,

The graco of forest charms docay'd,

And pastoral melancholy

That region left, the vale unfolds

Bich groves of lofty stature,

With Yarrow winding through the pomp

Of cultivated nature ;

And, rising from those lofty groves,

Behold a ruin hoary '

The shattered front of Newark's towers,

Renown' d in border slory

Fair scenes for childhood' n opening bloom,

For sportive youth to stray in ,

For manhood to enjoy hiw strength ,

And ago to wear away in '

Yon cottage acorns a bower of bliba,

It promises protection

To studious OOHO, and generous cares,

And every chaste affection !

How Hwoot on thiw autumnal day,
The wild wood's fruits to gather,
And. on my true IOVO'B forehead plant
A orost of blooming heather '
And what if I onwroath'd my own '
'Tworo no ofFoneo to reason ,
The sober hillH thua (look their brows
To moot tho wintiy ROOHon

I BOO — but not by HigUt alono,

Lovod Yarrow, have L won thoo ,

A ray of fanoy Ml HiirvivaH —

Her HunHluno playn upon thoo f

Thy over youthf d wotorH Loop

A OOUTHO of lively ploamiro ,

And gladsome notoH my lipn can b 'oatho,

Accordant to tho moanrn'o

Tho vapours luLgor round the hoightu,
They inolt — and soon muHt vamnh 5
0no hour IH thoirfl, nor more IB mine —
Sad thought ' which JC would banish,
But that 1 know, where'er I go.
Thy genuine imago, Yarrow !
'Will dwell with me — to heighten joy,
And cheer my mind in worrovv

Wordsworth— Bom 1770, Dic'tZ 1850.

1200.— TO A DISTANT FBIEND.

Why art thou silent ? IB thy love a plant
Of fluch weak nbro that the troachorouH air
Of absence withers what WOR onoe so fair P
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant P

Yet have my thoughts for thoo boon vigilant,
Bound to thy service with unooamng oaio —
Tho xmncVH loitHt goncrouH winh a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could
spare.

Speak! — though tluu soft warm heart, once

free to hold

A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Bo left more desolate, more dreary cold

Than a forsaken bixd's-ncst fiU'd with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine —
Spook, that my torturing doubts their end
may know '

Wordsworth.— Horn 1770, Died 1850.

1201.— TO THE SBTLAKK.

Ethereal minstrel r pilgrim of the sky '
Dost thou dospiBO lie earth where cores

abound P

Or while tho wings aspire, ore heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon tho dowy ground ?
Thy nest which thou const drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music

still!

To tho last point of vision, and beyond
Mount, danng warbler '—that love-promptod

strain

— -'Twist thoo and thine a never-foiling bond1— *
'JlinllR not tho IOHH the bouom of tho plain *
Yet migbt'flt thou scorn, proud privilege ' to

HUlg

All independent o£ the leafy Spring

Leave to tho nightingale her nhady wood ;

A piivooy of glonouH light in thine,

Whence thou dont pour upon tho world a

flood

Of harmony with instinct moro divino ;
Typo o£ tho WIMO, who soar, but novor roain —
True to tho kindred points of Hoovon and

Home!

p-T Morn 1770, J)M 1850,

1202.— TO THE CUCKOO.

0 blithe new-comer ! I havo hoard,

1 hoar thoo and rojoice .

0 Cuckoo ' flhall I call thoo bird,
Or but a wondorrng Voice P

While I am lying on tho grant)
Thy twofold shout I hear ;
From liill to Kill it Hooma to pass,
At onoo far off and noar.

Though babbling only to tho volo
Of Himshino and of uowors,
Thou bnngoHt unto mo a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrico welcome, darling of tho Spring!

Even yet thou art to me

No bird, but an inviHiblo thing

A voice, a mybtory ;

WORDSWOBTH.]

COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CASTLE [SEVENTH PEUMOD.-

Tlie same whom in my school-boy days
I listen'd to , that Ciy
"Winch, made mo look a thousand ways
ID. bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thoe did I often rove
Through woods and on the green ,
And thou wert still a hope, a love ,
Still long'd for, never seon I

And I can listen to thee yet ;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden tuno again.

O blessed bird ' the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, fairy place
That is fit home for Thee '

Wordsworth.— Born 1770, Died 1850.

1203— COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CAS-
TLE, THE PROPERTY OF LORD
QUEENSBERRY, 1803.

Degenerate Douglas ' 0 the unworthy lord '
Whom mere dospite of heart could so far

please

And love of havoc (for with such disease
Paine taxes him) that he could send forth

word

To level with the dust a noble horde,

A brotherhood of venerable troes,

Leaving an ancient dome and towers lake
these

Beggar' d and outraged! — Many hearts de-
plored

The fate of those old trees; and oft with

pain

The traveller at this day will stop and gaze
On wrongs, which Nature bcorcely seems to

heed-

For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays,
And the pure mountains, and tho gontlo

Tweed,
And the green silent pastures, yet remain.

Wordsworth.— -Bom 1770, Died 1850

1204.— -ITPON "WESTMINSTER BRIDGKE.
Sept. 3, 1802.

Earth has not anything to show more fair •
Dull would ho be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty :
This City now doth like a garment wear

The beau-fcy of the morning . silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples

lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully stoop

In his first splendour valley, rock, or lull ;

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so doop !

The river glideth at his own swoot will •
Dear God ! tho vory houses seem asloop j
And all that mighty heart is lying still !

Wordsworth —Born 1770, Dw& 1850.

1205.— ADMONITION TO A TRAVELLER.

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thino oyo '
— Tho lovely cottage in tho guardian nook
Hath etirr'd thoc deeply j with its own door

brook,
Its own small pasture, almost its own sky !

But covet not the abode — 0 do not sigh
As many do, repining while they look ;
Intruders who would tear from Naturo'n book
This precious leaf with harsh impiety •

— Think what tho homo would, bo if it wore

thino,
Even thine, though fow thy wantH ' — Roof,

window, door,
The vory flowers aro saorod to the Poor,

The roses to the porch which they ontwmo
Yea, all that now onohantH thoo, from tho day
On which it should bo touch* d would molt
away1

1770, Dwd 1850.

X2o6 — THE REAPER.

Behold her, single in tho field,
Yon solitary Highland LOHH !
Reaping and singing by liorwclf ,
Stop hero, or gently patw !
Alone sho cuts and bindn tho ffraiu,
And sings a melancholy Hiram ,
0 haton ' for tlio valo profound
Is overflowing with tho Hound.

No nightingale dirt over chaunt
More welcome noton to woury band**
Of travellers in some shady liuuni,
Among Arabian sands
No swoolor voiflo was over hoard
In spring-tiino from tho ouokoo-1>ml,
Breaking tho silence of tho float*
Among tho farthest Hobridow,

Will no one toll mo what ftho
Perhaps tho plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago :
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day P
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may bo again !

F/vwl780toI8GGl

TO SLEEP.

Whato'er tlio theme, tlio maiden Bang-
As if hor song could have no ending ,
I saw hor singing at hor work,
And o'or tho sicklo bonding j
Iliston'dtilllhadmyfiH;
And as I mounted up the hill
Tho music in my heart I bore
Long after it was heard no more.

Wordsworth.— Born 1770, DM 1850.

1207. — THE DAFFODILS.

I wander 'd lonely as a oloud

That floats on high o'or vales and hills,

Whon all at onoe I saw a crowd,

A host of goldon daflbdilH,

Beside tho lake, beneath tlio treon

Fluttering and dancing- in tho broozo,

Continuous as tho stars that shine
And twinkle on tho milky way,
Thoy strotch'd in never-ending lino
Along tho margin of a bay .
Ton thousand saw J at a glance

their hoadH in sprightly dance.

The wavoH boaido thorn danced, hut they

Out-did tho Hparklmg wavoH in gloo : —

A Poot could not but bo gay

In Huoh a jocund company '

1 gazed — and gassed— but little thought

What wealth tlio show to mo had brought 5

For oft, whou on my couch I lie
In vacant or in ponsivo mood,
Thoy flash upon that inward eye
Which is tho bites of solitude,
And thon my heart with pleasure fillw,
And dances with tho daffodilH

Wordsworth.— Bom, 1770, Dtod 1850

1208,— TO THE DAISY

With little horo to do or BOO

Of things that in tho groat world bo,

Swoot Daisy I oft 1 talk to thoo

For thou art worthy,
Thou unassuming commonplace
Of Nature, with that homely faco,
And yet with something of a graoe

Which love makos for thoo '

Oft on tho dappled turf at ease

I sit and play with similes,

Loose typos of tlungH through all degrees,

ThoughtH of thy raising ;
And many a fond and idle namo
I give to thoo, for praise or blame,
As is tho humour of tho gamo,

While I am gazing.

A nun demure, of lowly poit ,

Or sprightly maiden, of Lovo's court,

In thy simplicity tho sport

Of all temptations ;
A queen in crown of rubies drest ;
A staivoling in a scanty vest ;
Are all, as scorns to suit theo best,

Thy appellations.

A littlo Oyclopa, with ono oye
Staring to threaten and defy,
That thought comes next — and instantly

Tho freak is OYOT,
Tho shape will vanish, and behold !
A silver Hhiold with boss of gold
That spreads ituoU, Homo fairy bold

In fighb to cover.

I soo thoo glittering from afar —
And thon thon art a pretty star,
Not qnito so fair as many aro

In heaven above thoo !
Yet like a star, with glittering- crest,
Solf-poiaod in air thou soom' si to rest 5—
Hay peace como never to his neat

Who shall roprovo thoo '

Swoot flower i for by that namo at lost

Whon all my rovorioa axo pant

I call thoo, acid to that cloavo fast,

Swoot Hilonk Creature '
That bioath'nt wibh ino m HUH and air,
Do thou, UH thou art wont, repair
My heart with gladiiosH, and a Hharo

Of thy mook nature '
Wordsworth.— Bom, 1770, DM 1860.

1209.— BY THE SEA.

It is a beauteous ovouing, calm and free ;
Tho holy iimo is quiet as a nun
JUftathlosfl with adoration ; tho broad sun
IB sinking down in its tranquillity ,

Tho gentleness of hoavon is on tho Sea •
Liflton 1 tho mighty being IH awoke,
And doth with his eternal motion luake
A sound liko thundor— everlastingly.

Dear child ' dear girl ! that walk'st with mo

horo,

If thou appear untoncli'cl by solonm thought
Thy nature IB not therefore IOHH diruuo :

Tliou host in Abraham'** boaom all the year,
And worship* H! at tho Temple's inner shrino,
Ood being with thoo when wo know it not.

, Dud 1850.

12 io. — TO SLEEP.

A flock of shoop that lomuroly poHft by
Ono after ono ; tho sound of rain, and bdOEt

60*

WOBDSWOBTBL ]

WRITTEN INT EARLY SPRING.

[SEVENTH PHRIOP —

Murmuring; the fall of nvers, winds and

seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure

I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie
Sleepless , and soon the amaH birds' melodies
Must hoar, first utter* d from my orchard trees,
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

Even thus last night, and two nights more I

lay
And oould not win thee, Sleep ' by any

stealth

So do not let me wear to-night away
Without Thee what is all the morning's

wealth ?

Come, blessed barrier between day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous

health »

Wordsworth— Born 1770, Died 1850

I2ii.— WEITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.

I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind

To her fair works did Nature "M-nTr
The human soul that through me ran ;
And muoh it grieved my heart to think
What Man has made of Man

Through primrose tnffcs, in that sweet bower,
The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths ;
And 'tis my faith that every flowor
Enjoys the air it breathes

The buds around me hopp'd and play'6%
Their thoughts I cannot measure —
But the least motion which they made
It seem'd a thiill of ploosmo

The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air ,
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure thoro

If this belief from heaven bo sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have 1 not reason to lament
What Man has made of Man ?

Wordswortli.— Born 1770, Died 1850.

1212.— THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS.

We waLVd along, while blight and red
Uprose the morning sun ;
And Matthew stopp'd. he look'd, and said
"The will of God be done I"

A village schoolmaster was ho,
With hair of glittering gray ;
As blithe a man as you could soo
On a spring holiday.

And on that morning, through tho gwws
And by the steaming rills,
We travelled monily, to pass
A day among the hills

" Our work," said I, " was well begun ;
Then, from thy brooat what thought,
Beneath so beautiful a nun,
So ead a sigh has brought P "

A second time did Matthew stop ,
And fixing still h1"* oyo
Upon the eastern mountain-top,
To me he made reply :

" Yon cloud with that long pnrplo aloft-
Brings frosh into my mmd
A day like this, which I have loft
Full thirty years behind.

And just above yon slopo of corn
Such colours, and no other,
Were in tho sky that April morn
Of this the very brother.

With rod and lino I fiuod the sport
Which that sweet season gave,
And coming to tho church stopp'd Rhoit
Beside my daughter's grave

Nine summers had sho scarcely soon,
The pnde of all tho valo ,
And then sho sang — sho would havo boon
A vory nightingale.

Six foot in earth my Emma lay ;
And yot I lovod her more —
For HO it seem'd,— than till that day
I o'er had loved before

And turning fiom her gravo, I mot
Beaido the churchyard yovr
A blooming Girl, whoso hair was wot
With points of morning- (low.

A bosket on her hoad nho baro ,
Hor brow was smooth and white *
To -eoo a child BO vory fair,
It was a puro delight '

No fountain from it« rocky oavo
E'or tnpp'd with foot RO hoo ,
Sho Hocrn'd as happy as a wavo
That dances on tho floa.

Thoro came from mo a nigh of paiix
Which I could ill confine ;
I look'd at hor, and look'd again ;
And did not winh hor mino 1 "

— Matthew is in his grave, yot now
MethinkR I BOO him stand,
As at that moment, with a bough
Of wilding in hiBhand.

Wordsworth.— Bern 1770, Died

JVoro I780«o I860]

THE HOLLY TREE.

[KOBT. SOUTHBY.

1213. — THE WIDOWED MOTHER.

z.

How beautiful is night !
A dewy freshness fills the silont air ,
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor spook, nor

Breaks tho sorono of heaven •

In full-oib'd glory, yonder moon divine

Rolls through tho dark-blue depths

Beneath her steady ray

The desert-circle spreads,
Like the round ocean, girdled with tho sky.

How beautiful is night !

n.

Who, at tins untimely hour,
Wanders o'oi the desert sanda ?

No station IH in view,
Nor palm-gi ovo islanded amid the waste.

The mother and her child,
Tho widow' d mother and tho fatherless boy,

They, at thin untimely hour,
Wander o'or tho desert sands*

in.

Alas i tho sotting inn

Saw Zmnal) in hor bliKH,

Hodciruh'H wife helnvod,

Tho fruitful mothoi Into,
Whom, when tho diuightoiH of Arabia named,
They winh'd their lot like horn
She wanderH o'or tho donort Hands

A wretched widow now,
Tho fruitful mother of HO fair a race ;

With only one preserved,
She wanders o'or the wilderness.

IV.

No tear relieved tho burden of hor heart ,
Stmm'd with tho heavy woo, aho felt like one
Half-wakened from a midnight dream of blood.
But Hometimos, when the boy
Would wot hor hand with tears,
And, looking up to hor fix'd countenance,
Sob out tho name of Mother, then did she

Utter a feeble groan

At length, collecting, Homab turn'd hor eyes
To Heaven, exclaiming, " Trained bo tho Lord f
Ho gave, He takes away 1
Tho Lord our (Jod is good ! "

SMberb 8ontn<ty.—-B{)rn 1774, DM 184.3.

1214.— A MOONLIGHT SCENE.

How calmly, gliding through tho dark blue

Bky,
The midnight moon ascend**1 Her placid

beams,
Through thinly- soattcr'd loaves, and boughH

grotesque,

Mottle with mazy shades the orchard slopo ;
Hero o'er tho chofctnut'a fretted foliage, gray
And massy, motionless thoy spread; here

shine
Upon tho crags, deepening- with blacker

night

Their chasms, and there tho glittering argon-
try

Ripples and glances on the confluent streams*
A lovelier, purer light than that of day
Bouts on the hills , and oh ' how awfully,
Into that deep and tranquil firmament,
Tho summits of Ausova rise soiono '
Tho watchman on tho battlomontH partaken
Tho stillness of tho solemn hour , ho fooln
Tho silence of the earth , tho oiuUoHH Hound
Of flowing water soothoH him j and tho Htars,
Which 111 tliat brightest moonlight well nigh

quench' d,

Scarce visible, as in tho ntmoHt depth
Of yonder sapphire infinite, are soon,
Draw on with elevating influence
Towards eternity tho attemper 'd mind.
Musing on worlds beyond tho grave, ho

stands,

And to tho Virgin Mother silently
.Breathes forth hor hymn of praiso.

Itolort Soivthoy — 'Born 1774, DwcJ 1843.

1215.— THE HOLLY TREE

Oh, Header ! hast thou over stood to HOO

Tho Holly Troo P
Tho oyo thai contemplates it well perceives

Its glossy loavoH,

Order' d by an Intelligence HO wiwj,
AH might confound the AthoiHt'H aophiptrios.

Below, a circling fence, its loavos are fcoon

"Wrinkled and koon ,
No grazing cattle through their prickly round

Can roach to wound ,

But, as thoy grow whoro nothing is to foar,
Smooth and unarm* d tho pointloHM leaves
appear.

I love lo view those things with curious oyos,

And moralize ;
And in tliiH wiHdom ot tho Holly Troo

Can ombloins HOC,
Whorowith perchance to make a plcanant

rhymo,
One which may profit in tho aftor-timo.

Thus, though abroad porohanco I might
appear

Harsh and austoro ;
To those, who on my loiwuro would intrude,

JKoHorved and rtwlo , —
Oontlo at homo amid my frumclH I'd ho,
Liko tho high loavon upon tho J Jolly Troo.

EOBT SOTTTHUZ]

THE ALDERMAN'S FDNBEAL.

[SEVENTH PEJiroD. —

And should my youth, as youth is apt3 I

know,

Some harshness show,
All vain asperities I day by day

Would wear away,

"Ell the smooth temper of my age should be
lake the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.

And as when all the summer trees are soen

So bright and greon,
The Holly leaves a sober hue display

Less bright than' they ;
But, when the bare and wintry woods we

see,
What then so cheerful as the Holly Tree P

So serious should my youth appear among

The thoughtless throng ;
So would I seem amid the young and gay

More grave than they ,
That in my age as cheerful I might be
As the green winter of tho Holly Tree.

Eob&rt Southey —Born 1774, Died 1843.

1216. — THE ALDERMAN7 S FUNERAL.

This yngj^ of half a million
Had all these public virtues whioh you praise •
But the poor man rung never at his dooi ,
And the old beggar, at the public gate,
Who, all the summer long, stands hat in

hand,

He knew how vain it was to lift an eye
To that hard f aeo Yet he was always found
Among your ten and twenty pound subscribers.
Your benefactors in the newspapers
His alniH were money put to interest
In the other world, — donations to keep open
A running chanty account with Heaven, —
Retaining fees against the Last Assizes,
When, for the trusted talents, strict account
Shall be required from all, and the old Arch-
Lawyer
Plead his own cause as plaintiff

* # * *

Who should lament for him, Sir, in whose

heart

Love had no place, nor natural charity ?
The parlour spaniel, when she heard his step,
Bose slowly from the hearth, and stole aside
With creeping pace, she never raised her

^j ™
To woo kind words from him, nor laid her

head

Upraised upon his knee, with fondling whine.
How could it be but thus P Arithmetic
Was the sole science ho was over taught ,
The multiplication-table was his Creed,
His Pater-noster, and ms Decalogue.
When yet he was a boy, and should have

breathed

The open air and sunshine of the fields,
To give his Wood its natural spring and play,

Ho, in a close and dusky oonntmjf-lionRO,
Smoke-dried, and soor'd, and shrivcll'd up hit*

heart.

So, from tho way in which ho was train' d up,
His foot departed not , ho toiTd and moil'd,
Poor muckworm ' tlirough his throc-aooro

years and ton,
And when the earth shall now bo nhovollM on

him,

K that which served him for a soul wore Htill
Within its husk, 'twould still bo dirt to dirt.
Eobort Sairthav — Jtoru 1774, DM 1840.

1217— LOVE.

They sin who tell us Lovo can dio.
With life all other passions fly,

AJ1 others are but vanity.
In Heaven Ambition cannot dwoll,
Nor Avarice in the muits~1Sf'HW^PH|^
Earthly, those passions aro of eaith,
They perish whore thoy have their birth :

But Lovo is indoHtructiblo

Its holy flame for over burnoth ,

From Hoavon it como, to Hoavon rotnmoth 5

Too oft on earth a troubled guOHt,

At timos deceived, at times opprost,

It hero is tried and purified,
Then hath in Hoavon its perfect rowt :
It sowoth hero with toil and oaro,
But tho harvest time of Lovo is thoro.
Eolert Souflicy.—Eom 1774, Died 1843.

1218 —THE MISER'S MANSION.

Thou mouldering mannion, whoHO embattled

side

Shakos as about to fall at ovary foloHt ,
Once tho gay pjlo of splendour, wealth, and

prido,
But now the monument of grandeur pant.

Fallen fabric ' pondering o'or thy timo-trarod
walls,

Thy mouldering, mighty, itutlaualioly Htato;
Each object to tlio muHing- mind roualJn

The sad vioissitudoH of varying fate.

Thy tall towers tremble to tho touch of time,
The rank weeds runlLo m thy Hpaoxouu

courtft ;

Fill'd are thy wido cannlfl with loathly Rliino,
Whore, battening undiHturb'd, the foul toad
sports.

Deep from her dismal dwelling yollH tho owl,

The shrill bat flitw around hot dark retreat ,
And the hoarso daw, whon loud tho tompoHts

howl,

Screams as tho wild winds shako hor floorot
seat

1780 to 18GG ]

AFTER BLENHEIM.

SOUTHBJT.

'Twaa horo Avaro dwelt, wlio doily told
His twoloHH heaps of woalili m wolfish joy ;

Who lovod to ruminate o'or hoarded gold,
And hid thoso stores lie dreaded to employ.

In vain to him benignant Heaven bostow'd
The golden heaps to rondoi thousands blost,

Smooth ag(M penury's laborious road,
And hoal tho sorrows of affliction's breast

For, like tho serpent of romance, ho lay
Slooplcss and stern to guard tho goldon

sight ;
With ceaseless care ho watch'd his hoaps by

day,
With oausoloRH foars ho agonized by night.

To honoRt rustics, whono duunol toil

Ennch'd tho ample fields thiH olmrl possost ;

Say, yo who paid to him tho annual spoil,
With all his nchos, was Avaro blent P

Rose ho, like you, at morn, devoid of fear,
HIM anxious vigils o'or his gold to keep ?

Or Htuik ho, when tho noisolows night was near,
AH calmly on IIIB couch, of down to sloop P

Thon wretch ' thus curst with poverty of soul,
What boot to thoo tho bloHsrngH fortune

gavoP
What booln thy wealth above tho world's

oonti ol,
If liolioH doom their cliurlwli lord a filavo?

Chill'd at thy proflonoo prrow tho utatoly halls,
Nor longer echoed to the Hong of mirth ;

Tho hand of art no moro adorn'tl thy wallrt,
Nor blitzed with honpitablo ftroH tho hearth.

On woll-worn hingon turns tho gato no more,

Nor social friendship hastes tho friend to
* moot ;
Nor, when tho acoustom'd guest drawn near

tho door,

Bitna. tho glad dogs, and gambol round his
foot

Sullen and storn Avaro sat alone,

lu auxiouH wealth amid tho joyless hall,
Nor hoods tho chilly hearth with IHOHH o'or-

grown,

Nor HOOS tho green slimo mark tho moulder-
ing walL

For doHolation o'or tho fabric dwells,

And timo, on lontlosH pinion, hurried by ;
Loud from her chirnnoy'd neat tho night-bud

yells,

And through tho bhattor'd roof descends tho
Hky.

Thou melancholy mansion ' much mino oyo
JDolightM to wander o'or thy Hullon ^loom,

And murk tho daw from yonder turret ily,
And muse how man himself crouton his
doom.

For horo, had jontioo roign'd, liad pity known
With ffonial power to sway Avaro'M breast,

Those treasured hoaps which fortune uiado IIIH

own,
By aiding miHory might himHolf have blost*

And charity had opod her goldou storo,

To work tho gracious will of Heaven into at,

Fed from her ffupcrflnx tho craving1 poor,
And paid adversity what Hoavou had lout.

Thon had thy turrets stood in all thoir state,
Then had tho hand of art adorn'd thy wall,

Swift on it« woll-worn hmgos turn'd i\w pato,
And friendly convorno choor'd tho echoing
hall.

Thon had tho village youth at vernal hour
Hung round with flowery wroatliH thy
fnondly gato,

And blost in gratitude that sovereign powor
That made tho man of mercy good as groat.

Tho traveller then to view thy towers had

stood,
Whilst babos had lisp'd their benefactor^

name,

And call'd on Heaven to give thoo every good,
And told abroad thy hospitable fame.

In ovory joy of hfo tho hours had Hod,
"Whilst time on downy pinionw Imvriod by,

'Till ago with Hilvor hairHluwl pr.wod thy head,
Woan'cl from tho world, and taught thoo
how to dio.

And, as thy liberal hand hod ahowor'd around
The ample wonlth by Itiviwh foituno given,

Thy parted .spirit l^wl that jiiHtioo found,
And aiigolH liymn'd tho rich man's soul to
heaven.

Itolmrt

.--XQm 1W4, DM 1843.

1219.— AFTKB BLEITHKIM.

It was a summer ovomiig,

Old Kawpar'H woik wan done,
And ho boioie his cotttigo door

Wan sitting in tho HUH ;
And by him Kportod on tho groou
HIB little grandchild Wilhohmiio

She saw hot bi oilier Putorkm
Roll Homotliiug largo and round

Wliich ho boHulo tho rivrilot
In playing there had found

Ho carno to ask what ho hod found ,

That was so largo and nmooth and round.

Old Kospar took it from tho boy,

Who atood expectant by,
And then tho old man tOaook IIIH Uciul,

And with a natural High
" 'TiH Homo poor follow'** nkidl," naid ho,
"Who foU in tho groat victory."

BOBT SOTTTHHT]

THE SCHOLAR.

[SEVENTH PHRTOr —

" I find them in tho gaiden,
For there's many here about ;

And often when I go to plough
The ploughshare turns thorn out

For many thousand men," said ho,

" Wore slain in that groat victory "

" Now tell us what 'twas all about,"

Young Poterkin ho ones ,
And httlo Wilholmino looks up

With wonder-waiting eyes ,
" Now toll us all about tho war,
And what thoy fought each other for "

" It was the English," Kaspar cried,
" Who put the French to rout ,

But what they fought eaoh other for
I could not well make out

But everybody said," quoth he,

" That 'twas a famous victory

My father lived at Blenheim then,

Ton little stream hard by ,
They burnt his dwelling to the ground,

And he was forced to fly •
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.

With fire and sword the country round

Was wasted far and wide,
And many a omlding mother then

And newborn baby died ,

But things like that, you know, must bo
At every famous victory

They say it was a shocking sight

After the field was won ,
For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun
But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory

Great piaise the Duke of Marlbro* won
And our good Princo Eugene "

" Why 'twas a very wicked thing ' "
Said little Wilhelmine

" Nay nay . . my httlo girl," quoth ho,

" It was a famous victory

And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win "

* But what good came of it at last P "
Quoth little Peterkin

" Why that I cannot tell," said he,

" But 'twas a famous victory."

Rrierb Soutliey.—Born 1774, DM 1843.

1220— THE SCHOLAR

My days among the Dead are past ,

Around me I behold,

Where'er these casual eyos arc oast,

The mighty minds of old

My never failing f nends are thoy,

With whom I converse day by day

With thorn I take delight m weal

And sock relief in woo ,

And while I undorwtand and fool

How much to thorn I owo,

My chocks havo often boon hodow'd

With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts arc with tho Dead, with tlioni

I live in long-past yoaiH,

Their virtues love, thoir fatiltn condemn,

Partake thoir hopes and fcarn,

And from thoir IOHHOUH sock and find

Instruction with an huuiblo mind

My hopes are with tho Dead , anon
My place with them will bo,
And I with thorn shall travel on
Through all Futurity ,
Yet leaving here a name, I trrwt,
That will not perish m tho dust.

ftob&rt Boutiw.—Bo™ 1774, DM 1843.

1221.— YOUTH AND AGE.

With cheerful step tho traveller

Pursues his early way,
When first tho dimly-dawning oast

Reveals tho riwing day

Ho bounds along his croffgy^road,

Ho haHtcnfi up tho height,
And all ho BOOH and all ho heart*

Administer delight.

And if tho mint, retiring Blow,

Boll lound itw wavy white,
Ho thinks tho moxuuiff vapours hido,

Some beauty from Ins night.

But when behind the wowtoru clouds

Dopaits tho fading day,
How wotiuly tho traveller

Pursues hiH evening way !

Sorely along tho craggy road

His painful foolHtopH arwvp,
And slow, with many a icoblo JMUHO,

Ho labours up tho stoop

And if tho miHtn of night cloHO round,

They fill IUH HOU! with f oar ;
Ho droadw nomo unseen precipice,

Some luddoii danger near.

So cheerfully tlooH youth begin
Life's pleasant ruonmitf Htago ;

Alas ' tho evening traveller JfaolH
The fears of wary ago !

Jtoberb Sout7u>y.—J)orn 1774, DM 1843.

1222.— THE COMPLAINTS OF TUB POOE

And wherefore do tho poor complain ?
The rich man a&k'd of me , . . .

From 1780 to 18GC ]

THE INCHCAPE BOCK.

[BOBT. SOtTTDCKY.

Oomo walk abroad with, me, I said,
And I will answer theo

'Twas evening, andllio frozen streets
Woro chocrloHS io behold,

And wo wore wrapt and coated well,
And yoi wo woro a-oold

Wo met an old baro-hoodod man,
UIH locks were tluu and wluto

I ask'd him what ho did abroad
In that oold wintoi's night

Tho cold waH keen, mdood, ho said,
But at homo no fire had ho,

And therefore ho htwl como abroad
To ask for charity

Wo mot a younsr baro-f ootod child,
And aho bogg'd loud and bold

I ank'd hor what H!IO did abroad
When tho wind it blow HO oold

Sho naid hor father waR at homo,

And ho lay wok a-bod,
And therefore wau it «hc was sent

Abroad to bog for bioad.

Wo saw a woman sitting down

Upon a wtono to vest,
Sho liud a baby at hor back

And another at hor brun&t

hoi why H!IO loitor'd there
When tho night-wmd wun so chill :
flho turu'd hor head and bado tho child
That horoani'd bohmd, bo ntjll ,

Thon told us that hoi IxuHbaud acrvod,

A Holdior, far away,
And thoroforo to hor panHh H!IO

WaH bogging back her way.

Wo mot a girl, her droHH wan loono,

And Hunkon was hor eye,
Who with a wanton'H hollow voico

Addross'd tho pasaoiB-by ,

hor what thoro wan in guilt
That could hor heart alluro
To flhamo, diaoaHo, and lato remorse *
Sho anwwor'd Mho was poor.

I turn'd mo to tho rioh man then,

"For Hilontly Htood ho, . . ,
You aHk'd mo why the poor complain,

And thoHo havo auHwor'd theo '

, Uusd 1843.

1223.— THE OLD MAN'S COMFOBTS.

"You aro old, Father William," the young

man onod,

" Tlio fow locks that aro loft you aro gray ;
You aro halo, Father William, a hearty old

man;
Now tell mo tho reason, I pray."

IC In tho days of my youth," Father William

replied,

" I romombor'd that youth would fly faat,
And abused not my health and my vigour at

first,
That I never might need thorn at last."

"You aro old, Father William," tho young

,

"And pleasures with youth pass away ;
And yet you lament not tho days that aro

gono,
Now toll mo tho reason, I pray "

"In tho days of my youth," Father William
rophocl,

" I romombor'd that youth could not last ,
I thoiight of the future ; whatever 1 did,

That I never might giiovo for tho past."

"You aro old, Father William," tho young

man cried,

" And life must be haafning away ,
You aro cheerful, and love to converse upon

death ;
Now toll mo tho reason, I pray."

" I am choorful, yonng man," Father William

icpliod,

" Lot tho cauHO thy attention engage ;
In tho dayw of my youth 1 lomonibor'd my

Cod,
And Ho hath not foiRoiton my ago "

Houthni —Horn 177 A, Dwd 1813.

122/1 — TnE INCIIOAPE BOOK.

No Rtir m the air, no stir in tho noa,
Tho nhip waH an HtLU an wlio could be,
Her Hailf* from hoavoii reouivodno motion,
Her kool was steady in tho ocean.

Without either Higu or Round of their shook
Tho wavos flow'd over tho Inohoapo Book ,
So littlo thoy rone, «o little they foil,
They did not move tho Inchoape Boll.

Tho good old Abbot of Aborbrothok
Had placed that bell on tho Inchcapo Book ,
On a buoy in tho Htoiiu it floated and Bwuug,
And over tho waves itn warning rung

Whon tho Book was hid by the surgon' swell,
Tho MarinorH hoard tho warning boll ;
And then thoy know the perilous Bock,
And blest the Abbot of Aborbrothok.

Tho sun in heaven was shining gay,

All things woro joyful on that day ,

Tho Boa-birds Hcroam'd as they wheel' d round,

And there was joyanoo in their sound.

Tho buoy of tho Inohoape Boll was HOOH
A darker speck on tho ocean groan ,
Sir Balpli tho Bovor walk'd hit* dock,
And ho iix'd hw oyo on tho daikor Hpook.

BOBT. SOUTHEY ]

BISHOP HATTO.

PKWTOH —

He felt tho chooiing powor of spring,
It made him whibtle, it mado him smg ;
TPia hoart was mirthful to excosa,
But the Bovor's mirth was wickerlncss.

His oyo wa** on the Inchcape float ,
Quoth ho, * My men, pnt out tho boat,
And row mo to tho Int*ht»apo Bock,
And I'll plaguo tho pnowt of Aborbrothok."

The boat IB lowor'd, tho boatmen row,

And to tho Inehcapo Book thoy go ,

Sir Balph bent over from tho boat,

And ho out tho bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sank the bell, with a gurgling sound,

The bubbles rose and burst around ,

Quoth Sir Balph, " The next who comes to

tho Book
Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok "

Sir Balph the Rover sail'd away,
He scour'd the seas for many a day;
And now giown noh with plunder' d store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shoro

So thick a haze o'oispreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high ,
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On tho deck tho Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land
Quoth Sir Balph, " It will be lighter soon,
For theie is the dawn of the rising- moon "

"Can'st hear," said one, "the breakers roar?
For methmks wo should bo neai tho &hoie ,
Now where wo are I cannot toll,
But I wish I could hear the Inchoape Bell "

They heai no sound, the swell is strong ;
Though tho wind hath fallen, they drift

along,

Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock
Cried they, " It is the Ihchoapo Book '"

Sir Balph the Bovor toio his hair,
He curst bm' ;el± in his despair ,
The waves rush in on every side,
The ship is sinking beneath tho tido,

But even in his dying f oar
Ono dreadful sound could tho Bover hoar,
A sound as if with tho Inohcapo Boll,
The fiends bolow wore ringing his knoll

Itolert Soutlwy — Born 1774, DM 1843.

1225.— BISHOP HATTO

The summer and autumn had boon so wot,
That m wmtor the corn was growing yet ,
'Twas a piteous sight to BOO all around
Tho gram lie rottang on the ground

Every day tho wtarnng poor
Crowded around Bishop HaUo'n door,
For he had a plentiful la«t year'H htoro ,
And all the neighbourhood could toll
His granaries woro furnish' d well

At last Binhop Hatto appointed a day
To quiot the poor without delay ,
He bade them to his groat barn repair,
And they should havo food for tho wiutcnr
there

Bejoicod such tidings good to lioar,
The poor folk flock' d from far and noar ,
Tho great barn was full as it could hold
Of women and children, and young and old.

Then when ho saw it could hold no more
Bishop Hatto ho mado fast tho door ,
And while for moroy on ChriHt thoy call,
He set fire to tho barn and burnt thorn all

" I* faith, 'tis an oxcollont bonfire ! " quoth ho,
" And tho country is greatly obliged to mo,
For ridding it in thoso times forloiu
Of rats, that only consume tho coin."

So then to his palaoo returned ho,

And he sat down to supper inomly,

And he slept that night like an innocent

man,
But Bishop Hatto uovor slept again.

In tho raormnft as ho onlor'd tho liall,
Whore his picture hung againut tho wall,
A sweat hko death all over him nuno,
For tho rats had eaten it out of tho frame.

AD ho look'd thoro caiuo a man from tlio

farm,

Ho had a countenance wluto wiUi alarm ;
" My lord, I opou'd your gnuuirioH thin morn,
And the rats had catoii all your corn/'

Another came nuuung presently,
And ho waa polo an palo could bo,
"Fly ! my Laid Bwhop, fly," quoth IIP,
" Ton thousand rats arc coming Lhih way—
Tho Lord forgivo you for yontorday ' "

"I'll go to my tower on tho Ithiuo," replied

ho,

" Tis tho safo«L place in Oormaiiy ,
Tho walls are luyli, aud tho HlioroH avn Htocp,
And tho Htruam IH htronpr, aud tho watu?

doop."

BJLshop Hatio fearfully haHtcu'd away,
And ho cross' d tho Rhino without dolay,
And roaoh'd IUM towor and barr'd wiUi <jaro
All tho windows, doorn, and luopholtuj thoro.

He laid him down aud oloHOd hit* oyow,
But soon a Hcroam niado him arino ;
Ho Htarted, and Haw two oyon of llamo
Ou his pillow from whonoo tho Horoaming

from 1780 to 1866.]

MART, THE MATD OF THE INN.

SOUTHIVY.

Ho listen' d and look'd; it was only tho cut,
But tlio Bishop ho grow moro fearful for

that,

For she sat screaming, mod with fear,
At tho army of rats that was drawing near

For tlioy have swum over tho rivor BO deep,
And thoy have climb1 d tlio shoios BO steep,
And up tlxo towot their way IH botil
To do tho work for which thoy woro sent.

Thoy aro not to bo told by tho dozon or

score,
By thousands thoy oomo, and by myiiada and

moro;

Such numbers had never boon hoard of bofoio,
Such a judgment had nevor been witnoss'd of

yoro

Down on his knees tho Bishop foil,

And faster and faster hw beads did ho toll,

As louder and loudor drawing- uoar

Tho gnawing of their tooth ho could hoar

And in at tho windows, and in at tho door,
And through tho walla helter-skelter thoy

pour,
And down from tho colling, and up through

tho floor,
From tho right and tho lof l, from behind and

before,
From within and without, fiom above and

below,
Aiid all at onoo to tho Binhop thoy go

Thoy liavo whottod their tooth against tho

stones,

And now tlioy piok tho Bishop's bones ,
Thoy gnaw'd tho nosh from every limb,
For thoy woro sent to do judgment on. him,
fttbcrt Souths —Horn 1774, Jlwd 1843,

1226.— MAftY, THE MAID OF THE INN,

Who IK yonder poor maniac, whoso wildly

fix'd oyos

Seom a heart overcharged to express P
Sho weeps not, yet often and deeply she

Highs ;

Sho never complains, but her silonoo implies
The composure of settled distress*

No pity who looks for, no alms doth she

Book,

Nor for raiment nor food doth she caro :
Through her tatters tho winds of tho winter

blow bleak

On that Withor'd breast, and her weather-
worn check
Hath tho hue of a mortal despair.

Tot cheerful and happy, nor distant tlio day,

Poor Mary tho Maniac hath boon ,
Tho traveller remembers who joumoy'd tliia
way

No damsol so lovely, no doinnel *>o gay,
As Mary, tho Maid of tho JJXQ

Her cheerful addresw flll'd tho guests with

delight

As she wolcom'd them in with a smile
Hor heart was a airaiigor to childish affiitfht,
And Mary would walk by tho Abbey at

night

When tho wind whistled down tho dark
aisle.

Sho loved, and young Richard had settled tho

day,

Anil sho hoped to bo happy for life ,
But "Riciiaid was idle and worthless, and

thoy
Who know him would pity poor Muiy and

say
That she was too good for hiw wife.

'Twas in autumn, and Fitormy and dark was

tho night,

And fast woro tho windows and door ;
Two guests sat enjoying tho fire that burnt

bright,

And, smoking in silence with tranquil delight,
They listen1 d to hoar the wind roar.

"'TiB pleasant," cnod one, "seated by tho

fireside

To hoar tho wind whudlo without "
" Wlmt a nijipht lor tho Abboy ' " hit* oomrado

rophud,
"Motlnnlcs a imtn'H courage would now bo

well tried,
Who should wander tho nunw abouL.

I myself, like a schoolboy, nhould tremble to

hoar

Tho hoarHo ivy shako over my head j
And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by

foar,

Somo ugly old abbot's grim spirit appear,
For this wand might awaken tho dead I "

" I'll wager a dinner," the other ono cnod,
" That Mary would venture there now "
"Then wager and lose'" with a sneer ho

replied,
"I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her

side,
And faint if sho saw a whito cow."

"Will Mary this charge on her courage

allow P"

His companion exclaimed with a smile ;
"I flhall won — for I know sho will venture

there now

And earn a now bonnet by bringing a bough
From tho older that grows in the ui*tlo "

With fearless good-humour did Mary comply,

And her way to the Abboy she bout ,
Tho night was dark, and tho wind wai, hiHh,
And as hollowly howling it swept through tho

sky,
Sho shiver' d with cold as sho wont.

3OBT. SOUTHBT ]

ST. BOMTJALD.

[SBVMNTH PERIOD. —

O'or the path so well known still proceeded

the maid,

Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight ,
Through the gateway she enter' d, she felt not

afraid,
Tet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their

shade
Seem'd to deepen the gloom of bho night.

All around her was silent save when the rude

blast

Howl'd dismally round the old pile ,
Over weod-oover*d fragments she fearlessly

pass'd,

And arrived at tho innermost rum at last,
Where tho elder-tree grew in the aisle

Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly

drew near,

And hastily gathered the bough ;
When the sound of a voice seem'd to nso on

her oar,

She paused, and she listen'd intently, in fear,
And her heart panted painfully now

The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her

head,

She listened, nought else could she hear ;
The wind fell, hei heart sunk in her bosom

with dread,
For she heard in the ruins distinctly the

tread
Of footsteps approaching her near.

Behind a wide column half breathless with

fear

She crept to conceal herself there
That instant the moon o'er a daik cloud

shone clear,
And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians

appear,
And between them a coipso they did bear.

Then Mary could fool tho heart-blood curdle

cold,

Again the rough wind hurnod by —
It blew off tho hat of the ono, and bohold,
Even closo to tho feet of poor Maiy it

roll'd,—
She felt, and expected to dio.

" Curse the hat ' " he exclaims. " Nay, come

on tul wo hide

Tho dead body," his comrade replies.
She beholds them in safety pass on by her

side,

She seizes the hat, foor her courage supplied,
And fast through the Abbey she flies.

She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at tho

door,

She gazed in her terror around,
Then her bmbs could support their faint

burden no more,
And exhausted and breathless she sank on the

floor,
Unable to utter a sound.

Ere yet hor palo lips could tho story import,

For a moment tho hat mot hor view ;
Hor oyes from that object convulsively flturt,
j«or — what a cold horror then thriUM through

hor heart
When the naino of hor Richard who know T

Where tho old Abboy stands, on tho Common

hard by,

His gibbot IB now to bo noon ,
His irons you fttill from the road may oxpy ;
Tho traveller beholds thorn, and thiukn with

a sigh
Of poor Mary, tho Maid of tho Inn.

Robert SoutJwj.—Vom 1774, Diod 1843.

1227— ST. BOMITALD.

One day, it matters not to know
How many hundred yearn a#o,
A Frenchman stopt at an inn door *
The Landlord oamo to welcome him arid chat

Of this and that,

For he had noen tho traveller there before.
"Doth holy Bomuald dwell
Still in his coll?"

Tho Traveller ask'd, "or is tho ol<l man

deadP"

"No ; he has loft his loving floolc, and \vo

So groat a Christian never moio Hhall HPO,"

Tho Landlord answor'd, and ho whook IUH

hoad
i " Ah, sir, wo know his worth !

If evor thoro did livo a Hauit on earth !

Why, sir, ho always UHO<! to wi»oi a nlmt

Foi thuty days, nil HOUSOIIM, day and night.

Good man, ho know it WHM not ritflit
For Dust and AH!IOS to fall out with

Dnt'

And thon ho only lmn# it out in tho rah),
And put it on again.

Thoro has boon poriloua work
With him and tho Dovil thoro in yonilor

coll;

For Satan used to manl him liko a Tmk.
Thore thoy woidhl womotimoH %ht,
All through a wmtor*H night,

From sunset until tuorn.
Ho with a orosH, tho I)<wl with IUH liorn ;
Tho Dovil Bpittiiig firo with might find main,
Enough to make St. Miuhaol half afraid .
He splashing holy water till ho made

Hit* red hiclo hiHft again,
And tho hot vapour fill'cl tho Kmokiug coll.
This wan HO common that his fatso bocurno
All black and yellow with tho brixnHtono

flame,

And thon ho nmolt . . . O dear, how lie did
smell '

Then, sir, to BOO how ho would mortify
The flesh ! If any ono had dainty faro,

From 1780 to J8GG/]

A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.

LAM

Good man, ho would oomo there,
And look at all tho delioato things, and

cry,

"Obolly, belly,
Yon would bo gormandizing now, I

know;

Bat it shall not bo so !

Homo to your broad and water, home, I toll
yo'"

" But," quoth tlxo Travollor, *' wherefore did

ho loavo
A flock that know MB saintly worth so

well?"
"Why," Raid tho Landlord, "Sir, it so

befell

Ho hoard unluckily of our intent
To do him a groat honour ; and you know
Ho was not oovetoua of f amo bolow,
And so by stealth ono night away ho wont."

" "What might tins honour bo ? " tho Travollor

onod,

" Why, air," tho host replied,
" "Wo thought perhaps that ho might one day

loavo us ;
And thon should atrangcrs havo

Tho good man's grave
A IORH liko that would naturally gnovo us,
For ho' 11 bo mode a Haiut of, to bo wuro
Thoioioio wo thought it prudont to

secure

IflH iclu'H while wo might ,
And HO wo moant to strangle luiu ono wght."
ttoltcrl tferttl/wy — JtowMM, DM 1843.

1228.— TO HESTEK.

When maidens such as HoHtor dio,
Olioir ploco yo may not well supply,
Though yo among a thousand try,
With vain endeavour.

A month or moro aho hath boon dead,
Yet cannot 1 by foroo bo lod
To think upon tho wormy bod,

And hor together. •

A springy motion in hor gait,
A wwxiff step, did indicate
Of prido and joy no common rato,
That 'iluwh'd hor flpirit

J know not by what name beside
T ali all it coll — if 'twas not pride,
It was a joy to that allied,
Sho did inherit

ITor parents hold tho Quaker rule,
Which doth tho human fooling oool ;
But she was train' d m Nature's school j
Nature hod blent hor.

A, witking eye, a prying mind,
A heart that HtJrs, JH hard to bind,
A hawk's keen Hight yo cannot bhnd,
Ye could not Hoetor.

My sprightly neighbour ' gono boforo
To that unknown and silent shore,
Shall we not moot, as heretofore,
Somo summer morning,

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
Hath struck a bliss upon tho day,
A bliss tliat would not go away,
A sweet foro- warning P

Clwrlcs Laml.—Born 1775, Died 1835.

1229 —A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.

Hay tho Babylonish cuxso

Straight confound my stammering vorso,

If I can a passage see

In thin word-perplexity,

Or a fit oxproHsion find,

Or a language to my mind

(Still tho phraso is wide or scant),

To tnJko loavo of thoe, Oroat Plant 1

Or in any terms relate

Half my love, or half my hato »

For C hato, yet love thoe so,

That, wluchovor thing I show,

Tho plain truth will seem to bo

A conHtiain'd hyperbole,

And tho passion to proceed

Moro fiom a iinstioBH thau a wood.

Sooty retainer to the vxno,
Bacchus' bluck sorvaiit, nogi'o fine ;
Sorcerer, that inak'Ht us doto upon,
Thy bognmod complexion,
And, for thy pernicious Hake,
Moro and greater oaths to break
Than roolaimM lovers toko
'Gainnt women : thon thy siege dost lay
Much too in tho female way,
"While thou suck'st the lab'rmg "breath
Foster than kisses or than death.

Thou in such a cloud dost bind us,
That our worst foo« cannot find us,
And ill fortune, that would thwart us,
Shoots at rovers, shooting at us ;
While oaoh man, through thy hoight'niilg

steam,

Does like a smoking Etna soem,
And all about us does express
(Fancy and wit in nchost dross)
A Sicilian fruitfuluess.

Thou through such a mist tlost Bhow UB,
That our best friends do not know us,
And, for those allowiM. featiiron,
Duo to reasonable croaturos,
Likon'st UH to fell Clumoras,
MonHtorn that, who aoo UH, fear us ;
Worse tlian Corboraa or Geryou,
Or, who iJrnt lovod a cloud, Ixion.

Iiao«hus wo know, and wo allow
His tipsy ritoH. But what art tnoa,

LAMB ]

THE OLD FAMILIAR

JL'EIUQt).-

That but by reflex caust show
What his doity can do,
As the false Egyptian spell
Apod ihe true Hebrew miracle P
Some few vapours thou mayst raise,
Tho woak brain may servo to amaze,
Bui to tho reins and nobler heart,
Canst nor life nor heat impart

Brother of Baoohus, later born,
The old world was sure forlorn
Wanting thoo, that aidost more
Tho god's victories than before
AIL his panthers, and tho brawls
Of TT»B piping Bacchanals.
These, as stale, we disallow,
Or judge of thee meant only thou
His true Indian conquest art ,
And, for ivy round his dart,
The reformed god now weaves
A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.

Scent to match thy rich perfume
Ohemio art did ne'er presume ,
Through her quaint alembic strain,
None so sov'reigu to the brain :
Nature, that did in theo excel,
Framed again no second smell.
Roses, violets, but toys
For the smaller sort of boys,
Or for greener damsels meant ;
Thou art the only manly scent.

Stinking* st of the stinking kind,

Filth of the mouth and fog of tho mind,

Africa, that brags her foison,

Breeds no such prodigious poison ,

Henbane, nightshade, both together,

Hemlock, aconite

Nay, rather,

Plant divino, of rarost virtue ;

Blasters on the tongue would hart you.

'Twas but in a sort I blamed thoo ,

None o'or prosper 'd who defamed theo ;

Irony all, and foign'd abuse,

Such as perplox'd lovers use
At a need, when, in despair

To paint forth their faiiest fair,

Or in part but to express
That exceeding comeliness
Which their fancies doth so strike,
They borrow language of dislike ,
And, instead of Dearest Miss,
Jewel, Honoy, Sweetheart, Bliss,
And those forms of old admiring,
Call her Cockatrice and Siren,
Basilisk, and all that 's evil,
Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil,
Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor,
Monkey, Ape, and twenty moro ,
Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe —
Not that she is truly so,
But no other way they know
A contentment to express,
Borders ao upon excess,
That they do not nghtly wot
Whether it be pain or not.

Or, as men, conHfcram'd to part
With what '« noaront to their hoart,
Whilo thoir SOMOW'S at tho height,
Lose discummation quite,
And their hasty wrath lot fall,
To appease thoir frantic gall,
On tho dialing1 thing whatever,
Whence they fool it death to aovor,
Though it bo, as they, porforco,
Guiltless of tho sad divoroo
For I must (nor let it griovo tlioo,
Fiiondhost of plaDtH, that I iiiuHi) loavo

thoo,

For thy sake, Tobacco, I
Would do anything but clio,
And but aook to oxtond my days
Long enough to King thy praino.
But as she, who once hath boon
A king's oonHort, in a quoon
Ever aftor, nor will bato
Any tittle of hor ntato,
Though a widow, or divorced,
So I, from thy converse forced,
The old name aiicl htylo retain,
A light Kathonno of Hpain ,
And a seat, too, 'mongnt tho joyn
Of tho blent Tobacco ioyH ,
Whore, though I, by Hour physician,
And debarred tho full fruition
Of thy favourn, I may catch
Some collateral swootu, and nnatoli
Sidelong odoura, that givo lifo
Like glances fiom a noighbour'a wife ;
And stall live in tho by-plaooH
And tho suburbw of thy graoon ;
And in thy bordora take delight,
An unconquor'd Canaanito.

b.—Uoru 1775, Dutl 1835.

1230— TUB OLD FAMlLIAtt PAOKh.

I havo had playmates, T have harl oompnnionii,
In ray days of childhood, in my joyful Holiool-

All, all are gone, tho old familiar

I havo boon laughing, I luivo Ixwm ojtrouHinjr,
Drinking lato, Hitting luto, with my boHom

oronioH j
All, all aro gono, tho old familiar fawn.

I lovocl a lovo onn(>, faivcwi, amnMf? women ;
oHOfl aro hor doorH on xuo, 1 niuBt not HCO

hor;
All, all aro gono, tho

I havo a friend, a kinrlor friend IHLH no man ;
Liko on ingrato F loft my friorul abruptly ;
Loft him, to rauno on tho old familiar fuooH.

Ghoat-liko I paced round tho IwtmtH of my

childhood ;
Earth floom'd a <losort I WOK bound to

traverse,
Socking to find tho old familiar faoofl*

THE G-IJPSY'S MALISON.

LAMB.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a

brother,
Why woit not tliou born in my father's

dwelling ?
So might wo talk of tho old familiar faces——

How Homo thoy have diod, and some they have
loft mo,

And some are token from mo , all are de-
parted;

All, all are gone, tho old familiar faoes.

GJwrloa Lamb — -Bow 1775, DM 1835.

1231.— ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON
AS BORN.

I saw whore in tho shroud did lurk

A curious framo^of Nature's work ,

A flow'rot crushed in tho bud

A nameless piece of Babyhood

Was in her cradle-coffin lying ;

Eactmct, with soaroo tho sense of dying1

So soon to exchange tho imprisoning womb

For darker closets of tho tomb '

She did but opo an eye, and put

A clear beam forth, then straight up shut

For tho long dark ne'er more to HOG

Through glares of mortality.

liiddlo of dowtmy, who can Kliow

What tliy nhoit vimt meant, or know

Wliat thy errand hero below P

Shall we Hay, that Nature blind,

Chook'd her hand, and changed her Hiind

Ju«t whou she had exactly wrought

A finiHh'd pattern without fault P

Could Hho flag, or could Mho tiro,

Or laok'd flho the Promethean firo

(With her nine moons' long workings

siokon'd)

That should thy little limbs havo quicken' d P
Lambs HO firm, thoy floom'd to assure
IJJto of health, and days mature .
Woman's Holf in miniature !
Limlm BO fair, thoy might supply
(ThomHelvoH now but cold imagery)
Tho sculptor to make Beauty by.
Or did tho stern-eyed Fate descry
That babo or mother, one must die ,
So in mercy left the stock
And out tho branch ; to save the shook
Of young yoarH widow'd, and tho pain
When Single State comos back again
To tho lone man who, reft of wife,
Thenceforward drags a maimed life ?
The economy of Heaven is dark,
And wisest clerks havo miss'd the mark
Why human buds, like this, shotdd fall
More brief than fly ephemeral
That has his day ; while shrivell'd crones
Stiffen with ago to stocks and utonoH ;
And crabbed two the conscience soars
In sinners of an hundred yearn.
— Mother's prattle, mother's kiss,
Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss :

Kites, which custom doom impose,

Silver bolls, and baby clothes ,

Coral redder than thono lips

Which pale death did late ecliptic ;

Music framed for infants' glee,

Whistle never tuned for thoo ;

Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have

them,

Loving hearts were thoy which gave them.
Let not ono bo missing ; nurse,
See them laid upon tho hoarse
Of onfant slain by doom perverse.
Why should kings and nobles have
Pictured trophies to their grave,
And we, churls, to thoo deny
Thy pretty toys with thoo to ho —
A more harmless vanity P

Glwrlos Zomb.—! -Jiorn 1775, Died 1835.

1233.— THE CHASTENING.

Array* d— a half-angelic sight—-
In voHts of pure baptismal white,
Tho mother to tho Font doth bring
Tho little holplosH, namolosH thing
With huaUos aoft and mild carosmng,
At onoo to got — a uaiuo and blosHin^.
Close by the babo tho piioht doth htand,
Tho cloanmng water at law hand
Which xniiHt aHHOil tho woiil within
From ovory htam of Adum'H win
The infant oyon the inyutic Hoonon,
Nor known what all tliis wondor moans ;
And now ho Hmilon, an if to Buy,
" I am a Christian mode thin (lay ; "
Now frighted cliiigH to nurno'H hold,
Shrinking from tho water cold,
WhoHO virtues, xightly undorHtood,
Are, as Bethencb'H watorn, good
Strange words— The World, Tho Flosh, The

Devil—

Poor babo, what can it know of evil ?
But wo must Hilontly adore
MyHtorious tnithn, and not explore.
Enough for him, m after tunou,
When ho Hhall read thoHo artlcna rhymes,
If, looking back upon thin day
With quiet conscience, ho can flay,
" I have in part redoom'd tho pledge
Of my baptimnal privilege ,
And more and more will strive to Hoe
All which my sponsors kiud did thou re-
nounce for mo "

Chcurle$ Lamb.— Born 1775, Died 1835.

1233.— THE (HPSY'S

" Suck, baby, suck ! mother's love /r°ws by

giving,
Drab, tho swoot founts that only thrive by

CHAB&ES LAMB.]

CHILDHOOD

[SEVENTH PEBIOD —

Black manhood comos, when riotous guilty

living-
Hands thee the oup that shall be death in

tasting'.

Kiss, baby, kias ' mother's lips shino by
losses,

Choke the warm breath that elso would fall
in blessings •

Black manhood comos, when turbulent guilty
blisses

Tend thee the kiss that poisons 'mid caress-
ings.

Hang, baby, hong ' mother's lovo lovos such

foroes ,
Strain the fond neok that bends still to thy

oTrpgpmg •
Black manhood oomes, when nolent lawless

courses
Leave thee a spectacle in rudo air swinging "

So sang a wither' d beldam energetical,
And bann'd the ungmng door with lips pro-
phetical

OTwwZes Lamb — Som 1775, Died 1835.

1234 —CHILDHOOD.

In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse
Upon the days gone by , to act in thought
Past seasons o'er, and be again a child ,
To sit in fancy on the turf-clad slope,
Down which the child would roll, to pluck

gay flowers,
Make posies in the sun, which the child's

hand

(Childhood offended soon, soon reconciled,)
Would throw away, and straight tako up

again,
Then fling them to the winds, and o'er the

lawn

Bound with so playful and so light a foot,
That the press'd daisy scarce declined hor

head

C7wwfes Lamb —Born 1775, Died 1835.

*235 — STAFFA.

Staffa, I scaled thy summit hoar,

I pass'd beneath thy arch gigantic,
Whose pillar'd cavern swells the roar,
When thunders on thy rocky shore
The roll of the Atlantic.

That hour the wind forgot to ravo,

The surge forgot its motion,
And every pillar in thy cave
Slept in its shadow on the wave,
•tfnnppled by the ocean.

Then the past ago before me came,
When 'mid the lightning's sweep,
Thy isle with its basaltic framo,
And every column wroath'd with flamo,
Burnt from tho boiling deep.

When 'mid lona's wrecks meanwhile

O'er sculptured graves I trod,
Whore Time had strown each mouldering

aisle
O'er saints and kings that roar'd tho pile,

I hail'd the eteinal God
Yet, Staffa, more I folt liis presence in iliy

cave
Than where lona's cross roso o'er tho wonlom

wave.

WMam Sotlwby.'—Born 1757, DM

1236.— APPBOAOH OF SAUL AND HIM
GUABDS AGAINST THE PHILIP

TUNES

Hark ' hark r tho clash and olang
Of shaken cymbalo cadonomg tho pace
Of martial movement regular , tho swell
Sonorous of tho brazen trump of war ;
Shrill twang of harps, soothed by mdodioiw

chime

Of beat on silver bars , and sweet, in gauHG
Of harsher instrument, continnouH flow
Of bieath, through flutes, in symphony with

song,
Choirs, whoso match' d voices fill'd tho ale

afoi

With jubiloo and chant of triumph hymn ;
And over and anon irrognlor burnt
Of loudont acclamation to oach host
Saul's stately advance proolaim'd. Bcforo

him, youths
In robos nucomot for swiftness; oft thoy

struck
Thoir staves against tho ground, and waru'd

the throng
Backward to distant homage. Next, IIIH

strength

Of chonotw roll'd with oaoli an aririM band ;
Uatth groau'cl afar hcmnath thcur iron whcwls :
Part arm'd with H<jytho for battles part

adorn'd

For triumph. Nor thorn wanting a lod train
Of fltoodn in rj<jh oapariHcm, for Kliow
Of Rolomn ontry. liound about tho king,
Warriors, IUB watch and ward, from (wry

tribe

Drawn out. Of thoHo a tliou«aud
Of flizo and o-omclinoHH abovo thoir poorH,
Pndo of then raoo Jiaduwit thoir armour :

Homo

In wlvcr coflod, «oalo ovnr Hftiilo, thai j)ltty7d
All pliant to tho litlicmoHH of tho limb ;
Some maol'd in twistfld gold, link within link
Flexibly nngorl and fittwl, that tlio «yo
Beneath the yielding panoply purauod,

From, 1780 to 1866.]

sojsra OF THE

When act of war tho strength of man pro-
voked,

Tlio motion of tho musclon, as they work'd
In rise and fall On each loft thigh a sword
Swung in tho 'broidor'd baldric ; each right

hand
Grasp' d a long-shadowing spear lako thorn,

their chlofn

Array 'd; savo on thoir shields of solid ore,
And on thoir holm, tho gravoi*s toil had

wrought

Its subtlety in rich device of war ;
And o'er thoir mail, a robo, Punicoan dyo,
Qraoofully play'd , where tho wmg'd shuttlo,

shot

By cunning of Sidoman virgins, wovo
Broiduro of many-col our 'd figures rare
Bright glow'd the sun, and bright tho bur-
nish'd mail
Of thousands, jangod, whoso pace to song

kept time ,
And bnght tho glai e of spears, and gleam of

crests,

And flaunt of banners flashing to and fro
Tho noonday beam. JBonoath thoir coming,

earth.

Wide glittor'd. Soon afar, amidst tho pomp,
Gorgeously xnail'd, but more by pudo of port
Known, and superior Htatnro, than rich trim
Of war and ri^al ornament, the king,
Throned in timmphal car, with tropMos

graced,

Stood eminent, Tho lifting of his lanco
Shono hko a sunbeam. O'er his armour

flow'd

A robo, imperial mantle, thickly starr'd
With blozo of orient gems; the clasp that

bound

Its gathered folds hits amplo chest athwart,
Sapphire ; and o'er his casque, whero rubies

burnt,
A cherub flamed and waved his wings in gold.

£ri%0fy<--Jforift 1757, DuuZ 1833.

1237. — SONG OF THE "VTBGINS

OELEBfcATJTSTfl THE VICTORY.
Daughters of Israeli praise tho Lord of

HOHtH '

IJroak into song ' With harp and tabret lift
Your voices up, and weavo with joy tho

dance ;

And to your twinkling footsteps toss aloft
Your arms ; and from tho flash, of cymbals

shako

Sweet clangour, measuring the giddy masse.
Shout yo ! and yo ' make answer, Saul hath

slain
His thousands; David his ton thousands

slain.
Sing a now song. I saw them in thoir

rage;
I saw tho gleam of spears, tho flash of swords,

That rang against our gat OH. Tho warders'

watch
Ceased not. Towor answov'd tower . a warn-

ing voioo

Was heard without; tho cry of woo within .
Tho shriek of virgins, and tho wail of her,
Tho mother, in her anguish, who fore- wept,
Wept at the breast her babe as now no more.
Shout yo ' and yo 1 make answer, Saul hath

His thousands; David his ton thousands

slain
Sing a now song Spake not the insulting

foe?

I will pursue, o'ortako, divide the spoil
My hand shall dash thoir infants on tho

stones ;
Tho ploughshare of my vengeance shall draw

out

The furrow, whero tho towor aud fortress rose.
Beforo my chariot Israel's chiefs shall clonk
Thoir chains. Each side thoir virgin daugh-

ters groan ,
Erewhilo to woavo my conquest on thoir

looms.
Shout ye ! and yo ! make answer, Saul hath

slam
His thousands , David his ton thousands

slain.
Thou hoard's!, 0 God of battle ' Thou,

whoso look
Snappoth tho spear in sunder. In thy

strength

A youth, thy chosen, laid thou- champion low
Saul, Saul purHUOS, o'ortokoH, dividos tho

spoil,
Wreathes round our nooks these chains of

gold, and robos
Our liuaba with floating crimson. Then re-

joice,
Daughters of Israeli from your cymbals

shako
Swoot clangour, hymning God ! tho lord of

Ho»ts 1
To! shout! and yo1 moke answer, Saul

hath slain
His thousands ; David his ton thousands

slam.
Such tho hymned harmony, from voices

breathed

Of virgin mraHtrols, of each tribe tho prime
For beauty, and fine form, and artful touoh
Of instrument, and skill in danoo aud Hong ;
Choir auHwenng choir, that on to Gibo&h led
The victors book in triumph On each nook
Play'd chains of gold ; and, shadowing thoir

charms

With colour like tho blushes of tho morn,
Itobos, gift of Saul, round then light limbs,

in tOHH

Of cymbals, and tho many-mazed dance,
Floated hko roseate clouds. Thus, thoHO

came on
In donee and song ; then, multitudoH that

swoird

Tho pomp of triumph, and in circles ranged

61

W. 1. BOWLBS.]

TO TIME.

[SEVENTH PERIOD,—

Around the altar of Jehovah, brought
Freely their offerings , and with one accord
Sang, " Glory, and praise, and worship unto

God"
Lend rang the exultation. 'Twas the

voice

Of a free people from impending chains
Bedeem'd; a people proud, whose bosom

boat

With fire of glory and renown in arms
Triumphant Loud the exaltation rang.
There, many a wife, whoso ardent gaze

from far
Singled the wamor whose glad eye gave

back
Her look of love. There, many a grandsire

held

A blooming boy aloft, and 'midst the array
In triumph, pointing- with his staff, exolaim'd,
" Lo, my brave son' I now may die in peace."
There, many a beauteous virgin, blushing

Flung back her veil, and, as the warrior came,
HaaTd her betrothed. But, ohiefly, on one

alone
All dwelt.

Wilkcm 8otheby.—Born 1757, Died 1833.

1238— TO TIME

0 Time ' who know*st a lenient hand to lay
Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly

thence

(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
The faint pang stealost, unperoeived, away ,
On thee I rest my only hope at last,
And tihmk when thou hast dried the bitter

tear

That flows in vain o'er all my soul held
dear,

1 may look book on ovory sorrow past,

And meet life's poacoiul evening with a

smile —

As some lone bird, at day's departing hour,
Sings in the sunbeam of the transient

shower,

' Forgetful, though its wings are wot the while
Yet, ahl how much must that poor heart

endure

Which hopes from thoo, and thee alono, a
cure1

W. L. BwUs.—Bcnn 1762, DtecJ 1850.

1239.— HOPE.

As one who, long by wasting sickness worn,
Weary has watch'd the lingering night, and

heard,
Heartless, the carol of the matin bird

Salute his lonely porch, now first at morn

Goes forth, leaving his melancholy bod ;
He the green slope and level moadow VIOWH,
Delightful bathod in nlow oHGoniluitf dowM ,

Or marks the clouds that o'er the iiioiuibiuu'H

In varying forms, fantastic wander wLufco ,
Or turns his ear to every random soii«r
Heard the green river's winding marge

along,
Tho whilst each sonse w nioop'd in still

delight

With such delight o'er all my heart I fod
Sweet Hope I thy fragrance puro and hoaling
incense steal.

W. L. Xowlto.—Born 17G2, Dwl 1850.

1240— THE GREENWICH PENSIONERS.

When evening listen' d to iho dripping our,

Forgetting the loud city's coasolonH roar,

By the groon banks, whoro ThainoH, with

conscious pndo,

Reflects that stately structure on IIIH tudo,
Within whose walls, as ihoir long labour,*

close,

The wanderers of the ocean find ropoHO,
Wo wore in social case the hours away,
The passing1 visit of a amnincr'a day.

Whilst some to range Iho broozy hSll aro

gone,

I linger' d on the river's marge alono ;
Ming-led with groups of ancient naiZorfl gray,
And watch'd tho last bright sunshine ntual

away.

As thus I mused amidst tho various train
Of toil-worn wanderers of tho ponlouH main,
Two sailors — well I murk'd them (rw tlio

boam

0£ parting day yet linger' <1 on tho Htroam,
And the Run Runk behind ilio nhiwly ruuxdj)—
Haston'd with tottoring footntopH to tho

boach.

The one had lost a limb in NHo'H dronxl fight;
Total eohpso hod voiTd tho othor'H night
For over ! As I drow xuoio ormorw uoiir,
I stood intent, if they should Hpoak, to hear ;
But neither Haid a word ' Ho who wa« blind
Stood as to feel tho comfortable wind
That gently lifted hiH gray hair . IIIH faoo
Seoxn'd then of a faint nrrudo to woitr tho

trace.

The other fix'd hifl gazo upon tho light
Parting; and when tho Htm had vaninli'd

quite,
Mothought a startiing toar that Hoavon might

Unfelt, or felt with transient iondornoss,
Came to his aged oyos, and touch' d his chock 1
And thon, as meek and silont as boforo,
Back hand-in-hand they went, and loft tho
shore.

From 1780 to 1806 1

AT OXFORD, 1780.

f W. L.

AH they doportod through, iho unheeding

crowd,

A caged bird sung from tho casement loud $
And then I hoard alone that blind man Bay,
" Tho muHic of iho bird is sweet to-day ' "
I said, " O Hoavonly Father ' none may know
Tho cause those havo for sdlonoo or for wo ! "
Horo thoy appear heart-stricken or resign'd
Amidst tlio unheeding tumult of mankind

Thoro is a world, a puro unolondod ohmo,
Whore thoro is neither gnof , nor doath, nor

time'
Nor loss of friends ! Perhaps when yonder

bell

Boat slow, and bade the dying day farewell,
Ere yet the glimmering landscape sunk to night,
Thoy Uaought upon that world of distant

light,

And when the blind man, lifting light his hair,
Felt the faint wind, ho raised a wanner

prayer ;
Then wigh'd, as tho blithe bird sung o'er hia

hood,
" No morn will shine on mo till I am dead ! "

W. L 8uwlos.—Born 1762, DM 1850.

1241 —THE GREENWOOD

Oh ' when 't is summer woatlior,
And the yellow boo, with fairy Hound,
Tho watorH cloai IH humming round,
Ajad tho cuckoo amgu unHcou,
And tho leaven are waving green —

Oh 1 thon 't is Hweot,

In Homo retreat,
Fo hoar tho murmuring dove,
With those whom on earth alone wo love,
And to wind through the greenwood together.

But whon 't iH winter weather,

And OTOSSOB grieyo,

And friends deceive,

And rain and gleet

Tho lattice boat, —

Oh 1 thon 't is Hwoet

To Hit and sing
Of tho friends with whom, in tho days of

Spring,
Wo room'd through tho greenwood together.

W. L. /fowto^-Jtom 1702, JML 1850.

1242.— COME TO THESE SCENES OF
PEACE.

Come to those soonos of peace,
Whore, to rivers murmttnng,
Tho swoot birds all tho Summer sing,
Where oaios, and toil, and sadness cease I
Stranger, does ihy heart deplore
Friends whom thou wilt soo no more ?
Does thy wounded spirit prove

Pangs of hopeless, Rovor'd lovo ?
Thee, tho atroam that guslios (dour —
Thee, tho birds that carol noar
Shall soothe, as silent thou dost Ho
And dream of thoir wild lullaby ;
Como to bless tlioRo scones of poaoo,
Where oarofi, and toil, and Hadiioss oooso.
W. L JiowlMn—tiomt, 1702, Dml 1850.

1243— ON T1113 FUNEKAL OF
CEAJRLES I,

AT NIGHT IN BT aaOUQJn'8 CHAFBL,
WIKDSOB

Tho oastlo clock hod toll'd midnight,
With mattook and with B]>odo —

And silent, by the torches' light—
His corpse in earth we laid.

The coffin bore his name ; that thoso

Of other yearn might know,
When earth its secret riioulcL disclose,

Whoso bones wore laid bolow.

" Poace to tho dead ' " no children sung,

Slow pacing up tho nave ,
No piayors woro rood, no knoll was rung,

As deep wo dug hiH grave

Wo only hoard tho winter' H wind,

In many a mi lion gout,
As o'er tho opc»ii grave inclined,

Wo murmured, " Dust, to tltwi i "

A moonbeam from the ttroh'M height
Btroom*d, aw wo plaood tlio Htono

Tho long aiHloH ntiirtotl into Jig hi,
And all the wiudows aliono,

We thought wo saw the bannora thon

That nhook along tho wallu,
Whilst the Had filiation of mailed men

Were gassing on tho stalls*

'T is gone '—Again on tombn defaced

Sits dorknoHH more profound ,
And only by tho torch wo traced

Tho shadows on tho ground.

And now tho olulling, freezing air

Without blow long and loud ,
Upon our knees wo bwjathed one prayer,

Whore ho slept in his shroud.

Wo laid the broken marble floor, —

No name, no troco appears !
And when we cloned tho sounding door,

Wo thought of him with tears

W. Li. Howies.— tfow 1702, JMcti, 1850.

1244.— AT OXFORD, 1*80.
Bereave mo not of Fancy's shadowy dreams,
Wnich won my heart, or whon tho gay

career

Of Ho begun, or when at times a tuar

61*

W. L. BOWLBS.]

WRITTEN AT TTNEMOTTTH.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

Sat sad on memory's cheek — though loftier

ttemes

Await th' awaken'd mmd, to the high prize
Of wisdom, hardly earn'd with toil and

pain,

Aspiring patient ; yet on life's wide plain
Left fatherless, where many a wanderer sighs
Hourly, and oft onr road is lone and long,
'T weie not a crime, should we a while

delay

Amid the sunny field ; and happier they

Who, as they journey, woo the charm of song,

To cheer their way — toll they forget to woop,

And the tired sense is hush'd, and sinks to

sleep.

W. L. Bowles.— Born 1762, Vied, 3850.

1245.— WRITTEN AT TYOTJMOTTTH,
NORTOTMBERLAND, AFTER A
TEMPESTUOUS VOYAGE.

As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side,
Much musing on the track of terror past,
When o'er the dark wave rode the howling

blast,
Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil

tide
That laves the pebbled shore . and now the

beam

Of evening smiles on the grey battlement,
And yon forsaken tow'r that Time has

rent —

The lifted oar far off with silver gleam
Is touch' d, and hush'd is all the billowy

deep'
Soothed by the scene, thus on tired Nature's

breast

A stillness slowly steals, and kindred zest ,
While sea-sounds lull her, as she sinks to

sleep,

Like melodies which mourn upon the lyre,
Waked by the breeze, and, as they mouin,
expire r
W. L. Bowles— Born 1762, Died 1850

1246.— AT BAMBOROTTGH CASTLE

Ye holy Towers that shade the wave-worn

steep,

Long may ye rear your aged brows sub-
lime,

Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Tune
Assail you, and the winter whirlwind's

sweep '
For far from blazing Grandeur's crowded

halls,

Sere Charity hath fix'd her chosen seat,
Oft list'ning tearful when the wild winds

beat

With hollow bodinga round your ancient
walls;

And Pity, at the daik and stormy hour
Of midnight, when the moon is hid on

high,
Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost

tow'r,

And turns her oar to each expiring cry ;
Blest if her aid some fainting wretch mi#ht

save,

And snatch him cold and speechless from the
wave

W. L BoivlGS—Bom 17C2, Dwl 1850

1247.— TO THE RIVER WENSBECK.

While slowly wanders thy soquostorM tttroam,
Wensbeok ' the mossy-acattor'd rookH

among,

In fancy s ear still making1 plaintive 8on#
To the dark woods above, that waving floom
To bend o'er somo enchanted Rpot ; removed
From life's vain coil, I listen to the wind,
And think I hoar mcok Borrow' H plaint,

reclined

O'er the forsaken tomb of one who loved ' —
Fair scenes 1 yo lend a plouHuro, long

unknown,

To "hi™ vho passes weary on his way — •
The farewell tear, which now ho tiinxH to

pay,
Shall thank you , — and whene'er of ploaHuroH

flown

His heart somo long-lost imago would ronow,
Delightful haunts ' he will remember you

W L Bowles.— Born 1702, DM 1850

1248— TO THE RJVJKR TWKED.

O Tweed' a stranger, that with wandering

feot
O'er hill and dale has journoy'd many a

mile

(If so his weary thoughts ho might beguile),
Delighted turnH thy boautoouH Hoonon to

greet

The waving bronchos that romantic bond
O'er thy toll banks, a Hoolhing charm

bestow ,
The murmurs of thy waxxd'riaff wavo

bolow

Seem to his oar tho pity of a friend.
Delightful stream ' though now along thy

shore,
Whon spring rotumH in all hor wontoc}

pride,
The shepherd's distant pipo IH hoard no more,

Tot hero with ponaivo poaoo could 1 abulo,
Far from tho stormy world's tumultuous

roar,
To muse upon thy banks at ovontido.

W. L. Bowles.--Born 1762, Died 1850

From 1780 to 18(50 ] TO THE BIVEJR CHERWELL,

1249— SONNET.

[W. L. "BOWLES.

Evening, as Blow thy placid shades descend,
Veiling with gentlest Irash the landscape

still,

Tho lonoly batttcmont, and farthest hill,
And wood, I think of these that have no

fnond,

Wlio now, perhaps, by melancholy led,
iYorn the broad blaze of day, whore plea-
sure flaunts,

Botiring, wander 'mid thy lonoly haunts
Unseen , and watch the tints that o'er thy

bod

Hang lovely, to thoir pensive fancy's oyo
Presenting- fairy vales, where the tired

mind

Might rest, beyond the murmurs of man-
kind,

Nor hoar the hourly moans of misery !
Ah ! boautoouH views, that Hope's fair gleams

the while

Should Himlo like you, and perish as they
sinilo '

W. L. Howies.— Horn 1702, DM 1850

1250— ON LRAVINO A VILLAGE IN
SCOTLAND

Clyhdalo, aw thy romantic vuloft T loavo,
And bid farowoll to each lutirmg hill,
Whoi o fond attention HGPUIH to linger still,
Tracing tlio broad bright landscape , much J

griovo
That, miuglud with tlio toiling crow I, no

moio

I may return your varied views to mark,
< )f rookH amid the* minnhmo tow'ring dark,
Of nvoTH winding wild, and mountains hoar,
Or castle gloaming on the distant stoop ! —
For tliis a look hack on thy hills I oast,
And many a nofton'd imago of tlio pant
Pleased I combine, and bid loiuombranco

koop,
To soothe mo with fair views and fanoios

rude,
When 1 pursue my pall) in flolitudo.

W. L. jBouitob— /fern 17C2, DM 1850,

1251. — SONNET.

0 Time ! who know'st a lenient hand to lay
Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly

thence

(Lulling to sod ropOHo the woaty sense)
Tlio faint pang ntoaloHt unpcrcoivod away ,
On thoo T rent my only hopo at last,
And think, when thou hast dried the bitter

toar

That flows in vain o'or all my soul held
dear,

I may look back on every Borrow past,

And moot life's peaceful evening with a

smilo—

As some lone bird, at day's departing hour,
Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient

fihow'r
Forgetful, though its wings are wot the

while •—
Yet ah' how much must that poor heart

ondure,
Which hopes from thoo, and thoo alone, a

cure!

W. L. JZoiolcs—lforn, 17C2, Dud, 1850.

*

1252.— ON A DISTANT VIEW OF
ENGLAND.

Ah ' from mine oyos the tears unbidden

start,
As thoo, my country, and the long-lost

sight
Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits

white

Abovo the wave, once more my boating heart
With eager hope and filial transport hails I
Scones of my youth, reviving galas yo

bung,
As when oiowhilo the tuneful mom of

JoyonH awoke amwlst yonv blooming val<M,
And lill'd with fwigranco cvory ptuutcul plum
Kl<ul arc thoHc hours, and all the JOYH thoy

Yet Hiill 1 gum, and count oacli riHing wavo
That })oars mo noarci to your hatmUt again j
If haply, 'mid thono woodH and vales HO fair,
Stningur to Poaco, £ yoi may uieot her there.
W. L JUowlM.—Jlwn 17C2, DM 1850.

1253 —TO THE KIVEK CIIEBWELL,
OXK)BD.

Cher well1 how pleased along ihy willow' d

hodgo
Erowhilo 1 Btray'd, or when tlio morn

began

To tmgo ilio <1iBtant tnrrot'H gloamy fan,
Or ovoniug glimmoi'd o'or the Highmg Hedge '
And now reposing on thy banks ouou mortj,
T bid the pipo larowoll, and that sad lay
Whoso music on xny melancholy way
I woo'd : amid thy waving willowH lionr
Seeking awhile to rest — till the bright sun
Of joy return, as when Heaven's boautoouH

bow
HoamH on tho uight-Btorm'B passing wmgH

below •

Whale' or betide, yot BOinothing hav(» T won
( )f solace, that may boar mo on HCVOUO,
Till JOvo'w last hunli whall cJoHO tho Hilont
Bcono.

W. L. BowU'S.—Hom 17Cii, DM 1850.

W. L. BOWLES ]

SONNET.

[SEVENTH PHM«»T> —

1254 —SONNET.

As one wlio, Ion** by wasting sickness worn,
Weary has watoh'd the hng'ring night, and

heard

Heartless tho oaiol of the matin bird
Salute his lonely porch, now first at morn
Goes forth, leaving hiB melancholy bed ,
He tho green slope and level meadow views,
Delightful bathed with slow-ascending dews j
Or marks the clouds, that o'er the mountain's

head

In varying forms fantastic wander white ;
Or turns his ear to every random song,
Heard the green river's winding marge along,
The whilst each sense is steep' d in still

delight.

"With such dehght, o'er all my heart I feel,
Sweet Hope ' thy frag canoe pure and healing
incense steal '

W. L. Bowles— Born 1702, Died 1850.

1255— APBIL, 1793

"Whoso was that gentle voice, that whispering

sweet,
Promised mothought long days of bliss

sincere P

Soothing it stole on my deluded ear,
Most like soft music, iihat might sometimes

oheot
Thoughts dark and drooping' 'Twas the

voice of Hope
Of love, and social scenes, it scem'd to

speak,

Of tiuth, of friendship, of affection meek ,
That, oh ' poor fneiid, might to life's down-
ward slope

Lead us in peace, and bless our latest hours
Ah mo ' the prospect sadden'd as sho sung ;
Loud on my staitlod ear the death-bell rung;
Chill daiknoss wrapt tho pleasurable bow'rs,
Whilst Horror, pointing to yon breathless clay,
"No peace bo thmo," oxclaim'd, "away,
away f "

W. L. Bowles.— Born 1762, JDiccZ 1850.

1256— NETLEY A3BEY.

Fall'n pile » I ask not what has been thy fate ,
But when tho weak winds, wafted from the

Through each rent arch, like spmts that

complain.

Oomo hollow to my ear, I meditate
'On this world's passing pageant, and the lot
Of -those who once full proudly in their

prime
And beauteous might have stood, till bow'd

by time

Or injury, their early boast forgot,
They may have fallen like thee : pale and
forlorn^ '

Their brow, besprent with thin hairs, white

as anow,

They lift, maiostio yot , as they would worn
This short-lived scene of vanity ami woo ,
Whilst on their sad lookrt smilingly ihoy bear
Tho trace of creeping ago, and tho dim huo of
care1

W L BowlM.—Born 17G2, Died 1850.

1257— MAY, 1793.

How shall I meet thoo, fcJunnnor, wont to fill
My heart with gladuc&H, when thy plo«inaiit

tide
First came, and on each coomb' H loinautio

side

Was heard tho distant cuckoo's hollow bill ?
Fresh flow'rs shall fringe tho wild brink of

tho stream,

As with tho songs of joyanoo and of hopo
The hedge-rows shall ring loud, and ou tho

slope

Tho poplars sparkle in tho tiattHioxit beam ;
The shrubs and lamolH which I Lovod to tout I,
Thinking their May-tide fragrance might

delight,
With many a peaceful charm, thoo, my bent

friend,
Shall put forth their green Hhoot, and choor

tho sight I
But I shall mark thoir huou with Hiuk'uiiitf

exes,
And weop for her who in tho cold gravo IIOH !

W. L. Bowki—lltim 1702, l>i,tl 1850.

1258— ON REVISITING OXPOUD

I never hoar the sound of thy "lad helix,
Oxford ' and chime havmonioiiH, luil I Kay
(Sighing to think how timo linn \vorn away),
" Some sjurit apoaks in tho nwoot tono that

swells,

Hoard aftor years of ulwoucio, from tho valo
Whoro Chorwoll wiudn." JVlouL true it

speaks tho talo

Of days departed, and itn voice rwjillH
Hours of dehght and hopo m tho tfiiy licta

Of lifo, and munyfriondH now HaaUnr'tl wulo
By many fatos — Poaco bo within thy wallrt '
1 have Hcarco heart to viwit th<»o , but yot,
Denied tho joy« Hought in thy Hhadod, —

domed

Each bettor hope, wnoo my poor * x* *x (hod,
What I have owed to thoo, layhoart can no' or
forgot I

W. L. Bowlw—linrn 1762, DM 1850.

1259— ON THE DJEATK OF TIIM BEY.
WILLIAH BENWELL,

Thou earnest with kmd looks, when on tho
brink

From 1780 to 1866 ]

SHEEP-FOLD.

[W. L. BOTOHS.

Almost of death I strove, and with mild

voioo
Didst Bootho wo, bidding my poor heart

rojoico,

Though wmitton HOPO Oh, I did htUo think
That thou, my fiiond, would' at tho first victim

fall

To tho atom. King of Terrors 1 thou didst fly,
By pity prompted, at tho poor man's cry ,
And soon thyself wort strotch'd beneath tho

pall,

Livid Infection's prey. Tho doep distress
Of her, who best thy inmost bosom know,
To whom thy faith was vow*d, thy soul was

truo,
What pow'rs of falt'ring language shall ex-

As friendship bids, I feebly breathe my own,
And sorrowing say, "Pure spmt, thou art
gone ' "

W . I*. Bowles.— Born 1762, £w& 1850

1260.— ON REVIEWING THE PORE-
GOING-.

I turn those loaves with thronging thoughtn,

and Ray,

" Alas ' how many friends of youth arc dead,
How many VIHIOIIH of fiur hope have flod,
Sinoo first, my MUHO, wo mot " — So Hpoodfl

away

Life, and its nhodowfi ; yet wo Hit and tung,
Strotch'd in tho noontide bower, ILH if tho day
Declined not, and wo yot might trill our lay

Beneath the ploamint morning' H purple WJUH;
That fan** ua, while aloft the gay clouds

shino!

Oh, ere tho coming of the long cold night,
Religion, may wo WOHH thy purer light,
That fttill shall warm us, when the tints

decline

O'er earth's dim homiHphero, and sad wo gazo
On the rain visions of our passing days I

W. L. JJowlw.— Born 1702, DfaZ 1850.

1261.— PATH OF LIFE.

Ob Lord — in sickness and in health,

To every lot resign' d,
Grant mo, before all worldly wealth,

A meek and thankful mind.

As life, thy upland path wo tread,

And often pause in pain,
To think of friends and parents dead,

Oh ' let us not complain.

Tho Lord may give or take away,
But nought our faith can move,

"While wo to Heaven can look, and say,
" Our Father hvos above."

W. j&. Bowles.— Born 1762 IhotL 1850.

1262.— SUN-RISE.

When from my humble bod I rise,

And see tho morning Sun ,
Who, glorious in the eastern sloes,

His journey has begun ;

I think of that Almighty power,
Which oalTd this orb from night ;

I think how many at this hour
Rojoioo beneath its light.

And then I piay, in every land,

Where'er tins light is shed,
That all who live may blons the hand

Which gives their daily bread.

W. L Bowlo«.—Born 1762, Died 1850.

1263. — SUMMER'S EVENING.

As homeward by tho evening star

I pass along tho plain,
I BOO tho taper's light afar

Shine through our cottage-pane.

My brothers and my sisters dear,

Tho child upon tho knee,
Spring, when my hastening steps they hear,

And Hmilo to welcome mo.

And when tho fiio is growing dun,

And mother's labours coaKO,
I fold my handH, and Hay my hymn,

And " lay mo down in poauo "

W. L. Bowlw.—Jlom 1702, Died 1850.

1264.— SPRING.— CUCKOO.

The bee i« lituomfog in the sun,

The yellow cowHlip sprangH,
And hark 1 from yonder woodland's aide,

Again the cuckoo sings I

" Cuckoo— Cnokoo I " no other note,

She sings from day to day ;
But T, though a poor cottage-^ url,

Can work, and road, and pray.

And whilst in knowledge I rojoico,
Which heavenly truth (linplnyH,

Oh ' let mo still employ my voice,
In my Redeemer's praiHo.

W. L. Bowlc»—Born 17C2, DM 1850.

1265.— SHEMP-FOLD.
Tho sheep were in the fold at night;

And now, a now-born lamb
Totrfcors and trembles in tho light,

Or bloats beside its dam

How anxiously tho mother trioR,

With every tender caro,
To screen it from inclement nkiofl,

Aoid the cold morning air 1

W. L. BOWIES.]

PRIMROSE,

[SEVENTH P^BIOB —

Tie hail-storm of tho east is fled,

She seems with joy to swell,
While ever as she bonds her head,

I hear the tinkling boll.

So whale for me a mother's prayer

Ascends to Heaven above,
May I repay her tender care

With gratitude and love.

W. L. Bowles.— Born 1762, Died 1850.

1266— PRIMROSE.

'Tis the first primrose ' see how meek,

Yet beautiful it looks ;
As just a lesson it may speak

As that whioh is in books.

While gardens show in flow'ring pride,

The lily's stately ranks,
It loves its modest head to hide

Beneath the bramble-banks.

And so the little cottage-moid

May bloom unseen and die ;
But she, when transient flowerets fade,

Shall live with Christ on high.

W. L. Bowles— 'Born 1762, Died 1850.

1267.— BIRD'S NEST.

In yonder brake there is a nest,
But come not, George, too nigh,

Lest the poor mother frighten5 d thence,
Should leave her young, and fly

Think with what pain, through many a day,
Soft moss and straw she brought ,

And let our own dear mother's caio
Be present to our thought.

And think how must her heart deplore,

And droop with grief and pain,
If those she rear'd, and nursed, and loved,

She ne'er should soo again.

W. If. Bowles.— Born 1762, Died 1850

1268. — WJUNTbUbS — EEDBEEAST,

Poor Bobm sits and sings alone,
When showers of driving sleot,

By the cold winds of winter blown,
The cottage casement boat.

Come, let us share our chimney-nook,
And dry his dripping wing ;

See, little Mary shuts her book,
And ones, " Poor Bobin, sing."

Methmks I hear his faint reply —
" When cowslips dock tho plain,

The lark shall carol in tho sky,
And I shall sing again.

But in tho cold and wintry day

To you I owe a dobt,
That in tho snnshino of tho May,

I never con forget."

W. L. Bowles— Bom 1702, DM 1850.

1269 —BUTTERFLY AND BEE.

Methought I hoard a butterfly

Say to a labouring boo,
" Thou hast no colours of tho nky,

On painted wings like mo 1 "

" Poor child of vanity, thoso dyo»

And colours bright and rare
(With mild reproof tho boo roplioB),

Are all bonoath my oaro.

Content I toil from morn to ovo,

And scorning idlonoflfi, —
To tnbes of gaudy sloth I loavo

Tho vanities of droHS."

W. L. Bowles— Born 17C2, Died 1850.

1270.— GLOW-WORM.

Oh ' what is this whiah rimios so bright,

And in the lonely place
Hangs out his nmall groou lamp at night,

The dewy bank to grace P

It is a glow-worm — Still and polo
It shines the whole night lon#,

When only stars, Oh ' nightingale,
Soom hst'ning to thy nong.

And so, amid tho world's cold night,

Through good report or ill,
Slunos out tho htunblo ChriHtian'H light,

As lonely and an still

W. L. Bowles.— Born 1762, DM 1850*

1271.— STAR-LIGHT FROST.

Tho stars ore shining over hoad,

In tho clear fronty night ;
So will thoy shine whon wo aro dood,

As oountloRH and OH bright.

For brief tho tuno and short tho Hpaco.

That o'on tho proudest havo,
BIG they conclude thoir various race

In silence and tho grave.

1780 to 1800]

IPHIGENIA AND AGAMEMNON.

[W. 8. LANDOR.

But tlio pure son! from dust shall rise,

.By our grand fctaviour'n aid,
When tho lout tiump shall iond tho skies,

And all tho stara shall fodo.

W. I*. Bovlea—. Born 17C2, Died 1850

1272-— THE MAID'S LAMENT.

I lovod him not : and yet, now he is gone,

I fool I am alono.

I chock' d him whilo ho spoko yet oould ho
speak,

Alas ' I would not chock
For reasons not to lovo him once I sought,

And woariod all my thought
To vox mysolf and him I now would give

My lovo could ho but live
"Who lately lived for mo, and when ho found

'Twart vain, in holy ground
Ho hid IUH face amid the shades of death r

I woRto for him my breath
Who wanted hiR for mo ; but mine returns,

And this lone bosom burns
With staflmg hoat, hoavmg it up in sloop,

And waking mo to woop
Toarn that litwl melted IUH soft heart for
years

Wept ho aa bitter toarH '
" Mcrtuful (lod ' " Hiioh was his latrwt prayer,

" Thoho may H!IO novor Hlitiro ' "
Quiotor IH Inn breath, IUH broawt more cold

Than dtiimoH in the mould,
Where oliildrou Hpoll athwart tho olmrohyturd
gate

IfiH namo and lifo'a brief dato.
Pray for him, jjontlo POU!H, whoe'er yo bo,

And oh 1 pray, too, for me 1

IV, B.

r-Jlwn 1775, Died 18G4.

1273.— THE BRIEtt.

My brier that amollodBt tweet,
When gontio Spring's firnt heat
Ilan through thy quiet vein** ;
Tliou that could'flt iiijoro none,
But would' fit bo left alono,
Alono thou loavost me, and nought of thino
remainH

What I hath no poot'fl lyro
O'er thoo, wwoot-breathing brior,

Hung1 fondly ill or well ?
And yet, mothinkB, with thoo
A poot'a Hympathy,

Whether in wool or woo, in life or death,
might dwell

ITard usage both must boar,
Fow handw your youth will roar,
Fow bosoms cherish you*

Yonr tender prime must blood
10] o you are awoet ; but, f rood
From life, you then aro prized, thus piized
are poets too.

W. 8. Lander— Born 1775, Died 1804.

1274 — CHILDBEN.

Children are what tho motliorH aro.
No fondost father's fondoHfc care
Can fashion so tho infant heart
As those cioativo beams that dart,
With all their hopes and foars, upon
Tho oiodlo of a filooping son.

His Btartled oyen with wondor roo
A father near kiin on hiH knoo,
Who wiKhos all tho whilo to trace
Tho mother m MM future face ;
But 't is to her alono upriso
His wakening arma ; to her thoao oyos
Open with joy aud not surprise.

W. S. JDaiicZorr-Boro 1775, DtccZ 18G4

1275 — IPIIIGENIA AND AGAMEMNON.

Iphigomu, when hho hoard her doom

At AuliH, and wlioti all boHido tho king

Had gone away, took Ilia light baud, and

mud:

e< 0 fatlior ! 1 am young and rory liappy.
T do not think the piouK CalohaH huoord
DiHtinotly what the gocUlona Hpako ; — old ago-
ObHOuroH tho HOUKOH. If my UUTHO, who know
My voioo HO well, Homotimes misundorHtood,
While I wan routing- on her knoo both arms,
And hitting it to make her rnuul my words,
And looking- in her faco, and who in mine,
Might not ho, alwo, hoar one word amiHH,
Spoken from BO far off, oven from Olympus ? "
Tho father placed MH cheek upon her head,
And team clropt down it, )>ut tho king of

meii
Replied not. Then the mnulon npako onoo

more
" 0 father ' Bayost thon nothing ? nearest

thou not

Me, whom thou over haul, until thiw hour,
Liston'd to fondly, and awakon'd nio """

To hoar my voioo amid the voioo of brrdH,
When it waH inarticulate an lliuirH,
And tho down doadenod it within tho noni ? "
Ho moved hot gently from him, niloni Htill ;
And thin, and tliiH alone, brought toaiK from

her,

Althoughwho sawfato noaror. Thonwith 'igliH
" I thought to have laid down my hair botoro
Benignant Artomifl, and not dimmed
Hor poliwhod altar with my virgin bloo<l ;
I thought to havo solootod tho wluto iloworn

I* LAETJDOU]

TO MACATOAY.

[SEVENTH PET&IOD.—

I1 o ploase tho nymphs, and to have asked of

each.

By name, and with no sorrowful rogrot,
Whether, since both my parents willed the

change,
I might at Hymen's feet bend my dipt

brow ;
And (after these who mind us girls the

most)

Adore our own Athene, that she would
Regard me mildly with her azure eyes —
But, father, to see you no more, and see
Your love, O father ' go ere I am gone ' "
Gently ho moved her off, and drew her back,
Bending his lofty head far over hers ,
And the dark depths of nature heaved and

burst

He turned away — not far, but silent still
She now first shuddered , for in him, so nigh,
So long a silence seem'd the approach of

death,

And like it Once again she raised her voioe .
16 0 father l if the ships are now detain1 d,
And all your vows move not the gods above,
When the "knife strikes me there will be one

prayer

The less to them , and purer con there bo
Any, or more fervent, than, the daughter's

prayer

For her dear father's safety and success ? "
A groan that shook Inim shook not his resolve.
An aged mipn now entered, and without
One word, stepped slowly on, and took the

wrist

Of the pale maiden She look'd up, and saw
The fillet of the pnest and oalm cold oyos
Then turn'd she where her parent stood, and

cried

" O father T grieve no more • the ships can
sail"

W S. Lwidor.—Born 1775, Died 1864.

1276.— TO 3SO.OAT7LAT.

The dreamy rhymer's measured snore
Falls heavy on our oars no more ,
And by long strides are loft behind
The door delights of womankind,
Who wage their battles like their loves,
In satin waistcoats and kid gloves,
And have achieved the crowning work
When they have truss'd and skewer' d a Turk.
Another comes with stouter tread,
And stalks among tho statelier dead :
He rushes on, and hails by turns
High-crested Scott, broad-breasted Burns ;
And shows the British youth, who no' or
Will lag behind, what Romans were,
When all the Tuscans and their Lars
Shouted, and shook the towers of Mars.

W. 8. Laffidor^Sorn 1775, Died 1864.

I277.— THE ONE GBAY HAIE.

The wisest of tho wiso
Listen to protty lios,

And lovo to hoar thorn told ,
Doubt not that Solomon
Listened to many a ono —
Some in his youth, and moro whon ho grow
old.

I never sat among

The choir of Windom's song,

But protty lies lovod I
As much as any king——
Whon youth was ou the wing,
And (must it thon bo told ? ) whon youth had
quite gono by

Alas I and I havo not
The pleasant hour forgot,

When ono pert lady said —
" O, Landor ' I am quito
Bewilder 'd with affright •
I seo (sit quiet now I ) a whito hair on your
head'"

Another, moro bonign,
Drew out that hair of mino,
And in hor own dark liuv
Protended sho had found
That ono, and twirl'd it round. —
Fair as she was, she novor WIIH BO fair.

W. 8. Landor— Born 1775, DM 18C4

1278.— 'TIS THE LAST BOSS OF
SUMMER.

'Tis the last roso of Summer

Loft blooming alono ;
All hor lovely companions

Arc faded and gone ,
No flowor of Jior kindred,

No roHobud in m#h,
To rofloot back hor bluwhoH,

Or givo sigh for Bigh !

I'll not leave thoo, tuou lozio ono,

To pine on tho fltom ;
Sincu tho ]ovoly are Bleeping,

Go, nloop thou with thorn.
Thuw kindly I aoattor

Thy IOU.VOH o'or tho bod
Whoro thy malon of tho jyardon

Lie suontloHH and dead.

So soon may I follow,

Whon frioiidBhipH decay,
And from LOVO'H Bhinia# oircio

Tho gomH drop away I
Whon trno hoarfcH lio withor'U,

And fond onoH aro flown, ,
Oh] who would inhabit

This bleak world alono P

Thomas Moore.— Horn 1780, JDwxtt852.

From 1780 to 18CG ] AND DOTH NOT A MEETING- LIKE THIS. [Tirop. MOOKB

1279.— WEEATJTE THE BOWL.

Wroatho tlxo bowl

With, flowers of soul,
Tlio brightest Wit can find us ;

We'll take a flight

Towards hoav'n to-night,
And loavo dull earth bolund us '

Should Love amid

The wreaths bo hid
That Joy, the enchanter, biings us,

No danger foar

Wlulo wine is near —
We'll drown him if ho stings us.

Than wroatho the bowl

With flowers of soul,
Tho brightest Wit can find us ;

We'll take a flight

Towaids hoav'n to-night,
And loavo dull oaith behind us '

'Twafl nectar fod

Of old, it's said,
Their JunoH, Jovos, Apollos ;

And man may brow

Hin nectar too ,
Tho nch receipt's as follows . —

Take wine like this ,

Lot lookn of bliHH
Around it well bo blended ;

Thou "bung Wit's beam

To warm tho btioum,
And thoio'n youi iioolur, splendid '

Ho wreathe tho bowl

Wath Aownrn of woul,
Tho brightoHt Wit can iiud UH ,

We'll tako u flight

Towards hoav'n to-night,
And loavo dull earth behind UH !

Soy, why did Time

His glaHH sublime
Pill up with nandn imwghtly,

When wmo ho know

Buns brinkor through,
And sparkles fur more brightly P

Oh, lend it us,

And, Binding thuB,
Tho glass in two we'd sovor,

Make ploaHuro glide

In double tide,
And fill both ends for ever !

Then wroatho tho bowl

With floworH of soul,
Tho brightest Wit oan find us ;

We'll tako a flight

TowardH hoav'n to-night,
And leave dull earth behind UH t
Tlwnas Jfoow.— Morn, 1780 DM 1852.

1280— FILL THE BTTMPEB FAIR.

Fill tho bumper fair '
Every drop wo sprinkle

O'er tho brow of care
Smooths away a wnnkLo.

Wit's olootrio flamo

Ne'er so swiftly I>U,RHOR
As whou through tlio ftumo

It shootH from brimming glasses.
Fill tho bumpor fair '

JjJvoiy drop wo sprinkle
O'er tho biow of care

Smooths away a wnnilo.

Sagos eon, thoy say,

Grasp tho lightning's pinions,
And bring down its ray

From the starred dominions : —
So wo, sagos, Bit,

Aawl 'mid bumpers bn«ht'uing,
From tho heaven of wit

Draw down all its lightning.

Would' Ht thou know what first

Made our souls inherit
Tins ennobling thirst

For WXUO'H celestial spirit P
It chanced upon that day,

When, as bards inform TW,
Prometheus stole away

Tho living iiros that warm u» :

Tho ouroloHS Youth, whon tip

To gloiy'w iount aHpiiing,
Took noi urn nor cup

To hulo the pilfor'd fire in —
lit it oh IIIH joy, when, round

Tho hiiUn of lion veil Hpying
Among tho wUrH, ho found

A bowl of ItaoehiiH lying '

Some di'opH ware in tlutt bowl,

f&omauiH of Itwt night'H ploasuro,
With which the Hparka of HOU!

JMIizM their burning trooHuro.
llonco tho goblet's sliowor

Hath Much spoils to win UH ;
llonco its mighty power

O'er that flame withiu us.
Fill tho bumpor fair '

Every drop wo sprinkle
O'er the brow of Garo

Smooths away u wi inkle.

Thomas Moore — Morn 1780, Died 1852.

DOTIl NOT A MEETING

LUCE Tins.

And doth not a mooting liku tlun make

amondH
Por all tho long yoarw 1'vo boon waud'rmg

away —
To see thus around mo my youth'** oiwly

friondn,

As fimilmg and kind M in that lui])py day P
Though haply o'er Homo of your brows, aH

o'er mine,
Tho snow-fall of Time may bo i.totUing — what

then?

THOS.

FRIEND OF MT SOUL.

[SEVENTH PEIMTOD —

Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wino,
We'll wear the gay tinge of Youth's roses
again,

"What soften'd romombranoos come o'er the

heart,

In gazing on thoso we've been lost to so long '
The sorrows, the joys, of which once they

were part,
Still round them, like visions of yesterday,

throng j

As letters some hand hath invisibly traced,
When held to the flame will steal out on the

sight,

So many a feeling, that long seem'd effaced,
The warmth of a moment like this brings to

light

And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide,
To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew,
Though oft we may see, looking down ontho

tide,
The wreck of full many a hope shining

through ,

Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers
That once made a garden of all the gay shore,
Deceived for a moment, we'll think them

still ours,
And breathe the fresh air of Life's morning

once more

So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most,
Is all we can have of the few we hold dear ,
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost
For want of some heait that could echo it, near.
Ah, well may we hope, when this short life

is gone,
To meet in some world of more permanent

bliss;
For a smile, or a grasp of tho hand, hast'mng

on,
Is all wo enjoy of each other in this

But, come, tho more raie such delights to tho

heart,
The more we should welcome, and bless thorn

the more;
They're ouis when we moot — they aio lost

when we part —
lako birds that bring Summer, and fly whon

'tis o'er
Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ore wo

drink,
Let Sympathy pledge us, through pleasure,

through pain,

That, fast as a. feeling- but touches ono link,
Her magic shall send it direct through iho

chain
Thomas Mow G— Born 1780, Died 3852.

1282.— FBTEND OF MY SOTTL.

Friend of my soul ' this goblet up —
'Twill chase the pensivo tear ,

'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip,
But, 0 ! 'tis more sincere.

Like her delusive beam,

'Twill steal away tho mind,
But like affection's (Iroam,

It leaves no feting- behind.

Come, twine tho wreath, thy brows toshado —

These flowers woio cnllod at noon ,
Like woman's love the roho will fiwlo,

But ah ' not half so soon
Foi though the flower's docay'd,

Its fragrance is not o'er ,
But onco whon love's botray'rt,

Tho hoait can bloom no more

Thomas Moore — J?mu 1780, Vied 1852.

1283.— GK> WHEBE QLOBY WAITS
THEE'

Go whoro glory waits Ihoo ;
But, while Famo olatos ihoo,

0 still remember mo »
When the praiso Ikon, mooteut
To thine oar is swoolost,

0 then icmcmbor mo '
Other arms may proRR thoo,
Dearer friends caroHR thoo —
All tho joys that blosa thoo

Sweotoi for may bo ,
But whon fnonrta aio ncarosb,
And whon joys aro doaront,

0 thon lomombor mo '

Whon, at ovo, thon rovoflt
By tho htar then IOVOH!,

0 thon remember uio I
Thmk whon homo returning1,
Bright wo'vo HOOU it Imimug,

O, thuH ruiaomlior mo !
Oft OH Hurmnoi oloHPH,
Whon thmo oyo rcposcfl
On itn lingering IX>MQH,

Onco BO lovod by tliw,
Think of hor who wovu tli^ni,
Hor who xnatlo tlico lovo thorn ;

0 thon remember mo I

Whon, around thoo <
Autumn loavos aro l

0 thon romombor mo '
And, at night,
On tho gay hearth td

0, still romombor mo !
Thon Bhonld miiHio, Htoulintf
All tho Houl of f oolinpr,
To thy hoart appealing1,

Draw ono toar from thoo —
Thon lot memory bring thoo
Strains I unod to sing thoo ;

0 thon romombor mo !

TJioinas Moore.— Bom 1780, DM 1852.

From 1780 to 1800 ]

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

[Titos. MOORHU

1284— FLY TO THE DESERT.

JTy to tho desert, fly with me —
Our Arab touts arc rudo for tlioo ,
But, 0 ' tho choice what heart can doubt,
Of tents with lovo, or thrones without 9

Our rooks are rough , but smiling there
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair —
Lonely and sweet, nor loved tho less
Por flowering in a wilderness

Our sands are bare , but down their slope
Tho silvery-footed antelope
As gracefully and gaily springs
As o'er the marble courts of kings.

Then oomo — thy Azab maid will be
Tho lovod and lono aoaoia-tioo —
Tho antelope, whoso foot shall bless
With their light sound thy loveliness

O ' there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through tho heart, —
AH if tho soul that minute caught
•Some tioasuro it through life hod sought ;

As if tho very lips and eyes
Predestined to have all our Bighs,
And novel bo forgot again,
Spaiklod and spoke bofoio UH thon !

So came thy every Blanco and tone,
"When first on mo they breathed and shone ,
New as if brought from othor spheres,
Yet welcome aw if lovod for yourH

Thou fly with me,— if them host known
No other flamo, noi folnoly thrown
A gem away, that thou hdtlHt Hworn
Should over in thy hoart bo worn ,

Oomo, if the lovo thou hast for me,
TH pure and fro»h as mine for thoo —
T'Yosh aw tho fountain under ground,
When first 'tin by tho lapwing found.

But if for mo thou dost fortuiko
Some othor maid, and rudely break
Her worshippM imago from its base,
To give to me tho rmn'd place —

Thon, faro theo well ; I'd rather make
My bower upon some ioy lako
When thawing suns begin to Hhino,
Than trust to lovo so f alao OH thino !

TJwmaa Moore.— JBom 1780, DM 1852.

1285. — THE HAKP THAT ONCE
THROUGH TABA'S HALLS.

Tho harp that onoo through Taia'u halls

The Houl of music shod,
Now hangs as muto on Tara's walls,

As if that soul woro fled

So deeps tho pride of former days,

So glory's thnll is o'er,
And hoarts that once boat high for praise,

Now foel that pulso no more.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright

The harp of Tora swells ,
Tho ohord alone that breaks at night

Its tale of ruin tolls
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,

The only tlu ob she gives
Is whon some heart indignant brooks

To show that still she live*)

TJiomas Mooro —Born 1780, Died 1852.

1286.— SONCK

As by tho shore, at break of day,
A vanquish'd chief expiring lay,
Upon tho sands, with broken sword,

He traced his faro well to the free ;
And, there, tho last Tuofinish'd word

Ho dying wrote, was " Liberty ' "

At night a sea-bird shriek' d tlio knell
Of him who thus for Freedom fell ,
Tho wordH ho wrote, ore evening oamo,

Woro oovoi'd by tho sounding sea, —
So paHH away tho cauno and namo

Of him who diOH for Liberty '

Thomas Mooro.—ttorH, 1780, Vwtl 1852.

1287.— 0 ! BKBATHE NOT HIS NAME.
O ' broatho not his name I lot ifc sleep in the

Wliero cold and nnhonor'd hi« relioa are laid ;
Sad, silent, and dork bo the tears that we

shod,
As tho night dew that falls on ilio grave o'er

lushoad

But tho night dow that folia, though in silence

it weopH,
Shall Brighton with verdure the grave where

ho sleeps ;
And the tear thai wo shod, though in secret

it rolls,
Shall long koop hiH memory groen in our

souls

Thomas Moore.— /tom, 1780, DKJC& 1852.

1288,— THOSE EVENING BELLS.

Those evening bolls ' thono evening bolla '
How many a talo thoir music tolls,
Of youth, and home, and that nwcot time
WHon last I hoard thoir soothing chime 1

THOS

ABBANMORE.

[SEVENTH FEUIOD —

Tho&o joyous hours are pasnod away j
And many a heait that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwofla,
And hears no more those evening "bells.

And so 'twill bo whon I am gone —
That tuneful peal will still ring on ,
Whilo other bards shall walk those dolls,
And sing your praise, swoot evening bolls

TJwmas Moore —Born, 1780, Died 1852.

1289.— AKBAOTIOBE.

0 ! Arranmore, loved Arranmore,

How oft I dream of thee '
And of those days when by thy shore

I wander'd young and free
Full many a path I've tned since then,

Through pleasure's flowery maze,
But ne'er could find the bliss again

I felt in those sweot days

How blithe upon the breezy cliffs

At sunny morn Fve stood,
With heart as bounding as the skiffs

That danced along the flood '
Or when the western wave grew bright

With daylight's parting wing,
Have sought that Eden in its light

Which dreaming poets sing —

That Eden where th' immortal brave

Dwell in a land serene —
Whose bowers beyond the shining wave,

At sunset, ofb are seen ,
Ah, dream, too full of saddening truth '

Those mansions o'er the ™fl-rp
Are like the hopes I built in youth —

As sunny and as vain J

Zftomoa Moore—Bom 1780, Died 1852

1290— MIRIAM'S SOTO.

Sound the loud timbrol o'or Egypt's dark soa '
Jehovah has tnumph'd — his poodle aro frco.
Srng— for the pndo of the tyrant is broken,
His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and

bravo,
How vain was their boasting ' — the Lord hath

but spoken,
And ohanots and horsemen are sunk in the

wave.

Sound the loud timbrol o'er Egypt's dark flea I
Jehovah has tnumph'd— his people aro free.

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord,
His word was our arrow, his bioath was our

sword1 —

Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
Of those she sent forth in the hour of her

pride P

For the Lord hath look'd out from his pillar of

glory,
And all her bravo thousands aro (lashM in

tho tide

Sound the loud timbrol o'or Egypt's clink soft '
Jehovah has tnumph'd, hiy people aro froo

Tlwnias Moore — Born 1780, Di^cd 1852.

1291 — ECHOES

How swoot tho answer Echo makoH
To Music at night

Whon, roused by luto 01 horn, sho wakow,
And far away o'or lawn« and lakoH
Goes answering light '

Yet Love hath oohoes truer for

And far more sweet

Than o'or, beneath tho moonlight's filar.

Of horn or lute or «oft pfnitar

The songs repeat.

'Tis when tho sigh, — in youth winooro
And only thon,

The sigh that's broathod for one to hoar-
Is by that ono, that only Doar
Breathed back again

27w>mos Hfoore.— Bom 1780, Dial 18&2.

1292.— THE LIGHT OF OTHEIt DAYH.

Oft in tho stilly night

Eio Rlumboi'H cluim has bound mo,
Fond Memory brmgti tho light
Of other du.y« oj ouncl mo •
Tho HmiloH, ttio toon*
Of boyhood'H yearn,
Tho wordH of Jovo tlion Hpokon ;
Tho oypR that shono,
Now (limmM and pfono,
Tho chooiful hoiii'lH now broken !
ThuH in tho HtiHy mghi

Ero fdumbor'H clxtiin haw l»ouncl iuo,
Sad Memory bringH the light
Of other days around mo.

Whon I roxnombor all

Tho fiiontlH HO ImkM togoilior
I've soon around mo fall
Like loaves in wintry weather,
I fool like ono
Who iroadH alone
Some banquet-hall doflortod,
WhoHO lights aro flod
Whoso garlands doart,
And all but he departed r
Thus jn tho stilly mght

Ero slnmbor's chain has bound tao,
Sad Memory bnngH tho light
Of other days around mo.

Thomas Moon—Born 1780, Died 18S2.

1780 to I860.] WAR SONG OK YICTOBT OF BETINNBNBTJRa [J. H. FJRBRK.

1293 —THE JOTJJBNEY ONWABD8.

As slow our ship her foamy track

Against tlio wind was cleaving,
Hor trembling pennant still look'd book

To that door i&lo 'twas leaving1.
So loth wo part from all we lovo,

From all tho links that bind us ,
So turn our hearts, as on we rovo,

To thoso we've loft behind us '

Whon, round the bowl, of vamsh'd yoartf

Wo talk with joyous seeming —
With smiles that might as well bo tears,

So faint, so sod their beaming ,
While memory brings us book again

Booh early tie that twined us,
0, Hwoot's the oup that circles then

To those we've loit bohmd TIB '

And when in other climes wo moot

Some IH!O or vale enchanting,
Whore all lookH flowery, wild, and sweet,

And nought but lovo is wanting ;
Wo think how groat bad boon our bliss

If Heaven had but aBWgn'd UR
To live and dio in Hoonos like this,

With some we've left behind us '

As travellers oft look back at eve

When eantwaid daikly flouig,
To gaze upon tliai light thoy loavo

Still faint }j(»luii(l thorn glowniy, —
So, wlion the clotse of ploiihuro'n (lay

To gloom hath near conmgn'd UH,
Wo turu to oatoli one fading ray

Of joy tliat'H loft behind UH.

TJwtnas Moore.-~lfam 1780, Died 1852.

1294.— MB. MUB3U.TJS PROPOSAL

IVo a proposal hero from Mr Murray.
Ho offers handsomely— 4ho money down ;
My dear, you might recover from your flurry,
Jn a nice airy lodging oat of town,
At Croydon, JQpHom, anywhere in Surrey,
If every wtanaa brings UH in a crown,
I think that I might venture to bespeak
A bedroom and front parlour for next week.

Toll me, my dear Thalia, what you think j
Your nerves have undergone a midden shock;
Your poor dear spirits have begun to sink ;
On Banstead Downs you'd muster a new

stock,

And rd be sure to keep away from drink,
And always go to bod by twelve o'clock.
We'll travel down thoro in the morning

stages;
Our versos giMT go down to distant ages.

And hero in town we'll breakfast on hot rolls,
And you shall have a better shawl to wear ;
Thoso pantaloons of mine are chafed in holes j
By Monday next I'll compaHS a now pair

Come now, fling up the cindorn, fytcli tho

coals,

And toko away tho things you hung to oi* ;
Set out tho tca-thmgH, and bicl Phoebe bring
The kettle up. Arms and tho Monks I siug

7. H Frere —Born 1700, Mod 1840.

1295 —-THE GIANTS AND THE ABBET.

Oft that wild untntor'd race would draw,
Led by tho Kolomn Round and sacred light,
Loyoiid tho bonk, beneath a lonoly flhaw.
To IiHton. all tho livuloii<* summer night,
Till deep, sorono, and reverential awe
Environ' d them with hilont calm delight,
Contemplating tho minster' 8 midnight gleam,
JRofloctort from tho clear and glofwy ntroaxu

But chiofly, when tho shadowy moon hod

shed

O'er woods and waters her myHtorioua lino,
Their passive hearts and vacant fancies fed
With thoughts and aspirations strange and

new,
Till their brute souls with inward working

bred
Dark Junta that in tho depths of instinct

grow

Hnl>j active — not from Locko'H iiHRoeiationH,
Nor David Hurtloy'H doctrine of vibrations

"Koch wa« HHhaniod to mention to tlio others

One half of fill tlio foolin^H that lie Colt,

Yot thnH livr oacsh would vonturo — " J-iHton,

brothorH,

Tt soonriH an if one hoard HoavoB*H ihunderH inolt
In music ! "

,/ //, Frerc.—tiom 1760,

1296.— WAU SONG ON THE VICTORY OF1

Tho gates were then thrown open,

and forth at once ilioy riiHh'd,
Tlio out])OHtfi of tho MooriHh liontB

back to tho ciuii]) wore puHli'd ,
Tho camp waH all in tumult,

and thoro was such a thunder
Of oymbolH and of druma,

aR if earth would oloavo in nundor.
Thoro you might see tho MootH

arming themselves in hofito,
And tho two main battles

how they were forming fast ;
Horsemen and footmen mixt,

a countless troop and vast.
The MOOTS are moving forward,

the battle soon muHt join,
" My men stand hero in order,

ranged upon a lino I
Let not a man movo from IU'B rau'ic

before I give the tugn,."

THOS CAMPBELL.]

HOPE TEIUMPHANT IN DEATH.

[SEVENTH PETJTOIX— —

Poro Boimuoz heaid tho word,

but ho conld not refrain,
Ho held the banner in his hand,

he gave his horse the rein ,
" You see yon foremost squadron there,

the thickest of the foes,
Noble Cid, God be your aid,

for there your banner goes I
Let fa™ that servos and honours it,

show the duty that ho owes."
Earnestly the Cid oail'd out,

" For heaven's sake be still ! "
Bermuez cried, 6 I cannot hold,"

so eager was his will
Ho spnrr'd his horse, and drove him on

amid the Moorish rout
They strove to win the banner,

and compass' d him about
Had not his armour boen so true,

he had lost either life or limb ,
The Old oail'd out again,

" Por heaven's sake succour him 1"
Their shields before their breasts,

forth at once they go,
Their lances in the rest

levelTd fair and low ,
Their banners and their crests

waving in a row,
Their heads all stooping down

towards the saddle bow.
The Cid was in the midst,

his shout was heard afar,
" I am Bui Diaz,

the champion of Bivar ,
Strike amongst them, gentlemen,

for sweet mercies' sake ' "
There where Bermuez fought

amidst the foe they brake ;
Three hundred banner' d knights,

it was a gallant show ;
Three hundred Moors they kilTd,

a man at every blow
When they wheel' d and turn'd,

as many more lay slain,
You might see thorn raise their lances,

and level thorn again
There you might see the breastplates,

how they were cleft in twain,
And many a Mooush shield

lie scatter' d on tho plain.
The pennons that were white

xnark'd with a crimson stain,
The horses running wild

whose nders had been slain.

J. H Frew—Born 1769, Diod 1846

1297.— .HOPE TETOMPHANT IN"
DEATH.

Unfading Hope! when life's last embers

burn,

When soul to soul, and dust to dust retain ;

Heaven to thy charge resigns tho awful

hour '
Oh' then thy kingdom comes! Immortal

Power'
What though each spdrk of oarth-born rapture

fly
The quivering lip, pale chook, and closing

eyo i

Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convoy
Tho morning droam of life's otornal flay —
Then, then, tho triumph an<l tho trance

begin'
And all tho Phooxux spirit burns witlmi '

Oh ' deep-enchanting- prelude to ropOHO,
The dawn of bhss, tho twilight of our woos !
Yet half I hear the parting spirit High,
It is a dread and awful thing to die '
Mysterious worlds, untravolTd by tho sun '
WTiere Time's far-wandoring tido has novor

run,
From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless

spheres,

A warning comes, unheard by other earn.
'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and

loud,

Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from tho clone! !
Whilo Nature hoars, with terror-mingled

trust,

The shook that hurls her fabric to tho dunl ;
And, like' tho trembling Hebrew, whou ho

trod

The roaring waves, and oallM upon his Oofl,
With mortal terrors olouds immortal blinfl,
And shrieks, and hovers o'or tho dark abyHB !

Daughter of Faith, awako, anno, illume
The dread unknown, tho chaos of tho tomb '
Melt, and dispel, yo spoctiG-doubtn, that

roll

Cimmerian darkness on tho parting Kotil '
Fly, like tho moon-oyocl homld of dimnay,
Chased on his night-Htood by tho Htar of day '
Tho stnfo is o'er — tho panfffl of Nattiro clcwo,
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er hot

woes.

Hark T as tho spirit oyos, with oa#lo gazo,
The noon of Heaven undazzlod by tho blaxo,
On heavenly winds that waft hor to tho Hky,
Float the swoot ionon of star-born nuriody ;
Wild as that hallowM onthom wont to hn.il
Bethlohom'a shophordw in tho lonoly valo,
Whon Jordan hush'd his wavow, and midnight

still
Watoh'd on tho holy toworH of Zaon hill I

Soul of tho just ! companion of tho dead !
Whero is thy homo, and whither art thou

fledP

Back to its heavenly eourco thy boinpr «oo«,
Swift as the coxnot wheols to whoncso he

rose,

Doom'd on his airy path awhile to bum,
And doom'd, like theo, to travel, and

return.—.'

from 1780 to 1806 ]

MATEBNAL CABE.

[Txios. CAMPBELL*

Hark! from the world's exploding contro

driven,
With, sounds that shook the firmament of

Heaven,

Careers tho fiery giant, fast and far,
On bickering wheels, and adamantine car ;
!From planet whirl'd to planet more remote,
He visits realms beyond the reach of thought ,
But, wheeling homeward, when his course is

run,
Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the

sun!

So hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd
Her trembling wings, emerging from tho

world ;

And o'er the path by mortal never trod,
Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God '

Thotnas Qcumpldl — Born 1 W, Iked IBM.

1298.— DOMESTIC LOVE.

Thy pencil traces on the lover's thought
Some cottage-homo, from towns and toil

remote,

Whore love and lore may claim alternate

hours,

With peace embosom* d in Idalian bowers '
"Remote from Imwy life's bewildered way,
O'er all his heart shall Taste and lioauty

sway,

Froo on tho sunny slope or winding shore,
With hormit-HtopH to wander and adoro '
There shall ho love, when genial mom

appears,

lake pensive Boauty Broiling1 in her tears,
To watch tho brightening rosos of tho Bky,
And muse on natuio with a poet's eye I
And when tho sun's last splendour lights the

doop,
Tho woods and wares, and murmuring winds

asleep,

Wliou fairy harps the Hesperian planet hail,
And tho lono cuckoo sighs along tho vale,
Hiu path shall bo whoro streamy mountains

swell
Their shadowy grandeur o'er tho narrow

doll;

Whore mouldering piles and forests inter-
vene,

Mingling- with darker tints tho living green ;
No circling hills his ravished oyo to bound,
Heaven, earth, and ocean blazing all around '
Tho moon is up— tho watch-tower dimly

burns™™"™

And down tho vale his sober step returns ,
But pauses oft as winding rooks convey
The still swoot fall of music far away ;
And oft he lingers from his home awhile,
To watch the dying notes, and start, and

smile '

Lot winter come ! let polar apiritfl swoop
The darkening world, and tempest-troubled

deep;

Though boundless snows tho wither' d heath

deform.
And the dim sun scarce wanders through the

storm,

Yet shall the smilo of social love repay,
With mental light, tho melancholy day !
And when its short and sullon noon is o'er,
The ice-chained waters slumbering on tho

shore,

How bright the faggots in his little hall
Blazo on tho hoarth, and warm the pictured

wall!
How bloat ho names, in love's familiar

tone,
Tho kind fair friend by nature mark'd his

own;

And, in the wavoloss mirror of hin mind,
Yiowis tho fleet years of pleasure loft behind,
Since when her empire o'or his heart began —
Since first he called her his before tho holy

man!

Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome,
And light the wintry paradise of homo ;
And let tho half-unourtainod window hail
Some wayworn man benighted in tho vale '
Now, while tho moaning night-wind rages

Hgh,
As swoop tho shot-stais down the troubled

sky,
Whilo fiery hosts in hoavon*s wide circlo

Play,

And bathe in lurid light the milky way ,
Safo from tho storm, tho meteor, and tho

shower,
Some ploaHing page shall charm tho solemn

hour,

With pathos Hhall command, with wit bogrulo
A gonorous tear of ongwah, or a sxailo !

CwmptclL—Born 1 Wf Died 1844.

1299 — MATEBNAL CARE.

Lo1 at tho couch whoro infant boauty

Bleeps,

Hoi Bilont watch tho mournful mother koops ;
She, while tho lovely babe unconscious lies,
Smiles on hot slumbering child with pensive

oyos,

And woavos a song of melancholy joy —
"Sloop, imago of thy father, sloop, my

boy

No lingering1 hour of sorrow shall bo thine $
No sigh that rends thy father's heart and

mine;

Bright as his manly wro, tho son Khali bo
In form and soul , but, ah ! inoro blost than

he'

Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial lovo, at last,
Shall sootho this aching heart for all tho

past —

With many a smilo my solitude repay,
And chase tho world's ungenerous aeons

away.

62

THOS. CAMTBBLL.]

BATTLE OF WYOMING.

[SEVENTH PERIOD. —

And say, when summon'd from the world

and ti.ee,

I lay my head beneath the willow tree ;
Wilt thou, sweot mourner! at my stone

appear,

And soothe my parted spirit lingering near P
Oh, wilt thou come, at evening hour, to

shed

The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed ;
With aching temples on thy hand reclined,
Muse on the last farewell I leave behind,
Breathe a deep sigh to mads that murmur

low,
And tMpfr on all my love, and all my woe P"

So speaks affection, ere the infant eye
Can look regard, or brighten m reply ;
Bat when the cherub lip hath learnt to

A mother's ear by that endearing name ;

Soon as the playful innocent can prove

A tear of pity, or a smile of love,

Or cons his murmuring task beneath her

care,

Or lisps with holy look his evening prayer,
Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear
The mournful ballad warbled in his ear;
How fondly looks admiring Hope the whole,
At every artless tear, and every smile !
How glows the joyous parent to descry
A guileless bosom, true to sympathy '

Thomas Campbell.— -Born 1777, Died 1844.

1300.— BATTLE OF WYOMING, AND
DEATH OF GEBx.KU.uE.

Heaven's verge extreme
Reverberates the bomb's descending star —
And sounds that mingled laugh, and shout,

and scream,

To freeze the blood, in ono discordant jar,
Bung to the pealing thunderbolts of war
Whoop after whoop with rack the ear

assail'd,

As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar ;
While rapidly the marksman's shot prevailed •
And ay, as if for death, some lonely trumpet

wailed.

Then looked they to the hills, where fixe

o'erhung

The bandit groups in one Yesuvian glare ;
Or swept, far seen, the tower, whose clock

Tmruncr. »

Told legible that midnight of despair.
She faini»-H3he falters not—the heroio fair,
As he the sword and plume in hasto array*d.
One short embrace— he clasp'd his dearest

care,
But hark ' what nearer wax-drum shakes the

glade*
Joy, joy I Columbia's friends are trampling

through the shade!

Then came of every race the mingled Kwitrm,
Far rung the groves and gleam' d tho midiught

grass

With flambeau, javelin, and naked arm ;
As warriors wheel' d their culvorinfl of brass,
Sprung from tho woods, a bold athletic masH,
Whom virtue fires, and liboity combines .
And first the wild Moravian yagers pass,
His plumed host tho dark Iberian joins ,
And Scotia's sword beneath tho Highland

•frhiH-Hfl shines.

And in the buskined hunters of tho door

To Albert's home with shout and cymbal

throng,
Boused by their warlike pomp, and mirth,

and cheer,

Old Outahssi woke his battle-song,
And, beating with his war-club oadonoo
Tells how his deep-stung indignation smartH ;
Of them that wrapt his house in fiamoa,

erelong

To whet a dagger on their stony hearts,
And smile avenged ore yet his oaglo spirit

parts

Calm, opposite the OhriHtian father rono,

Pale on his venerable brow its rayH

Of martyr-light tho conflagration thrown ,

Ono hand upon his lovely child ho luyH,

And one the uncover' d crowd to silence

sways;
While, though tho battlo-flash IB fantor

driven—

Unaw'd, with eyo unstortlod by tho blozo,
He for his blooding country prays to lloavon,
Prays that tho men of blood thomsolvon may

be forgiven.

Short time is now for giatulatmg flpoooh :

And yet, beloved Gertrude, ore began

Thy country's flight yon distant toworfl to

roach,

Look'd not on thoe tho rudest partisan
With brow rolaz'd to lovo? And murmurs

ran,
As round and round their willing1 rankn thoy

drew,
From beaut/a sight to shield tho liOHtilo

van.

Grateful on thorn a placid look Rho throw,
Nor wept, but as sho bado hor mother's rfravo

adieu!

Past was tho flight, and welcome soom'd tho

towor,

That lake a giant standttrd-boaror frown'd
Defiance on tho roving Indian power.
Beneath, oaoh bold and promontory mound
With embrasure omboss'd and armour

crown'd,

And arrowy frizo, and wodgod ravelin,
Wove like a diadem its tracery round
The lofty summit of that mountain groan ;
Here stood aeouro tho group, and oyod a

distant Scene,

From 1780 to 1866.]

BATTLE OP WYOMING

[Tnos.

A soeno of death' wlioro fires beneath tho

sun,

And blondod arms, and white pavilions glow ,
And for the business of destruction done,
Its reqinom tho war-horn seom'd to blow •
There, sad spectatress of her country's wo '
Tho lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm,
Hod laid her cheek, and olasp'd her hands of

snow
On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his

arm
Enclosed, that felt her heart, and hush'd its

wild alarm '

But short that contemplation — sad and short
The pause to bid each nmoh-lovod scene

adieu'

Beneath the very shadow of tho fort,
"Where friendly swords wore drawn, and

banners flow ,
Ah1 who could doom that foot of Indian

crow
Was near ? — yet thore, with lust of murderous

deeds,

Gloam'd like a basilisk, from woods in view,
Tho ambush' d fooman's eye — his volley

speeds,
And Albert, Albert falls ' tho dear old father

bloods 1

And tranced an giddy horror, Gertrude

swoon' d ;
Yet, whilo who oloHpH him hfoloHS to her

zone,
Say, buttit they, borrowed from her father's

wound,
ThoHO drops ? Oh God ' tho life-blood is her

owni
And faltering, on hor Waldogravo's bosom

thrown——
" Woop not, 0 lovo I " sho orios, «' to see mo

Thoo, Gertrude's sad stovivor, thoo alone
Heaven's poaoo commiserate ; for soaroo I

hood
Thoso wounds ; yot theo lo leave is death, is

doatb. indeed '

Clasp me a littlo longer on the brink

Of fate ' while I can fool thy door oareas ;

And when this heart hath ceased to beat— oh !

think,

And lot it mitigate thy wo's excess,
That thou hast boon to mo all tenderness,
And friend to more than human friendship

just

Oh ! by that retrospect of happiness,
And by tho hopes of an immortal trust,
God shall assuago thy pangs— -whon I am laid

in dust!

Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart,
Tho soono thy bursting tears too deep will

move,

Where my dear father took thee to his heart,
And Gertrude thought it ecstasy to rove

With theo, as with an angel, through tho

grove

Of peace, imagining hor lot was oast
In heaven, for ouis was not liko earthly

love.

And must this parting be our very lost P
No i I shall love thee still, when death itself

is past.

Half could I bear, methmks, to leave this

earth,
And thoo, more loved than aught beneath tho

sun,

If I had lived to smile but on the birth
Of one dear pledge But shall there then be

none,

In future times — no gentle littlo ono
To clasp thy nook, and look, roHomblrng mo P
Yot sooms at, ovon while life's last pulses

run,

A sweetness in tho cup of death to be,
Lord of my bosom's love ! to die beholding

thoo ' "

Hush'd wore hta Gertrude's lips ! but still

their bland

And beautiful expression soom'd to melt
With lovo that could not 'die ' and still his

hand

Sho proHHOH to tho heart no more that felt.
Ah, heart ' whoro onco each fond affection

dwelt,
And features yot that* bpoko a uoul moxo

fair.

Mute, gassing, agonizing an ho knolt—
Of them that stood encircling has donpair
Ho hoard some friendly words ; but know not

what they were.

For now to mourn their judge and child

omvGB

A faithful band. With solemn rites between
'Twas sung how they wero lovely in their

HTOH,

And in tjioir deaths had not divided boon
Touch'd by tho music and tho molting soono,
Wan scarce ono tearless oyo amidst the

crowd —
Stern warriors, resting on their swords, wore

soon
To voil their eyes, as pass'd oaoh much-loved

shrond —
While woman's softer soul in wo diHwolvod

aloud.

Then mournfully tho parting bugle bid

Its farewell o'er tho grave of worth and

truth j

Prone to tho dual afflicted Waldogravo hid
His faoo on earth ; him watch' d, m. gloomy

ruth,
His woodland guide but words hod none to

soothe

Tho gnof that know not consolation* fl name ;
Casting his Indian mantle o'er tho youth*

02*

THOS. CAMPBELL.]

TO THE EVENING STAB

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

He watch* d, beneath its folds, each burst that

came,
Convulsive, ague-like, across his shuddering

frame '

" And I could weep," the Oneyda chief

His descant wildly thus begun ;

" But that I may not stain with grief

The death-song of my father's son,

Or bow this head UL wo f

For, by my wrongs, and by my wrath,

To-morrow Areousfci's breath,

That fires yon heaven with storms of death,

Shall light us to the foe

And we shall share, my Christian boy,

The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy '

But thee, my flower, whose breath was given
By milder genu o'er the deep,
The spirits of the white man's heaven
Forbid not thee to weep .
Nor will the Christian host,
Nor will thy father's spirit grieve,
To see thee, on the battle's eve,
g, take a mournful leave

Of her who loved thee most .
She was the rainbow to thy sight r
Thy sun— thy heaven — of lost delight I

To-morrow let us do or die

But when the bolt of death is hurl'd,

Ah' whither then with thee to fly,

Shall Outalissi roam the world ?

Seek we thy once-loved home ?

The hand is gone that cropt its flowers ,

Unheard their clock repeats its hours ,

Cold is the hearth within their bowers :

And should we thither roam,

Its echoes and its empty tread

Would sound like voices from the dead '

Or shall we cross yon mountains blue,

Whose streams my kindred nation quafFd,

And by my side, in battle true,

A thousand warriors drew the shaft P

Ah ' there, in desolation cold,

The desert serpent dwells alone,

Where grass o'ergrows each mouldering bone,

And stones themselves to ruin grown,

lake me, are death-like old.

Then seek we not their camp , for there

The silence dwells of my despair 1

But hark, the trump ' to-morrow thon
In glory's fires shalt dry thy tears
Even from the land of shadows now
My father's awful ghost appears
Amidst the clouds that round us roll j
He bids my soul for battle thirst —
He bids me dry the last — the first —
The only tears that ever burst ,
From Outahasi's soul;
Because I may not stain with grief
The death-song of an Indian chief ! "

Thoma* Ocww/p^W.— -Bow 1777, JML 1844. ,

1301 —TO THE EVENING STAli

Star that bnngest homo the beo,
And sett'st the weary laborer iroo r
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,

That send'st it from abovo,
Appearing when Heaven's broath and brow

Are swoot as hers wo lovo

Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape's odours riflft,
Whilst, far off, lowing herds are hoard,

And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whoso smoko unaUrr'd

Curls yellow in the sun

Star of lovo' s soft interviews,
Parted lovern on thoo muRO ,
Their remembrancer in Hoavon

Of thrilling vows thou art,
Too delicious to be nvon,

By absence from the heart.

Thomas Campbell.— Born 1777, DM 18-J4.

1302.— SONG.

How delicious is tho winning
Of a kiss at Love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts aro
For the knot there's no untying r

Yet, remember, 'midst your woompr,
Love has bliss, but Lovo has ruoiutf ,
Other smiles may make you floklo ;
Tears for other charms may trickle.

Lovo ho comes, and Lovo ho tamon,
Just an fato or fancy carrion ;
Longest stays whon soroHi cluddcn ;
Laughs and flics whon protrnM and bidden,

Bind tho soa to dumber stilly ,
Bind its odor to tho lily ;
Bind the anpon no'or to quiver ;
Thon bind Lovo to last for ovcir'

Thomas

.— Born 1777,

1303,— LOCHIEL'S WARNING.
WIZARD— LOOHIKL.

WIZARD.

Loohiel, Lochiel ! bowaro of tho day

Whon tho Lowlands shall moot thoo in batilo

array I

For a field of tho dead rushes rod on my flight,
And tho dans of Cullodon aro scatter' d m

fight.
Thoy rally, they blood, for their kingdom an<l

crown i
Woe, woe to the riders that trample thorn

down!

From 1780 to 1866.]

LOCHIEL'S WARNING.

[Tuos CAMPBELJU

Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the

slain,
And their hoof -beaten bosoms are trod to tho

plain.
But hark! through tho fast- flashing1 lightning

of war

What stood to the desert flies frantic and far P
'Tis thino, oh GlonnlUn ' whose bride shall

await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the

gate.

A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ;
But its bridle is rod with tho sign of despair.
Weep, Albin ' to death and captr\iby lod —
Oh weep I but thy tears cannot number tho

dead;

For a merciless sword on Oulloden shall wave,
Cullodon that reeks with the blood of tho

brave.

LOCHIEL.

Go, preach to tho coward, thou death-telling

seer'

Or, if gory Cullodon so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight
This mantle, to cover tho phantoms of fright.

WIZARD

Ha! laugh' &b thou, Loohiel, my vision to

scorn ?
PrOud bird of tho mountain, thy plume shall

bo torn '

Say, rush' d tho bold eagle oxnltmgly forth
From his homo in tho dark rolling clouds of

Iho north ?
Lo1 tho death-allot of foemen oulapooding, he

rode

Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ;
But down lot him stoop from his havoc on

high!
Ah ! home let Him speed — for tho spoiler IB

nigh.
Why flames tho far summit ? Why shoot to

tho blast
Those embers, like stars from the firmament

cast?
'Tis tho fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully

driven
From his oyno, that beacons tho darkness of

heaven.

Oh, crested Loohiel 1 the peerless in might,
Whoso banners arise on tho battlements'

height,
Heaven's fire is around thoo, to blast and to

burn;

Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return '
For the blackness of ashos shall mark whore

it stood,
And a wild mother scream o'er lior famishing

brood.

LOOHIEL.

False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshall'd my

clan;
Their swords arc a thousand, their bosoms arc

one!

They axe true to the last of their blood and

their breath,
And like reapers descend to tho harvowt of

death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's fctood to the

shock1
Let *»™ dash his proud foam like a wave on

tho rook !

But woe to his kindred, and woo to his cause,
When Albin her claymore indignantly diaws ,
When her bonneted chieftains to victory

crowd,
Clanronald tho dauntless, and Moray tho

proud,
^11 plaidod and plumed in their tai tan array—™

— Loohiel, Loohiol ' beware of tho day ;
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God would re-

veal;

'Tin tho sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I toll thee, Cullodon1 s dread echoes shall nn#
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy

fugitive king
Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of

wrath,

Behold, where ho flies on his desolate path '
Now in darknosB and billows ho swoops from

my sight .
Rise, rise ! ye wild tompoHtfl, and cover his

flight '
'Tis finish.' d Thoir thunders are hush'd on

the moors :

Cullodon in loHt, and my country doploroa,
But whoxo ia tho iion-bound prisoner?

where P

For tho rod eye of battle is shut in despair.
Say, mounts ho tho ocean-wave, bamHh'd,

forlorn,
Like a limb from Ms country cast bleeding

and torn P

Ah no I for a darker departure is near ;
The war-drum is muffled, and block is tho

bier;

His death-boll is tolling 0 ' Mercy, dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell !
Life flutters convulsed in IUH quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming1 nostril in agony

swims.

Accursed bo tho fagots that blaze at his feet,
Where his heart shall bo thrown ore it ceases

to beat,
With the smoko of its aahoa to poison tho

gale— -

LOCHOXi.

- Down, BooihloBB insultor ! I trust not tho

tale '

For never shall Albin a destiny meet
So block with dishonor, so foul with retreat
Though my perishing ranks should bo atrow'd

in their goro,
Like ocean-woods heap'd on the surf-beaten

shore,

THOS.

HOHENLINDEN.

[SEVENTH PERIOP.-

Lochiel, untainted by flight or by oliains,
While the kindling of hfe in his bosom re-
mains,

Shall victor exalt, or m doath bo laid low,
"With his back to the field, and his feet to the

foe'

And, leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Xiook proudly to heaven fiom the death-bed
of fame.

Tkomw Camp&eW— Born 1777, Died 1844.

1304. — HOHENLINDEIT

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dork as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly

But Linden saw another sight
"When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd
To join the dreadful revelry

Hen shook the T^Tla with thunder riven ;
Then rush'd the steeds to "battle driven ;
And, louder than the bolts of heaven,
Par flash* d the red artillery

But redder yet those fires shall glow
On Linden's hills of crimson* d snow,
And bloodier yet shall be the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn ; but scarce yon lovol sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
"Where f unous Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.

The combat deepens. On, yo brave,
"Who rush to gloiy, or the grave '
Wave, Munich ' all thy banners wavo,
And charge with all thy chivalry '

Few, few shall part where many moot !
The snow shall be their winding- shoot;
And every turf beneath their foot
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

Thomas CwnyMl—Bom 1777, Dwd 1844.

1305.— -IE

OF ENGLAJNI).

A NAVAL ODE.

Ye Mariners of England !

That guard our native seas ;

'Whose flag has braved a thousand years,

Tie battle and the breeze 1

Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe !
And sweep through the deep
While the stormy winds do blow ;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy wznds do blow

u.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from ovory wavo ' —

For the deck it was their field of famo,

And Ocean was their grave

Where Blake and mighty Nblnon foil

Tour manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the doop

While the stormy winds do blow —

While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

in.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the stoop ,

Her march is o'er the mountain-wave,

Hor home is on the doop

With thunders from her native oak

She quolla the floods below,

As they roar on the shore

When the stormy winds do blow —

When tho battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

IV.

The meteor flag of England

Shall yet tomfio burn,

Till danger's troubled night depart,

Aad the star of peace return.

Then, then, yo ocean-warriora !

Our song and feast shall flow

To tho fame of your name,

When the storm han coaHcxl to blow— -

When tho fiery light is hoard no inoro,

And tho storm has cooHod to blow.

—ttorn 1777, DM 1844.

1306.— BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

Of Kelson and tho North

Sang tho glorious day's ronown,

When to battlo Corco came forth

AH the might of Denmark' H crown,

And hor arms along tho doop proudly

shono ;

By each gun tho lighted brand
In a bold determined hand,
And tho Prince of all tho laud
Lod thorn on

xx.

Like leviathans afloat
Lay thoir bulwarks on the brino ;
While tho sign of batilo flow
On tho lofty British lino—

Fro m 1780 to 1866]

LOKD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

It -was ten of April morn by the chime.
As they drifted on thoir path
There was silence deep as death ;
And the boldest held his breath
For a tuno.

nz.

But thp might of England flush'd

To anticipate the scene ;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly space between.

" Hearts of oak 1 " our captain cned; when

each gun

From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the snn.

rv

Again ' again I again '

And the havoc did not slock,

,Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To onr cheering sent ns back ;

Their shots along the deep slowly boom —

Then ceased — and all is wail,

As thoy strike the shatter'd sail.

Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom

V.

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hoil'd thorn o'er tlio wave •

" Yo arc brothorH ' yo aro men I

And wo conquer but to savo ;

So poooo instead of death lot us biing ;

But yield, proud loo, thy floot,

With the crows, at England's foot,

And make submission moot

To our king."

VI.

Then Denmark bloss'd our chief,

That ho gavo her wounds roposo ;

And the sounds of joy and grief

From her popple wildly rose,

As death withdrew his shades from tho

day.

While tho sun look'd smiling bright
O'er a wide and wooful Bight,
Whore tho fires of funeral light ;
JDiod away.

TO.

Now joy, Old England, raise '
For tho tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
Whilst thy wine-cup shines in light ;
And yet, amidst that joy and uproar,
Lot us think of them that sloop
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinoro 1

vm.

Bravo hearts ' to Britain's prido
Once so faithful and so true,
On tho deck of fame that died,
With tho gallant good Riou—

Soft sigh tho winds of Heaven o'er thoir

grave'

While the billow mournful rollM,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to tho souls
Of the brave 1

Thomas Oam/ploll.—>Born

1844

1307.— -LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A chieftain, to tho Highlands bound,
Cnofl, " Boatman, do not tarry 1

And I'll give thoo a silver pound
To row us o'or tho ferry."

" Now who bo yo, would cross Loohgylo,
This dark and stormy water ? "

" O, I'm tho chiof of Ulva's islo,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

And fast before her father's men
Throe days WG'VO fled together;

For Hhould ho find us in tho #lon,
My blood would stain tho Leather.

HIH horsemen hard behind us ndo ;

Should thoy our wlops discover,
Then who will ohoor my bonny bnde

Whon thoy havo Hlam hor lover P "

Out npoko the hardy Highland, wight,
" I'll go, my chief— I'm roady.

It in not for your Hilvor l>i ight,
But for your winsome lady.

And by my word ! the bonny bird

In danger aliall not tarry ;
So though tho waves are raging white,

I'll row you o'or tho forry."

By this tho storm grow loud apace ;

Tho wator-wraith was shrieking ;
And in tho soowl of hoavon each f aoo

Grow dark OB thoy wore Booking.

But still as wilder blow tho wind,
And OB tho night grow drearer,

Adown tho glon rodo armed men —
Tlioir trampling sounded nearer.

" 0 hattto thoo, hasto !" tho lady crioR,
" Though tompOHtfl round UH gather ;

I'll moot tho raging of tho skies,
But not an angry father."

Tho boat han loft a stormy land,

A stormy Hoa boforo hot —
When, 0 1 too strong for human hand,

Tho tompest gather' d o'or hor.

And Btill thoy xow'd amidnt tho roar

Of waters fawt prevailing —
Lord Ullin roaoK'd that fattil Hhoro ;

HIH wrath WOH changod to wailing.

THOS CAMPBELL.]

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

For sore dismay'd through storm and shade

Hia child he did discover ;
One lovely hand she stretoh'd for aid,

And one was round her lover.

" Come back 1 come back I " he cried in
grief,

" Across this stormy water ;
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter ' — 0 my daughter ' " -

'Twas vain. — the loud waves lash'd the
shore,

j&eturn or aid preventing.
The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

Thomas Qwwp'bell.>—Born 1777, Died 1844.

1308.— THE SOLDIER'S DEEAM.

Our bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud

had lower'd,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in

the sky,
And thousands had sunk on the ground over-

power* d —

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to
die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of

straw,
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the

At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thnoe ere the morning I dreamt it
again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful

array

Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track
'Twas Autumn — and sunshine arose on the

way

To the home of my fathers, that welcom'd
me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom

was young ,
I heard my own mountain-goats bloating

aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-
reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I

swore
Ifrom my home and my weeping friends

never to part ,

My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness
of heart.

Stay, stay with us' — rest; thou art weary

and worn ' —
And fain was their war-broken soldier to

But sorrow return'd with the dawning of

morn,

And the voice in my dreaming oar molted
away.

Thomas Campbell. — Bom 1777, Diod 1841.

1309.— HALLOWED GROTHSTD.

What's hallow'd ground ? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should bo trod
By man, the image of his God

Erect and froo,
Unsoourged by Superstition's rod

To bow the knee ?

That's hallow'd ground whero, mourn' d and

miss'd,

The lips repose our love has laas'd . —
But where's their memory's mansion ? lo't

Ton churchyard's bowers P
No ' in ourselves their souls exist,

A part of ours.

A kiss can consecrate the ground
Where mated hearts arc mutual bound ;
The spot where love's first links wore wound,

That ne'er are rivon,
Is hallow1 d down to earth's profound,

And up to Heaven !

For time makos all but true love old ;
The burning thoughts that then wore told
Bun molten still in memory's mould ,

And will not cool
Until the heart itself be cold

In Lethe's pool.

What hallows ground whore heroes sloop ?
'Tis not tho sculptural pilow you heap ! —
In dows that heaven** far distant woop

Then- turf may bloom,
Or genii twmo beneath tho doop

Their coral tomb.

But strow hza aflhos to tho wind

Whose sword or voice has nerved mankind—

And is ho dead whoso glorious mind

Lifts thnio on high ?—
To live in hearts wo louvo behind

Is not to die.

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right ?
He's dead alone that lacks hot light 1
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight

Tho sword* ho draws :— -

What can alone ennoble fight P
A noble cause 1

Give that ' and welcome War to braoo

Her drums, and rend Hoavon'w rooking spooo !

Tho colors planted f aoo to face,

The charging cheor,
Though Death's palo horso load on tho chase,

Shall still bo dear.

From 1780 to 1866.]

NAPOLEON AND THE SAHiOB.

[Tons. CAMPBELL.

And place our trophies where men kneel
To Heaven ' — But Heaven rebukes my zeal.
The cause of truth and human weal,

O God above '
Transfer it from the sword's appeal

To peace and love.

Peace » love ! — the cherubim that join
Their spread wings o'er devotion's shrine '
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine,

Whore they are not ;
The heart alone can make divine

Religion's spot.

To incantations dost thou trust,
And pompous rites in domes august ?
See mouldering stones and metal's rust

Belie the vaunt,
That men can HOBS ono pile of dust

With chime or ohaunt

The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man !
Thy temples — creeds themselves grow wan !
But there's a dome of nobler span,

A temple given
Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban —

Its space is Heaven '

Its roof star-pictured Nature's coiling,
Whoro, trancing the rapt spurt's fooling,
And God himself to man revealing,

Tho harmoniouH aplioroa
Made music, though unheard their pealing

By mortal oars

Fair stars ! aro not your boings puro P
Con sin, can death, your worlds obHouro P
Else why so swoll tho thoughts at your

Aspect above P
To mast bo Heavens that make us euro

Of heavenly love I

And in your harmony sublime
I read the doom of distant time •
That man's regenerate soul from onmo

Shall yet bo drawn,
And reason on his mortal clime,

Immortal dawn.

What's haJlow'd ground P 'Tis what gives

To flaorod thoughts in semis of worth ! —
Peace! Independence! Truth! gofoith,

Earth's compass round ;
And your high priesthood bhall make earth.

All hallow'd ground '

Thomas Cwwpboll — Born 1777, Died 1844.

13 10.—- TEE PABKOT.

A parrot, from tho Spanish main,

Full yoiang and early caged came o'er,
With bright wings, to the bleak domain

To spicy groves whore ho had won
His plumage of resplendent hue,

His native fruits, and skies, and sun,
He bado adieu.

For these ho changed the smoke of turf,

A heathery land and misty sky,
And turn'd on rooks and raging surf

Tfjq golden eye

But petted in our climate cold,

He lived and chatter1 d many a day :

Until with ago, from green and gold
His wings glow grey.

At last when blind, and Booming dumb,
He scolded, laughed, and spoko no more,

A Spanish stranger chanced to come
To Mtdla's shore,

He hail'd tho bird in Spanish speech,
Tho bird in Spanish speech replied ,

Plapp'd round the cage with joyous scroooh,
Bropt down, and died*

OangptoU— i Born 1777, DM 1844

1311.— NAPOLEON AND THE SAILOR

A TJUUffi STOUT.

Napoloon's bannorH ai Boulogne
Arni'd m our island every freeman,

HIH navy chanced to capture ono
Poor BntiHh seaman.

They auffor'd him — I know not how—
Unpnaon'd on tho shore to roam ;

And aye was lent Ma longing brow
On England's homo.

His eye, mothinks, pursued tho flight
Of birds to Britain half-way over,

With envy, thoy could roach tho white
Door oHiFs of Dovor

A stormy midnight watch, ho thought,
Than tTna sojourn would have been dearer,

If but the storm Hs vessel brought
To England nearer.

At last, when, care had banfch'd sleep,
He saw ono morjnng-— dreaming— -doatingj

AJI empty hogshead from tho doop
Come shoreward floating ;

Ho hid it in a oavo, and wrought
The livelong day laborious ; lurking

Until ho launch' d a tiny boat
By mighty working.

Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing boyond
Description wretched : tmch a wherry

Perhaps no* or ventured on a pond,
Or oross'd a forty.

THOS.CAJttPBELL.]

ADBLGITHA.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

For ploughing- in fcho salt sea-field,

It would have made the boldest shudder ,

TTntarr'd, uncompass'd, and unkoeTd,
No sail — no mdder

From neighbouring -woods he interlaced
His sorry skiff with wattled willows ,

And thus oc|uipp'd he would have pass'd
The foaming billows —

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach,

Eds Uttle Argo sorely jeering,
Till tidings of "him chanced to reach

Napoleon's hearing.

"With, folded arms Napoleon stood,
Serene alike in peace and danger;

And in his wonted attitude,
Address1 d the stranger —

" Bash man that wouldst yon channel pass
On twigs and staves so rudely fashion' d ,

Thy heart with some sweet British lass
Must bo impassion'd."

"I have no sweetheart," said the lad;

"But — absent long from one another —
Great was the longing that I had

To see my mother."

" And so thou shalt," Napoleon said,
" Te'vo both my favour fairly won ;

A noble mother must have bred
So brave a son."

He gave the tar a piece of gold,

And with a flag of trace commanded

He should be shipp'd to England Old,
And safely landed

Our sailor oft could scantly shift
To find a dinner plain and hearty ;

But never changed the coin and gift
Of Bonaparte.

TJiomas Cavn/pbolt-^-Bmn 1777, Died, 1844.

1312 — ADELGITHA.

The ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded.

And sad pale Adelgitha came,
When forth a valiant champion bounded,

And slew the slanderer of her fame.

She wept, deliver' d from her danger ;

But when he knelt to claim her glove —
" Seek not," she cned, " oh ' gallant stranger,

For hapless Adelgitha's love

For he is in a foreign far land

Whose arms should now have sot me froo ;
And I must wear the willow garland

For him that 's dead or false to mo."

"Nay! say not that Ms faith is tainted I "
He raised his visor — at the sight

She fell into his arms and fainted ;
It was indeed her own true knight !

Thomas Oomvpbell^Born 1777, Died, 1844.

1313.— ALONZO THE BRAVE AJSD TIIK
FAIR IMOGJQfE.

A warrior so bold, and a virgin so bright,

Conversed as they sat on the green ;
They gazed on each other with tender

delight'
Alonzo the Brave was the name of Uio

The maiden's, the Fair Imagine.

" And, oh ' " said the youth, " since to-morrow

Igo

To fight in a far distant land,
Tour tears for my abHonco soon ceasing to

flow,
Some other will court you, and you will

bestow
On a wealthier suitor your hand I "

" Oh ' hush these suspicions," Fair Inaogino
said,

" Offensive to lovo and to mo ;
For, if you bo living, or if you ho dead,
I swear by tho Virgin thut none m your flioad

Shall husband of Imogmo l>o.

If e'er I, by lust or by wealth lorl anido,

Forget my Alonao tho Bravo,
God grant that, to puninh my falnohood and

pxido,
Tour ghost at the marriage may Hit by my

side,

May tax me with perjury, oliwm mo OB briclo,
And boar mo away to tho giavo ' "

To Palestine haston'd tho IIPTO HO bold,

Hin lovo flho lamented him wore ,
But scarce had a twelvemonth claimed, wlion,

behold '
A boron, all cover1 d with jcwolw and gold,

Arrived at Fair Imogmo'H door

His treasures, his proHcmtn, hi
domain,

Soon made her untrno to hor VOWH ;
Ho dazzled hor OVOH, ho howildur'd her brain j
He caught her alicotionn, HO light and HO vahi,

And earned hor homo tw IUH HIIOUHO.

And now had tho marriage boon blent by tlio

pneat ;

Tho rovolry now wa« l>ognn ;
The tables they groun'd \viWi tho weight of

tho f oast,
Nor yot had tho laughter and merriment

ceased,
"Wlaon tho boll at tho caKtlo toll'd — ono.

Then first with amazement Fair Imogtno

found

A stranger was ploood by lior Hide s
His air was terrific j ho uttor'd no Hound —
He spako not, ho moved not, ho look'd not

around —
But earnestly gazod on tlio bride,

s From 1780 to 1866.]

OF COUNTRY.

[Snt W. SCOTT.

His vizor was cloned, and gigantic lus height,

HIH armour was sable to now ,
All pleasure and laughter wore huah'd at his

wght,
The dogs, as they eyed him, drew book on

affright,
Tho lights in the chamber bum'd blue I

His proseiLco all bosoms appear 'd to dismay;

Tho guests sat in Rilonoo and f oai ,
At length spake the budo — while she trembled

— "I pray
Sir knight, that yotir helmet a&ido you would

lay,
And deign to paitako of our ohoor "

The lady is silent ; the stranger complies —

His vissor ho slowly unclosed ,
Oh, God' what a sight mot .Fair Imogino's

eyes*
What words can express her dismay and

suipnse
When a skeleton's head was exposed !

All present then nttor'd a terrified shout,
All turn'd with disgust from the scene ,

The worms they crept in, and the worms they
crept out,

And sported his eyes and his temples about,
While the Hpoctio address' d Imogino

" Behold mo, thou fatao one, behold mo 1 " ho

cried,

" Remember Alonzo tho Bravo '
God grunta that, to puniHh Ihy falHchood and

pride,
My ghost at ihy marriage should sit by thy

side ;
Should tax theo with perjury, claim thoo as

bride,
And bear thoo away to tho grave 1 "

Thus saying, his arms round tho lady ho

wound,

While loudly she shriek' d in dismay ;
Then sunk with his proy through tho wide-
yawning ground,

Nor over again was Fair Imogino found,
Or tho spectre that bore her away.

Not long lived the baron; and none, since
that tune,

To inhabit the castle presume ;
"For chronicles toll that, by order sublime,
There Imogino suffers the pain of her crime,

And mourns her deplorable doom.

At midnight, four times in each year, does
her Hprito,

When mortals in slumber are bound,
Array'd in her bridal apparel of white,
Appear in the hall, with tho skeleton knight,

And shriek as he whirls her around '

While they drink out of skulls newly torn

from the grave,
Dancing round them the spectres are soon j

Their liquor is blood, and this homblo stave
They howl . "To tho health of Alonzo tho

Bravo,
And his consort, the Fair Lmogono ' "

If. a Lewis.— Born 1773, Died 1818.

1314.— DESCRIPTION OP MELBOSE
ABBEY.

If Lhou would* st view fair Molrose aright,
Go visit it by tho pale moonlight ,
For the gay beanm of lightHomo day-
Gild, but to flout, the rums gray.
When tho biokon archoH are black in night,
And each shafted oriel glinmiorH white ,
When tho cold light's uncertain shower
Streams on the ruin'd contial tower ,
When buttress and buttioHH alternately,
Seem framed of ebon and ivory ;
When silver edges tho imagery,
And tho scrolls that teach thoo to live and

die;

When distant Tweed is hoard to rave,
And tho owlet to hoot o'er tho dead man's

grave,

Then go — but go alone tho while —
Then view St. Itavid'H rum'd pile ,
And, homo returning, noothly Hwoai,
WtiH never HCOHO BO Had aiwl fair '
The moon on tho cant onol Hhono,
Through Blonder whaftH of shapely ntone,

By f olioffod tracery combined ,
Thou wouldHt have thought Homo fairy's hand
'Twixt poplarn straight the ogier wand,

In many a froakiwli knot, had twinod ;
Then framed a spoil, when tho work was

done,

And changed tho willow wreaths to etono.
Tho silver light, HO polo and faint,
Show'd many a prophet and many a saint j

Whoso image on the glass won dyed ;
Full in tho midst, hiH cross of tod
Tnumphont Michael brandished,

And trampled tho apostate' H pride.
The moonbeam kiHs'd the holy pane,
And throw on tho pavement a bloody stain.

Sir W. 8oott.—Jtor» 1771, JDW 1832.

1315— LOVK OF COUNTRY.

Breathes there a man with HOU! HO dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

ThiH IB my own, my native land I
WhoHO heart hath ne'er withm him Imrn'd,
As home hit* footntepH he Inttli tairnM

From wandering on a foreign Htrtuid f
If such there breathe, go nntik lum well :
For him no minntrol rapinroH wwdl ;
High though bin titluH, proud IUH iiuiuo,
JioundloaH hie wealth, aw wiwli can claim ;

SIB W. SCOTT.]

DEATH OF MAEMION.

[SEVENTH PJBUIOD. —

Despite those titles, power, and polf ,
The wretoli, concentred all in self,
living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

O Caledonia ' stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child '
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires ' what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band
That knits me to thy rugged strand '
Still as I view each well-known scene,
Think what is now and what hath been,
Seems as to me, of all bereft,
Sole friends thy woods and streams wore

left;

And thus I love them better still,
Even in extremity of ill
By Yarrow's stream still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way ;
Still feel the breeze down Ettnok break,
Although it chill my wither'd oheek j
Stall lay my head by Teviot stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The bard may draw his parting groan.

jSfw W. Scott.— -JBom 1771, DWJC& 1832.

1316.— DEATH OF MABMION.

When, doffd his casque, he felt free air,

Around *gan Marmion wildly stare

" Where 's Harry Blount P Fitz-Eustace

where?

Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare '
Redeem my pennon-— charge again '
Cry—* Marmion to the rescue ' '—Vain '
Last of my race, on battle plain
That shout shall ne'er be heard again '
Tet my last thought is England's — fly ;
To Daore bear my signet-nng ,
Tell him his squadrons up to bring
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie
Tnnstall lies dead upon the field ;
His life-blood stains the spotless shield :
Edmund is down— my life is reft ,
The Admiral alone is left.
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire —
"With. Chester charge, and Lancashire,
Full upon Scotland's central host,
Or victory and England 's lost.
Must I bid twice P Hence, varlets ' fly !
Leave Marmion here alone — to die."
They parted, and alone he lay ,
Clare drew her from the sight away,
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan,
And half he murmur' d — " Is there none,

Of all my halls have nurst,
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring
Of blessed water from the spring,
To slake my dying thirst ' "

0, woman ' in our hours of case,

Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,

And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made ,

When pain and anguish wring Iho brow,

A ministering angel thou I

Scarce were the piteous accents said,

When, with the baron's casque, the maid

To the nigh streamlet ran
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and foara ;
The plaintive voice alone she lioarw,

Sees but the dying man.
She stoop'd her by the runnel's si<lo,
But in abhorrence backward diow ;
For, oozing from the mountain wide,
Where raged the war, a dark rod tide
Was curdling in the streamlet blue.
Where shall she turn r — behold her mark

A little fountain-cell,
Where water, clear as diamond-spark,
In a stone basin fell.
Above, some half -worn letters flay,

JBtnxfc . frtscrg « pilgrim; * tftinit « ntxtf * prttg *
JFot « tfje ,fciri& ,g0ul . oC* &2friU ©rc£ .
®2Hfjo , frutlt . tfjis « ct0£# * ttnti * fijcti .
She fill'd the helm, and back aho hied,
And with surprise and joy espied

A monk supporting Maraum's head ;
A pious man, whom duty brought
To dubious verge of battle fought,

To shrieve the dying, bloss tho (load.
Deep drank Lord Marmion of tho wave,
And, as she stoop'd his brow to lavo —
" Is it the hand of Clare," ho said,
" Or injured Constance, bathos my hood ? "

Then, as remembrance rose —
" Speak not to mo of shiift or prayer !

I must redress hor woes.
Short space, f ow words, aro mino to Rparo ;
Forgive and listen, gentle Claie ! "
" Alas ' " sho said, " tho while—
O think of your immortal wool !
In vain for Constance IH your zeal ;

Sho diod at Holy l»lo."

Lord Marmion started from the ground,
As light as if ho felt no wound ,
Though in tho action burnt tho lido,
In torrents, from his wounded niclo.
" Then it was truth ' "—ho wild— " I know
That tho dark pioHago miiHt bo tiuo.
I would tho fiend, to whom bolou#H
Tho vengeance duo to all hor wrongs,

Would sporo mo but a day '
For waiting firo, and dyinff groan,'
And piiosts slain on tho altar Htono,

Might bribe fciBft for delay*
It may not bo ' — this dissssy trance —
Curse on yon base maraiulor'n lauoo,
And doubly cursed my failing brand 1
A sinful heart makes fooblo hand."
Then, fainting, down on earth ho sunk,
Supported by tho trembling monk.

With fruitless labour Clara bound,
And strove to staunch the gushing wound :
The monk, with unavailing oaros,

JVom 1780 to 1866.]

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN.

. SCOTT

Exhausted aH the church's prayers ;
Ever, he said, that, close and near,
A lady's voice was in his ear,
And that tho priest he could not hear,

For that she over sung,
" In the lost battle, borne down by the flying,
Whore mingles war's rattle with groans of
tho dying I "

So the notes rung ;

" Avoid thee, fiend ' — with cruel hand,
Shako not the dying sinner's sand !
O look, my son, upon yon sign
Of tho Redeemer's grace divine ;

0 think on faith and bliss '
By many a death-bed I have been,
And many a sinner's parting seen,

But never aught like this "
The war, that for a space did fail,
Now trebly thundering swell'd the gale,

And — Stanley' was tho cry,
A light on Marnuon's visage spread,

And fired his glazing oyo
With dying hand above his head
He shook tho fragment of his blade,

And shouted " Victory I
Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on ' "
Wore the last words of Harmion.

Sir W. Scot*.— Bom, 1771, Died 1832.

1317.— YOTJNG LOCHKSTVAB.

Oh, young Loohinvar is oomo out of tho

wottt,
Through all tho wide Border haa stood was

tho boat ;
And save his good broad-sword ho weapon

had none,

He rodo all unarm'd, and ho rode all alono !
So faithful in lovo, and so dauntless in war,
There never was blight like the young

Loohinvar !

Ho stay'd not for brake, and he stopp'd not

for stone,
Ho swam ihe Eek river whore ford there was

none —

But, oro ho alighted at Nothorby gate,
Tho brido had consented, the gallant camo

late-

For a laggard in lovo, and a dastard in war,
Was to wod tho fair Ellen of bravo

Lochinvar.

So boldly ho enter' d the Netherby Hall,
'Mong bride' s-mon, and kinsmen, and brothers,

and all!
Then spoke tho bride's father, his hand on his

sword —
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a

word —
"0 come ye in peace hero, or come yo in

warP
Or to dance at our bridal ? young Lord

Loohinvar 1 "

" I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you

domed
Lovo swells like tho Solway, but obbs kko its

tide'
And now am I como, with this lost lovo of

mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of

wane1
There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by

far,
That would gladly be bride to tho young

Loohinvar ! "

Tho brido Iriss'd tho goblet ; tho knight took

it up,
Ho quaff'd off the wine, and ho throw down

tho cup '
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up

to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her

eye
Ho took her soft hand, ere her mother could

bar—
" Now tread wo a measure I " said young

Loohinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall Buoh a galliard did grace 1
Whilo hor mothei did fret, and her father did

£umo,
And tho bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet

and plume,
And tho bride-maidens whispor'd, "'Twore-

bolter by iar
To have match' d our fair cou&iu with young

Lochmvar I "

Ono touch to her hand, and ono word m her

oar,
When they roaoh'd tho hall door, and tho

charger stood near,

So light to the croupo tho fair lady ho swung,
So light to tho saddle before hor ho sprung 1
" She is won ' wo are gono, over bank, bush,

and scaur ;
They'll havo floot stoods that follow ! " quoth.

young Loohinvar*

Thoro was mounting 'mong Groomofl of tho

Nothorby clan ,
Fosters, Fonwioks, and Musgravos, thoy rodo

and thoy ran ;
There was racing and chasing on Oannobio

Loa,
But tho lost bride of Nothorby ne'er did thoy

sool

So daring in lovo, and BO tUrantloBH in war,
Havo yo o'or hoard of gallant liko young

Loohinvar P *

Sir W. Scott.— Bom 1771, ZHed 1832.

1318.— JTOCK OF HAZELDEAN.

" Why weep yo by tho tido, latlyo —
Why woop ye by tho txdo P

SIR W. SCOTT.]

SONG.

[SEVENTH PBBIOD.—

I'll wed ye to my youngest son,

And ye shall bo his bndo ,
And ye snail be his biide, ladye,

Sae comely to be seen " —
Bnt ay she loot the tears down fa'

For Jook of Hazeldean.

" Now let this wilful gnef be done,

And dry that cheek so pale 5
Young1 Prank is chief of Brnngton,

And lord of Langley dale
His step is first in peaceful ha',

His sword in battle keen " —
But ay she loot the tears down fa'

For Jook of Hazeldean.

" A chain of gold ye shall not lack,

Nor braid to bond your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,

Nor palfry fresh and fair ;
And you the foremost of them a*

Shall ride, our forest queen." —
But ay she loot the tears down fa*

For Jock of Hazeldean

The kirk was deck'd at morning tide ;

The tapers glimmer' d fair ;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

And knight and dame are there :
They sought her both by bower and ha* ;

The ladye was not seen. —
She 'a o'er the border, and awa'

"WV Jock of Hazeldean

Sir W. ScoH.—Born 1771, Died 1832

1319. — SONGK

The heath this night must be my bed,
The bracken curtain for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,

Far, far from love and thee, Mary ;
To-monow eve, more stilly laid,
My oouch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid !

It will not woken me, Mary '

I may not, dare not, fancy now

The gnef that clouds thy lovely brow -t

I dare not think upon thy vow,

And all it promised me, Mary
No fond regret must Norman know,
"When bursts Clan-Alpine on tho f oo,
His heart must be like bonded bow,

Hia foot like arrow free, Mary.

A tune will come, with feeling fraught »
For, if I fall m battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary '
And if retum'd from conquer* d foes,
How blithely will the evening oloso,
How sweet the linnet sing roposo

To my dear bride and me, Mary I

Sir W< Scott.— Born 1771, JDw<2 1832.

1320. — SONCL

" A weary lot is thine, fair moid,

A weary lot is thrno '
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,

And press the rue for wino [
A lightsome oyo, a soldier's mion,

A feather of the bluo,
A doublet of tho Lincoln groon —

No more of me you know,

My love !
No more of mo you know.

This morn ia merry Juno, I trow—-
The rose ia budding fain ,

But she shall bloom in wmtor snow
Eio we two moot ogam "

He turn'd his charger as ho Bpoko,
Upon the river shore ;

He gave his bridle reins a shako,
Said, "Adieu for evermore,
My Io70 1

And adieu for ovonnoro."

Sir W. Scott.— -Born 1771, ZHod 1832.

1321.— BOEDER BALLAD.

March, march, Ettrick and Toviotdalo !
"Why tho de'il dimm yo march forward in

order P

March, march, Eskdalo and Liddosdalo !
All the Bluo Bonnets arc over the Border '
Many a banner spread
Fluttois above your horwl,
Many a crest that is famous in fltory.
Mount and make ready,, then,
Sons of the mountain #lon,
Fight for tho Quoon and our old Scottinh
glory.

Como from tho hills whoro your luraolB aro

grazing ,
Come from tho glon of tho buck and tho

roo,

Come to tho crag whoro tho beacon IH bliissing ;
Como with tho buckler, tho liuiuo, and tho
bow

Trumpets aro Rounding1 ;
War-stoods aro bounding ;
Stand to your arms, and march in good order.
England Hhall many a day
Toll of tho Moody fray,
Whon tho Bluo BonnolH came over tho Jtardor.

Bur W 8wto.-4arn 1771, DM 1832,

1322— HBBOGH OF DONUIL DHTT.

Pibroch of Donnil Dim,

Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voioo anow,

Summon Olan-Gonuil \

JPVoro 1780 to 1866.1

CADYOW CASTLE.

[SIR W. Soorx.

Come away, oomo away —

Hark to tho summons !
Come in your war array,

Gentles and ConunonEi.

Come from deep glen, and

From mountain so rooky;
Tho war-pipe and pennon

Are at InverlocKy
Come every hill-plaid, and

True heart that wears one ;
Come every stool blado, and

Strong hand that boars one.

Leave untended tho herd,

The nook without shelter ;
Leave the corpse unuLtorr'd,

Tho bride at tho altar ,
Leave tho deor, loavo tho steer,

Loavo nets and barges
Como with your fighting goar,

Broods woids and largos

Oomo as the winds oomo when

Forests are rondod ,
Oomo aa tho wavos oomo when

NaviGB aro stranded '
Faster oomo, faster como,

Faster and tastor —
Chief, vassal, pago, and groom,

Tonunt and master *

Fast thoy come, fast thoy come —

Soo how thoy gathm '
Wido wavoB tho oaglo plumo,

Blondod with hoatlier.
Cast your plaidH, draw your blades,

Forward oaoh man sot !
Pibroch of Donnil Dim,

Knell for tho onset J

Mr W. Scott.— Bom 1771, Died 1832.

1323— COBONACH.

Ho is gone on tho mountain,

He is lost to tho forest,
Like a summor-driod fountain*

When our nood was tho sorest
The font re-appearing

From tho tain-drops shall borrow ;
But to us comes no cheering,

To Duncan no morrow t
The hand of the reaper

Takes tho oars that aro hoary,
But the voioe of tho woopor

Wails manhood in glory.
The Autumn winds rushing,

Waft the leaves that aro floorest,
But our flower was in noshing,

When blighting was nearest.

Fleet foot on tho oorroi,

Sago counsel in cumber,
Bod hand in tho foray,

How sound is thy slumber I

Like the dow on tho mountain,

Liko the foam on tho nvor,
Like the bubble on tho fountain,

Thou art gone, and for ovor

8*r W. Bcottr-Bom 1771, DM 1832.

1324.— HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID,

Whon Israel, of tho Lord bolovod,

Out from the land of bondage come,
Her father's God before hor moved,

An awful guido in smoko and flume.
By day, along the astomali'd lands,

Tho cloudy pillar glided slow ,
By night, Arabia's onmaon'd sandtt

Boturn'd iho fiery column's glow

There roso the choral hymn of praise,

And trump and timbrel answer* d keen ;
And Zion's daughters pour'd their laya,

With pneat's and warrior's voico botwoon.
No portents now our foes omazo —

Forsaken Israel wanders lono ;
Our fathers would not know Thy ways,

And Thou hast loft thorn to thoir own

But, present still, though now unHOon,

Whon "brightly nluiioH iho proHporoiia day,
Be thoughts of Thoo a cloudy soroon,

To tompor tho doooitful lay
And O, when stoopH on Jnrlah'M path

In Hluwlo and ntorm tho ficxiriout uiglit,
Be llion, loug-HulForiug, nlow to wralli,

A buiiuiig and a Hluuing- light I

Our harps wo loft by Babol's Hta-oamn—

Tho tywmi'H joHt, tho GontUo'a aoora;
No oonsor round our altar beams,

And muto aro iambrol, trump, and hom.
But Thou hast said, tho blood of goats,

Tho flesh of ram*, I will not prLzo—
A contrite heart, and humble thoughts,

Aro mine aoooptod Kaoriftco

8w W. AfwM— JWcci 1771, Mom 1832.

1325.— CADYOW OASTLB.

Whon prinooly Hamilton's abodo
Ennobled Cadyow'fl Gothic towors,

Tho song wont round, tho goblot flow'd,
And rovol sx>ed tho laughing hours.

Then, thrflliog to tho harp'a gay «ound,
So sweetly rung oaoh vaulted wall,

And oohood light tho dnncor'H bound,
As mirth and ZUUBIO ohoor'd tho hall*

But Cadyow's towxjrw, in minfl laid,
Ajnd vaults by ivy mantled o'or,

Thrill to tho mumc of tho shado,
Or echo Eton's hoaraor roar.

SIB IV SOOTT.]

CADYOW OASTUS.

[SEVENTH PJDBIOD —

Tot still of Cadyow's faded fame

Ton bid me tell a minstrel tale,
And tune my harp of border frame

On the wild banks of Evandale.

For thou, from soenes of ootirtly pride,
From pleasure's lighter scenes can turn,

To draw oblivion's pall aside,
And mark the long-forgotten urn.

Then, noble maid, at thy command
Again the crumbled walls shall rise ;

Lo, as on Evan's bank we stand,
The past returns — the present flies.

Where, with the rooks' wood-covered side,
Were blended late the ruins green,

Else turrets in fantastic pride,

And feudal banners flaunt between :

Where the rude torrent's brawling course
Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe,

The ashler buttress braves its force,
And ramparts frown in battled row.

'Tis night — the shades of keep and spire
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream ;

A-nfl on the wave the warder's fire
Is chequering the moonlight beam

Fades slow their light ; the east is grey ;

The weary warder leaves his tower j
Steeds snort , uncoupled stag-hounds bay,

And merry hunters quit the bower

The drawbridge falls — they hurry out —
Clatters each plank and swinging '

As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout

ijrge the shy steed and slack the rein.

First of his troop the chief rode on ;

His shouting merry-men shout behind j
The steed of princely Hamilton

Was fleeter than the mountain wind.

From the thick copse the roebucks bound,
The startled red deer scuds the plain,

For the hoarse bugle's warrior-sound
Has roused their mountain haunts again.

Through the huge oaks of Evandale,
Whose limbs a thousand years have worn,

What sullen roar comes down the gale,
And drowns the hunter's pealing- horn P

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase

That roam in woody Oaledon,
Crashing the forest in his raoo,

The mountain bull comes thundering on.

Fierce on the hunter's quiver' d hand
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow,

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, tho sand,
And tosses high his mane of snow

Ara'd well, the chieftain's lance has flown,
Straggling in blood the savage lies ,

His roar is sunk in hollow groan, —
Sound, merry huntsmen, sound the pryse !

'Tis noon — against the knotted oak

The hunters rest the idle spear ;
Curls through tho trees tho slender Rmoko,

Where yoomon dight tho woodland cheer.

Proudly the chieftain mark'd his clan,
On greenwood lap all careloRS thrown,

Yet mifls'd his oye the boldest man
That bore tho name of Hamilton.

" Why fills not Bothwollhaug-h IIIB place,
Still wont our weal and woo to Hharo ?

Why comes ho not our sport to grace P
Why shaies ho not our hunter's faro ? "

Stern Claude replied, with darkening f aco
(Grey Paisley's haughty lord wan ho),

" At morry feast or buxom chase
No more the warrior wilt thou soo.

Few suns have sot flinco Woodhouflclco
Saw BothweUhaugh's bright goblotfl foam*

When to his hearths, in social glee,
The war-worn soldier turn'd lum homo.

There, won from her maternal throoH,
His Margaret, beautiful and mild,

Sat in her bower, a pallid rone,
And peaceful nursed hor now-born child.

Oh, change accursed r poss'd arc those clayH ;

False Murray's ruthless spoilers oanio,
And, for the hearth's domestic blaze,

Ascends destruction's volumod flame.

What sheeted phantom wanders wild,
Whore mountain Esk through woodland
flows,

Her arms enfold a shadowy child, —
Oh ' is it she, tho pallid roso P

The 'wildoi'd traveller HOOS hor tflido,
And hoorH hor fooblo voice with awo, —

' Revenge,' who CWOH, ' on Murray' H pritta,
And woo for injured BothwollhaiiKh 1 ' "

Ho coaflod— and cries of ro#o and #riof
Burst mingling from tho kindred band,

And half aroflo tho kindling chief,
And half unnhoathod hte Arran brand.

But who, o'or bn«h, o'er ntroam, and rookT
Bides headlong with rowHtloHH Hpcwd,

Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke
Dnvos to tho leap hta jaded Htcod $

Whoso chock in polo, whoso oyoballH fflaro,
As one some vision' d Bight that H&W ;

Whoso hands aro bloody, IOHO IUH hair F—
'Tis he, 'tis ho, 't

From gory Rollo and reeling steed
Sprung tho fierce horHoman with a bound,

And, rooking from tho recent deed,
Ho daHh'd hiH carbine on tho ground.

Sternly ho spoko — " 'Ti« swoot to hoar
In good greenwood tho bugle blown,

But sweeter to Bovongo's oar
To drink a tyrant's dying groan.

From 1780 to 18CG ]

THE OUTLAW.

SOOTT.

Your slaughtoi'd quarry proudly trodo
At dawning mom o'or dalo and down,

But proudor base-born Murray rodo
Through old Linhthgow's crowded town,

From the wild Border's humbled Bido
Tn haughty triumph marcMd he ,

While Kuox rolnx'd his bigot pn<lo,
And suiilod tho traitorous pomp to soo.

But can stern power with all her Taunt,
Or pomp, with all her courtly glare,

Tho settled heart of Vengeance daunt,
Or change tho purpose of Despair P

With hackbut bent, my secret stand,
Dark as tho purpoaod deed, I ohoso ;

And murk' (I whoio, mingling in hia band,
Troop'd Scottish pikes and English bows.

Dark Morton, girt with many a spear,
Murder's ioul minion, led tho van ,

And clash' <l their broadnworclH in tho roar
Tho wild Maofarlauo's plaidcd clan

Gloncairn and stout Parkhoad wore nigh,
Obsequious at their rogont'H rein,

And haggard Lindsay' H iron eye,
That saw fair Mary weep in vain

'Mid pennon' (1 spoarn, a wlooly grove,
Proud Mnmty'H plumage floated high ;

Scat eo cumld IIIH tiamplmg chaigoi move,
So oloHO tho nnmoiiH crowded nigh.

From tho raised vigor's shade Inn oyo,
I >ark rolling, glanced tho ranks along -,

And Inn stool truncheon, waved oil high,
fcJoom'd marshalling the iron throng.

But yet his saddon'd brow oonfoBRM
A passing shado of doubt and awe ;

Some fiend was whispering in hiri breast—
Beware of injured BothwoUhaugh.

Tho death-shot parts — tho charger springs —
Wild rises tumult' H startling roar '

And Murray's plumy helmet rings —
Rings on the ground — to rise no znoro.

What joy the rapturod youth can fool
To hoar her love tho lovod one tell —

Or ho who broaches on his stool
Tho wolf by whom hiH infant fell '

But dearer to my injured eye

To soo in dust proud Murray roll ;

And mine was ten tunes tiobJod joy
To hoar him groan his felon soul.

My Margaret' 8 spectre glided near,
With pnde her blooding victim saw,

And shriek' d in his death-deafen' d oar,
.Remember injured Bothwollhaugh '

Then speed theo, noble Chatlorault '
Spread to tho wind thy banner' d tree !

Each warrior bond his Clydesdale bow !
Murray is fallen and Scotland free ! "

Vaults every warrior to his stood ;

Loud bugles -join their wild acclaim —
" Murray is fallen, and Scotland freed !

Couch, Arran, couch thy spear of flame ' "

But sco, tho minstrel vision fails, —
Tho glimmering spears are seen no moro ;

Tho shouts of war die on tho galoa,
Or wink in Evan's lonely roar.

For tho loud bugle, pealing high,
Tho blackbird whistles down tho vale,

And hunk in mod nuns lio
Tho bannoi'd towers of Evandulo,

For cluofri, intent on bloody deed,
And Vengeance shouting1 o'or the slain,

Lo ' high-bom Beauty rules the stood,
Or graceful guides tho silken rom.

And long may peace and pleasure own
Tho maids who lint tho xmnHtrol'ti talo ;

Nor o'er a ruder guoHl bo known,
On tho fair bonks of Evondalo.

Sir W. Scott— Born 1771, Died 1832.

1326— THE OUTLAW.

0 Bngnall banks are wild and fair,
And Groin woods uro green,

And you may gather gailandt* there

Would gitico a nmumor-quaon.
And an I rodo by JDalton Hull,

Honoaili the lurreiH high,
A Maiden on tlio caHtlo-wall

Was winging moriily :
" 0 Biignall liankn are frouli and fair,

And Greta woods are groon ;
I'd rather rovo with Edmund thoro

Than reign our English queen."

" If, Maiden, tliou wouldst weoid with me,

To leave both tower and town,
Thou first must gnoHH what life load wo

That dwell by dalo and down.
And if tliou cantrb that riddle read,

AH road full well you may,
Then to the greenwood Hhiilt tlion speed

As bhtlio as Queen of May."
Yet sung sho, " Bngnall baiikn iiro fair,

And Crrota woods are groon ,
I'd rathoi rovo with Ednitmd thoro

Than reign our English quoon.

1 road you by your buglo-liom
And by your palfry good,

I road you for a ranger sworn

To keep tho king's groonwood."
" A Banger, lady, windu IUH horik,

And 'tis at peep of light ,
His blast is hoard at merry morn,

And mine at dead of xught,"
Yet sung sho, " Brignall baukH are fair,

And Greta woods are gay ,
I would I wore with EdmtmU thero

To reign liia Quoon of May !

G3

SIB W. SOOTT ]

A SERENADE.

[SEVENTH PERIOD.— -

With burnish' d brand and musketoon

So gallantly you come,
I read you for a bold Dragoon

That lists the tuck of drum "
" I list no moro the tuck of drum,

No more the trumpet hoar ;
But when the beetle sounds his hum

My comrades take the spear.
And O ! though Brignall banks be fair

And Greta woods bo gay,
Yet miokle must the maiden dare

Would reign my Queen of May !

Maiden ' a nameless life I lead,

A nameless death I'll die '
The fiend, whose lantern lights tho mead,

Were better mate than 1 1
And when I'm with my comrades met

Beneath the greenwood bough,
What once we were we all forget,

Nor <fe>"'"> what we are now."

CHORUS.

Yet Bngnall banks aro frosh and fair.

And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there

Would grace a summer-queen.

Svr W. Scott— Born IT1?!, Died 1832

1327 —A SEJ&ENADE

' Ah ! County Ghiy, tho hour is nigh,

The sun has left the lea,
The orange-flower perfumes the bower,

The bieeze is on the sea
The lark, his lay who tnlTd all day,

Sits hush'd his partner nigh ,
Breeze, bud, and flower confess the hour,

But where is County Guy P

The village maid steals through the shodo

Her shepherd's suit to hoar ,
To Boauty shy, by lattice high,

Sings high-born Cavalier
Tho star of Love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'or earth and sky,
And high and low tho influence know —

But whero is County Guy ?

Sir W. Scott— Bcnn 1771, Died 1832.

1328.— WHEKB SHALL THE LOVEB

KBST?
Whore shall the lover rest

Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden's breast

Parted for over ?
Where, through groves doop and high

Sounds tho far billow,
Where early violets die
Tinder the willow.

Bleu loro
Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through tho summer day

Cool s ti earns aro laving •
There, whilo tho tempests sway,

Scarce aro boughs waving ;
There thy rest slialt thou toko,

Parted for ovor,
Never again to wako

Never, 0 uovor '
Eleu loro

Never, 0 novor !

Whore shall tho traitor rest,

He, tho deceiver,
Who could win maiden's breast,

Ruin, and loavo hor ?
In the lost battle,

Borne dowu by tho flying,
Where mingles war'n rattlo

With groans of tho dying ;
Eleu loro

There shall ho bo lying.

Hor wing shall tho oaglo flap

O'or tho falsohoaitod ;
His warm blood tho wolf ahull lap

Ero life bo parted •
Shomo and dishonour sit

By his grave ovor ;
Blessing shall hallow it

Novor, O novor I

Never, O novor I
Sir W. ScoU.—J3orn mi, Died 1832.

1329 —THE MATT) OF NEIDPATH.

0 lovers' oyon aro sharp to HOO,

And lovers' oorn ILL IUMU ing ;
And lovo, in lifo'H extremity,

Can lend an hour of oliooring1.
Disease had boon m Mary's bower

And slow decay from moriming-,
Though now she sits on JSToidpalh'H towor

To watoh hor LOVG'H reluming.

All sunk and dim hor cyan HO bright,

Hor form decay M by pining,
Till through hor wonted Lund, ai night,

You Haw tho tapor Hlumng.
By fits a Hultry hocstio Imo

Aorosrt hor chook wan Hying ;
By fits so anhy pale nlio grow

Hor maidens thought hor dying.

Tot keenest powers to BOO and hoar

Soom'd in hor frame roHidnij? ;
Beforo tho watoh-dog prick 'd hi« oar

Sho hoard hor lover's riding ;
Ere scarce a diHtunt form wow kontxM

She know and waved to groot him,
And o'or tho battlomont did bond

As on tho wing to moot hixou

JFVom 1780 to 1866.]

HOTTING SONG.

[Si»W SCOTT.

Ho oame — ho pass'd — on heedless gazo

As o'or some stranger glancing ,
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,

Lost in his courser's prancing —
Tho castle arch, whose hollow tono

Eeturns each whisper spoken,
Could scarcely catch the feeble moon

Which told her heart was broken.

Sir W. Scott.— Born 1771, Died 1832

1330 —THE PETDB OF YOUTH.

Proud Maisio IB in tho wood,

Walking so early ,
Sweet Robin sits on tho bu&h

Singing so rarely.

" Toll me, thon bonny bird,
Whon shall I marry me ? "

— " When six braw gentlemen
Karkward shall carry ye."

" Who makes tho bndal bod, .

Birdie, say truly P "
— " Tho grey-headed sexton

That delves the grave duly.

Tho glowworm o'er gravo oaul stone

Shall light theo steady ;
Tho owl from tho steeple wing

Welcome, proud lady."

AT W. Scoti.—Born 1771, DM 1832.

1 03 1 .«— i BOSABELLE.

0 Haton, listen, ladies gay '
No haughty feat of arms I toll ;

Soft is the note, and sad the lay
That mourns tho lovely BoflaboHo.

" Moor, moor tho barge, ye gallant crow
And, gentle lady, deign to stay !

JRost thoo in Castlo Ravonsheuoh,
Nor tempt tho stormy firth to-day.

The blackening wave is odgod with white ;

To inch and rook the sea-mows fly ;
The fishers havo hoard the Water-Sprite,

Whoso screams forebode that wrock is
nigh.

Last night tho gifted Seor did view
A wot shroud swathed round lady gay

Thon stay thoo, Fair, in Bavonshouch ,
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? "

" 'Tia not because Lord Londesay'fl hoir

To-night at Boshn leads tho ball,
But that my lady-mother thoro
* Sits lonely in hor castlo-holl.

'Tis not bocauHO tho ring they rido,
And Lmdosay at tho ring rides well,

But that my sire the wine will chide
If 'tis not fill'd by Bosabollo."

— O'or Boslin all that dreary night
A wondrous blasso was soon to gleam ;

'Twas broador than, tho watoh-nro's light,
And redder than, the bright moonbeam.

It glared on Roslin's castled rook,
It ruddied all tho oopso-wood glon ;

'Twas soon from Drydon's groves of oak,
And soon from cavern' d Hawthorndon.

Soom'd nil on fire that ohapol proud
Whoro Realm's chiefs uncoiftn'd ho,

Each Baron, for a sable sliroucl,
Shoath'd in his iron panoply.

Soem'd all on firo witliin, around,
Deep saonHty and altar's polo ,

Shono every pillar f oliage-botuid,
And glimmer'd all tho dead men's moil.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,
Blazed every roso-oarrod buttress fair-

So stall they blaze, whon fate is nigh
Tho lordly lino of high Saint Clair.

Thoro oro twenty of Roslin's barons bold
Lio Imriod within that proud chapolle ;

Each ono tho holy vault cloth hold,
But tho sea holdn lovely

And each Saint Clair wan buried there
With candle, with book, and with knoll ;

But the soa-oavos rung, and tho wild winds

sung
Tho dirge of lovely Rosabollo.

AT W. Bertts-Bom 1771, DM 1832.

1332 — HUNTING SONO-.

Wakon, lordn and ladies gay,
On tho mountain dawns the day;
All tho jolly chano is horo
With hawk and horso and hunting- spear;
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
HawkH aro whistling, horns are knelling,
Mornly merrily nunglo they,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and Iftdios gay,
Tho miHt has loft tho mountain gray,
Springlots in the dawn aro steaming,
Diamonds on tho brake are glooming,
And foroHtora have busy boon
To track the buck in thicket grcon ;
Now wo come to chant out lay
" Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To tho greenwood hoHte away ;

flfl*

SIB W. SOOTT.]

THE PALMER.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

We con show you where ho hos,
Meet of foot and tall of size ,
We can show the marks ho IB ado
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd ;
Ton shall see him brought to bay ;
Waken, lords and ladies gay.

Louder, louder chant the lay

Waken, lords and ladies gay '

Tell them youth and mirth and glee

Bun a course as well as wo ,

Time, stern huntsman ' who can baulk,

Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk ,

Thank of this, and rise with day,

Gentle lords and ladies gay '

Ar W. Scott.— Bom 1771, Died 1832

1333.— THE PALMEB

" Open the door, some pity to show '
Keen blows the northern wind '

The glen is white with tho drifted snow,
And the path is hard to find

No outlaw seeks your castlo gate,
From ohasmg the king's dear,

Though even an outlaw's wretched state
Might clp-l™ compassion hero

A weary Palmer worn and weak,

I wander for my sin ,
O, open, for our Lady's sako '

A pilgrim's blessing win '

The hare is orouohing m her form,

The hart beside the hind ,
An aged man, amid the storm,

ISTo shelter can I find

?ou hear the Ettrick's sullon roar,

Dark, deep, and stiong- is ho,
And I must ford tho Ettriok o'oi,

Unless you pity mo

The iron goto is bolted hard,

At which I knock m vain ,
The owner's heart is closer borr'd,

Who hoars mo thus complain.

Farewell, farewell ' and Hoavon grant,

When old and frail you bo,
You never may tho shelter want,

That's now domed to mo ' "

The Ranger on his couch lay warm,

And heard him pload in vain ;
But oft, amid December's storm,

He'll hear that voioo again

For lo, when through tho vapours dtvnk

Mom shone on Ettnck fair,
A corpse, amid the alders rank,

The Palmer weltor'd thero

Sir W. Scott.— Bom 1771, Dwd 1832.

1334— THE WILD HUNTSMAN.

Tho Wildgiavo winds IUH buglo horn,
To horso, to hoipo ! halloo, halloo '

His fiery couraor snuffi* tho morn,
And thronging f>orfa thoir lords purnuo.

The eager pock, from couploB frootl,

Dash through tho bunh, tho brior, tho brako;

Whilo answering hound, and horn, and ntood,
The mountain ochoos startling wako.

The beams of God's own hollowM day
Had pointed yondor flpiro with gold,

And coiling sinful man to pi ay,
Loud, long, and doop tho boll had toll'il.

But still tho Wildgrnvo onward ridos ,
Halloo, halloo ' and, liaik again !

When spurring from oppowng HidoH,
Two stranger horsomon join tho tram.

Who was each stranger, loft and right,
Well may I guofiH but daro not toll ,

Tho right-hand utood was ailvor wlntu,
Tho loft, tho swarthy hue of hell.

Tho right-hand hotHoman, young awl fair,
His smile was liko the morn of May ,

The loft, from oyo of tawny tflaro,
Shot midnight's lightning1 H lurid ray.

Ho wavod his huntsman's cap on hi#h,
Cried, " Woloomo, wolcomo, noblo lord !

What sport can earth, or Hoa, or Hky,
To match tho princely chaao afford ? "

" Cooso thy loud bnglo'w clan£m# knoll,"
Owod tho fair youth with wlvor voioo ;

" And for dovotion'rt choral hwcll,
Exchango thin indo uuhallowM nohw ,

To-day tli' ill-omouM oluiso foil war,
You boll yot HuinmonH to tho fatio ,

To-day tho waiiung Hi>irit hoar,
To-monow thou maynt mourn m vain."

" Away, and HWoop tho gladcw alojij? ' "

Tho nablo lirmtoi* lioarso rt)i)Jio'H ;
" To mnttciing nicmlcH loavo maim Hon#,

And bollh}, and bookH,

Tho Wildpfiavo HptirrM IUH ardent
And, launching forward with a bound,

" Who, for thy dzowH/ prumtliko r<jd<>,
Would loavo tho jovial hoiu and hound P

Honco, if otir manly ftpori, offend '
With pious f OO!H go chant and pray ;

Woll howt thou Hpoko, my <hwk-brow'd friond,
Halloo, Imlloo ' and, hark away ! "

Tho Wildgravc Hpurr'd hin oourHor litflit,
O'or moHH and xnoor, oTor holt and hill,

And ozi tho loft and on tho ri#Ht,
Each stranger horHoman follow'd wtill

Up springM from yondor tanglod thorn
A stag moro whito than mountain fmow ;

And louclor rang tho WiM#ravo*H horn,
" Hark forward, forward ' holla, ho I "

From 1780 to 18CC ]

THE WILD HUNTSMAN

[SIR W. SOOTT.

A heedless wrotch has cross'd tho way
Ho gasps, iho thundering hoofs bolow ,

But livo who can, or dio who may,
Still " Forward, forward ! " on they go.

Soo whcro yon simple fences moot,
A field with autumn's blessing crown Jd ,

See, piontrato at tho Wildgravo's foot,
A husbandman, with toil ombrown'd

" 0 moroy, meroy, noble lord '

Sparo tho poor's pittance," was his cry,
" Eam'd by tho sweat those brows have poui'd,

In scorching hour of fierce July "

Earnest the right-hand stranger pleads,
Tho loft still cheering to the piey;

Th' impetuous Earl no warning hoods,
But fuiious holds tho onward way

" Away, th on hound ' RO basely bom '
Or dioad tho scourge's echoing blow ' "

Then loudly rang his buglo horn,

" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho ' "

So said, so done , a single bound
Clears tho poor labourer's humble pale ,

"While follows man, and horno, and hound,
Liko daik Dooomboi's htormy gale.

And man, and liorno, and hound, and horu,
Dotttniotho swoop tho field along,

Wlulo, joying o'or tho wasted rorn,

Foil Famine maukw tho madden m« throng

Again iiprnuHotl, tlio timoiouH proy
Heourw moss and moov, and holt and hill ,

Hard nm, ho foolrt IUH Htrongth demy,
And trusts for life IUH Hiinplo Hkill

Too dangerous solitude appear' d ;

Ho sooks tho shelter of tho orowd;
Amid tho flock's domostie liord

His harmlosB head he hopes to shroud.

O'or moss and moor, and holt and hill,
His track tho steady bloodhounds trooo ;

O'or moss and moor, unwoawod fitill,
The furious Karl pursues tho chaso

Pall lowly did tho herdsman f <ill ;

" 0 spare, thou noble Huron, spare
Those herds, a widow's little all ,

'those nooks, an orphan's floooy care r "

Karnost the right-hand stranger pleads,
The loft still ohcormg to tho prey ,

Tlie Earl nor prayer nor pity hoods,
But furious koops tho onward way.

" Unmannor'd dog ' To atop my sport
Vain woro thy cant and beggar wliiiio,

Though human frpints of! thy wort
Woro tenants of those camou kino ' "

Again ho winds his buglo hoin,
" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho ' "

And tlirough tho herd m ruthless scorn
Ho cheers his furious hounds to go

In heaps tlio throttled victims full ,
Down Rinks their mangled herdsman near ;

Tho murderous ones tho stag oppal,-r
Again ho starts now-norvod by fear.

With blood bosmoar'd, and wliito with foam,
Wlulo big tho tears of anguish pour,

Tie seek i amid tho forost's gloom
Tho humble hermit's hallow'd bower.

But man, and horse, and horu, and hound,

Fast rattling on hin traces go ,
Tho Horjrod ohapol rung around

With " Hark away ' and holla, ho ' "

All mild amid tho lout profono,
Tho holy liormit ponr'd IIJH prayer ,

" Vurboiur with blood Clod'H hoiiso to stain;
Kovoro Ilia altar, and forbear '

Tho moanost brute lias rights to plood,
Which, wrong' d by ornoJty or j>iid(^,

Draw vougoarLCo 011 the rutlioHH head ; —
Bo waiu'd at length, and turn asido."

Still tho Pair Horseman anxious pleads ;

Tho lilaok, wild whooping, pomtw tho prey.
Alas ! tho Eail no warning hoods,

J)ut frantic keeps tho lorward way.

" Holy or not, or right or wrong,
Tliy altar and its rights f spurn ,

Not Hmutod martyrrt' sainted wony,

Nut (Jed luniholf Hluill inalvo mo turn ' "

Ho wpurrt lim liorso, lie winds lim liom,
16 Jlju k forward, forward, liolla, ho ! "

JJuii oil* ou wlurlwjnd'H pmioiw borno,
'J'ho Htag, tlie but, tho hermit go

And horse, and man, and horn, aud hound,
And olamonr of tho chase was gone ,

J'\)r Jioofn, aud liowln, and buglo sound,
A deadly silence reign'd alouo.

Wild gazed th' affrighted Earl around ,
Ho strove m vain to woke his horn ;

In vain to call ; for not a sound
Could from his HUXJLOUH lips bo borno.

Ho listens for IIIH trusty hounds ,

No distant baying roach'd his oars,
ITis aoursor, rooted to the ground,

ar unuundf nl boars.

.Still dark and darker frown tho shades,
Davk, as tlio daiknoHM of tho giitvo ;

And not a sound tho still nivadrjH,
Save what a distant torrent gave.

High o'or tho sinner's hnwblad hood
At length tho Holomn silonco broke;

And from a cloud of Hworthy rod,
Tho awful voice of thnxulor

of creation fair !
Apostuio HpiritH' hardcnM tool!
Scornor of Uod, Hcourge of tlio poor !
Tho measure of thy cup IH i till.

Sra W. SCOTT.]

OHBISTMAS.

[SEVENTH PKRXOD —

Be chased for ever through the wood ,
For eyer roam th* affrighted wild ,

And let thy fate instruct the proud,
God's meanest oreature is His child "

9Twas hnsh'd one flash of sombre glare
With yellow tinged the forest's brown ;

Tip rose the Wildgrave'a bristling hair,
And horror chill' d oaoh nerve and bone

Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill ,

A rising wind began to sing ,
A louder, louder, louder still,

Brought storm and tempest on its wing.

Earth heard the call , her entrails rend ;

Prom yawning rifts, with many a yell,
Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend

The misbegotten dogs of hell.

WTiat ghastly huntsman next arose,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell ,

Tfifl eye like midnight lightning glows,
His steed the swarthy hue of hell

The Wildgravo flies o'er bush and thorn,
With many a shriek of helpless woo ;

Behind him hound, and horso, and horn ,
And " Hark away, and holla, ho ' "

tor W. Scott.— Born 1771, Died 1832

J335 —OHBISTMAS

And well our Chnatian siros of old

Loved when the year its course had roll'd,

And brought blithe Christmas back again,

With all his hobpitablo tiam,

Domestic and religious nto

Gave honour to tho holy night ;

On Christmas ovo tho bolls woi o rung ;

On Christmas eve tho mass was sung ,

That only night in all tho year,

Saw tho stolod pnoat tho chalice roar,

The damsel donn'd her kirtlo shoon ,

The hall was dross' d with holly green ,

Forth to tho wood did merry-men go,

To gather in the mistletoe.

Then open'd wide tho Baron's hall

To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ,

Power laid his rod of rulo asido,

And Ceremony doJTd his pndo

Tho heir, with roses in his shoos,

That night might village partner choose ,•

The Lord, underogating, share

Tho vulgar game of " post and pair."

All haiTd, with uncontroll'a delight,

And general voice, the happy night,

That to the cottage, as tho crown,

Brought tidings of salvation down.

Bvr W. Scott.— -Bom 1771, Died 1832.

1236— HYMN FOB THE DEAD.

That day of wrath, that dreadful day,
When hoavcn and earth Khali poHH away !
What power shall bo tho Hinnor'H nt.uy P
How shall ho moot that dioadiul <lay ^

When, shrivelling like a paicliod Hcroll,
Tho flaming heavens together roll ,
When louder yol, nnd yot moro droad,
Swells tho high trump that waken tho (load1

Oh i on that day, that wrathful day,
When man to judgment wakon fiom clay,
Be THOtr tho trembling sinner' H Htuy,
Though hoavon and earth nhall purtH away '

flw W Scott.— Born 1771, Dwl. 1832.

1337— TO THOMAS MOOBE.

My boat i« on tho shore,
And my bark IH on the HOII ,

But before I go, Tom Mooro,
Horo 'H a double health to thoo '

Hero 's a sigh for thoHO that love mo,
And a smile for those who hato ;

And, whatever Hky'n abovo mo,
Here 's a heart for ovory fato.

Though tho ocean roar around mo,
Yet it still whall boar mo oa ;

Tliough a desert should wnrround in«,
It hath spimgH that may bo won

Woio't tho lost drop m tlio woll,
As I gawp'd upon tho brink,

Ere my fainting Hpirit foil

'Tis to thoo thai 1 would drink.

With that water, as tliiH wino,

Tho libation 1 would pour
Should be — Poooo with thine and mino,

And a health to tlioo, Tom Moore !

.— i/Jowi 1788, DM 1824.

I338.—MAID OF ATHJWH.

Maid of Athens, oro wo paH,
Give, 0, give mo book my lioart !
Or, Binoo that hu« Jofi wiy Imuutt,
Koop it now, aud tako tho rtmt !
Hoar my vow buforo I go.

"By thoHC irOHHort tmconfiuod,
Woo'd by oaoh yi'i«oati wiud ;
By thoHO lids whono jMy frlugo
Kiss tliy soft €)h«oL-i' bloomiiiff tingo ;
By those wild eyes like tho roo,

Vrom 1780<ol8C6]

THE DBEAM.

[LORD BYBON.

By that lip I long to taste ,
By that zcmG-oncirclod waist ,
By all the token-flowers that tell
"What words can never apeak so well ,
By love's alternate joy and woo.

Maid of Athens ' I am gone
Think of mo, sweet, when alone.
Though I fly to Ihtambol,
Athens holds my heart and soul.
Can I cease to love theo ? No '

Lord Byron.— Bom 1788, Died 1824

1339.— THE GIRL OF CADIZ.

Oh, never talk again to mo

Of northern ohmes and British, ladies ,
It has not boon your lot to see,

lake me, the lovely Girl of Cadiz
Although her eyes be not of bine,

Nor fair her looks, like English, lasses',
How far its own expiossivo hue

The languid azure eye Hurpartaos '

ii

Prometheus-like, from heaven H!IO stole

The fiio that thiough thoHo Rilkon lashes
In clarkoHt glances HOOTCH to roll,

.From oyoH that cannot hide thoir fltiHhon ,
And as along her bosom Htoal

In lengthen' d flow her raven troHSCH,
You'd swear each clustering look could feel,

And our I'd to give her nook COTOSBOS

in

Our English maids are long to woo,

And fngid oven in pofiHOHHion j
And if their charms bo fair to view,

Thoir lips are Blow at LOVO'H oonf ossion ;
But, born beneath a brighter Run,

For love ordain' d the SpaziiHh mold is,
And who, — when fondly, fairly won, —

Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz P

The Spanish maid IH no coqnotlo,

Nor joys to seo a lover tremble ,
And if she love, 01 if she hate,

Alike she knows not to dwHoinblo
Her heart can ne'er bo bought or sold —

Howe' or it boats, it boats sincerely ;
And, though it will not bond to gold,

'Twill love you long, and love you dearly,

The Spanish girl that moots your love

Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial ,
Par every thought is bent to prove

Her passion in the hour of trial
*Whon thronging f oomon menace Spain

She dares the deed and shares the danger ;
And should her lover press the plain,

She hurls the spear, her love's avenger.

71.

And when, beneath the evening Htor,

She mingles in the gay Bolero ;
Or sings to her attuned guitar

Of Christian knight or Mooii«h horo ,
Or counts her toads with fairy hand

Beneath the twinkling rays of Hoapor ,
Or joins devotion's choral band

To chant tho swoot and hallow'd voapcr .

VII

In each her cfcarms tho heart must movo

Of all who venture to behold her
Then let not maids loss fair reprove,

Because her bosom is not colder ,
Through many a climo 'tis mine to loom

Whoro many a soft and molting moid is,
But none abroad, and few at homo,

May match tho dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz.

Lord Byron.— Born 1788, JXcd 1824,

1340 —STANZAS FOB MTTSIC.

Thoro bo none of Beauty* H daughters

With a magic liko thoo ,
And like tmiNio on the waters
1» thy Hwoot voice to mo
Whon, as if rU sound wcro canning
Tho chiumod ocean' H paumng,
Tho wavoH ho still and glomumg,
And tho lull'd. winds HOOUI

And tho midnight moon an weaving
Her bright chain o'er tho deep,

Whose breast in gently hoavjng,
AM an anfant'H asleep ;

So tho Hpirit bows before thoe,

To liHten and adore theo.

With a full but soft emotion,

Lake the swell of Summor'n ocean.

Lord Byron.— >JUow 1788, DM 1824.

1341. — THE DREAM.

Our Mo IB twofold * sloop hath its own

world —

A boundary between tho things misnamed
Death and oxwtonco sloop hath its own

world,

And a wide roalm of wild reality ;
And dreams in thoir development have

breath,
And toorH, and tortures, and the touch of

joy,
They leave a weight upon our waking

thoughts ;

They take a weight from off our waking toils ;
They do divide our being , they bocouie

BYRON ]

THE DREAM.

A portion of ourselves aw of our time,

And leok liko horaldrt of Eternity ;

Thoy pass liko spirits of tho past, — thoy

spoak

Liko sibyls of the future , they have power —
Tho tyianny of pleasure and of pain ;
They make us what wo wore not — what thoy

wiH;

Thoy shako us with tho vision that's gone by,
The dread of vanish' d shadowa — are thoy so p
Is not tho past all shadow P "What arc thoy ?
Creations of tho mind ? — tho mind can mako
Substance, and pooplo planets of its own
With bomga brighter than have boon, and

give
A breath to forms which can outlive all

nosh.

I wotdd recall a vision, which I droamM
Perchance in sleep — for m itself a thought*
A slumboiing thought, is capablo of yeara,
And curdles a long life into one hour.

I saw two beings in the hues of youth

Standing- upon a hill, a gentle lull,

Green and of mild declivity , tho last,

As 'twere tho cape, of a long ridgo ot such,

Save that thoro was no soa to lavo its baso,

But a most living landscape, and tho wave

Of woods and cornfields, and tho abodes of

men

Scatter' d at intervals, and wreathing smoke
Arising from such rustic roofs ,— -tho fr^n
Was orown'd with a peculiar diadem
Of trees, in circular array — so fix'd,
Not by the sport of Nature, but of man •
These two, a maiden and a youth, wore there
Gazing — the one on all that was beneath ,
Fan as herself — but tho boy gassed on her ;
And both wore young, and ono was beautiful ,
And both weio young — yet not alike in

youth

As tho sweet moon on the horizon's verge,
The maid was on the eve of womanhood ,
The boy had fewer summers , but his heart
Had far outgrown his years, and to hw oyo
Theio was but ono beloved faco on earth,
And that was shining on him , ho had look'd
Upon it till it could not pass away ;
He had no breath, no being, but m hers ;
She was his voice , ho did not npoak to her,
But trembled on her words ; who was his

sight,

For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers,
Which oolour'd all has objects ,— ho had

ceased

To live within himself \ &ho was his Mo,
The ocean to tho river of his thoughts,
Which terminated all , upon a tono,
A touch of hers, Ms blood would ebb and

flow,
And his choek change tempestuously— his

heart

Unknowing of its cause of agony.
Bat she in these fond feelings had no share

Her sighs wore not for hna ; to lioi ho \VJIH
Even as a brother — but no 111010 ,

much,

For brothorloas she wan, savo in ilia namo
Hor infant friondnhip had bowtowM on him —
Horsolf tho solitary Hoion loft
Of a timo-honouiM raoo — -It wiw a namn
Which pleased him, and yet ploasoil him not

— and why P
Time taught him a deep aunwor— \\liou sho

loved

Another Even now who lovod iinoUioi' ,
And on the anmmit oi that lull sho stood
Looking iifiw, ii yot her lover' H Htoctl
Kopt paco with her expectancy, and llovr.

in

A change oamo o'er tho Hpirit of my tlmim •

There was an ancient mansion , and Wow

Its walls thoro was a niootl oapariHouM. \

Within an antique oiatory wtood '

The Boy of whom I apako , — ho was alouo,

And polo, and pacing1 to aucl fro. Anon

Ho sato him down, and Housed a pen and '

traced
Words which I could not giicBH of , tliou ho

loan'd
His bow'd head on liirf luuitbi, and Hliook, in

'twere

With a convulHion — thon arono again ;
And with his teoth and q.uivoring luuvlri <li«l

toar

What ho had wiitton , but ho wliod no t(Mtrn* j
And he did calm lumKolf, an<l fit Inn brow
Into a land of qaiafc. AH ho panned,
Tho lady of lun lovo ro-ontorM thoro ,
She was sorone and HmilitiK tliou, and yol '

Sho know sho WOH by Juiii bolovcMl , ,sh(i i

know —
How quickly oomcH Buoli kuowlod^o ! tliiit hirt

hoait

Was daikon'd with lior Hluwlow, and who naw
That ho was wrutulwd « l>ut sho Haw not all.
Ko rose, and with a cold and ftoullo tfroMp
Ho took hor hand , a momoui o'er IIIH i'iu',0
A tablet of uuutterablo thoughtM
Was traced ; and then it fatlnd an it oamo,
Ho dropp'd tho hand Lo hold, ami with H!OW

, ]mi not an bidding lior adiou,
Ij'or thoy did part with mutual umiloH, Ho

!From out tho masHy gaio of thai old Hall ;
And, mounting on IIIH Htood, ho \voui liin

way,
And iic'or ropaHuM thai hoary iLroHhold

moio.

iv.

A change came o'or iho Hpirii of my droain .
Tho Boy wan Hprun^ icj manhood. In tho

wilds

Of fiery olimoH ho mtulo himftolf a home,
And his soul drank thoir muiboamri ; ho wan

girt
With estrange and dusky aepootn ; ho wan not

Vrom 1780 to 18GG.]

THE DEEAM.

BYKON.

Himself liko what ho had boon , on tho son,
And on tho nhoio ho was a wanderer,
Thoro wtiH a mass of many images
Crowded hko waves upon mo, but he was
A part of all , and in tho List ho lay,
Ifcoposmg f i oin tho noontide sultriness,
Coitoh'd among fallen columns, m tho shade
Of min'd wallH that had survived tho names
Of those who roor'd thorn , by his sleeping

Rido

Stood camels grazing, and somo goodly steeds
Woro fahton'd near a fountain , and a man
Clad in a flowing garb did watch tho while,
Wlnlo many of his tubo wlumboi'd around ;
And thoy wore canopied by tho blue sky —
So cloudless clear, and purely beautiful,
That God alouo was to be soon in Heaven.

A change came o'er tho spirit of my dream
Tho Lady of his lovo was wed with ono
Who dul not lovo hor bottor. In hor homo,
A thoiiHaud leagues from his, — her native

homo,— -

Sho dwelt, bogirt with growing infancy,
Duuiyhloi'H and sons of Beauty. But behold f
Upon hor ftico thoro was tho tint of grief,
Tho Ncttlod Hhadow of an inward strife,
And an un<|uiot drooping ol tho ojc,
AH if its In I woro charged with unshod toarM
What could her guof bo ? — hJho had all H!IO

loved ,

And ho who hitd HO lovod hor was not thoro
To trouble) with bad hopcw, or evil WIH!L,
Or ill-ropi cHrt'd affection, hor puro thoughts
What could hor gnof be t — HUO had lovod him.

not,
Nor given him cauRO to doom himself bo-

lovod ;

Nor could ho bo ft piurl of that which proy'cl
Upon hor mind — a spootro of tho past

VI.

A change caino o'er tho spirit of my dream •
Tho Wanderer WOH return' d — I saw him

stand
"ttoforo an altar, with a gontlo bndo ,

I lor face wtw fair; but won not that which

made

Tho starlight of IUH Boyhood. AH ho htrod,
Kvon at the altar, o'er hw brow thoro came
Tho solf-Hamo aspect, and tlio quivering

shook
That in tho antique oratory shook

II IH boHom in its solitude ; and thon —
As m that hour — a moment o'er hi« faoo
Tlio tablet of unutterable thoughts

Was traced — and thon it faded aH it camo ,
And ho stood calm and qiuot , and ho spoko
Tlio fitting VOWH, but hoard not his own

words ,
And all things rool'd around him , ho could

soe
Not that which was, nor that which should

have boon —

But tho old mansion, and the acoustoni'd

hall,
And tho roinombor'd chambers, and the

place,
Tho day, tho horn-, tho sunshine, and tho-

shade —

All things pertaining to that placo and hour,
And hor who was his destiny — came bock
And thrust themselves between him and tho

hght
What business had thoy thoro at such a

time ?

VII

A change came o'or tho Rpmt of my dream •
Tho Lady of his love1 — 0 1 she was changed,
As by tho sickness of tlio HOU! , hor mind
Had wandor'd from its dwelling ; and hor

eyes,

Thoy had not their own lustre, but tho look
Which is not of tlio earth ; who was become
Tho queen of a fantastic realm ; her thought**
Woro combinations of disjointed things ;
And forms impalpable, and unporcoivod
Of others' sight, familiar woro to horn.
And tins tho world calls frenzy, but tho

W1HO

TTavo a far deeper madness, and tho glanco
Of melancholy IH a fearful gift ,
What IH it but tho telescope of truth ?
Which HtiipH tho diHtnnoo of its phantasies,
And brmgH hfo near in uttur imkodnoBH,
Making the cold icality too roal '

vnr.

A oliiingo oamo o'or tho spirit of my dream
Tho WuucUarov was alone, as horotofoio ,
Tho bonigH wlu<»h surpoundod him woro gone,
( )r woro at war with him , ho was a mark
l«'or blight and doHolatiou — compass'd round
\Vith Hatred and Contention , Pain was

mixM

Tn all wluoh WOH sorvod up to lutn ; until,
Like to tho Pontio monarch of old days,
Ilo fod on poinons ; and thoy had no power,
Jfiat wore a kind of nutriment, ilo Uvod
Through that which had boon death to many

men,
And mado him fnondH of mountains With

the stars,

And tlio qmok spirit of tho "Omvoiso,
Ho hold his dialogues ' and thoy clid teach
To him tho magic of their niyHtorion ,
To him tho book of Night waH opon'd wido,
And VOIOOH from tho doop abyHH roveal'd
A marvol ttucl a nocrot — Bo it so.

My dream was past - it had no further

change

Tt was oi a strango order, that tho doom
Of tlioHo two oroaturoH should bo thvui traced

out •

Almowt like a reality — the ono
To end in madnoHH — both in nunory.

Lord JJyron.—lfarn, 17H8, Died 18*2«A.

LOBD BTBON ]

WITIJN WE TWO PARTED

[SKVHNTU

1342 —WHEN WE TWO PAE.TB1)

When we two paatcd

In silonoo and tears,
HaK biokon-hoortod,

To sever for yoais, '
Palo giow thy oliook and cold,

Coldor thy kms ,
Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this

Tho dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow —
It felt take the warning

Of what I feel now
Thy vows are aH broken,

And light is thy fame ,
I hear thy name spokon,

And share in its shame

They name thoe before me,

A knell to Trn.no ear ;
A shudder oomos o'er mo —

"Why wert thou so doax p
They know not I know theo,

Who know theo too well
Long, long, shall I rue thoe

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we mot —

In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive
If I should moot thoo

After long years,
How should I greet theo p —

In silence and tears.

Lord Byron.— Born 1788, Died 1824

1343.— THE DESTRUCTION OF
SENNACHERIB

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on

the fold,
And his cohorts were gloaming in purple and

gold 5
And the sheen of their spears was hko stars

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep
Galilee.

lake the leaves of the forest when Summer

is green,
That host with their boxmcis at sunset wero

seen,
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn

hath flown,
That host on the morrow lay withor'd and

strewn.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on

the blast,
And breathed in the face of the f oo as ho

pass'd,

And tho eyes of the Hloopora we'd Aoiully and

chill,
And their hoartn but onoo hoavort, and for

over grow atill '

And there lay tho stood \nth Ins nostril all

wide,
But through it there roll'd not the breath of

his pride ;
And tho foam of lua gasping lay wluto on tlio

turf,
And cold as tho spray of tho rook-boating

surf

And there lay tho rider distorted and pitlo,
With tho dew on his blow and tho runt ou hw

mail;
And the tents wore all silent, tho banners

alone,
Tho lances unhftod, tho trumpet unblown.

And tho widows of Ashur ore loud in tlioir

wail,
And the idols aro broke in tho toinplo of

Baal,
And tho might of tho 0 entile, imtunoto by tho

swoid,
Hath melted like Hnow in the glauuo of tho

Lord'

Lord JByron.—ttorn 1788, Vwd

1344.— SONO OF THE) QBEEIC POET.

Tho isles of Greece, tho IH!I»H of Unuxw I
Whore burning Sappho lovod and Hiniff,

Where grow tho aitw of war and poocr —
Whcio Doles rone, and tfiuibuH hprunj? I

Eternal summer gildu thorn yot ;

But all, except thuir HUH, IK not.

Tho Scion and the Toian zniiHo,
Tho horo'H harp, tho lovor'H Into,

Have found tho tamo your shoron refuse ,
Their place of birth alone IH muto

To soundH which oolio furilior wo*t

Than your sires' " Inlaudti o£ the Jilcnt."

Tho mountains look on Marathon,
And Marathon looT^H on tho Roa ;

And musing thoro an hour alone,
I dream'd thai (Jroooo i/n^ht Htill bo froo ;

For ntancUng on tho 1'orHianiV grave,

I could not doom myHolf a nlavo

A king sat on tho rocky brow
Which lookH ofer Hoo-born SalamiR ;

And HliipH, by thouxandH, lay below,
And men in nations — all wore hin I

He counted thorn at break of day—

And whon the uun «ct, wlioro woro they P

And whore aro thoy P and whoro art than,
My country P On thy voiooloss shoro

1780fol81i!]

THE PRISONER OF CHILLOF.

Tlio heroic lay is tuuolusH now —

Tho heroic boboin boalH no moro !
And must thy lyro, so long divine,
.Degenerate in bo hands liko mino **

*Tis something1, in tho dearth of fame,
Though hnk'd among a fottcr'd race.

To fool at least a patriot's shamo,
Even as I sing, suffuse my f aoo ,

For what is left tho poot hero ?

For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear

Must wo but weop o'er days moio bloat P
Must we but blush ? — Our fatheiH blod

Earth ' render back from out thy broast
A remnant of our Spartan dead '

Of tho throo hundred grant but throe,

To make a now Thermopylae '

What T Hilont atoll ? and silent all ?

Ah no i — tho voices of tho dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,

And answer, " Lot one living head,
"But ono, arise — wo come, wo oomo I "
'Tia but tho living who are dumb.

Jn vain — in vain ' Btnko other ohords ;

l^ill high tho onp with Sfiinian wino '
Loavo battloH to tho Turkish hoitlos,

And nhod Iho blood of Scio'tf vine '
Jl.irk ' nmng1 to tho ignoblo c ill,
Ifow annwerH each bold JJaocliiuial '

You havo ilio Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Whoro in tho Pyrrhic phithuuc gone ?

Of two Huoh lossonH, why forgot
Tho nobler and tho manlier one P

You havo tho lottoi H Cadxmw gave-—

Thmk ye ho meant thorn fur a slave ?

Fill high tho bowl with Samian wino '
Wo will not think of themes hko thoao !

It made Anaoroon'H Bong divine j
Jlo Horvod — but noivod Polyciatofi —

A tyrant , but our masters thnn

Wore still at least our countrymen.

Tho tyrant of tho Chersonese

Was freedom's bust and bravest fnond;
That tyrant was Milliados '

Oh that tho present hour would lend
Another despot of tho kind !
Such chains as his were sure to bind.

Fill high tho bowl with Samian wine f
On Suli's rook, and Parga's shore,

Exists tho remnant of a lino
Such as the Done mothers bore ;

And there perhaps some seed in sown

Tho Heraoloidan blood might own

*

Trust not for freedom to tho Franks —
They have a king who buys and sells ;

In native swords, and native ranks,
Tho only hope of courage dwolltj ,

But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,

Would break your shield, however broad.

Fill high tho bowl with Sainiau wmo '
Otir virgins dance benoath the shade —

I soo their glorious black oyea slune ;
But gazing on each glowing moid,

My own tho burning tear-drop laves,

To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

Place me on Sum am' e marbled stoop,
Whore nothing, save the waves and 1,

May hear our mutual murmurs swoop ,
There, swan-liko, lot mo sing and dio

A land of slaves shall ne'er bo mine—

Dash down yon oup of Samian wine 1

Lord By* on. — Bwn 1788, Died 1824.

I345 —THE PBISOOT3B OF OHTLLON.

Eternal Hpmt of tho ohamloHS mind f
Biightofit in dungeons, Liberty, thou art,
For there thy habitation in tho heart—
Tho heart which love of thoo alone can bind ;
And when thy sons to fetters are conwgn'd —
To fetters, and tho damp vault's dnyloss

gloom —

Their oountiy concjaors with thoir martyr-
dom,
And Fiocdom'w fame fiiada wings on every

wind
Chillon ' thy piwou IH a holy place,

And thy sad floor au altar — for 'twas trod
Unlil IIIH very wtiOpH havo loft u troco,

Wot 11 an if thy cold pavomont wcro a «od,
Uy Boniuvard! — May nono thoHc marks

oitttco r
J'nor they appeal from tyranny to God.

My hair is gray, but not with yoats,
Nor grow it white
In a single night,

As men's havo grown from sudden foara ;

My HxnbH are bow'd, though not with toil,
But ruslocl with a volo roposo ;

For they have boon a dungeon's spoil,
And mino has boon tho fate of those

To whom tho goodly earth and air

Are bann'd and barr'd — forbidden faro.

But this was for my father7 H faitli

I suffer' d chains and courted death.

That father ponsh'd at the Htako

For tenets ho would not f orsako ;

And for the same his lineal raco

In darknosH found a dwolling-plaoo.

Wo were seven, who now are one-
Six in youth, and one in ago,

Finish.' d as they had begun,
Proud of persecution's rngo ;

Ono in firo, and two in field,

Their belief with blood havo aoaTd —

Dying as thoir father died,

For the God their foes denied ;

Throo wore in a dungeon cast,

Of whom this wreck is loft tho lanl

J

LOUD BYRON ]

THE PRISONER OF CHILL03ST.

[SEVBNTU

ii

There aro aovon pillars, of Gothic mould,
In Chilian's dungeons (loop and old ,
There aro soron columnn, massy and gray,
Dim mth a dull imprison' d ray —
A sunbeam which hath lost ite way,
And through the crevice and the cleft
Of the thick wall is fallen and loft—
Creeping o'er the floor so damp,
Like a marsh's meteor lamp ;
And m each pillar there is a ring,

And m each ring there is a chain ,
That iron is a cankering thing,

For m those limbs its tooth remain,
With marks that mil not wear away
Till I have done with this new day,
Which now is painful to those eyes,
Which have not seen the sun so nso
For years — I cannot count thorn o'er ,
I lost thoir long and heavy score
When my last brother droop* d and died,
And I lay living by his side

in.

Thoy ohain'd us each to a column stono ;
And we wero three — yet, each alono.
We could not move a single paco ,
Wo could not soo each other's faco,
But with that pale and livid light
That made us strangers in our sight ,
And thus together, yet apart —
Fetter* d in hand, but jom'd in heart ,
'Twos still some solace, m the dearth
Of the pure elements of earth,
To hearken to each other's spooch,
And each turn comforter to each —
With some now hopo, or logond old,
Or song heroically bold ,
But even these at length grow cold
Our voices took a droaiy tone,
An echo of the dungeon-atone,
A grating sound — not full and free,
As they of yore wore wont to bo ,
It might bo fancy — but to mo
They never sounded like our own

IV

I was the eldest of tho throe ;

And to uphold and cheer the rest

I ought to do, and did, my bo«t —
And each did well in his dogroo.

The youngest, whom my lather loved,
Because our mother's brow was given
To ham — with eyes as blue as heaven —

For him my soul was sorely moved ,
And truly might it bo distroat
To see such bird in such a nest j
For he was beautiful as day

(When day was beautiful to mo
As to young eagles, being free),

A polar day, which will not see
A sunset till its summer's gone —

Its sleepless summer of long light,
The snow-clad offspring of tho sun

And thus he was, as pure &ud brght,

And in his natural spirit gay,
With toais for mwmlit but otlmi/H ilin ;
And then they flow'd like mountain nils,
Unless ho could asnuago tho wo
Which ho abhorr'd to view bolow

The other was as pure of mind,
But form'd to combat with his kind ,
Strong in his fiamo, and of a mooel
Which 'gainst tho world in \v«ir hoU stood,
And polish' d m the foremost rank

With joy , but not m ohtiuiH to pino
His spirit withcrM with thoir uluuk t

I haw it silently decline —

And so, porohanco, in Hootli, did mine '
But yot I forced it on, to choor
Those lolics of a homo so door.
Ho was a hunter of the hilln,

Had follow'd there tho door and wolf ;
To him this dungeon was a j»ulf,
And fetter'd foot tho worat of iUn.

Lake Loman IICH by Chillon'n vulln,
A thousand foot in depth below,
Its massy watorw moot and flow ,
ThuH much tho fathom- Into WIIH sent
From Chillon'H snow-whito

Which round about tho wa\ o
A double dungeon wall and wiwo
Have made — and like a living grave,
Below tho surface of tho laku
Tho daik vault lies whoroin wo lay ;
Wo hoard it ripple mglit and day ,

Sounding o'er our hoods* it knock1 <L
And I h,ivo felt tho wmtor*H Hpray
Wash through tho bars whrn winds worn liijf
And wanton in tho happy nky ,

And then tho voiy ioc.k liai.li ropkM,
And 1 have iolt it shako, uriKluwkM,
BooauHC I oouM liavo mmlod to M»<I
Tho death that would have i,ol mo Tree.

vrr.

I said my nearer brothor piiiMl ;
} said his mighty heart duulmcrl.
Ho loathed and put away liiw foexl ;
It was not that 'twon COOTM* and ratio,
For wo wore tiHocl to Imntcr'H faro,
And for tho like had little c«aro.
Tho milk drawn from tho mountain goat
Was changed for water from tho moat ;
Our broad wa» Hiinli an naptlvo «' t/»at*K
Have moiHton'd many a thonsiuid yoarH,
Since man first pont Inn fcllow-mon,
Like brutoH, within an iron don.
But what wore those to iw or him ?
Those wasted not hiH heart or limb ;
My brother's nonl waH of that mould
Which in a paloco had grown cold,
Had his free breathing been domed
The range of tho stoop mountain* M fiido.
But why delay the truth f — he died.

Ftom 1780*o I860]

THE PRISONER OF CHIL10N

[Loss

I Raw, and could not hold his head,
Nor roach his dying hand — nor dead,
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain,
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain
Ho died — and they unlock' d his chain,
And scoop'd for hua. a shallow grave
JEvon fiom tho cold oorth of our cave
I bogg'd thorn, as a boon, to lay
His corso in dust whoioon tho day
Might shiuo — it was a foolish thought ,
But then within my brain it wrought,
That ovon in doath his frooborn bieast
In such a dungeon could not rout
I might have spared my idlo prayer —
They ooldly laugh' <3, and laid him there,
Tho flat and turfloss oarth above
Tho being wo so much di<l lovo ,
His empty chain above it leant —
Such murder's fitting monument '

VIII.

But ho, tho favourite and tho flower,
Most choriHh'd since "hTB natal hour,
His mothers imago in fair face,
Tho infant lovo of all Ins race,
His martyr'd father's dearest thought,
My latest core — for whom I sought
To hoard my life, that his might bo
LO&H wretched now, and ono day free —
Ho, too, who yet had hold untirod
A spuit natuial or mHpiioA —
Ho, too, wan Htruek, and day by day
Was withei'd on the wtulk away

0 God ! it w a fearful thing

To see the huinim soul take wuig

In any ahopo, m any mood .

I've seou it ruHhing forth in blood,

I've Boon it on tho breaking- ocoan

Strive with a swollen, convulsive motion ;

I've Boon tho flick and ghastly bod

Of Bin, dolinouH with its dread ;

But those wore horrors — this WOR woo

Unmix' d with such— but HUTO and nlow.

Ho faded, and so culm and inook,

So softly worn, HO sweetly weak,

So tearless, yet so tender — kind,

And grieved for tliofio ho loft behind ;

With all tho while a cheek whoso bloom

Was OH a mockery of the tomb,

Whoso tints u<3 gently sunk away

As a deporting rainbow's ray —

An oyo of most transparent light,

That almost made tho dungeon bright,

And not a word of murmur, not

A groan o'or IIIH untimely lot —

A little talk of bettor days,

A little hope my own to raise ;

For I was Hunk in silence — lost

In this lant loss, of all the most

And then the Highs he would suppress

Of fainting nature's feebleness,

More alowly drawn, grow less and leas.

1 listen' d, but I could not hoar —
I calTd, for I was wild with fear ,

I know 'twas hopeless, but my dread
Would not bo thus admonished ;

I call'd, and thought I hoard a sound—

I burst my chain with ono Htroug bound,

And rush'd to him I found him not.

I only stirr'd in this black spot ;

I only lived — I only diow

Th' aocuisod breath of dungeon-daw ;

Tho lost, the solo, tho dearest link

Between me and the eternal brink,

Which bound mo to my foiling race,

Was brokon in this fatal place

Ono on tho earth, and ono beneath—

My brothers — both had coasod to breathe.

I took that hand which lay so still —

Alas ' my own was full as clnll ,

I had not strength to Rtir or &tnvo,

But felt that I was &till alive —

A frantic fooling, when wo know

That what we lovo shall no1 or bo BO*

I know not why

I could not die,

I had no earthly hope— but faith,
And that f oibade a selfish death.

IX.

What next befell mo then and ther

I know not well — I novor know.

First camo tho loss of light and air,

And then of darkness too
I hod no thought, no fooling — none •
Among tho stones I stood a stone ,
And was, scarce conscious what 1 wist,
As RhrublosB oraqs witlim tho mist ,
For all was blank, and bloak, aiul gray ,
It was not night—it was not day ;
It wan not ovon tho dungeon-light,
So hateful to my heavy Bight j
But vacancy absorbing space,
And fucodnows, without a plnco ;
There were 110 stars, no Garth, no time,
No chock, no change, no good, no crime ;
But Bilonco, and a starless breath
Which neither was of life nor death —
A sea of gtagnout idleness,
Blind, boundless, muto, and motionless

A light broke in upon my brain —

It was tho oarol of a bird ,
It coasod, and then it camo again —

Tho sweetest song oar over hoard ;
And nuno wan thankful till iny OVGH
Ban over with tho glad aurpiiso,
And they that moment could not see
I was the mate of misery ,
But then, by dull dogrooH, came back
My senses to their wonted track .
I saw tho dungeon walls and floor
Close slowly round mo as before ;
I saw the glimmer of tho sun
Creeping as it before hod done
But through tho crevice whore it camo
That bird was porch' d as fond and tamo,

And tamer than upon tho tree —
A lovely bird with azure wings,
And song that said a thousand tlungH,

And soom'd to say thorn all fur mo !

LOKD

THE PBISONBB OF OHTLLON*.

T never saw its liko before —

I ne'er shall seo its likenosa inoro.

It eoem'd, like mo, to want a mate,

But was not half so dosolato ,

And it was como to lovo mo whoa

None lived to lovo mo so again,

And, cheering- from my dragoon's brink,

Had brought mo back to fool and •Hvm'ir-

I know not if it late wore froo,

Or broke its cage to perch on mino ;

But knowing well captivity,

Sweot bird > I could not wish for thine —
Or if it were, in winged guise,
A -visitant from Paradise ;
For — Hoavon forgive that thought, tho whilo
Which mado me both to woep and smile ' —
I sometimes deern'd that it might be
My brother's soul oome down to mo ;
But then at last away it flew,
And then 'twas laortal well I know ,
For he would never thus have flown,
And left me twioe so doubly lone —
Lone as the corse within its shroud,
Lone as a solitary oloud,

A single oloud on a sunny day,
"While all the rest of heaven is oloar,
A frown upon the atmosphere,
That hath no business to appear

When skies are blue and earth is gay.

XI.

A kind of change oame in my fato —
My keepers grew compassionate
I know not what had mode thorn so —
They were murod to sights of woo ;
But so it was — my broken chain
With links unfasten'd did remain ;
And it was liberty to stride
Along my cell from side to sido,
And up and down, and then athwart,
And tread it over every part ,
And lound the pillars one by ono,
Betuining whore my walk begun-—
Avoiding only, as I trod,
My brothers' graves without a sod ;
For if I thought with heedless tread
My step profaned their lowly bod,
My breath camo gaspingly and thick,
And my orush'd heart foil blind and sick.

XII.

I mado a footing in the wall •

It was not therefrom to escape,
For I had buried ono and all

Who lovod me in a human shape ;
And tho whole earth would henceforth "bo
A wider prison unto mo ;
No child, no sure, no kin had I,
No partner in my misery
I thought of this, and I was glad,
For thought of thorn had mado me mad ;
But I was cunous to ascend
To my borr'd windows, and to bend
Onco more upon the mountains high
The quiets of a loving eye

XIII.

I saw them — and thoy woro tho samo ;
Thoy woro not ohangod, liko mo, in frarno ;
I saw thoir thousand yours of HIIOW
On high — thoir wide, loiitf lake below,
And the bluo Bhono in fullcwt flow ,
I hoard tho torrents loap and guwh
O'er channelled rook and Inokoii bunh :
I saw tho whito-wall'd diwtant town,
And whiter sails go skimming1 do\\n ;
And thon thoio was a littlo IH!O,
"Which in my vory faco did Hinilo —

Tho only ono ui view ;
A small, groan i»lo, it Hcom'd no more,
Scarce broader than my dungeon iioor ;
But in it thoro woro throo tall trow,
And o'er it blow tho mountain broom),
And by it thoro woro waters flowing
And on it thore woro young flowers growing

Of gontio breath and huo.
The fish swam by tho castlo wall,
And they soexn'd joyous, each and all ;
The oaglo rode tho rising blanb—
Methought ho never flow RO ftwt
As then to mo ho Boom' d to fly ;
And thon now tears oamo in my oyo,
And I folt troubled, and would fain
I hod not loft my recent chain ,
And when I did doaoond again,
The darkness of my dim abodo
Fell on me as a hoavy load ;
It was as in a now-dug gravo,
Closing o'er ono wo Bought io HHVO ;
And yet my glance, too much oi>i>iu«t,
Had almost nood of such a 3-OHt.

XIV
It might ho month fl, or yoars, or day« —

I kept no count, I took no noto— *
I had no hopo my oyow to rtuHO,

And oloar thorn of thoir dreary nioto j
At last conic mon to sot mo froo,

I aak'd not why, and rook'cl not wlwro ;
It was at long Lli tho Hamo to mo,
Fottor'd or fottoiloHH to bo ,

I loam'd to lovo despair.
And thus, whon thoy appoar'd at IUH!,
And all my bonds aHido woro cast,
ThoHo heavy wtilln to mo had grown
A hermitage — and all my own !
And half I folt as thoy woro flomo
To toar mo fiom a Hoorod homo
With spiders I hod fnondHhip mtulo,
And watch'd thorn in thoir Hullon trudo ;
Had seen tho mice by moonlight play—-
And why should I fool IOHB than thoy P
We woro all inmates of ono plaoo,
And I, tho monarch of oaoh raco,
Had power to kill j yot, fltrango to loll •
In quiet wo had loarn'd to dwoll.
My very chains and I grow fnondi,
So much along communion tcndw
To mako us what wo aro . — ovon I
Begain'd my freedom with a sigh,

Lor& Jfyron.— Bom 1788, DM 3824.

From 1780 to I860 ]

APOSTBOPHE TO THE OCEAN.

1346— THE GLADIATOB.

The soal is sot — Now welcome, thou dread

power '

Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which, here
Walk' si in tho shadow of the midnight

hour
With a doop awe, yot all dibtinct from

fear;
Thy haunts are over where tho doad walls

roar

Thoir ivy mantles, and the solemn soono
Derives from thoo *a sense so doop and

oloor,

That wo become a part of what has boon,
And grow unto tho spot, all-Roeing, but

unseen.

And horo tho buzz of eagor nations ran,
In murmur 'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause,
AB wan was slaughtered by his follow-

man.
And whoroforo slaughter' d ? wherefore, but

booauHO

Such woro tho bloody circus' genial laws,
And the impoiial pleasure. Wherefore

not?
What matters whore wo fall to fill tho

mawa

Of worms — on battle plains or listed spot ?
Both aro but theatres* whore the chief actors

rot

I HCO before mo tho gladiator bo
Tie IQIUDLH xipon hiH htuxl , hw inaiily brow
ConHontH to death, but oouqiiorH agony,
And IUH droop'd head Binkp gradually low
And through his side tho last drops, ebbing

slow

From tho red gash, fall heavy, one by one,
Like tho first of a thunder-shower , aud

now

Tho arena swims around him ; ho is gone,
Ero ceased tho inhuman shout which hail'd

tho wrotoh who won.

Ho hoard it, but ho hooded not , MB oyos
Woro with his heart, and that was far

away;

Ho rook'd not of tho lire ho lost, nor prize,
But whoro his rudo hut by tho Danube lay ,
There woro his young barbarians all ut

play,
There was their Daoian mother — Ho, their

siro,

Butcher' d to make a Bomon holiday
All this rush'd with his blood. Shall he

expire,
And unavenged ? Arise, ye Goths, and glut

your iro f

Lord Byron.— Born 1788, Died 1824.

1347 —APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAK

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on tho lonely shore,

Thoro is society, whoro none intrudes,
By the doop sea, and music in its loar ;
I lovo not man tho loss, but nature moro,
From those our jntorviowH, in which I

steal

Fiom all I may bo, or have boon before,
To mmglo with tlio universe, and fool
Wnat T can ne'er o&presH, yet cannot all
conceal,

Boll on, thou deop and dark blue Ocean —

roll'
Ton thousand fleets sweep over thoo in

vain,
Man marks tho oorth. with ruin — his

coniiol
Stops with tho shore; upon tho watery

plain
Tho wrecks aro all thy deed, nor doth

remain

A shadow of man's ravage, save his own;
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
lie sinks into thy depths with bubbling

groan —
Without a gravo, unknolL'd, unooffin'd, and

unknown.

His stops aro not upon thy paths — thy

fields

Aro not a npoil for him — thoxx dost arise
And Hlmko lam iioiu thoo , tho vile strength

lie wioltlu
For oiu lh's destruction thou dot.ii all

bun from thy bosom to iho

BklOH,

And HwwVHl him, nhivormg in thy playful

Hpray,
And howling to MH prods, whoro haply

UOB

HIH potty hopo in some noar port or bay,
And dashost him ogam to earth: there lot

him lay.

Tho armaments which thundurfitriko tho

wallH

Of rook-))Uilt cities, bidduiff nations quake,
And monurohH tremble in tUoir capiiulH,
Tho oak lonatluuiH, whoso liugo ribs muko
Their oltiy creator the vain titlo take, — >
Of lord of thoo, and arbiter of war :
ThoHO aro thy toys, and, aft tho snowy

flake,
Thoy molt into thy yoawt of waves, wliich

jfpfljp

Alike tlio Armada's pride, or ftpoils o£
Trafulgar.

Thy shorofl aro ompiros, ohanged in all

navo thoe —
Asnyria, Greece, Rome, Carthago, — what aro

they P
Thy waters wasted them while tlioy woro

froo,

And many a tyrant Rinoo , their shores obey,
The stranger, slave, or savage j thoir decay

BTEON]

DESCRIPTION OF IIAIDEE

PKKTOD —

Has dnod tip loalms to desorts not BO

thou,

Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play
Time writes 110 wrinkle on thmo azuro

brovv
Such as creation's dawnjbohold, thou rollost

now

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's

form

GLissoa itself in tempests , in all timo,
Calm or convulsed — an broozo, or gale, or

storm,

Icing tho polo , or in the tornd dimo
Dark-heaving , boundless, endless, and

sublime— •

The image of Eternity — tho throno
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the doep aro made , oaoh

zone

Obeys thee. thou goes forth, dread, fathom-
leas, alone

And I have lovod thoe, Ocean' and my

joy

Of youthful sports was on thy bioast to bo
Borne, liko thy bubbles, onward from a

boy

I wanbon'd with thy breakois — they to mo
Were a delight , and if tho freshening sea
Mado them a terror — 'twas a ploasrng feai ,
For 1 was, as it wore, a child of thoo,
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mano — as I do
hore

Lord Byion. — BOJTI 1788, Died 182-i

i343— DEscoarpTioN OF HAIDEE.

Her brow was overhung with coins of gold,

That spaiklod o'or tho aubnrn of hoi hau ,
Her clustering hail, whoso longer looks woio

roll'd
In braids behind , and though hoi stature

were

Even of tho highest for a female mould,
They nearly roaoh'd her hoela j and in hor

air

There was a something which bespoke com-
mand,
As one who was a lady in tho land

Her hair, I said, was auburn , but hor oyos
Wore black as death, thoir lashes the Hamo

hue,
Of downcast length, in whoso silk shadow lies

Deepest atti action , for when to tho view
Forth from its ravon frmgo tho full glanco

flies,
No'er with such foroo tho swiftest arrow

flew
' Tis as tho snake late ooil'd, who pours his

length,
And hurls at once his venom and his strength

Her brow was whito and low, IHT <'hcok*H

puro dyo,

Idko twilight, rosy still with tlio not win ,
Short nppor lip — swoot ItpH ! thai iiuko us

fiigtt

Ever to have soon Hiioli , for hlio wsw 0110
Fit for tho model of a Htatimiy

(A race oi inoro impostor* whoa all'rt

done—

I've seen much finer womon, ripo and r«iil,
Than all tho nonbonwo of their stono itloul)

Lord /tyron— Horn 1788, lh<><l 182*1

1349— HAIDEE VISITS TKH SHIP-
•WKECKED DON JUAN.

And down tho cliff tho inland virgin oamo,
And near tho cavo hor quick light footnlopH

drew,
While the sun smiled on hor with IUH flint

flame,

And young Aurora kuR'd hnr hp« with dow,
Taking hor for hor HiHtnr , just tho hiinm
Miatako you would have iiuwlo on Hooing tho

two,

Although tho mortal, quite ILK f nmh and fair,
Had all tho advantage too of not hoiitj? air.

And when into tho oavorn Haitlon HloppM

All timidly, yet rapidly, H!IO Haw
That, liko an infant, Juan H woolly nlopi •
And thoxi she stopp d and niocxl ati if in

awo
(For filoop IH awful), and on tiptoe oropt

And wrapt him oloHor, loHi, tho air, too vttvr,
Should rouoh hw blood, thon o'or him, Kiill

as death,

Bont with huHhM lipy, that drank IUH ucaroo-
drawn breath.

Ami thuH, liko to an angol o'or tho cl.yln^

Who <ho m ijghtuouHiiOHK, Hho JcaiiM, and

there
All tranquilly tho nhipwrookM boy waw lyliiK,

AR o'or him lay tho calm and stirloHH air .
But Zoo tho rnotUL tuno Homo ognfH WHM fryiujr,

Sinoo, af tor all, no doubt tho youthful pair
Must breakfast, and bothntM— lent they should

ask it,
She drew out hor proviwion from tho liibskot

* # » #

And now, by dint of ftognru, and of cycn*,

And wordH ropoatod aft(*r IHT, ho took
A lost-ton in hor touguo , but l>y HtirmiHn,

No doubt, IOHB of hor lnugna^o than hut ,

look i

AB ho who Ktudiort forvontly tho «kuw, ,

Turns oftonor to tho KtarH than to his book :
Thus Juan loamM his alpha bota boittT '

Prom Haidoo's glance than any #mvou loiter.

'Tis pleasing to bo gohooTd in a strange

tonguo
By f omalo lips and oyos — that in, I mean

From 1780 to 1866.] HAIDEE AND JITAtf AT THE FEAST.

BYBON,

Wlion both tho teacher and the taught aro

young ;

As was the case, at least, where I have
been,

They smile so when one's right, and when

one's wrong

They smile still more, and then there in-
tervene

Pressure of hands, perhaps oven a ohasto
kiss,—

I learn'd the little that I know by this

lord Byron.— Born 1788, Died 1824.

1350.— HAIDEE AND JUAN AT THE

FEAST

Haidoo and Juan carpeted their foot

On ciimson satin, bordor'd with pale blue ;
Their sofa occupied throe ports complete
Of the apoitment — and appear' d quite

now;
The velvet cushions — for a throne more

meet —
Wore scarlet, from whono glowing oontre

grow

A sun emboss' d in gold, whoso rays of tissue,
Mondian-liko, wore Boon all light to IHHUO.

Crystal and marble, plate and porcelain,
Had done their work of splendour , Indian

xnatH
And PctHian carpets, which the heart bled to

stain,
Over the floors woro spread ; gazelles and

cats,
And dwarfs and blacks, and suoh-liko things,

that gain
Their broad as ministers and favourites —

that's

To say, by degradation — mingled thcro
As plentiful as in a court or fair.

There was no want of lofty mirrors, and

The tables, mont of ebony inlaid
With mother-of-pearl or ivory, utood at hand,

Or woro of toitoiHO-sholl or rare woods

mode,
Fretted with gold or rolvor — by command,

The greater part of those woro ready spread
With viands and sherbets in ice— and wine —
Kept for all comers, at all hours to dine.

Of all tho drosses, I select Haideo' s .
She woro two johoks — one was of pale

yellow;

Of azure, pink, and white, was her chemise —
'Noath which her breast heaved like a litUo

billow;
With buttons formed of pearls as largo as

peas,

All gold and crimson shone her j click's
fallow,

And the striped white gauze baracan that

bound hor,
Like floooy clouds about tho moon, flow'd

round hor.

One largo gold bracelet clasp/ d each lovely
arm,

Locklosa — so pliable from the pure gold
That tho hand stretch* d and shut it without
harm,

Tho limb which it adorn'd its only mould ;
So beautiful — its very shapo would charm,

And clinging as if loath to lone its hold
The purest ore enclosed tho whitest skin
That o'er by precious motal was held in.

Around, as princess of hor father's land,

A light gold bar, above hor instep roll'd,
Announced hor lankj twelve rings wore on

her hand ;
Her haix was start' d with gems ; her veil's

fine fold

Below her breast was fasten' d with a band
Of lavish pearls, whoso worth could scarce

bo told ,

Hor orange-Bilk full Turkish trousers furl'd
About tho prettiest ankle in the world.

Hor hair's long auburn waves, down to hor

hool

Plow'd liko an alpine torrent, which tho Run
Dyoa with his morning light — and would con-
ceal

Hor person if allow' d at largo to mn,
And HtiJl they scorn' d rosoiitfully to fool

Tho silken fillet's curb, and nought to shun
Their bonds whene'er some Zephyr caught

began
To offer his young pinion as her fan.

Bound hor she made on atmosphere of life j
Tho very air soom'd lighter from hor eyes,

Thoy woro so soft, and beautiful, and rife,
With all we can imagine of tho skies,

And pure as Pnyoho ore she grow a wife —
Too pure oven for tho purest human ties ;

Her ovoi powering presence made you feel

It would not bo idolatry to kneel

Hor eyelashes, though dork as night, were

tinged

(It is tho country 'H custom), but in vain ;
For thoHo largo black eyes wore bo blackly

fringed,

The glosny robols znock'd Iho jetty stain,
And in hor native beauty wtoofl. avongod .
Hor noils woro touch' d with henna ; but

again

Tho power of art was tnrn'd to nothing, for
Thoy could not look more rosy than before.

Tho honna uhoald bo deeply dyed, to make
Tho skm rohovod appear more fairly f tur ;
She had no nood of this — day no' or will brook
On mountain-tops more heavenly white than
hor;

64

LORD BYRON,]

THE DEATH OF HAIDEE.

[SEVENTH PERIOD.—

The oye might doubt if it were woll awake,

She was so like a vision ; I might orr,
But Shakspeare also says, 'tis very silly
" To gild refined gold, or paint the lily "

Juan had on a shawl of black and gold,
But a white baraoan, and so transparent

The sparkling gems beneath you might behold,
Like small stars through tho milky- way ap-
parent;

His turban, furl'd in many a graceful fold,
An emerald aigrette with Haidee's hair in't

Surmounted as its clasp — a glowing crescent,

Whose rays shone over irembbng, but in-
cessant.

And now they were diverted by their suite,

Dwarfs, dancing-girls, black eunuchs, and
w a poet ,

Which made their new establishment com-
plete ;
The last was of great fame, and liked to

show it

His verses rarely wanted their due feet —
And for his theme — lie seldom sung below

it,

He being paid to satirise or flatter,
As the Psalms say, " inditing a good matter "

Lord Byron.— Born 1788, Died 1824.

1351. — THE DEATH OS1 HAIDEE

Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth,

Hex human clay is kindled , full of power
Tor good or evil, burning from its birth,
The Moorish, blood partakes tho planet's

hour,

And, like the soil beneath it, will bring- forth
Beauty and love were Haidoc's mother's

dower;
But her large daik eye show'd deep Passion's

force,
Though sleeping like a lion near a source.

Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,
Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and
fair,

Till slowly charged with thunder, they display
Terror to earth and tempest to the air,

Had held till now her soft and milky way ,
But, overwrought with passion and despair,

The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,

Even as the simoom sweeps the blasted plains.

The last sight which she saw waB Juan's gore,
And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down j

Has blood was miming on tho very floor
Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own ;

Thus much she view'd an instant and no

more—-
Her straggles ceased with one convulsive
groan;

On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held

Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd.

A vein had burst, and hor swooi lips' puro

dyes
Were dabbled with the deep blood which

ran o'er,

And her head droop* d as when tlm lily IIOH
0'erohargod with rain . hor wummon'd hand-

maids boro

Their lady to hor couch with gunlung O.VOH ;
Of herbs and cordials they produced their

store

But she defied all means they could employ,
Like one life could not hold nor death doatroy.

Days lay she in that state unchanged, though

chill—

With nothing livid, still hor lips wore rod ;
She had no pulse, but death scorn' d ulmont

still;

No hideous sign proclaim' d her surely dotuL •
Corruption came not, in each mind to kill

All hope - to look upon hor swoot face bred
New thoughts of life, for it scum'd full of

soul —

She had so much, earth could not claim tho
whole.

The ruling- passion, such aH marble HUOWH
When exarasitoly chiaollM, utill luy tlioro,

But fix'd as marble's unchanged anpoot thrown
O'er the fair Venus, but for over four ;

O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throoH,
And ever-dying gladiator's air,

Their energy like life forms all thoir fiwno,

Yet looks not life, for they are still tho Homo.

She woke at length, but not aH nloopcrn wako,
Bather the dead, for lifo Hoom'd Homothing

now,
A strange sensation which sho muHt partake

Perforce, since whatnoovor mot lior viow
Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache
Lay at hor heart, whoHO oarltont boat Htill

true
Brought back tho HonHO of pain without tho

cause —
For, for a while, tho furioH mado a panno.

She look'd on many a face with vacant oyo,
On many a token without knowing what ;
She saw them watch hor without nuking why,
And rook'd not who around hor pillow Hat .
Not speoohlcHs, though she spoko not j not a

sigh
Believed hor thoughtd; dull Hilonco and

quick chat
Wore tried in vain by thoao who florvod , «ho

gave
No sign, save breath, of having loft tho

Her handxnaidn tended, but Hho hooded not ,

Hor father watch'd, aho turxx'd hor cyos

away;
She recognised no bemg, and no flpot,

However dear or cherish' d in thoir day;
They changed from room to room, but all

• forgot;

Gentle, but without memory, aho lay ;

From 1780 to 1866]

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

[LORD BTEOW.

At length tliose eyes, which they would fain

bo weaning
Book to old thoughts, wax'd full of fearful

And then a slavo bethought her of a harp
Tho harper came and tunod his instrument .

At the first notes, irregular and sharp,
On him her flashing eyes a moment bent ,

Then to the wall she turn'd, as if to warp
Her thoughts from sozrow through her
heart re-sent,

And ho began a long low island song

Of anoient days ore tyranny grew strong

Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall
jpj "fauno to his old tune , ho changed the

theme,
And sung of Love, the fierce name stiuok

through all

Her roGolloction , on her flash7 d tho dream
Of what she was, and is, if ye could call
To bo so being in a gushing stream
Tho toars rush'd forth from her o'orolouded

brain,

Like mountain mists at length dissolved in
rain.

Short solace, vain roliof ' thought camo too

quick,
And whirl' d hor biam to madness, sho

aroRO
AH one who no1 or had dwelt among tho sick,

And flow at all nho mot, as on hor foos ,
But no ono ovor hoard hor speak ox shnok,
Although her paroxysm drew towards its

close ,

Hera was a frenzy which disdain' d to ravo,
Evoxx when thoy smoto her, in tho hopo to aayo,

Twelve days and nights she wither' d thus , at

last,
Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to

show

A parting pang, the spirit from hor pass'd •
And thoy ,who watch' d her nearest could

not know
Tho vory instant* "HIT tho change that oast

Her sweet faoo into shadow, dull and slow,
Glazed o'er hor eyes — tho beautiful, tho

black-
On to possess such lustre, and then lack !

She died, but not alone ; she hold within
A second principle of life, which might

Have dawn'd a fair and sinless child of HM? j
But closed its little being without light,

And wont down to tho grave unborn, wherein
Blossom and bough Ho wiihor'd with ond
blight;

In vain the dews of hoavon descend above

Tho blooding flower and "blasted fruit of lovo.

Thus lived— thus died she ; novor more on hor
Shall sorrow light or shame. She was not

made
Through years or moons the inner weight to

bear,

"Which colder hearts endure fan they are

laid
By ago in earth . hor days and pleasures wore

Brief, but delightful — such as had not stayed
Long with her destiny ; but she sleeps well
By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell

That isle is now all desolate and bare,
Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away,

None but her own and father's grave is there ;
And nothing outward tolls of human, clay ,

To could not know whore lies a thing so fair j
No one is there to show, no tongue to say

What was ; no dirge except tho hollow seas

Mourns o'er tho beauty of the Cyclados.

Lord Byron. — Born 1788, Dwd 1824.

1352— ALL FOB LOYB.

0 talk not to me of a name great in story ;
The days of our youth are tho days of our

glory;
And tho myrtle and ivy of swoet two-Mid-

twenty
Are woith all your laurels, though over so

plenty

What aio garlands and crowns to tho brow

that is wrinkled ?
'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew

besprinkled
Then away with all Bnch from tho hood that

is hoary —
What oaro I for tho wroatlis that can only

give glory P

0 Fame 1 — if I o'er took delight in thy

praises,
'Twos IOHS for tho sako of thy high-sounding

phrases,
Than to seo tho bright eyos of the door one

discover
She thought that I was not xmworthy to lovo

hor,

Thoro chiefly I sought thoo, thoro only I

found thoo ;
Hor glanoo was tho best of tho rtiyrt that

surround thoo ,
When it sparkled o'er aught that waH bright

in my story,

1 know it was lovo, and I folt it was glory.

Lord #i/rew.— JBom 1788, Died 1824.

1353 —SHE WALKS IN BEAOTY.

Sho walks in beauty, like tho night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in hor aspect and hor eyos,
Thus mellow'd to that tondor light
Which heaven, to gaudy day denies.

64*.

LORD BTBON]

ELEGY ON THYEZA

[SWVENTII PWRTOD —

Ono shade tho more, ono ray the IORH
Had half Imp an 'd tho namoloss ginco
Which waves in every ravon tross
Or softly lightens o'er hoi face,
"Whore thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear thoir dwolling-placo

And on thai chock and o'or that brow

So soft, so calm, yot eloquent,

Tho smiles that win, tho tints that glow

But toll of days ui goodness spent, —

A mind at peace with all "below,

A heart whose love is innocent.

Lord Byron— Bom 1788, DM 1824.

1354.— -ELEGY ON THYBZA.

Andthou art dead, as young and fair

As aught of mortal birth ;
And forms so soft and charms so rare

Too soon return'd to Earth r
Though Eaith received them in her bod,
And o'or tho spot the crowd may tread

In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look

I will not ask whore thou liest low

Nor gaze upon the spot ,
There flowers or weeds at will may grow

So I behold them not
It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved and long most love,

Like common earth can rot ,
To me there needs no stono to toll
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well.

Yet did I love thoo to the last,

As fervently as thou
Who didst not change through all the past

And canst not alter now
The lovo where Death has sot hia seal
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow
And, what woro worse, thou canst not BOO
Or wrong, or change, or fault in mo.

The better days of life woro ours ;

The worst can bo but mine
Tho sun that cheers, tho storm that lours

Shall never more be thine
The silence of that droamloRu sloop
I envy now too much to woop ,

Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'd away
I might have watch'd through long decay.

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatoh'd

Must fall the earliest prey ;
Though by no hand untimely snatch' d,

The leaves must drop away
And yet it were a greater griof
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,

Than see it pluck'd to-day ;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To traoe the change to foul from fair.

I know not if I oonld have borno

To see thy bcautioH fwlo ;
Tho night that follow1 d Htioli a morn

Had worn a doopoi nliado .
Thy day without a cloiul hath patt,
And thou wort lovely to the hint,

ExtmgniHk'd, not (Inuiy'd ;
As stars that hhoot along tlio wky
Shine brightest ti.y they fall from high.

As once I wept if I could woop,

My tonis might well bo Rhod
To think I wart not near, to kooj>

One vigil o*er thy l>od .
To gaze, how fondly ' on thy faoo,
To fold thoo XXL a faint ombraco,

Uphold thy drooping head ;
And show that lovo, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can fool again.

Yot how much loss it woro to #ain,

Though thou haut loft me froo,
The lovoho&t things that utill remain.

Than thus remember thoo '
Tho all of thine that catmot <lio
Through dark and dread Eternity

Boturns again to mo,
And moro thy buried lovo endears
Than aught except its living yearn.

Lord Byron.— itow 1788, JDteti 182-L

1 355-— YOUTH AND AGE.

There 'B not a joy the world can givo likfl J.hat

it takes away
When tho plow of early thought dwIinoH t \

fooling' H dull decay ;
'Tis not on youth'n Hmooi.li cliook tho Muni)

alone which iadoH HO fiwt,
But tho tondm* bloom of heart in g'ono, era

youth itself bo piwt,

Then tho fow whono KpiritH float above the

wreck of hapjuiioHM
Are driven o'er tho HhoaJri of guilt 01 ocoun of

OXCOHH :
Tho magnet of thoir COUTHO w gone, or only

pomtM m vain
Tho Hhoro to -which thoir HhivorM flail hhfill

never stretch ogam.

Then tho mortal coldiioHH of tho HOU! like

doath itself oomon down ,
It cannot fool for other**' WOOH, it dare not

dream itri own ;
That heavy chill han frozen o'or the fountain

of our ioarH,
>And though tho eye may Hparklo still, 'tis

where the ice appears.

Though wit ^ may flash from fluent lips, and

mirth distract tho breant,
Through midnight hours that yield no moro

their former hope of rest ;

&vm 1780 to 1866.]

THE NIGHT BEFOBE WATERLOO.

[LORD BYEON.

'Tis but as ivy-lcaros axound the nun'd turret

wroatho,
All green and wildly fresh without, but wom

and grey beneath

0 could I fool as I have foil, or bo wliat I

havo boon,
Or woop as I oould onco have wopt o'er many

a vanished scone, —
As spring's in deserts found scorn swoot, aft

brackish though thoy bo,
So midst tho wither' d waste of life, thoso

tears would flow to mo '

Lord 2?{/?o7i — Bom 1788, Died 1824.

1356— VISION OF BELSHAZZAI&.

Tho King was on hiH throne,

Tho Satraps throng 'd tho hall
A thouHand bright lamps shono

O'er that high festival
A thousand cups of gold,

In Judah doem'd divmo —
Jehovah's voxels hold

Tho godloHS heathen's wine '

In that same hour mid hull,

Tho fin«orH of a luwul
Oamo forth aftanmt tho wall,

And wioto OH il oji wind
1 ho fingers of A nuui , —

A solitary han<l
Along tho loiters ran,

And txoeod thorn like a wand.

Tho monarch saw, and shook,

And bade no moro rojoioo ;
All bloodless waacVl his look,

And tromulous HH voico
" Lot tho men of lore appear,

Tho wisest of tho earth,
And expound tho words of fear,

Which mar our loyal mirth "

Chidden* s seers are good,

Hut here thoy havo no skill ,
And tho unknown letters stood

Untold and awful still
And Babel's men of ago

Are wise and deep in lore ;
But now they wore not huge,

Thoy saw — but know no moro.

A captive in the land,

A stranger and a yonth,
Ho hoaid tho king's command,

Ho saw that writing' H truth,
The lamps around wuro bright,

Tho prophecy in view ,
He read it on that night, —

Tho morrow proved it true.

"Bolshazzar's grave is made,
His kingdom pass'd away,

Ho, in tho balance wcugh'd,

Is light and worthless clay ;
Tho shroud his robe of state,

His canopy tho atono ,
Tho Mode is at his gato '

The Persian on his throne 1 "

Lord Byron —flora 1788, Died 1824.

1357.— TO BELSHAZZAE

Belshazzar ' from tho banquet turn,

Nor in thy Ronsual fulness fall ,
Behold ' while yet bofoio thoo burn

Tho graven words, tho glowuig wall,
Many a despot men miscall

Crown'd and anointed from on laqh ;
But thou, tho weakest, worst of nJl —

Is it not written, thon must die '*

Go ' dash tho rosos from thy brow —

Oroy hairs bxit poorly wroatho with thorn ,
Youth's garlands misbecome thoe now,

Moro than thy very diadem,
Where thou hast tarnish' d every gem —

Then throw tho wortliloss bauble by,
Which, worn by thoo, oven slaves contemn ,

And learn hko bottor men to dio 1

Oh ' early in tho balance weigh' d,

And ovoi light of word iiud worth,
Whoso soul expired ore youth dooay'd,

And loft thoo but a mown oi oarfcli.
To HOC thoo moves tho Hcomor'n mirth .

But toarw in Hopo'H avoitod oyo
Lauiont that oven thou hadst birth—

Uulit to govern, hvo, or dio.

Lord Byron.— 2hrv, 1788, Died 1824.

1358 -—THE NIGHT BBFOBE THE
BATTLJB3 OF WATERLOO.

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gatherM then
Her Beauty an<l hor Chivalry, and bright
The lainpB shone o'erluir women and bravo

xnon,

A thounand hearts boat hupyily ; and when
MUHJC arose with its voluptuouH Hwull,
Sofi; eyes look'd love to oyoa wliich spake

ngam,

And all wont mon*y as a marnago-boll ;
But Irtish ' hark ' a deep Hound BinkoH like a

rising knoll '

Did yo not hoar it P — No , 'twas but tho

wind,

Or tho car rattling o'er tho ntouy fctieot ;
On with tlio dance ! lot joy bo uiicon-

fined ,
No sloop till morn when Youth and

Pleasure moot

SHELLEY ]

OPENING- OF QtTEEN MAB.

[SBVBNTH PRKTOP-

To chose the glowing Hours with flying

feet—
But, hark1— that heavy sound breaks in

onoo moro,

As if tho clouds its ooho would repeat ;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before '
Arm 1 Arm ' it is — it is — tho cannon's opening

roar1

Within a wmdow'd nioho of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; ho did

hear

That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic

ear;
And when they smiled because he doem'd

it near,
Bis heart more truly knew that pool too

well
Which stretoh'd his father on a bloody

bier,
And roused the vengeance blood alone could

quell

He rush'd into tho field, and, foremost fight-
ing, f ell.

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and

fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of

distress,
And cheeks all pole, which but on hour

ago

Blush' d at the praise of their own loveli-
ness,
And there were sudden Jpartings, such as

press
The life from out young hearts, and choking

sighs
Which ne'er might be lepeated, who could

guess
If ever moro should moot those mutual

eyos,
Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn

could rise ?

And there was mounting in hot hasto tho

steed,
The mustering squadron, and tho clattering

cor,
Went pouring forward with ixnpotuous

speed,

And swiftly forming in tho ranks of war ,
And the deep thunder pool on i>oal afar ,
And near, tho beat of tho alarming drum
Boused up the soldier ore the morning

star;
While throng* d tho citizens with terror

dumb,
Or whispering, with white lips — " Tho foe '

They como ' they como 1 "

And wild and high tho " Cameron's gather-
ing "rose'

The war-note of LochieL which AJbyn'a
hffls

Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon
foes: —

How in tho noon of night that pibroch

thrilla,
Savage and Hhrill! But with tho breath

which fillw
Their mountoin-pipo, HO fill tho moun-

tomoorH

With tho fierce miiivo clming which inHtiln

The stirrmg memory of a thounand yoars,

And Evan's, Donold'H fame rings in each

clansman' u corn !

And Ardonnos -waves above thorn her green

Dowy with nature's toar-dropn, an they

pass,

Grieving, if aught inanimate o'er gnovoH,
Over tho unroturmng bravo, — alow '
Ere evening to bo troddon hko the grown
Which now beneath them, but above Hholl

grow

In its next verdure, when thin fiery most*
Of living valour, rolling on tho foe
And burning with high hope, shall moulder

cold and low.

Last noon behold thorn full of Ittnty hfo,
Last eve in Boiiuty*n circle proudly #uy,
Tho midnight brought tho Higual-Houncl of

stiifo,
Tho morn tho marshalling- in arms, — tho

day

Battle's magnificently-Btera array 1
Tho thundor-cloudH clone o'er it, which

when rent

Tho earth is covor'd tliiclc with other clay,
Which her own clay Hholl cover, hoay'd and

pent,
Rider and horno, — friend, f oo, in one rod burial

blent '

— /torn I7«8, DM 1884.

1359.— OPENING OF QUBBN MAN.

How wonderful in Death,

Death and IIIH brolhor Sloop !
One, pale an yonder waning moon,

With JipH of lurid bino ,
Tho other, rony UH tho morn

When, throiiocl on owau'H wavo,

It bluHhoH o'er tho world •
Tot both HO pafwing wondorful !

Hath then tho gloomy Power,
Whose reiffn IH hi tho tainted hopnlohroR,

Seized on her HiuloHH HOU! P

Must thon that p(»orI(»MB form
Which lovo and admiration cannot viow
Without a boating heart, UJOHO assuro voinH
Which Rtoal hko ntroaniH along a fiold of flnow,
That lovely ontlino, which i« fair

As breathing mtu-blo, pori«h P

Must putrof action's breath
Leave nothing of thiH h«avonly idght

But loathsomonoHS and ruin P

Mom 1780 to 1800,1

THE CLOUD.

[.'•JUELLEY,

Sparo nothing but a gloomy lliome
On which the lightest licail might moralize ?
Or is it only a sweet slumber

Stealing o'or sensation,
Which tho breath of roseate morning1

Chaseth into daiknoss ?

Will lanthe wake again,
And give that faithful bosom joy
Whoso sleepless spirit waits to catch
Light, life, and, rapture from her smile.

Her dewy eyes are closed,
And on their lids, whoso texture fine
Scarce hides the daik blue orbs beneath,

The baby Sleep is pillow'd:

Her golden tresses shade

The bosom's stainless pride,
Curling like tendrils of the parasite

Around a marble column

Hark ' whence that rushing sound ?

'Tis like tho wondrous strain
That round a lonely ruin swells,
Which, wandering on the echoing shore,

Tho enthusiast hears at evening •
'Tis softer than the west wind's sigh ;
'TiH wilder than tho unmeasured notes
Of that strange lyre whoso strings
Tho gonu of the breezes swoop .

Those linos of lambow light
Aio like tho moonbeams when they fall
Throiigh Homo cathocb al window, but tho teints

Arc Hu«h OH may not find

Compaiinon on earth

Behold tho chariot of tho fairy queen '
OoloHtial cournorH paw tlio unyielding air ;
Tlioir filmy pcnnonft at her word they furl,
Ana ntop obedient to tho roms of light .
These tho quoon of spoils drew in ,
She spread a charm around tho spot,
And loaning graceful from the ethereal oar,
Long did she gaze, and silently,
Upon tho slumbering- maid,

Botn 1792, Died 1822.

1360 — THE CLOUD

I bring fresh showers for tho thirsting flowers,

From tho soaa and tho streams ;
I boar light shade for tho loaves whon laid

In their noonday dreams.
From my wings arc shaken the dows that
waken

Tho sweot birds ovory ono,
When rock'd to rest on their mother's breast,

AB fthe dances about the sun.
I wield tho flail of tho lashing hail,

And whilon tho groon plains under ;
And then again I dissolve it in rain,

And laugh as I past* in thunder.

I sift tho finow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast ;

And all tho night 'tis my pillow white,

While I sloop in the arms of tho blast.
Sublime on tho towers of my dkiej bowors

Lightning, my pilot, sits ,
In a cavern under is f otter M the thunder,

It struggles and howls at fits ,
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,

This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by tho love of the genii that xnovo

In tho depths of the puiplo noa ;
Over tho nils, and the crags, and the hills,

Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever ho dream, under mountain or stream,

The Spmt ho lovos, remains ,
And I all tho while bask in heaven's bluo
smile,

Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

Tho sanguine sunriHO, with hia metoor oyos,

And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on tho back of my sailing rook

When tho morning star shines dead.
As on the jag of a mountain crag,

Whioh an earthquake rooks and swings,
An eaglo alit, one moment may sit

In tho light of its golden wings ;
And whou. Rtmeot may breathe from tho lit sea
beneath,

Its ardoarH of rost and of love,
And the crimson pall of evo may fall

From tho depth of heaven above,
With wmgB folded I rost on mino airy nest,

As still as a brooding dovo

That orbed maiden with white fire laden,

Whom mortals call tho moon,
Glidou glimmering o'or my floooo-liko floor,

By tho midnight broozofl Rtrown ,
And whorovor tho boat of her unseen foot,

Which only tho angola hear,
M.ay havo broken tlio woof of my tent's thin
roof,

Tho fltorfl poop behind her and peer j
And I laugh to BOO thorn whirl and floo,

Like a swarm of golden boos,
Whon I widon tho ront in my wind-built tont,

Till tho calm river, lakos, and soan,
lake strips of tho wky fallen through mo on

Are each paved wibh tho moon and those.

I bind tho BUIL'H throno with a burning zono,

And tho moon's with a tfirdlo of poarl ,
Tho volcanoes aro dim, and tho fitars rool and
swim,

Whon tho whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From capo to capo, with a bndgo-liko shape,

Over a toiTont sea,
Sunbeam proof, I hong hko a roof,

Tho mountains its columns bo.
The triumphal arch through wliich I march,

With huracano, fire, and snow,
Whon tho powers of tho air aro chain' d to my
chair,

Is tho million-colour' d bow ,
Tho sphere-fire above, its soft colours wovo,

While iho mount earth waa laughing below.

SHELLEY.]

TO A SKYLARK.

I am the daughter of tho earth and water,

And tho nursling of tho sky ,
I pass through tho pores o* tho ocean and
shores ;

I chango, but I cannot dio
For after tho rain, when, with novor a stain,

The pavilion of heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams, with thoir con-
vex gleams,

Build up the blue domo of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain,
lake a child from tho womb, like a ghost from
the tomb,

I use and upbuild it again.

.— Bom 1792, Died 1822

I36I.—TO A SKYLABK.

Hail to thee, blithe spirit !

Bird thou novor wort,
That from heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still, and higher,

from tho earth thou springost
Like a cloud of fire ,

The blue deep thou. wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring over,
singest.

Tp the golden lightening

Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are brightening,

Thou dost float and lun,
Like an unbodied joy whoso race is just begun

The pale purple oven

Molfca around thy flight ,
Like a star of heaven

In the broad daylight,

Thou art unseen, but yet I hoar thy shrill
delight.

Keen are tho arrows

Of that silver sphere,
Whoso intense lamp nanows

In tho white dawn clear,
Until we hardly see, wo fool that it is there

An the earth and air

With thy voice is loud,
As, when night is baro,

Prom one lonely cloud

The moon rains out her beams, and heaven ia
overflowed

What thou art we know not ;

What IB most like thoo ?
"From rainbow clouds there flow not

Drops so bright to see,
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody

Like a poet hiddou

In tho litfht of thought,
Singing hymiirt nnbiddem,

Till tho world IH wrought
To sympathy with hopos and fears it iioodotl
not

Like a high-born maidon

In a palooo towor,
Soothing hoi lovo-liu^m

Soul in MMtrrii hour

With music sweet as lovo, which overflow. i hot
bower.

Like a glow-worm goldoii

In a dell of dow,
Scattering unboholdon

Its aerial hue

Among tho flowers and graflH, which Boromi it
from tho view.

Like a rone ombowor'tl

In its own groou lotwo <,
By warm windn doflowov'd,

Till tho aoont it fi-ivos

Makes faint with too much HwooL thoHO hoavy-
wuigod thieves.

Sound of vernal

On tho twinkling- grahH,
Bain-awakonM flowcrw,

All that evor wan

Joyous, and clear, and froflh, thy miwio doth
surpass

Teach YIH, aprito or bud,
What Hwoot thought** tiro thine ;

I have novor hoard

1*1.1,1*0 of lovo or wmo w

That panted forth a flood of rapturo HO cli* 'ino.

ChoruH hymeneal, /

Or triumphal ciluuii,
MaMi'd with thmo would bo all

.But an empty vaunt—

A thing whoroin wo fool thoro m :u>mo hiMdou
want

What objoots t

Of thy happy Hlnwn j'
What lioldn, or wa\on, o

What HhapCH of «ky or plain ?
What lovo of tluiio own kind P what itfW>runoo
of pain P

With thy cloar koon joyancso

Languor cannot )>n .
Shadow of annoyauco

Kovor cannj noar tlujo :
Thou lovoHt , bnt nc'or IOMJW love's sad aatioty,

Waking or aHloop,

'J'hoii of death miint doom
Thingw more true and (loop
Tlian wo mortaln drcaui,
Or how could thy not(w flow in Buch a crystal
BtzcamP

Prom 1780 to 1866 ]

TO THE NIG-HT.

Wo look bofoio and after,

And pmo for what is not
Our sinooiORt laughter

"With, Borne para id fraught •
Our sweetest Bon«a aro thoso that tell of
saddost thought

Yot if wo oould scorn

Hato, and pride, and foar ,
If wo wero thongs born

Not to shod a tear,

I know not how thy joy wo over could oomo
near.

Bettor than all measures

Of delight and sound,

Bottor than all treasures

That in books aro found,
Thy skill to poet woio, thou scorner of the
ground'

Toaoh mo half the gladness

That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness

From my hpw would flow,
The world should listen thon, as I am listening

.—BQrn 1792, Dud 1822

now.

1362 —LINKS TO AN INDIAN AIB

I an«o from droamfi of Tlioo
In tho firwt Hwoot nleop of night,
Whon tho wmdrt aro breathing low
And tho HtarH are Hhmmg bright
I anno from dreams of tlioo,
And a spirit in my foot
HOB led mo— -who known how ?
To thy chamber- window, Swoot !

Tho wondering airw they faint
On tho diurk, tho silent Htroam —
Tho ohampak odotu-H fail
Like sweet thonghtn in a dream j
Tho nightingale' H complaint
It dies upon her hoait,
As I must die on thino
O beloved tin thou art '

0 lift mo fiom tho grass !
Idio, I faint, I fail I
Lot thy lovo m ICIHBOS ram
On my lips and oyohdfl pale
My cheek is cold and white, alas '
My hoart boatw loud and f ant ,
O ' press it close to thino again,
Whore it will break at last.

Shollcy — Jlomi 1792, Died 1822.

1363.— I PEAR THY KISSES.

I foar thy kiHHOH, gentle maiden,
Thou noodoat not tear nuue ,

My spirit is too deeply laden
Ever to burthen thme.

I foar thy mien, thy tones, thy motion ,
Thou neodest not fear mine ;
Innocent is tho heart's devotion
With which I worship thino.

SJwlley.—Boin 1792, DM 1822.

1364.— LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY.

The fountains mingle with tho river
And tho rivers with tho ocean,
Tho windu of heaven m?* for over
With a swoot emotion ,
Nothing in tho world IB single,
AH things by a law divine
In one another 'H being mingle—
Why not I with thino ?

See the mountains kiss high heaven
And tho wavos clasp ono tinother ,
No Bwtor-flowor would bo forgiven
If it disdain' d its brother
And the sunlight clasps tho earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the BOO —
What are all UIOHO kiBsuigu "w orth,
If thou kiss not mo ?

—Born 1702, Vied 1822.

1365—10 TUB NIGHT.

Swiftly walk over tho western wave,

Spmt of Night I
Out of tho mibty eastern eave
Where all tho long and lono daylight
Thou wovost dreams of joy and fear
Which moke tlioo terrible and dear, —

Swift bo thy flight!

Wrap thy forta in a mantle gray

Star-inwrought '

Blind with thine hair tho eyes of day,
Kiss her until H!IO bo wearied out,
Thon wander o'er oity, and Hen, and land,
Touching all with thino opiato waud-—

Come, long-sought !

Whon I arose and wvw tho dawn,

I sigh'd for thoo ,
When light rode high, and the dow was

gone,

And noon lay hoavy on flower and tree,
And tho weary Day turn'd to his rest
Lingering like an unloved guoflt,

I High'd for thco

Thy brother Death oamo, and cried

Wouldst thou mo P

Thy swoot child Sloop, tho filmy-oyod,
Murmur* d like a noon- tide boo

]

THE "FLTGHT OF LOVE.

[SEVENTH PHKIOD. —

Shall I BGsUe noar thy side P
Wouldst thou mo * — And I replied
No, not thco '

Death will como when thou art dead,

Soon, too soon —

Sleep will oomo whon thou art flod ;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thoo, bolovbd Might—
Swift be thine approaching flight,

Oomo soon, soon 1

—Born 1792, Died 1822

1366— THE PLIGHT OF LOYE.

"When the lamp is shatter 'd,
The light in the dust lies dead ,
"When the cloud is scatter' d,
The rainbow's glory is shed
Whon the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remember' d not ,
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents aie soon forgot

As music and splendour

Surnve not the lamp and the lute,

The heart's echoes render

No song when the spirit is mute —

No song but sad dirges,

Like the wind through a ruin'd cell,

Or the mournful surges

That ring- the dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled,

Love first leaves the woll-Liult nest ;

The weak one is singled

To endure what it once possost

O Love ' who bewailest

The frailty of all things hoio,

Why choose you tlio frailest

For your cradle, your homo, and your bior ?

Its passions will look thoo

As the storms rock the ravons on high ,

Bright reason will mock thoo

Lake the sun from a wintry riky.

Prom thy nest every rafter

Will rot, and thine eagle homo

Leave thee naked to laughter,

When leaves fall and cold winds como.

y.— Jffotn 1792, Died 1822.

1367*— ONE WORD IS TOO OFTEN
PBOFAOTJD.

One word is too often profaned

Por me to profane it,
One feeling too falbcly disdain' d

Por thee to disdain it.
One hope is too like despair

Por prudoaco to smothor,
And Pity from thoo more dear

Than that from another.

I can givo not what moxx call lovo ;

But wilt thou accept not
The worHhip the heart hftrt above

And the HoavcuH reject not ,
The doHiro of tho moth for tlu» Htur»

Of tho night foi tho morrow,
Tho devotion to something afar

Prom tho nphoro of our HOU o\v P

i/.— Jftoru 1702, liwl 1822.

1368.— INVOCATION.

Baroly, raroly, comoHt thou,

Spirit of Delight 1
Wherefore hoat then loft mo now

Many a day and night ?
Many a weary night and day
'Tis sinco thou art flod away.

How shall over ono like ino

Win thoo back again P
With tho joyouH and tho froo

Thou wilt flcoff at paiii.
Spirit false ' thou luwii forgot
All but thoso who need thoo not.

As a lizard with tho nhado

Of a trembling- loaf,
Thou with Harrow art diHmay'd ;

Even tho Highs of griuf
Reproach thoo, that thou art not noar,
And ropioaoh thou wilt not hoar.

Lot mo sot my mournful ditty

To a inorvy moiihiiro ; —
Thou wilt uevor oomo f*n j>ity,

Thou wilt como lor pleasure ;—
Pity then will out awa.v
Those cruel wmgH, aii<l thou wilt stay,

I love all thai thou lovont,

Spint of DtiLSff hi !
Tho fiOHh Km th in new loavcH drci-h

And tho Hiatry night •
Antumn evening, tuul tho niotu
Whon tho goldou niiMis arc bom.

I lovo «now and all tho formw

Of tho radiant f roHi. ;
I love wave**, and windH,

Which is Katnro'H, and may bo
Untainted by mou'rt miHory.

I lovo tronfmil Holituclo,

And Hn<sh Hocioty
AH is quiet, WIHO, and good ,

Between thoo and mo
What diff'rcnco ? but thou dcwt
Tho tlungM J nook, not lovo thetn IOH«.

I lovo Lovo — though ho has wingfi,

And like light can floo j
But above all other thingp,

Spirit, I lovo thoc —

I Prom 1780 to 1866.]

TO A LADY, WITH A OTITAB.

Thou art lovo and life I 0 como '
Mako once more my heart thy homo '

SJieOey — £om 1702, Died 1822

1369,— STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJEC-
TION NBAS NAPLES

Tho mm is worm, the sky in clear,
The -waves ore dancing fast and bright,
Blue islos and snowy mountains wear
Tho purple noon's transparent light .
The breath of the moist air is light
Around its unexpanded bnds ;
lake many a voioo of one delight —
The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods'-
The City's voice itself IB soft like Solitude's

I soo the Deep's untrampled floor

With green and purple sea-woods fit r own,

I seo the waves upon the. shore

Like light dissolved in star -showers

thrown.

I sit upon the sands alone ;
Tho lightning of the noon-tido oooan
Is flashing round mo, and a tone
Arises from its measured motion —
How swoot ! did any heart now shaio in my

emotion

Alas ' I have nor hopo nor health,
Nor peace within nor calm around,
Nor that Content surpaHHing wealth
Tho sago an meditation found,
And wolk'd with inward glory crowu'd —
Nor fame, nor power, nor lore, nor leisure ,
Others I soo whom thoso surround —
Smiling thoy live, and call hfo pleasure ;
To mo that oup has boen dealt in another
measure.

Tot now despair itself is mild
Even as tho winds and waters are ;
I could lie down liko a tired child,
And woop away the life of oaro
Which I have borne, and yet must bear,
Till death liko flloop might steal on mo,
And I might fool in tho warm air
My chook grow cold, and hoar tho sea
Breathe o'or my dying brain its last monotony.

fif/wUoy.— tiorn 1792, Dwd 1822.

I370.—OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT.

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who flaid: Two vast and trunkloss logs of

stone

Stand in tho desert Near thorn on the Band
Half sunk, a shatter* d visage hofl, whoso

frown

And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Toll that its sculptor well those passions

read

Which yet sumvo, stamp* d on those lifeless

thing's,
The hand that mook'd them and tho heart

that fed ,

And on the pedestal these words appear:
" My name is Ozymondias, king of longs
Look on my works, ye iBCighty, and despair ' "
Nothing beside remains. Bound the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Shelley.— Born 1792, Died, 1822.

1371 —TO A LADY, WITH A GKTITAI&,
Ariel to Miranda — Take
This slave of music, for the sake
Of him, who is the slave of thoe ,
And teach it all the harmony
In which thou const, and only thou,
Moke tho delighted spirit glow,
Till joy denies itself again
And, too intense, is turn'd to pain, '
For by permission and command
Of thine own Prince Ferdinand,
Poor Ariel sends this silent token
Of more than over con bo spoken ;
Your guardian spirit, Anol, who
From laf o to Ho must still pursue
Your happiness, for thus alone
Can Ariel ovor find lus own ;
From Fiosporo's enchanted coll,
As the mighty VOTHGH toll,
To tho throne of Naplow ho
Lit you o'or tho traoklo«H son,
Flitting on, your prow before,
lake a living meteor.
When you <£o, tho silent Moon
In hor intorlunor swoon
IB not Hoddor in her coll
Thau deserted Ariel;
When you live again on earth,
Liko an unseen Star of birth
Ariel guides you o'er tho sea
Of life from your nativity :
Many changes have boon run
Since Ferdinand and you begun
Your course of lovo, and Anol still
Han track' d your stops and served your

will.

Now in humbler, happioi lot,
This IB all remember' d not ;
And now, alas ' tho poor sprite is
Imprison' d for somo fault of hw
In a body like a giavo —
From you ho only daros to crave
For his Forvico and his Borrow
A flmilo to-day, a song to-morrow.

Tho artist who this viol wrought
To ooho all harmonious thought,
Foll'd a treo, whilo on tho stoop
Tho woods wore in thoir wmtor Bleep,
Kook'd in that repose divine
On tho wmd-flwoijt Aponmno \

SHELLEY.]

ODE TO THE WEST WIND

[SKVMNTH PKUTOD •

And dreaming, somo of autnmn past,

And somo of spring approaching font,

And sorno of April buds arid showers,

And some of songs 111 July bowoin,

And all of love , and HO thin tioe, —

O that Much our doatli may )>o ' —

Died in sloop, and folt no pain,

To live in happier form again

Prom winch, beneath Heaven's fairest star,

Tho artist wrought this lovod Guitar ,

And taught it justly to roply

To all who question skilfully

In language gontlo as tMno own ,

Whispering m onamour'd tono

Sweet oracles of woods and dolls,

And summer winds in sylvan coll* ,

— For it had learnt all harmonies

Of the plains and of the skies,

Of the forests and tho mountains,

And the many-voiced fountains ,

Tho clearest echoes of the hilln,

The softest notes of falling rills,

The melodies of birds and bees,

The murmuring of summer seas,

And pattering rarn, and breathing dew,

And airs of evening , and it know

That seldom-heard mysterious sound

Which, driven on its daurnal round,

As it floats through boundless day,

Our world cnkmcLLos on its way

— AH. this it knows, but wall not tell

To those who cannot question well

The spirit that inhabits it ;

It talks according to the wit

Of its companions , and no more

Is heard than has been folt before

By those who tempt it to botray

These secrets of an older day

But, sweetly as it answers will

Flatter hands of poifoofc skill,

It keeps its highest holiest tone

JPor one beloved Friend alone

Shcllci/.—Born 1792, Died 1822

1372 — ODE TO THE WEST WIND.

0 wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's

being,
Thou, from whoso unseen presence tho loaves

dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter

Yellow, and black, and palo, and hootio rod,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes . 0 thou
Who chariotost to their dark wintry bod
The wmg6d seeds, whore -they lie cold and

low,

Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of tho spnng shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like Hocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill •

Wild Spirit, which art moving ovory whore ;
Destroyer and Prowoivor , Hoar, O hoar '

Thou on whoHO Htroam, 'mid tho htonp sky's

commotion,
Loose clouds liko earth's dcoqymg loaves aro

filled
Shook from tho tanjjlod honglw of Heaven

and Ocean,
Angola of ram and lightning, Oioro aro

spread

On tho blue am face of thnin airy nur^o,
Like tho bright hair uphilod from Uiu head
Of somo fierce Maenad, ovon fiom tho dim

Torgo

Of tho horizon to tho zenith'** height —
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou

dirge

Of the dying year, to which this okwintf night
Will bo the domo of a vawt nopulchro,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whoKe Hohd atmoHphorn
Block rain, and fire, and hail, will burnt : <)

hoar'

Thou who (taluk waken from lun Hiimmor-

droanis

Tho blue Mediterranean, whoro hn lay
Lull'd by tho coil o£ IUH cryntalhno Htroamn
BoHido a pumico tale m JiaiiK^rt bay,
And saw m filoop old palaoos and IOWOTM
Quivering within tho wavo'n mtwwor day,
All overgrown with assure HIOHH and flovvorn
Ho awoot, tho flonHo faints picturing thorn1

Thou

For whoHO path tho Atlantic*' s lovol powers
Oloavo thomHolvoH into oliaHmH, wlulo fur

bolow
Tho Hoa-bloomH and tho oozy woodH which

woar

Tho sapless foliage of tho ocean, know
Thy voice, and Htid< lowly gi-ow gray with foar
And tromblo and doHpoil thoniHolvoM • C> lu»ar !

If I woio A (load loaf tlion might(»Ht boar ;

If I were a Hwift oloud to fly with tlum ,

A wavo to pant beneath thy i>ow<»r, and

Hharo

Tho impulHo of thy Htrongtli, wily IOHH fn»»
Than Them, () tmcoiitrollaMo ! If (>v«»n
I wore oa m my boyhood, and could l>o
Tho comrade of thy waudonngM over hcwron,
As then, when to outHtrip ilui Hlc.y(»y HpiKwi
Scarce Hoom'cl a VIHIOII, I would zio^or have

strivon
AH thus with thoo in prayor in my Horo DIXM!.

0 lift mo OH a wavu, a loaf, a <<loud '

1 fall upon tho UIOTOH of life ! I blood !

A hoavy weight of honrn haH (ihain'd and

bow'd
One too liko thoo : tamoloHH, and Hwift, and

proud

Make mo thy lyre, ovon as tho foroHt in :
What if my loavos are falling liko HH own I
Tho tumult o£ thy irughty harmoiuort
WJ1 toko from both a doop autumnal tono,

From 1780 to 1800 ] HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY.

[SHBLLDT.

Sweet though in sadness. Bo thou, Spirit

fioroo,

My spmt ' bo thou mo, impotuotts one '
Drive my dood thoughts over the universe
Liko wither* d leaves to quicken a now birth ,
And, by tho incantation of this yorso,
Scatter, as from an unextmguish'd hearth
Aahos and sparks, my words among mankind '
Bo through my hps to unowakon'd earth
Tho tmmpol of a prophecy ' O Wind,
If Winter oomos, can Spring bo far behind P

Shelley.— Born 1792, Died 1822

1373.— AUTUMN.

Tho warm sun is failing, tho bleak wind is

wailing,

Tho baro boughs aro sighing, the pale flowers
are dying ,

And tho year

On tho earth her death-bed, in a fehroud of
loaves doad

Is lying

Come, Months, come away,
Prom November to May,
In your saddest array, —
.Follow tho bier
Of the doewl cold year,
And liko dun nhadown watch by her sepulchre,

Tho chill raui IB falling, tho uipt worm is

crawling,

Tho rivers are swelling, tho thtuidor is
knolling

For the yoar ;

Tho blithe swallows aro flown, and tho lizarda
each gono

To his dwelling1.
Come, Months, come away;
Put on whito, blaok, and grey;
Lot your light sisters play ;
Ye, follow tho bior
Of tho doad cold yoar,
And make her grave green with tear on tear.

Shelley.— Bom 1792, Died 1822.

1374.— THE WIDOW BIRD.

A widow bird sate mourning for her lovo

Upon a wintry bough ;
Tho frozen wind crept on above,

The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon tho forest baro,

No flower upon the ground,
And little motion in tho air

Exeept tho mill-wheel's sound.

Shelley.— Born 1792, Died 1822.

1375.— HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL
BEAUTY.

Tho awful shadow of somo unaoon power
Floats, though unseen, among us — visiting
This various world with as inconstant wing
As summer winds that creep from flower to

flower ,
Like moonbeams, that behind somo piny

mountain shower,
It visits with inconstant glance
Each human heart and countenance,
Liko huos and harmonies of evening,

Like clouds in starlight widely sproad,
Like memory of music fled,
Like aught that for its grace may bo
Boar, and yet doaroi for its mystery.

Spirit of beauty, that dost consecrate
With thine own hues all thou dost shine

upon
Of human thought 01 form, where art thou

gono?
Why dost thou pass away and leave our

state,
This dim, vast vale of tears, vacant and

desolate ?

Ask why tho sunlight not for over
Woavon rainbows o'er you mountain

river,
Why aught should fail and fade that onco is

shown ,
Why fear, and dream, and death, and

birth

Cant on tho daylight of thin oaith
Such gloom , why man lion Huuh n pcopo
For lovo and hate, despondency and hope **

No voice from somo sublimor world hath

ever

To sago or poet these responses given ;
Therefore tho names of demon, ghost, and

lioavon,

Remain tho records of their vain endeavour —
Frail spolln, whowo uttor'd charm might nob

avail to sever

From all wo hoar and all wo BOO
Doubt, chance, and mutability.
Thy light alone, like inist o'er mountains

driven,

Or mnsic by tho night wind sont
Through strings of somo Btill instrument,
Or moonlight on a midnight ntroam,
Given gracu and truth to life's unquiet dream.

Lovo, hopo, and Holf-o«toom, liko clouds

depart,
And oomo, for somo uncertain momonts

lent

Man wero immortal and omnipotent
Didst thou, unknown and awful OH thou art,
Keep with thy glorious tram firm stato within

MB heart

Thou messenger of sympathies
That wax and wane in lovor'f* oypu I
Thou that to human thought art nourishment,

SHELLEY ]

MUTABILITY,

[SEVENTH PERIOD.-

Like darkness to a dying flamo '
Depart not as thy shadow oamo '
Depart not, lost tho gravo should bo,
lake Ho and f oar, a dark roahty.

"While yot a boy I sought for ghosts, and

spod
Through many a listening chamber, cave,

and ruin,
And starlight wood, with fearful steps

pursuing

Hopes of high talk with tho departed dead
I oaJl'd on poisonous names with which our

youth is fed ;

I was not heard , I saw them not.
When musing deeply on the lot
Of hfe, at that sweet time when winds are

wooing

All vital things that wake to bring
News of birds and blossoming,
Sudden thy shadow foil on mo —
I shriek* d, and clasp' d my hands in oostasy '

T vow*d that I would dedicate my powers
To thee and thine , have I not kept tho

vow?
With beating heart and streaming eyes,

oven now

I call the phantoms of a thousand hours
Each from his voiceless gravo. They have in

vision' d bowers

Of studious zeal or love's delight
Out watch' d with me the envious night
They know that never joy illumed my brow
tTnlink'd with hope that thou wouldst

free

This world from its dark slavery —
That thou, 0 awful loveliness,
Wouldst give whatever these words cannot
express

The day becomes more solemn and soreno
When noon is past , there is a harmony
In Autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which through tho summer is not hoard nor

seen,

As if it could not be, as if it had not boon '
Thus let thy power, which like tho truth
Of nature on my passive youth
Descended, to my onward hfo supply
Its calm — to one who worships thoo,
And every form containing thoo—
Whom, Spirit fair, thy spells did bind
To fear himself, and love all human kind.

Stwllry —Born 1792, Died 1822

1376 —MUTABILITY.

The flower that smiles to-day

To-morrow dies ,
AIL that we wish to stay

Tempts, and then flies ;
What is this world's ddight P
Lightning that mocks the night,
' Brief even as bright.

Virtue, how frail it in !

Friendship too raro '
Love, how it RollH poor bliHS

For proud despair '
But wo, though HOOZL they fall,
Survive thoir joy, and all
Which ourH wo call.

Whilnt skioa aro bluo and brig-lit,

Whilst floworw aio gay,
Whil&t oyos that chango i»io night

Make glad tho day,
Whilst yot tho calm lioui H croop,
Dream thou ! and from thy rloop
Thou wako to woop

Shelley.— Born 1702, DM 1H33.

1377.— PASSAGE OF THE BED BRA.

For many a coal-black tribe and cany Hpoar,
Tho hiioling guards of Mihraim'H throuo, wore

there
From distant Gush thoy troop'd, a warrior

train,

Si wall's groan mlo and Roiiour'M imtrly plum .
On eithor wing thoir Jfiory courhnrH cluwk
The parchM and wnowy HOUH of Amnlck ,
While closo behind, innrocl it) fruutt on blood,
Deok'd in Behemoth's HpoilH, tho tall iShun-

galla strode.
'Mid blazing holmw and bucklorH rough with

gold,

Saw ye how swift tho woythod chariots rollM P
Lo, those aro thoy whom, loriln of Afrriu'w

felon,
Old Thobos hath pourM through all her

hundred gaton,
Mother of armies I How tho

glow'd,
Whoro, flunh'd with power mid

Pharaoh rode !
And stolod in white, thono hrasuai

before,

Osiris' ark hiH Hwarthy wwardn Jwro ,
And still JOHpoiiHivo to tho trumpet!' H cry,
Tho pnoHtly siHtrum murmur' d— 'Victory I
Why Bwoll thoHO Hhoutu that mud tho doHort'H

gloom P
Whom come yo forth to combat ? — warriorH,

whomf*
Those flocks and hordrf— thin faint and woary

tram—-
Bod from tho soourgo, and rpcmui; from tho

chain P
God of the poor, tho poor and frloiKlloHB

save 2

Givor and Lord of freedom, holp tho nlavo I
North, south, and wost, tho Handy whirlwinds

%,

Tho caroling horns of Egypt*« chivalry.
On earth's last margin tlirong tho woopiag

train;
Thoir cloudy guido moves on:— "And muat

we swim tho main P "

from 1780 to 18C6.]

PROM BISHOP HEBEB'S JOTTBNAL.

pfte. HBBHB.

'Mid tho light spray their snorting1 caxnols

stood,

Nor bathed a fetlock in the nauseous flood ,
Ho comes— thoir loader comes I— tho man of

God

O'er tho wide waters lifts his mighty rod,
And onward treads. The circling wares

rotroat|
In hoarse deep murmurs, from his holy

feet;

And the chased surges, inly roaring-, show
The hard wet Band and coral hills below.
With limbs that falter, and with hearts

that swell,
Down, down they pass — a stoop and slippery

dell,

ArounoTthem rise, in pristine chaos hurl'd,
The ancient rooks, tho socrota of tho world ,
And flowers that blush beneath tho ocean

green,
And cares, and sea-calves' low-roof d haunt,

are soon.
Down, aafoly down the narrow pass thoy

tread,

Tho beetling waters storm above their hood ,
"While far behind retires the sinking day,
And fades on JEdom'a hills its latest ray.

Yet not fiom Israel fled tho friendly light,
Or dark to them or cheerless came tho night.
Still in their van, along that dreadful road,
Blazed broad and fierce iho brandish' d torch.

of God.

Its meteor glaro a tenfold lustre gayo
On tho long mirror of tho rosy wave ;
While its blent beams a Rnnliko hoat supply,
Warm every cheek, and dance in every

oyo —

To them alone — for Miuraim's wizard train
Invoke for light their monster-gods in vain ,
Clouds heap'd on clouds their struggling- sight

confine,

And tenfold darkness broods above their line.
Tot on thoy faro by reckless vengeance led,
And range unconscious through tho ocean's

bed,
Till midway now — that strange and fiery

form
Show'd his dread visago Hght'mng through.

tho storm ;
With withering splendour blasted all their

might,
And brake their chariot wheels, and marr'd

their coursers' flight.
*c Fly, Misraim, fly ! " Tho ravenous floods

they BOO,

And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity.
"By, Misraim, flyl" From Edom's coral

strand
Again tho prophet stretoh'd his dreadful

wand.
With one wild crash tho thundering waters

sweep,

And all is waves — a dark and lonely doep ;
Yet o'er those lonely waves such murmurs

past,
As mortal waihng swell'd the nightly blast.

And strange and sad the whispering breozea

bore

The groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore.
Oh ' welcome oamo tho morn, where Israel

stood

In trustless wonder by tho avenging flood !
Oh! -welcome oamo the cheerful morn, to

show

The drifted wreck of Zoan's pride below '
Tho mangled limbs of men— the broken car—
A few sad relics of a nation's war ,
Alas, how few ' Then, soft as Ellin's well,
The precious tears of new-born freedom fell
And ho, whoso hardon'd heart ahke had

borno
The house of bondage and tho oppressor's

scorn,
Tho stubborn slave, by hope's new beams

subdued,

In faltering accents sobb'd his gratitude,
Till kindling* into warmer zeal, around
The virgin timbrel waked its silver sound j <
And in fierce joy, no more by donbt supprost,
Tho struggling spirit throbb'd an Miriam's

breast

She, with bore arms, and fixing on tho sky
Tho dark transparence of her lucid oye,
Pour'd on tho winds of heaven her wild sweet

harmony
"Whore now," she sang, " tho tall Egyptian

spear?
On's sunliko shield, and Zoan's chariot,

whoro P
Abovo their ranks tho whelming water**

spread

Shout, Israel, for the Lord liath triumphed I "
And every pauso between, an Miriam Hang,
l^rom tribe to tribe tho martial thunder rang,
And loud and far their stormy chorus

spread —
" Shout, Israel, for the lord hath

triumphed I "

Wctov— JBom 1783, Diet 1826.

1378.— FBOM BISHOP HBBEE'S
JOTONAL.

If thou wert by my aido, my love,

How fast would evening fail
In green Bengala's palmy grove,

listening tho nightingale !

If thou, my love, wort by my side,

My babies at my knoo,
How gaily would our pinnaco glide

O'or Gunga's mimic sea I

I miss the* at tho dawning gray,

When on our deok reolmed,
In careless ease my limbs I lay,

And woo the ooolor wind.

TJp

AJN" EVENING WALK IN BENGAL. [SavRNTH PERIOD —

I miss thoo when by Gunga's stream

My twilight stops I gmdo,
Bat most bonoatli the lamp'n polo boam

I miss theo from my side

I spread my books, my pencil try,

Tho lingering noon to choor,
But miss thy kind approving oyo,

Thy mook attentive oar

But when of morn or 070 tho star

Beholds me on my knee,
I feol, though thou art distant far,

Thy prayers ascend for mo.

Then on ! then on ' whore duty loads,

My course be onward still ;
O'er broad Hmdostan's sultry meads,

O'er bleak Almorah's hill

That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates,

Noz wild Malwah detain ,
For sweet tho bhss us both awaits

By yonder western main

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say,

Across tho dark-blue sea ,
But ne'er wore hearts so light and gay

As then shall meet m thoo '

Bishop Heber. — Born 1"783, Died, 1826.

1379.— AN EVENING WALK IN
BENGAL

Our task is done ' — on Gunga's broast
The sun is sinking1 down to rest ,
And, moor*d beneath tho tamarind bough,
Our bark has found its harbour now
With fuilod sail and painted side,
Behold the tiny frigate ndo
Upon her deck, 'mid charcoal gleams,
The Moslem's savoury supper steams ,
While all apart, beneath tho wood,
Tho Hindoo cooks his simpler food.

Come, walk with mo tho jungle through —
If yonder hxmtor told us truo,
Far off, in doneit dank and rude,
The tiger holds its solitude ,
Now (taught by recent harm to shun
The thunders of the English gun)
A dreadful guest but rarely seen,
Returns to scare tho village green.
Come boldly on , no venom' d snake
Can shelter in so cool a brake —
Child of the sun, he loves to ho
'Midst nature's embers, parch* d and dry,
Where o'er some towor in ruin laid,
The peepul spreads its haunted shado ;
Or round a tomb his scales to wreathe,
Fit warder in the gate of Death.
Come on ; yet pause ' Behold us now
Beneath the bamboo's arched bough,
Where, gemming oft that sacred gloom,
Glows the geranium's scarlet bloom i

And winds our path through many a bower

Of fragrant troo and giant flower —

Tho coiba's crimson pomp diHplay'd

O'or tho broad plantain' H humbler Hhaclo,

And dusk anana't* prickly gloclo ;

While o'er tho brake, HO wild and fair,

Tho betel waves his crost in air ,

With pondant train and ruHlung wingn,

Aloft the gorgooua poacock HpruigH ;

And ho, tho bird of hundred dyes,

Whoso plumes tho damon of Avu prize

So rich a shade, so green a Hod,

Our Enghnh fauioH never trod '

Tot who m Indian boworn haH stood,

But thought on England'H " good greenwood; '•

And bloss'd, beneath tho palmy Hluwlo,

Her hazel and hor hawthorn glade ;

And broath'd a prayer (how oft in vain !)

To gazo upon her oaks again ?

A truce to thought — tho jackal's cry

Resounds liko sylvan rovolry ,

And through tho trooH you f ailing ray

Will scantly serve to grado our way.

Tot mark, as fado tho upper akion,

Each thicket opos ton thoiiHand oyoH —

Before, beside us, and above,

Tho fire-fly lights hit* lamp of lovo,

Retreating, chasing, Hinting, Hoanupf,

Tho darkness of the oopwo exploring ;

While to this ooolor air confont,

Tho broad dhatura boron hor brawl,

Of fragrant scent and virgin white,

A pearl around the lookM of night I

Still OB wo POSH, in softonM hum

Along tho breezy alloys coino

Tho village «ong, tho horn, tlio drum :

Still as wo paHH, from buttli and brier

Tho shrill cigala strikes Inn lyio ;

And what IH who whono liquid ntram

Thrills through yon copno of HUgar-anuo F

I know that nonl-cntrannmff «woll,

It is — it miiHt bo — Philomel r

Enough, onougli, tho nwtlinjf trooH

Announce a Hhowor upon tho brocao,

Tho flatthoH of tho summer nky

Assume a deeper, niddior dyo ;

Yon lamp that tromblon on tho Htroam,

From forth our cabin Hhocta itn boam ,

And wo nmflt onrly Hloop, to find

Botimofl tho morning's healthy wind.

But oh ! with thankful hotirtH ooufoHH

E'en hero thoro may bo happinoHH ;

And ICo, tho bonntoouH Siro, IIOH given

His peace on oruth— liin hope of hoavon.

ltorn 1783, DM 3S2C.

1380.— Tfl'iIPITAHT.

Brightest and best of tho nonH of tho morning,
Dawn on our darknowH, and lond UH thiuo
aid!

Star of tho East, tho horizon adorning
Guide where our infant tiodeomor ia laid

Wrom 1780 fo 1866 ] LINES WRITTEN* IN A CHIJRCHYARD. [HHBBBRT KNOWLHS.

Cold on Ms cradle tho dow-drops are shining ;

Low lies His bed with the beasts of the

stall;
Angels adore Him in slumber reclining—-

Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all*

Say, snail we yield Him, in oostly devotion,

Odors of Edom, and offerings divine —
Ooms of the mountain, and pearls of the

ooean —

Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the
znmeP

Yainly we offer each ample oblation,
Vainly with gold would His favor secure ;

Richer by far is tho heart's adoration,
Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine
aid'

Star of tho East, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our infant Eedeemer is laid !

Heb&r.—Born 1783, Died 1826.

1381.— THOU ART GONE TO THE
GRAVE.

Thou, art gone to tho grave — wo no longer

doploro thoo,
Though sorrows and darkness enoompass

tho tomb ,
The Saviour has passed through its portals

before thoe,

And tho lamp of His love is thy guide
through tho gloom.

Thou art gone to the grave*— we no longer

bohold thee,
Nor tread the rough path of the world by

thy side;
But the wide arms of mercy are spread to

enfold thoe,

And sinners may hopo, since the Sinless has
died.

Thou art gone to the grave — and, its mansion

forsaking,
Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt linger' d

long,
But the sunshine of heaven beam'd bright on

thy waking,

And the song which thou heard' st was tho
seraphim's song.

Thou, art gone to the grave— but 'twere wrong

to deplore thee,
When God was thy ransom, thy guardian,

thy guide;
He gave thoe, and took thee, and soon will

restore thoe,

"Whoro death hath no sting, since tho
Saviour hath died.

Heb&r.—Born 1783, Died 1826.

1382 —SPRING.

When spring unlocks the flowers to point the

laughing soil ,
When summer's balmy showers refresh the

mower's toil ;
When winter binds in frosty chains the fallow

and the flood, —
In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his

Maker good.

The birds that wake the morning, and those

that love the shade,
The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the

drowsy glade,
The sun that from his amber bowor rejoioeth

on his way,
The moon and stars their Master's name in

silent pomp display.

Shall T"*"1) the lord of nature, expectant of

the sky —
Shall man, alone unthankful. Ma little praise

deny?
No; let the year forsake his course, tho

seasons cease to be,
Thee, Master, must we always love, and,

Saviour, honour thee.

The flowers of spring may wither, the hope

of summer fade,
The autumn dioop in winter, the bird forsake

tho shade,
Tho winds be lulTd, the sun and moon forget

their old decree, —
But wo, in nature's latest hour, O Lord, will

ding to thoo !

Kebor.— Born 1783, Dwd 1826.

1383.— LINES WRITTEN IN THE

CHURCHYARD OF RICHMOND,

YORKSHIRE

Methinks it is good to bo here,
If thou wilt, let us build— but for whom P

Nor Ehas nor Moses appear ; i

But the shadows of eve that encompass with

gloom

Tho abode of the dead and the place of tho
tomb.

Shall we build to Ambition P Ah no !
Affrighted, he shrinkoth away ,

For see, they would pin him bolow
In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold

clay,
To the meanest of reptiles a poor and a prey.

To Beauty P All no! she forgets
The charms which she wielded before ;

Nor knows the foul worm that ho foots
Tho elan which but yesterday fools could

adore,

For the smoothness it held or tho tin twhich
it wore.

65

MONTGOMERY.]

NIGHT.

[SEVENTH PBBIOD.—

Shall we build to tho purple of Pride,
The trappings which dizon tho proud P

Alas ! they are a]! bad aside,
And here's neither dress nor adornments

alloVd,

But the long1 winding-shoot and the fringe of
the shroud.

ToBiohes? Alas! 'tis in vain;
Who hid in their turns have been hid ;

The treasures are squandered again ;
And here in the grave are all metals forbid
But the tinsel that shines on the dark coffin
lid.

To the pleasures which Mirth can afford,
The revel, the laugh, and the jeer P

Ah ! here is a plentiful board '
But th« guests are all mute as their pitiful

cheer,
And none but the worm is a reveller here.

Shall we build to Affection, and Lovo P
Ah no 1 they have wither' d and died,

Or fled with the spirit above.
Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by

side,
Yet none have saluted, and none have replied.

Unto Sorrow P — the Dead cannot grieve ;
Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear,

"Which Compassion itself could relieve.
Ah, sweetly they slumber, nor love, hope, or

fear;

Peace ! peace is the watchword, the only one
here.

Unto Death, to whom monarohs must bow ?
Ah no I for his empire is known,

And here there are trophies enow'
Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark

stone,

Are the signs of a sceptre that none may
disown.

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build,
And look for the sleepers around us to rise 1
The second to Faith, which insures it ful-

fill'd,
And the third to tho Lamb of the great

sacrifice,

Who bequeath' d us them both when He roso
to the skies.

Herbert Knowlet.—Born, 1798, Died 1817.

1384.— NIGHT.

Night is the time for rest ;

How sweet, when labours close,
To gather round an aching breast

The curtain of repose,
Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head
Upon our own delightful bed I

Night is the tune for dreams ,

The gay romance of life,
When truth that is and truth that seems,

Blend in fantastic strife ;
AJh. ' visions less beguiling far
Than waking dreams by daylight arc I

Night is the tune for toil ;

To plough the classic field,
Intent to find the buried spoil

Its wealthy furrows yield ,
Till all is ours that sagOH taught,
That poets sang or heroes wrought.

Night is tho time to weop ;

To wet with unseen tears
Those graves of memory where sleep

The joys of other yearn ;
Hopes that were angels in their birth,
But perish* d young like things on oarth I

Night is the time to watch ;

On ocean's dark expanse
To hail the Pleiades, or catch

The full moon's oarliOHt glance,
That brings unto tho homo-Hick mind
All we have loved and loft behind.

Night is tho time for care ;

Brooding on hours misspent, '
To see the spectre of despair

Oome to our lonely tent ;
lake Brutus, 'midst his slumbering host,
Startled by Caesar's stalwart ghost.

Night is the time to muso ;

Then from the eye tho floul
Takes flight, and with expanding views

Beyond tho starry polo,
Descries athwart the abyss of night
Tho dawn of uncreated light.

Night is tho timo to pray ;

Our Saviour oft withdrew
To desert mountains far away ;

So will his followers do ;
Steal from tho throng to haunts untrofl,

And hold communion there with God.

Night is tho time for death ;

When all around in peace,
Calmly to yield the weary broath,

From flin and suffering- ceoao .
Think of heaven's bliss, and give the sign
To parting f heads— such death bo mine '

Jcmos Montgomery>--Bow, 1771, DwcZ 1854.

1385.— THE

"Ehere is a calm for those who weop,
A rest for weary pilgrim* found,
They softly lie and sweetly steep

Low in tho ground.

From I'TSO to

GRAVE.

[JAS.

The storm that wrecks the winter sky
No more disturbs their deop repose,
Than summer evening's latest sigh

Thai shuts the rose.

I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil,
To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil.

Per misery stole me at my birth,
And oast me helpless on the wild
I pensh 3 0, my mother earth '

Take home thy child I

On thy dear lap these limbs reclined,
Shall gently moulder into thee ,
Nor leave one wretched trace behind
Resembling mo.

Hark ' a strange sound affrights mine ear j
My pulse, my brain runs wild — I rave :
Ah ' who art thou whose voice I hear P
"I am tho Grave!

The Grave, that never spake before,
Hath, found at length a tongue to chide •

0 listen 1 I will speak no more

Be silent, pnde '

Art thou a wretch, of hope forlorn,
The victim of consuming caro P
Is thy distracted conscience torn
By foil despair P

Do foul misdeeds of former times
Wnng with remorse thy guilty breast ?
And ghosts of unf orgiven cnmoB

Murder thy tost P

Lash'd by the furies of the mind,

From wrath and vengeance wouldst thou

flee?

Ah ! thiriTr not, hopo not, fool I to find
A friend in me.

By all tho terrors of the tomb,
Beyond tho power of tongue to tell !
By tho dread secrets of my womb '

By death and hell I

1 charge thoe live ! repent and pray ;
In dust thine infamy deplore ;
There yet is mercy , go thy way,

And sin no more.

Art thou a mourner P Hast thou known
Tho joy of innocent delights ?
Endearing days for ever flown,

And tranquil nights ?

0 live I and deeply cherish still
The sweet remembrance of tho past :
Rely on Heaven's unchanging mil
For peace at last.

Art thou a wanderer P Hast thou seen
O'erwhelming tempests drown thy bark P
A ship wreck1 d sufferer, hast thou been
Misfortune's mark ?

Though, long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemn' d in wretchedness to roam,
Live ! thou shalt reach a sheltering port,
A quiet home.

To friendship didst thou trust thy fame P
And was thy friend a deadly foe,
"Who stole into thy breast, to aim
A surer blow ?

Live ! and repine not o'er his loss,
A loss unworthy to be told •
Thou hast mistaken sordid dross

For friendship's gold.

Go, seek that treasure, seldom found,
Of power the fiercest gnef s to calm,
And soothe the bosom's deepest wound
With heavenly balm.

Bid woman's charms thy youth beguile,
And did the fair one faithless prove P
Hath she betray5 d thee with her smile,
And sold thy love P

Live ! 'twas a false bewildering fire :
Too often love's insidious dart
Thrills the fond soul with wild desire,
But fells tho heart.

Thou yet shalt know how sweet, how dear,
To gaze on listening beauty's eye r
To ask — and pause in hope and fear
Till she reply !

A nobler flame shall warm thy breast,
A brighter maiden faithful prove ;
Thy youth, thine ago, shall yet bo blest
In, woman's love.

Whate'er thy lot, whoe'er thou bo,
Confess thy folly, kiss tho rod,
And in thy chastening sorrows see
Tho hand of God.

A bruised reed he will not break ,
Afflictions all his children feel ;
He wounds thorn for his mercy's sake ;
He wounds to heal 1

Humbled beneath his mighty hand,
Prostrate his Providence adore :
"Tis done J— Arise ' He bids thoo stand,
To fall no more.

Now, traveller in the vale of tears !
To realms of everlasting light,
Through time's dark wilderness of years,
Pursue thy flight.

There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found ,
And while the mouldering aab.es sloop
Low in the ground ;

The soul, of origin divine,
God's glonons image, freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shino
A star of day '

fl5*

ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH.

[SEVENTH PERIOD.-—

The Gran is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor w the sky ;
The soul, immortal as its sire,

Shall never die."

Jcmes Montgomery.— Bom 1771, Died, 1854.

1386.— ASPIBATIONS OP YOUTH.

Higher, higher will we olimb,

Up to the mount of glory,
That our names may live through time

In our country's story;
Happy, when her welfare oalls,
He who conquers, he who falls.

Deeper, deeper let us toil
In the mines of knowledge ;

Nature's wealth and learning's spoil
Win from school and college ;

Delve we there for richer gems

Than the stars of diadems

Onward, onward may we press

Through the path of duty j
Virtue is true happiness,

Excellence true beauty.
Minds are of celestial birth,
Make we then a heaven of earth.

Closer, closer let us knit

Hearts and hands together,
Where our fireside comforts sit,

In the wildest weather ,
0 ' they wander wide who roam
For the joys of life from home.

Jcmes Montgomery— Born 1771, DM 1854.

1387.— THE COMMON LOT.

Once, in tho flight of ages past,
There lived a man .- and who was ho ?

Mortal ! howe'or thy lot bo cast,
That man resembled thee

Unknown the region of his birth,
The land in which ho died unknown •

Eis'inaine has perish.' d from tho earth,
This truth survives alone •

That joy, and grief, and hope, and foar,
Alternate triumph' d in his breast ;

His bliss and woo — a smile, a tear !
Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulso, the languid limb,
The changing spints' rise and fall ;

We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.

He snffer*d— but his pangs are o'er ;

Enjoy*d— but his delights are fled ,
Had friends— his friends are now no more \

And foes— his foes are dead.

Ho loved — but whom ho loved tho gravo
Hath lost in its unconscious womb :

0 she was fair ' but nought could savo
Her beauty from tho tomb.

He saw whatever thou hast seen ;

Encounter 'd all that troubles thoe i
He was — whatever thou hast boon 5

He is — what thou shalt bo.

The rolling seasons, day and night,
Son, moon, and stars, tho earth and main,

Erewhile his portion, life and light,
To M™ exist in vain.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his cyo
That once their shades and glory tlirew,

Have loft in yonder silent sky
No vestige where they flow.

The annals of the human race,
Their rains, since tho world began,

Of him afford no other trace
Than this— there lived a man 1

James Montgomery. —Born 1771, Died. 1854.

1388.— PEAYEJ5.

Prayer is tho soul's sincere desire

Uttor'd or unoxproHH'd j
The motion of a hidden firo

That trembles in tho breast.

Prayer is tho burthen of a sigh,

The falling1 of a tear ;
The upward glancing of an oyo,

When none but God it* near.

Prayer is the simploHt form of flpooch

That infant hpn can try ,
Prayer tho sublimoHt HtramH that reach

Tne Majesty on high.

Prayer in tho Chriution's vital breath,

The ChriHiian'H native air ;
His watchword at the gatou of death :

Ho enters heaven by prayer.

Prayer is tho oontnto Hinnor'tt voioo

Returning from Ititt wayn ;
While ongolw in thoir flongH rojoioo,

And say " Behold ho prays 1 "

Tho saints in prayer appear OB ono,

In word, and dood, and mind,
Whon with tho Father and hi« Bon

Thoir f oUowHhip they find*

Nor prayor IH made* on earth alono :

Tho Holy Spirit pleads ;
And Joftufl, on the eternal throne,

For sinnorn iniercodoH.

0 Thou, by whom wo como to God,
The Lifo, tho Truth, the Way,

The path of prayer thy«ol£ host trod :
Lord, teach UB how to pray I

James Montgomery. -—Born 1771, Die& 1854.

From 1780 to 1866 ]

TO A DAISY.

1389.— HOME.

There is a land, of overy land the pride,
Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside ;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
Aad milder moons omparadise the night ,
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
Time-tutor* d age, and love-exalted youth :
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting1

shores,

Tiews not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ;
In every clime the magnet of his soul,
Touoh'd by remembrance, trembles to that

pole;

For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace,
The heritage of nature's noblest race,
There is a spot of oarth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, oasts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pnde,
While UL bis softon'd looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother,

friend,
Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter,

wife,
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of

life'

In tho clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her foot
Whozo shall that land, that spot of earth be

found P

Art thou a man P — a patriot P— look around ,
0, thou shalt find, howo'er thy footsteps

roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy

home!

James Montgomery. — Born 1771, Died 1854.

1390.— A MOTHER'S LOVE.

A Mother's Love, — how sweet the name !

What is a Mother's love P
—A noble, pure, and tender flame,

Enkindled from above,
To bless a heart of earthly mould ,
Tho warmest love that can grow cold ;

This is a Mother's Love.

To bring a helpless babe to light,

Then, while it lios f orloip,
To gaze upon that dearest sight,

And fool herself new-born,
In its existence lose her own,
And live and breathe in it alone ;

This is a Mother's Love

Its weakness in her arms to bear j

To ohonsh on her breast,
Peed it from Love's own fountain there,

And lull it there to rest ,

Then, while it slumbers, watch its breath,
As if to guard from instant death ;
This is a Mother's Love.

To mark its growth from day to day,

Its opening charms admire,
Catch from its eye the earliest ray

Of intellectual fire ,•
To smile and listen while it talks9
And lend a finger when it walks ;

This is a Mother's Love

And can a Mother's Love grow cold ?

Can she forget her boy P
His pleading innocence behold,

Nor weep for gnef — for joy P
A Mother may forget her child,
While wolves devour it on tho wild ;

Is this a Mother's Love P

Ten thousand voices answer " No ! "

Ye clasp your babes and kiss $
Your bosoms yearn, your eyes o'erflow;

Yet, ah ! remember this, —
The infant, rear'd alone for earth,
May live, may die, — to curse His birth ;

— Is this a Mother's Love P

A parent's heart may prove a snare ;

The child she loves so well,
Her hand may lead, with gentlest oaro>

Down the smooth road to hell ,
Nourish its frame,-— destroy its mind :
Thus do the blind mislead the blind,

Even with a Mother's Love.

Blest infant ! whom his mother taught

Early to sock tho Lord,
And pour'd upon his dawning thought

The day-spnng of the word ;
This was the lesson to her son
— Time is Eternity begun •

Behold that Mother's Love.

Blest Mother! who, in wisdom's path

By her own parent trod.
Thus taught her son to flee the wrath,

And know the fear, of God .
Ah, youth ! hke him enjoy your prune $
Begin Eternity in time,

Taught by that Mother's Love.

That Mother's Love ' — how sweot the name I

What was that Mother's Love P
— The noblest, purest, tendorest flame,

That kindles from above,
Within a heart of earthly mould,
As much of heaven as heart can hold,
Nor through eternity grows cold :

This was that Mother's Love.

James Montgomery — Born 1771, Died, 1854.

1391,— TO A DAISY.

There is a flower, a little flower
With silver crest and golden eye,

JAJS. MONTGOMERY.] THE REIGN OF CHRIST ON EARTH LHnirLNOTi PMfeiOD.<=*

That welcomes every changing hour,
And weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field,
In gay but quick succession shine ;
Race after race their honours yield,
They flourish and decline.

But this small flower, to Nature dear,
While moons and stars their courses run,
Enwreathes the oiiole of the year,
Companion of the sun.

It smiles upon tho lap of Hay,
To sultry August spreads its charm,
lights pale October on his way,
And twines December's arm.

The purple heath and golden broom,
On moory mountains catch the gale ;
O'er lawns the hly sheds perfume,
The violet in the vale.

But this bold floweret climbs the hill,
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Flays on tho margin of the rill,
Peeps round the fox's den.

Within the garden's cultured round
It shares the sweet carnation's bed ;
And blooms on consecrated ground
In honour of the dead.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem ;
The wild bee murmurs on its breast ;
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem,
Light o'er the skylark's nest.

"Tis Flora's page — in every place,
In every season, fresh and fair,
It opens with perennial grace,
And blossoms everywhere.

On waste and woodland, rook and plain,
Its humble buds unheeded rise ,
The rose has but a summer reign j
The Daisy never dies 1

James Montgomery* — Bom 1771, Died 1854.

1394.— THE REIGN OF CHRIST ON
EARTH.

Hail to the Lord's anointed—-
Great David's greater Son '

Hail, in the time appointed,
His reign on earth begun '

Ho comes to break oppression,
To set the captive free,

To take away transgression,
And rule in equity.

He comes with succour speedy
To those who suffer wrong ;

To help the poor and needy,
And bid the weak be strong;

To give them nong« foi milling,
Their daiknobH turn to light,

Whose soulfl. condemn1 d and dying,
Were prooioua in HIB sight.

By such shall Ho bo feared

While sun and moon endure —
Beloved, obey'd, revered ;

For He shall judge the poor,
Through changing generation^

With justice, mercy, truth,
While stars maintain their stations

Or moons renew their youth.

He shall come down like showers

Upon the fruitful earth,
And love, joy, hope, like flowers,

Spring in His path to birth ;
Before Trim., on the mountains,

Shall Peace, tho herald, go,
And Righteousness, in fountains,

From hill to valley flow*

Arabia's desert-ranger

To Hun shall bow tho knoo,
Tho Ethiopian Rtiangor

His glory come to see ;
With offerings of devotion

Ships from the inioH Hhall moot,
To pour tho wealth of ocean

In tribute at Hia foot.

Kings shall fall down before Him,

And gold and moonHO bring;
All nations shall adore Tlim,

His praiso all pooplo Ring ;
For Ho shall havo dominion

O'er river, sea, and shore,
Far as tho carlo's pinion

Or dove's light wing can BOOT,

For Him shall prayer unoouHing,

And daily VOWH, ascend —
His kingdom tffcill inoroatung,

A kingdom without and ;
The mountain-down shall nountsb

A seod in woaknoHH HOWII,
Whoso fruit Hhall Hproad and flourish,

And shako liko Lebanon.

O'er every foe victorious

Ho on His throno Hhall rent,
From ago to age moro gloriouH,

All-blessing and all-bloHt ;
Tho tide of time shall novor

His covenant remove ;
HIB namo shall Htand for over;

That namo to un in — Lovo.

Jcmos 2£Qntgomory.--JJom 1771, Died 18Wr.

1393.— 'THE STRANGER AND HIS
FRIEND.

A poor wayfaring man of grief
Hath of ton cross'd mo on my way,

From 1780 to 1866.]

BETH

[Hovr. W. E. SPBNOBB.

Who sued BO htunblyfor relief

That I could never answer " Nay."
I had not power to oak His name,
Whithor Ho went, or whenoo He oame ;
Yet thoro was something in His eye
That won my love, — I knew not why.

Once, when my scanty meal was spread,

Ho enter* d Not a word He spake
Just perishing- for want of broad,

I gave Him all ; Ho bless'd it, brake,
And ate , — but gave me part again.
Mine was an angel's portion then ,
For while I fed with oager haste,
That orust was manna to my taste.

I spied Him where a fountain burst

Clear from the rook ; His strength was

gone;
The heedless water mock'd His thirst ;

Ho hoard it, saw it hurrying on.
I ran to raise the sufferer up ,
Thrice from tho stream He drain' d my oup,
Dipp'd, and returned it running o'er, —
I drank and never thirsted more.

'Twas night , tho floods wore out, — it blow

A winter hurricane aloof ,
I hoard His voice abroad, and flow

To bid Hjm welcome to my roof ,
I warxn'd, I olothocl, I ohoor'd my guest —
Laid Him on my own couch to rest ,
Then mado tho earth my bod, and scorn' d
In Edon's garden wlnlo I droam'd.

Stripp'd, wounded, beaten nigh to death,

I found Him by tho highway side ,
I roused His pulse, brought back His breath,

Bevived His spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment ; Ho was heaTd.
I had, myself, a wound conceal' cl—
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.

la prison I saw Him next, condemn* d
To meet a traitor's doom at morn ;

The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd,
And honour* d ffiiftn 'midst shame and
scorn

My fnondHhip's utmost zeal to try,

He ask'd if I for him would die ;

Tho flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,

But the free spmt cried, " I will."

Then in a moment, to my view,
The stranger darted from disguise ;

Tho tokens in His hands I know —
My Saviour stood before mine eyes.

Ho spake , and my poor name ho named —

" Of Mo thou host not been ashamed ;

Those deeds shall thy memorial be ;

Pear not ' thou didst them unto Mo."

James Montgomery. — Born 1771, Dw?(Z 1854.

1294 — THE FIELD OP THE WOBUX

Sow in the morn thy seed,

At ove hold not thine hand-
To doubt and fear give thou no hood — <

Broad-oast it o'er the land.

Beside all waters sow,

The highway furrows stock —
Drop it where thorns and thistles grow,

Scatter it on the rock.

The good, the fruitful ground

Expect not here nor there,
O'er hill and dale by plots 'tis found •

Go forth, then, everywhere, t

Thou know'st not which may thrive —

Tho late or early sown ,
Grace keeps the precious germs alive,

When and wherever strown

And duly shall appear,

In verdure, beauty, strength,
Tho tender blade, the stalk, tho ear,

And the full corn at length

Thou canst not toil in vain —
Oold, heat, and moist, and dry

Shall foster and mature tho groan
For garners in the sky.

Thence, when tho glorious end,

Tho day of God IB come,
Tho angol-roapors shall descend,

And heaven cry " Harvest homo ' "

James Montgomery. — Bom 1771, Died, 1854.

1395.— BETH G.BLEBT, OB THE GBAVE

OF THE GBEYHOTTND.

Tho spearmen heard the bugle sound,
And checrly smiled the morn ;

And many a brach, and many a hound,
Obeyed Llewelyn' b horn.

And fitOOL ho blew a louder blast,

And gave a lustier cheer,
" Come, Golert, come, wort novor last

Llewelyn's horn to hoar.

Oh where doth faithful Gtiert room,

Tho flower of oil his race ;
So true, so brave — a lamb at homo,

A lion in the chase P "

'Twos only at Llewelyn's board

The faithful Golert fed;
He watch' d, he served, he choer'd Ms lord,

And sentinel' d his bed.

In Booth he was a peerless hound,

Tho giffc of royal John ;
But now no Golert could bo found,

And all the chase rode on.

JAS. MONTGOIOBT ] THE REIGN OF CHRIST ON EARTH i WHVHNTH

That welcomes overy changing hour,
And weathors every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field,
la gay but quick succession shine ;
Race after race their honours yield,
They flourish and decline.

But this small flower, to Nature dear,
"While moons and stars their courses run,
Enwreathes the circle of the year,
Companion of the sun.

It smiles upon the lap of Hay,
To sultry August spreads its charm,
Lights pale October on his way,
And twines December's arm.

The purple heath and golden broom,
On moory mountains oatoh the gale ;
O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume,
The violet in the vale.

But this bold floweret climbs the hill,
Bodes in the forest, haunts the glen,
Flays on the margin of the nil,
Peeps round the fox's den.

Within the garden's cultured round
It shares the sweet carnation's bed ;
And blooms on consecrated ground
In honour of the dead.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem;
The wild beo murmurs on its breast ;
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem,
Light o'er the skylark's nest.

'Tis Mora's page — in every place,
In every season, fresh and fair ;
It opens with perennial grace,
And blossoms everywhere.

On waste and woodland, rook and plain,
Its humble buds unheeded rise j
The rose has but a summer reign ,
The Daisy never dies !

Jomes Montgomery. — Born 1771, Died 1854.

1395.— TEE REIGN OF CHRIST ON
EARTH.

Hail to the Lord's anointed—

Great David's greater Son '
Hail, in the tune appointed,

His reign on earth begun !
Ho comes to break oppression,

To set the captive free,
To take away transgression,

And rule in equity.

He comes with succour speedy
To those who suffer wrong ;

To help the poor and needy,
And bid the weak be strong;

To give thom songH for nighing,
Their darknohH turn to light,

Whose soulH, condemn' d and dying,
Were precious in His sight.

By such shall Ho be feared

While sun and moon onduro—
Beloved, oboy'd, rovorod ,

For He shall judge the poor,
Through changing generation^

With justice, mercy, truth,
While stars maintain their ntations

Or moons renew their youth.

He shall oomo down liko showers

Upon the fruitful oarth,
And love, joy, hope, like flowers,

Spring in His path to birth ;
Before Him, on tho mountains,

Shall Peace, tho herald, go,
And Righteousness, in fountains,

From hill to valley flow.

Arabia's desert-ranger

To Him Khali bow tho knoo,
Tho Ethiopian stranger

His glory come to HOC ,
With offerings of devotion

Ships from tho IH!O» shall moot,
To pour tho wealth of oooan

In tribute at Hia foot.

ICings shall fall down boforo Him,

And gold and incense bring j
All nations shall adoro Hun,

His praise all pooplo Ring ,
For Ho ghftll havo dominion

O'or nvor, soa, and nhoro,
Far as tho eagle's pmion

Or dovo's light wing- cim Hoar.

For Hun Hhall prayer imooafling,

And daily VOWH, aHoend—
His kingdom Htill increasing1,

A kingdom without end ;
Tho mountain-dewH Hhall nourwli

A sood in wcaknoHH Bown,
Whoso fruit Hhall Hproad and flourish,

And shako liko Lebanon.

O'or every foo viotoriouH,

Ho on HiB throne Hhall rest,
From ago to ago more glonouw,

All-blessing and all-bloat ;
Tho tide of time shall never

His covenant remove ;
His name shall stand for over;

That name to UH is — Lovo.

James Montgomery.— -ttwn 1771, DM 1854*

1393.— THE STRANGER AND HIS
FRIEND.

A poor wayfaring man of grief
Hath often orosa'd mo on my way,

From 1780 to 1866.]

BETH GfiLBBT.

[HON. W.

Who sued so humbly for relief

That I could never answer " Nay "
I had not power to ask His name,
Whither He went, or whence Ho came ;
Tot there was something m His eye
That won my love, — I know not why.

Once, whon my scanty meal was spread,
He enter' d. Not a word He spake.

Just perishing1 for want of bread,
I gave Him all; Ho bloss'd it, brake,

And ate ; — but gave me part again.

Mine was an angel's portion then ;

For while I fed with eager haste,

That crust was manna to my taste.

I spied Him where a fountain burst

Clear from the rook; His strength was

gone;
The heedless water mock'd His thirst ,

Ho hoard it, saw it hurrying on.
I ran to raise the sufferer up ,
Thrice from the stream He drain' d my oup,
Dipp'd, and return' d it running o'er, —
I drank and never thirsted moro.

'Twas night , the floods wore out, — it blow

A winter hurricane aloof ,
I heard His voice abioad, and flow

To bid Him woloomo to my icof ,
I warm'd, I clothed, I cheer* d my guest—
Laid Him on my own oouoh to ion! ;
Thon made the oarth my bod, and aconi'd
la Eden's garden wlulo I dream* d.

StrippM, wounded, beaten mgli to death,

I found Him by tho highway side ;
I roused His pulse, brought back His breath,

Bevived His spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment; Ho was hoal'd.
I had, myself, a wound conceal' d—
Bui from that hour forgot tho smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.

In prison I saw Him next, condemn' d
To moot a traitor's doom at morn ;

Tho tide of lying tongues I stomm'd,
And honour' d "R^w 'midst Hhamo and
scorn.

My fnondHhip's utmost zoal to try,

He aak'd if I for him would die ;

Tho flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,

But tho freo spirit cried, " I wJl."

Then in a moment, to my view,
Tho stranger darted from disguiHO ;

Tho tokens in His hands I know —
My Saviour stood bcf oro mine oyos.

Ho spake ; and my poor name ho named —

" Of Me thou hast not boon ashamed ;

Those deeds shall thy memorial bo ;

Fear not ' thou dicUrb thorn unto Mo."

James Montgomery — Bom 1771, DtaZ 1854.

1394 — THE FIELD OF THE WOULD.

Sow in the morn thy seed,

At eve hold not tbino hand-
To doubt and fear give thou no heed—

Broad-cast it o'er tho land.

Beside all waters sow,

The highway furrows stock —
Drop it whore thorns and thistles grow,

Scatter it on the rook.

The good, the fruitful ground

Expect not here nor there,
O'er hill and dale by plots 'tis found

Go forth, then, everywhere* *

Thou know'st not which may thrive —

Tho late or early sown ;
Grace keeps the precious germs alive,

When and wherever strewn.

And duly shall appear,

In verdure, beauty, strength,
The tender blade, the stalk, the ear,

And the full corn at length.

Thou canst not toil in vain —
Oold, hoat, and moist, and dry

Shall f ostei and mature the gram
For garners in the sky.

Tlionoo, whon tho glorious end,

Tho day of God is come,
Tho angel-reapois shall descend,

And heaven cry " Harvest home ' "

Jamos Montyovn&ry> — -Bom 1771, Ihed 1854.

1395 —BETH GJ&LERT, OB THE GRAVE
OF THE GBEYHOUND.

Tho spearmen hoard the buglo sound,

And choerly smiled the morn ;
And many a broch, and many a hound,

Oboyod Llewelyn' fe horn.

And still ho blew a louder blast,

And gave a lustier oheer,
" Come, Gfflort, come, wort novor last

Llewelyn's horn to hoar.

Oh where doth faithful G&ort roam,

Tho flower of all his race ;
So true, so bravo — a lamb at homo,

A lion in tho chase ? "

'Twas only at Llowclyn's board

Tho faithful Gtiort fed ;
Ho watch' d, ho served, he cheer' d his lord,

And sentinel' d his bod.

In sooth ho was a peerless hound,

Tho gift of royal John ;
But now no Gftort could bo found,

And all the chase rode on

HON. W. B. SPINOBR.] WIPE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS. [SEVENTH PBBIOD.-

And now, as o'er the rocks and dells

The gallant eludings rise,
All Snowden's craggy chaos yells

The many-mingled cries '

That day Llewelyn little loved

The ohaso of hart and hare ;
And scant and small the booty proved,

For GdLert was not there.

TTnpleased Llewelyn homeward hied,

"When, near the portal seat,
Bis truant G&ert he espied,

Bounding his lord to greet.

Bat, whe^ he gain'd his castle-door,

Aghast the ohiof tain stood ,
The hound all o'er was smear' d with gore ,

His lips, his fangs, ran blood

Ilowelyn gazed with fierce surprise ,

Unused such looks to meet,
His favourite check' d his joyful guise,

And crouch' d and lick'd his feet.

Onward, in haste, Llewelyn pass'd,

And on went G&ert too ,
And still, where'er his eyes he oast,

Fresh blood-gouts shock'd his view.

Overturn' d his infant's bod he found,
With blood- stain' d coveit icnt ,

And all around the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent

He calTd his child — no voice replied —

He search' d with terror wild ,
Blood, blood he found on every side,

But nowhere found his child.

" Hell-hound' my child's bythoe devour'd,"

The frantic father cried ,
And to the hilt his vengeful sword

He plunged in G-elert's side

His suppliant looks, as prone he foil,

No pity could impart ;
But still his G&ert's dying yell

Pass'd heavy o'er his heart.

Aroused by G&Lert's dying yell,
Some slumborer waken' d nigh •

"What words the parent's joy could tell
To hear fag infant's cry '

Conceal' d beneath a tumbled heap

His hurried search had miss'd,
All glowing from his rosy sleep,

The cherub boy he kiss'd.

Nor scathe had ho, nor harm, nor dread,

But, the samo couch beneath,
.Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead,

Tremendous still in death.

Ah, what was then Llewelyn's pain !

For now the truth was clear ;
His gallant hound the wolf had slain

To save Uewdyn's heir .

Vain, vain was all Llewelyn's wo j

" Best of thy kind adieu!
The frantic blow which laid thoe low

This heart shall ovor ruo."

And now a gallant tomb thoy raise,
With costly sculpture dock'd ,

And marbles stoned with his praise
Poor G&ert's bones protect.

There, nevor could tho spearman pass,

Or forester unmoved ,
There, oft tho tear-bo,spnnklo(l grass-

Llewelyn's sorrow proved.

And there he hung his horn and spoor,

And thcie, as evening foil,
In fancy's ear ho oft would hear

Poor G&Lert's dying yoll.

And, till great Snowden's rooks grow old,
And cease the storm to bravo,

The consecrated spot shall hold
Tho name of " G&ort's Gravo,"

Eon W. R. Spencer.— -Born 1770, Died 1834

1396.— WIFE, CHILDREN, AND
FRIENDS.

When the black-letter' d list to tho gods wan

presented
(The list of what fate for each mortal

intends),
At tho long string of ills a kind goddoftH

relented,

And slipp'd in three blowings — wife,
children, and friends.

In vain surly Pluto maintain' <l he wan cheated,
For justice divino could not compoHH UH

ends,
Tho scheme of man's penance ho fiworo wag

defeated,

For earth becomes heaven with — wifo,
children, and friends.

If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands

vested,
Tho fund ill secured, oft in bankruptcy

ends;
But the heart issues bills which aro never

protested,

When drawn on tho firm of— wife, children,
and friends.

Though valour still glows in HA life's dying

embers,
The death-wounded tor, who his colours

defends,

Drops a tear of roffrot as ho dying remembers
How bloss'd was his home with— wife,
children, and friondn.

From 1780 to 1866 ]

TO T. L. H., SIX YEARS OLD.

Tho soldier, whoso doods live immortal in

story,

Whom duty to far distant latitudes sends,
With transport wonld barter old agos of glory
For ono happy day -frith — wife, children,
and friends.

Though spice-breathing gales on his caravan

hover,

Though for him Arabia's fragrance ascends,
The merchant still thinks of tho woodbines

that cover

Tho bower whore ho sat with — wife,
children, and frionds.

Tho day-spring of youth still unclouded by

sorrow,

Alone on itself for enjoyment depends ,
But drear IB tho twilight of ago, if it boirow
No warmth from tho smile of — wife, children,
and fnondtt.

Lot tho breath of renown over freshen and

nourish
Tho laurel which o'er tho dead favourite

bends;
Over mo wave the willow, and long may it

flourish,

Bodow'd with tho teara of— wife, children,
and friends.

Lot TLH dunk, foi my Rong, gi owing graver and

To HubjoaiiH too solemn wiHonsibly londH ,
Let UH drink, pledge mo lugh, love and virtue

Hlioll flavour
Tlic tflaKH wliich I fill to — wife, ohildicn,

and friondu,

//cm. W. M. ftyont&r.— Horn 1770, DM 1834.

1397.— ON THE BERTH OF THE
PRINCESS ROYAL.

Behold whoro thou dost lie,
Hooding naught, remote on high I
Naught of all the news wo Ring
l)(>Ht thou know, nwoot ignorant thing;
Naught of planet's love nor peopled ;
Nor (lout hoar tho giddy Htooplos
Carolling of thoo and thine,
AH if lioavon had roiu'd thoin wine ;
Nov dost caro for all the pains
Of UHhorH and of chamberlains,
Nor tho doctor's learned looks,
Nov tho very biHhop's books,
Nor tho lace that wraps thy chin,
No, nor for thy rank a pin.
E'en thy father's loving hand
NOWIHO dost thou understand,
When ho makes thoo feebly grasp
His finger with a tiny clasp ,
Nor doHt thou know thy very mother's
Balmy bosom from another's,

Though thy small blind eyes pursue it;
Nor tho arms that draw thoo to it ;
Noi tho eyes that, while they fold thee,
Never can enough behold thee '

Imgh Hunt.— Born 1784, Died 1850.

1398 —TO T. I. H,, SIX YEARS OLD,
DURING A SICKNESS.

Sleep breathes at last from out thoo,

My little patient boy ,
And balmy rest about thoo

Smooths off the day's annoy.
I sit me down, and think

Of all thy winning ways
Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink,

That I had less to praise.

Thy sidelong pillow'd meekness,

Thy thanks to all that aid,
Thy heart in pain and weakness,

Of fancied faults afraid ,
Tho littlo trembling hand

That wipes thy quiet tears,
These, these are things that may demand

Dread momonos for years

Sorrows I've had severe ones,

I will not think of now ,
And calmly 'midst my door ones,

Havo wawtod with dry brow ,
But when thy fingers press

And pat my stooping head,
I cannot bear tho gentleness —

Tho tears arc in their bod.

Ah ' firstborn of thy mother,

When life and hope were now,
Kind playmate of thy brother,

Thy sister, father, too ;
My light where'er I go,

My bird, when prison-bound,
My hand in hand companion — no,

My prayers shall hold thoo round.

To say " Ho has depaitod "—

" His voice "— "hifl face "—"is gone ;"
To feel impatient-hearted,

Yet feel wo must bear on ,
Ah, I could not endure

To whisper of such wo,
Unless I felt this sloop msuio

That it will not bo so.

YOB, still he's fix'd, and bleeping !

Tins silonoo too the while —
Its voiy hush and creeping

Scorn whispering as a snnlo :
Something divine and dim

Seems going by one's oiu,
Liko parting wings of cherubim,

Who «ay, " Wo'vo fimsh'd horo."

L&ujh IIuML— Horn 1784, Died 1850.

LEIGH Htrarr.]

THE GBASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET. [SEVENTH PBBIOD. —

1399.— TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND
THE CBIOKET.

Green little vaultor in tho sunny grass,
Catching your heart up at tho fool of Juno,
Sole voice that's hoard amidst tho lazy

noon,
When even the beos lag at the summoning

brass,

And you, warm littlo housekeeper, who class
With thoso who think the candles oome too

soon,
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome

tuno

Niok the glad silent moments as they pass ;
Oh, swoet and tiny cousins, that belong,

One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
Both have your sunshine, both, though small,

are strong
At your dear hearts ; and both were sent on

earth

To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song —
In-doors and out, summer and winter, mirth.

L&gK Hw,t —Born 1784, Iked 1859

1400.— CHORUS OF FLOWERS.

We are the sweet flowers,
Born of sunny showers,
(Think, whene'er you see usj what our beauty

saith,)

Utterance, mute and bright,
Of some unknown dehght,
We fill the aur with pleasure, by our simple

breath

All who see us love us —
We befit all places;

Unto sorrow we give smiles — and unto graces,
graces.

Mark our ways, how noiseless
All, and sweetly voiceless,
Though the March-winds pipe to make our

passage clear ,•
Not a whisper tolls
Where our small seod dwells,
Nor is known the moment green whon our

tips appear.

Wo thread the earth in edenco,
In silence build our bowers —
And leaf by loaf in silenco show, till wo laugh
a-top, sweet flowers.

The dear lumpish baby,
Humming with the May-bee,
Hails us with his bright star, stumbling

through the grass ;
The honey-dropping moon,
On a night in Juno,
.Kisses our pale pathway leaves, that felt the

bridegroom pass.
Age, the wither' d olinger,
On us mutely gazes,

And wraps the thought of his last bed in his
childhood's daisies.

See (and scorn all duller
Tasto) how Heaven IOVOB colour ;
How great Nature, clearly, joys in rod and

green,

What sweet thoughts sho thinks
Of violets and pinks,
And a thousand flushing hues mado solely to

be seen

Seo her whitest lihos
Chill the salvor showers,
And what a red mouth is hoi roso, tho woman
of her flowers.

Uselessnoss divinost,

Of a use tho finest,
Paanteth us, tho teachers of tho ond of use ;

Travellers, weary-oyod,

Bless us, far and wido ;
Unto siok and prison' d thoughts wo give sud-
den truce

Not a poor town window

Loves its sickliest planting,
But its wall speaks loftier truth than Babylo-
nian vaunting*

Sagest yet tho uses

Mix'd with our sweot JUIOOR,

Whether man or May-fly profit of tho balm ;
As fair fingers hool'd
Knights from the olden field,

We hold oups of mightiest foroo to givo tho

wildest calm
Even tho torror, poison,
Hath its plea for blooming ;

Life it gives to reverent lips, though death to
the presuming.

And oh ' our swoot soul-taker,

That thief, tho honey-makor,
What a house hath ho, by tho thymy glon I

In his talking rooms

How tho feasting- fumes,
Till tho gold oups overflow to ilio mouths of
men '

Tho butterflies oomo aping

Thoso fine ihiovou of OUTH,
Ajad flutter round our nflod topH, like tioklod
flowers with flowors.

Soo thoso topH, how boaatoouK '
What fair sorvioo dutoouB
Bound somo idol waits, OH on their lord tho

Nino.

Elfin court 't would Room,
And taught, perchance, that tlroam
Which tho old Grook mountain droamt, upon

nights divine.
To expound Huoh wondor
Human speech avaalH not,
Yet there dies no poorest wood, that such a
glory exhales not.

Think of all those treasures,
Matchless works and pleasures,
Every one a marvel, more than thought can

say,

Then think in what bright ahowow
We thicken fields and bowora,

from, 1780 to 186G.]

JAFFAE.

And with -what heaps of swootnoss half stiflo

wanton May ;
Think of tho mossy forests
By tho boo-birds haunted,
And all thoso Amazonian plains, lono lying
as enchanted.

TTOQB themselves arc ours ;
IFruits are born of flowers ;
Peach, and roughest nut, were blossoms in

tho Spring ;

Tho lusty boe knows woll
Tho news, and comes pell-mell,
And danoos in tho gloomy thicks with dark-
some antheming ;
Beneath tho very burden
Of planet-pressing ocean,
Wo wash our smiling ohooks in peace — a
thought for meek devotion.

Tears of Phoebus — missmgs
Of Cythoroa'B kisamgs,
Have in us boon found, and wiao men find

thorn still;

Drooping grace unfurls
Still Hyaointhus' curls,
And Narcissus loves himself in tho selfish

rill;

Thy rod lip, Adonis,
Still is wot with morning ,
And tho Htop tliat bled for ihoo tho rosy brier
adorning.

0 1 true things are fables,
Fit for aagoHt tables,
And the flowers are truo things — yet no

fables they ,
Fablos wore not more
Bright, nor lovod of yore —
Tot they grew not, liko tho flowers, by ovory

old pathway ;

Grossest hand can tost us—
Fools may prize us never —
Tot wo riHo, and rise, and nso— marvels swoob
for over.

Who shall say that flowers
Dress not heaven's own bowers P
Who its love, without us, can fancy — or sweet

floor?

Who shall even dare
To say wo sprang not there —
And came not down, that Love might bring

one piooo of heaven the more P
0 ' pray believe that angels
From those blue dominions
Brought us in their white laps down, 'twixt
their golden pinions.

Leigh Hunt —Bom 1784, Ihed 1859.

1401.— THE NUN.

If you become a nun, dear,
Afnarlwillbej

In any coll you run, dear,

Pray look behind for me.
The roses all turn pale, too ;
Tho dovos all take tho veil, too ;

The blind will see the show :
What ' you become a nun, my dear?

I'll not behove it, no !

xx.

If you booomo a nun, dear,

The bishop Love will be ;
The Cupids every one, dear,

Will chant, "Wo trust in thoe ! "
Tho incense will go sighing,
Tho candles fall a dying,

Tho water turn to wine •
What ' you go tako the vows, my dear P

Tou may — but they'll bo mino.

MgK Hvnkr-Bom 1784, Vied 1859.

1402.— ABOU BEN ADEEM.

Abou Ben Adhom (may his tribe increase ')
Awoko one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within tho moonlight in his room,
Making it rich and liko a lily m bloom,
An angel writing- in a book of gold .
Exceeding peace had mode Bon Adhom bold,
And to the Presence in tho room ho said,
" What writost thou ?" — Tho vision raisod its

hood,

And, with a look made of all swoot accord,
Answer' d — "Tho nauios of those who love

tho lord."
"Andismino one?" said Abou; "Nay, not

so,"

BepHod the angel. — Abou spoke more-low,
But ohoorly still ; and said, " I pray thoo,

then,
Write mo as ono that lovos his follow-men."

The angol wrote, and vanishM. Tho next

night

It oamo again, with a groat wakening light,
And show'dthe names whom love of God had

bloss'd—
And, lo ! Bon Adhem's name lod all the rest 1

Lagh Hunt.— Born 1784, Died 1859.

1403, — JAFFAB.

Jaffar, tho Baimooido, tho good Vizier,

Tho poor man's hopo, tho friend without a

peer.

Jaflar was dead, slain by a doom tu^ust ;
And guilty Haroun, sullon with mistrust
Of what tho good, and o'on tho bad might say,
Ordain' d that no man living from that day
Should dare to speak his name on pain of

death.
All Axaby and Persia hold their broath.

IMIGSL HUNT.]

MAHMOUD.

[SEVB1TTH PfiBIOD. —

All but the brave Mondeer. — He, proud to

show

How far for love a grateful soul could go,
And faoing death for very scorn, and gnef
(For his great heart wanted a great relief),
Stood forth in Bagdad, daily in the square
"Where once had stood a happy house, and

there

Harangued the tremblers at the soymitar
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar.

" Bring me this man," the oahph cried: the,

Was brought, was gazed upon. The mutes

began
To bind his arms. " Welcome, brave cords I"

cried he;

" From bonds far worse Jaffar deliver' d me ,
From wants, from shames, from loveless

household fears ;
Hade a man's eyes friends with delicious

tears,

Restored me, loved me, put me on a par
With his great self. How can I pay Jaffar?"

Haronn, who felt that on a soul like this
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss,
Now deign' d to smile, as one great lord of

fate

Might smile upon another half as great.
He said, " Let worth grow frenzied if it will ;
The caliph's judgment shall be master still
Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this

gem,

The richest in the Tartar's diadem,
And hold the giver as thou deemest fit."

"Gifts'" crjed the friend. Ho took, and

holding it
High toward the heavens, as though to meet

his star,
Exclaim' d, " This, too, I owe to theo, Jaffar."

L&ig7i Him*.— Ofor/i 1784, Died 1859.

1404 — MAKMOTO.

There came a man, making frfa hasty moan
Before the Sultan Mahmoud on "bia throne
And crying out — " My sorrow is my right,
And I will see the Sultan, and to-night."

" Sorrow," said Mahmoud, "is a reverend

thing

I recognise its right as king with king ;
Speak on." "A fiend has got into my

house,"

Exclaim' d the staring tuft1"! ** and tortures us •
One of thine officers; — he comes, the ab-
, horfd,

And takes possession of my house, my board,
My bed : — I have two daughters and a wife,
And the wild villain comes and makes me

mad with life."

" Ie he there now ? " said Mahmoud. " No,

he left

The house when I did, of my wits boroft ;
And laugh'd me down the street because I

vow*d
I'd bring the prince himself to lay him in his

shroud.

I'm mad with want, Fm mad with misery,
And Oh, thou Sultan Mahmoud, God cries

out for thoe ] "

The Sultan comforted the man and said,
"Go home, and I will send thoo wine and

bread

(For he was poor), and other comforts. Go ;
And should tho wretch return lot Sultan

Mahmoud know."

In two days' time, with haggard eyes and

beard,

And shaken voice, the suitor ro-appoarod,
And said, " He's come." — Mahmoud suit! not

a word,
But rose and took four slaves each with a

sword,
And wont with the vozt man. They roach.

the place,

And hoar a voice and see a female face,
That to the window fluttered in afiiight.
" Go in," said Mahmoud, ** and put out tho

hght,

But tell the females first to leave tho room ;
And when the drunkard follows thorn, wo

come."

The man wont in. There was a cry, and

hark'

A table falls, tho window is struck dark ;
Forth rush the breathless women, aiul behind
With curses comes tho fiend in doHporato

In vain the sabres soon cut nhorb tho strife,
And chop the shrieking wrotoh, and drink M»
bloody hf o

"Now light the light," tho Sultan cried aloud.
'Twas dono ; ho took it in hta hand and bow'd
Over tho corpse, and look'd upon the face ,
Then turn'd and knelt beside it in tho place,
And said a prayer, and from hit* lips there

crept
Some gentle words of pleasure, and ho wept.

In reverent silonoo tho spectator** wait,
Then bring him at hiH call both wmo and

meat;

And when he hod rofrosh'd his noble heart,
He bade his host bo blofct, and rone up to

depart.

Tho man amaa'd, all mildness now and learn,
Fell at the Sultan's feet with many prayers,
And bcgg'd him to vouchsafe to toll hi» slave,
The reason first of that command ho gave
About the light then when ho saw the face,
Why ho knelt down ; and lastly, how it was
That fare so poor as his detain' d him in tho
place.

From 1780 to I860.]

SUMMER MOBNENTG.

[JOHN CLASH.

The Sultan said, with much humanity,

" Sinco first I hoard thoo oome, and hoard thy

ciy,

I could not rid mo of a dread that ono
By whom such daring: villanios were done,
Must bo somo lord of mine, perhaps a lawless

son.

Whoe'er ho was, I know my task, but fear'd
A father's heart, in ease the worst appear' d.
For tliiH I had the light put out. But when
I saw the faeo and found a stranger slain,
I knelt and thank'd the sovereign arbiter,
Whose work I had perform' d through pain

and fear

A^d then I rose and was refresh' d with food,
The first time since thou oam'st and marr'd'st

ray solitude "

Leigh Hunt — Born 1784, JDwtl 1859.

1405,— TO THE GLOWWOBM.

Tasteful illumination of the night,

bright soattor'd, twinkling star of spangled

earth!

Hail to the nameless colour' d dark and light,
The witching nurse of thy illumined birth.
In thy still hour how dearly I delight
To rest my weary bones, from labour free ;
In lone spots, out of hearing, out of sight,
To sigh day's amolhoi'd pains , and pause on

tlioo,

Bedecking dangling brier and ivied tree,
Or diamonds tipping on the granny spear ,
Thy pale-faced glimmering light 1 lovo to see,
Oildhig and gkstoring in the dowdrop near •
0 still-hour's mate I my easing heart sobs

free,
While tiny bouts low bond with many an

added tear

John Clwo.—Born 1793, Died 1804.

1406— FBOM "THE PATE OP AMY."

The flowors tho sultry summer Trffla

Spring's milder Huns roHtoro ,
But innocence, that fioklo charm,

Blooms once, and blooms no more

Tho swains who loved no more admire,
Their hearts no beauty waims,

And maidens triumph in her fall
That envied once her charms.

Lost was that sweet simplicity ;

Her eyes bright lustre fled ,
And o'er her checks, whore roses bloom* d,

A sickly paleness spread.

So fades tho flower before its time,

Whore cankorworms assail ,
So droops tho bud upon its stem

Beneath its sickly gale.

John CZ<w<j.~ Born 1793, Died 1804

1407.— WHAT IS LIFE ?

And what is laf e ? An hour-glass on tho run,
A mist retreating from the morning sun,
A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream

Its length P A minute's pause, a moment's

thought.
And Happiness ? A bubble on the stream,

That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.

And what is Hope? Tho puffing gale of

mom,
That robs each flowret of its gem — and

dies;

A cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn,
Which stings more keenly through the thin
disguise.

And what is Death P Is still the cause un-

foundP

That dark mysterious name of horrid sound P

A long and lingering sleep the weary crave.

And Peace P Where can its happiness

abound P
No whoro at all, save heaven and tho grave.

Then what is LifoP When stripped of its
disguise,

A thing to bo desired it cannot bo ;
Since everything that moots our foolish eyes

Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.
'Tis but a trial all must undergo,

To teach tinthankf ul mortal how to prize
That happiness vain man's domed to know,

Until he's call'd to claim it in tho skies.

Clwe.—'Xo™ 1793, DiccL 1804.

1408.— SUMMKB MOBNING.

'Tie swoot to meet tho morning breeze,
Or list tho giggling of tho brook ;

Or, stretch' d beneath tho shade of trees,
Peruse and pause on nature's book.

When nature every swoot prepares
To entertain our wish'd delay —

Tho imagoH which morning wears,
Tho wakening charms of early day !

Now let mo tread tho moadow paths,
Whore glittering dow the ground illumes,

As sprinkled o'er the withering swaths
Their moisture shrinks in swoot port unaos.

And hear tho beetle sound his horn,
And hoar tho skylark whistling nigh,

Sprung from his bod of tufted com,
A hailing minstrel in tho sky.

First sunbeam, calling1 night away
To see how swoot thy summons scorns ;

Split by tho willow's wavy gray,
And sweetly dancing1 001 tho BtroamH.

JOHN CLARE.]

THE PRIMROSE.

How fine the spidor's wob is spun,

"Unnoticed to vulgoar eyps ,
Its silk thread glittering in the sun

Art's bungling vanity defies.

Roaming while the dewy fields

'Neath their morning burthen lean,

'While its crop my searches shields,
Sweet I scent the blossom' d bean.

Making oft remarking stops ;

Watching tiny nameless things
Climb the grass's apiry tops

Ere they try their gauzy wings.

So emerging into light,

From the ignorant and vain
Fearful genius takes her flight,

Skimming o'er the lowly plain.

John, Ol<vr6—Boi<n 1793, Died 1864.

1409 —THE PRIMROSE.

A SONNET.

Welcome, pale primrose » starting up between
Dead matted leaves of ash and oak that

strew
The every lawn, the wood, and spinney

through,

'Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker green ,
How much thy presence beautifies the

ground'

How sweet thy modest unaffected pnde
Glows on the sunny bank and wood's worm

side I
And where thy fairy flowers in groups are

found,
The schoolboy roams enchantedly along,

Plucking the fairest with a rude delight •
While the meek shepherd stops his simple

song,

To gaze a moment on the pleasing sight ;
O'erjoy*d to see the flowers that truly bimg
tfhe welcome news of sweet returning spring.

JoJvn Clare.— Born 1793, Died 1864

1410.— THE THRUSH'S NEST.
A SONNET.

Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush
That overhung a molehill large and round,
I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns of rapture, while I drank the

sound
With joy— and oft an unintruding guest,

I watch* d her secret toils from day to day ;
How true she warp'd the moss to form her

neat,

And modfill'd it within with wood and
clay.

And by and by, liko hoath-bells gilt with dow,
There lay her shining eggs as bright as

flowers,

Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue ;
And there I witnessed, in the summer

hours,

A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly,
Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky.

John Clare — Born 1793, J)wA 1864.

1411 — FIRST-LOVE'S RECOLLECTIONS.

First-love will with the heart remain

When its hopes aro all gone by 5
As frail rose-blossoms sUU retain

Their fragrance when they die
And joy's first dreams will haunt the mind

With the shades 'mid which they sprung,
As summer loaves the atoms behind

On which spring's blossoms hung.

Mary, I dare not call thco dear,

I've lost that right so long ,
Tot once again I vox thine oar

With memory's idle song
I felt a pnde to name thy name,

But now that pride hath flown.
And burning blushes speak my shomo,

That thus I lovo thoo on.

How loth to part, how fond to meet,

Hod wo two used to bo ;
At sunset, with what eager foot

I hasten' d unto thoo '
Scarce nine days paws' d ua ore wo mot

In flpnng, nay, wintry woathor j
Now nine years' sunn havo nson and sot,

Nor found us once together.

Thy face was flo familiar grown,

Thyself BO often nigh,
A moment's memory when alono,

Would bring thoo in mrno oyo ;
But now my very droams forgot

That witching- look to trace ;
Though thero thy beauty lingers yot,

It wears a strongor'H faoo.

When last that gontlo chook I prost,

And hoard thoo feign adieu,
I little thought that flcoming jest

Would prove a word so trno !
A fate liko this hath oft befell

Even loftier hopoa than ours ;
Spring bids full many buds to flwoll,

That ne'or con grow to flowers.

Jotvn, ClMrc.—Born 1793, Died 1864.

1412.— DAWNINGS OF GENIUS.

In those low paths which poverty surrounds,
The rough rudo ploughman, off Ms fallow
grounds

From 1780 to 1866 ]

SCENES AND MUSINGS.

[JOHN CLAJRE.

(That necessary tool of wealth and pndo),
While moil'd and Bwoating, by eomo pasturo's

side,

Will often stoop, inquisitive to trace
The opening- boaatios of a daisy's faoe ;
Oft will ho witness, with admiring eyes,
The brook's Bwoot dimples o'or tho pebbles

rise,

And often bent, as o'er some magic spell,
He'll pause and pick his shaped stone and

BhoU

Raptures tho while his inward powers inflame,
And joys delight him whieh ho cannot name ,
Ideas picture pleasing views to mind,
For which his language can no utterance

find,

Increasing beauties, freshening on his sight,
Unfold now chaims, and witness moie do-

So while tho present please, tho past decay,
And in each other, losing, molt away.
Thus pausing wild on all ho saunters by,
Ho feels enraptured, though he knows not

why;

And hums and mutters o'or his joys in vain,
And dwells on something which ho can't

explain
Tho bursts of thought with which hia soul 's

poiplox'd
Are biod ono moment, and aio gono tho

noxt ,
Yet utill tho hooit will kmdimg sparks re-

tain,
And thoughts will HHO, and Fancy strive

again.

So have I mark'd tho dying ember's light,
When on tho hearth it faulted from my

sight,

With glimmering glow oft roddon up again,
And sparks crack brightening into life in

vain,

Still lingering out its kindling hopo to rise,
Till faint, and fainting, tho last twinkle dies.
Dim burns tho soul, and throbs tho flutter-

ing heart,

ItH painful pleasing feelings to impart ;
Till by Huooessless sallies weaned quito,
Tho memory fails, and Fancy takes her

flight

Tho wick, confined within its socket, dios,
Borno down and smother' d m a thousand

sighs.

Jolm Ofcwu— BomlWS, Died 1864.

1413.— SCENES AOT) MUSINGS OF THE
PEASANT POET.

Each opening season, and each opening

scone,
On his wild view still teom'd with fresh

delight ,
E'en winter's storms to him havo welcome

boon,

That brought in™ comfort in ita long dark

night,
As joyful listening, while tho £ro burnt

bright,
Some neighbouring labourer's superstitious

tale,
How " Jack-o-lantorn," with his wisp

alight,

To drown a 'mghted traveller onoo did fail,
Ho knowing well tho brook that whimpor'd

down the vale.

And tales of fairy-land ho loved to hoar,
Those mites of human forms, like skimming

boos,

That fly and flirt about but everywhere >
Tho mystic tribes of might's unnerving

broezo,
That through a look-hole oven creep with

Tho freaks and stories of this elfin crow,
Ah I Lubin gloried in such thongs as those ;
How they rewarded industry ho know,
And how tho restless slut was pinched black
and bluo.

How ancient dames a fairy's anger foar'd,
From gOHsip's stones I/ubin often hoard ;
How they on every Bight tho hearthstone

clear' d,
And, 'gamut their visits, all things neat

prepared,
As fnyH nought more than cloanlinoBH re-

gard;
Whow in tho morn they novor fual'cl to

share

Or gold or silver as their moot toward,
Dropt in tho water superstition's oaro,
To mako tho charm succeed, had cautious

placed thoro«

And thousands such tho village keeps

fllivo;

Beings that people superstitious earth,
That o'or in rural manners will survive,
As long as wild rusticity has birth
To spread their wonders round the ootlago*

On I/ubin's mind thoso deeply woro im-

. pross'd ,

Oft fear forbade to sharo his neighbour's

mirth

And long each, talo, by fancy nowly drosfl'd,
Brought fainos in his dreams, and broko his

infant rest.

Ho had his dreads and foars, and scarce

could pass
A churchyard's dreary mounds at silent

night,
But footsteps trampled through tho rustling

grass,
And ghosts 'hind grave-stonos Btood in

shoots of white,
Dread monsters fancy moulded on his

sight ;

JOHN

SCENES AND MUSINGS.

Soft would he step lost they his tread

should hear,
And creep and oreop till past his wild

affright ,
Then on wind's wings would rally, as it

were,
So swift the wild retreat of childhood's

fancied foar.

And when fear left him, on his comer-seat
Much would he chatter o'er each dreadful

tale;
Tell how he heard the sound of 'preaching

feet,
And warriors jingling in their coats of

mail,
And lumping knocks as one would thump a

flail;

Of spirits conjured in the channel floor ;
And many a mournful shriek and hapless

wail,
"Where maids, self-murder'd, their false

loves deplore ;
And from that time would vow to tramp on

nights no more

O ! who can speak his joys when spring's

young morn,
From wood and pasture, open'd on his

viewl
When tender green buds blush upon the

thorn,
And the first primrose dips its leaves in

dew
Each vaned charm how joyM would he

pursue,
Tempted to trace their beauties through

the day;

Grey-girdled eve and morn of rosy hue
Have both beheld him on his lonely way,
Far, far remote from boys, and their un-

pleasing play.

Sequester' d nature was his heart's delight ;
Hi™ would she lead through wood and

lonely plain,

Searching the pooty from the rushy dike ;
And while the thrush sang her long-silenced

strain,
He thought it sweet, and mook'd it o'er

again;
And while he pluck' d the primrose in its

pride,
He pondex'd o'er its bloom 'tween joy and

pain;

And a rude sonnet in its praise he tried,
"Where nature's simple way the aid of art

supplied.

The freshen' d landscapes round his routes

unfurl'd,
The fine-trnged clouds above, the woods

below,

Each met his eye a new-revealing1 world,
Delighting more as more he learn' d to

know ;
Each journey sweeter, musing to and fro

Surrounded thus, not Paradiso more awoot ,

Enthusiasm made his soul to glow ,

His heart with wild sensations usod to

beat;
As nature seemly song, his muttorings would

repeat.

Upon a molehill oft ho dropt him down,
To take a prospect of the circling HCOWO,
Marking how much the cottage roof'H

thatch brown

Did add its beauty to the budding groon
Of sheltering trees it humbly poop'd bo-

twoen ;
The stono-rook'd waggon with its rumbling

sound;
The windmill's sweeping sails at dintanco

soon;
And every form that crowds the circling

round,
Where the sky, stooping, seems to ki«s the

meeting ground.

And dear to him the rural sports of May,
"When each cot-threshold mountti itB hailing

bough,
And ruddy milkmaids weave their garland*}

gay»

Upon the green to crown the earliest cow ;
"When mirth and pleasure wear a joyful

brow,

And join the tumult with unbounded gloo,
The humble tenants of the pail and plough •
He loved " old sports," by thorn revived, to

see,
But never oarod to join in their rude rovolry.

O'er brook-banks stretching, on the pa»turo-

sward
He gazed, far distant from tho jocund

crew;
'Twas but thoir feats that daim'd a alight

regard;

'Twas his— his pastimes lonely to pnnrao--
Wild blossoms creeping in tho grans to

view,

Scarce pooping up the tiny bont as high,

Bettngod with glossy yellow, rod or blue,

Unnamed, unnoticed but by Lubin'a oyo,

That like low genius sprang, to bloom thoir

day and die.

O ! who can toll tho swoots of May-day's

To waken rapture in a fooling mind ;

Whon tho gilt oast unveils her dappled
dawn,

And the gay woodlork has its nost re-
sign'd,

As slow the sun creeps tip tho hill behind ;

Morn reddening round, and daylight* H ftpot-
loss hue,

An seemingly with roso and lily lined ;

While all the prospect round booms four to

view,
Like a sweet opening flowor with its unsullied

iVow 1/80 to I860]

THE THEATRE.

[JAB. AND HOBAOB SMITH.

Ahf of ton brushing thiough tho dripping

gross,
Has lio boon soon to catch this early

charm,
Listening tlio " lovo-song " of tho healthy

lass
Panning with milk-pail on hor well-turn' d

arm ;
Or mooting obj'octs from tho rousing

farm— —
The jingling plough-teams driving down tho

stoop,
Waggon and cart , and shepherd-dogs'

alarm,

Baising tho bloatings of unfolding Rhoop,
As o'or tho mountain top tho rod sun 'gins to

poop.

Nor could tho day's decline osoapo his

gazo,

Ho lovod tho closing aH tho rwing day,
And oft would stand to catch tho sotting

rays,
WhoHo last beams stole not tmporcoivoU

away,

When, hoHitating liko a stag at bay,
Tho brjght unwoariod sun sooui'd loath to

diop,

Till cliooH* mght-horaidn hmiiod him away,
And diovolmn hoiwllong fiom tho mountain

top,
And Hhut tho lovely ROOUO, and luwlo all nature

stop.

With contemplation's stores hiH mind to

iill,

() doubly happy would ho roam as thtm,
When tho bluo ovo cropt tlcopor round tho

hill,
While tho coy rabbit ventured from hin

don,

And woary labour sought his rest again ;
Lono wanderings led him haply by tho

htroam,
Whore ixnporcoivocl ho 'joy'd his houis at

will,
Miuing the cricket twittoung o'or its

dream,
Or watcliing o'or tho brook tho moonlight's

dancing boam

And lioro tho rural muso might aptly say,
As sober evening swootly silos along,
How she has chaRod black ignorance away,
And warm'd his artless soul with f oohiigH

strong,

To toaoh his rood to warblo forth a song ,
And how it echoed on tho oven-gale,
All by the brook tho pOHturo-flowerH

But ah ' such trifles are of no avail —
There 's few to notice him, or hear hiH simple
tale.

0 Poverty ' thy frowns wore early dealt
O'or him who mourn' d thoo, not by fancy
lod

To whine and wail o'or woos ho novor felt,
Staining his rhymes with tears ho novor

shod,

And heaving sighs a mook song only brod :
Alas ' ho knew too much of every pom
That shower' d full thick on his unsholtor'cl

head,

And as his tears and sighs did erst com-
plain,

His numbers took it up, and wept it o'or
again.
Jb7m Clwe — Bwn 1793, Dud 1804.

1414.— THE THEATRE— BY THE REV.

a a L0BABBE]

'Tis swoot to viow, from half -past fivo to six,
Our long wax candles, with short cotton.

wicks,

Touch' d by the lamplighter's Promothoan art,
Start into light, and make tho lighter start :
To BOO rod PhoobuH tlirongh tho gallery pano
Tingo with his beam tho beams of Drury

Laiio,

While- gradual parties £01 our widon'd pit,
And gape, and gazo, arid wonder, ore they

sit. * i

What various swains our motley walls con-
tain i
Fashion from Moorfioldfl, honour fiom Cluck

Limo ,

Bankers fiom Papor BnilduifiH hero roHort,
Bankrupts from Golden Kquaio uiul Jtichos

Court ,

From tho Hayinarkot canting rognos in grai"i
Gulls from tho .Poultry, sots from Water

Laiio ;

Tho lottery cormorant, tho auction shark,
Tho full -price master, and tho half -price

clerk;

Boys who long linger at tho gallery door,
With ponco twice nvo, they want but two-

ponoo moro,

rJHll somo Samaritan tho twoponoo sporoH,
And KoiirlH tlioin jumping up tho gallery

stairs.

CniioH we boast who no' or their malioo baulk
Bat talk their minds, wo wish tlioyM mm

tlioir talk ,

Biff worded bullios, who by quarrels hvo,
Who givo tho lio, iind toll tho lio they give j
Jews from 8t Mary Axo, for jobs HO wary,
That for old clothes they'd ovon axe St.

Moiy,

And buek» with pockets empty as their pate,
Lax in thoir gaiters, laxor in their gait ;
Who oft, whon wo our houflo look up, carouse
With tippling tnpHtavos in a lock-up house,
Yet hero, as olsewhoro, chance can joy

bestow,
Whore scowling fortune eoom'd to throatoti

woe

John Jfctichard William Alexander Dwycr
Was footman to Justuuan Stubbs, KHcjiuro $

AND HOBACB SMITH.]

THE BABY'S DEBUT.

[SEVENTH Pjaitiop.-^

But when John Dwycr listed in the Blues,

Emanuel Jennings polish* d Stubbs's shoos.

Emanuel Jennings brought his youngest boy

Up as a corn cutter — a safe employ ,

In Holywell Street, St. Panoras, he was bred

(At number twenty-savon, it is said),

Facing1 tho pump, and near the Granby's

Head.
He would hare bound him to some shop in

town,
But with a premium he could not oome

down .
Pat was the urchin's name, a red-haar'd

youth,
Fonder of $url and skittle-grounds than

truth
Silence, ye gods ' to keep your tongues in

awe,

The muse shall toll an accident she saw.
Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat ,
But, leaning forward, Jonmngs lost his hat ;
Down from the gallery the beaver new,
And spurn' d the one, to settle in the two.
How shall he act p Pay at the gallery door
Two shillings for what cost when new but

four P

Or till half price, to save his shilling-, wait,
And gam his hat again at half -past eight P
Now, while his fears anticipate a thief,
John lyr-pii-iifiq whispers, " Take my handker-

chief"
"Thank you," cries Pat, "but one won1!

make a hne "
"Take mine," cned Wilson. "And," cried

Stokes, "take mine"
A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties,
Where Spitalfields with real India vies
like Ins' bow, down darts the painted huo,
Starr'd, striped, and spotted, yellow, red, and

blue,

Old calico, torn silk, and muslin now.
George Greon below, with palpitating hand,
loops the last 'kerchief to the beaver's band ,
Upsoars the prize , the youth, with joy un-

foign'd,

Begain'd the felt, and felt what ho regam'd,
While to tho applauding galleries grateful

Pat

Made a low bow, and touch'd the ransom1 d
hat. * *

James cwwZ IToraco Simth — About 1812.

1415.— THE BABTS DEBUT.— BT W W.
[WOKDSWOBTH.]

My brother Jack was nine in May,
And I was eight ou New Tear's Day,

So in Kate Wilson's shop
Papa (he 's my papa and Jack's)
Bought me, last week, a doll of wax,

And brother Jaok a top.

Jack's in the pouts, and this it in,
Ho thinks mine came to more than, his,

So to my drawer ho goes,
Takes out the doll, and, oh my stars !
He pokes her head between the bars,

And melts off half her noso '

Quite cross, a bit of string I bog,
And tie it to his peg-top's popr,

And bang, with might and main,
Its head against tho pailour door :
Off flies the head, and hits tho floor,

And bioaks a window-pane.

This made him cry with rage and apite ;
Well, lot him cry, it sorvos him right.

A pretty thing, forsooth '
If he 's to melt, all scalding hot,
Half my doll's noso, and I am not

To draw his peg-top's tooth '

Aunt Hannah heard the window break,
And oned, " 0 naughty Nancy Lako,

Thus to distress your aunt :
No Drury Lane for you to-day ' "
And whale papa said, " Pooh, who may I "

Mamma said, '* No, aho shan't ! "

Well, after many a sad reproach,
They got into a hackney coach,

And trotted down the street.
I saw them go one horse watt blind ,
Tho tails of both hung down behind ;

Their shoes were on thoix foot.

Tho chaise in which poor brother Bill
Used to bo drawn to Pontonvillc,

Stood in tho lumber room
I wiped tho dust from off the top,
While Molly mopp'd it with a mop,

And brush' d it with a broom.

My uncle's porter, Samuel
Oamo in at BIX to black the HUOOM

(I always talk to Sam) .
So what dooH he, but taken and drags
Me in tho ohaiKO along the flutfH,

And leaves mo where I am

My fathor'w wallH arc made of brick,
But not so tall, and not HO thick

As those , and, goodnosH mo '
My father's boamn are made of wood,
But never, never half so good

As those that now I HOO.

What a largo floor ! 'tin like a town I
Tho carpet, when they lay it down,

Won't hide it, I'll bo bound :
And there 's a row of lamps ; my oyo I
How they do blaze ' I wonder why

They keep thorn on the ground.

At first I caught hold of tho wing,
And kept away ; but Mr. Thing-

Umbob, tho prompter man,
Gave with his hand my chaise a flhovo,
And said, " Go on, my pretty lord;

Speak to 'em, httk Nan.

Jfrom 1780 to I860 ]

A TALE OF DBTOY LANE [JAB AND HOBACB SMITH.

Tfou'vo only got to omtsoy, whiwp-
or, hold youi chm up laugh and lisp,

And then you'ic suro to tako :
I've known tho day whon brats not quite
Thirteen pot fifty poundH a night,

Thon why not Nancy Lake ? "

But whilo I'm speaking, whoro 's papa ?
And whoro 's my aunt ? and whore 's mamma ?

Whoro *s Jack P Oil, thoro they sit f
Thoy smilo, thoy nod , I'll go iny ways,
And ordor round poor Billy's ohaiso,

To join thorn in tho pit.

And now, good gentlefolks, I go
To join mamma, and soe tho show j

So, bidding you adiou,
I ourtsoy, liko a protty mias,
And if you'll blow to mo a kiss,

I'll blow a kiHS to you.

Jcmies and Jlwaee Smith. — About 1812,

I4*6.~A TALE OF DRTOY LANE.— BY

W. S. [SCOTT]

* * * *

As chaos which, by hoavonly doom,
Had Hlopt in everlasting gloom,
Started with ton or and Huipnso,
When light first ilanhM upon hor oyoB :
So London' H HOUH in nightcap woko,

In bedgown woko hor damon,
For HhoutH woro hoard 'mid firo and wnoke,
And twioo ton hundrod VOIGOH spoke,

" Tho playhouHQ IB in flamon.'*
And lo I whoro Catherine Street extends,
A fiery tale its lustre lends

To every window-pane •
Blushes each spout m Martlet Court,
And Barbican, xnoth-oaton fort,
And Covont Garden konnols sport,

A bright ensanguined drain;
Moux's now browhouso shows tho light,
Bowland Hill's ohapel, and tho height

"Whore patent Hhot thoy soil :
Tho Tennis Court, so fair and tall,
Partakes tho ray, with Surgeons' Hall,
Tho Ticket Porters' house of call,
Old Bedlam, close by London Wall,
Wright's shrimp and oyster shop withal,

And Richardson's hotel.

Nor those alone, but far and wide,
Across the Thames' s gleaming tide,
To distant fields the blaze was borne ;
And daisy white and hoary thorn,
In borrowed lustre soom'd to sham
The rose or rod sweet WalJi-am.

To those who on tho hills around

Behold tho flames from Drnry*s mound,
As from a lofty altar rise,

It soom'd that nations did conspire,

To offer to the god of firo
Some vast stupendous sacrifice !

Tho summon' d firoruon woko at call,
And hiod thorn to thoir stations all
Starting from short and brokon snooso,
Each sought his ponderous hobnail' d shoos J
But first hit* worsted hosen phod,
Plush brooohos next in crimson dyed,

His nothor bulk embraced ;
Then jacket thick of rod or bluo,
Whoso massy shoulder gave to viow
The badgo of each rospectivo crow,

In tin or copper traced.
Tho engines thundoi'd through tho street,
Firo-hook, pipe, bucket, all complete,
And torches glared, and clattering foot

Along tho pavomont paced. * *

E'on Higgmbottom now was posod,
For sadder Bcono was no* or disclosod ;
Without, within, in hidoous show,
Devouring- flamo« rosistlofla glow,
And blazing rafters downward go,
And nevor halloo " Heads below ! "

Nor notice givo at all •
The flromen, terrified, are slow
To bid tho pumping torrent flow,

For fear tho roof should fall.
Back, Robins, back ' Crump, stand aloof !

Whitf ord, keep near tho walls '
Huggins, xogard your own behoof,
For, lo ' tho blazing rocking roof

Down, down on thunder falls I

An awful pause HuoooodH tho btroko,
And o'or the runin volumod ninoko,
Boiling around its pitchy shroud,
Conceal' d thorn from tho atttoniHh'd crowd.
At length tho mwt awhdo was cloar'd,
When lo ! amid tho wreck uproar' d,
Gradual a moving hood appoor'd,

And Eagle firemen knew
'Twos Jonoph Muggins, name revered,

Tho foreman of then orow.
Loud shouted all in signs of woe,
" A Hxiggins to tho resouo, ho 1 "

Ajid pour'd tho hiusmg tide :
Moanwhilo tho "MCugginw fought amain,
And Htrovo and struggled oil in vain,
For rallying but to fall again,

Ho tottor'd, mink, and diod '
Did none attempt, before ho fell,
To succour one they loved so well?
Yes, Higgmbottom did aspire
(His fireman's aoul was all on firo)

HIH brother chief to save ,
But ah ' his reckless gonoroun iro

Served but to share his grave '
'Mid blazing beams and scalding streams,
Through fiio and smoke he dauntLous broko,

Whore Muggins broke before.
But sulphury stench and boiling dronoh
Destroying sight, o'erwholm'd him quite ;

He sunk to rise no more
Still o'or his head, while Fate ho braved,
Hia whizzing water-pipe he waved ;
" Whitford and Mitford ply your pumps ;
You, Clutterbuok, COBQO, stir your stumps ;

06*

JAMES SMITH.]

THE UPAS IN MARYBONE LANE

fSKVJBNTTr

"Why aro you in such doleful dumps P

A fireman, and afraid of bumps '

What arc they fear'd on? fools — 'od rot

'cm i "
Wore tho last words of Higginbottom. * *

James and Horace Bwrfh. — About 1812.

1417 —THE UPAS IN MAJRTBONB LAJSTE.

A tree grew in Java, whose pestilent nnd
A venom distill' d of the deadliest kind ,
Tho Dutch sent their felons its juices to

draw,
And who return' d safe, pleaded pardon by

law.

Face-muffled, the culpiits crept into the valo,
Advancing- from windward to 'scape the death*

gale,

How few the reward of their victory oarn'd '
For nmety-nine pensh'd for one who re-

turn'd.

Britannia this TTpas-tree bought of Mynheer,

Removed it through Holland, and planted it
hero;

'Tis now a stook-plant of the genus wolf's-
bane,

And one of them blossoms in Marybone Lane

The house that surrounds it stands first in tho

xow,

Two doors at right angles swing open below ;
And the children of misery daily steal m,
And the poison they draw they denominate

Gin.

There enter tho prude, and tho roprobato

boy,

The mother of grief, and the daughter of joy,
Tho serving-maid sbm, and the sorving-man

stout,
They quickly steal in, and they slowly reel

out.

Surcharged with the vonom, somo walk forth

erect,

Apparently baffling its deadly effect ,
But, sooner or later, tho reckoning- arrives,
And ninety-nine perish for one who survives

They cautious advance with slouch' d bonnet

and hat,

They entor at this door, they go out at that ;
Some bear off their burden with notous glee,
But most sink in sleep at the foot of tho tree.

Tax, Chancellor Van, the Batavian to thwart,

This compound of crime at a sovereign a
quart;

Let gin fetch per bottle the price of cham-
pagne,

And hew down the Upas in Marybone Lane.
James flfwwto.— Born 1775, Died 1839.

1418.— ADDBESS TO THE MUMMY IN
BELZONI'S EXHIBITION.

And thou hast walk'd about (how strange a

stoiy ')
In Thebes' streets Ihroo thousand years

ago,
When tho Monmomum was in all it« glory,

And time had not bog-im to ovoi throw
Those temples, palaces, and piles Htnpoiuloiui,
Of which tho very ruins aio tiomondoiiH '

Spook ' for thou long enough bant acted

dumby ,
Thou hast a tongno, come, let us hoar it,n

tune ,
Thou'rt standing on thy logs abovo ground,

Revisiting the glimpses of tho moon.
Not hko thin ghosts or disembodied oroaturoH,
But with thy bones and ne«h, and KmbH and
features

Toll us — for doubtless thou ounHt roeolloet—
To whom should wo a»aign tho Sphinx's

fame?
"Was Cheops or Oophrenos architect

Of either pyramid that boarw hm namo P
Is Pompoy's pillar really a miHnomor ?
Had Thebes a hundred gates, at} Bung liy
Homer P

Perhaps thou wort a mason, and forbidden
By oath to tcH tho wccrotn of thy twwlo —
Then say, what secret molody was hidden
In Momnon's statue, which at flimnwj

playM?
Perhaps thou wort a pnont — if HO, my

struggles

Are vain, for pncntcraft never OWUH iU
juggles.

Porohanco that vory hand, now pinion' <1 flat,
Has hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh, glttHK to

Or dropp'd a halfpenny in JromorTM hat,
Or doff'd thine own to lot Quoon Dulo

pass,

Or hold, by Solomon' B own invitation,
A torch at tho groat Temple's dedication,

I need not ask thoo if that hand, when arm'tl,
Has any Komaii woldior maul'd and

knuckled,
For thou wort dead, and Imriod, and om-

balm'd,

Ere Bomulus and BomuH had boon Ruckled :
Antiquity ap])oatH to have begun
Long after thy primeval race wati run,

Thou couldst develop, if that withor'd

tongue
Might toll us what those sightless orbs havo>

seen,
How tho world look'd when it was fresh and

young,
And the great deluge still had loft it green;

JFVow 1730 to 18GG,]

HYMN TO THE FLOWERS.

[HojBAcifl SMITH.

Or was it then HO old, that history* s pages
Con tarn' (1 no record of its early ages P

Still silent, incommunicative olf '

Art sworn to secrecy ? then koop thy vows ,
But piithoo toll us something of thyself ,
Jiovoal tho Hoorots of thy prison-house ;
Since in tho world of spirits thou haHt slum-

bor'd,

"What hast thou soon — what strange ad-
ventures numbor'd ?

Since first thy form was in this box extended,
Wo hare, above ground, seen some stiango

mutations >

Tho Boman empire has begun and ended,
Now worlds have nson — wo have lost old

nations,
And countless kings have into dust been

humbled,
"Whilst not a fragment of thy flesh has

crumbled.

Didnt thou not hear tho pother o'er thy head,
When tho great Persian conqueror, Oam-

bysos,
March' d armies o'er thy tomb with thundering

tioad,

O'orthrow OHIIIH, Orus, Apis, Ism,
And shook the pyramids with fear and

wonder,
When tho gigantic] Momnon fell asunder ?

If iho tomb'fl Hornets imty not bo oonfoss'd,

Tho nature of thy jniviito lifo unfold •
A hoart has throbbM beneath that leathern

breast,
And team atlown that dusky chook have

rolVd .
Have children olimb'd those knees, and kiss'd

that face ?
What was thy name and station, ago irnd

race?

Statue of flesh — immortal of tho dead I

Imperishable typo of evanescence '
Posthumous man, who quit'st thy narrow

bod,

And standont tmdeoay'd within our pre-
sence,
Thou wilt hoar nothing till tho judgment

morning,
When tho great trump BhflJl thrill th.ee with

its warning-
Why should this worthless tegument endure,

If its undying guest be lost for ever P
Oh, let us koop tho soul ombolxn'd and pure
Jn living virtue, that, when both must

sever,

Although corruption may our frame consume,
Tho immortal spirit in the skies may bloom

Horace flni«fc.-J8of» 1770, JHcfL 1849

1419 — HYMN TO THE FLOWERS

Day-stars ? that ope your oyos with morn to

twinkle

From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation.
And dew-drops on her lonoly altars sprinkle
As a libation 1

Ye matm worshippers ' who bending lowly

Before tho uprisen sun — God'slidlossoyo —
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy
Incense on high '

Yo bright mosaics ' that with storied beauty

Tho floor of Nature's temple tosnollato,
What numerous emblems of instructive duty
Your forms oroato '

'Noath cloister* d boughs, oaoh florul boll that

swingoth

And tolls its perfume on tho passing air,
Makes sabbath in tho fields, and over ringoth
A call to prayer*

Not to tho domes where crumbling oroh and

column

Attest tho feebleness of mortal hand,
But to that fauo, most catholic and solemn,
Which God hath plann'd ;

To that cathedral, boundlosq as our wonder,
Whoso qnonohloss lamps tho Bun and moon

supply-
Its choir tho winds and wavos, its organ
thunder,

Its domo the sky.

There — as in sohtudo and shade I wander
Through tho green aisles, or, H trot oh.' d upon

tho sod,

Awod by tho silence, reverently ponder
Tho ways of God—

Your voiceless lips, O Flowoxfl, arc living

preachers,

Eooh cup a pulpit, and each loaf a book,
Supplying to my fanny numerous touchers
Fiom louolioHi nook.

Floral Apostles » that in dewy splendour
" Weep without woo, and blush without a

SVM1WIA »'

crime,

0 may I deeply loam, and no'or surrender
Your lore sublime '

" Thou wort not, Solomon 1 ID till thy glory,
Array'd," tho lilioa cry, "in r<;be» like

ours;

How vain your grandeur ! Ah, howi-nwiHitory
Aie human flowoiu 1 "

In tho Rwoot-Boentod pictures, Eloavenly

Artist i

With which thou pointest Nature's wide-
spread hall,

What a delightful lesson thou jmpartoflt
Of love to all

HORACE SMITH]

ON THE DEATH OP GEORGE

LSjBVBN™ PBBTOD —

Wot useless are yo, Flowers ' though made

for pleasure .
Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and

night,

From ovory source your sanction bids mo
treasure

Hormloss delight.

Ephemeral sages ' what instructors hoary
For such a world of thought could furnish

soopo P

Each fading calyx a memento mon,
Tet fount of hope.

Posthumous glories T ongel-hko collection '
Upraised from seed or bulb interred in

earth,

Ye are to me a type of resurrection,
And second birth

Were I, O God, in ohurchless lands remaining,

Ear from all voice of teachers or divines,
My soul would find, in flowers of thy ordaining,
Pnests, sermons, shrines '

Horace Smith— Born 1779, Died 1849.

1420*— ON THE DEATH OF GEOBGE HI.

WETTTBIT TJNDEB WINDSOR TBTMBAOB.

I saw him lost on this terrace proud,
Walking in health and gladness,

Begirt with, his court , and in all tho crowd
Not a single look of sadness.

Bright was the sun, the leaves were green —
Blithely the birds were singing ,

The cymbals replied to the tambourine,
And the bells woio memly ringing

I have stood with tho crowd beside his bioi,
When not a word was spoken —

When every eye was dim with a tear,
And the silence by sobs was broken

I have heard tho earth on his coffin pour
To the muffled drums, deep rolling,

While the minute gun, with its solemn roar,
Drown' d the death-bolls' tolling.

Tho time — since ho walk'd in his glory thus,
To the grave till I saw him earned —

Was an age of tho mightiest change to us,
But to him a night unvaried

A daughter beloved, a queen, a son,
And a son's sole child, have perish' d ,

And sad was each heart, save only the one
By which they were fondest chensh'd 5

For his eyes wore soal'd and his mind was
dark,

And he sat in his age's lateness —
lake a vision throned, as a solemn mark

Of the frailty of human greatness ;

His silver board, o'er a bosom spread

TJnvex'd by life's commotion,
Like a yearly lengthening snow-drift shod

On tho calm of a frozen ocean.

Still o'er him Oblivion's waters lay,
Though the stream of life kept flowing ;

When they spoke of our king, 'twas but to

say
Tho old man's strength was going.

At intervals thus tho waves disgorge,

By weakness ront asunder,
A piece of tho wreck of tlio .Royal Goorgo,

To the pooplo'8 pity and wonder

He is gone at length — ho is laid in tho dust,
Death's hand his slumbers breaking ;

For the coffin' d sleep of the good and just
Is a sure and blissful waking.

His people's heart is his funeral urn ;

And should sculptured stone bo denied him,
There will his name bo found, whou in turn

We lay our hoods beside him

Horace 8irvith.—Born 1779, Died 1849.

1421.— TO A SLEEPING- CHILD.

Art thou a thing of mortal birth,
Whoso happy homo is on our earth P
Does human blood with life imbno
Those wandoiing veins of hoavonly bluo,
That stray along that forehead fair,
Lost 'mid a gleam of golden hair ?
Oh ' can that light and any breath
Steal from a being doom'd to death ;
Those features to tho grave bo Hoiii,
In sloop thus mutely eloquent ;
Or, art thou, what thy form would Hoom,
A phantom of a blosHcd dream P

A human shape I fool thou art—
I fool it at my boating heart,
Those tremors both of HOU! and HOMO
Awoke by infant innocence f
Though dear tho forms by Fanny wovo,
We love thorn with a transient lovo ;
Thoughts from tho living woild iutrudo
Even on her deopoHt Kolitudo :
But, lovely child ' thy xnagic Htole
At once into my inmost soul,
With feelings as thy beauty fair,
And left no other vision there.

To me thy parents ore unknown ;
Glad would they be their child to own !
And well they must have loved before,
If since thy birth they loved not more.
Thou art a branch of noble stem,
And, seeing thoo, I figure them
What many a childless one would give,
If thou in their still homo wouldst lire !
Though in thy face no family line
Might sweetly say, " This babe is mine ! "

From 1780 to I860 ]

TO A SLEEPING CHILD.

[JOHHT "WILSON,

In tizoo thou wouldst booomo tho fcamo
As thoir own child, — all but tho namo.

How happy muHt thy parents bo
Who daily hvo in sight of theo '
Whoso hearts no greater pleasure seek
Than RCO thoo smile, and hoar thoo spoak,
And tool all natural griefs beguiled
By thoo, thoir fond, thoir duteous child
What joy must in thou souls havo stirr'd
Wlion thy fiist broken words wore hoard —
WordH, that, inspired by heaven, express' d
Tho transports dancing in thy broaut '
And for thy smile ' — thy lip, ohook, brow,
Evon whilo I gaze, are kindling now.

I oalTd thoo dutoous , am I wrong ?
No I truth, I feel, IH in my song
Duteous, thy heart's still boatings move
To God, to natuio, and to love 1
To God ' — for thou, a harmless child,
Hast kept his temple undofilod •
To nature ' — for thy tears and sighs
Obey alone her myntonos *
To love ' — for fiends of hato might BOO
Thou dwell' at in lovo, and love an thoo.
What wonder then, though in thy dreams
Thy f ooo with mystic moaning beams P

Oh' that my spirit's oyo could POO
Whence burst those gleams of ocstany '
That light of dreaming soul appoara
To play fiom thoughtu abovo thy years;
Thou aimloht an if thy HOU! woio hoaiing
To heaven, and hoavon'M God odonng.
And who can toll what VIHIOHH high
May blow an infant'n nloopmg oyo ?
What brighter throne can bughtuoHti find
To reign on, than an infant' H mmd,
JKro flux destroy, or error dim,
Tho glory of the Hcrapliim P

But now thy changing wnilos express
Intelligible happiuoHS.
1 feel my soul thy soul partake.
What grief ' if thou wonldht now awoke !
With infants happy as thyself
I see thoc bound, a playful elf ;
1 woo thou art a clarluig child)
Among tliy playmates bold and wild ,
They love thoo well , thou art tho queen
Of all thoir BportH, m bower or green ;
And if thou hvoHt to woman's height,
In thoo will friendship, lovo, dohght

And live then nuroly inuat , thy hfo
IH far too Hpirituul for tho ntnf o
Of mortal pain , nor could disease
Find heart to proy on gmttoH like those.
Oh ! thou wilt bo an angel bright —
To those thou lovoat, a saving light —
Tho staff of ago, tho help sublime
Of omng youth, and stubborn prime ;
And when thou goont to heaven again,
Thy vanishing bo like tlio strain
Of airy harp — so Hoft tho tone
The oar scarce known when it ifl gone '

Thrice blos^d ho whoso stars doHign
His pure spirit to loan on thine,
And watchful share, for days and years,
Thy sorrows, joys, sighs, smiles, and tears !

For good and guiltless as thou art,

Some transient gnofa will touch thy heart —

Griefs that along thy alter' d face

Will breathe a more aubdumg grace

Than evon those looks of joy that he

On the soft cheek of infancy.

Though looks, God known, are cradled thero,

That guilt might cleanse, or soothe despair.

Oh ! vision fair ! that I could be
Again as young, as pure, as thoo '
Vain wiah1 tho rainbow's radiant form
May viow, but cannot bravo, the storm ;
Years can bedim tho gorgeous dyos
That paint tho bird of Paradise ,
And years, so Fate hath order'd, roll
Clouds o'er tho summer of tho soul
Tot, somotunoB, sudden sights of grace,
Such as tho gladness of thy fnco,
O sinless babe, by God arc givon
To charm tho wanderer book to heaven.

No common impulse hath mo led
To this green spot, thy quiet bod,
Where, by more gladness overcome,
In sloop thou droamost of thy home.
When to the lake I would havo gone,
A wondrous beauty drew me on —
Such beauty as tho spirit sees
In glittering fields and moveless trees,
Alter a warm and silent shower
Ere falls on earth tho twilight hour.
What lod mo hither, all can say
Who, knowing God, hiH will obey.

Thy slumbora now cannot bo long ;
Thy little dreams become too strong
For sloop — too like roalikoH ;
Soon, nhall I BOO thono hidtlnn eyes.
Thou wakoHt, and starting from tho ground,
In door amazement look' at around ,
Like one who, little givon to roam,
Wonders to find hoi self from homo !
lint when a stranger moots thy view,
Glistens thine eye with wilder hue,
A moment's thought who I may be,
Blonds with thy smiloH of courtesy.

Fair wan that face as break of dawn,
When o'er its beauty sloop was drawn,
Like a thin veil that half conceal* d
Tho light of soul, and half reveal' cl.
While thy huHh'd heart with visions wrought,
Each trembling eyelash moved with thought;
And things wo dream, but no' or can spook,
Like clouds came floating o'er thy cheek-
Such fmmmor-oloudfl as travel light,
When tho soul'H heaven lion calm and bright —
Till thou awokowt , then to thine oyo
Thy whole heart leapt in ecstasy !
And lovely is that heart of thine,
Or fluro tlioso eyes could novor dhino
With mich a wild, yet bashful gloe,
Gay, half-o'eroomo timidity!
Nature has breathed into thy face
A spirit of unconscious grace —
A spirit that HOB never still,
And makes thoe joyous 'gainst thy will i
As sometimes o'er a sleeping lake
Soft airs a gentle rippling make,

JOHN WILSON ]

THE SABBATH DAT

[fc)KV KNTII f'KUlOD-

Till, oro we know, the strangers fly,
And water blonds again with sky

0 happy epnto ' didwt thou but know
What pleasures through my being flow
From thy soft oyoa ' a hohor feeling
Prom their bluo light oould no* or bo stealing ;
But thou wouldst bo more loth to part,
And give me moro of that glad heart.
Oh ' gone thon ait » and bearost honco
The glory of thy innooonoo
But with deep joy I breathe the air
That kiss'd thy ohoek, and fann'd thy hair,
And f oel, though fate our lives must sever,
Yet shall thy image livo for evor '

Jolwi Wilson.— Born 1788, Dwcl 1854.

1422— THE SABBATH-DAY.

When by God's inward light, a happy child,

I walk'd in joy, as in the open air,

It seem'd to my young thought the Sabbath

smilod

With glory and with love So still, so fair,
The heavens look'd evor on that hallow' d

morn,
That, without aid of memory, something

thexo

Had surely told me of its glad return.
How did my littte heart at evening burn,
When, fondly seated on my father's knoo,
Taught by the hp of love, I breathed tho

prayer,

Warm from the fount of infant piety '
Much is my spirit changed , for years havo

brought

Intenser feeling and expanded thought ;
— Yet, must I envy every child I see '

John Wilton-Bom 1788, Died 1854

1423.— LINES WRITTEN IN A LONELY
BURIAL-GBOUND IN THE HIGH-
LANDS.

How mournfully this burial-ground
Sleeps 'mid old Ocean's solemn sound,
Who rolls his bright and sunny waves
All round those deaf and silent graven '
The cold wan light that glimmers hero,
The sickly wild flowers may not ohoor ;
If here, with solitary hum,
The wandering mountain-bee doth come,
'Mid tho pale blossoms short his stay,
To brighter leaves he booms away
The sea-bird, with a wailing sound,
AHghteth softly on a mound,
And, like an image, sitting there
For hours amid the doleful air,
Seemeth to tell of some fl^™ union,
Some wild and mystical communion,
Connecting with hws parent sea
This lonesome atoneless cemetery.

This may not bo tho Imnal-plauo
Of somo extinguish* d kingly raco,
Whoso name on earth no longoi known,
Hath mouldor d with tho mouldering utono
That nearest grave, yot brown with mould,
Scema but one summer- twilight old ;
Both late and frequent hatli llio Inoi
Boon on its mournful viwit hwo ,
And yon green spot of sunny lost
Is waiting for its doutuuul guest.

I soo no littlo kiik— no boll

On Sabbath tmkloth through thiw d<'ll

How beautiful those graven and fair,

That, lying round tho IIOUHO of prayor,

Sloop in tho shadow of itn grace '

But death hath chosen thin xnoful piano

For his own undivided reign '

And nothing tells that o'er again

Tho sleepers will forsake thoir bod —

Now, and for everlasting doad,

For Hope with Memory soomw Hod '

Wild-Bcreaming bud ' unto tho fioa
Wmging thy flight reluctantly,
Slow floating o'or thoHO granny trmibH
So ghost-like, with thy Hiiow-wlutu
At once from thy wild shriek I know
What moans this plaoo HO Htoop'd in woo I
Hero, they who pennh'd on tho (loop
Enjoy at last unrooking sloop ;
Foi oooan, from MB wrathful broant,
Flung them into this haven of rent,
Where shroudless, ooiHnloHH, thoy lie—
'Tis the shipwreck* d Hoanian's oumotory,

Hoio Roamcn old, with grilled locks,

Shipwreck' d before on donort roukH,

And by some wandonng VOHHO! tak(»ii

From Hoirows that wooni (iod-forHakon,

Homo-bonnd, hoio have mot the Ijlant

That wrock'd thorn on dciith'n Hhoro tit lant I

Old friendloHH men, who had no toarH

To shod, nor any pltico for ftiarn

In lioarts by miHory fortified,

And, without terror, HtoriJy cliocl.

Hero many a oroaturo moving bright

And glonouh in full manhood' H might,

Who dared with an untroublod oyo

Tho tempest brooding in tlio nky,

And lovod to hoar that zniiHio ravo,

And danced above the mountain- wavo,

Hath quaked on thin torrifld fltraiid,

All flung like soa-woodn to tho land ;

A whole crew lying Hide by mdo,

Death-doHh'd at onco in all thoir pride.

And hero tho bright-haired fair-facjod boy,

Who took with him all earthly joy,

From one who woopa both night and day

For hor ewoot son borne far away,

Escaped at last tho oruol doop,

In all his boauty lion atdoap ;

Wlolo she would yield all hopes of graoo

For one kiss of his pale cold face 1

Oh i I could wail in lonely f oar,

For many a woeful ghost sits hero,

From 1780 to 18GG ]

PLAGUE SCENES.

[JOHN WltSON.

All woopmg with tlioir fi^d oyos !
And what a dimual Bound of sight*
JH inuiglmg witli tho gentle roai
Of small waves breaking on tho nhoro ,
While oooan scouis to sport and play
In mookory of its wrotchM prey '

And lo ' a whito-wmg'd vessel sails
In sunshine, gathering all tlio gains
Fast freshening from yon iblo of pines
That o'or tlio clear Hoa waves and uhmos.
I turn mo to tho ghostly crowd,
All smear' d with dust, without a shroud,
And silent oyory blue swollen hp '
Then gazing- on tho sunny ship,
And listening to tho gladsome cheers
Of all her thoughtless manners,
I Room to hoar iu ovoiy breath
The hollow undor-tonoH of death,
Who, oil unheard by those who King,
Keeps tune with low wild murmuring,
And points with his lean bony hand
To the pale ghosts sitting on this strand,
Thou dives beneath tho lushing prow,
Till on some moonlosH night of woo
Ho drives her shivering from tho stoop,
Down — down a thousand fathoms deep.

John miwH.—Mnn 1788, Ihail 1854

1424.— TIIM MIDNIGHT OCEAN.

It is tho midnight hour- — tho beauteous

Hoa,
Calm as the clone UOHS heaven, tho heaven

While many a Hparkhng star, in quiol glee,

Far down within tfco watery sky ropOHOs.

As if tho Oooan'H heart wore Htizr'd

With inward life, a sound IH hoard,

Like that of dreamer murmuring in his sloop ;

'TiH partly tho billow, and partly tho air,

That lies liko a garmont floating fair

Above tho happy deep

The sea, I ween, cannot bo fann'd

By evening freshness from tho laud,

tfor the land it is far away ,

But God hath will'd thut tho sky-bom broozo

In tho centre of tho loneliest seas

Should over sport and play

Tho mighty Moon she sits above,

Enoirelod with a zone of love,

A zone of dim and tender light

That makes hor wakeful eye more bught :

Bho scorns to shiuo with a sunny ray,

And tho night looks liko a mollow'd day '

Tho gracious Mistress of tho Main

Hath now an undisturbed roign,

And from hor silent throne looks down,

AH upon children of hor own,

On tho wavos that lend thoir gentle broast

In gladness for hor couch of rust '

Jolm Wilson.— Born 1788, DM 1854.

1425 —THE EVENING OLOU1>

A cloud lay cradled noar the sottmg RUII,
A gleam of orimnon tmgod its braided snow •
Long had I watch' d the glory moving on
O'or tho still radiance of tho lake bolow
Tranquil its spirit seom'd, and floated slow '
Even m its very motion thoro was rost :
While ovory broath of ovo that chanced to

blow

Waftod tho traveller to tho beauteous Wost.
Emblem, mothonght, of tho depaitcd soul !
To whoso white robe tho gloom of bliss is

given,

Aaxd by tho broath o{ morcy made to roll
Bight onwards to tho golden gates of Heaven,
Whoro, to tho eye of faith, it peaceful lies,
And tolls to man his glorious dostuiios.

Jb/w* Wilson.— Itom 1788, DM 1854

1426.— PLAGUE SCENES.

Togothoi will yo walk through long, long

streets,

.Alf standing silent as a midnight church
You will hoai nothing but tho brown rod

grass

Hustling beneath your foot , tho very boating
Of your own haartu will ILWO you , tho nmnlL

voioo

Of that vain bauble, idly counting time,
Will spoak a holonm language m tho dosort
Look up to hoavon, and thoro tho sultry

doudH,
Still threatening thundor, lour with giizn

dohght,

As if the Spirit of tho Plaguo dwelt thoro,
Darkening- tho city with tho shadown of (loath.
Know yo that hideous hubbub P Hark, far off
A tumult liko an ooho ' On it oomoH,
Weeping and woiliug, shrioks and groaning

prayer,

And, louder than all, outragoouw blasphemy.
Tho passing storm hath left tho Bilont utrootH.
But aio those IIOUHOH noar you. tonontloss P
Over your hoods, from a window, suddenly
A ghaHtly faoo in thrust, and yells of death
With voioo not human Who in ho that flios,
As if a demon dogg'd him on MB path P
With lagged hair, whito face, and bloodshot

oyos,

Raving, ho rushos past yon ; till ho falls,
AH if struck by lightning, down upon tho

stones,

Or, in blind madnosn, clash' d agumst tho wall,
Sinks backward into stillness. Stand aloof,
And lot tho Post's triumphant chariot
Havo opon way advancing to tho toxnl).
Soo how ho mookt* the pomp and pageantry
Of earthly kingH I a miserable cart,
Hoap'd up with human bodies ; dragpf'd along
By polo steeds, skoleton-anatomiofl '
And onwards urged by a wan moagro

JOHN WILSON ]

ADDRESS TO A WILD DEER.

SEVENTH PERIOD —

Doom'd never to return from the foul pit,
Whither, -with oaths, ho drives his load of

horror
Would you look in ? Gray hairs and golden

tresses,
Wan shnvoll'd chocks that have not smilod

for years,

And many a rosy visage smiling still ;
Bodies on the noisome weeds of beggary

wrapt,

With age decrepit, and wasted to the bone j
And youthful frames, august and beautiful,
In spite of mortal pangs,— there lie they all,
Embraced in ghasthness 1 But look not long,
For haply, 'mid the faces glimmering there,
The well-known cheek of some beloved fnend
"Will meet thy gaze, or some small snow-white

hand,
Bright with the ring that holds her lover's

hair.

Let me sit down beside you I am faint
Talking of horrors that I look'd upon
At last without a shudder.

Wilson. — Born 1788, Died 1854.

1427 — ADDEESS TO A WILD DEER.

Magnificent creature ! so stately and bright '
In the pride of thy spirit pursuing thy

flight;
For what hath the child of the desert to

dread,

Wafting up fris own mountains that far beam-
ing head,

Or borne like a whirlwind down on the vale '
TTfl.i] i king of the wild and the beautiful I— •

hail1

Hail r idol divine ' — whom nature hath boino
O'er a hundred hill-tops since the mists of the

morn,

Whom the pilgnm lone wandering on moun-
tain and moor,
As the vision glides by him, may blameless

adore :
For the* joy of the happy, the strength of the

free,

Are spread in a garment of glory o'er theo.
Up ' up to yon cliff ' like a king to his

throne !
O'er the black silent forest piled lofty .and

lone —

A throne which the eagle is glad to resign
Unto footsteps so fleet and so fearless as

thine.
There the bright heather springs up in love of

fry breast,
Lo ! the clouds in the depths of the sky are at

rest;
And the race of the wild winds is o'er on the

lull!
In the Irtish of tTtfl mountains, ye antlers lie

still'—

Though your branches now tost* in the storm

of delight,
Like the arms of the pino on yon nhollorloHH

height,
One moment — thou bright apparition —

delay '
Then melt o'er the crags, like the mm from

the day.

His voyage is o'er — as if struck by a upoll,
He motionless stands in tho hunh of tho

dell,
There soitly and slowly sinks down on hit*

breast,
In tho midst of his pastime enamour M of

rest
A stream m a oloar pool that ondoth its

race —
A dancing xay chain1 d to one fluiiHhiny

place —
A cloud by the winds to calm solitude

driven —
A hnmcano dead in tho silence of heaven

Fit couch of ropoflo foi a pilgrim like tlioo :

Magnificent piison enclosing tho froo ,

With rock-wall encircled — \\ il.li precipice

crown'd —
Which, awoke by the sun, tlion canst clear at

a bound.
'Mid the fern and tho heather kind nature

doth keep
One bright spot of green for her favourite1 «

sloop,

And close to that covert, as clear to tho nkioH
When then: blue depths are cloudloHH, a httlo

lake hos,
Whore tho creature at rest can IHH imago

behold,
Looking up thiough tho radiance as blight uuci

as bold.

YOB fierce looks thy nalnrct, o'on Imnh'tl in

ropOHe —

In tho depthH of thy desert rofturdlaHH of fcxm,
Thy bold antloiR call on tho luurtor afar,
With a haughty defiance to oouo to tho war.
No outrage is war to a'croaturo liko tlioo ;
Tho buglohorn fills thy wild npirit with jfloo,
As thou boarost thy nock on the wiugH of tlio

wind,

And tho laggardly gaze-hound IB toiling bo-
hind.
In tho beams of thy forehead, that glitter

with death,
In feet that draw power from tho touch of tho

heath —
In tho wide raging torrent that londH tlioo it«

roar —
In tho cliff that once trod, must bo tn cl &

no more —
Thy trust — 'mid tho dangers that llirca'oi

thy roign •
— But what if the stag on the mountain be

slain?

.^07711780*01866.]

THE WIDOWED MOTHER.

I -

[JOHN WILSON.

On tho brink of the rook — lo ! ho atandotli at

bay,
lako a victor thai falls at tho close of iho

day —
While tho hunter and hound in their terror

retreat
From tho (loath that is spurn'd from his

furious foot ;
And Ins last cry of anger comos book from tho

skios,
As nature's fiorco son in tho wildomoss dies

Jbft/fc mison— Bom 1788, Jhcd 1854.

1428.— MAJBY.

Throe days boforo my Mary's death,
Wo walk'd by Giassmoro shore ;

" Sweet Lake ' " sho said, with faltering

breath,
" I no' or shall soo thoo more ! "

Then turning round her languid head,

Sho look'd mo in tho faoo,
And whisper'd, " When thy fnend is dead,

Remember this lone place "

"Vainly I struggled at a Rmilo,

That did my foam betray ,
It floom'd that on our darling IH!O

Foreboding daiknowH lay

My Mary's wordH were words of truth ,

None now behold the Maid ,
Amid tho tears of ago and youth,

Sho in her grave was laid.

ILong days, long nights, I woon, wore pant

Ere ceased her funeral knell ,
Bat to tho spot I went at last

Whoro flho had breathed " farowoll I "

Mothought, I saw iho phantom stand

Bowie iho poaooful wave ;
I felt tho pressure of her hand —

Then look'd towards hor grave.

Pair, fair beneath iho evening sky

The quiet churchyard lay
Tho tall pine-grove most solemnly

Hung mute above hor clay,

Dearly she loved their awning spread,

Their mujao wild and swoot,
And, as she witih'd on her doathbod,

Was buried at thoir foot

Around hoi' gravo a beauteous fonoo
Of wild-flowers shed their breath,

Smiling- like infant innooonco
Within tho gloom of death.

Such flowers from bank of mountain brook

Ai eve we usod to bring,
Whon every Httlo mossy nook

Betray 'd returning Spring.

Oft had I fix'd tho simple wroaih

Upon hor virgin breast ;
But now such flowers as form'd it, breathe

Around her bod of rest

Tot all within my silent soul,

As tho hiiHh'd air, was calm ,
Tho natural tears that slowly stole,

Assuaged my griof like balm

Tho air that seom'd so thick and dull

For months unto my eye ;
Ah mo ' how bright and beautiful

It floated on tho sky !

A tranco of high and solemn bliss

From purest other camo ,
'Mid such a heavenly scene as this,

Death is an empty naino '

Tho memory of tho past return* d

lake musio to my heart, —
It soom'd that causelessly I mouni'd,

When wo wero told to part.

" God's mercy," to myself I said,

" To both our souls is given —
To mo, sojourning on earth's shade ;

To her — a Saint in heaven ' "

Jb7w Wilson — Bo7?i 1788, DM 1854.

1429.— THE WIDOWED MOTHER.

babe, who sweetly slept,
A widow* d inothor sat and wept

O'er yoarH of lovp prono by;
And as tho sobs thick-gathering- came,
She murmnr'd hor doad husband's name

'Mid that sod lullaby.

Well might that lullaby bo Bad,
For not one single friend she had

On this cold-hearted earth ;
Tho soa will not give book its proy —
And they were wrapt in foreign olay

Who gave tho orphan birth.

Steadfastly as a star doth look
Upon a little murmuring brook,

She gassed upon tho bosom
And fan? biow of hor sleeping son —
" 0 merciful Hoavon ' when I am gone

Thine is thin earthly blonHom ' "

While thus sho sat — a sunbeam broke
Into tho room ; the babe awoko,

And from its oradlo smiled 1
All mo ! what kindling smiles mot there I
I know not whether was moro fair,

Tho mother or hor child !

With joy froRh-sprung from short alarms,
Tho flmilor strotoli'd his rosy arms,

And to hor boHom leapt —
All tears ai onoo wero swept away,
And said a faoo as bright an day, —

" Forgive mo that I wopt I "

BOBT POLLOK]

THUS STOOD HTS MINT).

Pnuroi) —

Sufferings thoro aro from nature sprung,
Bar hath, not hoard , nor poof a tonguo

May venture to declare ,
But this as Holy Writ IB sure,
" Tho griefs who bids us horo endure

Sho can horsoK repair ' "

John Wilson — Born 1788, DiccZ 1854.

1430 —THUS STOOD HIS MIND.

Thus Rtood his mind, when round "him came

a cloud.

Slowly and heavily it came, a cloud
Of ilia wo mention not , enough to Ray,
'Twos cold, and dead, impenetrable gloom
He saw its dark approach, and saw his hopes,
One after one, put out, as neaier stall
It drew his soul , but fainted not at first,
Painted not soon He knew the lot of man
"Was trouble, and piepored to bear the worst ;
Endure whatever should come, without a sigh
Endure, and dnnk, oven to the very dregs,
The bitterest cap that Time could measure

out,
And, having done, look up, and a&k for more

He call'd Philosophy, and with his heart
Reason' d. He call'd Religion, too, but oalTd
Reluctantly, and thoieforo was not heard
Ashamed to be o'ermatch'd by oaithly woes,
He sought, and sought with eye that dimm'd

apace,

To find some avenue to light, somo place
On which to rest a hope , but sought in vain,
Darker and darker still the daiknoss grow.
At length ho sank , and Disappointment

stood

His only oomfoitor, and mouinfully
Told all was pass'd. His intoicst in life,
In being, ceased and now ho soom'd to fool,
And shuddor'd as he felt, his poworn of mind
Decaying in the spring-time of MR day
Tho vigorous weak bocamo, the clear,

obscure ,

Memory gave up her charge , decision rcol'd ;
And from her flight Fancy return' d, return* d
Because sho found no nourishment abroad.
Tho blue heavens wither' d, and the moon

and sun,
And all the stars, and the groan oaith, and

morn
And evening withor'd, and the eyes, and

smiles,

And faces of all men and women, withor'd,
Wither'd to him ; and all the universe,
Idko something which had been, appear1 d, but

now
Was dead, and mouldering fast away. Ho

tried

NTo more to hope, wish'd to forgot his vow,
Wish' d to forget his harp; then ceased to

wish.

That was his last ; enjoyment now was done.
He had no hope, no wish, and scarce a fear.

Of being sensible, and sotiHiblo
Of loss, ho as some atom soomM, vlnoh God
Had mode superfluously, and noodod not
To build creation with , but back again
To nothing threw, and loft it in the void,
With everlasting sense that once it was
Oh i who oan toll what dayn, what uighta

he spent,

Of fadeless, wavoloas, sailloaH, alioroloHH woo !
And who can toll how many, gloi IOUH onoo,
To others and thomsolvoH of promiHo full.
Conducted to this pans of Imnmn thought,
Tliis wilderness of intellectual <1outh,
Wasted, and pined, and vauiHh'd from tho

earth,
Leaving no vostigo of memorial thoro '

Robert Pollok — Bom 1790, DM 1827.

1431— HELL

Equipp'd and bent for hoavon, I loft yon

world,
My native seat, which scarce your oyo oan

reach,

Boiling around her central Run, far out
On utmost verge of light : but lirnt to HOO
What lay boyond tho viniblo creation,
Strong curiosity my flight impollM.
Long was my way, and strango. I i>aHri'<l tho

bounds
Which God doth sot to light, and lifo, and

love,
Whore darknesa moots with day — wlioro on lor

meets
Disorder, dioadful, wanto, and wild , and

down

Tho dork, eternal, uncreated niglit
Vontur'd alono. Long, long on rapid wiiij?
I aaiTd through empty, namoluHH rcffiontt vuHt,
Whore uttor Nothing dvrollH, uiiform'd and

void.

Thoro norther oyo, nor oar, nor any HOIIHO
Of being moHt aouto, finds object ; thoro
For aught external nUll you Hoaroh in vaiu.
Try touch, or flight, or Hmoll j try what you

will,

You strangely find nought but yonvflolf ulono.
But why should 1 hx wordn attempt to loll
What that in like, which in and yot IH not F
This poHt, my path doHOonding, led mo Htill
O'or unolaim'd continontH of donort gloom
ImmonHe, whoro gravitation, Hhifting, turns
Tho other way ; and to Homo clrood, unknown,
Infernal centre downwards woighn * and now,
Far travolTd from tho odgo of darknoHH, far
As from that glorious mount of God, to

light's

Remotest limb, dire flights I flaw, dire sounds
I hoard , and suddenly, boforo my oyo
A wall of fiery adamant aprung up,
Wall, mountainous, tremendous, flaming high
Above all flight of hope. I pauHod and
look'd

38CC.]

HELL.

[BOBT POLLOIt.

And Haw, whoro'or I look'd upon that mound,
Had figures traced in firo, not motionless,
But imitating Ho. Ono I romork'd
Attentively , but how shall I describe
What nought resembles olso my oyo hath

HOOll ?

Of worm or serpent kind it something look'd,
But moiiHtroufl, with a thousand snaky heads,
Eyod oiioh with double orbs of glaring- wrath ;
And with OH many tales, that twisted out
In horrid revolution, tapp'd with stings ,
And all its mouths, that wide and darkly

gaped,
And breathed most poisonous breath, had each

a sting,

Fork'd, and long, and venomous, and sharp ,
And in its wnlhings infinite, it grasp'd,
Malignantly, what soem'd a heart, swollen,

black,

And quivering with toituro most intense ;
And still the heart, with anguish throbbing

high,

Mado effort to OHcapo, but oould not ; for,
Howo'or it turn'd — and oft it vainly turn'd —
Thono complicated foldings hold it fast
And still the monstrous boast, with sting of

hood

Or toil transpierced it, blooding evermore
What this could imago, much I search' d to

know ,
And wlulo I fltood and gazed, and woudor'd

long,

A Yoioo, from whence I know not, for no one
T waw, diHtmctly wliinpor'd miny 001
TluiHo words " Thin IH tlio worm that never

(llOH "

Fa«t by tho Hide of this unsightly thing
Another was portray'd, more hideous still ,
Who HOOH it once, Hhall wish to poo'tnomoro .
For over undoHcnbod lot it remain !
Only tlite much I may or can unfold .
For out it thrust a dart, that might have

made

Tho knees of terror quake, and on it hung,
Within tho triple barbs, a being, pierced
Through soul and body both. Of heavenly

mako

Origiuiil tho boing Room'd, but fallen,
And worn and wasted with enormous woo,
And still around tho everlasting lanco
It wnthod convulsed, and uttor'd mimic

groans ,
And tried and wiHh'd, and over tried and

wfch'd

To dio • but oould not dio. Oh » horrid sight »
I trembling- gazed, and liflton'd, and hoard

this voioo

Approach my oar " This is eternal death "
Nor those alouo • upon that burning wall,
In hornblo emblazonry, wore limn'd
All ehapofl, all forms, all modes of wretched-
ness,

And agony, and grief, and desperate woo.
And prominent in characters of firo,
Whcro*or tho oyo oould light, those words you

Toad:

"Who comes this way behold, and foar to

sin i "

Amazed I stood , and thought such imagoiy
Foretoken' d within a dangerous abode
But yet to see tho worat, a wiHh arose •
For Virtue, by tho holy soal of God
Accredited and stamp'ol, immortal all,
And all mvulnoiablo, fears no hurt
As easy as my wish, as rapidly,
I through tho homd rampart pass'd, un-
scathed

And unopposed , and, poised on steady wing,
I hovering gazed. Eternal Justice ' Sons
Of God i toll mo, if you can toll, what then
I saw — what then I hoard ' Wide was tho

place,

And doop as wido, and ruinous as doop.
Bon oath, I saw a lake ot burning £10,
With tompost toHH'd perpetually , and still
Tho wavos of fiery darkness 'gaiiiHt tho rocks
Of dark damnation broke, and music modo
Of melancholy sort , and overhead
And all aiound, wind warr'd with wind, storm

howl'd
To storm, and lightning, forked-lightning

oross'd,
And thunder answer' d thunder,— muttering

sounds

Of sullon wrath, and far as wght could pioroo,
Or down doHocntl in caves of hopoloHH depth,
Through ail that dmigoon of unf iwling fiio,
I saw most miHoiablo beings walk,
Burning contnnially, yet nnooiiHnmod ,
For ovor wanting, yot ondmnig Htill,
Dying perpetually, yot never dead.
Some wandor'd lonely in lAio doHort flames,
And Rome, in fell onconntor, norcoly mot,
With cnrHOS loud and blaHphoinouH, thai

made
Tho chook of darkness polo; and as they

fought
And curaod, and gnash'd thoir tooth, and

wish'd to dio,

Thoir hollow oyos did uttor streams of woo.
And there woro groans that ended not, and

sighs

That always sigh'd, and tears that ovor wept,
And over fell, but not in Mercy 'H sight
And Sorrow, and JRepontanco, and DoHpair
Among them walk'd ; and to thoir thirsty

lips

ProRontod froquont oups of burning gall.
And as I liBton'd, I hoard thoso boingH OUVRO
Almighty God, and ourso tho Lamb, aiad

OUTHO

Tho oorth, tho resurrection morn , and Book,
And ovor vainly sook, for uttor death '
And to thoir overlaying anguiflh. still,
Tho thunders from abovo responding npoko
Thoso words, whioh, through tho caverns of

perdition

Forlornly oohoing, foil on every oar •
" Yo know your duty, but yo id it not "
And back again roooil'da doopor groan :
A docpor groan 1 oh, what a groan was that I
I waited not, but swift on spoodiost wing,

EOBT. POLLOX ]

A SCENE OF EA&LY LOVE

[SEVENTH PBKIOU —

"With uiuLCcustom'd thoughts conversing, book
Retraced my venturous path from dark to
light.

JRo&er* PolZoL— Born 1799, Die<Z 1827.

1432.— A SCENE OP EARLY LOVE.

It was an eve of autumn's holiest mood ;
The corn-fields, bathed in Cynthia's silver

light,

Stood ready for the reaper's gathering hand,
And all the winds slept soundly. Nature

seexn'd,

In silent contemplation, to adore
Its Maker Now and then, the aged leaf
Pell from its fellows, rustling to the ground ,
And, as it fell, bade man think on his end
On vale and lake, on wood and mountain

high,
With pensive wing outspread, sat heavenly

Thought

Conversing with itself. Vespor look'd forth
From out her western hermitage, and smiled ,
And up the east, unclouded, rode the moon,
With all her stars, gazing on earth intense,
As if she saw some wonder walking there

Such was the night, so lovely, still, serene,
When, by a hermit thorn that on the mil
Had seen a hundred flowery ages pass,
A damsel kneel'd, to offer u,p her prayor —
Her prayer nightly offer* d, nightly heard
This ancient thorn had been the meeting-
place

Of love, before his country's voice had call'd
The ardent youth to fields of honour, for
Beyond the wave ; and hither now repair* d,
Nightly, the moid, by God's all-seeing eye
Seen only, while sho sought this boon alone —
Her lover's safety and his quick return.
In holy humble attitude she kneel' d,
And to her bosom, fair as moonbeam, press' d
One hand, the other lifted up to heaven
Her eye, upturn'd, bright as tho star of

morn,

As violet meek, excessive ardour stroom'd,
Wafting away her earnest heart to God
Her voice, scarce utter' d, soft as ssophyr sighs
On morning lily's cheek, though soft and low,
Yet heard in heaven, heard at tho moroy-soat.
A tear-drop wander' d on her lovely face j
It was a tear of faith and holy fear,
Pure as tho drops that hang at dawning timo,
On yonder willows, by the stream of life.
On her the moon look'd steadfastly , the stars,
That circle nightly round tho eternal throne,
Glanced down, well pleased, and everlasting

love
Gave gracious audience to her prayers sincere

0 had her lover soon her thus alone,
Thus holy, wrestling thus, and all for him !
Nor did he not ; for ofttimos Providence,
With unexpected joy, the fervent prayer
Of faith surprised. Return' d from long delay

With glory crown'd of rightoouH actions won1
The sacred thorn, to memory do.tr, font

sought

Tho youth, and found it at the happy hour,
Just when tho damsel knool'd horHolt to i>iay.
Wrapp'd in devotion, pleading with lior Uod,
She saw T^"* not, hoard not LLIH foot approach.
All holy images scorn' d too ixnpuio
To emblem her ho Haw A Horaph knoolM,
Beseeching for his ward, bofoio the throne,
Seem'd fittest, pleased him bost Swoot was

the thought '

But sweeter still tho kind icmcmhranro oamo,
That she was flesh and blood, form'd for him-
self,

The plighted partner of his future lifo
And as they mot, embraced, and Hat, om-

bower'd

In woody chambers of tho starry night,
Spirits of love about thorn minirttor'd,
And God, approving, bloss'd tho holy joy !

Uober* PoZZofc.— Jtow 1799, DM 1827.

I433-— THE DEATH OF THE YOUNU
MOTHER.

Our Bighs wore numerous, and profane our

tears,

For she wo lost was lovely, and wo lovotl
Her much Fresh in her memory, as frohh
As yesterday, is yot the day Hho died
It was an April day , and blitholy all
The youth of nature loap'd bonoath the HUH,
And promised glorious manhood, and our

hearts
Wore glad, and round thorn danced tliu light-

some blood,

In healthy merriment, when tidings camo
A child was born , and tiding oarno again,
That sho wlio gave it birth WUH nick to death :
So swift trodo sorrow on tho IIOO!H of joy I
We gathor'd round hor bed, and bout our

knees

In fervent supplication to tho Throne
Of Moroy, and porfumod our proyorH with

sighs

Sincere, and penitential tears, and lookn
Of solf-abaMotuont , but wo nought to stay
An angel on the earth, a spirit ripo
For heaven ; and Mercy, in hor lovo, rofuHod :
Most merciful, at* oft, when Booming leant 1
Most gracious, whon she Boom'd tho moHt to

Tho room I woll romombor and tho bod
On which Hho lay, and all tho faces, too,
That crowded daik and mournfully around.
Hor father thoro and mother, bonding Htood;
And down thoar aged chookH foil many drops
Of bitterness. Hor husband, too, was thoro,
And brothers, and they wopt ; her water**, too,
Bid weep, and sorrow comfortlofls ; and I,
Too, wept, though not to weeping given; and
all

1780 to 18GC ]

[ROBOT.

"Witliin tho IIOUHO was dolorous and Rod.
Thin I roinombor woll ; but bettor still
I do romouibor, and will no* or forgot,
Tho dying oyo ' That oyo alono was bright,
And brighter grow as noaror death approached :
AH I havo Boon tho gentle littlo flower
Look fairest in tho silver boam which fell
.Reflected from tho thunder-cloud that Boon
Came down, and o'er tho desert scatter 'd far
And wido its loveliness Sho made a sign
To bring hor babo , 'twas brought, and by her

plaood j

Sho look'd upon its face, that neither smiled,
Nor wept, nor know who gazed upon'!, and

laid

Hor hand upon its littlo broast, and sought
For it, with look that soexn'd to penetrate
Tho heavens, unutterable blessinga, suoh
As God to dying parents only granted,
For infants left behind thorn in tho world.
" &od koop my child ' " wo heard her say, and

hoard

No more. The Angel of tho Covenant
Was come, and, faithful to his promise, stood
Prepared to walk with her through death's

dark valo
And now her oyes grow bright, and biightor

Btlll,

Too blight for ours to look upon, suffused
With many tears, and cloned without a cloud
Tlioy Hot an Rotn the morning stai, which goes
Not down behind tho doikon'd woflt, nor hidoa
Obnuurod among tho tempest of tho sky,
But moltH away into tho light of heaven.

llobcrt PoM.-- Mom 1709, Dwtl 1827.

1434.— '

Not unromombor'd in tho hour when friends
Mot Friends, but fow on earth, and there-
fore dear ,

Bought oft, and sought almost afl oft in vain ;
Yet always sought, so native to tho heart,
So much desired and coveted by all.
Nor wonder thoHO — thou wondorost not, nor

need' Bt.

Much beautiful, and excellent, and fair,
Than face of faithful friend, fairest when

Boon

In darkest day ; and many Hounds wore sweet,
Most ravishing and pleasant to tho ear ;
.But sweeter none than voice of faithful friend,
Sweet always, sweetest heard in loudest

storm.

Some I remember, and will ne'er forget ;
My early friends, friends of my ovil day ;
Jfrionds in my mirth, friends in my misery

too;

Mends given by God in mercy and in love ;
My counsellors, my comforters, and guides;
My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy ,
Companions of my young desires , in doubt,
My oracles, my wings in high purwuit.
0, 1 remember, and will no' or forget

Our mooting spots, our chosen sacred hours,
Our burning words that uttor'd all tho soul,
Our faces beaming with unearthly love ;
Soirow with sorrow sighing, hopo with hopo
Exulting, heart embracing, heart entire.
AH birds of social foa.th.or helping each
His fellow's flight, wo soar'd into the skies,
And oast the clouds beneath our feet, and

earth,

With all hor tardy loadon-f ooted oares,
Andlalk'd the speech, and ate tho food of

heaven '

Those I zomomber, those soleotost men,
And would their names record, but what

avails
My mention of their names ? Before tho

throne

They stand illustrious 'mong tho loudost harps,
And will receive thoo glad, my friend and

thoirw —
For all are friends in heaven, all faithful

friends ;

And many friendships In tho days of timo
Begun, are lasting hero, and growing still;
So grows ours evermore, both theirs aud mine.
Nor is tho hour of lonely walk forgot
In the wide desert, whore the view was large.
Ploasant wore many scenes, but most to mo
Tho solitude of vast extent, untouoh'd
By hand of heart, whore nature sow'd hoisolf,
And reap' d hor crops, whoso garments wore

tho clouds ,
Whoso mmBtroln brooks; whoso lamps the

inoon and stars ,

Whoso organ-choir the voice of many waters ,
Whoso banquets morning dews ; whose heroes

storms ;
Whose warriors mighty -winds ; whose lovers

flowers ,

Whoso orators the thunderbolts of God;
Whoso palaces the everlasting MUs ,
Whose ceiling heaven's unfathomable blue ;
And from whoso rocky turrets battled high
Prospect immense spread out on all sides

round,

Jjost now bonoath tho welkin and tho main.
Now wall'd with hills that slept above tho

storm.

Most fit was suoh a place for musing1 men,
Happiest sometimes when musing without

aim

It was, indeed, a wondrous sort of bliss
The lonely bard enjoy 'd when foxthho walk'd,
TJnpurposod , stood, and know not why; sat

down,
And know not where, arose, and know not

when;
Had eyes, and saw not, oars, and nothing

heard ,
And sought — sought neither heaven nor earth

— sought nought,
Nor meant to think, but ran meantime through

vast

Of visionary things, f airor than aught
That was; and saw the distant tops of

thoughts,

ROBT. POLLOK ]

HAPPINESS.

[SjffiVKNTlt PflBIOD.-

Whioh mon of qommon stature never saw,
Greater than aught that largest worlds could

hold,

Or give idea of, to those who road
Ho ontor'd into Nature's holy place,
Her inner chamber, and behold her face
Unveiled ; and hoard unutterable things,
And incommunicable visions saw ,
Things then unutterable, and visions then
Of iacommumoablo glory bright ,
But by the lips of after-ages form'd
To words, or by their pencil pictured forth ,
"Who, entering farther in, beheld again,
And hoard unspeakable and marvellous things,
"Which other ages in their turn reveal' d,
And left to others greater wonders still

Eob&rt Pollolc.—Born 1799, Died 1827.

1435.— HAPPINESS.

Whether m crowds or solitudes, in stieets
Or shady groves, dwelt Happiness, it seems
In vain to ask , her nature makes it vain ,
Though poets much, and hermits, talk'd and

sung
Of brooks and crystal founts, and weeping

dews,

And myrtle bowers, and solitary vales,
And with the nymph made assignations there,
And woo'd her with the love-sick oaten reed ,
And sages too, although loss positive,
Advised their sons to court her in the shade.
Delirious babble all ' Was happiness,
Was self -approving, God approving joy,
In drops of dew, however pure p in gales,
However sweet ? in wells, however clear ?
Or groves, however thick with verdant shade P
True, these were of themselves exceeding

fair,

How fair at morn and even ' worthy the walk
Of loftiest mind, and gave, when all withm
Was right, a feast of overflowing bliss ,
But were the occasion, not the oauso of joy
They waked the native fountains of tho HOII!
Which slept before, and stirr'd the holy

tides

Of feeling up, giving the heart to drink
From its own treasures draughts of perfect

sweet
The Christian faith, which better know tho

heart

Of man, him thithor sent for peace, and thus
Declared . Who finds it, let him find it there ;
Who finds it not, for ever lot him seek
In vain ; 'tis God's most holy, changeless will

True Happiness had no localities,
No tones provincial, no peculiar garb
Where Duty went, she went, with Justice

went,

And went with Meekness, Charity, and Love.
Where'er a tear was dnod, a wounded heart
Bound up, a 'bruised spirit with the dew
Of sympathy anointed, or a pang

Of honest suffering soothed, or injury
Bopoated oft, as oft by love forgiven ,
Where'er on evil passion wan Hubclucd,
Or Virtue's feeble embers faun'd , where'er
A sin was heartily abjuiod and loft ;
Where'er a pious act was done, or broathcul
A pious prayer, or winh'd a }>IOUH wmh ;
There was a high and holy ]>laco, a Hpot
Of saciod light, a most loligiourf iano,
Whore HappinosH, doHceiidmg, wit and Hmilod.

But there apart, in saorod memory liv«n
The morn of life, first niorn of on<llosH <luyH,
Most joyful mom ' Nor yet for nought tho

joy

A being of eternal date oommcmc'cd,
A young immortal then WOH born I And who
Shall tell what strange variety of WIHH
Burst on tho infant soul, when lira! it lookM
Abroad on God's creation fair, and Haw
Tho glorious earth and gloriouw hoavmi, ami

face

Of man sublime, and saw all now, and felt
All new i when thought awoke, thought never

more
To sloop f when first it Haw, hoard, roasonM,

will'd,
And triumph' d in tho warmth of ooiwtuom

life1

Nor happy only, but tho cause of joy,
Which those who never touted alwayn mourn M.
What tongue' — no tonguo Hlioll toll what

bliss o'orflowM
The mother's tender heart wlxilo round her

hung1

Tho offspring of her love, and liHp'd her iuum>
As living jewels dropp'd nnrttaiu'd from

heaven,

That made her fairer far, and Hwonter Hoem
Than every oinaraont of costliest huo 1
And who hath not been ravisU'd, as him

pass'd

With all her playful band of littlo OHOH,
Like Luna with lior danghturH of tho nicy,
Walking in matron, inajonty and graco F
All who had hearts hero ploamtro found : ami

oft

Have I, when tired with heavy tank, for toHU
Wore heavy in tho world below, ntlax* tl
My weary thoughts among their giultlciHH

sports,

And led them by their littlo hondH o-fiold,
And watch them run and crop tho tempting

flower —
Which oft, unaakM, thoy brought xno, and

bostow'd

With smiling face, that waited for a look
Of praise — and answor'd cnriotw quowtiom,

put

In much simplicity, but ill to fcolvo ;
And hoard their observation strange and

new;

And settled whiles their littlo quarrolfl, noon
Ending in peace, and soon forgot in love*
And still I look'd upon their lovelinosfl,
And sought through nature for aimUitudoa
Of perfect beauty, innocence, and

1780<o 3 800]

THE THE TTRES OF THE! DEEP.

[Mas,

And fairest imagery around me throng' d ,
Dewdrops at day-spring- on a seraph's looks,
Boaofl that batho about tho well of life,
Young Loves, young Hopes, dancing on

morning's cheek,

Goms leaping in tho ooronet of Love !
So beautiful, so full of life, thoy seem'd
As made entire of beams of angels' eyes.
Gay, guileless, sportive, lovely little things '
Playing around tho den of sorrow, clod
In smiles, believing m their fairy hopes,
And thinking man and woman true ! all joy,
Happy all day, and happy all the night !

JBooeri PoHofc.— Bern 1799, Died, 1827.

1436.— THE HOMES OF

The stately Homos of England,

How beautiful they stand '
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,

O'or all the pleasant land.
The deer across thoiz greensward bound

Through shade and sunny gleam,
And tho swan glides past thorn with the Bound

Of somo rejoicing stream.

Tho merry Homos of England'

Around then healths by night,
What gladHomo looks of household love

Hoot m the ruddy light '
Thoro woman's voice flows forth in song,

Or cliildhood'B tale is told,
Or lips move tunefully along

Somo glorious page of old.

Tho blessed Homes of England!

How softly on their bowers
Is laid tho holy quietnoss

That breathes from Sabbath-hours !
Solemn, yet swoot, the church-boll's ohimo

Floats through their woods at morn;
All other sounds, in that still time,

Of broozo and loaf arc bom,

Tho cottage Homos of England '

By thousands on her plains,
Thoy are Hinihng o'or tho silvery brooks,

And round the hamlet-fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,

Each from its nook of leaves,
And fearless thoro tho lowly sleep,

As the bird beneath their oaves.

Tho free, fair Homes of England '

Long, long, in hut and hall,
Hay hearts of native proof bo rcar'd

To guard oaoh hallow* d wall !
And groon for over be the grovos,

And bright tho flowery sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves

Its country and its God !

Mrs, Hflwa?w.— • Born 1793, Died 1835.

1427.— THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

What hidest thon in thy treasure-caves and

cells,

Thou hollow-Bounding and mysterious main P
Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-oolour'd

shells,
Bright things which gleam unreok'd of and

UL vain.
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea !

We ask not such from thee.

Yet more, tho depths havo more! What

wealth untold,
Far down and shining through their still-

ness, lies '
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal Argosies.
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou. wild and wrathful

Earth claims not these again !

Tet more, the depths have more ! Thy waves

have roll'd

Above the cities of a world gone by !
Sand hath fill'd up the palaoos of old,

Sea- wood o'ergrown the halls of revelry !
Dash o'er them, Ocean ' in thy scornful play,
Man yields thorn to decay '

Tot more T the billows and the depths havo

more'
High hearts and bravo are gather* d to thy

breast '

They hoar not now tho booming waters roar —
Tho battlo-thunders will not brook their

rest.

Keep thy rod gold and gems, thou stormy
grave'

Give back the true and brave !

Give back the lost and t lovely' Those for

whom
Tho place was kept at board and hearth so

long,
The prayer went up through midnight's broath-

less gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal

song'

Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'er-
thrown —

But all is not thine own '

To thee the love of woman hath gono down ;
Dark flow thy tides o'or manhood's noblo

head,
O'er youth's bright looks, and beauty's flowery-

crown'
Tet must thou hear a voice— Kostoro tho

Dead'

Earth shall reclaim her precious things from
theel—

Bostoro tho Dead, thou Soa 1

3f7S, Homcms.—Bow, 1793, J)/«i 1835.
07

MBS HEMANS.]

THE YOICE OF SPEING.

[SEVENTH "PBBIOD. —

1438— -THE VOICE OP SPRING.

I oomo, I como ' ye have caJl'd mo long-,

I coino o'or tho mountains with light and

song,
Ye may traoo my step o'or tho wakening

earth,

By tho winds winch toll of the violet's birth,
By tho primrose stairs in the shadowy grass,
By tho groon loaves opening as I pass.

I havo broathod on the South, and the chest-
nut-flowers

By thousands have burst from tho forest-
bowers •

And the anoient graves, and the fallen fanos,

Axe veil'd with wreaths on Italian plains.

But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,

To speak of the rum or the tomb r

I have pass'd o'er the hills of the stormy

North,

And the larch has hung all his tassela forth,
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,
And the reindeer bounds through tho pasture

free,

And the pino has a fringe of softer green,
And the moss looks bright where my step has

been.

I have sent through the wood-paths a gentle

sigh,

And oaU'd out each voice of the deep-blue sky,
From the night bird's lay through the starry

tune,

In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-bough into verdure breaks.

Prom the streams and founts I have loosod

tho chain ,

They aro swooping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from tho mountain-
brows,

They are flinging spray on tho foroflt-boughn,
They aro bursting fresh from Ihoir Flurry

oaves,
And the earth resounds with tho joy of wave"?.

Come forth, 0 yo childron of gladnoss, come »
Where the violets lie may now bo your homo.
Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright oyo,
And the bounding footstep, to moot mo fly ,
With the lyre, and the wreath, and tho joyous

lay,
Come forth to tho sunshine, I may not stay.

Away from tho dwellings of careworn mon,
Tho waters are sparkling in wood and glon ,
Away from the chamber and dusky hearth,
The young loaves aro <"Umoing in breezy mirth ;
Their light stems thrill to tho wild-wood

strains,
And Youth IB abroad in my groen domains

The summer is hastening, on sofb winds borne,
Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the
corn,

For mo I depart to a brighter shore —
Ye are mark'd by core, yo aro mine no more
I go whero tho lovod who havo loft you dwell,
And the flowers are not Death's — faro yowoll,
farewell'

Mrs, Hemans.-~J8urn 1703, Died 1835.

1439.— THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

They grow in boauty, si<lo by sido,
They fiU'd one homo with #loo ;

Their graves aro flcvor'd, far and wide,
By mount, and stream, aud woa.

The same fond mother bent at night

O'er each fair Bleeping brow ;
She had each folded flowor in wgW>—

Whore aro those droamorK now P

One, 'midst tho foroHt of tho wont,

By a dark Rtroam is laid —
Tho Indian known Inn pliico of rent,

Far m tho cedar Hliado,

Tho sea, tho bluo lone BOH, hath ono,

Ho lies whovo poorta lie (loop j
He was the lovod of all, yot nemo

O'er his low bod may woop.

Ono sloops whore soul/horn vmoH aro drona'd

Above the noble wlain
Ho wrapt his colour** round Lin broant,

On a blood-rod field of Spain.

And ono — o'or hor tho xnyrtlo Hlinworo
Its loavcB, by soft windH fium'd ,

Sho faded 'midnt Italian flowers—
Tho last of that bright band.

And portal thus thoy ro«t, who play'd

Beneath tho same groon troo ;
Whopo voicoH mingled an thoy pra/d

Around ono parent knoe !

Thoy that with amiloH lit up tho hall,
And cheer 'd with Hong tho hearth —

Alas ! for lovo, if thou wort all,
And nought beyond, on oartli I

Mrs. UwwM*—Itor* 1793,

1440.— MABGTJ33BITE OF FRANCE.

Tho Moslem, spears woro glooming

Bound Damiotta'n towers,
Though a Chnfttian banner from hor wall

Wavod free itH lily-flowera.
Ay, proudly did the banner wave,

As queen of earth and air ;
But faint hearts throbb'd beneath its folds

Tn anguish and despair.

from 1780 to 1866.]

BRING- FLOWERS.

[Mas HBMANS.

Deep, deep in Paynim dragoon

Their kingly chieftain lay.
And low on many an eastern field

Their knighthood's best array.
'Twas mournftd when at feasts they mot,

Tho wine-cup round to send ;
For each that touch' d it silently

Thou miss'd a gallant friend f

And mournful was thoir -vigil

On the beleaguer' d wall,
And dark thoir slumber, dark with dreams

0£ slow defeat and fall.
Tot a fow hearts of chivalry

Rose high to breast the storm,
And one — of all the loftiest there —

Thrill* d in a woman's form

A woman mooldy bonding

O'er the slumber of her child,
With her soft, sad eyes of weeping love,

As tho Virgin Mother's mild.
Oh ! roughly cradled was thy babe,

'Midst tho dash of spear and lance,
And a strange, wild bower WOR thine, young
queen !

Pair Marguerite of Prance '

A dark and vaulted chamber,

Like a acono for wizard-spell,
Boop in tho Haracomo gloom

Of tho warrior citadel ,
And ihoio 'midst armH tho couch was spread,

And with bannorH curtoin'd o'er,
For the (laughtei of tho minstrel-loud

Tho gay I'rovongol shore '

For the bright queen of Si Louis,

Tho star of court and hall '
But tho deep strength of the gentle heart

Wakes* to the tempest's call '
Her lord was in the Paynim's hold,

His soul with grief oppress'd,
Tot calmly lay the desolate,

With her young babe on her breast '

Thftro wore voices in the city,

Voicos of wrath and fear —
" The walls grow weak, tho strife is vain —

We will not polish hero I
Tiold ' yield ! and lot tho descent gleam

O'er tower and bastion high '
Our distant homos are beautiful —

We stay not hero to die ' "

Thoy bore those fearful tidings

To the sad queen whore she lay —
Thoy told a talo of wavering hearts,

Of timfton and dismay •
Tho blood niHh'd through her poorly chock,

Tlio spaiklo to hor oyo —
" Now ou.ll mo hither those recreant knights

toom ilxo banda of Italy I "

Then through tho vaulted chambers

Stern iron f ootntepR rang ,
And heavily the sounding floor

Gave book tho sabre's clang.

Thoy stood around her — steel-clad men,

Moulded for storm and fight,
But they quaiTd before the loftier soul

In that pale aspect bright

Tes ' as before tho falcon shrinks

Tho bird of meaner wing,
So shrank they from the imperial glanco

Of her— that fragile thing '
And her flute-like voice rose clear and high

Through the dm of arms around-
Sweet, and yet stirring to tho soul,

As a silver clarion's sound.

" The honour of the Lily

Is in your hands to keep,
And tho banner of the Cross, for Him

Who died on Calvary's stoop .
And tho city which for Chrwtian prayer

Hath hoard tho holy boll —
And is it those your hearts would yield

To tho godless infidel P

Then bring mo hero a breastplate

And a holm, before ye fly,
And I will gird my woman's form,

Ancl on tho ramparts die !
And the boy whom I have borne for woe,

But never for disgrace,
Shall go within mine arms to death

Moot for his royal race

Look on him as ho slnmbors

In tho shadow of tho lance '
Then go, and with tho Crown forsake

Tho princely babe of Franco '
But toll your homos ye left ono heart

To perish tmdofilod ,
A woman, and a queen, to guard

Hor honour and her child I "

Before hor words thoy thrill' d, like leaves

When winds are in tho wood ;
And a deepening murmur told of men

Boused to a loftier mood,
And hor babo awoke to flashing swords,

TTuFtheathod in many a hand,
As they gather' d round tho helpless Ono,

Again a noble band !

" Wo are thy warriors, lady I

True to the Cross and theo ,
Tho spirit of thy kindling words

On every sword shall bo I
Best, with thy fair child on thy breast !

Rent — wo will guard thoe well I
St. Boms for the lily-flower

And the Christian citadel t "

Mrs, HGnums.—Born 1703, DM 1835.

1441.— BBITO FLOWERS,

Bring flowers, young flowew, for tho fbfirf&l

board,

To wreathe tho cup ore tho wine in pour'd I

67*

KRS. HBMANS ]

CASABIANCA.

[SEVENTH PERIOD.—

Bring1 flowers I they arc springing in wood one

vale

Their breath floats out on tho southern gale,
And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the

rose,
To deck tho hall where the bright wine flows

Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's

path'
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy

wrath.

He comes with the spoils of nations back,
The vines lie orush'd in his chariot's track,
The turf looks red where he won the day.
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way !

Bring flowers to foe captive* a lonely cell !
They hare tales of the joyous woods to tell —
Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky.
And the bright world shut from his languid

eye;
They will bear him a thought of the sunny

hours,
And the dream of his youth. Bring him

flowers, wild flowers !

Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to

wear1

They were born to blush in her shining hftl
She is leaving the home of her childhood's

mirth,

She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth,
Her place is now by another's side.
Bring flowers for the looks of the fair young

bride'

Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to

shed,

A crown for the brow of the early dead !
For this through its leaves hath the white

rose buist,

For this in the woods was the violet nursed !
Though they smile in vain for what once was

ours,
They are love's last gift. Ifcing yo flowers,

pale flowers '

Bring flowers to the shnno where we kneel in

prayer —

They are nature's offering, their place is there !
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
With a voice of promise they come and part,
They sleep in dust through tho wintry hours,
They break forth in glory. Bring flowers,

bright flowers 1

Mrs. JSTemcww.— Born 1793, Died 1835.

1442.— OASABIAJSOA.

The boy stood on the burning deck,
"Whence all but he had fled ;

The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright ho stood,

As born to rule tho storm ;
A creature of heroic blood,

A brave though childlike form.

The flames roll'd on— he would not go

Without his father's word ;
That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer hoard

He oall'd aloud—" Say, father, say

If yet my task is done!"
He know not that the chieftain lay

Unconscious of his son.

" Speak, father ! " once again ho cried,

"HI may yet be gone,"
And but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames roll'd on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,
And look'd from that lone post of death

In still yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,

" My father, must I stay ? "
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,

Tho wreathing fires made way.

They wrapp'd the ship in splendour wild,

They caught the flag on high,
And stream' d above the gallant child,

Like banners in tho sky.

There came a burst of thunder-sound —

The boy '— oh, whoro WOB he?
Ask of the winds, that far around

With fragments strow'd tho sea ! —

With most, and holm, and pennon fair,
That well hod borne their part ;

But the noblest thing that porwh'd thoro
Was that young faithful heart.

Mrs. Jlcwwrns.— Rom 1703, Died 1835.

1443.— THE HOTO OP PBAYBR.

Child, amidst tho flowors at play,
While the rod light fades away ;
Mother, with thino oarnoBt eye,
Ever following silently ;
Father, by tho brooze of ovo
Call'd thy harvest-work to leave-
Pray ore yot tho dark hours bo,
Lift the heart and bend tho knoo.

Traveller, in tho stranger's land,
For from thine own hoiwohold band ;
Mourner, haunted by tho lono
Of a voice from thw world gone ;
Oaptivo, in whoso narrow coll
Sunshine hath not loavo to dwell ;
Sailor, on the darkening 0eo —
Lift tho heart and bond tho knoo.

From 1780 to 1866.]

A FATHER READING THE BIBLE.

HEMANS.

Warrior that, from battle won,
Breathest now at set of sun ;
Woman, o'er the lowly slam,
"Weeping on his burial-plain ;
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie,
Heaven's first star alike ye see —
Lift the heart and bend the knee.

Mrs. Hemam.—Born 1793, Died 1835.

1444.— PASSING AWAT.

It is -written on the rose,

In its glory's full array ;
Road what those buds disclose —
" Passing away."

It is -written on the skies

Of the soft blue summer day;
It is traced on sunset's dyes —

" Passing away."

It is written on the trees,

As their young leaves glistening play,
And on brighter things than these —
" Passing away."

It is written on the brow,

Whore the Hpint'fi ardent ray
Lives, burns, and triumphs now —
" Passing away."

It is written on tho heart,
Alan ' that there Decay
Should claim from Love a part —
" Passing away."

Friends ! friends !— oh ! shall we moot

In a land of purer day,
Whore lovely things and sweet
Pass not away P

Shall wo know each other's eyes,

And tho thoughts that in them lay
Whon we minglod sympathies

" Passing away P"

Oh ! if this may bo so,

Speed, speed, thou closing day I
How blest from earth's vain show
To pass away '

Mrs Hemans. — Born 1793, Bi&l 1835.

1445 —THE BETTER LAND.

I hoar thce apeak of tho bolter land,
Thou ooll'fct its children a happy band ;
Mother i oh, whoro is that radiant shoio ?
Shall we not week it, and woop no more ?
Is it whore tho flower of tho orange blows,
And tho fire-flies glance through the myrtle
boughH ?

Not there , not there, my clold.

Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny slues P
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering peas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds on their starry

wings

Bear the rich, hues of all glorious thing's P
Not there , not there, my child.

Is it far away in some region old,
Where the livers wander o'er aanda of gold P
Whero the burning rays of tho ruoy sluie,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from tho coral

strand —

Is it there, sweet mother, that better land P
Not there , not there, my child.

Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy,
Ear hath not hoard its deep songs of joy ;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,
Sorrow and death may not enter there ;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom ;
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
It is there ; it is there, my child.

Mrs. Hemans.—Bom 1793, DiecL 1835.

1445. — & FATHER READING THE
BIBLE.

'Twas early day, and sunlight stream' d

Soft through a quiet room,
That hush'd, but not forsaken, seom'd,

Still, but with nought of gloom.
For there, serene in happy ago.

Whoso hope is from above,
A Father communed with the pago

Of Heaven's recorded love.

Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright,

On his gray holy hair,
And touoh'd the pago with tondoroat light,

As if its shrine were there 1
But oh ' that patriarch's aspect shone

With something lovelier for —
A radiance all tho spirit's own,

Caught not from sun or star.

Some word of life e'en then hod met

His calm benignant eye ,
Some ancient promise, breathing yet

Of Immortality '
Some martyr's prayer, wherein the glow

Of quenchless faith survives
While every feature said — " I know

That my Redeemer lives i "

And silent stood his children by,

Hushing then very breath,
Before tho solemn sanctity

Of thoughts o'er sweeping death.
Silent — yet did not each younpr bioa&t

With love and reverence moll t*

MBS. HBMANS ]

TO A FAMILY BIBLE,

[SEVENTH PERIOD -

Oh ' blost be tlioso fair girls, and blost
That homo whoro God IB felt !

Mrs. Henb<vns.—Bom 1793, DwtZ 1835

1447.— TO A FAMILY BIBLE.

What household thoughts around theo, as

their shrine,

Chug reverently P — of anxious looks be-
guiled,

My mother's eyes, upon thy page divine,
Each day were bent — her accents gravely

mild,
Breathed out thy lovo whilst I, a dreamy

child,

Wander' d on breezo-lilre fancies 'oft away,
To some lane tuft of gleaming spring-flowers

wild,
Some fresh-disoover'd nook fox woodland

Play,
Some secret nest yet would tho solemn

Word
At tunes, with kindlings of young wonder

heard,

Pall on my waken' d spirit, there to bo
A seed not lost , — for which, in darker

years,
0 Book o£ Heaven ' I pour, with grateful

tears,
Heart blessings on the holy dead and thoe '

Mrs. H&mans. — Bora 1798, Died 1835.

1448 — THE CHILD'S ITRST GRIEF.

" Oh ' call my Brother back to mo '

I cannot play alono ,
The summer comes with flower and boo —

Where is my Uiothor gono ?

The butterfly IB glancing bright

Across the sunbeam's track ,
I care not now to chose its flight —

Oh I call my Brother back r

The flowers run wild — the flowers wo sow'd

Around our garden tree ,
Our vine is drooping with its load —

Oh i call him back to mo I"

" He could not hoar thy voico, fair child,

He may not come to theo ,
The face that once hko spring-time smiled

On earth no more thon'lt see.

A rose's briof bright hfo of joy,

Such tmto him. was given ,
Go — than, must play alono, my boy '

Thy Brother is in heaven 1"

"And has he left his birds and flowers,

Arid must I call in vain ?
And, through the long, long summer hours,

Will he not come again P *

And by the brook, and in tho glado,

Are all our waiwlormgH o'oi P
Oh ' whilo my Brother with mo play1 d,

Would I hod lovod him moro.*'

airs. flismcww.— Born 1703, DM 1835.

1449.— WILLOW SONG.

Willow ' in thy broozy moan

I can hear a doopor tone ,

Through thy loaves corno whinporing low

Paint swoot sounds of long ago —

Willow, Riglung willow !

Many a mournful tale of old
Heart-sick Lovo to thoo hath told,
authoring from thy goldon bough
Loaves to cool his burning brow —

Willow, trig-lung willow 1

Many a swan-liko song1 to thoo

Hath been sung, thou ^outlo troo ;

Many a luto its butt lament

Down thy moonlight stream hath wont —

Willow, highiiiff willow I

Therefore, wnvo and murmur on,
Sigh for flwoot affections gono,
And for tuneful VOICOH flod,
And for Love, whoso hoart hath bled,

Iflvor, willow, willow !

Mrs. UomafiB—Bom 1703, Dyil 1835.

1450.— THE WANDEKIM! WIND.

Tho Wind, tho wanttarinff Wind

Of tho ftoldon Hiimmor «v«s —
Whonco IB tho thrilling inaffui

Of its touoH amniitfHf, tho loavow ?
Oh ' is it from tho wn l,c»w,

Or from the loitjf, t:».ll
Or IB it from tho hollow

Through which itw breathing pans P

Or is it from tho voiucw

Of all in ono combined,
That it wmH tho tone of maHtory P

Tho Wind, tho woncluraiff Wind !
No, no 1 tho strands HWM* aoconlfl

That with it oomo and go,
Thoy aro not from tho omorK,

Nor tho flr-trooM whiHpuring low.

Thoy aro not of tho wators,

Nor of tho oavorn'cl hill ;
'Tis tho human lovo within UR

That givoB thorn powor to thrill:
Thoy touch tho links of memory

Around our spiritB twinod,
And we start, and weep, and troxnblo,

To tho Wind, the wandering Wind !

Mrs. H&nans.—JJwn 1793» Died 1836.

From 1780 to 1860 ]

THE ADOPTED CHILD.

[Mas.

1451,— THE LANDING OF THE PILGBIM
FATHERS IN" NEW ENGLAND.

Tho breaking waves dash'd high
On a stern and rook-bound coast,

And tho woods against a stormy sky
Thou giant branches toas'd ,

And the heavy night hung dark,

Tho "hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moor'd their bark

On the wild New-England shore,

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the trne-hoartod, oamo ,
Not with the roll of tho stumng drums,

And the trumpet that sings of fame ;

Not as tho flying oomo,

In silence and in fear •— •
They shook tho depths of tho desert gloom

With their hymns of lofty oheor

Amidst tho Btoim they sang,
Aud the stars heard, and the soa ,

Azid the sounding aisles of tho dim woods

rang
To the anthem of tho froo '

The ocean oaglo soar'd

From his nost by tho whito wave's foam,
And tho xooknit? pmoM of tLo ioroflt roar'd —

This won tlioir woloomo homo r

Tlioro wore mon with hoary hair

Amidst that pilgrim baud
Why luwl thoy oomo to wither thoro,

Away from thoir childhood' H land ?

Ihoro wan woman's foorloBs oyo,

Lit by hor doop lore's truth ,
Thoro waa manhood's brow serenely high,

And tho fiery heart of youth.

What sought thoy thus afar P

.Bright jewels of the mine F
Tho wealth of soas, iho spoils of war P—

Thoy sought a faith's pure shruio !

Ay, call it holy ground,

Tho soil whoro first they trod.
Thoy havo loft unstoin'd what there thoy
found—

Freedom to worship God.

Mrs. HCWMIS — Born 1703, Died 1835.

1452.— THE ADOPTED CHILD.

"Why wouldst thou leave mo, O gentle

child P

Thy home on tho mountain is bleak and wild —
A straw-roof 'd cabin, with lowly wall ,
Mine is a fair and pillar1 d hall,
Where many an imago of marble gleams,
Ajidtho sunshine of pictures for evor streams "

"Ohf green is tho turf whoro my brothers

Through the long bright hours of the sum-

mer's day ,

They find the red cup-moss where thoy climb,
And thoy chase the bee o'er tho scouted

thyme,
And the rooks where tho heath-flower blooms

they know
Lady, kind lady ! 0, let mo go."

" Content thee, boy ' m my bower to dwell ;
Hero ore swoet sounds which thou lovest

woU

Flutes on the air in tho stilly noon,
Harps which tho wandering breozcs tune,
&nd the silvery wood-note of many a bird
Whose voice was no'or in thy mountain

hoard."

" Oh ' my mother sings at the twilight's fall,
A song of the hills far more swoet than all ;
She smgs it under our own groon tree
To tho babe fr«-W slumbering on hor knee ,
I dreamt last night of that musio low^—
Lady, kmd lady 1 O, lot mo go."

" Thy mother is gono from her cares to rost ;
She hath tokon tho babe on hor quiet breast ,
Thou woaldut moot hor footstep, my boy, no

more,

Nor hoar hor song at tho cabin door.
Come thou wiilx mo to tho vmoyordH nigh,
And we'll pluck iho grapoa of tho richest

dyo."

" Is my mother gone from hor home away ?—
Bui I know that my brothers aro there at

play—
I know they arc gathering iho fox-glove's

boll,

Or tho long f orn leaves by tho sparkling well ;
Or thoy launch their boats whoro the bright

streams flow —
Lady, kind lady i 0, lei mo go."

" Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now ;
Thoy sport no more on iho mountain* a brow ;
Thoy have loft tho fern by tho spring's groon

fiido,
And tho streams whoro tbo fairy barks wcro

•tiod.

JBo thou at peace in thy brighter lot,
For the cabin homo IB a lonely spot."

" Aro they gono, all gono from tho snnny

But the bird and the bluo-fly xovo o'er it

etui,

And the rod-door bound in thoir gladneaa froo,
And tho hoaih IH bent by tho singing boo,
And the waters leap, and tho froHii wind** bio w
Lady, kind lady ' 0, lot mo go."

Mrs.

1793, JDwcfc 1835.

BJDBNABD BARTON.]

POWER AND GENTLENESS.

[SEVENTH PERIOD.—*

I453-— -POWER AND GENTLENESS, OR
THE CATARACT AND THE STREAMLET.

Noble the mountain stroam,
Bursting in grandeur from its vantage-ground ,

Glory is IB its gleam

Of brightness — thunder in its deafening
sound 1

Mark, how its foamy spray,
Tinged by the sunbeams with reflected dyes,

Munios the bow of day
Arching in majesty the vaulted skies ,

Thenoe, in a summer-shower,
Steeping the rooks around — 0 ' tell me where

Could majesty and power
Be clothed in forms more beautifully fair P

Tet lovelier, in my "view,
The streamlet flowing silently serene ;

Traced by the brighter hue,
And livelier growth it gives — itself unseen !

It flows through flowery meads,
Gladdening the herds which on its margin
browso ;

Its quiet beauty feeds
The aiders that o'ershade it with their boughs.

Gently it murmurs by

The village churchyard: its low, plaintive
tone,

A dirge-like melody,
For worth and beauty modest as its own.

More gaily now it sweeps
. By the small school-house in the sun-shine

bright ;

And o'er the pebbles leaps,
lake happy hearts by holiday made light.

May not its course express,
In characters whioh they who run may read,

The charms of gentleness,
Were but its still small voice allow'd to plead P

What are the trophies gain'd
By power, alone, with all its noise and strife,

To that meek wreath, Tinstain'd,
Won by the chanties that gladden hf e P

Niagara's streams might fail,
And human happiness be undisturb'd :

But Egypt would turn pale,
Were her still Nde's o'erflowmg bounisy curb'd '

Bemaard JBortfon.— Born 1784, Ihcd 1849.

1454— TO THE EVENING PRIMROSE.

Fair flower that ahunn'st the glare of day,
Yet loVst to open, moekly bold,

To evening's hues of sober gray,
The cup of paly gold ;

Bo thine the offering owing long
To thoe, and to this pensive hour,

Of one brief tributary song,
Though transient as thy flower.

I love to watch, at silent eve,
Thy scatter'd blossoms' lonely light,

And have my inmost heart receive
The influence of that sight.

I love at such an hour to mark

There beauty greet the night-brcozo chillf,
And shine, 'mid shadows gathering dark,

The garden's glory still.

For such, 'tis sweet to think tho while,
When cares and gnefs the breast invado>

Is friendship's animating smilo
In sorrow's dark'ning shade.

Thus it bursts forth, like thy polo oup,
Glist'xung amid its dewy tears,

And bears the sinking spirit up
Amid its chilling fears.

But still more animating far,
If meek Religion's oyo may trace,

Even in thy glimmering earth-born star,
The holier hopo of Grace.

The hope, that as thy beauteous bloom
Expands to glad tho close of day,

So through the shadows of the tomb
May break forth Mercy's ray.

JBenwwc& JBcwfcm — Born 1784, Died 1840;

1455.— THERE BE THOSE.

There bo those who sow beside
Tho waters that in silence glide,
Trusting no echo will declare
Whose footsteps over wander' d there.

Tho noiseless footsteps pass away,
The stream flows on at* yesterday ;
Nor can it for a time bo soon
A benefactor there had boon.

Yot think not that tho seed is dead
Which in tho lonely place i» Hproad ;
It lives, it livoH — tho Spring in nigh,
And soon its life shall toBtrfy.

That silent stream, that dosort ground,
No more unlovely shall bo found ;
But Boatter'd flowers of simplest grace
Shall spread their beauty round tho place.

And soon or late a time will come
When witnesses, that now are dumb,
With grateful eloquence shall tell
From whom the seed, there soattor'd, fell.

Bernard Barton. — #0171 1784, Died 1849.

From 1780 to 1866 ]

THE SOLITARY TOMB.

[BERNARD BABTOW,

1456.— NOT OURS THE VOWS.

Not ours the TOWS of such as plight

Their troth in sunny weather,
Whilo leaves are green, and skies are bright,

To walk on flowers together

But wo have loved as those who tread

The thorny path of sorrow,
With clouds above, and cause to dread

Tot deeper gloom to-morrow.

That thorny path, those stormy skies,
Have drawn our spirits nearer j

And rendered us, by sorrow's ties,
Each, to the other dearer.

Love, born in hours of joy and mirth,
With mnth and joy may ponsh ,

That to whioh darker hours gave birth
Still more and more we chonsh.

It looks beyond the clouds of time,
And through death's shadowy portal ;

Made by adversity sublime,
By faith and hope immortal*

Bernard Barton.— Born 1784, Died 1849.

1457— -STANZAS ON THE SEA. >l

Oh ' I shall not forget, until memory depart,
When first I behold it, the glow of my hoart ,
The wonder, tho awo, the delight that stole

o'er mo,
When its billowy boundlessness opon'd before

mo.
As I stood on its margin, or roam'd on its

strand,

I felt now idoas within mo expand,
Of glory and grandeur, unknown till that hour,
And my spirit was muto in the presence of

power !
In the surf-beaten sands that encircled it

round,
In the billow's retreat, and the breaker's

rebound,
In its white-drifted foam, and its dark-heaving

green,
Each moment I gazed, some fresh beauty was

soon.
And thus, while I wander' d on ocean's bleak

shore,
And survoy'd its vast surface, and heard its

waves roar,

I seem'd wrapt in a dream of romantic delight,
And haunted by majesty, glory, and might '

1784, Died 1849.

1458.— THE SOLITARY TOMB.

Not a leaf of the tree whioh stood near mo

was sinrr'd,

Though a breath might have moved it so
lightly;

Not a farewell note from a sweet singing bird
Bade adieu to the sun sotting brightly.

The sky was cloudless and calm, except
In the west, where the sun was descending ;

And there the rich tints of the rainbow slept,
As his beams with their beauty were
blending.

And the evening star, with its ray so clear,

So tremulous, soft, and tender,
Had lit up its lamp, and shot down from its
sphere

Its dewy delightful splendour.

And I stood all alone on that gentle hill,
With a landscape so lovely before mo ;

And its spirit and tone, so serene and stall,
Seem'd silently gathering o'er me.

Far off was the Deben, whose briny flood
By its winding banks was sweeping ;

And just ai the foot of the hill where I stood
The dead in their damp graves were sleeping.

How lonely and lovely their resting-place

seonVd '

An enclosure which care could not enter ;
And how sweetly the gray lights of evening

gleom'd
On tho solitary tomb in its centre !

When at morn or at eve I have wonder* d near,
And in various lights have view'd it,

With what differing forms, unto friendship

dear,
Has tho magic of fancy ondqod it 1 *

Sometimes it has seom'd like a lonely sail,
A white spot on tho emerald billow ,

Sometimes like a lamb, in a low grassy vale,
Stretch' d in peace on its verdant pillow.

But no image of gloom, or of care, or strife,
Has it ever given birth to ono minute ;

For lamented in death, as beloved in life,
Was he who now slumbers within it.

He was one who in youth on the stormy seas

Was a far and a fearless ranger ;
Who, borne on tho billow, and blown by the
breeze,

Counted lightly of death or of danger.

Yet in this rude school hod his heart still

kept

AH the freshness of gentle fooling;
Nor in woman's warm eye has a tear ever

slept
More of softness and kindness revealing.

And here, when tho bustle of youth was post,
He lived, and ho loved, and ho died too ;

Ohl why was affection, which death could

outlast,
A more lengthen'd enjoyment denied to

BBRNABD BABTON ]

BISHOP HUBEBT.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

But horo ho slumbers f and many thoro aro
"Who lovo that lono tomb and revere it ;

And ono far off who, like ovo's dewy star,
Though at distance, m. fancy dwells near it.

JBarnord Barton,— JSom 1784, Died 1849

1459.— BISHOP HUBERT.

'Tis the hour of even now,
"When, with pensive, thoughtful brow,
Seeking truths as yet unknown,
Bishop Hubert walks alone
Fain would he, by earnest thought,
Nature's secret laws be taught ,
Learn the destinies of rm^o,
And Creation's wonders toan.
Prom these data he would trace
Hidden mysteries of grace,
Dive into a deeper theme,
Solve Bedemption's glorious scheme.
So he flings aside to-day
Mitre's pomp and ciozier's sway,
Seeks the desert's silent scene
And the marge of ocean green.
Par he has not roam'd before,
On that solitary shore,
He has found a little child,
By its seeming play beguiled
On the drifted, barren sand
It has scoop'd, with baby hand,
Small recess, in which might float
Sportive Fairy's tiny boat.
Prom a hollow shell, the while,
See ' 'tis filling, with a smile,
Fool, as shallow as may bo,
With tho waters of tlio soa
Hear the smiling Bishop ask,
What can mean such infant task ?
Mark that infant's answer plain •
" 'Tis to hold yon mighty main ' "
" Foolish triflor," Hubert cries,
" Open, if thou canst, thine oyos
Can a shallow scoop'd by tlioo
Hope to hold yon boundless soa P
Know'st thou not its Hpaco transcends
All thy fancy comprehends ?
Ope thy ohildibh oyos, and know
Fathomless its depths below."
Soon that child, on ocean's brim,
Opes its eyes, and turns to Him '
Well does Hubert read its look-
Glance of innocent rebuke ;
While a voice is hoard to say :
" If tho pool, thus scoop'd in play,
Cannot hold yon mighty soa,
Yam must thy researches be
Canst thou hope to make thino own
Secrets known to God alone P
Can thy faculties confined
Fathom the Eternal Mmd P *'
Bishop Hubert turns away ,
He has loornt enough to-day —

Learnt how little man can know
While a pilgrim here below.

Bernard Bartott^-JBbm. 1784, Died 1319.

1460.— FROM THE IMPROVISATKICE.

I loved "h?V as young Genius loves,

When its own wild and radiant heaven
Of starry thought bums with tho h^ht,

The love, the life, by pawion givtm.
I loved him, too, as woman lovos —

Bookless of sorrow, Bin, or Hcurn
Jjf e had no evil destiny

That, with him, I could not have borao I
I had been nursed in palaces ;

Yeb earth had not a spot BO drear,
That I should not have thought a homo

In Paradise, had he been near !
How sweet it would have boon to dwoll,
Apart from all, m some groou doll
Of sunny beauty, loavun, and iloworw ;
And noHthng- birds to Ming- tho hourw !
Our home, beneath Romo ahoHiuub'H Hhudo,
But of the woven branches nuuio •
Our vesper hymn, tho low worm wail
The roue hears from tho intflibmtfiilo ;
And waked at morning by tho call
Of music from a waterfall.
But not alone m dreams liko this,
Breathed m the very hope of blim,
I loved my lovo hod boon tlio Hamo
In hush'd despair, in open Hliamo.
I would have rather been a alitvo,

In tears, in bondage by liin Hide,
Than shared in nil, if wanting him,

This world had powoi to #n
My heart was wither' d— and my

Had ever been tlio world to mo •
And lovo had boon tlio fir si fond droain,

WhoHO hfo WOH in reality.
I had sprung from my soliLudn,

lake a young bird upon tho wiujf,
To moot tho mow , HO I mol

My powon'd Hli&ft of Huilbrmtf.
And as that bird, with drooping orcmt
And broken wing, will seek IUK n<wt,
But sock in vain . »o vain f nought
My pleasant homo of Hon«- and thought.
Thoro was ono .ipoll upon my bnun,
TTpon my pencil, on my Htram ;
But ono faco to my oolourH oatrto ;
My chorda ropliod but to ono niuno—
Lorenzo ! — all Hoom'd vow'd to thoo,
To passion, and to miHory I

L. Jg/

1802, DM 1830.

I look'd upon his brow — no fiign
Of guilt or fear was thoro ;

From 1780 to 1806 1

LITTLE BED REDING HOOD.

[L. E.

Ho stood as proud by that doath-bliruio

As oven o'or despair
Ho hod a power , in his oyo
There was a quenchless energy,

A spirit that could daro
The deadliest form that death oould take,
And daro it for the daring's sake.

Ho stood, tho fetters on his hand,

Ho raised thorn haughtily ;
And had that grasp boon on the brand,

It could not wave on high
With freer pndo than it waved now ,
Around ho look'd with ohangoloss brow

On many a torture nigh ;
Tho rack, tho chain, the axe, tho whool,
And, worst of all, his own rod stool.

I saw him once before ; ho rode

Upon a coal-black stood,
And tons of thousands throng' d tho road,

And bade thoir warnor speed.
His helm, his breastplate, wore of ffold,
And graved with many diat, that told

Of many a soldier's dood,
Tho sun shone on his sparkling mail,
And danced his snow-plume on tho gale.

But now ho stood chain'd and alouo,

Tho hotulHtnan by IUH hide,
Tho plume, tho holm, tho charger gone ;

The sword, whioh had defied
Tho mightioHt, lay broken near ,
And yot no tugn or sound of fear

Caino from that lip of jneido ,
And novor king or conqueror's brow
Wore higher look than did hw now.

Ho bent beneath tho hoadHmau's stroko

With an uncovered oyo ;
A wild tihout from the numbers broke

Who throng'd to BOO him clio.
It was a pooplo'w loud acclaim,
Tho voioo of angor and of shame,

A nation's funeral cry,
Eomo'n wail above hor only son,
Hor patriot and hor latest one.

L. K London.— Born 1802, Died 1880.

1462,— THE SHEPHEBD BOY.

Liko somo vision oldon

Of for othor time,
Whon the age was goldon,

In the young world's pnmo,
Is thy soft pipe ringing,

O lonely shepherd boy
What song art thou singing,

In thy youth and joy ?

Or art thou complaining

Of thy lonely lot,
&sd thine own disdaining,

Dost ask what thou hast not ?

Of tho future dreaming,

Weary of the past,
For tho present scheming—

All but what thou hast

No, thou art delighting

In thy summer home ,
Whore the flowers inntmg

Tempt tho boe to roam ,
Whore tho cowslip, bending

With its goldon bells,
Of oaoh glad hour's ending

With a sweet chime tolls.

All wild creatures love Tiim

Whon ho is alone ;
Every bird above him

Sings its softest tono.
Thankful to high Hoavou,

Humblo in thy joy,
Much to thee is given,

Lowly shepherd boy.

L. S. Ii<mdon.~-B<mi, 1802, Died 1839.

1463..— LITTLE BED BIDING HOOD.

Come book, como bock together,

All ye fancies of tho past,
To days of April woathor,

Yo shadows that aio oast

By tho haunted hours* before '
Como bock, como book, my Childhood ,

Thou art Hummon'd by a spoil
From tho groon loavoH of tho wjldwood,

From bosido tho charmed well,

For Bod Biding Hood, tho darling,
Tho flower ot fairy loro I

Tho fields woro oovor'd ovor

With oolourH as she wont ;
Daisy, buttercup, and clover

Below hor f ootwtopfl bont ;

Summer shod its shurmg store ;
She was happy as sho proas' d thorn

Beneath hor little foot ;
Sho pluok'd thorn and coross'd thorn ;

Thoy woro so vory swoot,

They had novor soom'd so sweet before,
To Bod Biding Hood, tho darling,
Tho flower of fairy loro

How tho heart of childhood dances

Upon a sunny day I
It has its own romances,
And a wide, wide woild have tlioy '
A world whore Phantasio IK king,
Made all of eager dreaming ;

When once grown, up and toll —
Now is tho time for scheming —
Thon wo shall do them all 1

Do such pleasant fancioH nprmg
For Bod Biding Hood, tho darling,
Tho flower of fairy loro P

L. E. LANDON.]

NIGHT AT SEA.

[SEVENTH PEJMOD. —

She seems like on ideal lovo,

The poetry of childhood shown,
And yet loved with a real love,

As if she were our own —

A younger sister for the heart ;
Like the woodland pheasant,

Her hair is brown and bright ;
And her smile is pleasant,

With its rosy light,

Never can the memory part
With Bed Biding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.

Bid the painter, dreaming

TTI a morning honr,

Oatoh the fairy seeming

Of this fairy flower ?

Winning it with eager eyes
From the old enchanted stones,
Lingering with a long delight
On the unf orgotten glories
Of the infant sight ?

Giving us a sweet surprise ^
In Red Biding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore '

Too long in the meadow staying,

Where the cowslip bends,
With the buttercups delaying
As with early fnends,

Did the little maiden stay.
Sorrowful the tale for us ;

We, too, loiter 'mid life's flowers,
A little while so glorious,
So soon lost in darker hours.

All love lingering on their way,
Like Bed Biding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore

L E Land on — Born 1802, Died 1839.

1464— NIGHT AT SEA.

Hie lovely purple of the noon's bestowing
Has vanish' d from the waters, where it

flung
A royal colour, such as gems are throwing

Tyrian or regal garniture among.
'Tis night, and overhead the sky IB gleaming,
Thro* the slight vapour trembles each dfyn

star;

I ten away— my heart is sadly dreaming
Of scenes they do not light, of scenes afar.
My friends, my absent friends '
Do you think of me, as I think of you P

By each dark wave around the vessel sweeping,
Farther am I from old dear fnends removed ;
Till the lone vigil that I now am keeping,
I did not know how much you were be-
loved.

How many acts of kindness little heeded,
Kind looks, kind words, rise half reproach-
ful now!

Homed and anxious, my vox'd life bos

speeded,

And memory wears a soft accusing brow.
My fnends, my absent friends '
Do you think of mo, as I think of you P

The very stars are strangers, as I catch than
Athwart the shadowy sails that swell

above ,
I cannot hope that other eyes will watch thorn

At the same moment with a mutual love.
They shine cot there, as hero they now are

shining j
The very hours are changed. — Ah, do ye

sleep?

O'er each homo pillow midnight is declining1— »-
May some kind dream at least my imago

keep I

My friends, my absent fnends \
Do you Jftfav of mo, as I think of you ?

Yesterday has a charm, To-day could never
Fling o'er the mind, which knows not till

it parts

How it turns back with tcndoroat endeavour
To fix the past within the heart of hearts.
Absence is full of memory, it teaches

The value of all old familiar things ,
The strengthener of affection, wlulc it reaches
O'er the dark parting, with an angel's

wings.

My friends, my absent fnends '
Do you think of mo, as I think of you ?

The world, with one vast element omitted —

Man's own especial element, tho earth j
Yet, o'er the waters is his rule transmitted
By that great knowledge whence has power

its birth.
How oft on some strange lovohnosB while

gazing

Have I wish'd for you — beautiful as now,
The purple waves like some wild army raining
Their snowy banners as tho ship outs

thiough.

My friends, my absent fnends '
Do you think of mo, as I think of you P

Bearing upon its wings tho hues of morning1,
Up springs the flying fish like life's false

Joy,
Which of the sunshine asks that frail adorning

Whoso very light is f atod to destroy.
Ah, so doth genius on its rainbow pinion
Spring from tho depths of an unkindly

world ;
So spring sweet fancies from tho heart's

Too soon in death tho scorch'd-up wing-is

furl'd.

My friends, my absent friends !
Whate'or I see is link'd with thoughts
of you.

No life is in the air, but in the waters
Are creatures, huge, and torriUe and
strong;

From 1780 to 18C6.] THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION,

[L. E.

Tho sword-fish and the shark pursue their

slaughters,

War universal reigns those depths along.
Like somo now island on tho oooan springing,
Floats on tho surfaoo some gigantic whole,
Prom its vast head a silver fountain flinging,
Bright as tho fountain in a fairy tale.
My fnonds, my absent friends '
I read such fairy legends while with
you.

Light is amid the gloomy canvas spreading,

Tho moon is whitening the dusky soils,
From the thick bonk of clouds she masters,

shedding
Tho softest influence that o'er night pre-

vails
Pale is she hko a young queon pale with

splendour,
Haunted with passionate thoughts too fond,

too deep ,

The very glory that fcho wears is tender,
Tho very eyes that watch her beauty fain

would weep.

My fnonds, my absent friends '
Do you. think of me, as I think of you ?

Sunshine is over cheerful, when tho morning
Wakens the world with, cloud-dispelling

eyed,
Tho hpnitu mount to glad endeavour, scorning

What toil upon a path so sunny lies
Sunsliiuo and hope are comrades, and their

weather

Calls into life an energy like Spring's ;
But memory and moonlight go together,
Eoflooted in tho light that either brings.
My friends, my absent friendw I
Do you think of mo, thonP I think
of you.

Tho busy dock is hush'd, no sounds aro waking

But the watch pacing silently and slow ,
The waves against tho sidos incessant brook-

ing,

And rope and canvas swaying to and fro.
Tho topmost-soil, it seems hko somo dim pin-

nacle

Cresting a shadowy towor amid the air ;
While rod and fitful gleams como from tho

binnacle,
The only light on board to guide us —

whoro ?

My f rionds, my absent friends »
For from my native land, and far from
you.

On ono side of the ship, tho moonbeam's

shimmer

In luminous vibrations swoops tho flea,
But whore the shadow falls, a strange, polo

glimmer
Seems, glow-worm hko, amid tho waves

to bo.
AH that tho spirit keeps of thought and

Taiws visionary huos from such on hour ;

But while somo phantasy is o'er mo stealing,
I start — remembrance has a keener power •
My friends, my absent friends 1
From the fair dream I start to think of
you,

A dusk line in the moonlight — I discover

What all day long vainly I sought to oatoh ;
Or is it but tho varying clouds that hover

Thick in the air, to mock the eyes that

watch?

No; well the sailor knows each speck, ap-
pearing,

Upon tho tossing waves, the far-off strand ;
To that dark line our eager ship is steering.

Her voyage done — to-morrow we shall land.

L. E Landon.—Born 1802, Died 1839.

1465. — THE AWAKENING- OF
ENDYMION.

Lone upon a mountain, the pine-trees wailing

round him,
Lone upon a mountain the Grecian youth

is laid,
Sloop, myfatio sloop, for many a year has bound

him,

Tet his beauty, hko a statue's, pale and fair,
is undecay'd.

When, will ho awaken ?

When will ho awaken? a loud voioo hath

boon crying
Night after night, and tho cry has been in

vain;
Winds, woods, and waves found eohoea for

replying,

But tho tones of tho beloved ones wore
never heard again.

When will he awaken P
Ask'd the midnight's silver queen.

Never mortal oyo has look'd upon his sloop-
ing;
Parents, kindred, cowrudcs, have mourn' d

for him as dead ,
By day tho gather* d oloudw liavo hod h"^ in

their keeping,

And at niglit tho solemn shadows round his
rest aro uhed.

When, will ho awaken P

Long has been tho cry of faithful Love's im-
ploring ,
Long has Hope boon watching with soft

oyos fix'd above ,

Whon will tho Fates, the Hfo of life restoring,
Own themselves vanojiuh'd by much-
endorhig Love P

Whon will ho awoken ?
Asks tho midnight's weary quoon.

L*S LANDON]

HANNIBAL'S OATH.

[SEVENTH PKBXOD, —

Beautiful tho sleep that slio has watoh'd

untixingj
lighted up with visions from yonder radiant

sky,

Full of an immortal's glorious inspiring,
Softon'd by a woman's mook and loving
sigh.

When will ho awaken ?

He has boon dreaming of old heroic stories,
And the Foot's world has enter* d in his

soul,
He has grown conscious of life's ancestral

glories,

When sages and when longs first upheld the
mind's control

When will ho awakon P
Asks the midnight's stately quoon.

Iio, the appointed midnight ' the present hour

is fated'
It is Endynuon's piano t that rises on the

air;
How long, how tenderly his goddess love has

waited,

Waited with - Aove too mighty for despair I
Soon he will awaken

Soft amid the pines is a sound as if of singing,
Tones that seem the lute's from the breath-
ing flowers depart ,
Not a wind that wanders o'er Mount Latmos

but IB bringing

Music that is murmur'd from Nature's
inmost heart.

Soon he will awaken
To his and midnight's queen '

Lovely is the green earth, — she knows the

hour is holy ;
Starry are the heavens, lit wittf eternal

joy;
light like their own is dawning swoet and

slowly

O'er the fair and sculptured forehead of
that yet dreaming boy

Soon he will awoken '

Bed as the red rose towards tho morning

turning,
Warms the youth's lip to the watcher's

near his own ;
While the dark eyes open, bright, intense, and

With a life more glorious than, ero they
cloned, was known.

Yes, he has awaken' d
For the midnight's happy queen !

What is this old history, but a lesson given,
How true love still conquers by the deep

strength of truth"™"""
How all the impulses, whoao native home is

Sanctify the visions of hope, and faith, and
youth P

'Tie for such they waken 1

Whon every worldly thought is utterly for-

Comes the starry midnight, folt by lifo\i

gifted few ;
Then will tho spirit from its earthly ftlupp

awaken

To a being more intense, more spiritual,
and true

So doth tho soul awaken,
Like that youth to night's fair quoon f

L E lMuLQn.—BMii 1802, Ihcd 18.30.

1466— HANNIBAL'S OATH.

And tho night was dark and calm,
There was not a breath of air ;

The leaves of the grove wore still,
As the presence of death wan thero ; —

Only a moaning sound

Game from tho distant sea ;
It was as if, like life,

It had no tranquillity.

A warrior and a child

Pass'd through tho sacred wood,
Which, hkc a mystery,

Around tho tomplo stood.

The warrior's brow wan worn
With tho weight of casque and plumo,

And sun-burnt was IIIH chock,
And his eye and brow wore gloom,

The child was young and fair,
But the forehead largo and hitfh,

And tho dark CVGH' flashing light
Soom'd to fool thoir destiny.

They enter' d in tho tomplo,

And stood before tho Hhrmo ,
It stroam'd with tho victim' H blood.

With inccnfle and with wmo.

Tho ground rook'd beneath thoir foot,

Tho thunder shook the dome ;
But tho boy stood firm, and Hworo

Eternal hate to Itomc.

There's a page in history

O'er which tears of blood wore wept,
* And that page IH tho record

How that oath of hate WOH kept.

L. E. London.— Born 1802, DM 1830.

1467.— -THE GBASP OF THE BEAD.

'Twas in tho battle-field, and tho cold polo

moon

LooFd down on tho dead and dying ;
And the wind pasa'd o'er with a dirge and &

wail,
Where the young and brave w&6 lying.

Jvom 1780 to 18C6.J

LAST VERSES OF L E. L.

Wi*h his father's sword in his rod rigid hand,
And tlio hoHtilo dead around him,

Loy a youthful chief, but lua bod was tho

ground,
And tho grave's icy sleep hod bound Mm.

A rookloss rover, 'mid death and doom,
Paau'd a soldier, his plunder seeking

CoroloflH lie slept, whore fnond and foe
Lay alike in their life-blood rocking.

Brawn by tho shino of tho warrior's nword,

Tho aoldior paused bosirlo it
Ho wrouoh'd the hand with a giant's strength,

But tho grasp of the doad defied it

Ho loosod his hold, and his English heart
Took part with tho doad boforo him ,

And ho honour1 d tho bravo who died sword in

hand,
As with softon'd brow ho loant o'or him.

" A soldior's death thou hast boldly died,

A Koldior'H grave won by it
Boforo I would take that sword from thine
hand,

My own life's blood should dye it.

Thon flhalt not bo loft for tho oamon crow,

Or tlio wolf to batten o'er thoo ,
Or tho (toward insult tlio Proliant (load,

Who in lifo hath tiomlilod boforo thoo."

Thon ring ho a grave in tho crtmnon oortii,
Wlioro }JJH warrior foo WOH ^looping ,

And ho laid him thoro in liononr and rent,
With hw fiwoid in IUH own biavo keeping f

L. M. Xiafidon.^-^orn 1802, Dwct 1830

1468.— THE TBOUBADOUB.

Ho raised tlio golden cup from tho board,
It flporklod with purple wealth,

Ho kiflsM the brim her hp hod prost,
And drank to his ladyo'u health.

Ladyo, to-night I plodgo thy name,
To-morrow thou ahalt plodgo mine ;

Ever tho smile of beauty should light
Tho victor's blood-rod wine.

There are some flowers of brightest bloom

Amid thy beautiful hair,
Give mo those rones, they shall be

Tho favour I will wear.

For ere their colour is wholly gone,
Or tho breath of their sweetness fled,

They shall bo placed in thy curls again,
But dyed of a deeper red.

Tho warnor rode forth in the morning light,
And beside his snow-white plume

Were the roses wet with the sparkling dew,
Like pearls on their crimson bloom.

The maiden stood on her highest tower,
And watoh'd nor knight depart ;

She dash'd hot tear aside, but her hand
Might not still hor beating heart.

All day she watoh'd the distant clouds

Float on tho distant air,
A crucifix upon her nook,

And on her lips a prayer.

Tho sun wont down, and twilight camo
With hor bannoi of pcarhn groy,

And thon afar sho saw a bond
Wind down tho vole their way

They oamo hko viators, for high o'or their
ranks

Weio thoir cnmflon eolonrn borao ,
And a atrangor poimoii droop'd bouoatii,

But that was bow'd and torn.

But sho saw no white stood first in tho ranks,

No rider that spurrM boforo j
But tho evening shadows wore closing fast,
o And sho oould BOO no more,

Sho turn'd from Hor watch on th.9 lonely tower

In haste to roach tho hall,
And as she sprang down tho winding stair,

Sho hoard tho drawbridge full

A hundiod harps tlioir welcome rung,

Then pauHod, as if in fear ;
Tho ladyo ontor'd tho hall, and flaw

Hor truo knight stretch' d on lua bior.

L. I7 Lwdon.-~J!wn 1802, Died 1830.

.—LAST VEBSBS OF L. E, L.

A fctar has loft tlm kimlling sky —

A lovely northern li«ht ,
How many phbiiotH aro on. high,

But that htiH loft tho night.

I miss its bright frinnliar face,

It was a fnond to mo ;
AftHOoiato with iny native place,

And tho&o beyond the sea.

It rose upon our Englwh sky,
Shono o'or our UiigliHh land,

And brought back many a loving eye,
And many a gentle hand.

It RoomM to answer to my thought,

It oull'd tho pant to mind,
And with itw welcome piOHonoo brought

All I had loft behind.

Tho voyago it lights no Igngor on<U '

Soon on. a foreign Hliore ,
How can I but recall tlio friondn

That I may see no more P

JOANNA JEJAILUE J ADDBESS TO MISS AGNES BAJLLIE. [SEVENTH Pa^oD.— -

Fresh from the pain it was to port —

How could I bear the para P
Yet strong the omen in my heart

That says— We meet again.

Meet with a deeper, dearer love ;

For absence shows the worth
Of all from whioh wo then remove,

Friends, home, and native earth.

Thou lovely polar star, mine eyes
Still torn'd the first on thae,

Till I have felt a sad surprise,
That none look'd up with me.

But thou hast sunk upon the wave,
Thy radiant place unknown ,

I seem, to stand beside a grave,
And stand by it alone

Farewell I ah, would to me were given

A power upon thy light '
What words upon our English heaven

Thy loving rays should write !

Hand messages of love and hope "

Upon thy rays should bo ;
Thy shining orbit should have scope

Scarcely enough for me.

Oh, fancy yarn, as it is fond,

And little needed too ;
My friends 1 I need not look beyond

My heart to look for you.

L. E. Lanfon.—Born 1802, Diet 1839

1470— ADDEESS TO MISS AGNES
BAILLIE ON HER BIRTHDAY.

Dear Agnes, gieam'd with joy and dash'd with

tears

O'er us have glided almost sixty years
Since we on BothwelTs bonny braes wore

By those whose eyes long closed in death have

been —

Two tiny imps, who scarcely stoop'd to gather
The slender harebell on the purple heather ;
No taller than the foxglove's spiky stem,
That dow of morning studs with silvery gem
Then every butterfly that cross'd our view
With joyful shout was greeted as it flew ,
And moth, and lady-bird, and beetle bright,
In sheeny gold, were each a wondrous sight.
Then as we paddled barefoot, side by side,
Among the sunny shallows of the Clyde,
Minnows or spotted parr with twinkling fin,
Swimming in mazy rings the pool within.
A thrill of gladness through our bosoms sent,
Seen in the power of early wonderment.

A lon£ perspective to my mind appears,
Looking behind me to that hue of years,

And yet through every stage I still can traoo
Thy vision'd form, from childhood' H morniag

grace
To woman's early bloom — changing, hew

soon!

To the expressive glow of woman's noon ;
And now to what thon art, in comely ago,
Active and ardent let what will engage
Thy present moment— wholhor hopoful seeds
In garden-plat thou sow, or noxioua woods
From the fair flower remove, 01 ancient lore
In chronicle or legend rare explore,
Or on the parlour hearth with Idtton play,
Stroking its tabby sides, or tako thy way
To gain with hasty steps some cottage door,
On helpful errand to tho neighbouring poor —
Active and ardent, to my fancy's oyo
Thou still art young, in spite of time gono by.
Though oft of patience brief and temper

keen,

Well may it please me, in life's later scone,
To think what now thou art and long to mo

hast been.

'Twas thou who woo'dst mo first to look
Upon the page of printed book,
That thing by me abliorr'd, and with address
Didst win me from my thoughtless idlonoHH,
When all too old become with bootless hanto
In fitful sports the precious time to waste.
Thy love of tale and story wan tho stroke
At which my dormant fancy first awoko,
And ghosts and witolics in my busy brain
Arose in sombre show a motley tram.
This new-found path attempting, proud was I
Lurkmg approval on thy face to spy,
Or hear thoe say, as grew thy roused attention,
(* What ' is this story all thine own inven-
tion?"

Then, as advancing through this mortal span,
Our intercourse with tho niix'd world began ;
Thy fairer faoo and spughtlior courtowy
(A tnzth that from my youthful vanity
Lay not concoal'd) did for the sintcra twain,
Where'er we wont, tho greater favour gain ,
While, but for thee, vex'd with its tossing

tide,

I from tho busy world had shrunk aside.
And now, in ktor yoars, with hotter (peace,
Thou help'st mo still to hold a welcome place
With those whom nearer neighbourhood have

made '

The friendly choerors of our evening ahacLe.

With thee my humours, whoihor gravo or

gay,

Or gracious or untoward, havo thoir way.
Silent if dull — oh, precious privilege ' —
I sit by theo ; or if, oulTd from tho paffo
Of aomo hugo ponderous tome which, bnt

thyself,

None o'er had token from its dusty shelf,
Thou read'st me curious passages to speed
The winter night, I take but little hood,
And thankless say, " I cannot listen no*J'
'Tis no offence ; albeit, much do I owe

From 1780 to 1866]

THE NEW nSAB'S GIFT.

[JOANNA BAILLIB.

To those, thy nightly offerings of affection,
Drawn from tliy loady talent for selection ,
For still it Rcein'd in thoo a natural gift
Tho letter' d gram from letter' d chaff to sift.

By daily use and circumstance endear' d,
Things oxo of value now that once appear' d
Of no account, and without notice paas'd,
Which o'oi dull life a simple ohooiing cast ;
To hoar thy morning stops the stair dobcond-

»ff»
Thy voice with other sounds domestic blend-

JBff;

After each stated nightly absence, mot
To see theo by the morning table sot,
Pouring1 from smoky spout the amber stream
Which sends irom saucer' d cup its fragrant

steam*

To see thoo choorly on the threshold stand,
On summer moru, with trowel in thy hand
For garden- work prepared , on winter' a gloom
From thy cold noonday walk to soe thoo

come,

In furry garment lapt, with spattor'd foot,
And by the fire resume thy wonted seat ;
Ay, oven o'er things like those soothed ago has

thrown

A sober clwnn they did not always own —
AH winter hoai front makes minutoht spray
( )f buHh or hcdgowood Hparkle to the day
Tu iiiagnitudo and beauty, which, boiouvod
Of Huch invoHtmonl, eye had no1 or pcrcoivod.

The change of good and evil to abide,
AH partner** liuk'd, long have wo, aide by

Hide,

Our earthly journey hold ; and who can say
How near the end of our united way P
JJy nature's courne not distant ; sad and 'roft
Will aho remain — the lonely pilgrim loft.
If thou art taken first, who can to mo
Like sister, fnond, and home-companion bo ?
Or who, of wonted daily kmdnoHs shorn,
Shall feel such loss, or mourn as I shall

mourn P

And il I Hhould bo fated first to loavo
This earthly house, though gentle friends may

grieve,

And ho above them all, RO truly proved
A friend and brother, long and justly loved,
There IB no living wight, of woman born,
Who then shall mourn for mo as thou wilt

mourn.

Thou ardent, liberal spirit ' quickly feeling
The touch of sympathy, and kindly dealing
With sorrow or distress, for ovor sharing-
The unhoardod mite, nor for to-morrow

caring^—

Accept, dear Agnefl, on thy natal day,
An unadorn'd, but not a careless lay
Nor think this tribute to thy virtucH paid
From tardy love proceeds, though long do-

lay'd.

Words of affection, howaoo'or oxprofis'd,
The latest spoken still ore doom'd tho best :

Few are tho measured rhymes I now may

write j
Those are, perhaps, tho last I shall indite.

Jbcwina BcMie.— Born 1762, Died 1851.

1471.— THE BLACK COOK.

Good-morrow to thy sable beak,
And glossy plumage, dark and sleek ,
Thy crimson moon and azure eye —
Cook of tho heath, BO wildly shy '
I ROO theo slowly cowering through
That wiry wob of silver dew,
That twinkles in the morning air
Like casement of my lady fair

A maid there IB in yonder tower,
Who, pooping from her early bower,
Half shows, like theo, with simple wilo,
Her braided hair fljp.A morning smilo
Tho rarest things, with wayward will,
Beneath the covert hide them still ;
Tho rarest things, to light of day,
Look shortly foith and break away.

One fleeting moment of delight
I waim'd mo in her ohoonzig sight ,
And short, I ween, tho time will bo
That I nhall pailoy hold with thoo.
Through Hnowclon'H mist, rod beams tho day;
Tho climbing herd-boy chants his lay ,
Tho gnat-flies danco their sunny ring ,
Thou art already on tho wing.

Joanna XaiUw.—l*o™ 1702, DM mi.

1472.— THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT. </

All whito hung tho bushes o'er Elaw's sweet

stream,
And poll) from its banks tho long icicloH

gleam ;
Tho firHt poop of morning just poors through

the sky,
Aucl hero, fit thy door, gentle Mary, am J.

With tho dawn of tho year, and tho dawn of

the light,
Tho one that boat loventhoo ntandw first in thy

wght ,
Thou welcomed, door maid, with my gift lot

mo bo,
A ribbon, a kiw, and a bloHHing for thoo '

Last year, of earth's treasures I gave thoo my

part,

The now year before it I gave theo my heart ,
And now, gentle Maty, I greet thoo again,
Whon only this hand and a blesning remain '

Though time should run on with his nock full

of core,
And wnnklo thy chook, maid, and whiten thy

hair,

6H

JOANNA BAILLIE.]

THE KITTEN.

[SEVENTH PBKIOD.—

Yet stilL on this morn whaH my offering bo
A ribbon, a kiss, and a blessing for thee !

Jbcwwa BflwlZw? —Born 1762, Pwd 1851.

1473 —THE KITTEN

Wanton droll, whose harmless play
Beguiles the rustic's dosing day,
When drawn the evening fire about;,
Sit agod Crone and thoughtless Lout,
And ohild upon his three-foot stool,
Waiting till his supper cool 5
And maid, whose oheek outblooms the rose,
As bright the blazing fagot glows,
Who, bending to the friendly light,
Plies her task with busy sleight ;
Come, show thy trioks and sportive graces,
Thus enroled round with merry faces

Backward ooil'd, and crouching low,
With glaring eyeballs watch thy foe,
The housewife's spindle whirling round,
Or thread, or straw, that on the ground
Its shadow throws, by urchin sly
Held out to lure thy roving eye ;
Then, onwaid stealing, fiercely spring
Upon the futile, faithless thing.
Now, wheeling round, with bootless skill,
Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still,
As oft beyond thy curving side
Its jetty tip is seen to glide ,
Till, from thy centre starting fair,
Thou sidelong rear'st, with rump in air,
Erected stiff, and gait awry,
JjiTgft madE-tn in her tantrums high
Though ne'er a madam of them all,
Whose silken kirtle sweeps the hall,
More varied tuck and whim displays,
To catch the admiring1 stranger's gaze.
* * # #

The featost tumbler, slago-bedight,
To thee is but a clumsy wight,
Who every limb and sinew strains
To do what costs thoo little pains ,
For which, I trow, the gaping crowd
Requites him oft with plaudits loud
But, stopped the while thy wanton play,
Applauses, too, thy feats repay ,
For then beneath some urchin's hand,
With modest pnde thou tak'st thy stand,
While many a stroke of fondness glides
Along thy back and tabby sides.
Dilated swells thy glossy fur,
And loudly sings thy busy pur,
As, tuning well the equal sound,
Thy clutching feet bepat the ground,
And all their harmless claws disclose,
Like prickles of on early rose ,
While softly from thy whisker' d cheek
Thy half.closed eyes peer mild and meek.

But not alone by cottage-fire
Do rustics rude thy feats admire ;
The learned sage, whose thoughts explore
The widest range of human lore,

Or, with unfettered fancy, fly
Through airy heights of poony,
Pausing, smiles with altor'd air
To soo thoo climb his olbow-oluur,
Or, struggling on the mat bolow,
Hold warfare with his Hhppor'd too.
The widow'd damo, or louoly maid,
Who in the still but chooiloHH shado
Of home unsocial Bpondw her ago,
And rarely turns a lottorM paffO ,
Upon her hearth for thoo lotn fall
The rounded cork, or paper-ball,
Noi chides thoo on thy wicked watch
The ends of ravolTd skoin to eat«h,
But lets thoo have thy wayward will,
Perplexing oft her sobox HJcill.
Evon ho, whoso mind of gloomy bout,
In lonely tower or prison pent,
Reviews tho coil of former day«,
A-nd loathes the world and all its ways ?
What time the lamp's unsteady gloain
Doth rouse him from his moody dream,
Feels, as thou gambol' at lonnd hiw Hou,1.,
His hoart with pride loss fiorooly boat,
And smiles, a link m thoo to find
That joins him still to living kind.

Whence hast thou, thou, thou witless POBB,
Tho magic power to charm UH thuH ?
Is it that in thy glaring oyo
And rapid movements wo descry,
While we at ease, secure from ill,
The chimney-corner snugly fill,
A lion, darting on tho proy,
A tiger, at his ruthless play ?
Or is it, that in thoo we tnioo,
With all thy varied wanton prrano,
An omblom viow'd with kindred oyo,
Of tricksy, restless infancy ?
Ah ' many a lightly sportive child,
Who hath, like thoo, our \\itH IK^ ailed,
To dull and aobor manhood grown,
With strange rocoil our hoarta din own.
Evon RO, poor Kit ' muHt thou endure,
Whon thou bocomoHt a oat dozunro,
Full many a cuff and angry word,
Chid roughly from tho tempting board.
And yot, for that thou hant, I wwm,
So oft our favoured playmate boon,
Soft bo the change wliioh thou uliult provo,
Whon time hath HpoiTd thoo of our love ;
Still bo thou dootn'd, by hoiwowifo fat,
A comely, carof ul, mousing oat,
Whoso dish is, for tho public good,
Replonwh'd oft with Ravotiry food.

Nor, whon thy span of life in pant,
Bo thou to pond or dunghill eawt,
But gently borne on good man'* ftpodo,
Beneath tho decent sod bo laid,
And children show, with gliBtening oyos,
The place whore poor old Pussy lies.

Joanna BaiZWe.— • Born 1762, JDiod 1851

From 1780 to 1866.]

THE "SONGS OF ISBABL '

[WILLIAM Kuox

1474.— OPENING OF THE " SONGS OF
ZION"

Harp of Zion, pure and holy,

Pride of Judah's eastern land,
May a child of guilt and folly

Strike thee with a f eoblo hand P
May I to my bosom tako thoe,

Ti enabling* from the prophet's touch,
And with throbbing heart awake theo

To the steams I love so much ?

I have loved thy thrilling numbers,

S uioo the dawn of childhood's day j
Since a mother soothed my slumbers

With tho oadenoo of thy lay ,
Sinco a little blooming- sister

Clung with transport round my kneo,
And my glowing1 spirit blosH'd her

With a blessing caught from thoo f

Mother — flifitor — both are sleeping

Where no hoavmg hearts ronpuro,
WhilHt tho ovo of ago IB creeping

Bound tho widow' d spouse and sire.
Ho and his, amid then? sorrow,

Find enjoyment in thy strain
Harp of Zion, lot mo bonow

Comfort from thy chords again '

—Born 1789, Died 1825.

1475 — DIME OF RACHEL

And Baohol HOH in Ephrath's land,
Beneath her louoly oak of weeping ;

With mouldering heart and withering hand.
The sloop of death for over sleeping.

The spring cornea smiling down tho vale,
Tho lilies and tho roses bringing;

But Baohol never more shall hail
The flowers that in tho world are springing.

Tho summer gives his radiant day,
And Jewish dames tho danoo are treading ;

But Eaohol on her oouoh of clay,
Sleeps all unheeded and unheeding.

Tho autumn's ripening sunbeam shines,
And reapers to tho field is calling ;

But Rachel's voice no longer joins
The choral song at twilight's falling.

Tho winter sends has drenching shower,
And sweeps his howhng blast around her ,

But earthly storms possess no power
To break the slumber that hath bound hoi.

WilUoum Knoto—Born 1789, Died 1825.

1476.— A YERTTTOTJS WOMAN.

Thou asketh what hath changed my heart,
And where hath fled my youthful folly P

I toll thee, Tomeur's virtuous art
Hath made my spirit holy.

Her eye — as soft and blue as evon,
When day and night are calmly meeting —

Beams on my heart like light from heaven,
And purifies its boating.

The accents fall from Tamar's hp

lake dowdrops from the rose-leaf dripping,
When honey-boos all crowd to sip,

And cannot cease their sipping.

Tho shadowy blush that tints her cheek,

For ever coming — ovor going,
May woll tho spotless fount bespeak

That sets tho stream aflowmg.

Her song comes o'er my thrilling breast
Evon liko the harp- string-' B hohont measures,

When dreams tho soul of lands of rent
And everlasting pleasures.

Then ask not what hath changed my heart,
Or where halh fled niy youthful folly —

I toll thoe, Taraar's virtuous art
Hath made my spirit holy.

Wttfaam Knox — Bom 1789, Died 1825.

1477.— CONCLUSION OF THE "SONGS
OF ISRAEL."

My song hath dosed, tho holy droam
That roiHod my thoughts o'or all bolow,

Hath faded like the lunar beam,
And loft mo 'mid a night of woo —

To look an£ long, and sigh in vain

For friends I no'or shall moot again.

And yet the earth is green and gay ;

And yot the skioe are pure and bright ;
Bub, 'mid each gloam of pleasure gay,

Somo cloud ot sorrow duna my Bight ;
For weak is now tho tondorost tongue
That might my simple songu have sung.

And liko Gtiload's drops of balm,
Thoy for a moment soothod my broast ;

But oarth hath not a power to oahn
My spirit an foigotful rost,

Until I lay mo sido by side

With those that lovod mo, and have died.

Thoy diod — and this a woild of woo,
Of anxious doubt and chilling fear ,

I wander onward to tho tomb,
With scarce a hope to linger hero .

But with a prospoot to rojoin

Tho fnonde beloved, that once woxo mine,

Willwm Knov.>—Boni 1780, Dw& 1825

68*

THOMAS

AFAR IN THE DESEBT.

[SEVENTH

1478 —AFAR IN THE DESERT.

Afar in the Desert I love to ndo,
With tho silont Bush-boy alone by my sido :
When tho sorrows of liic tho soul o'ercast,
And, sick of the present, I turn to tho past ,
And tho eyo IB suffused with regretful tears,
From the fond recollections of former yeaiu ,
And tho shadows of thongs that have long

since flod,
nit over the brain like the ghosts of tho

dead —
Bright visions of glory that vanish' d too

soon —
Day-dreams that departed ere manhood's

noon —

Attachments by fate or by falsehood reft —
Companions of early days lost or loft —
And my Native Land ' whose magical name
Thrills to my heart like electric flame ;
The home of my childhood — tho haunts of my

All the passions and scenes of that rapturous

time,
When the feelings were young and the world

was new,
Like tho fresh bowers of Paradise opening to

view'

All— all now forsaken, forgotten, or gone ,
And I, a lone exile, remember* d of none,
My high aims abandon'd, and good acts

undone —

Aweary of all that is under the sun ,
With that sadness of heart which no stranger

may scan,
I fly to the Desert afar from Tqp.-n

Afar in the Desert I love to ride,
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side ;
When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life,
With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and

strife,
The proud man's frown, and the base man's

fear,
And the soornor's laugh, and tho sufferer's

tear,
And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, and

folly,

Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy ,
When my bosom is full, and my thoughts aro

high,
And my soul is sick with tho bondman's

sigh —
Oh, then ! there is freedom, and joy, and

pride,

Afar in the Desert alone to ride !
There is rapture to vault on the champing

steed,

And to bound away with tho eagle's speed,
With the death-fraught firelock in my hand
(The only law of the Desert land) ,
But 'tis not the innocent to destroy,
For I hate the huntsman's savage joy.

Afar in the Desert I love to nde,

With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side ,

Away — away from tho dwelling of mon,
By tho wild door's haunt, au<l tho buffalo' H

glon,

By vnJloys remote, where tho oribi i>layn ,
Whore tho gnoo, tho gazelle, and

boost graze ;
And the gomsbok and cloud uukuntod recline
By tho slartfl of gray foroHtn overgrown with

wild vino,
And tho elephant browHon at pouco iu MH

wood,
And the nvor-horao gamboln imwarod in tho

flood,

And the mighty rhinoceros wallown at will
In tho Vloy, where tho wild ann in drinking

his fill.

Afar in tho Desert I love to rido,

With the silent Bush-boy olono by my flido •

O'er the brown Karroo where tho bloating

cry

Of tho springbok's fawn aonndH plaintively ;
Where tie zebra wantonly toHBOH hw mane,
In fields seldom froHhon'd by nioiwturo or

rain,

And tho Btatoly koodoo oxultingly bomulti,
Cndisturb'd by tho bay of tho '

hounds ;
And tho timorous quagha'B wild

neigh

Is hoard by the brak fountain far away ,
And tho floot-f ootod ostrich over the wanto
Speeds hko a horseman who travoln iu lumlo ;
And tho vuLbaro in oircloH whoolw high over-
head,

Greedy to soont and to gorge on tho <lwwl ,•
And tho grwly wolf, and tho Hhriokuitf

jackal,

Howl for their proy at tho evening fall ;
And tho fiend-like laugli of hyonitH grim,
Fearfully startioH tho twilight dim.

Afar in the Desert I lovo to rido,

With tho silont HuHh-boy alone by my HM!O \

Away — away in tho wildomoHH vawt,

Where tho whito man'w foot hath iiovw

poss'd,

And tho quiver' d Koraima or "Hodman
Hath rarely croBs'd with hi« roving clan •
A region of omptinosH, howling and drear,
Which man hath abandon'd from famine and

fear,

Which tho snako and tho lizard inhabit alone,
And tho bat flitting forth from IUH old hollow

stono;

Whore grass, nor herb, nor whrub tako« root,
Savo poisonous thorns that pierce tho foot •
And tho bitter melon, for food and drink,
Is tho pilgnm'a faro, by tho Salt Lake's

brink

A. region of drought, where no rivor glides,
Nor rippling brook with OBior'd HidoH ;
Nor reedy pool, nor mossy fountain,
Nor shady tree, nor olond-capp'd mountain,
Are found — to refresh the aching oyo s
But the barren earth and the burning sky,

from 1780 to 1866,]

THE STAERY HEAVENS.

[EOBT. MONTGOMERY.

And the black horizon round and round,
Without a living- sight or sound,
Toll to tho heart, in its ponsivo mood,
That this is — Nature's Solitude

And hero — while Iho night-winds round me

sigh,
And the stars burn bright in tho midnight

*ky,

As I flit apart by tho cavern' d stone,
Like Elijah at Kerch's eaye alone,
And fool as a moth in tho Mighty Hand
That spioad the heavens and heaved the

land —
A " still small voice n comes through tho

wild

(Like a father consoling his fretful child),
Winch banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear —
Saying " Man IB distant, but God is near ' "

Thomas rrwglo—Bow 1788, Died 1834.

1479.— THE LION AND GIRAFFE.

Wouldst thou view tho lion's don ?
Search afar from haunts of men —
Whore tho rood-encircled rill
OOZOH from tho rocky hill,
Jiy itn voiduro far descried
'Mid tho dosoit brown oiid wide

OloHo boHido tho Hodgy bum,

Couchant, luikn tho hou grim,

Watching till the cloHO of day

JLJxmgH the death-devoted pioy.

IIoodloHH at the ombuHh'cl brink,

Tho tail giraffe HtoopH down to <lrink ;

Upon him straight, tho Havago Hpringa

With cruel joy. Tho desert imgs

With clanging sound of desperate strife—

Tho prey w strong, and lie utiivos for life.

Plunging off with frantic bound

To Hhako the tyrant to the ground,

ILo Hhrioku — ho radios through tho waste,

With glaring eye and headlong haute.

In vain ' — tho ttpoiler on IUB prize

JftidoH proudly — tearing as ho flies

For hfo — tho victim's utmowt Hpood

lu miiHtur'd in thiH hour of need

For lifo — for lifo — his giant might

Ho HtraniB, and pours hw HOU! in flight ;

And mad with terror, thiibt, and pain,

Spurns with wild hoof tho tlmndorixig plain

'Tit* vain ; tho thirsty sands are drinking

His streaming- blood — his strength is sinking ,

Tho victor's langs are in IIIH veins —

JtliH flinikn are streak' d with sanguine stains-—

HIM panting- broant m foam and gore

la bathed — ho reels — his race is o'er.

Ho falls — and, with oonvulHivo throe,

KoHignu hi« throat to tho ravoimig foe f

— And lo i ere quivering life is fled,

Tho vultures, wheeling over head,

Swoop down, to watcih in gaunt array,

Till the gorged tyrant quits IIIH prey.

Thomas PruujU. — Bom 1788, Died 1834

1480 — THE EMIGBANT'S FAREWELL.

Our native land — our native valo —

A long and last adieu r
Farewell to bonny Toviotdaie,

And Cheviot mountains blue

Farewell, yo hills of glorious deeds,
And streams ronown'd in song —

Farewell, yo braes and blossom' d meads,
Our hearts have loved so long.

Farewell, tho blithesome broomy knowos,
Whore thymo and harebells grow —

Farewell, tho hoary, haunted howos,
O'erhung with birk and sloe.

Tho mossy oavo and mouldering tower

That bkixu our native doll —
The martyr's gravo, and lover's bower,

Wo bid a sad faxowoll '

Homo of our love ' our father's homo '

Land of the bravo and free !
Tho sail is flapping on tho foam

That bears us far from thoo !

Wo seek a wild and distant shore,

Beyond tho woHtorn mam —
Wo leave thoo to return no more,

Nor view thy cliffs agiun I

Our native land — our native valo —

A long and loHt odion '
Farewell to bonny Toviotdalo,

And Idcotland'tt rnomitaum bluo !

Thomas Pt wylc.—Bovn 1788, Died 1834.

1481.— THE STABBT HEAVENS.

Yo qtxencliloflH Rtiirfl ! no eloquently bright,
TJntroablod HontrioH of tlio Hhtwlowy night,
While half tho world in lapp'd in downy

dreams,
And round the lattice creep your midnight

boamH,

ITow Hwoot to gaze upon your placid OVGH,
In lambent beauty looking from tho nkioH '
And whon, oblivious of tho world, wo Htniy
At dead of night along Homo noiHoloHM way,
How tho heart mingles with tho moonlit

hour,

As if tho Htarry heavens suffused a power !
Full in her dreamy light, tho moon pronidoH,
Shrined in a halo, mellowing aH hho ndoH ;
And far around, tho forewt and tho Hti CMUU
Hatho in tho beauty of her emerald bcnm ,
Tho lull'd windw, too, are sleeping in tlioir

cavoH,

No stormy murmiirH roll upon tho wave* ,
Nature is huHhM, as if hor workn mlorctl,
Still'd by tho proHonco of lior living Jjoni '
An<l now, while through the oooan-iuaiitling

haze
A dizzy chain of yellow luwtro plays,

. MONTCKHOBY ]

PICTTJBE OF WAS.

PR RIOT)

And moonlight loveliness hath voil'd the

land,
Qto, stranger, muse thou "by tho wave-worn

strand.

Centuries havo glided o'er tho balanced oarth,
Myriads havo bloss'd, and mynodfl cursed

their birth,

Still, yon sky-boacons koop a dimloss glare,
Unsullied as the God who throned them

there1
Though swelling earthquakes heave the

astounded world,
And ling and kingdom from thoix pride are

hurl'd,

Sublimely calm, they ran their bright career,
TJnhoedful of the storms and changes hero
We want no hymn to hear, or pomp to BOO,
For all around is deep divinity !

Robert Montgom&ry.—Born 1807, Died 1855.

1482.— PIOTDBB OF WAB.

Spirit of light and life ' when battle rears
Her fiery brow and her terrific spears ,
When red-month' d cannon to the clouds

uproar,
And gasping thousands make their beds in

gore,

While on the billowy bosom of the air
I&oll the dead notes of anguish and despair '
Unseen, thou walk1 at upon the smoking

plain,
And hear'st each groan that gurgles from the

List r war-peals thunder on the battle-field ;
And many a hand grasps fiim the glittoiing

shield,
As on, with helm and plume, the warriors

come,

And the glad hills repeat their stormy drum '
And now are soon the youthful and the gray,
With bosoms firing to partake the fray ,
The first, with hearts that consecrate the

deed,

AH eager rush to vanquish or to blood '
Like young waves racing in the morning sun,
That roar and leap with reckless fury on '

But mark yon war-worn man, who looks on

high,
With thought and valour mirror 'd in his

eye '

Not all the gory revels of the day
Can fright the vision of his home away ;
The home of love, and its associate smilofl,
His wife's endearment, and his baby's wiles
Fights he less brave through recollected bliss,
With step retreating, or with sword remiss ?
Ah no ' remember' d home's the warrior's

charm,
Speed to his sword, and vigour to his arm ;

For this he supplicates the god afar,
Fronts the stooTd foe, and mingles m tho
war'

The cannon Js hush'd ' — nor drum, nor clarion

sound

Helmet and haubork gleam upon tho ground ;
Horseman and horse lio weltering in tlieir

goro,

Patriots are dead, and horooa dare no more ,
While solemnly tho moonlight uliroudH tho

plain,
And lights tho lurid foaturos of tho

And see ' on this ront mound, whore

sprung,

A battle-steed beneath hiR rider flung* ;
Oh 1 novor more ho'U roar with fiorco cloligiht,
Boll his rod eyes, and rally for tho fitfht !
Pale on his bleeding broa^t tho warrior H<»H,
While from his ruffled lids tho white awolIM

eyes
Q-hastly and grimly staro upon tho Hkion 1

Afar, with bosom barod unto tho braoxo,
White hps, and glaring oyow, and Hhivuring

knees,

A widow o'or her martyr'd Holilior mooxiN,
Loading the mght-windwithdohriouH groanM '
Her blue-eyed babe, nnconficiouH orphan lu» '
So sweetly prattling in his cherub gfoo,
Leers on his Holofls sire with infant wilt*,
And plays and plucks him for a parent1 H

sinilo '

But who, upon tho battle-wonted plain,
Shall count tho faint, tho gating, and tho

slain P

Angol of Mercy ' oro tho blood-fomit chill*
And tho bravo heart bo NpiritloHH and ntill,
Amid tho havoc thou art hovoriug nigh,
To calm each groan, and closo each

oyo,

And watt tho flpmt to that halcyon Hlioro,
Whore war's loud thundorH loHh tho wuidH no

more1

Robert Montgomery.— Jtorn 1807, IHnl 1855.

1483 —LOST FEELINGS.

Oh ' woop not that our beauty woarn
Beneath tho wingH of Tuno ;

That age o'orolonda tho brow wiih
That onco was raised Rublimo.

Oh ! woop not that tho boamloRS oyo
No dumb delight can Hpoak ;

And fresh and fair no longer ho
Joy-tints upon tho cheek.

No ' woep not that tho rain-traoo

Of wasting tune is soon,
Around the form and in tho face

Where beauty's bloom has been.

JPVom 1780 to I860.]

SONG.

[THOMAS HOOD.

But mourn tho inward wrook wo fool

As hoary years depart,
And Time's effacing fingers stool

Young feelings from the heart '

Robert Montgomery — • Born 1807, Died 1855.

1484..— TOWN AND COUNTRY

4

Oh ' well may poets make a funs
Ixi summer time, and sigh ct 0 rus 1 "

Of London pleasures sick
My heart is all at pant to rest
In greenwood shades — my eyes detest

This endless meal of brick !

What joy have I in Juno's return P
My foot are parch* d, my eyeballs bum,

I flcont no flowery gust ;
But fauit the flagging zephyr springs,
With dry Macadam on its wingH,

And turns mo " dust to dust."

My Run his daily OOUTHO renews
Duo oast, but with no oaHtorn down ,

Tho path is dry and hot '
His Hotting Hhows inoio tunioly still,
Ho sinkw bolund no pnrplo lull,

Bat down a eliiumoy-pot '

Oh ' Init to hoai tho milkmaid blithe ;
Or oarly mower whol hin Htjytho

Tho dewy moadH among !
My graHH is of that soit — alow !
That makes no hay— called Bporrow-grass

By folks of vulgar tonguo !

Oh f "but to small the woodbine sweet !
I think of oowwlip cups— font moot

With very vile rebuffs '
For moadow-budH T get ft wlnff
Of Cheshire choorto — or only muff

Tho turtle made

How torwlorly Rousseau reviewed
His poriwmkloB ' — mine are atrowod '

My roue blooms on a gown '
I hunt in vain for eglantine,
And find my blue-bell on tho sign

That matks tho Boll and Ctown.

Whoro are ye, birds, that blithely winjc
From tree to tree, and gaily sing

Or mourn in thickets deep F
My ouokoo has some ware to noil,
Tho watchman in my Philomel,

My blackbird is a swoop '

Whoro are ye, linnet, lark, and thrash,
That porch on leafy bough and bush,

And tuno the various song P
Two hurdy-gurdiwts, and a poor
Street-Handel grinding at my door,

Are all my " tuneful throng "

Where are ye, early-purling streams,
Whoso waves reflect tho morning beams

And colours of tho skies P
My nils are only pu'ldlo-drauis
From shambles, or reflect tho stains

Of calimanco-dyos I

Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,

Singing- in sootlung tonoH
Not thus tho city streamlets flow ,
They make no music OH they go,

Though never " off tho atones "

Whoro aro ye, pastoral pretty sheep,
That wont to bloat, and fnuk, and Joap

Beside your woolly dams ?
Alas 1 instead of harmless oiooks,
My Corydons use iron hooka,
And skin — not shear — tho lambH.

The pipo whereon, in olden day,
The Arcadian herdsman usod to play

Sweetly— hero soundoth not ;
But merely breathes unwholesome fumos ,
Meanwhile tho oity boor consumes

Tho rank wood — " piping hot."

All rural things aro vilely mock'd,
On every hand tho Honso IH shook' <1

With objects hard to boar
Shades— vernal shades ' — whore whio IH Hold '
And for a turfy bank, behold

An Ingram' wruhtio chair'

Whoro aro yo, London mciwlH mul bowers,
And gardoxw rodolont of flowers

Whoroin tho szophyr won« P
Alas ! Moor Fields are fields no more •
Soo Hutton'H Gordon briok'd all o'er;

And that bare wood— Si John's.

No pastoral eoonoH procure mo peace j
I hold no LoasowoH in my loaso,

No cot sot round with trees •
No shoep-wluto hill my dwelling flanks ;
And omnium funuBhos my bankw

With brokers— not with boos

Oh 1 well may poets make a fust)
In summor time, and High " 0 rttH ! "

Of city pleasures Hick .
My heart is all at pant to rest
In green-wood shadow — my oyofl detest

This ondleHB mool of l>nok 1

/foocZ.— Bom 1708, lh<& 1845.

1485.— SONG.

It was not in tho winter
Our loving lot wafl cast ;

It was tho tune o£ XOSOH —
Wo pluck' d them as wo

THOMAS HOOD ]

A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON.

[SEVENTH

That churlish soaaou novor frown'd

On early lovoin yot ;
Oh no ! — tho world was nowly crown'd

With flowers when first wo mot.

'Twos twilight, and I bado you go,

But still yon hold mo fast ,
It was tho time of roses —

Wo pluok'd thorn as wo pass'd '

What olso could poor my glowing chock,

That toars began to stud P
And when I ask'd the liko of lovo,

You snatch' d a damask bud —

And opod it to the dainty core,

Still blowing to the last ;
It was the tune of roses —

We pluok'd them as we pass'd !

Thomas Hood— Born 1798, DM 1845.

1486.— A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON,
AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE
MONTHS.

Thou happy, happy elf f
(But stop — first let me kiss away that tear)

Thou tiny image of myself '
(My love, he's poking peas into his oar ')

Thou merry, laughing sprite '

With spirits feather light,
TJntouoh'd by sorrow, and unsoil'd by sin,
(Good heavens' the child is swallowing a
pin')

Thou little tnoksy Puok !
With antic toys so funnily bostuok,
Light as tho singing bird that wings the air,
(ThQ door ' the door ' ho'll tumble down tho
stair1)

Thou darling of thy sire '
(Why, Jano, ho'll set his pinafoie afiio ')

Thou imp of mirth and joy '
In love's dear chain so strong and bright a

link,
Thou idol of thy parents (Drat tho boy !

There goes my ink')

Thou oherub — but of earth ,
fit playfellow for Fays by moonlight palo,

In harmless sport and mirth,
(That dog will bite him if ho pulls its tail !)
Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey
From every blossom in the world that blows,
Singing m youth's Elysium over sunny,
(Another tumble — that's his precious nose ')

Thy father's pride and hopo '
(He'll break the mirror with that skipping-
rope ')
With pure heart newly stamp'd from nature's

(Where did he learn that squint?)

Thou young domestic <lovo !
(Ho'll havo that jug off with another tliovo r)

Dear nursling of tho hymoxiial uost '

(Aro thoso torn clothoM IUH bowl !")

Little opitomo of man !
(Ho'll climb upon tho tablo, that's ILLH j>lan U
Touch* d with tho beauteous tints of <iawuiu;»
hfo,

(Ho'fl got a kmfo !)

Thou oiiviablo honiff '

No storms, no oloudH, in thy bluo nky foi o-
soeing,

Play on, play on,

My elfin John !

Toss tho light ball— bonirido tho Hliok,
(I know so many oaken would miiko him Hick !)
With fanoioH buoyant aH llio thiHtlo-dowii,
Prompting tho face grotonquo, and (tut in In ink

With many a lambliko frink,
(He's got the soinsorH, snipping at your tfown!)

0?hon pretty oponniff TOHO '
(Go to youi mother, child, and wipe your

noso ')

Balmy, and bioathiiig mama liko tho Houth,
(He roaUy brings my heart into my month f)
Frosh as tho morn, and brilliant IIH itn HUw,
(I wiah that window hail an iron bur ')
Bold as tho hawk, yot gontJo aH tho dovo,
(I'll toll you what, my lovo,
I cannot write unless IIO'H Kent above!)

TJiomas Mood.— -flow 1708, DM 1845,

1487.— FLOWERS

I will not havo tho mod Olytio,
Whoflo head IB tnrn'tl by tho mm ,
Tho tulip is a comtly quoan,
Whom, thoroforo, I ^vill hhim,
Tho cowHlip IH a country wonoh,
Tho violet is a nun , —
Bui I will woo tho dainty roso,
Tho queen of every one

Tho poa IH but a wanton witch,
In too much Iwwto to wod,
And olaspH hor rings on ovcoy liaml ,
Tho wolfobano I uhould dvoad ; —
Nor will I dreary rosomnryo,
That always monniH tho <lotid : —
But I will woo tho damty ww,
With hor chookfl of tender ro<l,

Tho lily is all in white, liko a aunt,
And HO ifl no mate for mo—-
And tho daiay'R ohook IH tippM with a blush,
Sho IB of such low dogroo ;
Jasmino is wwoot, and liaw many loves,
And tho broom's botrothod to tho boo, —
But I will plight with tho dainty rose,
For fairest of all is she.

ZVwwcw Eooh— Born 1708, Died 1845.

1780 to 18GG ]

I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER

[THOMAS HOOD.

1488,— -AUTUMN.

Tlio Autumn. IH old ;
Tho sore loaves arc flying1 ;
Ho liaih gather' d up gold,
And now ho is <l>mg
Old ago, begin mglung '

Tho vintage is npo ;
Tlio harvest IH heaping ;
But Homo that havo sow'd
Havo no riches Tor leaping —
Pool wretch, fall a-woopmg '

Tlio year's in tho wane f
There is nothing adoining ,
Tho night has no eve,
And tho day haw no morning ;
Oold Winter givorf warning '

Tho rivers run chill ,
Tho rod san IH sinking ;
And I am giown old,
And life IH fast shrinking ,
Hero's enow for sad thinking '

TJiomas Uood.—]lQrn, 1708, DM 1845.

1489 —TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS
MOTHER

r

Txrvo thy mother, little one I
KIHH and olusp her nook again, —
Hereafter H!IO may havo a son
Will kiHH and clasp her nock m vain,
Loro thy mother, little one !

II.

Qazo upon her living oyofl,
And mirror bock her love for thoo, —
Hereafter thou inay'wt shudder sighs
To moot thorn when they oannot soe
Oazo upon hoi* living oyon !

XII

Press her hps tho while thoy glow
With love that thoy havo oftcm told, —
Hereafter thou may'st press in woo,
And kiHH them till tiimo own are cold
PTOSH her lips tho while thoy glow 1

IV.

Oh, lovoro her raven hair I
Although it bo not silver-gray —
Too oarly Death, lod on by Care,
May snatch save ono dear look away
Oh ' rovoro her raven hair !

Pray for her at ovo and morn,
That Heaven may long tho stroke defer —
Por thou may'st live the hour forlorn
"When thou wilt ask to dio with hor
Pray for hor at ove and morn '

Thomas llQod.—J3vrn 1708, Dial 1845.

1490 —TO MY DAUGHTER, ON HER
BIRTHDAY

Doai Fanny ' nine long years ago,
"While yet tho morning sun was low,
And rosy with tho oastora glow

Tho landscape smiled ,
Whilst low'd tho nowly-wakon'd herds-
Sweet as tho oarly song of birds,
I hoard those first, delightful words,

"Thou hast a child I"

u.

Along with that uprising dew

Tears gliston'd m my oyofl, though few,

To hail a dawning quite as new

To mo, as Timo

It was not sorrow — not annoy —
But like a happy maid, though ooy,
With grief-like welcome, oven Joy

Forestalls its prime.

in.

So may'st thou livo, dear 1 many years,
In all tho bliss that lifo endears,
Not without smilofl, nor yot from tears

Too strictly kopt
When first thy infant littleness
I folded wi my fond caress,
Tho gioatoat pi oof of happmosa

Was this — I wept.

Thouias Howl—lioni 1708, JJM 1845.

1491.— I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER,

I romombor, I romombor
Tho hoiiso whoro I was borii,
Tho littlo wmdow whore tho sun
Came pooping- in at worn ;
Ho never oamo a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day ,
But now, I ofton wish tho night
Had borne my breath away '

I romombor, I romombor
The roses, rod and white,
Tho violets, and tho lily-cups —
Thobto flowers made of light '
Tho lilacs where tho robin built,
And whore my brother sot
Tho laburnum on his burth-day, —
Tho tree is living yot '

I remember, I romombor

Whoro I wan used to swing,

And thought tho air muni rush, afl fresh

To swallows on tho wing ,

My spirit flow in feathers then,

That iti so lioavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

Tho fovor o'j, my brow '

/SOHAS HOOD.]

FAIR INES.

I remember, I romombor

The fir-trees dark and high ,

I used to think thoir slender tops

"Were clo-o against tho sky.

It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis littlo 307

To know I'm farther off from heaven

Than whon 1 was a boy,

Thomas Hood. — Born 1798, Died 1845.

1492. — FAIR INES.
I.

0 saw yo not fair Ines P
She's gone onto the west,
To dazzle when the son is down,
And rob tho world of rest ,
She took our daylight with her,
The smiles that we love best,
With morning blushes on her cheek,
And peails upon her bioast

ii

0 turn again, fair Ines,
Before the fall of night,

For fear the moon should shine alone.

And stars unnvalTd bright ,

And bless' d will the lover be

That walks beneath their light,

And breathes the love against thy cheek

1 dare not even write '

KI

Would I had been, fair Ines

That gallant cavuhor

Who rode so gayly by thy side,

And whispor'd theo so noar ' —

Were there no bonny dames at home,

Or no true lovers hero,

That he should cross tho seas to win

The dearest of tho door &

I saw thee, lovely Inos,

Descend along the shore,

With bands of noblo gontlemon,

And banners waved before ;

And gentle youth and maidens gay,

And snowy plumes they wore , —

It would have been a beauteous dream,

— If it had been no more '

Alas ! alas ' fail Inos '

She went away with song,

With music waiting on her steps,

And shoutings of the throng ,

Bat some wore sad, and felt no mirth,

But only Music's wrong,

In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell

To her you've loved so long.

VI

Farewell, furowell, fair Ino« l

That voHsol never bore

So fair a lady on itw dock,

Nor danced so light before—

Alas for pleasure on the flea,

And sorrow on tho ahoro '

The smilo that blest one lover's heart

Has broken many moio '

Thomas jtfbocZ.— MM n 1798; Hit'il 18 i5.

1403 —

She stood breant high amid the corn
Clasp'd by tho golden liffht of morn*
Like the sweetheart of tho sun,
Who many a glowing kfott had won.

On her cheek an autnnm fluHli
Deeply npon'd , — Hncli a blush
In the midst of brown WIIH born,
Like rod poppies grown with com.

Bound her oyos lior IIOMWH foil —
Which wore blackest HOMO could tell ;
But long lanlioa voil'd a li^Kt
That had olwo boon all too bright.

And her hat, with «hndy brim,
Mado her troHHy fomhoiul dim ; —
Thus she stood amid tho ntookri,
Praising God wilh Rwoott'Ht lookH

Sure, I said, heaven did not moan
Wlioro I reap thou shouMht but glnau;
Lay tliy hhoaf iidowii and oomo,
Share my harvont ami my liomo.

Thoinas Uonl — Horn 1708, /J/«U815.

1494— THE DREAM OF KUUMNB ARAM.

'TwoH m tho prime of Hiuiunor tiino,

An evening culm and cool,
And four-and-twonty happy boyn

Camo bounding out of nchool :
There wore Homo that ran and Homo thai
leapt,

Like irontlotn in a pool

Away they Hpod with gamcmoino muidH,

And Hoxxln untouoh'd by niii ;
To a level mead they caino, ami thoro

They dravo tho wiokotw in .
Pleasantly nhono tho Hotting Htm

Over tho town of Lynn.

Liko sportive door thoy oonrnod about,

And shouted aw thoy atiti —
Turning to mirth all thiugH of uarili,

As only boyhood can ;
But tho ITshor sat remote from all,

A melancholy man 1

From 1780 to 1866.]

TYft.'EiAM OF EUGENE AT*. AM.

His hat 'was off, His vest apart,
To catch heaven's blessed breeze ,

For a burning thought was in bis brow,
And his bosom ill at ease

So he lean'd his head on his hands, and

read
The book between his knees '

Leaf after leaf ho turn'd it o'er,

Nor over glanced aside ;
For the poaco of his soul he road that book

In the golden eventide ,
Much study had made him very lean,

And pale, and leaden-eyed.

At last ho shut the ponderous tome ,

With a fast and f orvont grasp
He strain' d the dusky covers dose,

And fix'd the biazon hasp .
" 0 God ' could I so close my mind,

And clasp it with a clasp ' "

Then leaping on his foot upright,

Some moody tnrns ho took —
Now up the mood, then down tho mead,

And past a shady nook —
And, lo ' he saw a Little boy

That pored upon a book !

" My gontlo lad, what is't you road —

JAomanoo 01 fairy fablo P
Or JLH it Homo hint 01 ic pugo,

Of lungn and crowiin uuKtablo P "
Tho ymuujr boy gave an npwiud glance —

" It IH fc The Death of Abel.' "

The Utthor took MX lianty

As Hixut with sudden pain —
Six hanty strides beyond tho place,

Then slowly back again ,
And down he sat bonido tho lad,

And talk'd with him of Cain ;

And, long since then, of bloody men,

Whoso deeds tradition savoH ,
And lonely folk out off unsoou,

And hid on sudden graven ,
And homd stabs, in groves forlorn,

And murders dono in CUVOH ;

And how the sprites of injured men

Shriek upward from the sod ,
Ay, how tho ghostly hand will point

To show the burial clod ,
And unknown facts of guilty acts

Are soon in dreams from God '

He told how murderers walk tho oaith

Beneath tho CUTRO of Cain —
With crimson clouds before their eyes,

And flames about their brain ,
For blood has left upon their aouls

Its everlasting stain '

" And well," quoth he, " I know, for truth,
Their pangs must be euctroxno —

Woo, woo, unutterable woo —
Who spill hfe's sacred stream '

For why P Mothought, last night I wrought
A murder, in a dream '

One tliat had novel dono mo wrong-—

A iooblo man and old ,
I lod h"» to a lonely field —

Tho moon shone clear and cold *
Now hero, said I, thia man shall die,

And I will have his gold !

Two suddon blows with a ragged stick,

And ono with a heavy stono,
One huniod gash with a hasty knife —

And then tho dood wan dono
There was nothing lying at my foot

But lifeless flesh and bone '

Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,

That could not do mo ill ;
And yet 1 foar'd him all tho more,

For lying there so still
There was a manhood in his look,

That murder could not kill !

And, lo ' tho universal air
Soom'd lit with ghastly flame , —

Ten thousand thousand dioadful eyes
Wore looking down in blamo ,

I took tho dead man by hin hand,
And call'd upon his name '

0 God ' it made mo quake to sec
Such BOIIHO within tho Blum '

Hut when I touch' d thu lifoloHH clay,

Tho blood giuiliM out amain !
For every clot a burning Hpot

Was Hcorchmg an my brain I

My hood was like an ardent coal-—

My heart at* solid 100 ;
My wretched, wrotchod Houl, I knew,

Was at tho Dovil'H prico.
A dozon tunes I gvoiua'd — tho dead

Had never groan'd but twice f

And now, from forth tho frowning- sky,
From tho hoavon'w topmont height,

1 hoard a voice — tho awful voico

Of the blood-avenging H]>rito
* Thou guilty man ! tako up thy dead,
And hido it from my night ' '

And T took tho droary body up,

And cast it in a wtroom —
Tho sluggish water, bloctk OB ink,

Tho depth wan HO extreme
TA.y gentle Boy, romombor ' this

Is nothing but a droam !

Down wont the corse with a hollow plunge,

And vanish' d in tho pool ;
Anon I cloonHod my bloody hands,

And wawh'A my forehead cool,
And sat among tlio uroluuH young-,

That evening- in tho school.

0 Jloavon ! to think of thoir whiio soulH,
And mine BO black and grim 1

THOMAS HOOD.]

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS,

[SEVENTH PtoiOD.-

I could not share m cmldiwh prayer,

Nor join in evening hymn ,
lake a dovil of tho pit I hcoin'd,

'Mid holy cherubim '

And peace wont with them, one and all,

And oaoh calm pillow spread ,
But Gnilt was my grim chamberlain,

That lighted me to bed,
And drew my midnight curtains round

"With fingers bloody red '

All night I lay in agony,

In anguish dark and deep ,
My fover'd eyes I dared not close,

But stared aghast at Sleep ,
For Sm had render' d unto her

The keys of hell to keop '

AH night I lay in agony,

From weary ohune to ohune ,
With one besotting horrid hint,

That rack'd me all tho time —
A mighty yearning, lake tho first

Fierce impulse unto crime —

One storn tyrannic thought, that made

All other thoughts its slave '
Stronger and stronger every pulse

Did that temptation crave—-
Still urging mo to go and see

The dead man in his grave '

Heavily I rose up, as soon

As light was in the sky,
And sought the black accursed pool

With a wild misgiving eye ,
And I saw the dead in tho river bod,

For the faithless stream was dry.

Merrily rose tho lark, and shook

The dew-drop from its wing ,
But I nevor maik'd its morning flight —

I never hoard it sing ,
For I was stooping once again

Under tho homd thing1

With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,

I took him up and ran ;
There was no tixno to dig a grave

Before tho day began —
In a lonoRome wood, with heaps of loavoH,

I hid the murder' d man '

And all that day I read in school,
But my thought was other whcro ;

As soon as the mid-day task was done,
In secret I was there —

And a mighty wind had swept tho leaves,
And still tho corso was bare '

Then down I oast me on my face,

And first began to weep,
For I knew my secret there was one

That earth refused to keep—
Or land or sea, though he should be

Ten thousand fathoms deep

So wills tho fierce avenging sprite,

Till blood for blood atonos !
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,

And trodden down with fltonoH,
And years have rotted off hin floah —

Tho world shall sco hi* bones 1

0 God ' that horrid, honid tlroam

Besets me now awako '
Again — again, with dizssy bram,

Tho human life I take ,
And my rod right hand grown rnynitf hot,

Like Crannior't* at the atako

And fltill no peace for tho rostlofln clay
Will wave or mould allow ,

Tho horrid thing PUTHUOH my HOU! — -
It stands before mo now ! "

The fearful Boy look'd up and flaw-
Hugo drops upon his brow.

That very night, while gentle sleep

The urchin's eyelids kuw'd,
Two stern-faced mon sot out from Lynn

Through the cold and heavy mini ;
And Eugene Am.^ wolk'd between,

With gyves upon his wrint.

Thomas Hood — Horn 1708, Died 1845.

1495.— THE BEID0E OF SIGHS.

One more Unfortunate,
Woary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death '

Take her up tenderly,
Lift hei with care ,
Fashion'd HO slenderly — -
Young, and HO fair I

Look at her

wave oottH

DnpH from hor clothing ;
Takp hor up nwtantly,
Loving, not loathing '

Touch hor not scornfully 1
Think of hor mournfully,
Gently and humanly —
Not of tho stains of hor ;
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly

Make no deep Korutmy
Into hor mutiny,
Bawh and uxidutif ul ,
Past all dtahonour,
Death hoe loft on hor
Only tho beautiful.

Stall, for all slips of here—
One of JBve'H family —
Wipe those poor lips of hor»,
Oojzang so clammily,

From 1780 to 18CC.]

THE SONG- OF THE SHIRT.

Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the oomb —
Her fair auburn tresses —
"Whilst wondormont guesses
Where was her homo P

Who was her father ?
Who was hor mother ?
Had she a sister P
Hod she a brother P
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other P

Alas ' for the rauty
Of Christian chanty
Under the sun '
O ' it was pitiful »
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly
Feelings had changed-
Love, by harsh OYidenco,
Thrown from its eminence ;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She Htood, with amazement,
Houseless by night

The bleak wind of March
Made hor tremble and shiver ;
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river;
Mod from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to bo hturl'd—
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly —
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran —
Over the brink of it '
Picture it—think of it!
Dissolute Man !
Lave in it, drink of it,
Then, if you can '

Take hor up tenderly —
Lift hor with care 1
Fashion' d so slenderly —
Young, and so fair '

Ere hor limbs, frigidly,
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,
Smooth and compose them ,
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly 1

Dreadfully storing
Through muddy impurity,
As when with the danng
Last look of despairing
Fix'd on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurn'd by contumely,
Cold inhumdiDity
Burning insanity
Into hor rest '
Cross hor hands humbly,
As it praying dumbly,
Over hor bioast '

Owning hor weakness,
Hor evil bohavioui,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to hor Saviour !

TAoma* Hood.— Horn 1798, fiiotl 1845.

1496.— THE SONG- OF THE SBQCRT.

With fingers weary and worn,

With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,

Plying hor noodle and thread —

Stitch i Htitoh ! stitch '
In povoj ty, hunger, and dirt ,

And still with a voioo of dolorous pitch
Sho sang the " Song of tho SHrt ' "

"Work! work' work!

While tho cook IH crowing aloof !
And work — work — woik,

Till the stars shine through, tho roof !
It's 0 ! to bo a Hlavo

Along with the barbarous Turk,
Whore woman has never a soul to save,

If this is Christian work !

Work — work — work

Till tho brain begins to awixn !
Work — work — work •

Till tho oyos are heavy and dim I
Seam, and gusset, and band,

Band, and gusRot, and Ream-
Till over tho buttons I fall aHloop,

And sow thorn on in a dream '

0, Mon, with staters dear !

0, Men, with moiliorH and WIVOH I
It is not linen you're wearing out,

But human creatures* lives !
Stitch— stitch— stitch,

In poverty, hunger, and dirt —
Sewing at onoo, with a double thread,

A shroud as well as a Shut !

But why do I talk of Death —
That phantom of grisly bone ?

I hardly foar hia terrible nhapo,
It seems BO like my own —

It seoms so like my own
Because of the fasts I koop ;

THOMAS HOOD.]

THE DEATH-BED.

PERIOD.—

0 God ' that bread should bo BO dear,
And fioah and blood HO cheap !

Work — work — work '

My labour never flaga ;
And what me its wages P A bod of straw,

A crust of broad — and rags.
That shatter' d roof — and this naked floor —

A table — a brokon chair —
And a wall so blank my shadow I thank

For sometimes falling there '

Work — work — work '

Prom weary ohune to ohime '
Work — work — work —

Aa prisoners work for orimo '
Band, and gusset, and seam,

Seam, and gusset) and band-
Till the heart is sick and the brain benumb1 d,

As well as the weary hand.

Work — work — work

In the dull December light '
And work — work — work,

Whon the weather is warm and bright ' —
Whilo underneath the eavos

The brooding swallows cling,
As if to show mo their sunny backs,

And twit me with the Spring.

Oh I but to breathe the breath

Of the oowshp and primrose sweet —
With the sky above my head,

And the grass beneath my feet '
For only one short hour

To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woos of want,

And the walk that costs a meal '

Oh r but for one short hour —

A respite however buef '
No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,

But only time for Grief r
A little weeping- would ease my heart ;

But in their briny bod
My tears must stop, for every drop

Hinders noodle and thioad ' "

With fingers weary and worn,

And eyelids heavy and rod,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,

Plying- her needle and thread —
Stitch ' stitch i stitoh '

In poverty, hunger, and dirt;
And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch —
Would that its tone could reach the rich '—

She sang this " Song of the Shirt I "

Tlwmns Hood.— Born 1798, DM 1845.

I497-— THE DEATH-BED.

We watched her breathing thro* the night

Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently wo soemod to apeak,

So slowly moved about,
As we had lent her half our powers

To eke hor living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,

Our fears our hopes bcliod —
We thought her dyiuff whon aho nlopt,

And sleeping when she cbod.

For when the morn camo, dun and nod,

And ohill with early showorn,
Her quiet eyohds closed — who had

Another morn than OUTH.

Tliomas Hood— Horn 1708, Ditid 1845.

1498.— THE WATER LADY.

T.

Alas ! that moon should over beam
To show what man should never BOO !—
I saw a maiden on a stream,
And fair was sho !

IT

I staid awhile, to see her throw
Her tresses back, that all bonet
The fair horizon of hor brow
With clouds of jot.

XII.

I staid a little while to view
Her cheek, that wore, in place of red,
The bloom of water — tender bluo,
Daintily spread

IV.

I staid to watch, a little npaco,
Hor parted lips, if Hho would ning ;
The waters cloHod above hor fuoo
With many a ring

v.

And still I staid a little more —
Alas ! she never oomOH again !
I throw my floworn from the Khoro,
And watch in vain.

vr.

I know my hfo will fade away—
T know that I must vainly pirio ;
For I am made of mortal cky,
But she's divrao.

Thomas J/oocZ.— Born 1708, Died 1845*

0 Lady, leave thy silken thread
And flowery tapostne^

There 's living roses on tho bush,
And blossoms on the tree.

From 1780 to 1866 ] WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR HEADS.

[T. H. BAYLST.

Stoop whore thou wilt, thy careless hand

Some random bud will moot ,
Thou canst not tioad but thou wilt find

Tho daisy at thy foot.

"Tis like tho birthday of the world,

When oarth was born in bloom ,
The light is xnado of many dyes,

Tho an is all perfume ,
There 's cnmson buds, and white and blue —

The very rainbow showers
Have turn'd to blossoms wlioro thoy fell,

And sown tho oarth with flowers

There 's fairy tulips in tho oast —

Tho garden of tho sun ,
The very streams rofLout tho huorf,

And blossom as thoy ran ,
While morn opes liko a crimson rose,

Still wet with poorly showers
Then, lady, leave tho wilkon ihicad

Thou twinoflt into flowerw '

— Born 1798, DM 1845,

1500— TO HIS WIFE

Oh ' hadnt thou novor sharod my fato,
Moro daik thai fato would prove,

My heart wore tinly dosolato
Without thy Hoothinff lovo

But thou haflt suffor'd for my sake,

Whilst this relief I found,
Like foarlosH lips that strive to take

The poison from a wound.

My fond affection thou hast Boon,

Then judgo of my regret,
To think more happy thou hadst boon

If wo hod never mot '

And has that thought boon tharod by
thooP

Ah, no i tliat smiling ohook
Proves moro unchanging lovo for mo

Than laboured words could apeak

But thore aro true hearts which tho sight

Of sorrow summons forth ,
Though known in days of past delight,

Wo knew not half their worth.

How unlike some who havo profoss'd

So much in friendship's name,
Tot calmly pause to think how best

Thoy may evade her claim.

Btft an r from them to -fcheo I turn,
They'd make me loatho mankind,

Far better lessons I may learn
From thy more holy mind.

The love that gives a charm to homo,

I feel thoy cannot take
We'll pray for happier years to oomo,

For one another's sake.

T Haynes BaAjly.—Born 1797, Died 1839.

1501 — THINK NOT OF THE FUTURE.

Think not of tho futtuo, tho piospeot is un-
certain ;
Laugh away tho present, while laughing

hours romam .
Thoso who gazo too boldly through Time's

mystic curtain,
Soon will wish to close it, and dream of joy

again.

I, like thoo, was happy, and, on hopo rely-
ing,
Thought tho present pleasure might revive

again:
Bat receive my counsel — Timo is always

flying,

Then laugh away tho present, whilo laugh-
ing hours remain.

I havo felt uukmdnofls, keen as that which

huitu thoo ,
I havo mot with fnondnhip, fickle as tho

wind,
Toko what friendship offois, oro itw warmth

doHOits thoo ,
Woll I know tho kuidowl may not long bo

land
Would you wanto tho ploanuro of tho sutnmor-

HOOHOU,
Thinking that tho winter must return

again?
If our summer 's fleeting, surely that Js a

roaHon

For laughing off tho proHont, while laughing
houru remain.

T. Waynes Bayly — - Bom 1797, Died 1839,

1502,— 01 WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE
THEIR HEADS P

0 1 whore do fames hide their hoods,

When snow IIOH on tho hilUi —
When frowt how spoil' d thoir mossy bods,

And crystallized their nils P
Beneath tho moon thoy cannot trip

In circles o'er tho plain ;
And draughts of dew ihey cannot Hip,

Till green loaves oomo again

Perhaps, in small, blue diving-bolta,
They plunge beneath tho wavon,

Inhabiting tho wreathed shells
That ho in coral oaves.

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. [SEVENTH

Perhaps, in rod Vesuvius,

Carousals they maintain ,
And ohoor their littlo nprnts thus,

Till groon loaves como ogam.

When thoy return there will bo mirth,

And music in Iho air,
And fairy winga upon the earth,

And mischief everywhere,
The maids, to keep the elves aloof,

Will bar the doors in Tain ;
No koy-holo will be fairy-proof,

When green loaves come again.

T. Haijnes Bai/ty.—- Born 1797, Dto<Z 1839

1503— THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT
MARINER.

FAJfcT I,

It is an ancient manner,

And he stoppoth one of three ;

" By thy long gray board and ghttorinpr c*ye,

Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ?

The bridegroom's doors are open'd wide,
And I am next of km ,
The guests ore met, the feast is set ;
Mayst hear the merry fo^ "

He holds him with his skinny hand ;
" There was a ship," quoth ho
" Hold off , unhand me, gray-beard loon , "
Eftsoons his hand dropt he

He holds him with his glittering eye —
The wedding-guest stood still,
And listens liko a thi co-years' child ,
The manner hath his will

The wedding-guest sat on a stone,
He cannot choose but hoar ,
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed mariner

The ship was cheer* d, the harbour cloar'd,

Monily did wo drop

Below the kirk, below the hill,

Below the lighthouse top.

The sun came up upon the loft,
Out of the sea oamo ho ,
AncL he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into tho sea

Higher and higher every day,

Till over the mast at noon

The wedding-gnest horo beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she ;
Nodding their heads before her goes
Th.6 merry minstrelsy.

The wedding-guest ho boat his brooHt,
Tot ho cannot choose but hoar ;
And thus spake on that ancient mait,
Tho bright-eyed manner.

And now the storm-blast came, and ho
Was tyrannous and strong ;
He struck with his o'ortaking- wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dripping prow.
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads tho shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
Tho ship drove fast, loud roar'd tho blast,
And southward aye wo fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold ;
And ice mast-high came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through tho drifts tho ftnowy cliff*
Did send a dismal Rheon ;
Nor shapes of men nor boasts we ken— -
Tho 100 was all between.

Tho ice was hero, tho ice was thoro,

Tho 100 was all around ,

It orack'd and growl' d, androar'd and howlM,

Like noises in a swound !

At length did cross an albatross,
Through the fog it came ;
As if it had boon a ChnHiian noul,
Wo hail'd it in God's name

It ate tho food it ne'er had oat,
And round and lound it flow,
Tho ico did Rplit with a thunder-fit ,
The helmsman stoor'd UH tlirou#h '

And a good south wind Hprung up behind.

The albatroflB did follow,

And every day for food or l>lay,

Came to tho manner's hollo '

In mist or cloud, on moHt or Hhroutl,

It poroh'd for voHporw nine ;

Wholes all tho night, throuffh foff-Hmoko white-.

Glimmer' d the white mooawhino.

" God save thoe, ancient mariner,
From the fiondu that plague thoe thus '
Why look'st thon HO P " With my orowH-bow
I shot tho albatross

FART II,

Tho sun now rose upon tho right,
Out of the Roa came ho ;
Stall hid in mist, and on the loft
Wont down into tho sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind.
But no sweet bird did follow ;
Nor any day for food or play
Came to tho manner's hollo I

Vtotn 1780 to 18GG ] THE BIME OF THE ANCIENT MAE3OT3JB.

[COLHEXDOE.

And I hod done a hellish thing,

And it would work 'em wo ,

For all avorr'd I had kill'd tho bird

That inado tho broozo to blow

Ah, wretch, Raid thoy, tho bird to slay

That made tho broozo to blow '

Nor dim nor rod, like God's own head,

Tho gloiious sun npuwt ,

Thon all averr'd I had kill'd the biid

That brought tho fog and mist

'Twas right, said thoy, such burls to &lay

That bring tho fog and mist.

Tho fair breezo blow, tho white foam flew,

Tho farrow followed froo ,

Wo woro tho first that ovor burst

Into that silent Boa

Down dropt tho broozo, tho sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as Rail could bo ,
And we did speak only to break
Tho silence of the sea '

AH in a hot and copper sky,
Tho bloody sun at noon
Bight up above tho mast did &tand,
No bigger than tho moon.

Day after day, day after day
Wo fltnck, nor broath 1101 motion ,
AH idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean

Water, water ovory whore, ' •»>

And all tho boardH did hlirink ,
Water, water everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink

The very deep did rot ; 0 Christ '
That ovor this should bo !
Tea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon tho slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The doath-firoH danced at uitfht ;
Tho water, like a witch' H OI!H,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assured wore
Of tho npixit that plaguod UH MO ,
Nine fathom deep ho had follow' d us
Hfrom the land of mist and snow

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was wither* d at tho root ,
Wo could not spoak, no more than
Wo had boon ehokod with soot.

Ah, woll-a-day ' what evil looks
Had I from old and young '
Instead of the cross the albatross
About my nook was hung.

PAJBT III.

There pass'd a weary time. Each throa
Was paroh'd, and glazod each eye.
A weary tune! a weary time!

How glazod each weary eye '
When looking westward I beheld
A something in tho sky.

At first it soom'd a little spook,
And then it soom'd a mist ,
It moved and moved, and took at last
A ceitaiu shape, I wist.

A spook, a mist, a shape, I wist '
And still it xioar'd and near'd
As if it dodged a wator-apiito,
It plunged, and taok'd, and vooi'd

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,

Wo could not laugh nor wail ,

Through uttor drought all dumb wo stood ,

I bit my aim, I suck'd tho blood,

And cried, A soil ' a sail '

With throats unslaked, with black lipa baked,
Agape thoy heard me call ;
Qrameroy thoy for joy did grin,
And all at once their broath drew in,
As they wore clnukmg all.

See T see ' I cried, sho tacks no more,
Hither to work us weal ,
Without a bi OOKO, without a tide,
She steadies with upright kool.

Tho wostoiu wavo was all a-flamo,

Tho day was well nigh done,

Almost upon the western wavo

Bested tho broad bright sun ,

When that strange shape drovo suddenly

Betwixt us and the sun.

And straight tho RUB was flookM with bars,
(Heaven* H mother send us graco 1)
As if through a dungeon-grato ho poor'd
With broad and burning face.

Alas ! thought I, and my heart boat loud,
How fast Hho noars and noara ;
Axe thoHO her sails that glanoo in the sun
Like restless gossamoros r*

Aio those hor ribs through which tho sun
Did poor, a» through a grate ;
And IB that woman all her crew P
Is that a death, and are there two P
Is death that woman's mate P

Hor lips woro rod, her looks woro free,
Hor looks were yellow as gold ,
Her skin wan as wluto as leprosy,
Tho nightmare Lifo-m- death wan she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

Tho nafccd hulk alongside came,

And the twin were canting dice ;

" Tho game u done ! I've won ! I've won ! "

Quoth (she, and whistles thrice

Tho sun's rim dips, tho stars rush out,
At one Htrido oomoH tho dark ;
With far-hoard wlunpor, o'er the Hoa
Off shot tho spectre-bark.

CO

COLEIilDGE,]

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. [SEVWNTII PHRIOD.— -

Wo listen' d and look'd sideways up ;

3Toar at my heart, as at a cup,

My lifo-blood Hoom'd to sip.

The starw woro dim, and thick ITio night,

The steersman's faco by his lump gleam' d

whito,

Ibrom tlio nails tho dow did drip —
Till oloinb above tho eastern bar
Tho hornod moon, with ono bright star
Within tho nolhor tip

Ono after ono, by tho star-dogg'd moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Bach ten'd his face with a ghastly pang,
And oursod mo with his oye

Four times fifty living men
(And I hoard nor sigh nor groan),
With heavy thump, a hfoloss lump,
They dropp'd down ono by one

The souls did from their bodies fly —
They flod to bliss or wo '
And every soul it pass'd mo by
Liko tho whizz of my cross-bow,

PABT IV

<c I fear thoo, ancient mariner,

I fear thy skinny hand '

And thou art long, and lank, and brown,

As is tho nbVd sea-sand

I fear thee and thy glittering eyo,
And thy tOmmy hand BO brown "
Pear not, fear not, thou wedding-guest,
This body dropp'd not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wido soa '
And novoi a &amt took pity on
My soul in agony.

Tho many mon so beautiful '

And they all dead did ho

And JL thousand thousand shiny things

laved on, and so did I

I look'd upon tho rotting soa,
And drew my oyes away ,
I look'd upon tho rotting dock,
And there tho dead men lay

I look'd to hoavon, and tried to pray,
But or over a prayer had gunh'd,
A wicked whimper oamo, and made
My heart as dry as du#t

I closed my lids, and kept them close,

And the balls hko pulses boat ,

For the sky and tho sea, and the sea and tho

sky,

Lay like a load on my weary oyo,
And the doad woro at my foot.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they ;
The look with which they look'd on me
Had never pass'd away.

An orphan's curse would drag to holl

A Bpint from on high ;

But oh ' moro horrible than that

Is a our BO in a doad man'w oye 1

Seven days, novon nightR, I saw that curse,

And yet I could not die.

Tho moving moon wont up thp sky,
And nowhoio did abide
Softly Hho was going up,
And a star or two boHido,

Her beams bomock'd tlio nnltry main,
Like Apiil hoarfrowt spread ;
But where tho ship's lingo Hhadow li\y
The charm' d water burnt alway
A still and awful rod.

Boyond tho shadow of tho fillip

I watch'd tho water Hnako« •

They moved in traokn of Hliiniiiff white,

And when they roar'd, tho olfteh light

Fell off m hoary ilakoH.

Within the Rhadow of tho Hhip

I watch'd their riuh attiro

Bluo, glossy green, and velvet black,

Thoy ooiTd oiid Hwain , and every track

Was a flash of golden fuo.

0 happy living thmgH f no tonguo

Their beauty might declare

A spring of lovo gunh'd from my heart.

And I blown* d them unaware *

Sore my land saint took pity on mo,

And I bless' <1 thoiu uuitwaro.

Tho self-flame moment I could pray ;
And from my nook HO froo
Tho albatrosH foil <>Jf, and sank
Like load into tho noa.

PAllT V.

0 sloop ' it IH a gontlo thing,
Beloved from polo to polo '

To Maiy Qnooa tho praino 1)0 given !
She sent the gentle Hlcop from lioavoii,
That nhd into my soul

Tho Billy buckets on tho clock,
Tliat had HO long tomtunM,

1 dreamt that they woro fill'd with dew j
And when I woko it ra«u'd.

My lips woro wot, my throat wan cold,
My garments all woro dank ;
Sure I had drunken in my droaniK,
And ntill my body drank.

I moved, and could not fool my limbs :
I was so light — almont
I thought that I had died in sloop,
And was a blosaod ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind •
It did not come anoor ;
But with its sound it flhook tlio Boils,
That were so thin and sore.

I From 178Q to 1866.] THE BIKE OF THE ANCIENT KABINEB.

Tho upper air burst into He !
And a hundred fire-flags sheen ;
To and fro thoy wore hurried about !
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan «tais danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did High like sedge ;
And the ram pour'd down from one black cloud ;
Tho moon was at its edge

Tho thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The moon was at its side
lake waters shot from Rome high oiag,
Tho lightning fell with never a jag,
A river sheep and wide.

The loud wind never roach* d the ship,
Tot now the ship moved on '
Beneath the lightning and the moon
Tho dead men gave a groan.

Thoy groan'd, thoy stirr'd, thoy all uprose,
Nor Rpako, nor moved their eyes ,
It had boon strange, oven in a dream,
To have soon those dead men rise

Tho helmsman steer' d, the ship moved on,

Tot never a breeze up blow ;

Tho mariners all 'gan work the ropes

Whoio thoy wore wont to do ,

They i tuned their limbs like lifeless tools —

Wo wore a ghiiwtJy ciow.

The body of my brother' rt ROU

Stood l>y mo, knoo to knee

Tho body and I pull'd at one rope,

But ho Haul nought to mo.

" T fear thoo, ancient mariner ' "

Tie oalm, thou wedding-guest '

'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,

Which to their corses came again,

But a troop of spirits blest

For when it dawn'd, thoy dropp'd their arms,

And cluster' d round the mast ;

Sweet Rounds rose slowly through their

mouths,
And from their bodies pass'd.

Around, around, flow each sweet sound,
Then darted to the sun ,
Slowly the sounds came bock" again,
Now mix'd, now one by one.

Sometimes, a-dropping from the sky,
I heard the skylark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they soom'd to fill the sea and air,
With their sweet jargoning !

And now 'twas like all uistrumonts,
Now like a lonely flute ;
And now it is an angel's song,
That makes the heavens be mute*

It ceased ; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise tall noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night
Smgoth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Tet never a breeze did breathe ;
Slowly and smoothly wont the ahip,
Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid 5 and it was ho
That made the ship to go
Tho sails at noon loft off their tune,
And the ship stood still also.

Tho sun, 3 ight up above the mast,
Had fix' d her to the ocean ,
But in a minute she 'gan stir
With a short unoawy motion —
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then, like a pawing horse lot go,
She made a sudden bound ;
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound

How long in that same fit I lay
I have not to declare ;
But ore my living1 life loturn'd,
I heard and in my soul discern' d
Two voices in the air

" IR it ho ? " quoth one, " Is this the man ?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow ho laid full low
The harmless albatross !

Tho flpint who bidoth by luiaBolf
In the land of mint and snow,
He loved the bird that loved tho man
Who shot him with Ms bow."

Tho other was a softer voice,

As soft as honey-dew ,

Quoth ho, " Tho man hath penanoo done,

And penance more will do."

PAST VI.
PIItST VOICE.

But toll mo ! tell mo ' speak again,
Thy soft response renewing —
What makes that ship dnvo on so fast P
What is tho ocean doing P

SECOND VOICE.

Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no blast ,
His great bright eyo most silently
Up to the moon is cast — f

If he may know which way to go ;
For she guides M™ smooth or grim.
See, brother, see how gracioualy
She looketh down, on him.

PXBST VOICE.

But why drives on that fihip so fast,
Without or wave or wind?

THE KEME OP THE ANCIENT MARINER. [SEVENTH PERIOD. —

SECOND VOICTD.

Tho air is out away boforo,
And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly ' more high, more high '
Or wo shall bo belated ,
For slow and slow that ship will go,
"When tho mariner's tranoo is abated.

I woke, and wo wore sailing OIL

As in a gentle weather ;

'Twos night, calm night, the moon was high ;

The dead mon stood together

All stood together on the dock,
For a chamol- dungeon fitter ;
AIL fix'd on me their stony eyes,
That in the moon did glitter

The pang, tho curse, with whioh they died,
Had never pass'd away ,
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn thorn up to pray

And now this spell was snapt ; onoo more
I vaew'd the ocean green,
And look'd far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else boon soon —

Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in foar and dread,
And having once turn'd round, walks on,
And turns no more his head ,
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on mo,
Nor sound nor motion made ,
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade

It raised my hair, it fann'd my chook
Like a meadow-gale of spring —
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew tho ship,
Yet she sailed softly too
Sweotly, sweetly blow the broozo —
On me alone it blow

Oh ' dream of joy ' is this indeed
The lighthouse top I see ?
Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ?
Is this mine own countroo ?

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray —
0 let mo bo awake, my Uod '
Or lot mo ^leop alway

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn '
And on the bay tho moonlight lay,
And the shadow of tho moon

The rook shone bright, tho kirk no loss
That stands above the rook .
The moonlight steep'd in silenfaoss
The steady weathercock.

And the bay was whito with ailont light,
Till rifling from the flame,
Full many shapes, that shadows wore,
In crimson colours came.

A little distance from tho prow

Those oiunson shadows wore

I turn'd my eyes upon tho dock —

0 Christ ! what saw I thoio '

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat ;
And, by tho holy rood '
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood

This seraph-bond, each wared hin hand .
It was a heavenly sight !
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light.

This seraph-band, each wavod hift hand,
No voice did they impart —
No voice , but 0 ' tho mlonoo sank
Like music on my hoait

But soon I hoard tho dash of cars,

1 hoard tho pilot's ohooi ;

My head was ton'd porforco away,
And I saw a boat appear.

Tho pilot and tho pilot's boy,
I hoard thorn coming fant •
Door Lord in hoavon ' it was a joy
Tho doad mon could not blast.

I saw a third — I hoard his voice :

It is tho hermit good '

Ho flingoth loud his godly hymns

That he makes in tho wood.

He'll shnovo my soul, ho'll wash away

The albatross's blood

3PABT VII

This hermit good lives in that wood
Which fllopos down to tlio Hoa
JTow loudly his Hwoot voioo ho iwarH T
Ho IOVOH to talk with marinoroH
That oomo fzom a far oounirco.

Ho kneels at mom, and noon and ovo—
Ho liath a cushion plump
It ifl tho moss that wholly hidoH
The rotted old oak-stump.

Tho skiff-boat noar'd • I hoard thorn talk,
" Why, this IH «trtuiffO, I trow !
Whore are those lightH HO many and fair
That signal mado but now P "

" Strange, by my faith ' " tho hermit said—

" And they answer 'd not our cheer !

The planks look'd warp'd' and «eo thoao

sails,

How thin they arc and sore !
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it woro
Brown skeletons of leaves that lag

FromtfSQto 1806]

HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE.

[OOLBBIDGX;

My forest-brook along- ;
When tho ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And tho owlot whoops to tho wolt below,
That oats tho sho- wolf's young1 "

" Doar Lord ' it hath a fiendish look —
(Tho pilot mado loply)
I am a-foard " — " Push on, push on ' "
Said tho horimt ohoorily

Tho boat came closer to tho ship,
But I nor spake nor stirr'd ,
Tho boat came close beneath tho ship,
And straight a sound was hoard

Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread
It roaoh'd tho ship, it split tho bay ,
Tho ship went down like load

Stunn'd by that loud and choaclful sound,

Which sky and oooan smote,

Like ono that hath boon sovon days drown' d

My body lay afloat ;

I Jut swift as dreams, myself I found

Within tho pilot's boat.

tlpon tho whirl, where Rank tho ship,
Tho boat spun round and lound ,
And all wan still, save that tho hill
Was tolling of tho bound

I moved my lipa — tho pilot fennels' d,
Ami fell down in a fit
Tho holy hermit raised IILH oyos,
And prayM where ho did Hit.

I took tho OQXB • the pilot1 H boy,

Who now doth crassy go,

Laugh'd loud aiul long, aud all tho wlulo

His eyes went to and fro.

" Ha i ha ' " quoth ho, " full plain I too,

Tho donl knows how to row."

And now, all in my own oountioo,
I stood on tho firm land '
Tho hermit atopp'd forth from tho boat,
And scarcely lio could stand.

" 0 shnovo mo, Rlmovo mo, holy man r "
Tho hermit crows' cl ILIH blow
" Hay quick," quoth ho, "I bid thoo say
What manner of man art thou v "

Forthwith this framo of miiio was wroncli'd
With a woful agony,
Which forced mo to bogm my tale ,
And then it loft mo free

Since thon, at an uncertain hour
That agony loturnw ,
And till my ghastly tulo is told,
This heart within mo burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land ,
I havo strango power of hpeoeh ,
That momoiili that Inn face I see,
I know tho man that mubt hoar mo :
To him niy t tie I toach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door !
Tho wedding-guests aro there .
But in tho garden-bower tho brido
And bridomaids singing aro
And hark ' the little vesper bell
Which biddoth me to prayer.

0 wedding-guest ' this soul hath beon
Alone on a wido, wide sea •
So lonely 'twas, that Gt-od himself
Scarce seemed there to bo.

0 sweeter than tho marnago-feast,
'Tig swoctor fai to mo,
To walk together to tho kirk
With a goodly company!

To walk together to tho kirk,

And all together pray,

While each to his gioat Father bonds,

Old men, and babes, and loving friends,

And youths and maidens gay 1

Farewell, farewell ; but this I toll
To thoo, thou wedding-guest •
Ho prayeth well who lovoth well
Both man and bird and. boast.

Ho prayoth best who lovoth boat
All things both groat and Hmall ,
For tho doar God who lovoth us,
Ho mado and lovoth all

Tho manner, whoso oyo is bright,
\Vhoso bbiiKl witli ago is hoar,
IH gono and now the wodcUug-cruost
Tura'd from tho bridegroom's dooi

Ho wont like ono that hath boon stnxm'd,
And IH of Ronso forlorn :
A sadder and a winor man
Ho rose tho morrow morn*

1772, DM 1834.

1504.— HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN"
THE VALE OF CHAMOITNL

Haflt thou a charm to stay tho morning star
lu hit* Htoop course P BO long lio HooniH to

pause

On thy bald awful head, 0 sovran JJlano f
Tho Arvo and Arvoiion nt tliy bane
Bavo ooaHolosHly , but thou, mont a^ul form !
Risost from iorth thy Hilout Rea of pmos,
How silently ' Aiound thoo and abovo,
JDoop is tlxo air and daik, nubstantial, black,
An ebon mass , mothmkH thou piorciewt it,
AB with a wotlgo ' Hut whon 1 look again,
Tt is tlimo own calm homo, thy crystal wlirino,
Thy habitation from eternity '
0 dread and silent mount! I gazed upon

thoo,
Ml thou, blill present to tho bodily ROHHO,

CoMBBIDG-E

LOVE.

[SBVI5NT1I PERIOD.— .

DwTst vanish from my thought : entranced in

prayer,
I worshipped tho Invisible alono.

Yet, lake somo swoot beguiling melody,
So swoot we know not wo arc batoning1 to it,
Thou, tho moanwhilo, wast blending- with my

thought.

Tea, with my Me and life's own secret joy ;
Till the dilating- soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into tho mighty vision paBSing — there,
As in her natural form, swelled vast to
heaven '

Awake, my soul ' not only passive praise
Thou owost ! not alono these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy Awake,
Yoioe of sweet song1 awake, my heart,

awake I
Green vales and loy cliffs, all join my hymn

Thou first and ohiof, solo sovran of the

valo'

0 struggling with tho darkness all tho night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb tho sky, or when they

sink'

Companion of tho morning star at dawn,
Thysolf earth's rosy star, and of tho dawn
Go-herald 1 wake, O wake, and utter praise T
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ?
Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light 9
Who made thoe parent of perpetual streams P

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad '
Who caU'd you forth from night and utter

death,

from dark and icy caverns oall'd you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shattered, and the same for over P
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Tour strength, your spood, your fuiy, and

your joy,

Unceasing thunder and eternal foam P
And who commanded (and tho silence came),
Here let the billows stiffen, and huvo rost P

Ye ice-falls ' ye that from tho mountoin'H

brow

Adown ononnonfl ravines slope amain —
Torrents, mothinks, that hoard a mighty

voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest

plunge !

Motionless torrents 1 silent cataracts '
Who made yon glorious as the gates of

Beneath the keen full moon P Who bado tho

sun
Clothe you with rambowH P Who, with living

flowers
Of loveliest bluo, spioad garlands at your

feetP

God ' let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God !
God ! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome

voice i

Yo pine grovos, with your soft and hcml-liko

sounds !
And they, too, have a voice, yon ]»I!«M of

snow,
And in thoir perilous fall Hhall thunder, (Jnd '

Yo living flowers tliat Hkirt tho otormil

frost '
Yo wild goats sportmpr round tho cuifflu'H

nest1

Yo eagles, playmatos of tho mountain Hiurtn !
Ye lightnings, tho dread ariowt of tho

clouds '

Ye signs and wondorw of tho clcmctii '
TJttor foith God, and fill tho hills with prauo !

Once more, hoar mount' with thy nicy-
pointing peaks,

Oft from whose foot the avalanche, nnhoiml,
Shoots downward, glittering through tho pure

serene,

Into tho depth of oloudfl that veil thy brwwt—
Thou, too, again, Htupondoiw mountain ' thou,
That as I raiso my head, awhilo bow'd low
In adoration, upward from thy bithn.
Slow tiavolling with dim cyoH nutt'iihod with

toars,

Solemnly soomoHt, lilco a vapoury Hotid,
To nso "before me — Riso, O OV<T WHO ;
Ifoso, like a cloud of iiicunHO, from tin* <»«rt.li !
Thou kingly spirit throned amonj? HIM InlLi,
Thou dread ambasHartor from earth to hem mi,
Gioat Hioraroh ! toll thou tlio wlonl nky,
And tell tho stars, and toll yon riHiiitf Him,
Earth, with her thousand voicoH, pruiws Uod.

CoUrulyc — Hum 17712, JHttl

1505— LOVW.

All thoughts, all })iiHHioiiH,
Whatever fttirH thw mortal frames
Are all but miniHtorH of lovo,
And food ILLH Hticrod ihmio,

Oft in my waking <lroamn do T
Live o'or again thai happy hour,
When midway on tho mount L la.) ,
Beside the rum'd tower.

The moonshine, Htoitliiitf o'or iho
Had blondod with tiio lig-htrt of ovo ;
And Hho was there, my hojio, my joy,
My own dear Gonoviovn !

She loan'd against tlio armod man,
The statue of tho armed knitfht ;
She fltood and IwtonM to my lay
Amid tho lingoring light

Tow sorrows hath Hho of her own,
My hope, my joy, my Gonoviovo !
She loves me bent whono'or I Hiiig-
The songs that make her griovo.

From 1780 to 1866 ]

TFH

[COLBEEDQH.

I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang1 an old and moving story—-
An old rude song- that suited woll
That ruin wild and hoary

Sho listen' d with a flitting- blush,
With downcast oyos and modest grace ;
For woll sho know I oould not choose
But gaze upon hor face.

I told her of the knight that wore
Upon hin shield a burning brand ,
And that for ton long years he wooed
The lady of the land

I told her how ho pinod ; and ah '
The deep, tho low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love,
Interpreted my own

Sho listen' d with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modoat grace ,
And she forgave mo that I gazed
Too fondly on her face

But when I told tho oruel scorn
Which orazod this bold and lovely knight,
And that he cross' d tho mountain-woods,
Nor rested day nor night ,

But somotimos from tho savage don,
And Homotimos from tho darksome shade,
And flomotiiuos H tail ing up at once,
In groon and Hunny gltido,

There oamo and loolc'cl him in tho face
An angel beautiful and biiglit ,
And that ho know it waH a fiend,
This miHorablo knight I

And that, unknowing what ho did,
He loap'd amid a murderous band,
And flayed from outrage worse than death
Tho lady of tho land ,

And how she wept and clasp'd his knees,
And how sho tended him in vain —
And over strove to expiate

Tho scorn that orazod his brain.

And that sho nursed him in a oavo j
And how his madness went away,
When on tho yellow forest loaves
A dying- man ho lay ,

His dying words — but when I roach' d

That tondorost strain of all tho ditty,

My faltering voice and pausing harp

Disturbed her soul with pity 1

AH impulses of soul andsonuo
Had thrill' d my guiloloss Gonoviovo— •
The music and tho doleful tale,
Tho rich and balmy eve ;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistingojishablo throng *
And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherish' d long t

Sho wept with pity and delight,
She blush' d with love and virgin shame $
And like tho murmur of a droam
I heard hor breathe my name.

Hor bosom heaved, sho stopt aside ;
As conscious of my look sho stopt—
Thon suddenly, with timorous oyo,
She fled to me and wopt,

She half enclosed mo with hor arms,
Sho press' d mo with a meek embrace,
And bonding back hor head, look'd up
And gazed upon my face

'Twas partly love, and partly foar,
And partly 'twas a bashful ait,
That I might rather fool than BOO
Tho swelling of hor hottit.

I colm'd her fears ; and sho was calm,
And told hor love with virgin pndo ;
And so I won my Gonoviovo,

My blight and beauteous brido '

o—Xorn 1772, Jtootf 1834

1506— THE

No cloud, no rohci of tho sunken day
DiHtinguiNhort tho West , no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling IIUOR
Oomo, wo will rent on tins old moHny bridge !
You BOO tho glimmer of tho stream beneath,
But hoar no murmuring- j it floww sJontly
O'er itn soft bod of verdure All IK HtilL ;
A balmy night t and though tho star* bo dim,
Yet lot UB think upon tho vernal showers
That gladden tho groon earth, and we shall

find

A pleasure in tho dimness of the stars.
And hark ' tho Nightingale begins it« song —
" Mont musical, most melancholy " bird I
A melancholy bird ' Oh, idle thought I
In Nature there is nothing melancholy
But some night-wandering man, whowo heart

was pierood

With the remembrance of a grievous wrong,
Or slow distemper, or neglected love
(And so, poor wretch1 fill'd all things with

himself,

And made all gontlo sounds tell baok the tale
Of his own soirow) — ho, and such OH ho,
First named those notes a melancholy strain.
And many a poet ochoos the conceit —
Poet who hath been building up tho rhyme
When ho had better far have strotch'd his

limbs

Beside a brook in mossy forest-doll,
By sun or moonlight , to the influxes
Of shapes, and sounds, and shifting elements,
Surrendering his whole spirit , of his song
And of his fame forgetful ' so Ins f amo
Should share in Nature's immortality-—-
A venerable thing ! — and so his song

COLERIDGE."]

FROST AT MIDNIGHT.

[SEVENTH PBTIIOI>. —

Should make all Nature lovolior, and itsolf
Bo lovod liko Nature ! But 'twill not bo so ,
And youths and maidens most poetical,
"Who loso tho deepening twilights of tho

Spring

In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still,
Pull of meek sympathy, must hoavo their

sighs
O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains.

My friend, and thou, our sister1 wo havo

learnt

A different lore we may not thus profane
Nature's sweet voices, always full of love
And joyance ' 'Tis the merry Nightingale
That crowds, and humes, and precipitates
"With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
As he were fearful that an April night
"Would bo too short for him to utter forth
His love-chant, and dubuithon his full soul
Of all its music '

And I know a grove
Of large extent, hard by a castle huge,
Which tho great lord inhabits not j and so
This grove is wild with tangling underwood ,
And tho tnm walks are broken up , and grass,
Thin grass and kingcups grow within tho

paths

But never elsewhere in one place I know
So many nightingales. And far and near,
In wood and thicket, over the wide grove,
They answer and provoke each other's song,
With skirmish and capricious passagmgs,
And murmurs musical and swift jug jug,
And one low piping Bound more sweet than

all—

Stirring the air with such a harmony
That, should you close your eyes, you might

almost

Forgot it was not day r On moon-lit bushes,
Whoso dewy leaflets aio but fydf disclosed,
Ton may perchance behold them on tho twigs,
Their bright, blight eyes, their oyos both

bright and full,
Glistening, while many a glowwoim in tho

shade
Lights up her love-torch

A most gontlo maid,
Who dwelleth in her hospitable homo
Hard by tho castle, and at latent eve
(Even like a lady vow'd and dedicate
To something more than Nature in tho grove),
Glides through tho pathways — who knows all

their notes,

That gentle maid ' and ofi, a moment's space,
What tuno tho moon was lost behind a cloud,
Hath heard a pause of silence , till tho moon,
Emerging, hath awaken' <1 earth and sky
With one sensation, and these wakeful birds
Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy,
As if some sudden gale had swept at onco
A hundred airy harps' And she hath

watch'd
Many a nightingale perch' d giddily

On blossomy twig still swinging from tho

breeze,

And to that motion tuno IIIH wanton Hong,
Like tipsy Joy that rods with tossing head.

Farewell, 0 warbler ' till to-morrow ovo ;
And you, my friends ' farewell, a uhoi t fare-
well!

Wo havo boon loiteiing long and pleasantly,
And now for our dear homos. — That Htruin

Full fain it would delay mo ' My dotir babe,
Who, capable of no articulate Hound,
Mais all things with lun imitative hup,
How ho would place hifl hand bomdo hm oar,,
His little hand, tho small forefinger up,
And bid us listen ' And T doom it WIHO
To make him Nature's playmate. Ho known

well

Tho evening-star , and onco whon ho awolvo
In most distressful mood (HOUIO inward pain
Had made up that strange thing, an infant' M

dream),

I humed with him to our orchard-plot,
And he beheld the moon , and, huhh'd at

once,

Suspends Ms sobs, and lauglw mont mlontly,
While his fair oyos, that HWOIU with un-

dropp'd tears,

Did glitter in tho yellow moonbeam ! "Well !—
It is a father's tale But if that Koavon
Should give mo Mo, his childhood Hlutil grow

up
Familiar with these songs, that with tho

night

Ho may associate joy — Once more, farewell,
Sweet Nightingale ! Onco moio, uiy friondH !

farewell

Color idyc—tiMii 1772, DM 18.'U,

1507.— FROST AT MIDNIGHT.

Tho frost porforxnH itn Hocrot miniHtry,
Unholp'd by any wind. Tho owlot'H cry
Came loud — and hark again ' loud an l>ofor<».
Tho inmates of my cottage, all at rent,
Havo left me to that Holitudo which wain
AbstruHor musmga : fliivo that at my H*UO
My cradled infant slumborH peacefully.
'TiB calm indeed ' HO calm, that it dinturlm
And vexes meditation with itH Htningo
And extreme siloutuoHH Sou, hill, and wood,
Thia populous village! — Hca, and hill, and

wood,

With all tho nuniborloRH goingfl on of lifo
Inaudible as dreams ! tho thin blue flamo
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not ;
Only that film, which fluttor'd on tho grato,
Still flutters there, tho solo unquiet thing.
Mothinks its motion in thin huflh of Nature.
Gives it dim sympathies with mo who live*
Making it a companionable form,

Ffom 1780 to 18C6 ]

KT7BLA KHABT.

Whoso puny flaps and freaks tho idling Spirit
By its own moods intorprots, everywhere
Echo or mirror seeking of itself,
And makes a toy of thought.

But 0 f how oft,

How oft, at school, with most behoving mind,
Prosagof ul, have I gazed upon the bars
To watch that fluttering stranger ' and as oft,
With unclosed Hds, already had I dreamt
U£ my sweet birthplace, and the old church-
tower,

Whoso bolls, the poor man's only music, rang
Prom morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
So sweetly, that they stiir'd and haunted mo
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most hko articulate sounds of things to

como '

So gazed I, till the soothing things I dreamt
LulTd mo to sleep, and sloop prolong' d my

dreams '

And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mino eye
Fuc'd with mock'd study on my swimming

book —

Save if the door half open'd, and I snatoh'd
A hasty glanco ; and still my heart loup'd up,
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister moio beloved,
My playmate when wo both wore clothed

alike '
Dear babe, that aloopofcT: oiadlod by my

side,
Whono gentle breathings, hoard in this deep

calm,

Fill up the interspersed vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought '
My babe so beautiful ' it thnllH my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at tlioo,
And think that thou shalt learn far other

lore

And in far other scones ! For I was roar'd
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
And saw naught lovely but the sky and stars.
But thou, my babe! shalt wander hko a

brcozo

By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountains, and beneath the clouds,
Which imago in their bulk both lakes and

shores
And mountain crags. So shalt thou see and

hear

'Jlio lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth toaoh
Jlimsolf in all, and all things in himself,
(treat universal Teacher ' ho shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving mako it ask.
Therefore all seasons shall bo sweet to

theo

Whether tho Summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or tho redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt tho tufts of snow on tho bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while tho nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw, whether tho ovo-

drops fall,
Heard only in the tranoos of tho blast,

Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to tho quiet moon.

Col0ndffe.—Born 1772, Died 1834u

1508.— SONG.

Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell,
Lest a blacker charm compel !
So shall tho midnight bioozos swell
With thy deep, long, hngeimg knoll.

And at evening evermore,

In a cliapol on tho shoro,

Shall the ohauntor, sad and saintly,

Yellow tapers burning faintly,

Doleful masses chaunt for thoo-—

Misororo Domino '

Hark I tho cadonco dies away

On tho quiet moonlight sea ,
Tho boatmen real their oars and say,

Miseroro Domino '

Colcridgo.—Born 1772, Dieti, 183&

1509 — KUBLA KHAN.

In Xanadu (lid Kubla Khan
A Htatoly ploawuro-domo decree,
Whoxo Alpli, tho saorod iivor, ran,
Through caverns moasuroloHs to man,

Down to a HuuloHB Hoa.
Ho twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and toworu woro girdled round ;
And tlioro woro gardens, bright with sinuous

nils,
Whore blossom'd many an incense-bearing

troo;

And hero wore forests ancient as tho hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of groonory.

But 0 ' that doop romantic chasm, which

slanted

Down the groon hill athwart a oodarn cover r
A savage place ' as holy and enchanted
AH o'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover '
And from this chasm, with coasoloHH tuimoil

soothing,
As if this earth in fast thick pants wore

broatluiig,

A mighty fountain momently was forced,
Amid whose swift, half-wtormitted burnt
Hugo fragments vaulted like rebounding had,
Or chaffy grain bonoath the thresher's flail ;
And 'mid those dancing rocks at onoo and

over

It flung up momently the sacred rivor.
Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale, the sacred river

ran —

SEYETUED FBIBNDSHIP.

Then roaoh'd tho caverns moasurolowfl to man,
And Rank in tumult to a lifoloss oconn :
And 'mid thte tumult Kubla hoard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war.

Tho shadow o£ tho domo of pleasure
Floated midway on tho waves,
There was hoard tho mingled measure
From tho fountain and tho cares
Tt was a maraolo of raro dovico- —
A sunny ploaHUTe-domo with oaves of 100 !
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision onoe I Raw ,
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she play'd}
Singing of Mount Abora.
Gould I revive within mo
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep dolight 'twould win mo
That, with musio loud and long,
I would build that domo in air-
That sunny domo ' those cavos of ico '
And all who hoard should BOO them there,
And all should cry, Bowaio ' bowaro
His flaslmig eyes, his floating hair 1
Woavo a oirole round him thrico,
And close your oyos with holy dread,
For he on honey-dow hath f od,
And drunk the milk of Parodiho

Qolan3aef->Born 17*72, DM 1834.

* 1510.— SBYEBED FBIENDSHIP.

Alas 1 they had beon fi lends in youth ;
But whispering tongues can poison truth j
And constancy lares in lealms above ,
And He is thorny ; and youth is vain ;
And to be wroth with one wo lovo,
Doth work liko madnoss in tho brain.
And thns it chanced, as I dinuo,
"With .Roland and Sir Leohno
Each spako woids of high disdain
And insult to his heart's boat biothor
They parted — ne'er to moot again '
But never either found another
To free tho hollow heart from paining —
They stood aloof, tho soars remaining,
lake cliffs which had been rent asundor ;
A dreary sea now flows between •
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I woan,
The marks of that which once hath been.

Colcmdgo.— Born 1772, DM 1834.

1511.— EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.

Ere sin could bligto or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care j

The opening bud to heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.

1772, Died 1834.

1512— ANSWER TO A CHIWH
QUESTION.

Do you ask what tho birds say? Tho flpiurow,
I tho dovo,

I Tho linnet, and tliruah way " I lovo, ami T
, love'"
In tho winter they're wlont, tho wind i« HO

strong ,
What it says I don't know, but it Hingn a loud

song
But groon loaves, and bloHHomn, and iiunny

warm weather,
And singing and loving — all ooxno l«w«I: to-

gothor*
But the lark is so brimful of tfladuchs nml

love,
The greon fields below him, tho bluo hlvy

above,
That ho sings, and ho singR, and for ovor

* I lovo my Lovo, and my Lovo IOVOH iw

Died

1513.— THE COMMENCEMENT OF
"DAETMOOB."

Lovoly Bovoma ' laud of floworn and Hongn !
To thoo the duteous lay. Thou hunt a oloud
For ever in thy dky— a bioozo, a whowor,
For over on thy meads; — yot whoro flhall

man,

Pixrsumg Spring around Iho globo, rnfrohh
His oyo with fsronon moio l^oautoouH ihan

adorn
Thy fields of matohlowH votduro1 Not the

south —

Tho glowing floiitli, with all itrf iiasnro nlcirw,
And aromatic grovos, and fiuiis iliat nuiH,
At tho rapt touch, and doup-htiod flu worn tltat

light
TLoir tints at zenith Hunn — lian cliamiH lilvo

thino,
Though frosh tho gale that rumen tliy wild

And waftH tho froquont cloud- T own tho

powor

Of local sympathy, thai o'er tho fair
Throws rnoro divino liUuromont, and o'or all
The groat more graudour , and my

Fixed by the universal passion, poutH,
Haply, a partial lay. Forgive tho Htrain,
Enamour'd, for to man in every clime,
The swootoflt, doaroHt, noblont wpot below,
Is that which gives him birth , and long it

•wears

A charm unbroken, and its honour' d name,
HoUow'd by memory; is fondly breathed
With his last lingering sigh*

N. ft Gcmwgton.-- Otow 1777, JPM 183(1

From 1780 to 18C0.]

ENGLAND'S LANDSCAPE.

[N T.

1514.— DABTMOOB

In sunlight and in shade —
JJopOflo and storm, — wide waste ! I sinco have

trod

Tliy lull and dale magnificent Again
1 Hook thy solitudes profound, in this
Thy hour of doop tranquillity, when rests
Tho sunbeam on thoc, and thy dosort Hooms
To sloop in the unwonted brightness — calm
But storn for, though tho spirit of the spring
Breathes on thoo, to tho oharmor's whisper

kind

Thou listenost not, nor over puttost on
A robo of boauby, as tho nolds that bud
And blossom near thoo Yet I love to troad
Thy central wanton whon not a sound intrudoH
Upon tho oar, but rush of wing, or loap
Of tho hoarso waterfall. And, oh, 'tis swoot
To list tho music of thy torrent streams ,
For thou too hast thy minstrelsies for him
Who from their liberal mountain-urn delights
To trace thy waters, as from source to sea
They rash tumultuous

N T Vwvingion— J?or» 1W, JDtaZ1830.

1515— THE PIXIES OF DEVON

Thoy aro flown,

Beautiful fictions of our futhorn, wovo
In Huporwtitiott'H woh whoix Thno was young1,
And fondly loved and ohoiiHh'd they aro

flown
Before tho wand of Soionool Hills and

vales,

Mountains and moors of Devon, yo havo lonl
Tho enchantments, tho delighta, tho VIHIOUH

all,

The elfin vinionfl that so bloflflM tho sight
In the old dayw romantic, Nought is hoard,
Now, m tho leafy world, bat earthly

strainfl —
Yoioos, yet sweet, of breeze, and bird, and

brook,

And waterfall ; tho day is silent else,
And night is strangely mute ! tho hyiuuings

high —

Tho immortal music, men of ancient times
Hoard ravish* d oft, aro flown ! 0 ye have

lost,

Mountains, and moors, and meads, tho ra-
diant throngs

That dwelt in your green solitudes, and fill'd
The air, tho fields, with beauty and with joy
Intense , with a rich mystery that awed
The mind, and flung around a thousand

hearths
DivmoHt tales, that through tho enchanted

year
Found passionate listeners !

Tho very streams

Brighton' d with visitings of these so sweet
Ethereal creatures ! They were seen to rise

From the charm' d wateis, which still brighter

grow

As tho pomp pass'd to land, until the eye
Scarce bore the unearthly glory. Whoro they

trod,
Young flowers, but not of this world's growth,

arose,

And fiagranoe, as of amaranthine bowers,
Floated upon the breeze And mortal oyeH
Look'd on thoir revels all tho luscious night ,
And, unroprovod, upon then: ravishing forms
Gazed wistfully, as in the dance they moved,
Voluptuous to tho thrilling touch of harp
Elysian !

And by gifted oyos wore soon
Wonders — in tho still air , and beings bright
And beautiful, more beautiful than throng
Fancy's ecstatic regions, peopled now
Tho sunbeam, and now rodo upon tho gale
Of tho sweet summer noon. Anon they

touch* d

Tho earth's delighted bosom, and tho glades
Soom'd greener, fairer — and tho enraptured

woods

Gave a glad leafy murmur — and tho riUs
Leap'd in tho ray for joy , and all tho birds
Throw into tho intoxicating air their Hong-a,
All aoul. Tho very arohings of tho grove,
Glad in cathedral gloom from ago to ago,
Lightou'd with living splendours , and tho

flowoiH,

Tmgod with now huos and lovelier, upuprung
By millions in tho groBH, that runUod now
To galoH of Araby '

The HoaaonH came

In bloom or blight, in glory or in shudo ,-
Tho Hhowor or sunbeam foil or glauoocl as

pleased
Thoso potent olvofl. Thoy aloorM the #iont

cloud
Through heaven at will, and with tho meteor

Oamo down in death or sport ; ay, whon the

storm
Shook tho old woods, they rodo, on rainbow

wings,

The tempest , and, anon, they rouiM itn rage
In its fierce mid career But yo havo flown,
Beautiful fictions of our fathers ' — ilowu
Before tho wand of Soionoo, and the hearths
Of Devon, as lags tho disenchanted year,
Aro passionless and ailont '

N T Carriwjton. — Bttrn 1777, Dwd 1830.

1516.— -ENGLAND'S LAJTOSCAPE.

Fair is thy level landscape, England, fair
As over nature form'd ' Away it swoops,
A wide, a smihng prospect, gay with flowers
And waving grass, and trees of amplest

growth,
And sparkling rills, and rivers winding Blow

N. T. CAIMJINCKCON.]

BIBD, BEE, AND BTJTTEBFLY.

Through all tho smooth immonso. Upon tho

oyo

Aiiao tho village and tho village spiro,
Tho clustering hamlet and tho peaceful cot
Clasp'd by tho woodbine, and tho lordly domo,
Proud peering 'mid tho stately oak and elm
Loaf-loving. Sweet tho frequent lapse of

brook,

Tho poetry of groves, tho voice of bolls
Prom agod towers, and labour's manly song
From cultured fields upswoUmg. Sweet tho

hues

Of all tho fertile land , and when the sun
And shower alternate empire hold, how fresh,
How gay, how all-enchanting to the view,
Beheld at first, the broad champaign appeals '

N. T. Ccvrrvngton.—Born 1777, Died 1830.

1517— BIRD, BEE, AND BUTTERFLY.

Bird, bee, and butterfly — the favourite throo
That meet us ever on our summer path '
And what, with all her forms and hues divmo,
Would summer be without them P Though

the skies
Were blue, and blue the streams, and fresh

the fields,

And beautiful, as now, tho waving woods,
And exquisite the flowers, and though the

sun
Beam'd from his cloudless throne fxom day to

day,

And, with the breeze and shower, more love-
liness
Shed o'er this lovoly world,* yet all would

want

A oharm, if those sweet denizens of earth
And air made not tho gioat creation teom
With beauty, giaoe, and motion ' Who would

bless

The landscape, if upon his mormng walk
He greeted not tho feathery nations, porch'd,
For love or song, amid the dancing loaves ;
Or wantoning in flight from bough to bouq-h,
From field to field • ah ! who would bless thoo,

June,

If silent, song-loss wore tho groves, — unheard
Tho lark in heaven P — And ho who moots tho

beo

Bifling tho bloom, and listless hoars his hum,
Incessant ringing through tho glowing day ,
Or loves not tho gay butterfly that swims
Before him in the ardent noon, array' d
In onmson, azure, emerald, and gold ;
With more magnificence upon his wing —
His little wing — than over graced tho robe
Gorgeous of royalty — is like the kino
That wander 'mid the flowers which gem tho

meads,
Unconscious of their beauty.

N. T. Comntfton.— Bom 1777, Died 1830.

1518.— LOVE AND NATURE.

Long

He wooed A maid all innoconco and truth,
And lovoly as tho loveliest nymph that
Thy banks, swift rushing Ehono ; aiul «he

return' d

His passionate suit, and every day that 001110
Strongthon'd tho indissoluble charm thai

wound
Itself round their young hearts. Thy ttkuw

are blue,
Fair Provence, and thy streams arc clear, ami

fringed

By tho lush vino, that in thy quiet valos
Hangs out its full frank clusters, glowing

deep

With richest amethystine tint ; and tliou
Hast songs of witching minstrelsy from

bowers

Of fragrance ; and amid the deepening sliado
Of groves, swoot cots — abodes of health and

peace

By woodbine, rose, and myrtle Hwootly clonkM.
But love has powor to fling- an added charm
Even on tho boantifnl , and whwi thoso im»l,
At magic ovo, tho soft, tho mumy south
"Sot more enchanting ficom'd , — tlio lulls, tho

valos
Wore an unearthly charm, — the crystal

streams
iRolTd on with new-born minstrelsies; — tho

woods

Wore greener, fairer ; and thin world arcwo
To their quick-beaming and delighted oyoH,
With all the hues and forms of Paradiso.

N. T. Corr»n./fcm —/ton* 1777, Died 1880.

— PKAYEK.

Like tho low murmur of the soorot stream,
Which through dark aldorH winds its shaded

way,
My suppliant voice it* hoard : Ah ' do not

doom
That on vain toys I throw my hours away.

In tho rocGflsOB of tho forest volu,

On the wild mountain, on the verdant nod,
Whore tho fresh "breezes of the morn prevail,

I wander lonely, communing with (jod.

When tho faint sickness of a wounded linart
Creeps in cold shuddering through my

sinking frame,

I turn to thoo — that holy peace impart,
Which soothes tho invokorn of thy awful
name!

0 oil-pervading Spirit I naorod beam 1
Parent of life and light ' Eternal Power !

Grant mo through obvious clouds ono transient

gloom
Of thy bright essence in my dying hour !

W. B6cltford.—Born 1700, Died 1844.

Vrm 1780 to 1866 ]

BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO.

[J. GK LOCKH.AJBT.

1520— ECHO AND SILENCE

In eddying course when leaves began to fly,
And Autumn in her lap tho store to strow,
As 'mid wild sconos I chanced tlio Muso to

woo,
Through glons untrod, and woods thatfrown'd

on high,
Two sleeping nymphs with wonder mute I

spy'
And, lo, she's gone ! — In robe of dark-green

hue

'Twas Echo from her sister Silence flow,
For quick tho hunter's horn resounded to tho

sky i
In Bhado affnghtod Silence molts away.

Not so her Bister — Haik ! for onward still,
With far-hoaid stop, fcho takes her listening

way,
Bounding from rook to rock, and hill to

hill

Ah, maik the merry maid in mookful play,
With thousand mimic tones tho laughing forest
fill!

Sir Egcrton Brydyci}.-— limn 1762, Died 1837.

1521.— -TO AUTUMN, NEAR HER
DEPARTURE

Thou Maid of gontle light' thy straw-wove

VOHt,

And raHRot cincture ; thy loose pale-tinged

Iwar;

Thy melancholy voice, and languid air,
As if, shut up within that pensive breast,
Some no'or-to-bo-divulgod gnof was prost ,
Thy looks resign' d, that smiles of patience

wear,
While Winter's blasts thy scatter' <1 tresses

tear;
Thee, Autumn, with divinost charms have

blent !

Lot blooming Spring with gaudy hopes delight
That dazzling Summer shall of her bo born;
Let Summer blazo ; and Winter's* stormy tram
Breathe awful music in tho ear of Night ,

Thee will I court, sweet dying Maid f oilorn,
And from thy glance will catch tho inspired
Htram.

Svr Ey&rton Brydgos.—Born 1762, DM 1837.

1522— BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO.

With some good ten of his chosen men, Ber-
nardo hath appear 'd

B of 010 them all in tho Palace hall, the lying
King to board ,

With cap in hand and eye on ground, ho came
in reverend guise,

But ever and anon he frown'd and flame broke
from his eyes.

" A curse upon thoe I " dies tho King, " who
com' at unhid to mo ;

But what fiom traitor's blood should spring,
save traitors like to ILee ?

His siro, Lords, had a traitor's hoart ; per-
chance our Champion bravo

May think it were a pious part to share Don
Sancho's grave."

" Whoever told this tale tho King hath rash-
ness to repeat,"

Ones Bernard, " Here my gage I fling before
THE LIAS'S foot !

No treason was in Sanoho's blood, no stain in
mine doth lie— -

Below tho throne what kmght will own tho
coward calumny ?

The blood that I hko wator shed, whon Roland

did advance,
By secret traitors hired and led, to moke us

slaves of Franco , —
Tho lifo of King Alphouso I saved at Ron-

ceval, —
Tour woids, Lord King, ore recompense

abundant for it alL

Your horse was down — your hope was flown —

I saw tho faulohion shine,
That soon had drank your royal blood, had I

not vontuiod mine ,
But memory soon of service done dosorteth

tho ingrato,
And yo'vo thank' <1 tho son for lifo and crown

by the father's bloody fate.

To sworo upon your kingly faith, to sot Don

Sanoho froo,
But, CUTHO upon your paltering breath, tho

light he ne'er did see ,
Ho diod in dungeon cold and dim, by Al-

phonso's base decree,
And visage blind, and stiffen' d limb, were all

they gave to mo.

Tho King thai Bworveth from liis word liatli

staux'd his purple black,
No Spanish Lord will draw the swoxd behind

a liar's back ;
But noblo vengeance shall bo mine, an opon

hate I'll show—
Tho King hath injured Carpio's line, and

Bernard is his foo "

" Soizo — seize him ' " — loud tho King doth

scream — " There are a thousand hero —
Lot Ms foul blood this instant atroaxn — What!

caitiffs, do yo f oar ?
Seize — seize the traitor ! " — But not one to

movo a finger claroth, —
Bernardo fitandoth by tho throne, and calm his

sword ho baroth

He drew the faulohion from tho sheath, and
hold it up on high,

And all tho hall was still as death : cries Ber-
nard, " Here am I,

J. G-. LOCKHAWT ]

ZARA'S

And here ifl tho sword that owns no lord,

excepting Heaven and mo ,
Pain would I know wlio dares his point —

King, Cond6, or Grandoo ' "

Taon to hiH mouth tho horn ho drew — (it hung

below his cloak) —
His ton truo men tho aignal know, and through

tho ring they broko ;
With holm on head, and "bloxlo in hand, tho

knights tho oirclo brake,
And back tho lordbngs 'gan to stand, and tho

false king to quake.

"Ha! Barnard," quoth Alphonso, "what

means this warlike guise P
Yo know full woll I jested — yo know your

worth I prize " —
But Bernard turn'd upon his hod, and smiling

pass'd away —
Long rued Alphonso and his realm the jesting

of that day

J. a. IrocfcJwwt.— Born 1794, Died 1854.,

1523.— ZARA'S EAJBrBINGS.

" My ear-rings ' my ear-rings ' they've dropt

into the well,
And what to say to Muc.a, I cannot, cannot

tell."—
'Twas thus Granada's fountain by, spoke

Albuharez' daughter,——
" The well is deep, far down they lie, bonoath

the cold blue water —
To me did Muoa give them, when he spake his

sad farewell,
And what to say when he comes back, alas !

I cannot toll.

My ear-rings r my ear-rings I they wore pearls

in silver set,
That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er

should him foiget,
That I no'or to other tongue should list, nor

smile on other's talc,
But remember ho my hps had kiss'd, pure as

those ear-rings pale —
When lie comes back and hears that I have

dropt thorn in the woll,
Oh what will Mu$a thmk of me, I cannot,

cannot tell.

My ear-rings' my ear-rings! he'll say thoy

should have been,
Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and

glittering sheen,
Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining

clear,
Changing to the changing light, with radiance

insincere —
That changeful mind unchanging gems are not

befitting well—
Thus will lie think,— and ^hat to say, alas!

I cannot tell.

He'll think whon I to market wont, I Init

by tho way ;
He'll think a willing ear I lent to all tlio

might say ;
He'll think soino othor lover'flhaud omoziff my

trcsuos nooHod,
From the oars where ho had placed them, my

rings of pearl unloosed ;
He'll think whon I won sporting HO luutulo tlii'i

maiblo woll,
My pearls foil in, — and what to say, alas ' I

cannot toll*

He'll say I am a woman, and wo two all tho

same;
He'll say I loved whon ho waH hero to whinpor

of IMS flaxno-"*-
But when ho went to Tunis xny virgin troth

had broken,
And thought no moro of Mu<;a, and cared not

for his token.
My oar-rings I my oar-ringa r oh r lucklcMH,

luckless well I
For what to say to Mu<;a, alan ! 1 oiwmot

toll.

I'll toll tho truth to Mu<ja, and I liopo lio will

bohovo —
That I have thought of him at morning, and

thought of him at ovo
That musing on my lover, whon down tho wtu

was gone,
His oajr-nngs in lay hand I hold, !»y tho

fountain aU alono *
And that my mind was o'or tho Hoa, whou from

my hand thoy foil,
And that deep his lovo lies iu my hourt, tw

tlioy ho in tho woll "

J. 0

I>u><l

1524— THE EXUOMMUmCATION OF

THJM cm.

It was when from Spain aoroHH tho main tho
Oid had come to Borne,

Ho chanced to see chairs four and throe bo-
noath Saint Potor'a dome.

"Now toll, I pray, what chairs bo they P " —
" Seven kings to Hit thereon,

As well doth suit, all at tho foot of tho holy
Father's throne,

Tho Pope ho sittoth abovo thorn all, that thoy

may kiss his too,
Below the 'keys tho Flowor-do-lya doth mako

a gallant show ;
For his groat puissance, the King of Franco,

next to tho Pope may sit,
The rest more low, all in a row, as doth their

station fit."—

From 1780 to I860]

TUB CONYICT SHIP.

[T. K.

"HaJ" quoth the Cid, "now God forbid' it

is a shame, I WISH,
To see the CoHtlo planted beneath tho Mowor-

do-lys.
No harm, I hope, good Father Pope — although

I move thy chair " —
In PIOCOH HmaU ho kick'd it all ('twas of tho

ivory fair).

Tho Pope's own seat ho from his foot did kick

it far away,
And tho SponiHh chair he planted upon its

plaoo that day ,
Above them all ho planted it, and laugh'd

right bitterly ;
Looks aour and bad, I trow ho had, aa grim as.

grim might be.

Now when tho Popo was aware of this, ho was

an angry man,

His lips that night, with solemn right, pro-
nounced the awful ban ;
Tho curse of God, who died on rood, was on

that sinner's head-
To hull and woo man's soul must go, if onco
that curse bo laid

I wot, when tho Cid was aware of this, a

woeful Mian wan lie,
At cluwii of tiny ho came to piay, at tlio

blamed Father' » knee
" AbHolvo, bloHHod Father, havo pity upon

1HO,

Absolve my soul, ami ponnnco I ior uiy wii
will ilroo."

" Who is tho sinner," quoth tho Popo, " that

at iny foot doth kuool ? "
«X am JKodngo Diaz — a poor Baron of

Castillo."—
MuohmorvoU'd all wore in tho hall, whou that

namo thoy hoard him say.
— " Brno tip, rise tip," tho Popo he said, " I do

thy guilt away,—

Tdo thyffuilt away," ho said— "and inycur«o

1 blot it out —
God save Bodrigo Diaz, my Christian champion

stout ;—
I trow, if I had known thco, my grief it had

bdon soro,
To cuwo Buy Bin,!! do Bivar, God's scourge

npon tho Moor."

1525.— THE CONVICT SHIP.

Morn on the waters ' and, purple and bright,
Bursts on tho billows the flushing of light ;
O'er tho glad waves, like a child of the sun,
See tho tall vessel goes gallantly on ;
Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail,
And Iior pennon streams onward, like hope, in
the gale ;

Tho winds como around her, in murmur and

song,
And the surges rejoice as thoy bear her

along
Boo ' she looks up to tho golden-edged

clouds,
And tho sailor suags gaily aloft in bho

shrouds

Ouward sho glides, amid npplo and spray,
Over tho waters — away, and away '
Bright as tho visions of youth, 010 thoy part,
Passing away, like a dream of tho heart '
Who — as tho beautiful pageant swoops by,
Musio around her, and sunshine on high —
Pauses to think, amid glittei and glow,
Oil ' theio bo hearts that are breaking

below '

Night on tho waves ! — and tho moon is on

high,

Hung, like a gem, on tho brow of tho ttky,
TioacUng it& depths in tho power of her

might,
And turning tho clouds, as thoy pass her, to

light !

Look to the waters ' — asleep on their breast,
Scorns not tho ship like an island of rest P
Bright and alono on tho shadowy main,
Like a hcart-ohoriRh'd homo on some desolate

plain'

Who — OK H!IO nmilos in the silvery light,
Spreading hoi- wings on tho bosom oi night,
Alono on tho (loop, as tho moon in tlio sky,
A phantom of beauty — could doom with a

sigh,
That so lovely a thing is tho manHion of

sin,
And that souls that are smitten lie bursting

within?

Who, as ho watches hor silently gliding,
Bomombers that wave after wavo is dividing
Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not

sever,
Hearts whioh aro ported and broken for

over P
Or dooms thai he watches, afloat on tho

wavo,
Tho doathbod of hopo, or tho young spirit's

grave?

'Tis thus with our life, while it passes along,
Like a vessel at sea, amidst sunahino and

song!

Caily wo glide, in the gaze of tho world,
With streamers afloat, and witlx canvas tui«

furl'd;

All gladness and glory, to wandering oyos,
Yet ohortor'd by sorrow, and freighted with

sighs :

Fading and false is the aspect it wears,
As tho smiles wo put on, jtwt to cover our

tears ;
And tho withering thoughts which the world

oannot know,
Like heart-broken exiles, lio burning below ;

T. K HEUVEY ]

JDBY UP THY TEAKS, LOVE.

FSKVENTH PBRTOD —

Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate
shore,

Whoro tlie dreams of our childhood aro va-
nish'd and o'or.

T. JSC. Hervcy —Itorn 1804, Died 1859.

1526. — DRY TIP THY TEABS, LOVE.

Diy up thy toais, lovo ' — I fain would "be gay T
Sing me the song of my early day !
Give mo tho music, so witchmgly wild,
That solaced my sorrows when I was a child ' —
Years have gone by me, both lonely and long,
Since my spirit was soothed by thy TOICO in

that song '
Years have gone by ! — and life's lowlands

are past,
And I stand on tho hill which I sigh'd for, at

last:
But I turn from tho summit that onoo was my

star,
To the vale of my childhood, been dimly and

far,—
Each blight on its beauty seems softeii'd and

gone,
Like a land that wo love, in tho light of tho

morn 1
There are tho flowers that havo wither' d

away,
And the hopes that havo faded, like fames at

play,
And the eyes that are dimm'd, and the smiles

that are gone,
And thou, too, art there r — but thou still art

mine own,

Fair as in childhood, and fond as in youth,
Thou, only thon, wert a spirit of truth '
Time hath been o'er thee, and darken' d

thine oyo,
And thoughts aro within thoo more holy and

high,

Sadder thy smile than in days that aro o'er,
And lovelier all that was lovely before ;
That which thou. wort is not that which thou

art,
Thou, too, art altor'd in all— but in heart I

Lie on my bosom, and lead mo along
Over lost scenes, by tho magic of song '
"What if I weep at the viHion of years P
Sighs are not sorrows — and joy has her tears !
Sad is my brow, as thy music is sad,
But oh I it is long since my hoait was so

glad!
But all that is left me of life's promise is

here, —

Thou, my young idol, in sorrow more dear I
But thy murmurs remind mo of many away,
And though I am glad, love ' I cannot bo

gay!—

All have departed that offor'd like truth,
Save thou— only thou — and the song of my

youth'

T. JT. Hdw*y.-- Born 1804, Died 1859.

1527.— I AM ALL ALONK

I am all alone ' — and tho vinionn that play
Bound life's young days, havo pomM away ,
And tho songs aro hnHh'd that gladncus HIIIR-H,
And tho hopes that I chontih'd have niudo

thorn wingn ,

And the light of my heart is dim in' d and gono,
As I sit in my sorrow — and all alone !
And tho forms which I fondly loiod uro

flown,

And friends havo departed — one by 0110 ,
And momoiy sit«, wholo lonely hourn,
And weaves her wreath of hopu'H faded

flowers,
And woops o'or tho chaplot, when 110 one IB

near

To gaze on her grief, or to chide hot toai !
Aid the hour of my childhood IH dintant

far,

And I walk in a land whoro stranger** arc ,
And the looks that I moot, and tho nouudH

that I hoar,
Aro not light to my spirit, nor H<mff to my

oar,
And sunshine is round me — which T cannot

soe,
And eyes which beam kmduo.SH — but not for

mo1
And tho song goon round, and tho glowing

smilo,

But I am desolate all tho while '
And faces aro bright and boHomt* glad,
And nothing, 1 think, but my heart IK Mid !
And I Room hko a blight in a region of bloom,
While I dwell m my own little circle of f> loom !

I wander about like a whodow of JMUII,
With a worm in my breast, and a spell on my

brain ,
And I lint, with a start, to tho guMhuiff of

gladness, —

Oh ' how it grates on a bosom all saclnom '—
So, I turn from a world whoro 1 zmvur WUB

known,
To sit in my sorrow— and all alone*.

T. K.Uerwy*— Morn 1804, Dlnl 1859.

1528.— AT HIS SISTER'S QBAVE,

Tho fooling ifl a namoloHH one
With which I Bit upon thy Htono,
And road tho tale I dare not bmitlin,
Of blighted hopo that bloepH bouoath,
A simple tablet bears above
Brief record of a father's lovo,
And hints, in language yot more brief,
Tho story of a fathor'H grief : —

Lost spirit ! — thino was not a broant
To struggle vainly after roftt !
Thou wert not made to boar tlio Htrifo>
Nor labour through tho storms of life ;
Thy heart was in too warm a mould
To mingle with the dull and cold,

r

flroro 1780 to 1806.]

THE PATJPEB'S DEATHBED.

, SOUTHBT'

And ovoiy thought that wronged thy truth
Foil liko a blight upon thy youth ' —
Thou ahould&t havo boon, for thy distress,
Loss pure — and oh, more passionless I
For sorrow's wasting- mildow gave
Its tenant to my sister's grave '

But all thy griefs, my girl, are o'or !
Thy fair blue oye shall weep no more !
'Tis Rwoot to know thy fragile form
Lies sato from every future storm ' —
Oft, as I haunt the dreamy gloom
That gathers round thy peaceful tomb,
I love to see the lightning stream
Along thy stono with fitful gleam ,
To fancy in each flash are given
Thy spirit's visitings from heaven , —
And smile to hear the tempest ravo
Above my sister's quiet grave !

T. K. H&rvey.—Born 1804, Died, 1859.

1529.— PARTING-.

My early love, and must we part ?
Yes I other wishes win thee now ;
Now hopes are springing in thy heart,
Now feelings brightening o'or thy brow I
And childhood's light and childhood's home
Are all forgot at glory's call.
Yet, cofat ono thought in years to oomo
On hor who lovod thoe o'or them all

Whon pleasure's bowl is filTd for theo,
And tlion hast raised the cup to sip,
I would not that ono dream of mo
Should ohaso the chalice fiom thy lip :
33ut should there mingle in the draught
Ono dream of days that long aro o'er,
Then—only then— toe pledge bo quaff 'd
To her who ne'er shall taste it more !

When lovo and friendship's holy joys
Within their magio circle bind thoo,
And happy hearts and smiling eyes.
As all must wear who are around thoe !
.Remember that an oyo as bright
Is dimm'd — a heart as true is broken,
And turn thoo from thy land of light,
To waste on those some little token,
But do not weep ! — I could not bear
To Btain thy cheek with sorrow's trace,
I would not draw one single tear,
For worlds, down that beloved face.
As soon would I, if power wore given,
Pluck out the bow from yonder feky,
And free the prison' d floods of heaven,
As call one tear-drop to thine oyo.

Tet oh, my love ! I know not why
It is a woman's thought ! — but while
Thou offer'st to my memory,
The tribute should not be — a smile '
For, though I would not see thoe weep,
Tho heart, mothmks, should not be gay,
That would the fast of feeling koep
For her who lovos it, far away.

No 1 give me but a single sigh,

Pure as we breathed in happier hours,
Whon very sighs wore wing'd with joy,
lake gales that have swept over flowers ;
That uttering of a fond regret,
That strain my spirit long must pour j
A thousand dreams may wait us yet .
Oar holiest and our first is o'or.

T. JT. Jfforvfly.— Born 1804, Jhod 1859.

1530.— AUTUMN FLOWERS.

Those f ow palo Autumn flowers,

How beautiful thoy are !
Than all that wont before,
Than all the Summer store,

How lovelier far '

And why P — They are the last !

The last! the last ' the last !
Oh! by that little word
How many thoughts axe stirr'd

That whisper of the past !

Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers !

Ye're typos of precious things ;
Types of those bitter moments,
That flit, like life's enjoyments,

On rapid, rapid wings

Last hours with parting1 doar ones
(That Time the fastest spends),

Last tears in silence shod,

Last wordH half uttor'd,
Last looks of dying friends.

Who but would fain compress

A life into a day, —
Tho last day spent mtb one
"Who ere the morrow's sun

Must leavo us, and for ayo P

0 precious, precious moments !

Palo flowers ' ye'ie typos of those ;
Tho saddest, sweetest, dearest,
Because, liko those, the nearest

To an eternal close.

Polo flowers I pale perishing flowers !
I woo your gentle breath —

1 leavo the Summer roso
For younger, blither bxows $

Toll me of change and doath.

CcwoZwo 8<nrihey.— Born 1786, DMJ# 1854.

1531.— THE PAUPER'S, DEATHBED.

Troad softly ! bow tho hood-
In reverent silence bow <

No passing boll doth toll ,

Tot an immortal soul
Is passing now.

70

THE LAST JOTJENET.

[SEVENTH PERIOD.—

Stranger, however groat,
"With lowly reverence bow 1

There's one in that poor shed—

Ono by that poltry bod —
Creator than thotL

Benoath that beggar's roof,
Lo i Death doth keep his state !

Entor f — no crowds attond —

Enter ! — no guards defend
This palace gate.

Thai pavomozit damp and oold
No smiling1 courtiers tread ,

One silent woman stands,

Lifting with meagre hfvndff
A dying head.

"No mingling voices sound —

An infant wail alone ;
A sob suppressed— again
That short deop gasp — and then

The parting groan '

O ' change— 0 1 wondrons change !

Burst aro the prison bars !
This moment there, so low,
So agonized — and now

Beyond the stars !

0 ! change — stupendous change I
There hos the soulless clod I

The &un eternal breaks ;

The new immortal wakes —
Wakes with his God.

CcuroUne 8owth*y>—Bom 1786, Died 1854.

1532 —THE LAST JOUKNET.

Slowly, -with measured tread,
Onward we boar the doad

To his lone home ,
Short grows the homeward road —
On. with your mortal load ! —

0, grave r wo oomo.

Tet, yet— ah ' hasten not
Past each lomombor'd spot

Whore ho hath been —
"Where late ho walk'd in glee,
These from henceforth to be

Never more seen I

Best ye— sot down the bier !
One he loved dwelleth here ;

Let the dead He
A moment that door beside,
Wont to fly open wide

Ero he drew nigh.

Hearken !— he spoaketh yet !—
M 0, friend ! wilt thou forget

(Friend— more than brother !)
How hand in hand we've gone,
Heart with heart Knk'd in one-
All to each other P

0, friend ! I go from tlioo —
Where the worm foastoth free,

Darkly to dwell,
Giv'st thou no parting ki«B ?
Friend ' is it come to this P

0, friend, farewell ' "

Uplift your load again !

Take up the mouiiuup Btroin—

Pour the doop wail '
Lo ! the oxpoctcd ono
To his place pasfloth on —

Grave! bid him hail f

Yet, yet — ah ' wlowly move I
Boar not the form wo love

Fast from our flight —
Let the air breathe on him,
And the sun beam on Mm

Last looks of light.

Here dwells his mortal foe;
Lay the departed low,

Even at his gate '
Will tho doad spoak again —
TTtt'ring proud boosttt, an<l vain

Last words of huto P

Lo ' tho cold lips unclose —

lost ' list ' what BoundH aro those,

Plaintivo and low ?
** 0, thou, mine enemy !
Oomo forth and look on mo,

Ero honoo I go.

Ourso not thy fooman now —
Mark ' on his pallid brow

Whoso seal IH Hot '
Pardoning I pass thy way ;
Then wogo not war With cluy —

Pardon— forgot ' "

Now all his labour '« done (
Now, now tho goal IH won !

0, grave, we come !
Seal up tho prociouw diuil —
Land of tho good and junt,

Take tho «oul homo I

Cwotine 8wtiwy

DM 185-1

1533.

Launch thy bark, mtwinor !

Ohrwtian, God Hpood thoo 1
Lot loose the rudflor-banda—

Good angels lead thoe !
Setthysailawaiily,

Tempests will oomo ;
Steer thy courflo steadily ;

Christian, steer home !

Look to tho weather-bow,
Breakers aro round thoo ;

Let fall the plummet now,
Shallow* may ground the*.

Prom 1780 to I8G6.]

CASA WAPPY.

[D. M. MOJB.

Boof in tho foresail, there '

Hold tlio helm fast!
So — let tho vessel wear —

There swept the blast.

" "What of the night, watchman P

•What of the night?"
" Cloudy — all quiet —

No land yet-*Jl's right."
^o wakeful, be vigilant —

Danger may be
At an hour when all soemeth

Securest to thoo.

How 1 gams the leak so fast P
Clean out the hold —

Hoist up thy merchandise,
Heave out thy gold 5

There — lot the ingots go —
Now the ship rights ,

Hurra I the harboui *s near-
ly ! the rod lights !

Slacken not sail yet

At inlet or island;
Straight for the beacon steer,

Straight for the high land ;
Crowd all thy canvas on,

Cut through the foam —
Christian J cant anchor now—

Heaven is thy home '

Cwolvna Southcy. — Born 1786, DioH 1854.

1534.— CASA WAPPY.

And hast thou sought thy heavenly home,

Our fond, dear boy —
The realms whore sorrow djwro not come,

Whore Lfe is joy P
Pure al thy death as at thy birth,
Thy spirit caught no taint from earth ;
Even by its bliss wo mete our death,
Casa Wappy I

Despair was in our last farewell,

As closed thine eye ;
Tears of our anguish may not toll

When thou didst die ;
Words may not paint our gnof for theo,
Sighs are but bubbles on the sea
Of our unfathom'd agony,

Casa Wappy !

Thou wort a vision of delight

To bless us given;
Beauty embodied to our sight,

A typo of heaven :
So dear to us thou wert, thou art
Even less thine own self than a part
Of mine and of thy mother's heart,
Casa Wappy !

<i

Thy bright brief day knew no decline,

'Twos cloudless joy 5
Sunrise and night alone were thine,

Beloved boy I

This morn beheld thoo bhtho and gay,
That found thoo prostrate in decay,
And e'er a third shone, clay was clay,
Casa Wappy 1

of our hearth, our household pride,

Earth's undented ;
Could love have saved, thou hadst not died,

Our dear, sweet child '
Humbly we bow to Fate's decree ;
Yet had we hoped that Time should seo
Theo mourn for us, not us for thoo,
Casa Wappy I

Do what I may, go whore I will,

Tliou moot 'at my sight,
There dost thou glide before mo still —

A form of light 1

I feel thy breath upon my chock —
I seo thoe smile, I hoar thoo speak —
Till oh ' my heart is bko to break,
Casa Wappy I

Methinks thou smil'st before mo now,

With glance of stealth;
The hair thrown back from, thy full brow

In buoyant health :
I see thine eyes' doop violet light,
Thy dimpled cheek carnation* d bright, '
Thy clasping arms so round and white,
Casa Wappy !

The nursoiy shows thy pictured wall,

Thy bat, thy bow,
Thy cloak and bonnet, olub and boll ;

Bat whuro art thou P
A corner holds thino empty choir,
Thy playthings idly aoattor'd thoio,
But spook to us of our despair,
Oapa Wappy 1

Even to tho last thy evory word —

To glad, to gnove —
Was sweet as sweetest song of bird

Ou summer's eve ,
In outward beaufr undooay'd,
Death o'or thy spirit cast no shado,
And like tho rainbow thou didst facto,
Casa Wappy r

Wo mourn for thoe when blind blank night

Tho chamber fills ;
We pino for thoe when morn's first light

Tho sun, tho moon, tho stars, the sea,
All, to tho wall-flowor and wild pea, '

Are changed — we saw tho world through
thee,

Casa Wappy !

And though, perchance, a smile may gleam

Of casual mirth.
It doth not own, whaio'or may seem,

AIL ULward birth •

We miss thy small stop on tho stair ;
We miss thee at thine evening prayer !
All day we miss thee, everywhere,

I), H. Mora.]

LANOSYNE

[SEVENTH PimiOT) —

Snows muffled earth when thou didst go,

In life's spring bloom,
Down to tho appointed house below,

The silent tomb.

But now the green loaves of the tree,
The cuckoo and " the busy boo,"
Botnrn — but with them bring1 not thoe,
Casa Wappy I

'Tis so , but can it be (while flowers

Revive again) —
Han's doom, on death that wo and ours

For aye remain P

Oh ' ean it be, that o'er the grave
The grass renew'd, should yearly wave,
Yet Gk>d forget our child to save P —
Casa Wappy I

It cannot be : for were it so

Thus Tfl'vp could die,
Life were a mockery, Thought were woe,

And Truth a he ,

Heaven were a coinage of the brain,
Religion frenzy, Yirtue vain,
And all our hopes to meet again,
Casa Wappy '

Then be to us, O dear, lost child !

With beam of lovo,
A star, death's uncongenial wild

Smiling above ;

Soon, soon thy little feet have trod
The skyward path, the seraph's road,
That led thee back from man to God,
Casa Wappy 1

Yet 'tis sweet balm to our despair,

Fond, fairest boy,
That heaven is God's, and thou art there,

With "him in joy :

There past are death and all its woes,
There beauty's stream for ever flows,
And pleasure's day no sunset knows,
Casa Wappy »

Farewell, then — f or awhile, farewell—

Pride of my heart '
It cannot bo that long we dwell,

Thus torn apait

Time's shadows like the shuttle floe
And, dark howo'or life's night may bo,
Beyond the grave I'll moot with thoo,
Casa Wappy I

D, K. Kow.— Born 1798, DwcZ 1851.

1535.— LANGSYNB.

> I — how doth the word come back
L magic meaning to the heart,
As memory roams the sunny track,
From which hope's dreams were loath to part !
No joy like by-past joy appears ;
For what is gone we fret and pine.
Were life spun out a thousand years
It could not match Langsyne I

Langsyno f — tho days of childhood warm,
When, tottering by a mother' H kneo,
Each sight and Round had power to clmrm,
And hope was high, and thought WUH fret*
Langsyne ' — tho mon-y schoolboy dttVH—
How sweetly then life's nun did Hliino '
Oh 1 for the glorious pranks and playH,
The raptures of LangByno.

Langsyne ! — yes, in tho sound I hear
The rustling of the summer grove ,
And view those angel featuron near
Which first awoke tho heart to lovo.
How sweet it is in pon&ive mood,
At windless midnight to recline,
And fill the mental solitude
With spectres from Langsyno !

Langsyno ' — ah, whore are they who aharod
With us its pleasures bright and blithe P
Kindly with some hath fortune fared ;
And some have bowed beneath the scythe
Of death ; while others scatter' d far
O'er foreign lands at fate ropino,
Oft wandering forth, 'neath twilight's atar,
To muse on dear Langsyno !

Langsyno ' — tho heart can novor bo
Again so full of guileless truth,;
Langsyno '—tho eyes no more shall BOO,
Ah no 1 tho rainbow hopoa of youth.
Langsyne ' — with thoo roRidon a spell
To raise tho spirit, and refine.
Farewell '—there can bo no farewell
To thee, lovod, lost Langayno !

D. JIT. Ko4r.— Horn 1708, DM 1831 „

1536.— THE UNKNOWN GBAVT3.

Who sloops bolow ? who Hloops bolow P

It is a question ullo all 1
Ask of tho breozoH an thoy blow,

Say, do thoy heed, or hear thy call.?
Thoy murmur in tho troort around,
And mock thy voice, an empty Hound '

A hundred nummor BU»B have ahowcrM
Their f ontoruig warmth, and radianoo bright ;

A hundred winter storms have lowot'd
With piercing floods, and IIUOH of night.

Since firat this remnant of hut race

Did tenant his lono dwelling-placo.

Say, did he come from East, from Weflt P
From Southern oilmen, or whero tho Polo,

With frosty sceptre, doth arroflt
The howling billows as thoy roll P

Within what realm of peace or strife

Did he first draw tho breath of life?

Was he of high or low degree P
Did grandeur smile upon his lot ?

Or, born to dark obscurity,
Dwelt he within some lowly cot,

1780 to 1866.]

PERICLES AND ASPASIA.

OBOLT.

And, from his youth to labour wed,
From toil-strung limbs wrong daily bread P

Say, diod lie ripe, and full of years,
Bow'd down, and bout by hoary eld,

When sound was silence to his oars,
And the dim eyeball sight withheld ,

Like a npo apple falling down,

Unshaken, 'mid the orchard brown,

When all the friends that bless* d his prime,
Wore vanish'd like a morning dream ,

Pluck' d one by one by spareloss Time,
And scattered in oblivion's stream ,

Pasting away all silently,

Like snow-flakes melting in the sea*

Or, 'mid the summer of his years,

When round him thiong'd his children

young,
When bright eyes gush'd with burning tears,

And anguish dwelt on every tongue,
Was he out off, and left behind
A widow' d wife, scarce half rosign'd P

Or, 'mid the sunshino of his spring,

Came the swift bolt that danh'd him down ;

When she, his chosen, blossoming
In beauty, doom'd him all her own,

And forwaid look'd to happier yoors

Than over bloHs'd this valo of team ?

By day, by night, through calm and storm,
O'or distant oceans did ho roam,

Far from his land, a lonely form,
The clock his walk, the sea his home .

Toss'd he on wild Bisoayan wave,

Or wl or ) smooth tides Panama lavo ?

Slept ho within the tented field,
With pillowing daisies for his bed P

Oaptivod in battle, did ho yield P
Or plunge to victory o'er the dead ?

Oft, 'mid destruction, hath ho broke

Through reeking blades and rolling smoke ?

Perhaps ho perish' d for the faith —

One of that persecuted band,
Who suffor'd tortures, bonds, and death,

To free from mental thrall the land,
And, toiling for the martyr's fame,
Espoused his fate, nor found a name '

Say, was ho one to science blind,
A gropor in Eoith's dungeon dark P

Or one who with aspiring mind
Did, in the fair creation, mark

The Maker's hand, and kept his soul

Free from this grovelling world's control ?

Hush i wild surmise f — 'tis vain — 'tis vain— •
The summer flowers in beauty blow,

And sighs the wind, and floods the rain,
O'er some old bones that rot below ;

No other record can wo trace

Of fame or fortune, rank or race I

Then, what is hfe, when thus we ace
No trace remains of life's career P —

Mortal ' whoe'er thou art, for thoa
A moral lesson glowoth here ;

Patt'st thou in aug-ht of earth thy trust P

'Tis doom'd that dust shall mix with dust.

What doth it matter, then, if thus,
Without a stone, without a name,

To impotently herald us,
We float not on the breath of fame ;

But, like the dewdrop from the flower,

Pass, after glittering for an hour P

The soul decays not, freed from earth,
And earthly coils, it bursts away , —

Receiving a celestial birth,

And spurning off its bonds of clay, •

It soars, and seeks another sphere,

And blooms through Heaven's eternal year !

Do good; shun evil ; live not thou,

As if at death thy being died,
Nor error's siren voice allow

To draw thy steps from truth aside ;
Look to thy journey's end — the grave I
And trust in Him whose arm can save.

D. M. Movr —Eorn 1798, Died 1851.

1537.— HYMN.

Father in Heaven ' who gave mo breath,
And made this world for such as me,

Remind mo, I must give, at death,
Account of all my deeds to Thee !

If from the track of duty e'er

My thoughts would roam, my feet would

slide,
Still may I feel that Thou art near,

And pray Thoo, Lord, to bo my guide.

Yes ' from Thine eye's unsleeping lid,
And from Thy presence none can flee ;

The secret places are not hid,
And darkness is as light to Thoo !

So when I wako to morning light,
My prayers to Thoo shall still ascend;

And I will ask Thoo, every night,
To bless my slumbois, and defend !

D.K. Mow.— Born, 1708, Died 1851.

1538.— PEEICLES AND ASPASIA.

This was the ruler of the lanfl,
When. Athens was the land of fame ;

This was the light that led the band,
When each was like a living flame ;

The centre of earth's noblest ring,

Of more than men, the more than king.

UKOLY.]

THE FRENCH ABMT IN RUSSIA. [SEVENTH PERIOD,—

Tot not by fetter, nor by spoor,
His sovereignty was held or won :

Feared — but alone as froomon fear;
Loved — but as froomon lovo alone ;

Ho waved tho scoptro o'or his kind

By nature's first groat title — mind I

Beaistloss words woro on his tongue,
Thon Eloquonoo first fiash'd below ;

Full arm'd to life the portent sprung,
Minerva from the Thunderer's brow !

And his tho solo, the sacred hand,

That shook her JEgis o'er the land.

And throned immortal by his Ride,
A woman sits with eye sublime,

Aspasia, all his spirit's bride ,

B.ut, if their solemn love were crime,

Pity the beauty and the sage,

Their crime was in their darkened age.

He perish'd, but his wreath was won ;

He perish' d in his height of fame
Then sunk the oloud on Athens' sun,

Yet still she conquer' d in his name.
FilTd with his soul, she could not die ;
Her conquest was Posterity I

George Oofy.— Born 1*780, Died 1861.

1539.— THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA,

Magnificence of ruin I what has tune
In all it ever gazed upon of war,
Of the wild rage of storm, or deadly olime,
Seen, with that battle's vengeance to com-
pare P
How glorious shone tho invadoi's pomp

afar '
Like pamper*d lions from tho spoil thoy

came,

The land before thorn silence and despair,
The land behind them massacre and flame ;
Blood will havo tenfold blood. What aro they
now P A name.

Homeward by hundred thousands, column-

doop,
Broad square, loose squadron, rolling like

tho flood,
When mighty torrents from their channels

ieu>p, *

Rush'd through tile land tho haughty multi-

tude,

Billow on endless billow , on through wood,
O'er rugged hill, down sunless, marshy vale,
The death-devoted moved, to clangour rudg
Of drum and hom, and dissonant clash of

^

Glancing disastrous light before that sunbeam
pale.

Again they reaehM thee, Borodino ' still
Upon the loaded soil the carnage lay,

Tho human harvest, now stark, Rtiff, and

ohill,
Fnond, foe, stretch* d thiok together, olay to

olay,

In vain tho startled legions burnt away;
The land was all one naked nopulohro ;
Tho shrinking eye still glanced on grim

decay,
Still did tho hoof and wheel their passage

tear,
Through cloven holms and aims, and corpses

mouldoiing drear.

Tho field was as thoy loft it ; foflao and fort
Steaming with slaughter still, but clonolato ;
The oannon flung dismantled by itn port ;
Each knew the mound, tho black ravine

whoBO strait
k Was won and lost, and throng'd with dead,

till fate

Had fix'd upon tho victor— half undone.
There was the hill, from which their oyo«

elate
Had seen the burst of MOMOOW'M golden

zone;
But death was at their heels , thoy Hlmddcr'd

and rush'd on.

The hour of vengeance striken. Hark to

tho gale1
As it bursts hollow through tho rolling

clouds,
That from the north in sullen grandeur

sail
Like floating Alps Advancing darkness

broods

Upon tho wild horizon, and tho woods,
Now sinking into brambloH, echo Khvill,
As tho gust swoops thorn, and tlioHO upper

floods
Shoot on their leafless boughtt tho nloot-

drops chill,
That on tho hurrying crowtlH in frooainft

showois diHtil

Thoy roach tho wildornoflH I Tho majoflty
Of solitude is nproad boforo their gassn,
Stern nakodiiosH— dark earth and wrathful

sky.
If rums woro thoro, thoy long hod ooawod to

If blood was shod, tho ground no more

betrays,

Even by a skeleton, tho ctrimo of man ;
Behind thorn rolls the doep and drenching

Wrapping their rear in night ; boforo thoir

van

The struggling daylight shows tho unmea-
sured desert wan.

Still on they swoop, as if their hurrying

march t

Could boar them from the rushing of His

wheel
Whose chariot is the whirlwind. Heaven' fi

clear arch

From 1780 to I860.]

REBELLION.

[GBOIMHB CBOLT*

Al onoe is cover' d with a livid veil,

In mix'd and fighting heaps the deep clouds

rod;

Upon the donso horizon hongs tho sun,
In sanguine light, an oib of burning steel ;
Tho snows wheel down through twilight,

thick and dun .
Now tremble, men of blood, tho judgment has

begun!

Tho trumpet of tho northern winds has

blown,

And it is answer' d by tho dying roar
Of armies on that boundless field o>or-

thrown*

Now in tho awful gusts tho desert hoar
IR tempested, a sea without a shore,
Lifting its feathery waves. Tho legions

fly,

Volley on volley down tho hailstones pour ,
Blind, famihh'd, frozen, mad, tho wanderers

die,
And dying, hoar tho storm but wilder thunder

by.

Suoh is the hand of Heaven ' A human

blow
Had crush' d them in tho fight, or flung the

chain
Bound thorn where Moscow's stately towers

woio low
And till bofltill'd. But Thou ' thy batilo-

plam

Was a whole empire , that devoted train
MuHt war from day to day with ntorm and

gloom.
(Mm following, like tho wolvoB, to rend the

slain),

MuHt lie from night to night an in a tomb,
Must fly, toil, bleed for homo ; yet never soo

that homo,

Goorgo Croly. — .Worn, 1780, DM I8G1.

1540— TO THE MEMOBY OF A LAB7

High peace to tho soul of tho dead,

TProm tho dream of tho world sho has gone '

On tho stars in her glory to tioad,
To bo bright in tho blasso of tho throne-

In youth she was lovely ; and Time,

"When her rose with tho cypress ho twined,
Left tho heart all tho warmth of its primo,

Loft her oyo all tho light of her mind
Tho summons came forth — and sho died T

Tot her parting was gentle, for thoso
Whom sho loved mingled tears at her Hide —

Her death was the mourner's repose.
Our weakness may weep o'er her bior,

But hor spirit has gone on tho wing
To tinunph for agony horo,

To rejoice in the joy of its King.

George Qroli/.—Born 1780, DM 1861.

1541.— GOME, EVENING GALE !
(AD. 1500)

Come, oveningo gale ' tho erimsonne rose
Is drooping for thy sigho of dowo ,
The hyaointho moves thy kirtso to oloso
In slumber sweeto its eyo of blue.

Shone, oveningo starre ' the valloy-streamo
Hath losto tho tinges of tho sunno,
And lingers for thy poarho boame,
To toll its bosome dayo IB done

Rise, oveningo moono ! thy holio rayo
To tolle of hoavenlio hours is given,
Wheano oartho shall on our eyo decays,
And alle our path, liko thine, bo hoavenno,

George Croty.—Born 1780, DM 18C1.

1542.— THE PAINTEB.

That rook's his haunt. There's not in all

our hills
A hunter that can ohmb liko him. He'll

•watch

Bef oro the lark is up ; and, staff in hand,
For hours stand gazing, by tho eagle's nost,
Liko ono enainour'd of tho rising- sun ;
And then he'll make hw couch beside a nil,
Wludx, in his fantasy, lie strewn with shells,
And hangs with gurluauU of tho weedy

Some think him lovo-croat; others that ho

deals

With HpiniH : for all fluoli seek loneliness.
And yot £ think him holy, for ho loves
Our convent walls, and many an evening

strays

To soo tho flunsot sleeping on its roof
And itn whole arches ; or but turns away
To pore upon its imago in the stream ;
And thon he'll spread his book upon his

knoe,
And make a thousand things of beauty,

then
Ho'll tear tho page, and fling it to tho wind.

George Groly — Horn 1780, DM 1801.

1543.— REBELLION.

I had a vision : evening Hat in gold
Upon the bosom of a boundless plain,
Cover* d with beauty; — garden, fiold, and

fold,

Studding tho billowy swoop of ripening grain,
Like islands m the pnrplo Hummer mam.
And temples of pure marble mot the min,
That tinged their while shafts with a goldon

And sounds of rustic joy, and labour done,
Hallow'd the lovely hour, until hor pomp was
gone.

GEORGE CROLY,]

A LOWERING EVE.

[SJMVMNTH 1'HItIOI)

The plain was hush'd in twilight, an a child
Slumbers beneath itfl slow-drawn canopy ,
But sudden trainplinpa came, and voioos wild,
And tossings of rude weapons caught the

oyo,

And on the hills, like metoora m tho sky,
Burst sanguine fires , and ever and anon
To the clash' d spears tho horn gayo fierce

reply ,
And round their beacons trooping thousands

shone,
Then sank like oval things, and all was dark

and lono.

'Twas midnight, there was wrath in that

wild heaven ;

Earth was sepulchral dark. At once a roar
Feal'd round the mountain-tops, like ocean

driven

Before the thunders on the eternal shore
Down rush'd, as if a sudden earthquake tore
The bowels of the hills, a flood of fire :
*Like lava, mingled spears and torches pour,
The plain is deluged , higher still and higher
Swell blood and flame, till all is hko one

mighty pyre

'Twas dawn and still the black and bloody

smoke
Boll'd o'er the champaign like a vault of

stone ;
But as the sun's slow wheels the barrier

broke,

He lit the image of a fearful one,
Throned in the central massacre, alone—
An iron diadem upon his brow,
A naked lance beside Mm, that yet shone
Purple and warm with gore ; and crouching

low,
All men in one huge chain, alike the friend

and foe

The land around him, in that sickly light,
Show'd like th' upturning of a mighty giavo ,
Strewn with crush' d monuments and lomnants

white

Of man , all loneliness , but when somo slave,
With faint, fond hand, tho hurried burial

gave,

Then died. The Despot sat upon his throne,
Scoffing to see the stubborn traitors wave
At his least breath. Tho good and brave

were gone
To enle or the tomb. Their country's life

was done '

George Oroly.— Born 1780, Died 1861.

I544 — A- LOWERING- EVE.

There is a gloomy grandeur in the stm,
That levels hut last hght along the shore ;
The clouds axe rolling downwards, stern and
duns

The long, slow wave w streak' d with rod, liko

gore

On somo vast field of battle ; and tho roar
Of wave and wind cornea like tho battle's

sound.

* # * *

And now tho sun sinks deeper, and Iho

clouds,

In folds of sullen firo, fltill hoavioi lower,
Till the whole storm the Hhoro and oecuin

shrouds.

George Crol!/~-lfarn 1780, />iV<7 3801.

1545 —A CALM EVE.

Look on those watow, with how soft a kifl«
They woo the pebbled shore! then steal

away,

Like wanton lovers — but to oomn again,
And die in music ' Thoro, the bonding wkios
See all their stars, — and tho beach-loving

trees,

Osiers and willows, and tho watery flowers,
That wreathe their palo rootw round tho

ancient stones,
Make pictures of themselves '

George Croly.—Bom 1780, DM 1861.

1546— SATAN.

PBOM A riCTUnK BY 8IR J. LAW1U3NCB.

Prince of tho fallen f around tlwio Hwoop
The billows of tho burning iloop,
Above thoo bondrt tho vaultod firo,
JBonoath thoo bursts tho flaming- Hpiro ;
And on thy HlooploHS vituon rino
Hell's living clouds of agoniotf.

But thou dost like a mountain stand,
Tho spear uplifted in thy hand ,
Thy gprgoouH oyo — a comot Hhorn,
Calm into uttor darkuoHH borne ;
A naked giant, stem, sublime,
Aim'd in despair, and Hcormn# Timo*

On thy curl'd lip is throned diBdain,
That may rovongo, but not complain ;
Thy mighty chock IB firm, though pnlo,
Thoro smote the blast of fiery hail.
Yet wan, wild beauty linger** thoro,
Tho wreck of an archangel's sphere.

No giant pinions round thoo cling ;
Clouds and tho thunder are thy wing ;
Thy forehead wears no diadem,
The King is in thine oyoballn' boam ;
Thy form is grandeur unwubdued,
Sole chief of Hell's dark multitude*

18C6.]

NOTRE DAME.

Tot bughter than thy bnghtost hour

Shall rise in glory and in power

The lowliest of the lowly dead,

HIS ransom' d, who shall bruise thy head,

The myriads for HIS blood forgiven ,

Kings of the stars, the lovod of Heaven r

Qcorgo Croly — Born 1780, Died 1861.

1547.— THE POET'S HOTJE.

When day is done, and clouds are low,

And flowers ore honey-dew,
And Hospor's lamp begins to glow

Along tho western blue ,
And homeward wing tho turtle-doves,
Then comes tho hour tho poot lovos.

Tor in tho dimness oui'tain'd round,

Ho hoais the echoes all
Of cosy valo, or grassy mound,

Or distant waterfall,
And shapes are on hit* dreaming sight,
That keep their beauty for tho night.

And still, a<* shakos tho sudden bioozo

Tho foiost's deepening shade,
Ho hcniB on Tuscan evening BOOH

Tho silvoi serenade
Or, to tho field of battle borno,
SwollH at tho sound of trump and horn.

Tho star that poops tho loaves between,

To him is but tho light
That, from Homo lady's bower of green,

tShmoH to her pilgrim knight •
Who fools her spell around him twine,
And hastens homo from Palontino.

Or, if some wandering peasant's song

Come swoeton'd on tho gale,
He sees tho cloister's saintly throng —

Tho crozior, cross, and veil ,
Or hears tho vespers of tho nun,
World-weary, lovely, and undone.

And thus ho thinks tho hours away

In sweet unworldly folly,
And lovos to see tho shades of grey,

That feed his melancholy
Finding sweet speech and thought in all,
Star, leaf, wind, song, and waterfall '

Georgo Croly — Born 1780, DM 18C1

1548.— NOON

Come, ye brown oaks, and stoop your heavy

boughs,

Making sweet eve around my sultry brows f
Wave your white beauty, hlios j hyacinths,

sigh,
And* woodbino, from your blossom' d canopy,

Stirring the smoothness of this quiet stream,
Shod on my eyes some deep, Elysian dream ;
And come, thou young1 and silken-pinion' d

Wind,
That tho pale Yrrgin Hay sends forth to

find
Her flowers, in Winter's frozen bosom

sleeping1;
Wing round this leafy bod, in wlnppora

creeping

lake softest music on my slumbering oar ;
Until tho murmur of the grasshopper,
And tho fresh odours of the rose's breath,
Toll mo that Day is faint, and nigh to death.
And the small stars ore waking one by one ,
And to fair Thetis' couch tho wooxy sun is

gone1

Qcorgo Qroly —Born 1780, Died, 1801.

1549,— NOTRE DAME

The organ pools , at onoo, as some vast

wave,

"Bond to tho earth tho mighty multitude,
Silent as thoao pale emblems of tho grave
In monumental marble round them strew* d,
Low at tho altar, forms in eopo and hood
Superb wibh gold-wrought cross and diamond

twine,

Life in their uptnrnM visages subdued,
Toss their untiring censors round tho

shrine,

Whore ozi her throne of clouds tho Virgin sits
divine

But only kindred faith can fitly toll
Of the high ritual at that altar done,
When dash'd tho arms, and rose tho chorus-

swell,
Then sank, as if beneath tho grave 'twere

gone;

Till broke the spell tho mitred abbot's tone,
Deep, touching, solemn, as ho stood in

prayer,

A dazzling form upon its topmost stone,
And raised, with haUow'd look, the Host in

air,

And blosH'd with heavenward hand tho thou-
sands kneeling there.

Pompous ! "but love I not such pomp of

prayer;

HI bends tho heart 'mid mortal luxury.
Rather lot me tho meek devotion share,
Whore, m their silent glens and thickets

high,

England, thy lone and lowly chapels lie.
Tho spotless table by the eastern wall,
Tho marble, rudely traced with names gone

by,

Tho pale-eyed pastor's simple, fervent all ,
Those deeper wako tho heart, whore hoart la
all in all.

JAUUJ5.

If prido bo evil , if the holiest sighn
Must oomo from humblest lioarts , if man

must turn

Pnll on his wreck of nature to bo wiso •
If there bo blessedness for those who

mourn ,
What Bpeak the purple gauds that round us

burn?
Ask of that kneeling orowd whoso glances

stray

So restless round an altar, vestment, urn ;
Can gtult weep there P can mild repentance

pray?

Ask, when this moment's past, how runs their
Sabbath-day ?

Their Sabbath-day ! alas ' to France that

day

Comes not , she has a day of looser dress,
A day of thicker crowded ball and play,
A day of folly s hotter, ranker pioss ,
She knoweth not its hallow'd happiness,
Its eve of gather'd hearts and gentle

cheer.

George Crofy.— Born 1780, Died 18G1.

1550 —JACOB.

The sun was sinking on the mountain-
zone

That guards thy vales of beauty, Palestine '
And lovely from the desert rose the moon,
Yet lingering on the horizon's purple line,
lake a pure spirit o'er its earthly shrine.
Up Padan-Aram's height, abrupt and bore,
A pilgrim toil'd, and oft on day's decline
Look'd polo, then paused for eve's delicious

air;

The summit gain'd, ho knelt and breathed his
evening prayor.

He spread his cloak and slumber' d —

darkness fell

tfpon the twilight hills , a sudden sound
Of silver trumpets o'er ham soom'd to

swell,
Clouds heavy with the tempest gathered

round,
Yet was the whirlwind in its caverns

bound ;
Still deeper roll'd the darkness from on

high,

Gigantic volume upon volume wound —
Above, a pillar shooting to the sky :
Below, a mighty sea, that spreads in-
cessantly.

Voices are hoard— a choir of golden

Low winds, whose breath is loaded with the

rose, ;
Than chariot-wheels — the nearer rush of

wings;

Palo lightning loiuul tlio dark pavilion

glows

It thundorR — the roKpIondont prater widow.
Par aw the oyo can jylanro, on height oVr

height
Eise fioiy waving wings, and Ftur-orown'tl

browft,
Millions on millions, hritfhtor and mono

bnght,

Till all IH lost in one Mipronus
light.

But, two bonido tho

stand,
Like chorub-kiiiffff, ivilli lifted,

plume,
Puc'd, sun-bright oyofi, au<l loolcH of

command *
They toll the patriarch of hit*

doom;
Father of counties myriads tliat nlmll

come,

Swooping the land liko t>illow« of tho noa,
Bnght antho htarn of lioavou from twilight* H

gloom,

Till Ho is given whom unprolH long- 1o HW,
And laiool'fl Rplondid lino IH cn>wn\l with
Deity.

George Qro1]/.^liorn 1780, DM 1ROL

1551— THE ANGEL OF TITK WOIfcM).

There's glory on thy mountains, proud
When on thoir tomplon burntH tlio

sun'

There's glory on thy nMirl)lc»-iowf»rM wull,
Proud Ispahan, beneath IUH burning noon !
There's glory — when IUH tfoldon cnumt in <lono,
Proud iHtaniboul, upon thy watorn Mtw 1
But fall'n JDamoflcuH, tlimo wtiH beauty *H

tlirono,

In morn, and noon, and «vcmiTip;'H purplo clow,
Of all from ocean' H miurgoio mighty Ilhiiuutlu.

East of the city ntandft a lofty mount,

Its brow with lightning1 dolvnd and ront in

sunder ,

And through tlio frapp[nont rollw a liUlo fount,
Whoso channel boarn the bliiHt of fire and

thunder ,

And there hag many a pilgrim come to wonder;
For there ore floworB nnnumhor'cl bloHHotninpf,
With but the bare and calcined marblo under j
Yet in all Aflia no Ruch colonrn Hpriug,
No perfumes nch as in that mountata'f* rooky

ring.

And some, who pray'd tho night out on tho

hill,
Have said they hoard— -uuloBH it WOB thoir

dream,

Or the mere murmur of tho babbling rill, —
Just as tho morn-star shot its first wlant beam,

r

; From 1*80 to 18CC.]

THE ANGEL OF THE WOBLD.

A sound of music, such an they might doom
Tho Hong of Hpints— that would sometimes

flail

Olowi to thoir car, a deep, delicious stioam,
rrhon pwopp away, and dio with a low wail ;
Thou oouiu again, and thuH, till Lucifer was

l>alo.

And homo, but bolder still, liad dared to turn

That Hoil of myntory for hidden gold ,

Hut saw strange, wtifling blazes round them

burn,
And diod — by fow that venturous talo was

told.
And woaltli was found ; yet, OH tho pilgrims

hold,
Though it was glorious on tho mountain's

brow,

Brought to the plain it crumblod into mould,
The diamond*} molted in tho hand liko HHOW ;
So nono. molont that spot for gorns or ingots

now.

But ouo, and over after, round tho hill

lie Htxuy'd: — tlioy said a motoor scorch' d his

night ;
Blind, mad, a warning of Heaven's fearful

will

'Twiw on tho Hawed ovoning of " tho Flight,"
His Hpodo turiiM up a wliaft of marble whito,
I'Yitgmpiit of Homo kiosk, tho chapiter
A aiyHlal cnrolo, but at inom'H firet light
Ki<th forum began within it to appear,
Sooptrod and wing'd, and thou it Hank in

waixir ulaur.

Yot onoo upon that guarded mount, no foot
Hut of tho MoHlom trno might pronw a flower,
And of them iiono, but with Homo noloinu

Huit
Hoyond man's help might venture noar tho

bowor:

3<1or, in itH Hharlo, in boauty and in power,
I. Kor judgment «at tho Angoi of tho World \
^ Sont by tho Prophet, till the doHtinod hour
Tliat BJIW in clnKt Arabia's idols hurl'd,
U^licn to tho HkioH a^aux his wing should bo
imfurTd.

H oauo at loHt. Tt camo with trumpets'

Hounding,

It oamo with thunders of tho atabal,
And waniorw' BhoutH, and Arab ohargorw'

bounding,

Tho Haorod Htandord orown'd Medina* H wall '
Vxom palaoo roof and muuirot's golden boll
Ten thouHand emerald banuorH floated free,
Jttonoath, like Hunboams, through the gateway

tall,

Tho omirn led thoir stool-mail' d chivalry,
And tho whole city rang with Hports and soldier

gloo

Thi« was tho ovo of eves, tho ond^of war,
Bogintiing of Dominion, first of Time !
"When, awiftor than the Hhooting of a star,
Mahommod saw tho "Vision's" pomps sub-
lime;

Swept o'er the roinbow'cl soa — tho fiory clime,
Hoard from tho throno its will in thunders

roll'cl ,

Then glanomg on our world of woe and orimo,
Saw from Arabia/a sands his bannor'9 fold
Wave o'er tho bnghton'd globo its saorod,

conquering- gold.

The sun was slowly sinking to the wost, '
Pavilion' d with a thousand glonog' dyes ;
Tho turtlo-dovos wore winging to the nest
Along tho mountain' H Bolt doclivitioa ,
Tho froHhor broath of flowers bogan to riao,
Like inoonso, to that nwoot departing sun ,
Paint aH tho hum of boos the city's ones :
A moment, and tho lingering elude was gone ,
Then wore tho Angel's tauk on oarth'u dun
orbit dono.

Oft had ho gazed upon that lovely vale,
But never gazed with gladnoss such as now ;
Whon on Damascus' roofs and turrets pale
Ho saw tho solemn sunlight's fainter glow,
With joy ho hoard Immauns' voices flow
Liko broath of silver trumpets on tho air,
Tho vintagers' swoot song, the camels' low,
AH homo they stalk1 d from pasture, pair by

pair,
Flinging their shadows tall in tho steep sun-

Hot glare

Thon at his Rcoptro's wave, a rufih of plumes
Shook tho thick dew-drops irom tho roses'

dyoH ;

And, OH embodying of thoir waked porfumos,
A crowd of lovely fcaniH, witli Jightniug oyo«,
And flowor-orown'd hair, aud cliooks of 3?a-

radiHO,

Circled tlio bowor of boauty on tho wing,
And all tho grovo was rich with symphonies
Of Rooming fluto, and hom, and goldon string,
That Hlowly rose, and o'or tho mount hung

Tho Angol's flaHhing: oyos wore on tho vault,
That now with, lamps of diamonds all was

hung;
HIB mighty "donga hke tisuuoH hoavonly-

wrought,

Upon tho bosom of tho air wore hung.
The solemn hymn's lost harmonioH were sung,
Tho sun was crouching on tho distant zone :
"Farewell" was broathuig on tho Angol's

tonguo —
He glanced below. Thoro stood a suppluunt

one,
Tho impatient Angel sank in wiath. upon his

tbrono.

Tot all was quickly soothed — this labour

pant,

" His coronot of tenfold liglit was ono "
HIH glance again upon tho form WOH cast,
That now soom'd dying on tha dazzling1 Htono ;
Ho bade it rise and apeak. Tho solemn tono
Of earth's high* sovereign mingled joy with

fear,
As summer voles of rose by lightning uhowxi ;

THE ANGEL Otf THE WORLD.

[WlSVKNTH

Aa tho night-fountain in tho dosort drear;
HIB vowo Rcom'd suddon lifo to that fall'n
suppliant's car

Tho form, arose — tho face was in a veil,

The Toioo was low, and of ton chock' d with

sipbH ,

Tho tale it uttor'd WOH a simple talo .
" A vow to close a dying parent's oyos
Had brought its woary stops from Tripolis ;
Tho Arab in tho Syrian mountains lay,
Tho caravan was made tho lobbor's prize,
Tho pilgrim's little wealth was swopt away,
Man's holp was rain." Horo sank the voico

in soft decay.

" And this is Earth I " tho Ajagol, frowning,

said,

And from the gronnd he took a matchless gem,
And flnng it to the mouraor, thon outspread
His pinions, like the lightning's rushing boam
The pdgrun started at tho diamond's gleam,
0-lanced up in prayor, then, bending noor tho

throne,
Shed the quick tears that from tho bosom

And tried to speak, bnt tears wore there

alone,
The pitying Angel said, "Be happy and bo.

gone."

The weeper raised the veil ; a ruby lip

First dawn'd then glow'd the young chock's

deeper hue,

Tet delicate as roses when they dip
Their odorous blossoms in the morning dew.
Then beam'd tho eyes, twin stars of living

blue,

Half shaded by tho curls of glossy hair,
That turn'd to golden as tho light wuxd thiow
Clusters in the western goldon glare.
Tet was her blue oyo dim, for tears wore

standing there.

He look'd upon her, and her hurried gazo
Sought from his glanoo sweet lofugo on tho

ground,

But o'er Lor choek of boauty ruah'cl a blaze ;
And, as the soul had felt some suddon wound,
Her bosom heaved above its ailkon bound.
Ho look'd again ; tho cheek was deadly pale ,
Tho bosom sank with one long sigh profound ,
Tet still one lily hand upheld tho veil,
And still one press1 d hex heart— that sigh told

all the tale.

She stoop' d, and from the thicket pluck' d a
flower,

And fondly Hss'cL, and thon with feeble hand

She laid it on tho footstool of tho bower ;

Such was the ancient custom of tho land

Her sighs were richer than the rose they f ann'd ;

The breezes swept it to the Angel's feet ;

Tet even that sweet, slight boon, 'twas Hea-
ven's command,

Ho mufit not touch ; from her, though doubly

No earthly gift muwt atam that liallonvM
judgment neat.

Still lay tho flowor upon tho splendid Hpol,
Tho pilgrim turnM awny, aH Hnioio with slmmo;
Her eye a glance of fiolf-upbraulintf Hliot.;
'Twas in his soul a shaft of living Jlium».
Thon bow'd tho humbled ono, and bloVd liU

namo,
Croaa'd her whito aims, and Hlowly hado faro-

woll

A suddon famtnosa o'or tho Anffol **»"««* *»
Tho voice roso Hwoot and Holomn tw a H|u»U,
Sho bow'd hor face to oarth, and o'or it ilroypM

hor veil.

Beauty, what art thou, that thy Bliffhtoat ga»o
Can make the spirit from itn ooutro roll ;
Its whole long course, a Bad and Hhadowy

maze?

Thou midnight or thon noontide of tho until ;
One glorious vision lighting up tho wliolo
Of tho wide world; or ono dcc»p, wild <l«Mni,
By day and night coiiHtimmff, Had au<l w»h» ,
Till Hope, Prido, GoniutJ, nay, till LOVC'H own

fire
Desert the woary hoart, a cold and mouldering

pyro.

Enchanted sloop, yot full of deadly
Companionship divine, Btorn Holitudo ;
Thou serpent, oolour'd with tho

gleams

That o'or hid poison, making hoarts tliy food \
Woo to tho hoait that lots thoo oiu-o intrudo,
Victim of visions that life's i>nrj)OM» HtcitJ,
Till tho whole HtrngKling iiatnru lies Hiiltduocl,
iJloeding with wounds tho gi*avo ulono munt

lioal —
Frond Angel, was it thino that mortal woo to

feelt1

Still knelt tho pilgrim oovor'tl with fcor rml,
But all her beauty living on his <»y<» ,
Still hyacinth tho clufltoring ring-lots foil,
Wreathing hor forohoad's pollnVd ivory ;
Hor cheek unsoon still woro tlici rcwnbud'H clyoj
Sho feigh'd, ho hoard tho High })0hido him

swoU,

Ho glanced around — no Bpirit hovorM mffh—
Touoh'd tho fall'n flower, and bluHhintf, «ij(h'd

"farowoll"1
What sound has stunn'd his oar P A tmddon

thunder-peal.

He look'd on hoavon— 'twas calm, but in tho

valo

A creeping mint had girt tho mountain round,
taking the golden minarets glimmer pale ;
It sealed the mount — the feeble day wan

drown'd.

The sky was with its livid hue embrown' d,
But soon tho vapours grow a oirolmtf ROO,
Befleeting, lovoly, from its bluo prof oxind,

P/WM 1780 tt> 1800,1

THE ANGEL OF THE WOBLD.

CBO&Y.

Mountain, and crimson cloud, and blossom* d
troo ;

Another liofliVon and earth in bright tran-
quillity

And on ita boBom sworn a small chaloupo,
That like «, wild wwan sported on tlio tido ;
Tho Hilkon cail that canopied its poop
Show' d ono that look'd an Houn in her prido ,
Anon oaxno spurring up tho mountain' H bido
A warrior MoHlom all in ghttonng mail,
That to hiH country's doubtful battle hied.
lie Haw tho form, ho heard the tempter's tulo,
And (utfwor'd with his own ; for beauty will
prevail.

But now in storm uprose tho vast mirage r
Wlioro flitH she now who tempted him to roam P
How ahal! tho Bluff with, that wild sea engage P
In vain tho quivering holm is tum'd to homo.
Darkening above tho piles of tumbling foam,
JtiiHlioH a Hhape of woo, and tlirough the roar
Peak} in tho warrior's oar a voice of doom.
Down plunges the chaloupo. — Tho storm is

o'er;
Heavy and Blow tho corpse rolls onward to

the whoro.

The Angol'n heart wan smote — bat that touoh'd

Jflowor,
Now ODoiimg, bieathed such fiagrance mibtly

HWOOt,

1 To folt it ntrangely chain him to tlio bower
Ho dared not then that pilgrim' H oyo to moot,
Hut gassod upon tho small uiiHandall'd fool
Shining like uilvor on tho floor of rowo.
At length ho rained hia glance. — tho vcil'n

light not
Had floated backward from her ponoilTd

brown,
Hot eye wa« flx'd on heaven, in sad, sublime

ropoHO.

A flimplo Syrian lyro was on her breast,
And on her crimson lip was murmuring
A village ntram, that m the day's Hwoot rest
T« hoard in Araby round many a Hi>nug,
"Wlion down tho twilight vales tho maidens

bring

Tho flookw to Rome old patriarchal well ,
<)r where beneath tho palms Home desert-king
Lies, with hit) tribe around him as they fell '
The thunder burst again— a long, deep, crash-
ing peal.

The Angel hoard it not, as round tho range
OC the blue hill-tops roar'd tho volley on,
tittering its voice with wild aerial change ;
Now tanking in a (loop and distant moan,
Liko the lant eoho of a ho«t o'orthrown ;
Then running with now vengeance down again,
Shooting the flory flash and thunder-stone ;
Till flamed, like funeral pyres, tho mountain

chain
Tho Angel heard it not , its wisdom all was

vain*

Ho hoaid not oven tho strain, though it had

changed

Vvom tho calm sweetness of tho holy hymn.
KIM thoughts from depth to depth, unconscious

ranged,

Yet all within was dizzy, ntrango, and dim ;
A mist soem'd spreading between hoaven and

him;

He sat absorbed in droams , a searching tone
Came on his ear — oh, how her dark oyes swim
Who breathed that echo of a heart undone,
The song of early joys, delicious, dear, and

gone '

Again it changed, — But now 'twas wild and

grand —
Tho praiho of hearts that scorn the world's

control,

Disdaining- all but love's doheiouH band,
The chain of gold and floweret, tho tie of soul*
Again strange paleness o'er her beauty stole,
She glanced above, thon stoop'd her glowing

oyo,

Blue as the star that glittor'd by the polo ;
One tear-drop gloam'd • she dosh'cl it quickly

by,

And dropp'd tho lyre, and turn'd— as if she
turn'd to die.

Tho night-breozo from tho mountains had

begun,

And as it wing'd among tho clouds of oven,
Where, bko a routed king, tho sultan sun
Still struggled on tho fiory verge of heaven ;
Their volumes in ton thousand shapes wore

dnvcn j

Spreading away in boundlosn palace hulls,
Whoflo lights from gold and emerald lamps

wore given j

Or airy oitodolH and battled walls ;
Or sunk in volleys sweet, with silver water-
falls.

But, for thoao sights of heaven the Angel's

heart

Was all unsettled ; and a bitter sigh
Burst from his burning lip, and with a atari
Ho cost upon the earth hia conscious eye.
The whole horizon from that summit high
Spread out in vision,' from tho pallid line
Whore old Palmyra's pomps in ruin lie,
Gliding tho Arab sands, to whore supine
The western lustro tinged thy spires, lost

Palestine !

Tot, loveliest of the vision was tho vale
That sloped beneath his own imperial bowers ;
Sheeted with colours hko an Indian mad,
A tapestry sweet of all sun-paiated flowers,
Balsam, and olovo, and jasmines' scented

showers,

And the red glory of tho Persian rose,
Spreading in league on league around tho

towers,

Whore, loved of heaven, and hated of its f oofl,
The Queon. of CitxoB shines, in cuJm and proud

repose.

CKOLT.]

THE ANGEL OF THE WOBLD.

And still he gazed — and saw not that tho ovo
Was fading into night. A suddon thought
Struck to his dreaming hoart, that xnado it

heave -

Was ho not there in Paradise? — that spot
Was it not lovely as tho lofty vault
That rose above him ? In his native skies,
Could he be happy till his soul forgot —
Oh 1 how forget tho being whom hiB oyos
Loved as their light of light ? Ho heard a

tempest riso.

Was it a dream F the vale at once was bare,
And o'er it hung a broad and sulphurous cloud,
The soil grew red and lifted with its glare ;
Down to their roots the mountain oedaxs bow'd ,
Along the ground a rapid vapour flow'd,
Yellow and pale, thick seazn'd with streaks of

flame;

Before it sprang the vulture from tho shroud;
The lion bounded from it soazcd and tame ;
Behind it, darkening heaven, the mighty whirl-
wind came

Like a long tulip bed, across the plain,
A caravan approach' d the evening well,
A long, doop mass of turban, plume, and vane,
And lovely came its distant, solemn swell
Of song, and pilgrim-horn, and camel-bell.
The sandy ocean rose before their eyo ,
In thunder on their bending host it fell.
Ten thousand lips sent up one fearful ory ;
The sound was stall' d at once — beneath its
wave they lie.

But two escaped that up the mountain sprung,
At those the dead men's treasure downwards

drewj

One, with slow steps, but beautiful and young
Was she, who round his neck her white arms

threw;

Away the tomb of sand like vapour flew ,
There, naked, lay the costly caravan,
A league of piles of silk and gems that throw
A rainbow light, and 'mid thorn, stiff and won,
S tret oh' d by his camel's flank their transient

master, man

The statelier wand'rer from tho height was

won,
And cap and sash soon gleam* d with plunder 'd

gold.

But now the desert rose, in pillars dun,
Qlowing with fire like iron in tho mould,
That wings with fiery speed, reooil'd, sprang,

roll'd;
Before them waned the moon's ascending

phase,
The clouds above them shrank the redd'ninff

fold:

On rush'd the giant columns blaeo on blaze,
The sacrilegious died, wrapp'd in tho burning

Th0 Angel sat enthroned within a dome
Of alabaster raised on pillars slight,
Curtain' d With tissues of no earthly loom ;
For spirits wove the web of blossoms bright,

Woof of all flowers that tlrmk tho

And with thoir beauty figured all tlio >,luim
In character* of mywtory and might,
A more than mortal tfuard around thrt thrnun,
That in their tender shade oxio glorious dia-
mond gjhono*

And ovory bud round po\.0htul and plinth,
As foil tho ovonmpr, turu'd n living tfom.
Lighted ita purplo lamp tho uyiuuuth ;
The dahlia ponrM itri thouHiuid-colour'd tfloam j
A ruby torch, tho wond'ruift oy« might clwm,
Hung on tho brow of Homo uiglit-waltihintf

tower,
Whore upwards olirnVd tho broad mtt#uoluVH

stem*

An urn of lovely lustre every flowor,
Burning boforo tho king ol that ilium inotl

bower.

And nestling in that arbour's leafy twinn,
JTrom cedar's top to violot'B perfumed boll,
Wore birds, now huHh'd, of forum uncl i>LumcM

divine,

That, over as tho rays upon thorn foil,
Shot bock finch hnoH as ntain tho Indian hlwll,
Touching tho doop green Hluulon with 1 if flit

fiom eyes

lacinth, and jot, and Massing carlwnolo,
And gold-dropt coronotB, and wings of tlycs
Touch' d by the flowers and HfcarH of thoir own

Paradise.

Tho Angel know tho warning of that \\lvrrm ;
But saw tho shuddormg miuHtrol'H Htop draw

near,

And folfc the wholo doop witohory of h'»r form,
Her sigh was muuic'H echo to IHB (inr ,
Ho loved — and trite lovo over buuiHlf d f(*ar.
Now night hod droop'cl on earth IKT rtwon

But in tho arbour all wan Hplondour c-lotir ;
Aud like twin HpiritH m ittt oluitniod f injf,
Shone that nwoot child of earth, aud that Htar-
diadom'd king.

For whether 'twatt tho light' H ununual ^low,
Or that some natural change had on hor «omo,
Her look, though lovely Htill, wa« loftior now,
Her tender chock won flush' d with brighter

bloom ;

Yet m her azuro nyo thoro gathor'd gloom,
lake evening's clwi<ln uoroHH itH own bluo ntftr,
Then would a Huddim flanh itH depth* Ultimo ;
And wore she but tho wrng and ffomm'd tiar,
She eoom'd inHtinct with power to make tho

clouds her oar,

She slowly raised hor arm, that, bright aft

snow,

Gleam'd like a rifling motoor through tho air,
Shedding white luwfcro on hor turban'd brow ;
She gazod on heaven, as wrapt in ftolomn

prayer j
She still look'd woman, bat more proudly fair;

r~

1780 to 18GG.]

THE ANGEL OF THE WORLD.

And OH sho utood and pointed to tlio sky,
With thai fix'd look of lovohnoHH and core,
The Angol thought and ohook'd it with a wgh,
Ho Haw Homo spirit fallen from immortality.

Tho nilont prayor was done, and now aho

movotl

Vault to IIIH footHtool, and, upon hor knoo,
HoHought hor lord, if in his hoavon tlioy lovod,
That, aH nho novoi moro IIIH faco rnunt HOC,
8ho thoro might pledge hor hoart'H fidelity.
Sho turn'd, and pluck' d a cluster from tho

vino,

And o'or a ohalico wavod it, with a sigh,
Than with bow'd forehead, roai'd before the

Hliruio
Tho crystal cup Tho Angel rose in wrath —

'twas wino '

Hho stood ; ftho shrank ; who tottor'd Down

ho Bprang,
With ono Koud clasp'd hor waist, with ono

xiphoid

Tho VOHQ— • his oars with giddy murmurB rang.
II in oyo upon hor dying chock wan spoll'd;
Ho giancod upon the brim — its bright draught

HWOlIM

Like li<iuid rone, its odour touch'd hiB brain;

I To know Inn rmn, but hiw HOU! waH quell' d ,

II o Hhtiddor'd — gaxod upon hor cheek again,
ProHH'd hor polo lip, and to the last that cup

did dram.

Th' cuoluuitroHB smilod, an still in Romo swoot

dream,

Then wakmi'd in a long, dolioioiw High,
And on tho bonding Hpirit fix'd tho beam
Of hor <l<x»p, dowy, melancholy oyo.
Tho undone Angol gavo no moro roply,
Thau hiding hiB palo forehead in tho hair
That floatnd on hor nook of ivory,
And broathloHM proving, with hor ringlets fair,
From hiri bright oyo« tho tears of pannion and

despair.

Tho heaven was ono blue vault, inlaid with

gomH

Tliick aH tho ooncavo of a diamond mino,
But from tho north now Hhot quick phoHi>hor

beams

That o'or tho mount thoir purj>lo not ontwino ;
Tho HmalloHt Htarn through that swoot luBtro

nliiuo;
It HliakoH— it flproada, itH glorioun HtroomorB

dio:

Again light quivoru on tlio horizon's lino,
A Hurgo of violet luttlro iilla tho »ky,
Then fiiiikB, still flashing, dancing ovorlast-

But wilder wondor Rmotothoir shrinking oyos:
A vapour plungod upon tho vale from heaven,
Gloomy as night, it towox'd of mountain

flizo;
Ifrom its high orator column' d smokes woro

driven;
It hoavod within, as if pont flames had striven

With mighty winds to burst their priHouhold,
Till from the summit to tho vale 'twas riven
With angry light, that soom'd lu cataracts

roll'd,
Silver and sanguine stool, and tho fierce

burning gold

Tlio black volcano gavo a hollow roar,

An. earthquake groan, that told convulsion

noar

Out rush'd tho burthen of its burning coro,
Myriads of fiery globes, as dayhght clear,
Tho sky was fill'd with flashing gphoro on

sphere,
Shooting stiaight upwards to tho zomth's

crown.

Tho staiB wore blasted in that splendour droar,
The land beneath in wild dantinctiioHH shono
Fi'om tho far billow to tho Donort's palo rod

zono.

Tho globos have gono to heights abovo all

gazo,

And now returning, look like moonlight rain ;
But half-way down, again out-flaah thoir

rays j
War floods tho sky, they cross, whirl, burst in

twain,

Liko mighty serpents draw tho mazy train,
Gigttntio swoops of groon, gold, scarlet spires,
With pearl and diamond heads instinct with

living fires,

Tho storm of light is on tho cloud« receding,
Tho purple streamers wander palo and thin,
But o'or tho polo an ambor flame in nproading,
In shooting starry pomtn, and for within
BovolvoH a wtoopmg splendour crystalline.
It opens ; but who Hits upon that throne P
Tho Angol know tho pumshor of sin.
Chock' d on his lip tho solf-upbraiding groan,
Strain' d with wild arms his lovo, and joy' d to
bo undone.

And onoo, 'twas but a moment, on hor ohoek
Ho gavo a glance, then sank his hurried oyo,
And proes'd it closer on hor dazzling nock.
But oven in that swift gazo ho could espy
A look that mado his heart's blood backwards

fly.

Was it a dream ? Thoio echoed in his oar
A stinging tono — a laugh of mockery 1
It was a dream — it must bo. Oh ' that fear,
When tho heart longs to know, what it is
death to hoar.

Ho glanced again — hor oyo was upward still
Iftc'd on tho stooping of that burning oar;
But through his bosom shot an arrowy thrill
To soo its solemn, stern, unearthly glare ;
She stood, a statue of sublime despair,
But on her lip sat scorn. His spirit froze, —
His footstop roel'd — his wan Hp gaap'd for

air,
She folt his throb, and o'or him stoop' d with

brows
As evening swoet, and kiss' d him with a lip of

rose.

GBOROB OBOLT.]

THE ANGEL OF THE WOBLD.

[SEVENTH

Again sho was all beauty, and they stood
Still fonder clasp'd, and gassing with tho oyo
Of famine gazing on tho poison' d food
Thai it must food on, or abstaining dio ;
There was between thorn now no tear nor

sigh,

Theirs was tho doop communion of the soul ;
Passion's absorbing, bittor luxury ,
What was to thorn or hoavon or earth, tho

whole
Was in that fatal spot whero ihoy stood sad,

and solo.

Th' enchantress first shook off the silent

trance,

And m a voice sweet as the murmuring
Of summer streams beneath tho moonlight's

glance,
Besought the desperate one to spread the

wing

Beyond the power of his vindictive king.
Slave to her slightest word, ho raised his

plume

A purple ofeud, and stood in act to spring
Through that fierce upward sea of storm and

foam
She wildly kiss'd his hand, and sank, as in a

tomb

The Ajttgel cheer' d hor. "No! let Justice

wreak

Her wrath upon them both, or him alone "
The flame of love's puro crimson lit her chock j
She whisper* d, and his stoop* d oar drank tho

tone

With mad delight. " Oh, there is one way, ono,
To save us both. Are thero not mighty

words

Graved on the magnet throne where Solomon
Sits ever guarded by the genu swords,
To give thy servant wings like hor resplendent

lord's?"

This was the sin of sins ' tho first, last crimo
In earth and heaven, unnamed, unnamoablo ,
This from his gorgeous throne, before all time
Had smitten Ebbs brightest first that fell.
He started back. What urged him to rebel ?
What led that soft seducer to his bower P
Could slie have laid upon his soul that spoil,
Young, lovely, fond — yet but an oaithly

flower P
But for that fatal cup he had boon froo that

hour.

But still its draught was fever in his blood
Ho caught the upward, humble, weeping

gleam

Of woman's eye, by paaeion all subduod —
He sigh'd, and at his sigh he saw it beam
Oh ! the sweet frenzy of the lover's dream I
A moment's lingering, and they both must
• die.
The lightning round them shot a broader

stream ;

He felt her clasp Ha knees in agony j
He spoke the words of might— tie thunder

gave reply I

Away ! away ' tho sky IH ono black cloud,
Shooting tho lightnings down m wpiro on

Now, round tho mount its canopy is bowM,
A vault of stono on columnn of rod firo,
Tho stars, like lamps, alontf HH roof expire ;
But through its centre biumta un orb of r
Tho Angel know tho Avnngor in Inn irn !
Tho hill-top smoked bonoatlx tho

blaze,
The culprits dared not thoro thoir ffuilf ,y ayo-

balls raifio.

And words wore uttor'd from that vhirlinfc

sphere

That mortal sense might nnvor hoar and livn,
They pierced like arrow* through tho Autfri'B

oar;
He bow'd his hood; 'twas vain to fly or

strive,
Down comes tho final wrath; tho thunder**

give

The doubled pool — tho rain in cataraotfl nwoop,
Broad fiery bars tho whootod dolugo rivo ;
Tho mountain summitH to tho valley leap,
Pavihon, garden, grovo, nrnoko up ono ruin'tl

heap.

The storm stands still ! a momout'a pauso of

terror!
All dungeon dark! Again tho lightning

yawn,

Showing- the earth as in a quivering mirror ;
The prostrate Angol folt but that tho ono
Whoso love had lost him PorodiHU WOH

gone
Ho dared not soo hor corpHOl ho cloftod lit*

eyes;

A voice burst o'er him, solemn OH tho ioxio
Of tho laat trump— ho glanced upon tho

skies,
He saw what shook hiw HOU! with lorrar,

shame, surpriHO.

Th' enchantress stood before him ; two brnutl

plumes
Spread from her ahouMurti on tho tiurtlwn'd

air,
Her face was glorious still, but IOVO'H young

bloomH

Had vaniBh'd for tho liuo of
A fiery circle crown'd hor «al>lo hair ;
And, as sho look'd upon her prowtrato prize,
Her eyeballs shot around a meteor glare*,
Her form lowor'd up at once to #iatit «ixo ;
'Twos Mblis, king of holl'w rolontlos« 8ovoroijfnr

faos,

Tho tomptor spoke— " Spirit, thou »ight«t

havo stood,

But thou hoflt falVn a weak and willing- fflavov
Now wore thy foeblo heart our sorpont's

food,

Thy bed our burning ocean's filooplofis wavo,
But haughty Heaven controls tho power it

gave.

1780 to 1800. ]

THE EXCURSION.

ELLIOTT

Yot art thou doom'd to wander from thy

nphoro

Till tho laHt trumpet roaohofl to the grave,
Till the sun rollH llio grand concluding year,
Till earth IH paradwo ; then shall thy crimo

bo oloar."

Tho Angel Union' d — Arisen upon one knee
ItoHolvcd to hoar tho doadlioat undiwnay'd,
UIH gold-tttarr'd plumo hung round him

droopingly,

ITiH brow, like marble, on his hand was staid
Still through tho auburn look't* o'orhanging

whado

HIH f aoo shone boautif nl ho hoard his ban ,
Then oamo tho wordH of moroy, fltornly Raid ,
Ho plunged within hia hands hiH viwago wan
And tho fiiHt wild swoot toarn from hia hoart-

PU!HOH ran

Tho giant grawp'd him OH ho foil to earth,
And hin black vanoH u]>on tho air wore flung,
A tabornaolo dark ; and BhoutH of mirth,
Mingled with shriokingH, tluough tho tempest

swung;

If IB arm around tho fainting Angel olung.
Then on tho clouds ho clartod with a groan ;
A moment o'er the Mount of Ruin hung,
Thon burst tluough Hpaco, liko tho rod comot's

cono,
Leaving IUH tiack on hoavon a bumming,

ondloHH zone

Owl./— limn 1780, DM 1801.

1552.— TO THE BttAMBLE FLOWER.

Thy fruit full well the schoolboy knows,

Wild bramble of tho brake '
80 put thou forth thy email white rose ;

I lovo it for hiB sake.
Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow

O'or all tho fragrant bowers,
Thou noed'st not bo ashamed to show

Thy satin-threaded flowers ;
For dull the oyo, tho heart is dull,

That cannot fed how fair,
Amid all boauty beautiful,

Thy tender blouuoms are '
How dohoale thy gaussy frill '

How noh. thy branchy stem '
How soft thy voice when woodfl are still,

And thou smg'st hymns to thorn ,
While fliloni showorw are falling slow,

And 'mid tho general huflh,
A sweet air lifts the little bough,

Xione whifipormg through, tho bush '
Tho primrose to tho gravo is gone ;

The hawthorn flower IH dead ;
Tho violet by tho moaa'd grey stono

Hath laid her weary head ;
But thou, wild bramble ' back dost bring,

In all their beauteous power,
The fresh green days of life's fair spring,

And boyhood's blossomy hour.

Soorn'd bramble of the brake I onco moro

Thou bidd'st mo bo a boy,
To gad with thoo tho woodlands o'or,

In freedom and in joy.

Ebenezer Elliott.— Bom 1781, Dic# 1849.

* 553 —THE EXCTOSION.

Bono-weary, many-ohildod, trouble-tnod I
Wifo of my bosom, wedded to my soul '
Mother of nine that livo, and two that died '
This day, diink health from nature's mountain

bowl,
Nay, why lament tho doom which mocks

control P

Tho buried are ncft lost, but gone before
Then dry thy tears, and see tho riror roll
O'or rooks, that crown'd yon tune-dork heights

of yoro,
Now, tyrant-like, dethroned, to crash the weak

no moro.

The young oro with us yet, and we with

them

0 thank tho Lord for all ho gives or takes —
Tho wither* d bud, tho Irving flower, or gem '
And ho will blosw us when tho would foor-

Lo ' whoro thy fitthor-born, abstracted, takes,
With hiH fix'd eyes, tho trout ho cannot BOO '
Lo ' starting from IUH oaruoHi dream, ho

wakofl!
While our glad Fanny, with rained foot and

knee,
Boars down at NOG'S Side tho bloom-bow'd

hawthorn-tree.

Dear children I when the flowers are full of

bees ;
When sun-touch*d blossoms shod thoirf ragrant

snow;
When song speaks like a spirit from tho

troos
Whose kindled greenness hath a golden

glow;

When, clear as muHic, rill and river flow,
With trembling hues, all changeful, tinted

o'or
By thai bright pencil which good spirits

know
Alike in earth and hoavon— 'tis sweet, onoo

more,
Above the sky-tinged hills to see the storm*

bird soar

'Tin passing sweet to wander, free as air,
Blithe truants in tho bright and breeze-bless' d

day,
Far from tho town — where stoop tho sons of

earo
O'er plans of mischief, till their souls turn

EBHtfEzuna "ELLIOTT.]

HCTTOES or NATIVE GENIUS.

[SJBVWNTH FKItlOI) —

And dry OB dust, and dead-alivo arc they —
Of all solf-bnnod things the moat unbloss'd *
O Morn ' to thorn no Mianf al tribute pay !
O Night's long-courlod slumbers ' bring no

rest
To men who laud man's foos, and doom tho

basest host '

God ' would they handcuff theo P and, if thoy

could.

Chain tho froo air, that, like tho daisy, goes
To ovary fiold , and bid the Burbling wood
Exchange no musio with the willing roso
For love-sweet odours, where the woodbine

blows

And trades with every cloud, and every beam
Of the rich sky I Their gods aro bonds and

blows,
Books, and blind shipwreck , and they hate

the stream
That leaves them still behind, and moeks their

changeless dream*

They know ye not, yo flowers that welcome

me,

Thus glad to meet, by trouble parted long '
They never saw ye — never may they soo
Tour dewy beauty, whon tho throstle's song
Flowoth like starlight, gentle, calm, and

strong 1
Still, Avarice, starve their souls ' still, lowost

Pride,

Make them the meanest of the basest throng '
And may they never, on the green mil's side,
Embrace a ohosen flower, and love it aH a

bride!

Blue Eyobnght ' loveliest flower of all that

grow
In flower-loved England' Flower, whoio

Is like an infant's' What hoait doth not

know
Thee, cluster' d smilor of Iho bank ' where

plays
The sunbeam with tho emerald snako, and

strays

The dazzling rill, companion of tho rood
Which the lono bard most loveih, in the days
When hope and lovo are young? 0 come

abroad,
Blue Eyebnght ' and this rill shall woo thoe

with an ode.

Awake, blue Eyebnght, while the singing

wave
Its cold, bright, beauteous, soothing tribute

drops
From, many a grey rook's foot and dripping

cave j
ijyhfle yonder, lo * the starting stone-chat

hops! ,
"VTOle liene the cotter's cow its swen* foo*J

ewes and Iambs are bleating

And, bursting through tho briara, tho wild as*

stops —
Kicks at the strangers — then tnrnH round to

staro —
Then lowers his largo rod WITH, and nhokcw IUP

long dark hair

JSbcnescr NUhti.—ltofH 1781, I>u>tt

1554,— MOTTOES OF NATTVK CIWN1UH.

0 faithful lovo, by poverty ombracocl !
Thy heart is firo, amid a wintry wiisto ;
Thy joys are roses, born on Hoolw/H brow ;
Thy homo IH Edon, wtmn amid tho HTIOW ;
And she, thy mate, whon coMcwi, blown tho

storm,
Clings then most fondly to thy guardian

form,

E'en as thy taper givoH inixmHOHi litfht,
Whon o'or thy bow'd roof ditrkfHt. follu Llm

night
Oh, if thou o'or hant wrcmg'd hor, if ihoii

o'or
Prom those mild oyon lniHt cuuKcd 0210 bittor

tear

To flow unfloon, rnpont, and fdn no more* !
For nchoBt gomn, compawwl with t«r, aro

poor,
Oold, weigh' d agaittHt hor liaart, IK It^lii—iH

vilo,
And whon thou aufforoHt, who Khali HOO hor

, and Highmfl1, wink to H!CM»J),
And Holdoni wmlc, without frcnh (ytuwc to

woop
(Scarce dry tho pebble, by tho wavo (lanhM

o'or,

Auothor oom^H, io wrti it an before) ;
Yot whilo in gloom your frcwjslnjc day <l«-

clmoH,

How fair tho wintry Htmlxmm whon it fthiium '.
Voitr folittffo, whoro no Htmimor laaf JH ncon^
oiu>>roidorH <uwilifH whitf* voil with

And your broad branohoH, i»row<l of «torm-

iriod fltientfth,
Stretch to the wiudtt in Hport ihoir ntalwari

While

there 3

And calmly wavo, beneath tlio <lark«ni hour,
Tho ioo-born fruit, tho front-defying1 ilowor.
Lot luxury, Hiokomng in profuHion'K ohfiir,
XTnwwoly pamper hi« unworthy hoir,
And, whilo ho foods him, bluHh and tremble

too! •

But love and labour, blush not, fear not yon 1
Tour children (Hplintors from tho mountain' «

side),
With rugged hands, shall for themselves

provide.

Parent of valour, oast away thy fear r
Mother of men, bo proud without a tear 1

r* " - - -

Fnnn 1780 to 186G.]

A POET'S EPITAPH.

[EBJSNI3ZER ELLIOTT

While round your hearth tho woe-nursed

virtuoH move,

And all that raanlinoBH can ask of lovo ;
ttomombor Hogarth, and abjure despair ;
Koraombor Arkwright, and tho peasant Clare.
Bnxnfl, o'er tlio plough, sung awoot his wood-

notoH wild,
And richest Shaknporo wan a poor man's

child.

Biro, groou in ago, mild, patient, toil-mured,
JMnduro thine evils OH thou hast ondurod.
Behold thy wedded daughter, and rojoico 1
Hoar hope's sweet accents in a grandchild's

voice !

See froodom'H bulwarkR in thy Rons ariHO,
And Hampdon, JKuflsoll, Sydney, in thoii

oyoH1
And fllumld some now Napoleon' a ourso

subduo
All hoartliH but thine, lot him behold thorn

too,

And timoly Hhun a doadlior Waterloo.
Northumbrian voles 1 yo saw, in silent

prido,

Tho ponnivo l>row of lowly Akonwdo,
When, poor, yet learn' d, ho wonder' d young

and fr«e,

And folt within tho wtrong divinity.
ScunoH oi his youth, whoro tat ho woo'd tho

Nnio,

Hin Hpiiit ntill IH with you, valoH of Tyno '
AH wlum ho breathed, your bluo-boll'd i>atha

along,
Tho wml of Plato into British Hong.

Horn in a lowly hut an infant slept,
Dreamful In flloop, and, ^looping, flirulod or

wopt ;

Silont tho youth— tho man wan gravo and ally •
Ilin parontu lovod to watch hiu wondering

oyo:
And lo! ho waved a prophot'n hand, and

gave,
Whoro tho windH Hoar, a pathway to tho

wayol

From hill to hill bado air-hung rivors fltrido,
And flow through mountains witha conqueror's

pride .

O'or grassing hordH, lo 1 RhipB sngpondod sail,
And IJrindloy's praiac hath wings in ovory

galo!
Tho worm came tip to drink the welcome

uhowor ;
Tho rodbroaut quafTd the raindrop in tho

bower j
The naBkonng1 duok through freshen* d lilies

swam j

The bright roaoh took tho fly below the dam ;
Bamp'd the glad colt, and cropp'cL the pensile

spray;

No more in dust uprose the sultry way \
Tho lark was in the cloud, the woodbine

hung
Here sweetly o'er tho chaffinch while he

song;

And the wild rose, from every dripping bush,
Behold on silvery Sheaf the mirror' d blush ,

When oalmly seated on his panmcr'd as»,
Where travellers hoar the stci'J l»rH& as

A milkboy, sheltering iVom tho tranwiont

storm,
Chalk'd, on tho grinder's wall, an infant's

form,
Young- Ohontrey smiled , no ontio praised or

blamed;
And golden promino smiled, and thus ox-

olaua'd.—
" Go, child of gemus ' noh be thine

increase ,
Go — bo the Fhidian of the second Greece ' "

— Born 1781, Dwd 1849.

1555.— APOSTEOPHE TO

Ye rooks ! ye elements ' thou shoreless main,
In whose blue depths, worlds, over voyaging,
Freighted with hfe and death, of fate oom-

plam,

Things of immutability ' yo biing
Thoughts that with terror and with sorrow

wiing
Tho human breast. Unchanged, of sad

decay
And dcathloflH change ye Rpoak, bko prophets

old,

Foretelling oviTu evor-proHont (lay ;
And at* when Horror lays hiu linger cold
Upon the heart in dreamH, appal tho bold
0 thou TjHitunty t our hope and dread,
Lot me unveil thy features, fair or foul I
Thou who shalt see tho grave untonanted,
And commnno with the re-embodied soul '
Tell mo thy seoretn, ere thyagen roll
Their dooda, that yet nhall bo on earth, in

heaven,
And in deep hell, where xabid hearts with

pain
Must purge their plagues, and learn to bo

forgiven I

Show mo the beauty that shall fear no stain,
And stall, through ago-long years, unchanged

remain !

As one who dreads to raise tho paJlid shoot
Which Hhroudn the beautiful and tranquil

face
That yet can smile, but never more shall

meet,

With kisses warm, his ever fond embrace ,
So I draw nigh to thee, with timid pace,
And tremble, though I long to lift thy veil.

l&eiwcfr mUott.—Bam 1781, Dwd 1849. '

1556— A POETS EPITAPH.

Stop, Mortal ! Here thy brother lies —
The Poet of the Poor.

71*

EBENBZER ELLIOTT.]

A POET'S PBAYER.

His books wore rivorH, woods, and skies,

The moadow and the moor ,
His teachers wore tho torn heart's wail

Tho tyrant and tho slave,
Tho streot, tho factory, tho gaol,

Tho palaoo — and the grave !
Sin met thy brother everywhere '

And IB thy brothor blamed P
From passion, danger, doubt, and care,

He no exemption claim' d
Tho meanest thing, earth's feeblest worm,

He foar'd to scorn or hate ;
Bat, honouring m a peasant's form

The equal of the great,
He bloss'd the steward, whose wealth makon

The poor man's little, more ,
"Set loathed the haughty wretch that takes

From plunder' d Labour's store
A hand to do, a head to plan,

A heart to feol and dare —
Tell man's worst foes, hero lies tho man,

"Who drew thorn as they aro

—Bom 1781, IXcci 1849.

1557 —A POET'S PRAYEB

Almighty Father ' let thy lowly child,
Strong in his love of truth, be wisely bold —
A patriot bard, by sycophants reviled,
Let him live usefully, and not die old '
Let poor men's children, pleased to read his

lays,
Love, for his sake, the scenes where he hath

been.

And when he ends his pilgrimage of days,
Lot him be bunod whore the grass IB groon,
Where daisies, blooming earliest, linger late
To hear tho beo his busy note prolong ,
There let him slumber, and in poaoo await
The dawning mom, far from tho sensual

throng,

Who soorn tho windflowor's blush, tho rod-
breast's lonely song.

Ebmeser WUQtt.~Bm 1781, JXed 1840.

1558— OOWPER'S GBAVE.

It is a place where poets crown' d

May feel the heart's decaying —
It is a plaoe where happy saints

May weep amid their praying —
Yet let the grief and humbleness

As low as silence languish ;
Earth surely now may give her oalm

To whom she gave her anguish.

0 poets 1 from a maniac's tongue
Was pour'd the deathless euiging I

0 Chnfttians ' at your oroHB of hopo
A hopoloHH hand was clinging '

0 mon ! this man in brotherhood,
Your weary pafchu baguilmg,

Groan' d inly whilo ho taught yon peaces
And died whilo yo wore Hmihn#,

And now, what timo yo all may road

Through dimming loans hiH story—
How discord on tho rmimo foil,

And darkness on tho fflory —
And how, when, ono by ow>, 8W(»ot Rouudn

And wandering hirhtn dflpnrtod,
Ho woro no IOHH a loving fiww,

BeoauHQ uo brokon-Uonriod.

Ho ahall bo strong to nanctify

The poet's high vocation,
And bow tho mookoHt Chrtetian down

In mookor adoration ;
Nor over filuill ho bo in praino

By WIHO or good fomikon ;
Named softly an tho liounohold namo

Of one whom God hath taken *

With flodncMR that IH calm, npt jrtoom,

I learn to think upon him ;
With moukxiofw thai in irrutofnluwH,

On Ood, whoHO heaven hath won him.
Who Huffor'd on«o the utadiuuw-oloiul

Towards hit* love to blind him ;
But gently lod the blind along,

Whore breath aud bird ooald fmd him ;

And wrought within his HhattorM brain

Suoh quick pootio HonHOH,
As lulls havo litu^a^o for, ami hlarn

HarmomoUH mfluoiicoH t
Tho pulno of <low upon tin* tfraHM

HIM own did ttaltnly number ,
And Hilont nhiidow front tho

Foil o'er him liku a Hluinbor.

Tho vory world, by

From falHohoMd'H chill
Its womou and iU uuui, b(>(iatno

JtoHido him truo and loving I
And timid hartm worn drawn from woodn

To Hharo hin liomo-oaroHHOH,
Tlplooking in IUH human oyon,

With sylvan tondonioHBeH.

But while in darknoHB lio romoiu*d,

UnconHoiouH of tlio guiding,
And thingH providod <jamo without

Tho flwoot Honne of providing
Ho testified thw nolomn truth,

Though frenzy doHolated —
Nor man nor nature aatitffy

Whom only Ood oro>ted.
Mrs.

BEKTHA IN THE LANE.

[Mns.

1559.-— THE CHILD AND THE WATCHER.

Sloop on, baby on tho floor,

Tired of nil thy playing —
Sloop with wnilo tho swootor for

Th.it you dropp'd away in ,
On your <?urlH* fair roundnOHH Hton<l

(ioldcm lights serenely;
Ono chcok, pnHh'd out by tho hand,

Foldn tho tlimplo inly—
Little hood and httlo foot

Heavy laid for pleasure ,
Uzulorzioath tho lids half-Hhut

Plantu tho naming azure ,
Opon-HoulM in noonday min,

So, yon lie and Hlumbor ,
Nothing1 ovil having done,

Nothing- can encumber.

I, who cannot Hloop OH well,

Shall I nigh to viow you P
Or High further to foretell

All that may mido you ?
Nay, koop wniling, littlo child,

Kro tho fato appoaroth !
T «milo, too j for patience mild

PlwiHiiro'H tokon woaroth
Nay, koop Hlnopmg boforo IOHH ;

I Hhall Hloop, though loning
As by ciodlo, HO by m>HM,

hJwool m tho reposing.

Ami (Six! known, who SOOH UH twain,

Child al nliilfhHh loimiro,
I am all RH ticod of pam

AH you oro of ploaHuro.
Very Hoon, too, by HIM groco

U<mtly wrapt around mo,
£ Hhall show OH calm a faoo,

T «hall «l(»oi» a« Houndly —
Difforinff in thw, that yoa

Claup your plaything hloopinj?,
Whilti my hand raoHt drop tho fow

Givon to my kooping —

Differing- in thi», that T,

Sloopmg, miiHt bo colder,
And, in waking pnmontly,

Brighter to boholdor —
Boffonnpr in thiH botudo

(Sloopor, havo you hoard moP
Do you move, and open wido

Your groat oyoR toward mo P),
That while I you draw withal

From thiH fclumtoor solely,
Me, from mino, an anprol Hhall,

Trampot-tonguod and holy '

Mrs, tirown,ing,-~Jttvrn, 1809, Died 1861.

IS60.—BEBTHA IN THE LANE.

Pat tho broidory-framo away,
For my Bowing- is all done '

The last throad is used to-day,
And I need not join it on.
Though tho clock stands at tho noon,
I am weary ' I havo sown,
Swoot, for thoo, a wedding-gown.

Sistor, holp mo to tho bod,

And Htand noar mo, doaioMt-swoot I
Do not shrink nor bo afraid,

flushing with a Buddou heat !

No ono Htandoth m tho Hfcroot > —

Uy God's love I go to moot,

"Lovo 1 theo with love oomploto.

Loan thy faoo down ' drop it in
Thoso two handH, that I may hold

'Twixt thoic palmw thy cheek and chin,
Stroking hawk tho curls of gold
"JiH a fan , fair fiioo, in flooth —
Loig-or oyOB and roddor mouth
Tlian mino woro in my firnfc youth '

Thou art younger by aovon years —
Ah ! — so baKhf nl at my gazo

U'hat tho labliofl, hung with tears,
(Jrow too heavy to upraiso '
1 would wound thoo by no touch
"Wluoli thy flhynoss feolfl as such —
Doat thou muid mo, door, so much ?

Havo T not boon nigh a mother
To thy swootnoHS — toll mo, door,

Havo wo not lovod ono another
Tenderly, from yoor to yoar ?
Hinco our dying mother mild
Said, with aocontti undofUod,
" Child, bo mother to this chilli ' "

Mother, mother, up in hoar on,
Stand up on tho janpor soa,

And bo witness I havo given
All tho gifts required of mo ; —
Hope that blowe'd mo, bliss that crown'd,
Lovo that loft me with a wound,
Life itself, that tum'd around 1

Mothor, mother, thou art kind,
Thou art standing in the room, —

In a molten glory shrined,
That rays off into tho gloom '
But thy smile in bright and bleak,
Like cold waves— I cannot npoak,
I sob in it, and grow weak.

dboutly mother, keep aloof
One hour longer from my soul —

For I still am thinking of

Earth's warm-boating joy and dole !
On my finger is a ring
Which I still BOO glittering,
When the night hides everything.

Little sister, thou art pale !

Ah, I have a wandering- brain —
But I lose that fever-bole,

And my thoughts grow calm again.

Loon down closer — closer still !

I havo words tluno oar to fill, —

And would kiss theo at my will.

MELJ.

BERTHA IN THE LANE.

Doar, 1 board thoo in tho

Thoo and Robert— through the troop, —
"When wo all wont gaihonng

'Boughs of May-bloom for tho boon.

Do not siaifc no ' think inHtoocl

How tho PunRhino overhead

Seom'd to trickle through tho flhado.

What a day it was, that day 1

Hills and valow did openly
Soom to heave and throb away,

Ab tho sight of tho groat sky ,

And tho silence, as it stood

In tho glory's golden flood,

Audibly did bud— and bud '

Through tho winding hedgerows groon,
How we wander1 d, I and you, —

With the bowery tops shut in,

And the gates that show'd the view —
How wo talk'd there f thruahos soft
Sang our pauses out, — or oft
Bloatings took thorn, from tho croft.

TJ1 the pleasure, grown too strong,
Loft me mutor ovormorp ,

And, tho winding road being long,
I walk'd out oi sight, boforo ,
And no, wrapt in musmgw fond,
Issued (past tho wayside pond)
On the meadow-landa beyond,

I sat down benoath the booolx
Which loans over to tho lane,

And the far sound of your flijoooh
Did not promiHQ any pain ;
And I blofcw'd you full and froo,
With a smile uloop'd tondorly
O'er the May-flowers on my knoo.

But the sound grow into word
As tho speakers drew more noiu —

Sweet, forgivo me that I heard
What you wihh'd mo not to hoar
Do not weep so — do not whako —
Oh, — I hoard thoo, Jiorihu, mako
Good true answers for my sako

Yes, and he too ' lot him
In thy thoughts, untouch'd by blatno.

Could ho help it, if my hand
He had claim' d with hasty claim '
That was wrong perhaps — but then
Suoh things bo — and will, *i#ain '
Women oannot judge for men.

Had he seen thee, when ho swore
He would love but me alone ?

Thou wert absent — sent before
To our kin hi Sidmouth town
When ho saw thoo, who art best
'Past compare, and lovoliont,
He but judged thoo as tho rest.

Could we blame him with gravo words,
Thou and I, dear, if wo might P

Thy brown eyea have looks like birds
Flying wtraightway to tho light ;

Mine are old^r — HuHh!—»look out—
ITp the atroot ' I« iiono without P
How tho poplar hwingH about !

And that hour — bonoath tho bwh —
When I listen1 < I m a droam,

And he said, m hin <lwp H]KWfh,
That ho owed mo all oHtoom — ^
Each word Hwam in on my brain
With a dim, dilating pam,
Till it burst with that lawt ntrain —

I foil flooded with a dark,
In tho Hilonco of a HWOOB —

Whon 1 TOHO, Htill, «oM and ulark,
There WIIH night — 1 Haw tho moon •
And tho Htfu-H, each in itx plaoo,
And tho May-bloornw on tho grotm,
Soem'd to wonder what I wan.

And I walkM an if apart

From my sol f wbon I could Htand—
And I pit io<l my own heart,

As af I hold it in my hand —

Somowhai. coldly—- with n HOIIIUI

Of fulfillM lioju»vo]<m<'o,

And a l* l*oor thing

And I answer1*! or>ldly ton,

When you mot mo at th« door ;

And I only hnnrd tho (low
Dripping from mo to tho floor ;
And tho iioworH I bado you nt»<%
Wore too withorM fr>r tlio l«»c»—
AP my life, honnoforth, for met.

Do not woop HO— el<*ar— heart-warm !

It wan bout UH it IwfulJ '
If I «ay ho did mo harm,

1 ttponk wild — I ahi ti.»i u«-ll.

All hw wor<iM \v(»n» kind nnii •«««!

JIoontooxuMmo1 Onl.v hlixxl

KUUB HO fitiiit in wottuinhood.

Thon 1 alwayn W«IM t<i<» ^ravc -
Liked tho Htuldont bulLuln HIUI^-—

With that look, hoHidnn, w(*
In our ftwoH, who dio yo
I hivl dictl, doar, all tho
Lifo'H lonff, joyouH, j<wtlin«r KWHM
!H too lotul for my mook Hlianio.

Wo aro HO unllko tuuili othor,
Thou and F, that iumo could

Wo woro (»luldr<ni of oiwj molhor,
But for mutual tcmdorniyjH.
UTiou art niHo-lmud from tho csold,
And meant, vorlly, to Uolfl
Life's puro ploaHtiroH munifokl,

I am pale as oroouH grown
Clowe boHulo a roHfl-trooV root .'

WlioHoo'or would rcuioh tho row*,
TroaflB tho <»roouH imdcrfoot—
I, like May-bloom on thorn two-*
Thou, like rnorry Huminor-boo !
Fit, that I bo pluok'd for thou.

>VOM, 1780 to 18GG.]

THE SLEEP

[Mj*s. BBOWNIKCK

Yoi who plucks ino P — no ono mourns —
I have lived my season oat —

And now dio of my own thorns
"Which I ootdd not live without
Sweet, bo morry ' How tho light
Comes and goes ' If it bo mght,
Koop tho candles in my bight

Arc thoro footsteps at tho door P
Look out qiiiokly. Yoa or nay P

Somo ono might bo waiting for
Somo lawk word that I might Kay.
Nay P So boHt ' — So angola would
Stand off clear from deathly road —
Not to cross tho Bight of God

Coldor grow my hands and foot —
When I wear tho shroud 1 mado,

Lot tho folds lio Htraight and neat,
And tho roHomary bo spread —
That if any friend nhould oomo
(To HOO thoo, swoot !), all tho room
May bo lifted out of gloom.

And, dear Bortha, lot mo koop
On my hand this httlo ring,

Which at nightH, when others sloop
I oan nUll HOO glittering
Lot mo wear ib out of Might,
In tho ftra\o — whoro it will light
All tho daik up, day and night

On Midi gravo, drop not a toar '

MHO, though futhom-doop the place,
Through tho wonllon Hhrcm^L wear

I whiUl fool it on my fnoo.

Itathor Bmilo there, blessed ono,

Thinking of mo in tho «nn—

Or forgot rno — amiling on '

Art thou noar mo P noaror P so !
KIHH mo oloRe upon tho ayes,

That tlio oarthly light may go
Swootly aH it UMod to rise--
Whon I watoh'd tho morning gray
Btriko, botwixt tho hillH, tho way
Ho was sure to oomo that day.

$0 — no more Tain words bo said '

Tho hoHannahs noaror roll-
Mother, smilo now on thy dead- -
I am death-strong in my soul '
HyHtio Dovo alit on cross,
Guide tho poor bird of tho snows
Through tho snow-wind above loss 1

Joarw, Victim, comprehending
Lovo'fi divino flolf-abnogation —

Gloaaso my lore in its nolf-spondizig,
And absorb tho poor libation '
Wind my thread of life up higher,
Tip through angels' hands of tiro ! —
I aspiro whilo I expire ' —
Mrs. Brownmg —Pom 1809, Vied 1861.

1561.— THE SLEEP.

Of all tho thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,

Along tho Psalmist's musio deop,
Now tell mo if that any is
For gift or graoo surpassing this —

" He giveth His bolovod sloop."

What would wo give to our bolovod ?
Tho hero's heart, to bo unmoved —

Tho poet's star-tuned harp to sweep —
Tho senate's shout to patriot's vows —
Tho monarch's crown, to light the brows ?

<e He givoth His beloved sloop "

What do wo give to our bolovod P
A little faith, all -undiBprovod —

A little dust to ovorwoep —
And bitter memories, to make
Tho whole earth blasted for our sako I—

" Ho giveth His beloved sloop."

" Sloop soft, bolovod I " wo sometimes Bay,
But have no tune to charm away

Sad dreams that through tho eyelid oreep
But never doleful dream again
Shall break the happy slumber when

" Ho givoth His bolovod sloop."

0 earth, HO fall of dreary nomoa '
0 men, with wailing m your voices I
0 delved gold tho waUorw* hoap '

0 Htrifo, O curHO, that o'or it iali I
God makes a ndonco tlixough you. all,

" Aud givotb HIM bolovod aleop."

UiH dow drops mutely on the hill ,
HIH eloud above it sailoth still,

Though on its slope men toil and reap.
More softly than the dow in nhod,
Or cloud is floated overhead,

" Ho giroth His bolovod sleep.1'

Tea i men may wonder wMLo they soon
A living, thinking, fooling man

In such a rest his heart to keep ,
But angels say— and through tho word

1 WOOD, their blessed smile is hoard —
" Ho grivoth His bolovod sleep."

For me, my heart that erst did go
Most bko a tirod child at a show,

That sees through tears tho juggler's leap,
Would now its wearied vision close —
Would, childlike, on His love repose

Who " givoth His beloved sleep."

And friends I— dear friends I— when it shall bo
That this low breath is gono from me,

And round my bier ye oomo to weep,
Let one, most loving of you all,
Say " Not a tear must o'or her fall" —

" Ho givoth. His beloved sleep."

Mrs. Browwmg. — Itom 1800, Died 1861.

CHABMBS WOLFE.] THE HUBIAL OF SIR JOHN MOOUK. [SBVKNTH

1562.— THE BUJKJAL OP Silt JOHN
MOORE.

Not a drum was hoard, not a f uieral unto,
As his corno to tho rampart wo hurried .

Not a aoldior diHcharffod hw farowoll Hliot
O'er tho gravo whoro our lioro wo bunod.

Wo bunod him darkly at doad of night,
Tho soda with our bayonets turning ,

By tho struggling moouboaan'H mitity light,
And tho lantern dimly burning.

No usoloas coffin onolosod his broant,
Nor in shoot or on shroud wo bound him ;

But he lay like a waraor taking his rest,
With fa*3 martial cloak around him.

Few and short wore the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow,

But we steadfastly gazed on the f aoo of tho

dead,
And we bitterly thought on tho morrow.

We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,

That the foe and tho stranger would tread o'or

his hoad,
And we far away on the billow.

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gono,
And o'or his cold ashes upbraid him ,

But little he'll rook, if they lot him sloop on
In tho grave where a Briton has laid torn.

But half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock struck the hour for retiring ,

And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory ,

We carved not a line, and wo raised not a

stone,
But we left Tnm alone with his glory '

CJwrles Wolfe— Bom 1701, Vwd 1823

1563— THE DEATH OP MAEY.

If I had thought thou oouldst hare diod,

I might not weep for theo ,
But I forgot, when by thy side,

That thou couldst mortal bo ;
It never through my mind had pass'd,

That time would e'er bo o'or —
When I on theo should look my last,

And thou shouldst sznilo no moro.

And still upon that face I look,

And think 'twill smile again ;
And still the thought I will not brook,

That I must look in vain ;
But when I speak thou dost not say

What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ;
And now I feel, as well I may,

Sweet Mary, thou art dead

If thou woultlht wtuy, e'en an UK MI art,

All cold and all nereiio,
I still might proHH thy Hilonl heart.,

And whoro thy muilo IIOH boon ,
Wliilo o'on thy chill bleak oorrio I liavo,

Thou Hoomoflt ntilL uilno own,
But there — I lay thoe in tho grave.

And now — 1 am ulono.

I do not tlmilc, where'er thou art,,

Thou huut iortfoUou mo ,
And I porhupH may Hoothe ULIH heiuir

In thinking Htill of then !
Yet thoro waH round theo Mieli a claw u

Of light no'er Hetm before,
AH fancy never eoulri liavo drawn,

And novor ctaii restore.

Charles JM/K— Ihrn, 1701, Dinl IHliU.

1564— HONG.

0 say not that my heart IH eoM

To aught that onco could warm if, —
That Naturo'n form, HO ilenr of old,

No moro ha» pow<ki to charm it ;
Or that the ungenerouH world ean chill

Ono glow of Jfond onioiion
For thoHO who mado it doaror Htill,

And shared niy wild davotion,

Still oft thoHO solemn Hoone/t I viow

In rapt and droatny HtwlnoHH —
Oft look on thoHO who lovod tUum too,

With f»mtjy*H idle glaflnoHB ;
Again I longM to view tho light

In Nature* H fontureH glowing,
Again to troti/l tho mountam'H luug-ht,

And tasto tho Houl'H o'orflowizig.

Stern Duty rone, and, frowning,

His lotulon chain around tne ;
With iron look and Htilleu tong-uc

Ho mutterM OH lio bound mo,-*
"Tho mountain broezo, tho
hoavon,

Unfit for toil tho orciaturo ;
ThoHo for iho free alono ore givon—

But what have BlavoH with Naturo F

Wolfe.— Horn INI, Ihnl

1565.— THE BATTLE OF

Now glory to tho Lord of HoHtu, from whom

all glorioti aro 1
And glory to our Hovoroign liogo, King Henry

of Navarre '
Now let there be tho merry Hound of munio

and of danoe,
Through thy oom-fiolclu groon, and Ktmny

Tines, 0 pleasant land of JEfcanoo I

THE PLAGUE OP HAILSTONES.

[EDWIN ATHHJBSTONID.

And them, Koohollo, our own liochollo, proud

city of tho watorw,
Again lot rapture light tlio oyos of all thy

mourning- daughters.
AH thon wort constant in our ills, bo joyous m

our joy,
"For cold, and stiff, and still aro they who

wrought thy wallH annoy.
Hurrah' hurrah! a single field hath turn'd

tho ohonoo of war,
Hurrah ' hurrah ' for Ivry, and King Honry

of Navarre !

Oh! how our lioaits woro boating, whon, at

tho dawn of day,
Wo Haw tho army of tho Loaguo drawn out m

long array ,
With all liH priest-led citissons, and all its

robot pool H,
And ApponJsoli'H ntout infantry, and Egmont's

Flemish Hpoars.
There rodo tho brood of false Lorraine, tho

oursoH of our land '
And dark Mayonno wan in tho midst, a

trunohoon in IUH baud ,
And, aH wo look'd on thorn, wo thought of

Homo's empurpled flood,
And good Coligni'a hoary hair all dabbled with

IUH blood ;
And wo on od unto tho living (Sod, who roles

tho fata of war,
To fight for lim own holy iiamo, and Honry of

Navarro

Tlio Icing IH <w«no to marshal UH, in all hiw

armour druHt ;
And ha han bound a Hiiow-wluto plumo upon

IUH gallant oroHt.
Ho look'd tipon his pooplo, and a toar wan in

hiH oyo j
Ho look'd upon tho tniitors, and MB glonoo

was stern and high.
Right graciously ho smiled on us, 00 rolTd

from wing to wing,
Down all our lino, a doafoning about, " God

wave our lord tho King "
"And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full

well ho may —
For never saw I promiHO yot of such a bloody

fray —
PTOHH whoro yo BOO my whito plumo shine,

amidst tho ranks of war,
And bo your oriflammo, to-day, tho holmot of

Navarro."

Hurrah ! tho foon aro moving ! Hark to tho

mingled din
Of flfo, and stood, and trump, and drum, and

roaring oulvorin 1
Tho fiory Duko is pricking fast across St.

Andre's plain,
With all tho hireling chivalry of GuoldorH and

Almayno.
Now by tho hpa of thoso yo lovo, fair gontlo-

mon of Franco,
Charge for the golden lihos now — upon thorn

with the l&noo (

A thousand spurs aro striking (loop, a thou-

sand spoarH in rest,
A thousand knights aro prosnuig cloFto behind

the flnow- white orost ;
And in thoy burst, and on thoy riish'd, while,

liko a guiding star,
Amidst tho thickest carnage blazed tho holmot

of Navarro.

Now, God bo praiflod, tho day is ours '

Mayonno hatb. turn'd his rom
D'Aumalo hath onod for quarter. Tho

Flemish Count is slam
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds

boforo a Biscay gale ,
The fiold IH hoap'tl with blooding Htoods, and

flnj?H, and cloven mail
And thou wo thought on vengeance, and all

along our van,
" Botnoinbor St. Bartholomew !*' waR paes'd

from man to man ;
But out Hpako gentle Honry, " No Frenchman

is my f oo :
Down, down with every f oroignor, but let you*

brethren go "
Oh ' was thore over such a knight, in friend-

ship or in war,
As our Hoveroign lord, King* Henry, the soldier

of Navarro '

Ho ' maidens of Vienna ' Ho ! matrons of

Lucerne !
Weep, woop, and rend your hair for those who

never Hholl return.
Ho! Fluhp, send, for chanty, thy Mexican

That Antwerp monks may sing a moss for

thy poor spearmen9!* Houla '
Ho ' gallant nobles of tho Loaguo, look that

your arms bo bright I
Ho ! burghers of Saint Gonoviovo, koop watch

and ward to-night !
For our God hath crush' d tho tyrant, our God

hath rainod tho slave,
And mook'd tho counsel of tho wise, and tho

valour of the bravo
Then glory to His holy name, from whom all

Anc1 glory to our sovereign lord, King Honry
of Navarre

Macaulay —Born 1800, Died 1859.

1566.— THE PLAGUE OF HAILSTONES.

" And MOROB Rtrotchod forth his rod toward
heaven ; and tho LORD sent thunder and hail ;
and tho firo ran along upon tho ground "

EXODUS, ix. 23.

The impious Monarch sat upon his throne,
Defying still tho God of Israel —
Tho sixth foul plaguo tormented yet tho land,
Corroding boils and blains ago, ROX, nor rank
Escaped. Tho hungry infant from the breast

- - - -- I

ATIIWUROKII ) 'I'llK FLAUUK ol1 HAILSTONES. IHHTIUWB I'KBJOD. .. |

Turned, sickening ; and tho mother from hor

child.

Onthe nowbrido thobndegroom atarod n#haBt ;
Sho npon liim, and lifted up hor handn,
As at a serpent Iwaol'B aona nloiio —
So was tho Iwnd of God mado mattifont —
Wolk'd through tho tainted air, and know no

spot.

But Pharaoh still was hardened in his prido
And would not let tho opprnsa'd people go —
Thou tho seventh time the chosen loader came,
And apako unto tho kmg :— " O hard of heart '
And blind m unbelief ' not yet seest thou
That Israel's God is Lord of all tho earth *
Six plagues have come on thee, and all tho

land:

Yea, do ye stink with very loathsomeness —
"Wilt thou yet strive against tho living God ?
And wilt thou yet his chosen nation vex
"With stripes, and bondage, and task-masters

hard?

Or wait thou let them go from out tho land,
That they may sacrifice unto their God ,
Even to Jehovah m the wildoruoas p "

The awful prophet ceased; and thus the

king,
With btow liko night, and eye-balls flashing

fire,

ITpstattinjr from hits golden throne, replied
*' Slave and magician1 no, they shall not go '•
Who is your God, that I should be afraid
And hearken to his voice ? — I know him not ! —
Neither shall Israel go. The things thou

didsb,

Bid not our sorcerers also — or in part —
Even in thy sight ? — yet prate they of their

God?

What art thou but a blacker sorcoror P
Or who thy God but him they also serve ? —
When from thy lod a living aorpont canio,
Cast they not also evory man his lod
That tum'd into a serpent ? — When to blood
Thy spells had changed tho waters, play'd not

they

The cunning trick as wellP — And for thy f roup,
Brought they not forth tho loathsome roptilon

too? —
And comest thou hero to boast of Israel's

God—

Thew God alone P-— and say unto tho king,
' Let go thy bondsmen now from out tho land
That they may sacrifice unto the Lord P ' —
Who then is Israel's God ? I know him not' —
And Israel shall not go. — And who art thou
That I should hearken thee, and lift not up
My hand to punish ? Toll mo whonco thou art,
And show a sign that I may truly know
If your Johovah bo tho God indeed,
Israel his people, and his prophet thou/ —

Then Hoses lifted up his hands and spako
" 0 1 harder than the millstone ! askost thou
A sign that God i» God, and Israel
His people chosen ? Six signs hast thou had,
Yet not believed ; and the seventh will see,

And harden yoi thy heart, and huavfrr t« K
Tho groaning poo]>I<*, anil not lot thorn po »
.But, at tho loHt, th.vwilf Hhall wmd thorn foKli,
And own, in toarn/Uiat Imai'l'M Uc«l i« < Joel
But hoarkon to mo HOW, and J will Ml
Both whonco T como, and by what* Mtpi i kimw
That I indood tho prophet of tho Lord
Am chOHon to HUH work. On I lorob'H mount,
Tho holy hill, my fathor Jothro'» ilw'kH
I lod to paHturo. Suddwily, IwUoUl '
A bubh, and an tho midht u itomo of iiw .
A fiorco flamo, yot tho buhh WIIH unrmmumtMi *
And in tho firo tho anuft1! of the Lord
Appoorc'd unto mo1 Tromblmj? I wt«nl 1 uwk,
And turn'd asido, that I thin wondrouH hi«hii
Might seo, and why tho Imwh was unouTwumod ;
But, from tho firo, I hoard tho voioo of <*o*l,
That callod my nanio ; and, fearing, I rfti>Hwt —
' Horo am 1 1 '—Then JIo «pako Again, ami

said,

' Draw not nigh hithor ; put thy uliooH a«M(»
ITrom off thy foot, for whoro thou HtundcMt now
Js holy ground 1 am thy fatticv'a < J«<1,
Tho God of Abraham, and THatw4*H < lod,
Tho God of Jacob.'— Tlum I hid i«y <\N«' ,
Loat I Rhould look upon tho ftww* oi «od
And tho Lord said, * I Huruly have ln«li««M
Th* aflliotiont* of niy i>iif)i»lo, tuul luwi* lusinl
Thoir cry, by rranoiiof thoit tiiHk-JimwiorH ;
Ji'or I do know ihoir HOWOWH, and am wmio
Ftom Ibo MgypiianH it) dollvor tlumt,
And bring thorn from that land unto ti land
Plowing with milk nnd lionoy. Thoroforo

como,

And I will Bond thoo unto tMianwli now,
That thou my ohoHon pooplo inay'Ht bring

forth,
Tho cluldron of Inraol, from Viffyitiltai bon<ln.'

"Tliou I bow'd down, iiiid nuid unlo Uui

Lord,

1 Wlio am 1 ilini to PliaraoH I Hliould «o i4*-
And to ilio znon of Inniol whon I <»onu»,
And say unto thorn ** Lo! your fathom' U<xl
Hath Hout mo to you," if itcrolmnrit ihoy «wk
" What IH hin namo P " Kow nliall I ttxwwor

thorn ? f
Then Hpako tho Almighty. 'X AM THAT I

AM I—-
Thus to tho children of Imraol nhali thou

say*

" I AM hath Kent mo to you, tho Ix>rd (Jotl,
Your father^ Ood, tho <U«i of Abraham,
Tho God of Iwatw;, and tho Uwl of Jtioob,
Evon ho hath sent mo to you;" thin tny

natno

For ovor, my memorial to all nation**
Go, gather now tho oldora of iMHUtl,
And say to thorn, " Tho Ood of AbnUtam,
Tho God of Inaao, and tho God of Jacob,
Appear' d unto mo Baying :— Suroly I
Havo aeon that whioh IB done to youiox K«ypt j
Aud I will bring you out from your aiEiotion
tlnto a land, a pood land, and a largo,
^Plowing with milk and honey .' ' Then go yo^ —
Thou and tho olden*— to tho kiaotf, and any,

I From 1780 to 1800 J

THM PLAGUE OF HAILSTONES.

( " Tho Lorcl God of tho Hebrews hath appear'd
1 Unto UH wo hoHeooh thoo lot us go
| A throe dayu' journey in tlio wildornosR,
I That wo may Baoriiioo unto tho Lord."
Buf T am suro ho will not lot you go.
And I will Htrotoh out then my baud, and bmite
Egypt with all my wonders in tlio nndat
Whereof which 1 will do , and after thab
Tho king shall lot you go/ Then to tho Lord
I ouHWorM, * Surely they will not believe,
Nor hearken to my voice ; for they will say —
Thou hast not Hoon tho Lord/ Thou imto me
<jtod spake : * Cost now thy rod upon tho

ground/

f\ud, whon I cant it, lo ' it wan a serpent '
And I fled from it But ho upako again,
k Put forth thy hand and take it/ Thou I

ntoop'd,

And caught tho norpont, and it was a rod 1
'then Haid tho Lord again . ' Put now thy

hand

fnto thy bosom ' Then T put iny hand
Into my bosom whon I took it out,
Hohold ! my hand waa loporous as snow '
Thon said tho Lord • ' Put now again thine hand
Into thy boHom/ Thon I put my hand
Again into my bonoin, nnd behold '
Whon I pluok'd forth my hand, it had booomo
Kvon OH my othor tlonh ! Thou said tho Lord,
* Suroly thoy may boliovo thoir fathera' God,
Tho Clod of Abraham, and [wane's God,
Tho Uod of Jacob, haLh appoartVl unto thoo !
And if thoy will not hearken to tho voioo
< >f tho firni Hign, yet in the Houond mgu
Thoy will boliovo but if they still are doaf,
Then whall thou tako thin rod into- thy hand,
Whorowith thou ahalt do Higna before tho
king/

" And have I not dono uigns and wondors

then ? —

Tot art thou harden* d still in unbelief,
And wilt not lot th' opprosE^d people go P —
Ihivo I not turn'd your waters into blood P
Cover' d tho land with frogs P and changed to

Hoe
Tho dust P and filTd tho air with flwarms of

fliosP

All eavo tho land of Goshon, whoro abide
Tho chosen race, tho children of Israel P —
And dldfeit thou not, O king ' say : * Yo shall

go,

Only entreat for me unto your God
That he may stay his hand ' P And, after that,
Didst thou not harden still thy heart and say :
4 Tho people shall not go ' P Tbon sent I not
A murrain on your oattlo, that thoy died P
HOMOS, and OSPOS, camels, oxen, sheep P—
But in tho land of Qoshon died there one P —
LaHt, sent I not thw plagno upon you all,
Bods,blauis, and blotches, upon man and boast,
That the land stinketh with your loathsome-
ness ? —
And art thou harden' d still, and proud of

heart,
And wilt not let th' oppressed people go ? "

Thon with a stern, hoarse voice the king

replied

" Wily impostor ! henoo f — out of my sight I
Think not with cunning lies to blind the

king1

Thee and thy boasted God of lurael
I do defy I haste, sorcerer ' from my sight !
1 will not let the accursed people go ;
But will oppress them with a heavier hand,
And they shall cry unto their God in v»m/"
Ho said, aud htarfcod from his glittering throne,
And hurl'd his sceptre down

Thon Hoses spake :

" Hardon'd and proud ' tho God of Israel
Again shall stretch his rod upon the land,
And thou.s/irU£ let tho afflicted people go.
Behold, to-morrow, oven about this time,
The Lord shall send a very grievous hail,
Such as iix Egypt novor hath boon soon.
Send therefore now, and gathor from the

fold*

Thy cattle, and thy sheep, and all thou host .
For upon overy man and beant found there
Tho hail shall come, that they shall surely die.
So shalt thou know that Israel's God is God,
And shall repent, and bid the people go/'
But yet the king was hardon'd in his heart,
And moek'd at Moses and aL Israel's God.

Then on the morrow unto HOBOS spake
Tho Lord, and waid . " Strot oh forth thine hand

towards tho heaven,

That upon every man, and beast, nnd herb,
Tin oughout tho land of Egypt, may eomo hail/'

Thon MOHOB Rtrotoht'd forth his rod towards

tho heaven,
And o'er tho sky camo darkness, that tho

sun,

As with a furnace-smoke, quench' d utterly.
Blackness and death-like silence all tho land
Mado liko a tomb : astonish' J, every tongue
Was mute, and overy limb with terror shook.

But soon a sound for off was hoard in heaven,
A sound as of a coming multitude,
llorsos and chariots, rushing furiously ;
Then, like a trumpet opening on the oar
Oamo down a terrible and mighty wind.
"Wide scattering, fell anon, with heavy stroke,
As of a stone from a strong sliugsr's arm,
The solitary hail j dark tiros at length
Amid the block clouds wander' d to and fro ;
Earth shook, and heaven with terror acorn' d

to quako —
And all tho plague was loosed. — Tho voice of

God

Spako in ton thousand thunders , fire aud hail
Shot howling down, and lightning in a flood,
Mix'd with tho hail, and ran upon the ground ,
And with the hail, and thunder, and the firo,
A mighty wind, that the huge halftones smote
Liko rooks tho quivering ground — like shatter-
ing rooks,
Hurl'd from the mountain to tho groaning

plain —
Smoking and whirling, rush'd tho awful "hail,

EDWIN ATHERSTONBJ ]

NINEVEH

[HKVKNTH

Hailstones and fire?, tompobtH and thundorH

mix'd,

Foil on the land, that all the pooplo cried,
And trembled at the anger of tho ted.
And every man, and every beast that ntood
Withm tlio fields, tho hailstones famoto and

slow ,

And every horb and every troo braLo down
In all the land of Jfitfypt — But tlio HUH
Sliono in the fioldn of Uowhen pleasantly .
Thunder, nor wind, nor lire, noi halftones foil
3?or there tho sons of Israel abodo,
The favoured people, chosen of the Lord.

Then Pharaoh, trembling, onto MOBOB sent,
And Aaron, and besought them bittorly
" Oh i I have sinn'd ' righteous is the Lord,
I and my people wickod. Haste ye now,
And pray unto your Qod that ho will hold
His mighty thundorings, and his dreadful hail
And I will let the ohoaon people go,
And ye shall stay no longer."

Thou to hitr,

Spake Mosefl, saying • " When I shall bo gone
Oat of the city, I will spread my hands
Abroad unto the Lord, and ho will htay
The thunder and the hail, and they *>hall coaso
So mayst thou know that all the earth is his;
And "that Jehovah is the God of Gods.
But aa for thee, and thine, I know that still
Ye will not fear the Lord, nor let us go."

Then Hoses went from out the oity straight',
And spread abroad his hands nnto tho Lord •
The thunders, and the fire, and hailstones
ceased.

Edwwi Ath&rstone

1566 a.— NINEVEH.

But joyous is the Marring oity now
The moon is clear, tho stars are coming

forth,

The evening breeze fans pleasantly. "Retired
Within his gorgoouR hall, Assyria' H king
Sits at tho banquet, and in lovo and wine
Bevels delighted. On tho gilded roof
A thousand goldon lamps their lustre fling,
And on the marble walln, and on tho throne I
Gem-boss'd, that high on jasper stops up*

raised,

Like to one solid diamond quivering stands,
Sun-splendours flashing round in woman' H

garb ' I

The sensual king is clad, and with him Ait
A crowd of beauteous concubines. They

And roll tho wanton eye, and laugh, and sigh,
And feed his ear with honey* d flatteries,
And laud him as a God, All rarest flowers,
Bright-hued and fragrant, in the brilliant light
Bloom aa in sunshine like a mountain stream,
Amid the silence of the dewy evo

Hoard by tho lonely traveller ihruu'.h iho

vale,

With droam-liko murnrurmp; iwl<»diow\
In diamond Bhoworw a cryHlal fountain fallc.
All fruits dolioiourf, nnrt of every olime,
Beauteous to Might, and odoriferouH,
Invite tho tanto ; and winot* (if utmny light,
BoBG-lmod, or goldon, for the fcnsiinft Uwin
IPitnectar «yli»h-liko tfivK and Itlnominpr l«»y »
Plowor-orownM, ond in nppan'l bright H,H

Attontl upon their bidding Af, t

From handn UTIKCMUI, volnpiutnui niu \<\

broathoH,

Harp, dulcimer, and, HweeieMi f«r <if all,
Woman'tf mollifluous voirtu \Vtiat iiumyovM

ROHHO

Of Inxwry inont raro and rich can a»-k»
Or thought conceive, in thoro.

I Jut, fur away,

Tho proud and melancholy qneeu nits l»n«i
In her high chamber, breathuij; ttio eool air
That fans in vain her hot, indignant iir'AV.
Sho loatheH tho HciiHiial monarch ; run not

stoop

Her noblo nonl i,o Hhare hiH or^ieH ftml :
Yot ouoo hath lovod him, ctne<H hath li(*en lui-

lovod ,

And now hho tlunkK tuion the year* gon« }iy,
And BigliR, and nltodH Home paHKionattt tww,

and lookn

On that gigantic city, Hproad Lolow
Far an tho eye can roa<jn, arid Miyn, " Alan I
Thou mighty oity, am 1 qucum of th«e,
YotdeHolato?"

Voung Daru, fluhhM with love,
Through tho perfumed nhudoH Htealn fearftilty
Of tho prond palace gard<i!iH , for IHH ttn\\
Is with Nohnnhta, daujrhlcr of <1»* kinfr-
Along tho broad, <hnj, uiodnli^lit.dajjpled jwvth
Lightly tiipHlio , ofUtoiH, mid IcNtkHaroiiml ;
And flingH hin dark luur haek, and listen* (»ft.
Sho with t\vo tniKte<l maidc«nK, in a lw>wer
JPragraTit with all driicioiw flower* that lm«a< \w
Their nchiieHH to tlio «vo, imi>atient wait*,
And blamoH tlio murmur of a f ouutain itlgh
That drownw hw Ht(»althy footHtttpj and <»ft

looks

With oagor eyo along tho ehoqnor'd path,
And sayH, •« Oh, Dara, hasten to m«, lov« I "

Through all tho eity Houndw tlio voi«o of joy
And tipay mcrrimunt. On tho Hpaeioiw walln,
That, hko Jmgo hoa-ohffM, gird tho <Mfcy in,
MyrititlB of want<»« foot jy> to und fro :
Uay gannontH ruwtln in tho wtou-UKl broosso,
Onmfion and assure, purt)lo, KTOWJ, and gold ;
Laugh, jost, and pawing whiHp<»r are

there;

Timbrel, and luto, and dulcimor, and fionff j
And many feet that troad tho da»co are

,
And arms upflung, and flwayxng lioadH plume-

crownM.
So is that city steep'd in rovolry,

From 1780

TO THE BATTLE.

[EDWIN ATHHBSTONB.

1566 ft.— SABDANAPALUS.

Ho npako, and rawed tho goblet to his lips,
And pour'd tho nectar down and, when lie

drank,

Hirt concubines drank also, every ono;
And jov waH in all oyos Thon wont tho king,
HuHh'd with tho wine, and in his pride of

power
Glory mi? , and witli hiH own strong arm up-

From out its rest tlio AsHyrian banner broad,
Purple and edged with gold , and, Htandiug

thon

Upon tho utmost Hmnmit of tho mount,
JRound, aud yot round — for two stiong mon a

tank

Sufficient doom* d — ho waved tho splendid flag1,
Bright aH a meteor Hti earning

At that Bight

Tho plain watt in a Htir • tho holms of brass
Wore lifted np, and glittering fipoar-points

wavod,

And bannera shaken, aud wide trumpet mouths
Upturn' d; and myrwds of bright-harness' d

Htoods
Wore aeon uproariug, shaking1 their proud

heads ,

And bnwson ohariotH in a moment sprang,
An<l clash' d together In a moment moro
Up oamo tho monHtrouw umvorfial shont,
Liki) a tolcuno'ti butHt Up, up to hoavon
Tho muHiludmouH tuuipcst toro itH way,
Kooknig tho clouda • from all tho H warming

plain

And from tho (uty roso tho mingled cry,
" Long Hvo HardatjapahtH, king of kingM '
May tha king livo for over ' " Thrice tho flag
Tho monarch waved ; and thrioo tho whoutH

MnormouH, that tho solid waits wore shook,
And the firm ground made tremble

At hia height,

A Hpook scarce viniblo, tho oaglo heard,
And folt hiH Htrong wing falter • terror-struck,
Flattering and wildly ucroaming, down ho Rank
Down through tho quivering air another

Hhout,

•HiH talons droop, his sunny eye grown dark,
His strongthlosM pennons fail, plumb down ho

fallfi,

Even like a stone. Amid the far off hills,
With eye of fire, and shaggy mane uproar' d,
Tho sleeping lion in hia den sprang up ,
JLinton'd awhile — thon laid his monstrous

month

OloHO to tho floor, and breathed hot roarings out
In fierce reply.

Edwin Aihorstono.

1566 c.— TO THE BATTLE

Ho comes at length—-
The thickening thunder of the wheels is hoard •

Upon thoir hinges roaring, open fly

Tho brazen gates : sounds thon tho tramp of

hoofa —

And lo ' tho gorgeous pageant, like tho sun,
FlaroH on thon startled eyes. Pour snow-

white stood?,

In golden trappings, barbed all in gold,
Spring through tho gato, tho lofty chariot

thon,

Of obony, with gold and gems thiok strewn,
12 von like tho stairy night. The spokos were

gold,
With follies of strong brass ; tho naves wero

biass,

With burnish' d gold o'orlaid, and diamond
! rimm'd,

! Stool wore the axles in bright silver case ,
I Tho polo was cased m tnlvor - high, aloft,
I Like a rich throne, tho gorgeous scat was
i framed,
j Of ivory part, part silver, and part gold ,

Ou. either side a golden statue stood
I Upon tho right — and on a throne of gold—
1 GroaL Bolus, of the Assyrian empire first,
And worshipped as a god ; but, on the left,
In a resplendent ear by lions drawn,
A goddosft > on her head a tower , and, round,
Celestial glory this the deity
Wlioin most tho monarch worulupt ; she whom,

since,

Agtartc or Dcrcoto mon have named,
Aud Venus, queen of lore. Around her waist
] A girdle, glittering with all radiant gems,
Sooxn'd hoaving to her breath. Behind tho oar,
>YJ1 in the centre, on the obon ground,
tflamod forth a diamond BUU , on either Hide,
A horned moon of diamond ; and beyond
I Tho planottt, oiLch ono blazing diamond
1 Such was the chariot of tho king of longs*

I Himself in dazzling armour stands aloft,
! And rules the fiery steeds. His shield of

: His spear, his helm, his bow and quiver hang
| Within the roomy car. Thus, like a god,
i From forth tho gates he comes, and every

knee
Bends to the ground, and every voice ones

out,

" Long livo Sardanapalus, king of kings !
May the king live for ever ! " Thnco ho

smiles,
And waves his hand to all, and thrice the

shouts

To heaven go up Then on his starting horse
Springs every rider , every charioteer
Loaps to his car; and through the sounding

streets

Tho pageant flames, and on tho dusty plain
Pours forth; and evermore, from street to

street,
Buns on the cry, " Tho king ! tho king comes

forth'

Tho king of kings in his war-chariot comes ;
Long live Sardanapalus, kmr of kings !
M/iy tho king1 live for over ' '

NKHUHHTA'H JKAVKIi

To tho walls

Tho cry flu*"! on, they hoar it on film plains,
Tho plainn ory out, ihoy hear it in tho hotwm«
On thron^li tlio bowing- hoHt tho monarch

drives ;

High over all conspicuous, tho bright crown,
Liko an othorial five, through all tho field
Flashing porpotnal light. From rank to rank,
From nation unto nation gooa ho on ;
And Htill all knees aro bent, all voices raised
As to a doity

Kilww Atli&rstonc.

1566 efc.— • NEHTISHTA'S BO WEB.

Meantime, within the oft-frequented bower,
Nehushta eat, and Dara 'Twas a spot
Herself had chosen, from tho palace walls
Farthest removed, and by no sound disturb' d
And by no oye o'orlook'd , for in tho midHt
Of loftiest trees, umbrageous, was it hid —
Tot to tho sunshine open, and tho airs,
That from tho doop shades iill around it

broathod,

Cool and sweot scented Myrtle**, jessamine,
Roses of varied hues— all climbing1 shrubs,
Green-leaved and fragrant, hod Hho planted

there,

And trees of slender body, fruit, and flowor ;
At early morn had water* d, and at ovo,
From a bright fountain nigh, that ooasoloHRly
Gush'd with a gentle coil from out tlio earth,
Ibs liquid diamonds flinging to tho sun
With a soft whisper To a graceful arch
Tho pliant branches, intortwmod, wore bent ;
Flowers some, and aomo nclifiuitw of gor^oourt

hues,

Down hanging lavishly, tho tasto to ploaHO ,
Or, with nch Hcont, the smoll , or that iino

Of beauty that in forms and colours rare
Doth take dobght With fragrant IUOHH tho

floor

Was planted, to the foot a carpet noli,
Or, for the languid limbs, a downy conch,
Inviting Blumbor. At tho noontide hour,
Here, with some chosen maddens would ftho

come,

•Stories of love to listen, or tho deeds
Of heroes of old days tho harp, sometimes,
Herself would touch, and with hor own nwoot

voice

Fill all tho air with loveliness, But, chief,
When to his green-wave bod tho weaned »un
Had parted, and heaven's glorious arch yet

A last gleam catching from his closing eye,
The palace, with hor maidens, quitting then,
Through vistas dim of toll trees would she

pass —

Cedar, or waving pine, or giant palm-
Through orange, groves, and citron, myrUe

walks,

! Alloys of ro^os, bodn of Hwotcwt I
! 'I heir richo-A mooiino to tlio dowy lirooa
I "Rroathhiff profiwoly all , anil having t«t<
I Tho Rpoi bolovcwl, with sport, or danco
I On tho small lawn to Houxid of dnl«im«»rt
I Tho pleasant tnno would piwrt ; or to tho hid*
G-ivo oar drliglitotl, and tho pkmtivo voioo
That sang of luiplcwH lovo , or, arm in ami,
Amid tlio twilight nauntor, listing oft
Tho fountain's murmur, or iho owning1** HMi,
Or whiHporniHH in tlio Icavos, or, in Inn pridn
Of muiHtiiolrty, tho Bh'oplosK nighthi'fiiik*
Flooding tho air wttli tiouuty of Hwoot iioiind ;
And, evoi ^s tlic* Hil<j«<»(» oaiuo agaiu.
Tho (liwiirtit and uno^^irig hum <ic»ulii Iio*ir
Of iliat mugiiiflcojit c»ity, on all »id«»8
StuTonndmg thorn. Hut oft with ono alotus
One faithful, favoured maldon, would H!I«*

come;

At early mom somotimcn, whilo o/ory flower,
In diamonds glittering, with itM proud wo iff hi

bow'ds
Whon through tho glihturing inniH tho goMon

boamn
Aslant thoir bright flood pour'd, iwid ov««r.v

bird

In hw grucn pala<'o HilUng tmtw aloud,
And all tho air with youthful frwfruucut iooiu'd,
JhVoHh an at Nature' H birilt her paHtinui thfii,
Tlio flowotH to tend, to look upon iho nky,
And on tho earth, and drink tho porf umod air,
And in the gladness of all ihitiftH bo glad.
But in tho placid twilight hour of ovo
Not Holdom camo thoy J)ara ihon iho harp
Or dulcimer would touch , or, happier Mfcill,
HIH woids of lovo iuiiO hor liHtouin^ oar
Distil with Hwcctor muHio than from Hiring,
Or bicatliiTi" pjpo, though hwoot,

Miltt'iti Allit'f*lniit<

1566 &— THK TUIUMPUANT UKVUUN
OK

On Might inoro gorgootiH novor Hun

down*

A myriad goufalonn of bright huo utrfnu
A myriad tuLvor trtirnpitts Hpako to hottvcn ;
bright ohariotn,

Beneath th<»ir fl(»niriflr ri<IotH, proudly trade ;
ilawh'il holm, and Hlucld of ^old, and

mail,

And, with nnniimbnr'd martial it
Aocompaniod, unto tho mighty ftol,
And to SiordanapaluH, king of khigH,
Tnumplial hymnH tho hont togoihor Dang.

Hor brazen gato» wido flung tho city then,
And on the plain, with acclamation* loud
The ccmqtioror hailing, oountlonH muliitadon,
Benflo tlrconging, pour'd, and on hor walln tho

throngs

Expecting stood, and on hor lofty towor»»
Aaeyria's dameole thoro, and peorlo»»

1780 to 1800]

NASEBY.

Liko tulip hcrlH, in richest vesture dud,
Made HniiHlunu worn moio bright, and, to tho

breath
Of tho fiwroi south, & swootor fragrance

broathod

But, beautiful amidHt tho beautiful,
Amid a bright heaven tho ono brigbtowt star,
Assyria's goddoflH quoon, m regal state
Magnificent, to pomp imparting grace,
To triumph majesty, hor lord to moot,
From tho groat central eastern gate oamo forth
High throned upon a oar, with gold and gome
Rofulgont, slowly rodo sh<\ Diamond wreaths
Amid hor obon lo«ks luxuriant gleam 'd,
Like heaven's lamps through the dark , hor

ample robe,

tSky-huocl, hko to a waving Rapphiro glow'd ,
And round ono graceful shoulder wreathed, ono

arm •

Of roHO-tingod snow, a wob-lilco drapery,
Bright an a ruby atroak of morning, hang.
Itannn.th hor Hwolling boRom, ohantoly warm,
A golden isono, with pricolonB goms thick

starr'd,

FloHh'd gontlo b'ghtnings, Tho unresting firo
Of diamond, and tho ruby's burning glow,
With tho pure sapphire'** gentle beam mix'd

tlioro ,

Tho flamy toprws, with tho omorald cool,
Liko HunHhmo dappling tho Hpring meadows,

pluy'd,
Oold was tho nltmp, and diamond Bra,colGtH

light,

Of omonild, and diamond, and gold,
On oaoh fino tapor'd, pearly wn«t Hho woro ;
And, roimd hor pillarM nook, majoHtioal,
A Hlondor chain of diamond, tho woiglit
Sustaining of ono priooloflfl diamond,
Liko dawn faint bliuhing, radiant as tho morn,
That on hor oroamy boaoin, like a npark
Of Hvm-firo onrioh poarl embedded, lay.
With graooful oaHO and perfect dignity,
Yot womanly HoftnoHR, like a shape of heaven,
In majowty of boauty, palo, sorono,
With eye oft downoaHt, yot with swelling

heart

Proudly exultant, on hor gorgooun seat
Roolinod, of Tyrian i>arplo, goldon fringed,
Of all oyos mntoly wowhipp'd, Hho rodo 0:1.
So, when, viotoriouM o'er the giant brood,
Book to Olympus oamo the Thundoroi,
Imperial Juno, on hor golden ear,
By cloudn of fire upborno, with Btnilo of love,
Hor lord to moot, and other-brightening

brow,
Through heaven's wide opon'd portals proudly

rode.

In shirring cars, behind Assyria's queen,
I'he sone and daughtors also of the king,
To grace the triumph of tho conqueror, came.

Ho in his blazing chariot, like a god,
Exulting rode. His holm and mail laid by,
Tho sunlike crown upon his head, in robes
Attired, that hke one waving gem appear' d,
Amid the thunder of applauding hosts,
Onward ho oamo. His coursers' arching necks

With goms and gold woro hung, and, far

before,

Behind, and ronnd his chariot, glittering bright
With gold and gems, hko a phonphono sea,
His choicest captains, and his royal guard,
On their proud treading steeds rodo gallantly

The chanot of the queen at hand beheld,
To right and left disparting, ample space
In midst tho horsemen loft. Low bow'd each

head,

As tho bright vision pass'd, and silence deep
Oi admiration weigh 'd upon all lips.
Hut, whon tho royal chariots, meeting, paused,
Thon first, with blushing cheek, stood up tho

queon,
And welcome proud unto tho oonqueior gave.

1567.— NASEBY.

0 ' wherefore come ye forth in triumph from

tho Noxtb,
With your hands and your feet, and your

raiment all rod ?
And -wherefore do your rout send forth, a

JOVOUH shout?
And whonco uao tho grapes of the wino-pross

that yo tioad P

O ' ovil WOH tlio root, and bitter was the

frnit,
And crimnon wa« the juice of tho vintage that

wo tiod ,
Kor we trampled on tho throng of tho haughty

and the Htrong,
Who sato in tho high places and slow the

saints of God

It wan about the noon of a glorious day of

June,
That wo saw their banners dance and their

cuirasses shine,
And tho Man of Blood was thcro, with his

long ossonood hair,
And Atftloy, and Sir Harmaduke, and Rupert

of tho Bhino

Like a servant of tho Lord, with has Bible and

his aword,
Tho General rodo along us to form us for tho

fight ,
Whon a mtmnnring sound broke out, and

swell' d into a shout
Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's

right.

And hark 1 like the roax of the billow on tho

shore,
Tho cry of battle rifles along their charging

line:
For God ' for tho Cause ' for the Church ! for

the Laws '
Pot Charles, King of England, and Bupert of

the Bhine1

MACAULAV.J

SEHMON IN A CHUBCHYAKD. r««VKOTii

Tho fuiriouH Gorman comoH, with, his trumpets
and his drums,

His bravoos of AlHatin, and pages of White-
hall;

They aro bursting- on our flanks 1 Grasp your
pikes ' OloHO your ranks '

For Rupert novor cornea, but to conquer, or to
fall.

They aro horo — they rush on — wo aro brokon

— wo aro gono —
Our left IB borno before thorn liko stubblo on

the blast
0 Lord, put forth thy might I O Lord, defend

the right I
Stand back to back, in God's namo ! and fight

it to the last '

Stout STappon hath a wound — tho centre hath

given ground
But hark1 what means this trampling of

horsemen ra tho rear ?
What banner do I see, boys P 'Tis he ' thank

God i 'tis he, boys '
Bear up another minute ' Bravo Oliver is

hero '

Their heads are stooping low, their pikes all

m a row .
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on

tho dykes,
0 or cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the

Accurst,
And at a shook have scattered the forest of his

Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook

to hide
Their coward hoods, predestined to rot on

Temple Bar
And he — ho turns r he flies ' shame to those

oruol eyes
That bore to look on torturo, and dare not look

on war

Ho, comrades ' scour tho p-arn, and oro ye

strip the slam,
First give another stab to make the qnont

secure;
Then shako from alcoves and pocket* tlioir

broad pieces and lockets,
Tha tokens of tho wanton, the plunder of tho

poor.

Fools1 your doublets shone with gold, and
your hearts were gay and bold,

When, you kiss'd your hly hands to your lemans
to-day ;

fjr\f\ to-morrow shall tho fox from hex cham-
bers in the rooks

Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the
p*ey.

Where be your tongues, that late mook'd at

heaven, and hell and fate P
And the fingers that once were go busy with

your blades P

Your perfumed «atin clotluM, your Miti'hos and

your oatliH H
Your stago-plays and your nnnnutH? your

diamonds and your Hpadcm ?

Down! down ! for over down, with tho milm

and tho crown '
With the Belial of tho Court, and tho -Mam-

mon of tho Pope '
There IH woo in Oxford ha,lln, Ihwro H wail in

Durham HtallH ,
Tho Jesuit HmitoH_hin bosom, the Hishop nww

his copo.

And sho of tho Sovon Hilto Khali mourn l«»r

ohildron'H illB,
And tromhlo when Mho thinkH on tho wlflw <>f

England's sword ;
And tho Kings of earth in foar feholl trwnbto

when thoy hoar
What tho hand of God hath wrought for tho

HOUSOH and tho Word f

.— Horn 1800, DM 1B50.

IN A CHURCHYATU)

LHT piouB Damon take hi« Hoat,

With minoing step, and languid «mil«,
And scatter from hiH *knrohiuf ttwnot,

Sabooon odours o'er tho tunlo ;
And spread his little jowollod hand,

And smile round all tho parwh boautioH,
And pat his curln and nmoofch IU'K band,

Meet proludo to liiw Haintly dtiti^M.

Lot tho thronged audicnoo proHH and ntaro,

Lot stifled niaidonH ply tho fan,
Admire hiH dootrnn'H and IIIH liair,

And whinpor u What a good young man ! "
While ho oxplairm wliat HeomH niOHi (tloar,

So clearly that it Hoomn porploxod,
I'll Htay and road my mormon hero ;

And nkullH, and bonoHy Hhall bo tho toxt«

Art thon tho jilted dupe of famo P

DoHfc thou with jonlonH anp(»r pino
Whene'er who soandn nomo other name,

With fonder emphaHiH than thino P
To thee I preach , draw near $ attend f

Look on those bonoM, ilion fool, and «co
Whoro all her HCOHIH and favotirn end,

What Byron in, and thou xnuHi bo.

Dost thon revere, or praiKQ,

Some clod like thoBo that horo we
Something that Hprottg liko thoo from dtint,

And shall like thoo to duflt return P
Dost thou rate statesmen, horoon, wit«f

At one Bear loaf, or wandoring f cathor P
Behold the black, damp, narrow pita,

Where they and thou muxt lie together,

Do^t thou beneath the smile or frown
Of some vain woman bond thy knee P

From 1780 <o 3866.]

SONNETS TO A FETBND.

COLHBIDGBI.

Here take thy stand, and trample down
Things thai wore onco as fair as she.

Hero rave of her ton thousand graces,
Bosom, and lip, and eye, and chin,

While, OH in scorn, the fleshloss faces
Of Hanultons and Woldogravos grin.

Whate'er thy losses or thy gains,

Whato'er thy projeots or thy fears,
Whate'er the joys, whate'er the pains,

That prompt thy baby smiles and tears ;
Come to my school, and them shalt learn,

In one short hour of placid thought,
A stoicism, more deep, more stern,

Than over Zone's porch hath taught.

The plots and feats of those that pross

To seize on titles, wealth, or power,
Shall Boom to thoe a gamo of chess,

Densod to pass a tedious hour.
What matters it to him who fights

For Bhows of unsubstantial good,
Whether his Kings, and Queens, and Knights,

Be things of flesh, or things of wood P

We ohook, and take ; exult, and fret ;

Our plans extend, our passions nee,
Till in our ardour wo forget

How worthless IR the victor's prize.
Soon fades the spell, soon comes the night :

Say will it not bo then the Home,
Whether we played the black or white,

Whether we lost or won the game ?

J)o«t thou among those hillocks ntray,

O'or Homo dear idol's tomb to moanP
Know that thy foot is on tho clay

Of hearts* onco wretohod as thy own.
How many a father'* anxious schemes,

How many rapturous thoughts of lovers,
How many a mother's oheruhod dreams,

The swelling turf before thee covers !

Hero for the living, and tho dead,

The weepers and the friends they weep,
Hath boon ordained the samo cold bod,

Tho same dark night, tho same long sleep ;
Why shouldest thouwntho, and sob, and rave

O'or those with whom thou soon must be P
Death hi* own sting shall cure — the grave

Shall vanquish its own victory.

Here learn that all the griefs and joys,

Which now torment, which now beguile,
Are children's hurts and children's toys,

Scarce worthy of one bitter smile.
Here loom that pulpit, throne, and press,

Sword, sceptre, lyre, alike are frail,
That Science is a blind man's guess,

And History a nurse's tale.

Hero learn that glory and disgrace,

WiMdpm and folly, pass away,
That mirth hath its appointed space,

That sorrow is but for a day ;
That all we love, and all we hate,

That all we hopo, and all we fear,

Each mood of mind, oooh turn of fate,
Must end in dust and silence here.

- Born 1800, Died 1859,

1569.— SONNET.

What was't awaken' d first the untried ear
Of that sole man who was all humankind P
Was it tho gladsome welcome of the wind,
Starring the leaves that never yet were sere P
The four mellifluous streams which flowed so

near,

Their lulling murmurs all in one combined ?
The note of bud unnamed P The startled

hind

Bursting the brake — in wonder, not in fear,
Of her new lord P Or did the holy ground
Send forth mysterious melody to greet
The gracious presence of immaculate feet P
Bid viewless seraphs rustle all around,
Making sweet music out of air as sweet P
Or his own voice awake him with its sound P

Hartley Colcndge.—Bow 1796, Ihed 1849.

1570.— ON SHAKSPEEE

The soul of man is larger than the sky,
Beeper than ocean — or the abysmal dark
Of the unfathom'd ooniro. lake that ark,
Which in its sacred hold uplifted high,
O'er the drown' d hills, the human family,
And stock reserved of every living kind,
So, in the compass of the single mind,
The weds and pregnant forms in essence lie,
That moke all worlds. Great poet, 'twas thy

art

To know thyself, and in' thyself to be
Whate'er Love, Hate, Ambition, Destiny,
Or the firm fatal purpose of the heart
Can make of man. Yet thou wert still the

some,
Serene of thought, unhurt by thy own flame

Coleridge.— Bom 1796, Died. 1849.

I57I —SONNETS TO A PBIENB.

When wo were idlers with tho loitering tills,
Tho need of human love we little noted •
Our lovo was nature, and the poaoo that

floated

On the white mist, and dwelt upon the hills,
To sweet accord subdued our wayward wills
One soul was ours, one mind, ono heart

devoted,

That, wisely doting, ask'd not why it doted,
And ours the unknown joy, which, knowing

72

HAUTL-B* COLBBIDOB.] TO CJEKTAIN GOLDEN FISHH8. [SHVENTBC JL'K»IOD,-~

But now I find how doar thou wort to mo ;
That man is more than. "Hplf of nature's

treasure,

Of that f tix boauty which no eyo can see,
Of that awoot musio which no oar can

measure ,
And now the streams may sing for others'

pleasure,
The hiJlB sloop on in thoir eternity.

In the groat city we are met again,

Where many souls there are that breathe and

die,

Scarce knowing more of Nature's potency
Than what they loam from heat, or cold, or

rain—

The sad vicissitude of weary pain :
Foe busy man is lord of ear and eye,
And what hath Nature but the vast void sky,
And the throng'd river toiling to the main P
Oh ! say not so, for she shall have her part
In every smile, in every tear that falls,
And she shall hide her in the secret heart,
Where love persuades, and sterner duty

calls:
But worse it wore than death, or sorrow's

smart,
To live without a friend within those walla.

We parted on the mountains, as two streams
From one dear spring pursue their several

ways;
And thy fleet course hath been through many

amaze

la foreign lands, where silvery Padus glooms
To that delicious sky, whose glowing beams
Brighten' d the tresses that old poets praise ;
Whore Petrarch's patient love and artful

lays,

And Ajnosto's song of many themes,
Moved the soft air. But I, a lazy brook,
As close pent up within my native dell,
Have crept along from nook to shady nook,
Where floVrets blow and whispering- Naiads

dwell

Yet now we meet, that parted woro so wide,
O'er rough and smooth to travel side by Hide.

Hurtleg Coleridge.— Born 179G, Met 1849.

1572— TO CERTAIN GOLDEN FISHES,

Restless forms of living light,
Quivering- on your lucid wings,
Cheating still the curious sight
With a thousand shadowings ,
Various as the tints of even,
Gorgeous as the hues of heaven,
Reflected on your native streams
14 flitting, flashing, billowy gleams.
Harmless warriors clad in mail
Of silver breastplate, golden scale ;

Mail of Nature's own Ixwtowinff,

With peaceful rodiawio mildly glowing

Keener than tho Tartar's arrow,

Sport yo in your Boa HO narrow.

Was tho nun himttolf your Hire ?

Woro yo born of vital firo ?

Or of tho Rhadw of goldou flowont,

Such as wo fetch from oaHtonx boww

To mock this murky olixm* of ourtt f

Upwards, downward*!, now yo glanoo,

Weaving many a mazy danco ;

Seeming ntill to grow in HIKO,

When yo would oludo our oyou.

Pretty creatures ! wo might doom

Ye woro happy as yo Honm,

As gay, OH tfamoHomo, and aH UUtho,

As light, aH loving, and an litho,

As gladly oarnont in your play,

As when ye gleam'd in fair Cathay j

And yot, since on this haplowi earth

There 's small sincerity In mirth,

And laughter oft IH but an art

To drown tho outcry of tho heart,

It may bo, that your ooawoloHH gambol*,

Your wheeling**, dartin^H, divin^H, rainblow,

Your roHtlonH roving round and round

Tho circuit o£ your oryHtal bound,

Is but tho tank of woary pain,

An ondloHH labour, dull and vain ;

And whilo your f ormn aro gaily Hhimnp,

Your little UVOH aro inly pining- 1

Nay-— but Htill I fain would dream

That yo aro happy OH yo worn,

Hartley Colorize.— Bom 1790, J7M 1840,

1573 —SONU.

'TiH flwoot to hoar tho merry lark,

That biiln a blitho good-morrow ;
But swootor to hark, in tho twinkKug dark

To 'tho Hoothing nong of Horrow.
Oh nightingale ! What doth tiho ail P

And IH who Had or jolly P
For no' or on earth watt Hound of mirth

So like to molanoholy,

Tho merry lark, he BOftra on high,

No worldly thought o'ortako* him t
He sings aloud to tho clour bluo wky,

And tho daylight that awakoH him*
As sweet a lay, at* loud, aH gay,

Tho nightingale iB trilling j
With fooling bliflH, no IOHM than hifl,

Her Mtlo heart iu thrilling*

Yot over and anon a sigh

Poors through her la-vixh mirth $
For tho lork'H bold Hong in of tho ftky,

And hors is of tho oarth,
By night and day, she tune* her lay,

To drive away all sorrow ;
For blise, alas t to-night mturfc panff,

And woe may come to-morrow.
Hartley Coloridge.—Bcm, 1796, Ifad 184

*Vom 1780 to I860.]

MY BONNIE MABY.

[BOBHBT BTTENS.

1 5 74.-— NO VEMBJ3R.

Tho mellow your in hasting to its close
TIio little birdH have almost sung their last,
Thou small notes twitter in tho dreary blast —
That shrill -piped harbinger of early snows j
Tho patient beauty of the HoonUoas rose,
Oft with iho mom's hoar crystal quaintly

glasH'd,

Hangs, a pale mourner for tho summer past,
And makoH a httlo Hummer whore it grows.
In, tho chill Hunbeam of the faint brief day
The dusky waters shudder as they Rhine ;
Tho ruRset loaves obntruot the straggling way
Of ooay brooks, which no deep banks define ;
And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array,
Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy twine.

Hartley Ookritlycj— Horn 17%, JtoctZ 1849.

1575.— TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY

Woo, modest, crimson-tipped flower,
Thou'H met mo in an evil hour ;
For T maun oruwh amang tho stooro

Thy slender stem :
To spare thoe now in pant my power,

Thou bonuiu gem

AlaH ! iff* no thy noibor wwoot,
Tho hotline lark, companion moot,
Bunding thoo 'tnang the dewy woot !

Wi' Hpooklod broaHt,
When upward-Hprinfcing, blithe, to greet

Tho purpling east,

Cauld blow tho bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth ;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth

Aiaid tho storm,
Scarce reor'd above the parent oorth

Thy tender form.

Tho flaunting flowers our gardens yield,
High sheltering woods and wa'e maim shield :
But thou, beneath tho random bield

O* olod or stone,
Adorns tho histio gabble-field,

Unseen, al&no.

There in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snowio bosom sun-ward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head

In humble guise ;
But now the share uptears thy bod,

And low thou lies '

Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet flowret of the rural shade '
By love's simplicity betray* d,

And guileless trust,
Tm she, like thee, all eoil'd, ia laid

low i" the dust.

Such is tho fate of simple bard, •
On life's rough ocean luckless stared!

Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,

And whelm him o'er !

Such fate to suffering worth is given,
Who long with wants and woes has striven,
By human pride or cunning driven

To misery's brink,
TJ1 wronoh'd of every stay but Heaven,

He, ruin'd, sink !

Even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate,
That fate is thine— no distant date ;
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, date,

Full on thy bloom,
Till orush'd bonoath the furrow's weight,

Shall be thy doom.

Robert Bwrns. — Born, 1759, Died 1796.

1576.— AB POND KISS

Ao fond kiss, and then we sever
Ao faroweol, alas ! for ever !
Doop in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring Highs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that fortune grieves *hfa\
While tho star of hope she loaves him P
Mo, nao ohootf uf twinkle lights me ;
Daik doHpair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naothing could ronist my Nancy ;
But to nee her was to lovo her .
IJOTO but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved BOO kindly,
Hod wo never loved sao blindly,
Never mot — or never parted,
We hod ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thoe weel, thou first and fairest !
Faro thoe weel, thou best and dearest !
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure I
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ;
Ae farewell, alas 1 for over !
Beep in heart-wrong tears Fll pledge theo,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee 1

Robert Bums.— Born 1759, DM 1796.

1577.— MY BONNIE

6k) fetch to me a pint o' wine,

And fill it in a silver tassie ;
That I may dnnk, before I go,

A service to my bonme lassie ;
Tho boat rooks at the pier o' Leith,

Fu' loud the wind blaws froe the Ferry;
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,

And I maun leave my bonme Mary.

72*

BrOBSRT BtJBNS.]

MARY MOEZSON.

ffclBVKNTH

The trumpets sound, tho banners fly,

The glittering spoara are ranked ready ,
The shouts o' war are hoard afar,

The battle closes thick and bloody ;
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore

"Wad make me langer wish to tarry ;
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar —

It's leaving theo, my bonme Mary.

Robert Bwns —Bow 1759, Died 1796.

1578.— MARY MORISON.

Oh Mary, a>t thy window be,

It is the wieh'd, the trysted hour !
Those smiles and glances let me see,

That make the miser's treasure poor -
9ow blithely wad I bide the stoure,

A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,

The lovely Mary Monson.

Yestreen when to the trembling stung-

The dance gaed through the lighted ha',
To ihee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard nor saw.
Though this was fair, and that was braw,

And yon the toast of a* the town,
I sigh'd, and said flr'r"fl;nc them a',

" Ye are na Mary Morison."

Oh Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,

Whose only faut is loving thee P
If love for love thou wilt na gie,

At least be pity to me shown ;
A thought ungentle canna be

The thought o' Mary Morison.

Robert Bwrns.—3orn 1759, Died 1796.

1579.— BRUCE'S ADDRESS.

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften lad ;
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory 1

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour ,
See approach proud Edward's power—
Chains and slavery !

Wha will be a traitor knave P
Who can £01 a coward's grave P
Wha sae base as be a slave P
Let him turn and flee !

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa',
Let him follow me I

By opproHHion'ti woo« and JHUUH
By your HOUR in norvilo chain** '
We will drain onr dearoflt voinH.
But they shall bo froo !

Lay the proud usurpers low I
Tyrants fall in every foe !
Liberty's in every blow !
Lot us do, or <Uo !

Robert Dwns— Horn. 175U, IKcd 17i)(f.

1580.— MY HEART'S IN THE HIGH-
LANDS.

My heart '& in the Highlands, my heart in not

here;
My heart's in the Highlanda a-chaMiug the

deer;

Chasing the wild deer, and following tho roo,
My heart 's in the HigManclfl whorovor I go.
Farewell to tho Highland**, farowoll to th*

North,

The birth-place of valour, the country of worth ;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rov<s
The hills of the HighlandH for over I love.
Farewell to the mountaing high oover'd with

snow ;
Farewell to tho straths and groan valley*

below,
Farewell to tho forents and wild-lutAgi&K

woods ,
Farewell to tho torrents and loud-pourmpr

floods.
My heart 's m the Highlondn, my heart i« not

My heart's in tho Highland A-chaning tho

doer;

Chasing tho wild door, an<l following tho roc,
My heart 's in the Highland**, whorcvwr I go.

JBobcrt j&wnw,— flow 1750, X)ittil70C,

1581.— AULD LANG SYNfi.

Should auld acquaintanco bo forgot,

And never brought to min' P
Should auld aoquaintaaeo bo forgot,

And days o' long *yao P
For auld long sync, my dour,

For auld long Byno,
We'll tak a cup o* kindnoss yot

For auld long syne \

XI.

We twa hae run about the brao*,

And pu'd the gowans flno ;
Bat we've wander' d mony a weary foot

Sia auld long eyne.

Frnm 1780 to 1866.]

BONNIE LESLIE.

[BOBB3BT BtTBNS,

III.

Wo twa hao poxdl'b i' tho bum

Irao mornm sun till dine i
But HOOF! botwoon tut braid hao roar'd

3m auld long syne

IV.

And hero's a hand, ray trusty fioro,

And gio'B a hand o* thine ;
And we'll talc a right guid willie-waught

For auld land sync >

v.

And Buroly yo'll bo your pmt-stowp,

And surely I'll bo mino ;
And we'll tak a oup o' kindness yot

For auld lang syno.
For auld lang syno, my dear,

For auld lang sync,
We'll tak a oup o' kindness yet,

Far auld lang nyno '

~ Bom 1759, Died 1706.

1582,— CA' THE TOWES TO THE
KNOWES

<V tho yowoR to tho knowofl,
Oa' thom whoro tho hoathor grows,
Ca' thom whoro tho burxuo rows,

My bonnio doano.
Itark tho mavin' ovoning Bang
bounding Oloudon'n woodH amang ;
Thou a f aulding lot UH gang,

My bonnio dearie

We'll gao down by Oloudon aide,

Thro' tho hazels spreading wide,

O'er the wavoR that sweetly glide

To tho moon sao dearly.

Yonder Cloudon'a silent towers,
Whoro at moonRhino, midnight hours,
O'er tho dowy bonding flowor«,
Fairies dance sao oheory.

•Ohaiflt nor boglo nhalt thou fear ;
irrhou'rt to lovo and heaven sao door,
Nocht of ill may oomo thoe near,
My bonnio dearie.

Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hant stown my very heart ;
I oan die — but oanna part
My bonnio dearie.

While watorR wimple to tho soa,
While day blinks in tho lift sae hie,
Till olay-cauld death shall blm' my oo,
To shall be my dearie.

Oa' tho yowofl to tho knowos,
Ca' thom whoro tho hoather grows,
Ca' thom whore tho burnio rows,
My bonnio dearie.

Jbhcrt Burns.—Eom 1759, Died 1700.

1583. — OF A1 THE AJDE&TS THE WIND
BIAW.

Of a' the airts the wind oan blaw>
I dearly like tho west ;

Tho lassie I lo'e best.
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And monie a hill between ;
But day and night my fancy's night

Is over wi' my Jean.

I see her in tho dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair ;
I hoar hor in the tnnefu* birds,

I hoar hor charm tho an? ,
There's not a bonnio flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green —
There's not a bormie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

JRooerf Biwis.—Borfi 1750, Died 1796.

1584— -A BED, BED B03E.

O, my lure 'fl like a red, red roso,
That's newly sprung in June ;

O, my lure 'e like tho melodic
That's sweetly play'd in tone.

As fair art thon, my bonnio lass,

So doop m luve am I ;
And I will luvo thoe still, my door,

Till a' tho soas gang dry —

Till a* tho soas gang dry, my dear,
And tho rooks molt wi' the sun ;

I will lave thoe still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve I

And fare thee weel a whole t
And I will oome again, my luvo,

Tho' it wore ten thousand mile.

Rol>0rb 3wns.—£om 1750, Died 1706.

1585* — BONNIE LESLIE.

0 saw yo bonnio Loslio

As she gaod o'or tho border P

She's gano, like Alexander,
To spread hor conquests farther.

To ROO hor is to love lier,
And Icyo but her for over ;

For Nature made hor what she is,
And no'or made sic anither.

Thou art a queon, fair Loslio —
Thy subjects wo, before thoo ;

Thou art divmo, fair Lonlao —
Tho hearts o' men adoro thoe.

BOBEBT BURNS]

HIGHLAND MART.

Tho Doil he could na wealth thoo,
Or aught that wad belong- thoo ,

Ho'd look into thy bonnio faoo,
And say, " Iconna wrong thoo."

Tho powers aboon will tout thee ,

Misfortune sha'na atoor thoo j
Thou'rt like themselves sao lovoly,

That ill they'll ne'or lot near thoe.

Beturn again, fair Leslie I

Beturn to Caledonia '
That wo may brag we hae a lass

There's nane again sae bonuie.

filbert Bwrns.—Born 1759, Died, 1796.

1586.— HIGHLAKD MABT.

Te banks, and braes, and streams around

The oastle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Tour waters never drumlie !
There simmer first nnfald her robes

And there the langest tarry !
For there I took the last f areweel

O1 my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom* d the gay green birk !

How rich the hawthorn's blossom I
As underneath their fragrant shade

I clasp' d her to my bosom P
The golden hours, on angel mags,

Flew o'er me and my dearie ;
For dear to me as light and life

Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' monie a vow and lock'd embrace

Our parting was f u' tender j
And pledging aft to moot again,

We tore ourselves asunder ,
But, O i fell Death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early '
Now green's tho sod, and oauld's tho clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary '

0 pale, pale now, thono rosy lips

I aft hae Mss'd sae fondly !
And dosed for ayo tho sparkling' glance

That dwelt on mo sao kindly {
And mould'rmg now in silent dust

That heart that lo'od me dearly 1
But still within my bosom's ooro

Shall live my Highland Mary.

Robert Bwrns.—Bom, 1759, DM 1796.

1587.— -TO MART IN" HEAVEN.

Thou lingering star, with loss'ning ray,
ThatloVat to greet the early morn,

Again thou ugherest in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.

0 Mary ! doar, deported nhiwlo '
Where is thy place of Minnf ul rest

Sooat Ihou thy lovor lowly laid t-
Hoar'st thou tho groan* that rend
broastP

That sacred hour can I forgot,

Can I forgot tho hiillow'd tfrovo,
Whore by tho winding Ayr w<> mot,

To live ono day of partiutf lovo f
Eternity will not ofluoo

Those rocordH doar of twinnportH punt —
Thy imago at our lattt ornbrow !

Ah ! httlo thought wo 'twiiH our liwt I

hi*

Ayr, gurgling, kisH'cl his pobblwl

O'orhung with wild woodH, thi«k<»t»Itt|?,

groen;
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,

Twined amorous round tho rapturod mumo.
Tho flowers sprang wanton to be pratw'd

The birds sang lovo on every spray,
Till too, too soon, tho glowing wont

Proclaim' d tho flpood of win#M day.

Still o'er those HOOUOR my momory waken,

Ajad fondly broodw with miHtjr cant ;
Time but th' improBKion rloopor makott,

As streams their channoln doctor wwir.
My Mary 1 doar, departed whada '

Whore is thy plaoo of bliHHful roftt ?
Seost thou thy lovor lowly laid ?

Hear'st thou tho gtoanH that rond hi*
breast?

Robert JBurnt*.— Born 1750, />/<•// I70U.

1588.— MT WIFE'S A W1NSUMK

Sho in a winftoma woo thing,
Sho iff a handHomo woo thi»tf,
Sho IH a bonnio w<w tiling,
Thin Rwoot woo wifo o1 mine.

I nevor naw a fairer,

I nevor lo*od a dmtror,

And noi«t my hoart I'll woar her,

For fear my jowol tana.

Sho in a winKomo woo
Sho IH a handnomc woo til
Sho IH a bonnio woo thing,
This swoot woo wifo o' mine.

The world' a wrack, wo flhfiro o't,
The wairfltlo and tho flare o't,
Wi' her I'll bhthely bear it,
And think my lot divine*

JRofcert Buww.— Bw% 1760, Died 1796.

From 1780*0 1866.]

TAM 0' SEANTEB.

[ROBERT BTTBNS.

1589.— JOHN ANDERSON.

John Andornon, my jo, John,

Whon wo wore first acquont,
Your looks wore liko tho ravon,

Your bonny brow was bront ;
But now your brow is bald, John,

Your looka aro liko the snow ;
But blo8flin#a on your frosty pow,

John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

Wo olamb tho hill thogithor,
And mony a oanty day, John,

We've had wi' ano amthor ,
Now wo maun totter doun, John,

But hand in hand we'll go,
And nloop thogithor at tho foot,

John Anderson, my jo.

Robert Bwras.— Born 1759, DM 1796.

1590,— HERB'S A HEALTH TO THEM
THAT'S AWA.

1I<>ro'H a health to thorn that'H awa,

And horo'n to thorn that'H awa ,
And wha wmna wi«h guid luok to our oau&o,

May novor guwl luok bo tlioir fa' '
It*H ffiud to bo morry and WIHO,

It'n ffuid to b<s honoHt and true,
TtTH fluid to HnppoH Caledonia's cauHO,

And bido by tho buff and tho blue
Haro'H a Health to thorn that'H awa,

And horo'H to thorn that's awa $
lloro'ft a health to Charlie, tho ohiof o' tho
clan,

AHlio' that his band bo flma'.
May liberty moot wi' HUOOOBB !

May prudence protect her fra ovil !
May tyrantH and tyranny tmo in tho mist,

And wandor thoir way to tho dovil '

Horo'« a health to thorn that's awa,

And horo'H to thorn that'M awa ;
HCTO'H a health to Tarnnue, tho Norland
laddio,

That IIVOH at tho lug o' tho law '
Horo'H freedom to Mm that wad toad,

Horo'H frondom to him that wad write
Thoro'n nano over fear'd that tho truth should
bo hoard

But thoy wham tho truth wad indite.

HOTO'H a health to thorn that' a awa,

And hero's to thorn that's awa ;
HOTO'H Maitlond and Wycombe, and wha doos
na liko 'era

Wo'U build w a hole o' tho wa'
Horo'H timmor that's rod at tho heart,

Hero's fruit that's sound at tho core !
May ho that would turn the buff and blue
ooat

Bo turn'd to tho book o' tho door.

Hero's a health to them that's awa,

And here's to them that's awa ;
Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a ohioJPtain worth
gowd,

Though bred among mountains o' snaw !
Hero's friends on baith sides o' the Forth,

And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed ;
And wha would betray old Albion's rights.

May thoy never oat of hor broad '

Robert Swns.—^orn 1759, Died 1796.

1591.— TAM 0' SHATSTTBB.

A TALE.

When chapman billies leave tho street,
And drouthy neebors noobors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
AIL' folk begin to tak the gate ;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unoo happy,
Wo thudr na on the long Soots miles,
Tho mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sitn our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows lake gathering storm,
Nursing hor wrath to keep it warm

Thw truth f and honest Tarn o' Shanter,
As ho, fiao Ayr, ae night did cantor
(Auld Ayr, wham no' or a town surpasses,
For honoHt men and bonnio lassos)

0 Tarn ! liodwi thou but boon ROO wise
AH toon thy fun wife Kate's odvioo !
She tauld thee weol thou was a akellum,
A bloth'nng, blust'ring, drunken blellum,
That frao November till October,
Ao market-day thou was na sober j
That ilka molder, wi' the miller,
Thou Rat as long as thou had siller ;
That every naig was oa'd a shoe on,
Tho smith and theo gat roaring fou on ;
That at tho L — d's house, ov'n on Sunday,
I'hou drank wi' Eirton Jean till Monday.
She prophofdod that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Boon j
Or oatoh'd wi' warlockw in the mirk,
By Alloway'e atdd haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle domes ' it gars me greet
To think how znonie counsels sweet,
How jnome lengthen' d sago advices,
The husband frao tho wife despises '

But to our title Ao market night
Tarn hod got planted unoo right,
Fast by on ingle, bloezmg finely,
Wi' rooming swats, that drank divinely ;
And at Ha elbow soutor Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony-—
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither—-
Thoy hod boon fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' sangs and claiitez
And ay tho ale was growing better
Tho landlady and Tarn grew gracious,
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious

ROBBJBT BtTBJTS.]

TAM 0* SHAOTER.

The soutor tauld his queerest storio« ;
Tho landlord's laugh was ready chorus ;
The storm -without might ralr and rustlo,
Tarn did na mind tho storm a whistlo.

Core, mad to BOO a man sao happy,
E'en drown* d himself amang the nappy ;
AM bees floo hamo wi' lades o' treasure,
Tho minutes wing'd thoir way wi' pleasure ;
Kings may bo blest, but Tarn was glorious,
O'er a' tho His o' lifo victorious.

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ;
Or like the snow-fall in the rarer,
A moment whito— then melts for ever ;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you oan point their place ;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
ISvanishing <vF»rl the storm*
Nae man oan tether tune or tide ;
Tho hour approaches Tarn maun ride —
That hour o* night's black arch tho keystane,
That dreary hour ho mounts his beast in;
And sio a night he takes the road in
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wnid blew as 'twad blaw its last ;
The rattling showers rose on the blast ;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder belloVd ;
That night a child might understand
The DeS. had business on his hand

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Keg
(A better never lifted leg),
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Despising wind, and ram, and fire —
Whyles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,
"Whylea crooning o'er some auld Soots sonnet,
Whyles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares ;
Bjrk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Where ghaists and no-diets nightly cry.

By this tuno he was cross the ford,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ;
And past the birks and mciklo stano,
Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck bone ,
And thro' the whins, and by tho cairn,
Whare hunters fand tho murdor'd bairn ;
And near the thorn, aboon tho well,
Whare Mungo's mithor hang'd horaol.
Before him Boon pours all his floods •
The doubling storm roars thro' tho woods ;
The lightnings flash from polo to polo ;
Near and more near the thunders roll ;
Whon glimmering thro' the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway soem'd in a bleezo ;
Thro* ilka bore the beams were glancing,
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn !
What dangers thou canst make us scorn !
Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil ;
Wi' usquabae we'll face tho Devil I—
The swats sae areaxn'd in Tamzme's noddle,
Fair play, he cared na Doils a bodle.
But Maggie stood right sou: astonieh'd,
Till, by the heel and hand admoniRh'd,
She ventured forward on the light ;
And, wow i Tarn saw an unco sight—

Warlocks and witohon in a dance •
Nao cotillion bront now frao Franco,
But hompipoB, 3ig«, Btrathnpayp,
Put life and mottle in thoir htwK
A winnock-bunker in tho ooflt,
There eat auld Nick, in nhai>o <>'
A towrio tyko, black, grim, and forgo-
To gio them muwc waB hin ohorgo ;
Ho screw' d tho pipOR and gurt them nkirl,
Till roof an* raftcrn A* did dirl.
Coffins stood round hko opou IH-OHHOS,
That shaw'd tho (load in thtnr lait drowns ;
And by some doviltah cantripH Hlmght,
Each in its oauld hand hold a lightr--
By which heroic Tarn wan ablo
To note upon tho holy table,
A murderer's banes in gibbet airnx ;
Twa span-lang, woe, unohriwtonM bairnx j
A thief, new cutted fra a rape,
Wi' his last gasp hist gab did gttpo ;
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red runted ;
Fivo scymitarfl, wi' murdor ornHtod ;
A garter which a babo had utranglod ,
A knife a father's throat had manglod,
Whom his ain son o' lifo boroft—
The grey hairs yot stock to tho hoft ,
Throe lawyers' tonguon turn'd innfrfo out,
Wi' lion Hoam'd like a beggar* H clout;
And pnonts' hearts, rotten, blook OB muck,
Lay stinking, vile, m ovory nouk :
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu*,
Which ov'n to name wad bo unlawfu*.

As Tammie glowr'd, amazed, and ourioufl,
Tho mirth and fun grew font and f uriou« $
Tho piper loud and louder blow ;
The dancoTB quick and quiokor flow ;
Thoy reol'd, they «ot,thoy oronnM, thf*y fllcckit,
Till ilka carhn «wat and rookit,
And cooflt her dnddion to tho wark,
And bnkct at it in hor Hark.

Now Tom, 0 Tam i ha<l thny bcwn <
A' plump and trapping in thoir toon« t
Thoir sarkH, inH-Uuwl <>' crtumhio flanntm.
Been snaw-whito Hevontoon-hun<lor Unon ;
Thir brooks o1 mmo, my only pair,
That anew wore pliwh, o* guid blno haiirf
I wad hao gi'on thorn aff my hurdion.
For ad blink o' the bonnio burdion 1

But wither* d boldamtt, auld and droll,
Bigwoodio hagn wad «poan a foal,
Lowping an' flinging on a orummoak —
I wonder did na turn thy fttoxnooh.

But Tamkoun'd what was what fu' brawlio*
There was ae winnomo wonch and wulio,
That night mliHtocI in tho flow*
(Lang after konn'd on Oarrfok Hhoro !
For monie a beaut to dead she «uot,
And ponflh'd monio a bonnio boat,
And shook baith moiklo corn and boar
And kept tho oonntry-Hido in foar),
Her cutty-Bark o' PaiHloy harn,
That while a IOMRIO »ho had worn-—
In longitude tho* Horoly scanty,
It was her best and »he was vanntw.
Ah I HtUo konn'd thy reverond grannU
That sark sho ooft for her woo Nannio,

r

J'rom 1780 to 1806 ]

THE COTTER'S SATUBDAY NIGHT.

[ROBERT BUBNB-

j Wi' twa pund Scots (twas a' her riches)—
Wao ovot graced a dauoo o* witches I

But hero my Muse hex wing maun cow'r,
Sic flights arc far beyond hot pow'r ;
To fling how Nannie lap and flang
(A souplo jad she was and strang) ,
And how Tarn stood, hko ane bowitoh'd,
And thought his very oen enrioh'd.
Ev'n Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fa' fain,
And hotoh'd and blow wi' might and miv" ;
Till first ao caper, syne amther —
Tarn tint his reason a' thogithor,
And roars out, Wool done, Cutty-sark '
And in an instant a* was dark ;
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,
"When plundering herds assail their byke ;
As open profile's mortal foes,
When pop ! she starts before their nose ;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When Catch the thief I resounds aloud ;
So Maggie runs — the witches follow,
Wi' momo an eldritch skroooh and hollow.

Ah, Tarn ! ah, Tarn ! thou'll get thy fairin' !
In hull they'll roast thee like a hernn !
In vain thy Kate awaits thy oomin*—
Kate soon will bo a wocfu' woman I
Wow, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stone of the brig ;
There at them thou thy tail may toss —
A running1 Htream they dare na cross
Hut oro the koy-ntano she could make,
The font a tad she liad to shako ,
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie profit,
And flow at Tarn wi' furious ottle ;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle ~
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her am grey tail :
The oarlin olaught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

"Now, wha this talo o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son take hoed;
Whene'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-Harks run in votir mind,
Think, ye may buy 1 he joys o er dear,
Remember Tarn o1 Fhanter'c* more.

Rob&rt £wni8.~Bom 1759, Died 1700.

1592 —THE COTTEB'S SATUKDAY
NIGHT.

My loved, my honour' d, much-respected fxiond !

No mercenary bard his homage pays j
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end,

My dearest meed a friend's esteem and

praise
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's sequester* d scene ,
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways —

What Aiken in a cottage would hare been ;

Ah ! iho' his worth unknown, far happier
there, I ween

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ;

The shortening winter day is near a close ;
The miry beasts retreating frae the plough,
Tho blaok'ning trains o' oraws to their re-
pose

The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes —
This night his weekly moil is at on end—
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his

hoes,

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend ;
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does
homeward bend.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ,
Th' expectant woe things, todhn, stooher

thro'
To meet their dad wi* fliohterin noise and

glee

His wee bit ingle bhnkiix' bonnilie,
His clean hearth-stone, his thriftie wifie's

smile,

The lisping infant prattling on his knee,
Does a' his weary, corking cores beguile,
An' makes him quite forget his labour and
his toil.

Bolyve the elder bairns come dxappin' :

At service out, amang the farmers roun' ;
Some oa' the plough, some herd, some tentie

nn

A oonnie errand to a neebor town
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,
In youthfa' bloom, love sparkling* in her

c'e,
Comes homo, perhaps, to shew a braw new

gown,

Or deposito her sair-won penny fee,
To help her parents dear, if they in hard-
ship be.

Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet,

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers :
The social hours, swift-wmg'd, unnoticed fleet ;

Bach tells the uncos that he sees or hears ;
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years —

Anticipation forward points the view.
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers,

Oars auld olaes look amaist as weel's the
now;

The father mixes a* wi' admonition due

Their masters' and their mistresses' command
The younkers a' are warned to obey,

An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,
An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play;

An' 0 I be sure to fear the Lord alway I
An* mind your duty, duly, morn an' night

Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,
Implore His counsel and assisting might :
They never sought in vain that sought the
Lord aright !

But hark ' a rap comes gently to the door ;

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the some,
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor

To do some errands, and convoy her home.

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NI6HT. fftevKNTir I»«ition.—

Tho wily mothor BOOS tho (ion«cioun flamo

Sparkle in Jouny'n 0*0, and fluuli her dicok ;
Wi* heart-struck, auMouH earo, inquiroH his

name,

While Jonny hafflinK in afraid to apoak ;
Wool ploasod tho mother hoars it'a noo
wild, worthless rako.

Wi* kindly woleomo, Jenny brings him ben —
A strappan youth, ho taka tho mother's

eyo;

Blytho Jenny sooa tho visit 'B no ill ta'on ;
Tho father cracks of horses, ploughs, and

kye j
Tho youngster's artless hoarb o'erflows wi*

joy.

But blate and laitbfu', scarce can wool bo-
have ;

The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy
What makes the yonth sao bashfu' and sao

grave —

Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected
like the lavo

0 happy love ' where lovo like linn is found '
O hoart-folt raptures 1 bliss beyond com-
pare '
Tve paced much this weary mortal round,

And sage experience bids mo this declare —
If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure

spare,

One cordial in this melancholy vale,
'Tie when a youthful, loving, modest pair
In other's arms breathe out the tender talo,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents
the evening gale*

Is there, in human form that boars a heart,
A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth,
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring- art,

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ?
Curse on his perjured arts ' dissembling

smooth '

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled ?
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,
Founts to the parents fondling1 o'er their

child—

Then paints tho ruin'd maid, and their dis-
traction wild P

But now the supper crowns their simple

board-
The halesome parntch, chief o' Scotia's

food;

The soup their only hawldo does afford,
That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her

cud ;

The dame brings forth, in oomplimontol mood,
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kobbuok

fell,

An' aft he's press'd, and aft he ca's it good ;
The frugal wine, garrulous, will tell
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was
i' the beH

The eheerfu' sapper done, wi1 serious face
They, round the ingle, form a circle wide;

Tho fliro tnnw o'or, wi1 pairiiirrilml

Tho big Hfh'-Uiblct, anew hin fathtirV pri<i<
HIH bonnot niv'rouily IH laid amdo,

His lyart haffetH wttarin' thin an<l ban* ;
Those strains that onoo dul KWt^t in '/ion

glido

He wales a portion with jndwiouH <karo ;
And ** Lot «H wornhip Oml ! " h<s Hayn wiih
aolomn air.

They ohant tlicir artloHH notoH in si
They tuno tbtjir hoartrt, by far the*

aim,
Perhaps Dundee's wild, worblinp

Or plaintivo Martyr'w, worthy o1 thn namo ;
Or noble KLgin boois tho hoftvonwiwl flamo—

Tho sweetest far o' Bcotia'H holy lay H ;
Compared with these, Italian trilln arc tom^ ;
Tho tickled oars no hoafft-folt lupturon

raiHo —

Nae unison hoe they with our
praiso.

Tho prioBt-hko father roads the Harrod
How Abraham WOH tho fn<m»l or (lad on

high ;
Or Moses barlo oiornal warfare WJI#P

With Amalok'H ungraoicniH pro|<(my ;
Or how tho royal bard did groaning ho
Beneath tho Mtroko of Hoavtui's avonjylag

ire ;

Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing <ny ;
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, Roraphta flr« ;
Or other holy soorn that time Ui« Maorod
lyro

Perhaps tho Christian volume in ilio
How guiltloBH blood for guilty lutin WAH

shod;
How He, who boro in Hcum<n th(» HCMKAK!

name,

Hod not on earth whuroon to lay
How His first follovtrorx and norvaniri
Tho precepts Hogo thoy wrote io many a

land;

How ho, who lono in PatmoftbaniHhmU
Saw in tho nun a ttdghty angfll ntiuut,
And hoard groat Bob'lon'M <i<
by Heaven* « command.

Then kneeling down to IToftvon'H otornal
Tho saint, tho father, and th«
prays.

Hopo " springH oxtJtinpf on triumphant wing "
Tliat thus thoy all shall moot in futuro (lays j

There over bask in unoroaiod rayn, *

No more to High, or shod tho bitter tear-

Together hymning thoir Creator's praiMo,
In such society, yet still more d«ar,
While circling time moves round in an
eternal nphoro.

Compared with this, how poor religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method and of art,

When men display to oongrogwfcionK wido
Devotion's every grace except tho hoart !

1780 fr> 1866.]

A PEDLAR'S STORY.

[A. WILSON.

Thd Power, moonsod, tho pageant mil dosorfc,

Tho pompotiH strain, tho sacerdotal stole ;
lint haply, in some cottage for apart,
May hoar, woll pleased, the language of tho

soul,

And in His book of life tho inmates poor
enrol.

Then homeward all tako off their sov'ral way ,
Tho youngling cottagers rotiro to rest ,

Tho parent-pair thoir secret homage pay,
And proffer up to Hoavon tho warm re-
quest

That Ho who stills tho raven's clam'rous nest,
And docks tho lily fair in flowery pride,

Would, in tho way His wisdom BOOS tho boat,
For thorn and for thoir littlo ones provide —
But chiefly in thoir hearts with grace di-
vine preside.

From scones like those old Scotia's grandeur

springs,
That makes her loved at homo, revered

abroad.

PrincoH and lords are but tho breath of kings —
"An honest man's tho noblest work of

God,"

And, cortoH, in fair virtue's heavenly road,
The cottage loavofl tho palace far behind
What IH a lordlmg'H pomp ? a oumbrouH load,
DiHgtiiHiiiff oft tho wretch of humankind,
Html UK! m aitH of hell, m wickedness re-
fined '

0 ftootia ! my dear, my native woil I
For whom my warmoHt wish to Hoavon is

sent!

Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Bo blont with health, and peace, and sweet

content !

And, oh I may Heaven their simple liven pre-
vent

From Inrury's contagion weak and vile !
Then, howe'or crowns and coronets bo rent,
A virtuous populace may rise tho while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-
loved isle.

0 Thou I who pour'd tho patriotic tide
That Htroam'd through Wallace's undaunted
heart —

Who darod to nobly stem tyrannic prido,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part —

(Tho patriot's God peculiarly Thou art —
His friend, inspiror, guardian, and reward I)

0 never, never Scotia's realm desert ,
But still the patriot and tho patriot bard
In bright succession raise, her ornament
and guard I

, Dw(Z 1796.

IS93-— A VILLAGE SCOLD SUBPBISING-
HER HUSBAND IN AN ALE-HOUSE.

I* tho throng o9 stories tollin,
Shakin hands and jokin queer,

Swith ' a ohap comes on tho hollan— •
" Mungo » is our Watty here P "

Maggy's wool-kont tongue and hurry
Darted through him liko a knife

Up tho door flew — like a fury
In oamo Watty's aooldin wife.

, gudo-for-naething being!
0 ye snuffy druoken sow '
Bringin wife and weans to run,
Dnnkm hero wi' sic a crow '

" Eise ' yo druckon boast o' Bethel I
Drink 's your night and day's desire ;

Eiso, this precious hour ' or faith I'll
Fling your whisky i' the firo J "

Watty heard her tongue unhallowed,

Paid his groat wi' little din,
Loft the house, while Maggy fallow'cl,

Flyting a' the road behin'.

Folk frae every door came lampm,

Maggy curst them one and a',
Clapp'd wi' her hands, and stampin,

Lout her bauohols i' the snaw.

Homo, at length, she turn'd tho gavel,

Wi' a face OB white's a olout,
K-agm like a voiy devil,

Kiokia stools and chairs about.

" Yo'U flit wi' your limmors round yo —
Hong you, sir, I'll be your death!

Little hands my hands, confound yon,
But I cleave you to the teeth 1 "

Watty, wha, 'midst this oration,
Eyed her whiles, but durst na speak,

Sat, Kkc patient Resignation,
Trembling by the ingle-cheek.

Sad his woe drap broso lie sippet
(Maggy's tonguo good like a bell),

Quietly to his bed ho slippot,
Sighm often to himsol— —

"None ore free frao some vexation,

Bk one has his ills to dxee;
But through a' tho hole creation

Is nae mortal voz'd like me "

JL Wilson— Born 1766, Dwd 1818.

1594.— A FEDLAB'S STOBT.

I wha stand hero, in this bare soowry coat,
Was once a packman, worth mony a groat ;
I've earned pocks as big's your moikle table ;
I've scarted pats, and sleepit in a stable .
Sax pounds I wodna for my pack anoo taen,
And I could bauldly brag 'twas a' mine ain.

HBCTOB

THE ALE-HOUSE.

[8HVKNTH P

Ay 1 thao wore days indeed, that gar'd mo

hope,

Aiblins, through time to warulo up a shop ;
And as a wife ayo in my noddle ran,
I konn'd my Kafco wad grapple at mo than.
Oh, Kate was past compare I flic chocks!

sio eon I

Sio smiling' looks ! WOTO never, never soon.
Dear, dear I lood her, and whene'er we mot,
Pleaded to have the bridal day bat set ;
Stapp'd her ponchos fu' o* preons and laooa,
And thought xnysel wool paid wi* twa throe

kwses:

Yet still aho put it aff f rao day to day,
And aften kindly in my lag would say,
" Ae half-year longer' a no nae unco atop,
We'll marry then, and syne set up a shop."

Oh, air, but bases' words are saft and fair,
They soothe our griefs and banish ilka oaro :
Wha wadna toil to please the lass ho loes ?
A lover true winds this in all ho does.
Finding her mind waa thus sao firmly bent,
And that I oouldna get her to rolont,
There was nought left but quietly to resign,
To hoeze my pack for ae long hard campaign ;
And as the Highlands was the placo for moot,
I ventured there in spito o' wind and weet
Cauld now the winter blow, and deep the

snaw

For three hale days incessantly did fa' ;
Far m a muir, flBwg the whirling drift,
Where nought was seon but mountains and

the lift,

I lost my road and wander' d mony a mile,
Moist dead wi' hunger, oauld, and fright, and

toil.
Thus wandering, east or west, I kenn'd na

where,
My mind o'oroome wi' gloom and black

despair,

Wi' a fell nnge I plunged at ance, forsooth,
Down through a wreath o' snaw up to my

Clean owre my head my precious wallet flow,
But whar it gaed, Lord kons — I never know >

What groat misfortunes are pour'd down

on some f

I thought my f earfu' hinder-ond was come !
Wi' grief and sorrow was my saul oworcast,
Ilk breath I drew was like to bo my last ;
For aye the mair I warslod roun' and roun',
I f and mysel aye stick tho deeper down ;
Till ance, at length, wi' a prodigious pull,
I drew my puir oauld carcass frao the holo.

Lang, lang I sought and graped for my pack,
Till night and hunger f orood me to come back.
For three lang hours I wander' d up and down,
Till chance at last conveyed me to a town ;
There, wi1 a trembling hand, I wrote my Kate
A sad account of a' my luckless fate,
But bade her aye bo kind, and no despair,
Since life was left, I soon would gather mair,
Wi' whilk I hoped, within a towmont's date,
To be at hame, and share it a' wi' Kate.

Fool that I was ' how little did I think
That love would soon be lost forfaut o

Tho loss o' fair-won wealth, though hard to

bear,

Aforo thin — no' or had power to fow a tour.
I trusted time would bring thing* round twain.
And Kate, dear Kato £ would thmi bo a' nuno

ain-

Consoled my mind m hojwH o1 bc«ti(»r Iwik —
But, oh! what aad rnvorwo! how thunder*

struck '
When ao black day brought word frao Kab

my bnthor,

That — Kato wan oriod and married on anitlwr '
Though a' my fnondu, and ilka nomrodo

At anco had drapp'd oauld (load at my ftwt \
Or though I'd heard tho laHt day'* dreadful

ca%

Nad deeper horror owro my hoart oould fa* :
X cursed myael, I ournod my luokltww fata,
And grat — and nabbing oriod, Oh Kato I oh

Kate!

Frae that day forth T novor mair did wool,
But drank, and ran hoadforomoftt to tho dott I
My siller vomsh'd, far frao hamo I piiuwl,
But Kato for over ran aoroHH my mind ;
In horwero a1 my hopoH—thoHO hopon worn

vain,
And now I'll novor floo hor like again.

.— Born 1700, DM

1595.— THE ALK-HOUSK.

In a howm whoso bonny burnio
Whunpenng row'd its cnyHtal flocxl,

Near the road whoro travollorn turn ayo,
Neat and boild a oot-houHo Htood :

White tho wa'H wi' roof now tliookii,
Window broadH ju»t pamtnd rod ,
Iiown 'mang tro<m and braori it rookii
aoon ami hatiinn lad.

Up tho gnvol-ond thiok

Crap tho clanprnj? ivy groon,
Book owre firn tho high oraigM <il<wwlm,

Eaiaod a' round a oonoy acroou.

Down below a flowory moodow
Join'd tho burnio'H mmhlinp: lino ;

Here it was that Howe tho widow
Tho samo day not up hor uigu.

Brattling down tho brao, and near itn
Bottom, Will font marvcllinfc HOOM

" Porter, Ale, and Britiwh «piritM,"
Painted bright botwoon twa troofl.

" Oodsako, Tam ! hore'H walth for drinking I

Wha can this now-comor bo ? "
" Hout," quo' Tam, " thoro'a drouth in think-
jug-—

let's in, Will, and sync wo'll «©o."

Hector Maorunll—Vorn 1740. ViM Ifllfl

ft-ow 1780 to I860.]

MART OF CASTLE-CAJRY.

[HBCTOB

IS96.— THE HUSBAND'S KETUBN.

Sometimes briskly, someiimos flaggin',
Sometimes holpit, Will gat forth;

On a cart, or in a wagon,
Hirphng ayo towards the north.

Tirod ao o'oning, stopping hooly,

Pondering on his thraward fate,
In tho bonny month o* July,

Wilho, heedless, tint his gato.

Soft tho southland breeze was blawing,
Sweetly sughod the green aik wood ;

Loud the din o* streams fast fa'ing,
Straok the ear wi' thundering thud :

Ewes and lambs on braes ran bleating 5

Linties chirp'd on ilka tree ;
librae tho west tho sun, near setting,

Flamed on Boslin's towers sae me

Boston's towers and braes sae bonny I
Crags and water, woods and glen 1

ItoHlin's banks unpoer*d by ony,
Save tho Muses' Hawthornden 1

Ilka nound and oharm delighting,

Will (though hardly fit to gang)
Wander' d on through scenes inviting,

Listening to tho mavis* sang.

Faint at length, tho day fast closing,
On a fragrant strawberry steep,

lOnk'H Hwoot dream to rest composing,
Wearied nature drapt anloop

" Soldier, riBO ! — the dews o' o'oning

Gathering, fa' wi' deadly akaith 1—
Wounded soldier 1 if complaining,

Sleep na here, and catch your death/*

# # #

Silent step ho on, poor fallow !

Listening to hta guide before,
O'er green knowo and flowery hallow,

Till they reach' d the cot-house door.

Laigh it was, yot sweet and humble ;

Dock'd wi' honeysuckle round ;
Clear below Esk's waters rumble,

Deep glens murmuring back tho sound*

Melville's towers sae white and stately,

Dim by gloaming glint to view ;
Through Lawswade's dark woods keek sweetly

Skies sao red and lift; sao blue.

Entering now in transport mingle

Mother fond and happy wean,
Smiling round & canty ingle

XftoozuLg on a clean, heorthstano.

" Soldier, welcome ' come bo cheerio —
Hero yo'se rest and tak' your bed —

Faint, waos mo 1 ye seem, and weary,
Palo'0 your cheek sae lately rod I "

" Changed I am," sigh'd Willie till her ;

" Changed, nae doubt, as changed can be;
Yet, alas ! does Jeanie Miller

Nought o' Willie Gairlace see ? "

Hao ye mark'd the dew o' morning

Glittering in the sunny ray,
Quickly fa', when, without warning,

Bough blasts came and shook the spray P

Hae ye seen the bird fast fleeing,
Drap when pierced by death xaair fleet P

Then see Jean wi* colour deeing,
Senseless drap at Willie's feet.

After three lang years' affliction
(A' their waes now hush'd to rest),

Jean anoe mair, in fond affection,
Clasps her Willie to her breast.

Rector Macndll.—Born 1746, Died 1818.

1597.— MABY OF CASTLE-CABY.

Saw ye my wee thing, saw ye my ain thing,

Saw ye my true love down on yon lea —
Croas'd she the meadow yestreen at the

gloaming,
Sought she the burnie where flowers the

haw-tree ;

Her hair it is lint-white, her skin it is milk-
white,

Dark is the blue of her soft rolling e'e ;
Bed, rod arehernpelips, and sweeter thanroses.
Where could my wee thing wander frae me?

I saw nao your wee thing, I saw nae your ain

thing,

Nor saw I your true love down by yon lea ;
But I met my bonmo thing late m tho

gloaming,

Down by the burnie where flowers the haw-
tree :
Her hair it was lint-white, her skin it was

milk-white,

Bark was tho blue of her soft rolling e'e ;
Bod were her ripe lips and sweeter than

Sweet were the kisses that she gave to me.

It was nao my wee thing, it was nae my ain
thing,

It was nae my true love ye met by the tree:
Proud is her leal heart, and modest her nature,

She never loved ony till anoo she loed me.
Her name it is Mary, she's frae Castle-Cary,

Aft has she sat when a bairn on my knee :
Fair as your face is, wort fifty times fearer,

Young bragger, she ne'er wad gie kisses to
thee.

It was then your Mary ; she's frae Castle-Cary,

It was then your true love I met by the tree ;
Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature,

Sweet were the kisses that she gave to me.
Sail gloom'd his dark brow, blood-red his cheek
grew,

Wild flash' d the fire frae his red rolling e'e •
Ye' Be rue scar this morning your boasts and
your scorning,

Defend ye, f ause traitor, fa1 loudly ye he.

BOUT. TANNAHILL.]

THK JWAES 0' BALQUHITHMR.

Away wi' beguiling, cried tho youth, amiling- —
Off wont the bonnet, tho lint- white lookn floo,
Tho bolted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom

ahawing,
Pair stood tho loved maid wi' tho dark

rolling o'o*
IR it my woo thing, is it my am thing1,

Is it my true lovo horo that I ROC P
0 Jamie, f orgio mo, your heart' a coiwtant to me,
I'll never mair wander, doar laddie, irae thoo.
Hector JfaontfOL— Bom 174.G, DM 1818.

1598.— -THE BBAJ2S O* BALQtTHITHEE..

Let us go, lassie, go,

To the braes o' Balquhither,
Where the blae-bomes grow

'Mang the bonme Highland heather ;
Where the deer and the roo,

Lightly bounding together,
Sport the lang summer day

On the braes o* Balqohithor. ,,

I will twine theo a bowor

By the clear sillor fountain,
And I'll cover it o'er

Wi' the flowers of the mountain ;
I mil range through the wilds,

And the deep glens sae dreario.
And return wi* the spoils

To the bower o' my dearie.

When the rude wintry win'

Idly raves round our dwelling,
And the roar of the Imji*

On the night breezo is swelling,
So merrily we'll sing,

As the storm rattles o'er us,
Till the dear shieling ring

Wi' the light lilting chorus

Now the summer 's in prime

Wi' the flowers nohly blooming,
A"nfl the wild mountain thyme

A' the moorlands perfuming •
To our dear native scones

Let us journey together,
Where glad innocence reigns

'Mang the braes o' Ba^uhithor.

Robert T<WM,Ml.--Born, 1774, Died 1810.

1599— -THE BRAES O' GLENTBTER.

Keen blaws the win' o'er the braes o' Oloniffbr,

The auld castle turrets are oover'dwithsnaw;

How changed frae tho time when I met wi'

my lover
Among the broom bushes by Stanley green

shawl
The wild flowers o' summer were spread a' sae

bonnie,

The mavifl sang sweet frae the green birken
tree;

But far to tho <vwnp they hao morrUM my

doar Johnnio,
And now it in winter wi1 nature and mo.

Thou ilk* thing around UH watt blitheHomo and

Then j£thinjjf around u« wan htmmft and

braw ;
Now naothing IH heard but tho win<l whintUit£

clroario,
And naething is noen but ilw wM^-Hpr4«fulinfc

Hnaw.
The trooH aro a1 bare, aud tho biriln niuto und

dowio ;
Thoy Hlutko tho cauld drift frao thtnr win^M

at* they floo ;
And chirp out their plaint*, Keomintf woo for

my Johnnie ;
'Tis winter wi' thorn, and 'tin winter wi' xno.

Ton oauld ulcoty cloud Mkiffit along tho ttlook

mountain,
And shakes the dork Urn on tho atwp rocky

brao,
Whilo down tho deep gloa bawlH tho wnaw-

flooded fountain,

That murmurM HtteHW<mUo my ItvIiHcaud ma
It's no itrt loud roar on iho wintry wiiul

swollin',
It's no tho oauld blunt bringrt tho toa* i' my

o'o;

For oh ! gin I saw but my bonnio Hwot/H t^allan,
The dark days o' winter wero nummnr to wn.

7cmma7iiilU-A»m 1774, DM 1BIO.

1600.— THE FLOWKB 0' I) (JM BLANK

The nun haw gano down o'oc tho lofty Ytan-

lomond,
And left tho rod clouds to proMl<l(v o'or tho

Hoono,
Whilo lanoly £ Htr&y in tho oalm Mtimtmtr

gloauun,
To muHo on Hwoot JOHHIO, tho ilowttr o*

Dumbla.no.
How swoot IB the brior, wi1 itn waft

blosHom '

And swoot iB tho birk, wi' it« mautlo <>'
Tot swootor and fairer, and dear to thin bonom,
Is lovely young JOHWO, tho ilowor
blano.

She's modest aa ony, and blithe a*

bonnio;

Tor gnilolo&ft ftimplioity mavkfi hor it* afa i
And far bo the villain, divoHtod of fooling
Wha'd blight in its bloom tho Hwoot flower

o' Dumblano.
Sing on, thou sweet maviH, thy hymn to the

Thou'rt dear to the echootf of Oalderwood

glen:

Sae dear to tibia bosom, sao artlos$ and wlnninpr,
Is charndng young Jessie, tho flower o

Btunblane.

*Vom 1780 to 1806.]

FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE.

GUlX.

How loat were my days till I met wi' my

JOHBIO J
Tho aporfcs o* tho ozty aeem'd foolish and

vain;
I ne'er Haw a nymph I would ca' my dear

1&HBIO,

1H11 oharm'd wi' sweet Jessie, ilie flower o'

Domblaue.
Though mine wore tho station o' loftiest

grandeur,

Amidst itH profusion I'd languish in pain,
And reckon aa naothing tho height o' its

splendour,
If wanting aweot Jessie, the flower o' Dum-

blano

Itobcrt TawnalM.—Born 1774, Died 1810.

1601.— THE MIDGES DAtfCE ABOON
THE BUBN.

Tho midgos dance aboon the burn;

Tho dews begin to fa* ;
Tlie pairtrioka down the rushy holm

Set up their opening oa'.
Now loud and clear the blackbird's sang

Km#B through tho bnory shaw,
Whilo tliUuitf #ay tho swallows play

Around ilio oantlo wa*.

IJonoath tho goldon tfloamiu' uky

rrho inaviH mondw her lay ,
Tlio rodbrcant pours his Hwoototft strains,

To oixurxn tho Img'rmg day ;
Whilo woaty yaldrins soom to wail

Their littlo noHtlings torn,
The merry wron, frao don to den,

Gaoft jinking through the thorn.

The rofiod fauld their silken leares,

Tho foxgloro ahnts its bell;
Tho honeymioklo and the birk

Spread fragranoe through tho dell.
Lot othera orowd tho giddy court

Of mirth and revelry,
The simple joya that Nature yields

Are dearor far to me.

tob&rt

.— Bom 1774, Died 1810.

1602,— GLOOMY WINTBB'S NOW AWA.

Gloomy winter's now awa,
3a£t the wesUin breezes blaw -
>Mang the birks o' Stanloy-shaw

The mans sings f n* oheorie O.
Sweet the craw-flower's early bell
Decks Gloniffer's dewy doll,
Blooming like thy bonme seT,

My young, my artless dearie 0.
Come, my lassie, lot us stray,
O'er Glenkillooh's sunny brae,
Blithely spend the gowden day

'Midst joys that never wearie 0.

Towering o'er tho Newton woods,
Lavrooks fan the snaw-whito clouds j
Siller saughs, wi1 dowme buds,

Adorn tho banks aao bnene 0.
Bound the sylvan fairy nooks,
Feathery brekans fringe the rooks,
Neath the brae the burnie jouks,

And ^kft thmg is cheerio O.
Trees may bud, and birds may sing,
Flowers may bloom, and verdure spring,
Joy to me they oanna bring,

Unless wi' thee, my deane 0.

Robert Tawnahill, — Bom 1774, Died 1810.

1603.— MX ONLY JO AND DEAEEG 0.

Thy ohook is of tho rose's huo,

My only jo and dearie 0 ,
Thy nook is like the silloi-dow

Upon the banks sae briery O ,
Thy teeth are o* the ivory,

0 sweet's the twmklo o' thine ee I
Nao joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me,

My only jo and dearie 0.

Tho birdie Rings upon the thorn
Its sang o* joy, fu' ohoorio 0,
Rojoicing m tho summer morn,
Nae care to mak it eerie O ;
But littlo koiiH the sangwter uwoet
Aught o' tho earos £ hao to moot,
That gar my roBtlosB boaom beat,
My only 30 and doaiio 0.

Whan we woro bairnios on yon brao,
And youth was blinking bonnie 0,
Aft wo wad daft* the loo-lang day,

Our joys fu' swoet and mony 0 ;
Aft I wad ohaao thee o'er the lea,
And round about the thorny tree,
Or pu' the wild flowers a' for thee,
My only jo and dearie 0.

1 hae a wish 1 canna tine,

'Mang a* tho cares that grieve me 0 ;
I wish thou wert for over mono,

And never inair to leave me 0 •
Then I wad daut thoe night and day,
Nor ither worldly care wad hae,
Till life's warm stream forgot to play,

My only jo and deane 0

RicJiard Gall.— Bom 1776, Died 180L

i6o4.~FAJBEWELL TO AYBSHIBE.

Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,

Scenes that former thoughts renew ;
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,

Now a sad and last adieu '
Bonny Boon, sae sweet at gloaming,

Fare thee woel before I gong —
Bonny Doon, where, early roaming,

First I weaved the rustic sang I

JOHN

LOGAN BBAEtf.

Bowers, adieu ! whoro lovo decoying,

First enthrall**! this heart o* rnrno ;
Thoro the saftotrf; swoota enjoying,

Sweets that memory ne'er shall tine !
Friends so dear my bonom ever,

Ye hae rendered moments dear ;
But, alas I when forced to sever,

Then the stroke, oh 1 how severe !

Friends, that parting tear reserve it,

Though 'tis doubly dear to mo ;
Could I think I did deserve it,

How maoh happier would I bo !
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,

Seenes that former thoughts renew ;
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,

Now a sad and last adieu '

Gall.—Bvrn, 1776, Pied 1801.

1605— LOGAN BRAES.

By Logan streams that rin sae deep,
Fu1 aft wi' glee Fve herded sheep j
Herded sheep and gathered slaes,
Wi' my dear lad on Logan braes.
But wae's my heart, thae days are gane,
And I wi' grief may herd alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

Nae man at Logan kirk will he
Atween the preachings meet wi' me ;
Meet wi' me, or when it's mirk,
Convoy me name frae Logan kirk.
I weel may sing thae days are gane :
Frae kirk and fair I come alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

At e'en, when hope amaist is gane,
I dauner out and sit alane ;
Sit alane beneath the tree
Where aft he kept his tryst wi' me.
Oh I could I see thae days again,
My lover skaithless, and my ain '
Beloved by friends, revered by faos,
We'd hve in bliss on Logan braes '

JoJm Mayne —Bern 1761, Died 1836.

1606.— HELEN OF KTBKCONNEL.

I wish I were where Helen lies,
For, night and day, on me she cries ;
And, like an angel, to the skies

Stall seems to beckon me '
For me she lived, for me she sigh'd,
For me she wish'd to be a bride ;
For me in life's sweet morn she died

On fair Efrkoonnel-lee !

Where Kirtle-waters gently wind,
As Helen on my arm reclined,
A rival with a ruthless mind,
Took deadly aim at me :

My love, to disappoint the foe,
Rnsh'd in between me and the blow;
And now her coroo in lying low
On fair KirkconnoMeo 1

Though Heaven forbids my wrath to ftwull,
I ourso tho hand by which «hc* foil—
The fiend who made my heaven a hell

And tore my love from me !
For if, where all tho graooH Hlrino-—
Oh I if on earth thore'H aught divine
My Helen ! all those oharmH wera ihino—

They center' d all in thoo !

Ah ! what availn it that, amain,
I dove tho asHaBHin'H head in twain P
No peace of mind, my Helen ulain,

No rotftmg-plaoG for mo :
I see her spirit in the air—
I hear the shriek of wild deapair,
When Murder laid her boiom baw.

On fair KirkoonnoHoo 1

Oh i when I'm sleeping in my grava,
And o'er my head the rank wewte wavo,
May He who life and spirit gavo

Unite my lovo and mo !
Then from thift world of doubtn an<l HiffhH,
My soul on wingH of peace fihall vim ;
And, joining Helen in the akiw.

Forget B3rkoonnol*lee 1

John Maync.—lhrn 1761, Died 1836.

1607.— TO THE BIVEB N1T1I.

Hail, gentle stream ! for over door
Thy rudest murmurs to mina ear !
Tom from thy banks, though far I rovo,
The slave of poverty and lovo,
Ne'er shall thy bard, where'er ho bo,
Without a sigh remember thoe 1
For there my infant yearn begun,
And there my happiont minutoH ran ,
And there to lovo and friondKhip true*,
The blossomn of affliction grow.

Blithe on thy baukH, thou »w«otoflt Htream
That ever nursed a poet'n dream I
Oft have I in forbidden time
(If youth could sanctify a orim*)*
With hazel rod and f raudf ui fly,
Ensnared thy unsuHpooting fry ;
In pairs have draggM them from tholr don,
Till, chased by lurking fluherroon,
Away I've flown on fleet as wind,
My lagging followers for behind,
And when the vain pursuit wan o'er,
Return' d successful OH before.

John Mayne.—Bom 1761, 1>M 1836.

1608.— MTTSTBBINO OF THB TRADES TO

SHOOT FOB XHJB SILLJ&B GKJW.
The lift was clear, the mom nerene,
The sun just glinting owro tho tceno,

F, oil* 1780 to 1800.]

JENNY DANG TEE WEAVER.

[SlB A. BOSWBD&L.

\Vhon JomoR M'Noo bogan again

To boat to arms,
lioufiing tho heart o' man and wean

Wi' war's alarms.

Fran far and noar tlio country lads
<Thoir JOOH ahint thorn on thoir yads)
*'lo«k'd ui to soo the show in squads ,

And, what wan daftor,
Thoir pawky authors and thoir dads

Cam trotting af tor 1

And mony a beau and bollo woro thoro,

Doitod wi' dozing on a chair ;

l\>r lost thoy'd, sleeping, spoil thoir liair,

Or misH tho Bight,
Tho gowkn, hko bairna bolero a fair,

Sat up a* night '

Wi' hats an black as ony raven,

Jb'ioHh an tho roHo, thoir boarda now shavon,

And a' thoir Sunday* H deeding having

8ao trim and gay,
Forth cam our TradoH, HOIIIO ora saying

To wair that day.

Fair fa* ilk canny, oaidgy oarl,
Wool may ho brmk hw now apparol '
And uovor <lroo tho bitter Hnarl

0' scowling wifo '
But, UoHt in pantry, bam, and "barrel,

Bo bhtho through life !

ir«oh, MTU i what wowdH cum into town,
To MOO thorn miiHtoring np and down '
14WHOH and ladH, mui-bunit and brown —

Women and woanfi,
Oontlo and Romplo, uungling, crown

Tlio gladuomo noonos !

At first, foronont ilk Deacon's hallau,
HIM aln brigade was mado to fall in ;
And, whilo tho mufltor-roll was colling,

And joybollH jowing,
llot-pintfl^ wool opiood, to koop tho eaul in,

Abound woro flowing r

Broil'd Hppor, ohooHO, and broad, and ham,
Laid tho foundation for a dram
O' whiflky, gin frao Rotterdam,

Or cherry brandy ;
Whilk after, a' was fish that cam

To Jook or Sandy .

0 ! wool kon thoy wha loo thoir ohapin,
Drink makH tho anldoBt nwaok and strapping ;
Oarn Oaro forgot tho ills that happen —

Tho blate look Hpruco —
And oven tho thowloss cook thoir tappin,

And oraw fa* crooso !

rChe mnstor owro, the different bands

Pilo aff in parties to the sands ;

Whoro, 'mid lond laughs and clapping hands,

Gloy'd Ck>ordy Smith
Boviews them, and their line expands

Along the Kith!

But no'or, for uniform or air,

Was BIO a group review'd olsowhere !

Tho short, tho tall ; fat folk, and spare ;

Sydo coats, and dookit ;
Wigs, queues, and clubs, and onrly hair ;

Bound hats, and oockit !

, As to their puns — thao foil engines,
Borrow' d or begg-'d, woro of a* lands
.For bloody war, or bad designs,

Or shooting oushies —
Lang f owhng-pieoes, carabines,

And blunderbusses !

Maist feok, though oil' d to mak them glimmer,
Hodna boon shot for mony a simmer ;
And Fame, tho story-telling kunmor,

Jocosely hints
That somo o* them had bits o* tunmor

Instead o' flints 1

Somo guns, she threaps within her ken,
Woxe spiked, to lot nao priming bon ,
And, as in twenty there were ton

Worm-oaten stocks,
Sao, hero and there, a rozit-ond

Hold on their looks !

And then, to show what difference stands
Atwoon tho loaders and their bands,
Swords that, unshoathod sinoo Prestonpans

Noglootod lay,
Woro furbish' d up, to grace tho hands

0* ohiof H thia day '

" Ohon f " says George, and pa'o a gcano,
** Tho ago o' chivalry is gano ' "
Syno, haying owro and owro again

Tho hale surroy'd,

Thoir route, and a1 things elrfo, made plain,
i Hesnoff'd, andtsaid:

*' Now, gontlemen ! now, mind the motion,
And djjflTM^ this timo, muk a botion :
Shouther your arms ' 0 ! ha'd them tosh on,

And not athraw !
Whoel wi' your left hands to tho oooan,

And march awa ! "

Wi' that, the di|7?i'm- drums rebound,
Pif os, clarionets, and hautboys sound '
Through crowds and crowds, collected round,

The Corporations
Trudge aff, while Echo's self is drown' d

In acclamations '

John

B<m 1761, 2>io& 1836.

1609.— JENNY DANG- THE WEAYEB.

At Willie's wedding on tho groon,

The lassies, bonny witohos I
Were a' dress'd out in aprons clean,

And braw white Sunday mutches :
Auld Maggie bade tho lads tak' tont,

But Jook would not bolioTo hot :

73

JENNY'S BAWBEE.

But soon the fool Ms folly kont,
Tor Jenny dang the weaver.
And Jenny dang, Jenny dang,

Jenny dang the weaver ;
But soon the fool HH folly kont,
For Jenny dang the wearer.

At ilka country <l&noo or reel,

Wi' lior ho would bo bobbing ;
"When she sat down, he eat down,

And to her would bo gabbing j
"Where'er she good, baith butt and ben,

The ooof would never leave her ;
Aye keckling like a clocking hen,

But Jenny dang the weaver
Jenny dang, &o.

Quo' he, My lass, to speak my mind,

I troth I needna swither ,
You've bonny een, and if you're kind,

I'D, never seek anithor :
He frumm'd and haw*d, the lass cried, Peugh,

And bade the ooof not deave her ;
Syne snapt her fingers, lap and lough,
And dang the silly weaver.
And Jenny dang, Jenny dang,

Jenny dang the weaver j
Syne snapt her fingers, lap and lough,
And dang the silly weaver.

8vr A. Bo8W6U.—Bom 1775, Dwxfc 1822,

1610.— JENNY'S BAWBEE.

I met four ohaps yon birks amang,
Wi' hingin* lugs, and faces lang,
I speer'd at neibour Bauldy Strong,
Wha's thae I see P

Quo' he, ilk cream-faced, pawky chiel,
Thought hixnsol' cunnin,' as the do'iL
And here they cam, awa to steal
Jenny's bawbee

The first, a oaptain till his trade,
Wi* sknJl 01 hned, and back woll clad,
March' d round the bam, and by the shod,
And pappit on his knee.

Quo' ha, " My goddess, nymph, and queen,
Tour beauty *s dazzled baith my een 5 "
But de'il a beauty ho had seen
But — Jenny's bawboo.

A lawyer neist, wi' bletherin' gab,
Wha speeches wove like ony wab,
In ilk ana's corn aye took a dab,
And a' for a foe .

Accounts he had through a' the town,

And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could

drown;

Haith now he thought to clout his gown
"Wi' Jenny7* bawbee.

A Norland laird wwt IroUod tip,
Wi' bawflon'd naipr and wlW wimp,
Cried, " Thoro'H my Iwant, lad, hautl thu tfrup,
Or Ue't till a troo.

What's gowd to mo P — I've width tf Ian' ;
Bestow on ano o' worth ymir hau* , f>
Ho thought to pay what ho WU.H awn
Wi' Jonuy'H bawboo.

A' spruce frao ban'boxeH and tubH,
A Tiling1 cam nciHt (but lifo IIIIH r»}»
Foul wore tlio roa/ln, and fou' tlio <iub it
Ah ! waori zno !

A' olatfy, 8(inintin' tlirongh ft jflaHR,
He gim'd, (t P faith a Ixnmio la«H ! »
Ho thought to win, wi' front o* brww,
Jonny'g bawboo.

She bade the laird gang oomb hi« wig,
The aodger not to strnt Mac bigv
Tba lawyer not to bo a prig,
The fool onod, "

I kent that I conM novor fiiiJ I "
She prinod the diHli-olout till IIIH tail,
And oool'd him wi' a watitr-x>tul}
And kept lior bawboo.

SwA. JBo9iooU*-ltoTn 1775, Wrt

1611.-— OOOD NIGHT, AND JOY HH
WT TH A*.

Good night, and joy bo wi' yo a' ;

Your harmloHfl mirth liafl oharmM zny heart ;
May hfo's foil blantH out «w«3 y« Maw t

In sorrow may yo uovor part I
My spirit IIVOH, but Htroxif(th in KOHO ;

The mountain-firoH now bluett hi vain :
Eomombor, HOIIH, the <U«o<tH Pvo t

And in your cloodH I'll l

When on yon imiir our gallant

Ifrae boaHting fooH their bannc^n tnr<s
Wha Hhow'd himMoif a better man,

Or fiercer waved tho rwl olayworo J*
But when in poaoo— thon mark mo thorn—-

Whon tlxron|(h the grlou the wancloror <*tuuo,
I gave him of otir lordly faro,

I gave him here a woloomu hawo,

The auld will Bpoak, the VOUUK maun

But pantio, but bo good and loal ;
Your ain illfl aye hao hoort to boar,

Anither'fi aye hao heart to fool.
So, ere I net, I'll BOO yon Hhiao,

I'll see you triumph ore I fa' ;
My parting breath «hall boawt you mine-

Good night, and joy bo wi' you a'.

.—lJ<m 1775,

Prom 1780 to 18CC.]

THE MOON* WAS

161*.— WHEN THE KYH OOMJES

Come all 70 jolly shepherds

Thai whiHtlo through tho glen,
I'll toll yo of a secret

That oourtiorH dinna ken j
What in tho greatest blins

That tlio tongue o1 man con name P
'TiH to woo a bonnio lassie
When tho kyo ooineH homo.
Wlion tho kyo comes hamo,

When tho kyo comes homo,

'Twoon tho gloamm and tho mirk,

When tho kyo comes hamo.

'Tifl not beneath the coronet,

Nor canopy of state,
'Tifi not on couch of velvet,

Nor aibonr of tho groat —
'Tin beneath tho spreading birk,

In the glon without tho name,
Wi' a bonnio, bonnio laHwo,

When tho kyo comes hamo.

There the blackbird bigs his nest

Jt'or tho mate ho lo'oa to soo,
And on tho topmost bough,

0, it happy bird is ho 1
Then he pours hin molbing ditty,

And lovo IH a* tho thoino,
And ho' 11 woo his bonnio IOHSIO

Whoii the kyo comoH hamo.

Wlion tho blowart boarH a pearl,

And tho damy trnnw a poa,
And tho bonnio Inokon gowan

HOH fauldit up hor oo,
Then tho lavrook f rae the blue lift,

Drapn down, and thinks nao ahame
To woo hid bonnio lasnlo

Whon tho kyo oomon hamo.

Seo yonder pawky shopherd

That lingers on the Hill —
His yowos are in tho f auld,

And hia lambs are lying still j
Tot he downa gang to bed,

"For MH heart is ui a flamo
To meet his bonnio lassie

When the kyo comes hame.

Wlion tho little woe bit heart

KiHGH high in tho breast,
And the little wee bit starn

KiHOfl rod in the oast,
0 there's a joy sao dear,

That tho heart can hardly frame,
Wi' a bonnie, bonnio lassie,

When tho kye comes hame.

Then since all nature joins

In this lovo without alloy,
0, wha wad prove a traitor

To nature's dearest joy ?
Or wha wad ohooso a crown,

Wi' its perils and its fame,
And miss his bonnio lassie

When tho kye comes hamo.

Whon the kyo comes hamo,
Whon tho kyo comofl hamo,

'Twoen tho gloamin and tho mirk,
Whon the kyo comes hamo.

fanes Ifor/0. — Born 1772, Died 1835,

1613.— THE SIOXAJWL

Bird of tho wilderness,

Blitheaomo and cumborloHS,
Sweet bo thy matin o'er moorland and loa 1

Emblem of happiness,

Blest IH thy dwelling-place —
0 to abide ui tho desert with thoo I

Wild is thy lay and loud, '

Far in the downy cloud,
Lore gives it energy, lovo gave it birth j

Where, on thy dewy wing,

Wnoro art thou journeying P
Thy lay is in heaven, thy lovo is on earth.

O'er foil and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain groan,
O'er tho rod streamer that heralds tho day,

Over the cloudlet dun,

Over tho rainbow's run,
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away I

Thon, when tho gloaming comes,

Low m tho heather blooms,
Sweet wdl thy welcome and bod of lovo bo !

Emblem o£ happiness,

Blest IH thy dwollrng-placo —
0 to abido in the doaort with thoo 1

/onto? lIo<j(jt—7J<m 1772, Diod 1835.

16x4.— THB MOON WAS
trte moon was a- waning,

Tho tempest was ovor ;
Fair was the maiden,

And fond was tho lover ;
But the snow was so deep

That his hoort it grow weary ;
And ho sunk down to Hloop,

In the moorland so dreary.

Soft was tho bod

She had mode for hor lover,
White wore tho shoots

And embroider' d tho cover ;
But his sheets arc more white,

And his canopy grander j
And sounder ho sloops

Where the hill-foxes wandor.

Alas, pretty maiden,

WTiat sorrows attend you r
I soo you sit shivering,

With lights at your window 5
But long may you wait

Ero your arms shall enclose him ,
For still, still he HOB,

With a wreath on his bosom !
73*

JAMES HOGG.]

KILMEOT.

How painful tho tank

Tho Bad tidings to toll you !
An, orphan you woro

J3ro thw miHory bof oil you ;
And far in yon wild,

Whoro tho dcod-tapers hover,
So cold, cold and wan,

Lies tho corpse of your lover !

James Hogg. — Born 17*72, Died 1835.

1615.

Bonny Kilmeny good up tho glon ;
But it wasna to meet Dunoira's men,
Nor the rosy monk of the isle to BOO,
For Kilmeny was pure as puro could bo.
It was only to hear tho Yorlin sing,
And pu* the cress-flower round the spring —
Tho soarlet hypp, and tho hind berry,
And the nut that hung frao the hazel-tree ;
For EjJmeny was puro as pure could bo
But long- may her minny look o'or tho wa',
And lang may sho seek i' tho groon-wood

shaw,

Lang tho laird of Dunoira blomo,
And lang, lang groot or Kllmony come hamo.

When, many a day had oomo and fled,
"When grief grew calm, and hope was dead,
"When, mass for Kilmeny 'a soul had boon* sung,
When, the bedes-man. had pray'd, and tho dead-

beUrung,

Late, late in a gloamm, when all wan still,
When, the fringe was red on tho wostlin hih,
The wood was sere, the moon i' tho wane,
The reek o' the cot hung over tho plain —
Like a little woe cloud in tho woild its lano —
When the ingle low*d with an oiry lomo,
Late, late in tho gloamin Kilmony oamo hamo '

" Kilmeny, Kilmony, whore havo you boon ?
Lang hae we sought both holt and don —
By linn, by ford, and green-wood troe ,
Yet you are haloHomo and fair to BOO
Where got you that joup o* tho My shoon ?
That bonny snood of tho birk sac groon ?
And these roses, tho fairest that ovor was

soon?
KOmony, Kilmony, whoro have you boon P "

Kilmeny looked up with a lovely graco,
But nae smile was aeon on Kilmony's face
As still was her look, and as still was her o'o,
As the stillness that lay on the emorant loa,
Or the mist that sleeps on. a waveloHs soa.
For Kilmeny had beon sho know not whoro,
And Kilmeny had seen what sho could not

declare,

Kilmeny had been whoro the oook novor crow,
Where the rain never fell, and tho wind never

blew;
But it seem' d as the harp of the sky had

rung,
And the airs of heaven pla^d round her

tongue,

When she Hpako of tho lowly forum K\M hat)

soon,

And a laud whoro sin had nuvw bocn—
A land of lovo, and a land of H#hit
Withouton HUH, or moon, or nifrht ;
Whoro tho river swa'd a living ntivwm.
And tho light a puro oolcmtial bourn i
The land of vision it would poum,
A still, an ovorlimtmK dream.

In yon groon- wood thorn in a walk,
And in that waik thoro IH a wono,

And in that wonu thoro IH a iiiaiki*,
That noithor haH noHh, blood, nor bntin ;

And down in yon green-wood ho walkn IUH
lone.

In that groou wono, Kilmmty lay,
Hor bosom happ'd wi* tho ilow<tioix /piy ;
But tho air wan Hoft, and th<« Hlloit<«o d^p,
And bonny Kilmony foil Houu4 oi*lo(*p ;
Sho konn'd iiao mair, nor ojunxM her t«Vv
Till wakod by tho hymnn of a far «nmntry*».

Sho 'wukonMon a oouch of iluutiik »<!u»rltmr
All Htnpod wi* tho barn of th(* nuul>ow' t rim
And lovely bom#H around won» rifo,
Who ornt had travollM tncirtal lift* ;
And ayo they KXiiilocl, ami f#an tft MJKM*? :
" What Hiurit ha» lirought thw morUl hc*r(» ! **

" Lang havo I joumoyVl Hut world widi\"
A mook and rovorond fovo roptiod ;
" Baith night and day I havo watohM th0 fwr
Eident a thousand yearn aiul niair.
Yofl, I havo waioh'd o*or ilk #<»#:«<»,
Whorovor blooms fomoniiyo ;
But HiuloHH virgin, frc»o of ntain,
In mind and body, fluid 1 uiuui.
Novor, Hiuoo tho banquet of tnnc,
Found X a virgin in hor priuw,
TiU lato thiH bonny mairlon I wvw,
AH spotloHH OH tho morninff Hnaw*
Full twenty yoarrt 8h« IUIH lirod OH fwm
AH tlio wpiritH that Kojourn iu tltiH oountryft,
I havo brought Iwr uway f run ilui Hnanw of

mpn,
That win or death who may nov<T k(»«."

They olaHj/dhor wawtand linr lmud«wic fair;
They kiiw'd hot ohook, and thoy k(»mod hot-

hair;

And round oamo many a blooming fun*,
Saying, " JJonny Kilttiouy, y«tf ro W4»i<w»tti« horo;
Women aro frood of tho littnnd wtcirn ;
0, bloHt bo tho day Kiltnony vriw born i
Now shall tho laud of tho Hpiritn HO<S
Now shall it kon, what a woman may bo 1
Many a lang yoar in norrow itud pain,
Many a lang yoar through tho world wo'vo

gane,

CommiBBion'd to watoh fair womankind,
For it's they who nurioo tho immortftl mind.
Wo havo watoh'd thoir »topH OH tho dawning

shono,

And deep in tho groen-wood wolk» alone ;
By hly bower and silken bod
The viewless tears have o'or thorn «hed ;

JCILMENY.

[J^MBfl HOGG.

llayo hooUu»<i thoir ardent mindn to sloop,

Or loft tho (much of lovo to woop

Wo have HWI ! wo have noon ! but tlio timo

IHUHt UOinO,

And the ungoln will woop at tlio day of doom !

" <), would tlio faircHt of mortal kind
Ayo koop tlio holy ttutliH in mind,
That kindred Hpmtw thoir motions HOO,
Who watch thoir ways with anxious o'd>
And gnovo for tlio guilt of humanityo '
0, Hwoot to hoaven tho maidon'H prayer,
And tho High that hoavoH a bonom HOO fair !
And door to hoavon tho words of tiuth
And tho pniiHO of virtue frao boauty'u mouth !
And doar to tho VIOW!OHH forms of air,
Tho xnindn that kytho as tho body four '

" 0, bonny lulmony ! froo fiao Htain,
If ovor you Hook tho world again—
That world of win, of sorrow and foar—
()f toll of tho joyH that nro waiting lioro ,
And toll of tho signs you shall shortly BOO ,
Of tho timos that oro now, and tho tiinoH that

Hhall bo "—

Thoy liftod Kilmony, thoy lod hor away,
And nho walk'd in tho light of a suuloHH day ;
rl'ho sky was a rloiuo of crystal bright,
Tho fountain of vim on, and fountain of light,
Tho omorald fioldn woro of dazzling glow,
AIM I tho floworn of ovoi lasting blow
Them do<»p m tho Htroam hor body thoy liuil,
That hou youth and bounty novor might fado ;
And thoy Hiuilod on hoavon, whon thoy Haw hor

ho

In tho Htroam of life that waudorM by.
And nho hoard a Hong— who hoard it Hung,
Bho konn'd not whoro , bub woo wwootly it rung,
Tt foil on hor oar like a droam of tho morn—
" 0 ! blost bo tho day Kilmony WOB bom !
Now Hhall tho land of tho spirits BOO,
Now Hhall it kon, what a woman may bo '
Tho Run that Rhinos on tho world BOO bright,
A borrow' d gloid frao the fountain of light ,
And tho moon that nlookn tho sky sac dun,
Liko a goudon bow, or a boainlesB sun —
ftliall woor away, and bo noon nao mair ,
And tho angels Bhall miBH thom, travelling tho

our.

"But lan#, long aftor baith night and day,
Whon tho nun and tho -world havo died away,
Whon tho Binnor has gano to his waouomo

doom,
Kilmony Bhall smile in otomol bloom 1" —

Thoy boro hor away, sho wist not how,
Tor sho f olt not arm nor rest below ,
But HO swift thoy waw'd hor through tho

light,

'Twas like tho motion of sound or sight ;
Thoy seom'd to split tho gales of air,
And yot nor galo nor broozo was thoro.
(Tnnumbor'd grovos below thom grow ;
Thoy oamo, thoy past, and backward ftott ,
Liko Hoods of blossoms gliding on,
In moment soon, in moment gone.

0, novor vales to moitol view

Appoar'd liko thoso o'or which thoy flow

That land to human spirits givon,

Tho lowermost valos of tho storied hoavoii ,

Jb'rom whence thoy can viow tho world below,

And heaven's bluo gates with sapphires glow —

Moro glory yot unmeet to know.

Thoy boro hor far to a mountain green,
To soo what mortal novor had Roon ;
And thoy seated hor high on a purplo sward,
And bado hor hood what sho Haw and hoard,
And note tho changes the Faints wrought ;
1 or now nho lived m tho lar.d of thought.
She took'd, and nho saw nor nun nor skio*,
But a cryHtal dome of a thotisand dyes ,
She look'd, and sho saw uao land anght,
But on ondloflH whiil of glory and hght ,
And radiant boingH wont and came,
J'ar swifter than wind, or tho lmk?>d flnino ;
Sho hid hor eon frao tho dazzling viow ,
Sho look'd again, and tho Hcono was now.

Sho saw a sun on a summer nicy,
And clouds of amber sailing1 by ,
A lovely land beneath hor lay,
And that land had glens and mountains gray ;
And that land had valloys and hoary piles,
And marled soon, and a thousand isles ,
Its fioldw woro ppooklod, its forests groon,
And itn lakoH woro all of tho dazzling shoon,
Like magus mirrors, whoro slumbering lay
Tho Him and tho flky and tho oloudlot gray,
Which hoavod and trembled, and gently swung,
On every shore thoy Boom'd to bo hung;
For there thoy woro scon on thoir downward

plain

A thouHond times and a thousand again }
In winding1 lako and placid firth-—
Little peaceful heavens in tho bosom of earth,

Kilmony sigh'd and soem'd to grieve,
For she found hor heart to that land did cleave ;
Sho saw tho corn wave on tho vale j
Sho Haw tho door run down tho dale ;
She saw tho plaid and tho broad olaymoro,
And tho brows that tho badge of freedom bore j
And sho thought she had soon tho land before.

She saw a lady sit on a throne,
Tho fairest that ovor the nun shone on f
A lion liok'd her hand of milk,
And she hold him m a loish of silk,
And a loif u* maiden stood at hor knee,
With a silver wand and molting e'e —
Her sovereign, shield, till Love stole in,
And poison* d all the fount within.

Then a gruff, untoward bodes-man came,
A&d hundit the hon on his dame ;
And the guardian moid wi* tho dauntless o'o,
Sho dropp'd a tear and loft hor knee ;
And she saw toll the queen frao the lion fled,
Till tho bonniest flower of the world lay dead ,
A coffin was set on a distant plain,
And she saw tho rod blood fall like rain.
Then bonny Kilmeny's heart grow soar,
And she turn'd away* and could look nao mair

JAMJES Hoact.]

TO TUB COMET OF 1811.

Pi! Ifcf ( »t>. —

Thou tho gruff, grim carlo gini&l amain,
And -they trampled him down— but ho roso

again;

And ho baited tho lion to floods of weir,
Till ho lapp'd tho blood to tho kingdom dear •
And, wooning MM hoad was danger-proof
Whon crown'cl with tho roso and clover loaf,
Ho growl'd at tho carlo, and ohaHod him away
To food wi' tho door on tho mountain gray.
Ho growl' d at tho carlo, and ho gook'd at

Hoavon ;

But his mark was sot, and his arloa given.
Eilmony a whilo hor oon withdrew ;
Sho look'd again, and tho acono was new.

Sho saw below her, fair unf url'd,
One half of all the glowing world,
Where oceans roll'd and nvors ran,
To bound the aims of sinful man.
She saw a people fieroo and foil,
Burst frae their bounds liko fiends of holl j
There Hies grew, and tho eaglo flow ,
And she herked on hor ravening crow,
Till tho cities and towors woro wrapt in a blaze,
And the thundor it roar'd o'er tho lands and

the seas

The widows they wail'd,* and tho rod blood ran,
And she threatened an ond to tho race of man ;
She never lenod, nor stood in awe,
Till oaught by the lion's deadly paw
Oh 1 then the eaglo swink'd for hfo,
And bxamzeU'd tip a mortal strife ,
But flew she north, or flow sho south,
She met wi' the growl of the lion's mouth.

With a mooted wing and waefu* maon,

The eagle sought hor eiry again ;

But lang may she oowor m hor bloody nos-,

And lang, lang slook her wounded broast,

Before she sey another flight,

To play wi' the norland lion's might

But to sing tho sights Ki'lmony saw,
So far surpassing Nature's law,
The singer's voioo wad sink away,
And the string of his harp wad ooaso to play.
But she saw till tho sorrows of man woro by.
And all was lovo and harmony ,
Till the stars of heaven foil calmly away,
lake the flakos of snaw on a winter's day .

Then Kilmony bogg'd again to RQQ
The friends she had loft in hor own country©
To tell of the plaoo whoro she had been,
And the glories that lay on tho land unseon;
To warn tho living maidona fair,
The loved of Heaven, tho spirits' caro,
That all whose minds nnmeled remain
Shall bloom an boauty when Timo is gano.

With distant music, soft and doop,
They loll'd KJOmony sound asleep ;
And when she awaken'd, sho lay hor lane,
All happ'd with flowers in the green-wood

wene.

When seven long years had oome and fled ;
When grief was calm, and hope was dead;

Whon soaroo was romfinlwr'U KUin««n.\'i

Lato, lato m a gloiuniu, Kilmony nirnr luuuo!

And 0, hor boauty WOK fair to tu»«s

But fitill and tstoadfoHt wan Imr «V !

Such boauty bard may novor dtwluro,

For thoro wan no prido nor pntwinn thnro;

And tho soft doniro of maidcnm* onn,

In that mild faoo could ncvor bo HWU.

Hor Boymar WOH tho lily flower,

And her ehook tho motm-KMt in tho nhowor;

And hor voioe liko tho diHtttnt im»lo<lyo

That floats along the twilight noa.

But «he loved to raiko tho Innoly frl<»Ji,

And koopc^d afar frao tho hauntH of iiuiu ;

Her holy hymiiH xiuboard to Htug1,

To suck tho flovvorH anil drink tlio

But whorovor hor peaceful form

The wild boastn of tho liillw woro ohwr'd ;

Tho wolf })lay'd blithely round tho flolti,

The lordly biaou lowM and knool'd ;

Tho dun door woo' d with manner bland*

And oowor'd ancath hor lily hand.

And when at oven tho woodlandu Y\m<f,

Whon hymns of oth^r worldH Hho Htuift

In ocfltoHy of awout <lovotion;

Oh, then tho glou wiw ail in motion I

Tho wild bcafltn of tho forcmt oanu%

Bioko from tlieir buglxtHand fauMn th<» tiuao,

And govod around, oluiruiM and amo/wl ;

Even tho dull oattlo croon* d and wutotlt

And murmur' d and look'd with mixioiui pain,

For aomothing tho myHtory to oxplain,

Tho buzzard oamo with tho tliv<mtUi-cj0ok,

Tho oorby loft hor houf in tho rook ;

Tho blackbird aliuti# wi' tho ea#lo ilow ;

Tho luud came tripping o'or tliu <lc\v ;

Tho wolf and tho kid thoir raiko liwui ;

And tho tod, and tho lamb, and tho In vend ma;

Tho hawk and the luiru atbotir i.hom huzt^

And tho inorl arid Uw mtww forhony'd tlioir

young;

And all in a poaooful ring- woro luirlM i
It was liko an ovo in a niulcHH world !

Whon a month and day hud <u>nu» and tfano,
Kilmony Bought tlm groon-wotKl \vttn<« ;
Thoro laid hor <lowu on tho luavcw Ma«» ftrwn,
And Kilmony oil wirth wiw itovor xmiir M«»U.
But oh, the wordu that foil From hor mouth
Woro wordH of wonder, and wonta <»f truth I
But all tho land woro in f«a* antl drfliwl,
For they konn'd na whothor «ho wiw HvittK or

dead.

It wareaa her hamo, and H!W (wmlcltia wnuitn ;
Sho loft thi« world of MOTTOW and pain,
And retnm'd to tho land of thought again.
/%ijr,— Barn, 1772, UM

1616.— TO THE OOMKX Off 1811.

How lovely XM thin wilclor'd Hoono,
As twilight from hor vaultn wo blue

Steals soft o'er Yarrow' • «iountalttB g
Xc aleop embalm' d in midnight dow 1

to 1866,]

MYNAOTS 0

f ALLAN

All hail, yo hilto, WUOHO towering height,
lake hhadowH, HOOOPH tho yielding sky 1

And thou, myHtoriouH guowt o£ night,
Dread traveller of immonHity I

Strangor of hoavon I I bid thoo hail I
Shred fiom iho pall of glory riven,

That flaahoHt in ooloHtial gale,
Uroo<l ponnon of tho King of Hoavon '

AH thou tho flapr of woo and death,
From angel's onHign-Htaff unfurl' d ?

AH thon the standard of hi» wrath
Waved o'or a sordid sinful world P

No, from that pure polluoid beam,
That erst o'or plains of Bethlehem shone,

No latent evil wo can doom,
Bright herald of tho otomal throno 1

Whato'or portondH thy front of firo,
TJxy Htroaming looks BO lovely pale —

Or peace to man, or judgment** dire,
Stranger of heaven, 1 bid thoo hail 1

Whom hawt thou roam'd those thousand
years P

Why sought these polar paths again,
From waldornoHH of glowing Hphoros,

To fling thy vOHturo o'or tho wain P

And when thon HoaloHt tho Milky "Way,
And vauiHlumt fiom human viow,

A thotiHiuid worldH nhall hail thy ray
'I'hrough wil<ln of yon empyreal "blue I

Oh ! on thy rapid prow to glide '
To Hail the boundloHH H!DOH with thoo,

And plough tho twinkling fdarn anido,
Idko foum-lmllM on a tranquil nea !

To brtwh the ombor« from tho gun,

The aoioloH from off the polo ;
Then, far to other ftyHtexos run,

Whore other moons and planets roll !

Stranger of hoavon ' 0 lot thine eye
Smile on a rapt onthuHiuKt'g dream ,

Koatmtrio as thy course on high,
And airy as thiiio ambient beam '

And long, long may thy Hilvor ray
Our noHhern areh at eve adorn ,

Then, wheeling to tho oawt away,
Light the gray portal** of tho morn !

Janm ILorjy.—liom 111%, Uiad 1835.

1617.— BLOCS, HAME, HAME.

Home, hame, hamo, hamo fain wad I be,
0 hame, hamo, hamo, to my am oountrie '
When tho flower IB i' tho bud, and tho loaf IH

on the tree,
The larks shall Ring mo hame in my am

countne ,

Hamo, hame, hamo, hamo fain wad I bo,
0 hamo, hame, hame, to my ain countrio !

Tho green loaf o' loyalty *s begun for to fa*,
The bonnio white rone it is withering an' a' ;
But I'll wator't wi' the blude of usurping

tyrannie,

An* green it will grow in my ain oountrie.
Hame, home, hame, hamo fain wad I bo,
0 hamo, hamo, hamo, to my am oountrio !

0 there's naught frao ruin, my country can

But the keys o' kind hoavon to open the

gravo,
That a* tho noble martyrs wha died for

loyoltio,

May rise again and fight for their ain oountrio.
Hamo, hamo, hamo, hamo fain wad I be,
0 hamo, hame, hamo, to my fl.it> couxxtno !

Tho groat ore now gano, a* wha ventured to

save,
Tho new grass is springing on tho tap o' their

grave;
But the sun through the mirk blinks blithe IB

my o'o,

" I'll shine on yo yet in yore ain oountrie.*'
Hamo, hame, hame, name fain wad I be,
Hamo, hamo, hamo, to my ain oountrie !
Allw, QwwwngJioAn. — Horn 1784, DWC& 1842.

1618,— MT NAOTS 0.

lied rows the Nith 'twoon bank and brae,

Murk is tho night and ramie O,
Though hoavon and earth should mix in storm,

I'll gang and HOO my Nanio 0 ;
My Name 0, my Name 0 ;

My kind and winwomo Nanio 0,
She holds my heaH in love's dear bands,

And none con do't but Nanio 0.

In preaching time nao mock she stands,

Sao saintly and sao bonnio 0,
I cannot got ao glimpse of grace,

For thieving lookH at Name 0 ;
My Name 0, my Kanio 0 ,

The world's in love with Nanio O ;
That heart is hardly worth tho wear

That wadna love my Nanio 0.

My breast can scarce contain my heart,

When dancing uho moves finely 0;
I gnesg what heaven is by her eyes,

They sparkle floe divinely 0 ;
My Name 0, my Name 0 ,

Tho flower o' Nithsdalo 's Nonie 0 ;
Love looks frao 'noath her long brown hair,

And says, I dwell with Nome 0.

Toll not, thou Htar at gray daylight,

O'or Tinwald-top so bonnie 0,
My footsteps 'mang tho morning dew

When coming- frao my Nanio 0,
My Nanie 0, my Nome O ;

Nano ken o' me and Nanio 0 ;

THJK

MAXWELL.

[SEVBNTII

Tho stars and moon may tott't aboon,
They winna wrong my Nanie O '

Allan Cunningham. — Horn 178*1, Died 1842.

1619.— THE YOOTra MAXWELL.

'* Where gang yo, thou silly auld carlo P

And what do yo carry thoro P "
" I'm gaun to tho hill-side, tliou sodgor gentle-
man,

To aloft my sheep thoir loir."

Ae stride or twa took the silly auld carlo,

An* a gride lang- stride took ho .
" I trow thou to be a fook auld carlo,

Will ye shaw the way to mo P "

And he has gane wi' the silly aiild carlo,

Adown by the greenwood side ,
" Light down and gang, thou sodgor gontlomn.ii,

For here ye conna ndo "

He drew tho roins o' his bonxuo gray stood,

An' lightly down he sprang
Of the oomehost scarlet was hw woir coat,

Whare the gowden tassels hang.

He has thrown off Ms plaid, the silly auld
oarle,

An' his bonnet frae 'boon his broo ,
An' wha was it but the young Maxwell '

An* his gude brown sword drew he '

" Thou fcill'd my father, thoa vzlo Southron
An* ye kiH'd my brethren throe '

Whilk brake the heart o' my ae sistor,
I loved as the light o' my o'o '

Draw out yore sword, thou vilo Southron f

Bed wat wi1 bludo o' my kin »
That sword it orapp'd the bonniest flower

E'er lifted its head to tho sun !

There's ae sad stroke for my dear old father '
There's twa for my brethren throe '

An' there's one to thy heart for my ao sistor,
Whom I loved as tho light o' my oo "

Allan, QwwiwgJiCMi —Pom 1784, DietZ 1842

1 620. — OFBAGMENT.

Gone wore but the wintor-oanld,
And gone were but tho finaw,

I could sleep in the wild woods,
Where primroses blaw.

Cauld's the snaw at my head,

And cauld at my feet,
And the finger o' death's at my een,

Closing them to sleep.

Let nane toll

Or my mither «oe dour,
I'll meet thoxn baith in hcuwn

At the wpring1 o* tho yoar.

Allan Cunningham.— Horn 1784 DM 1H-JU.

1621— SHE'S OANH TO DWFLL IN
KKAVHN.

She's ffauo to dwall in heaven, my lit* •««»,
Sho'n gone to dvvall in lu^avtm :

Yo'reowro pure, «|uo* tho voh-o o* <5cMU
Por dwullintf out o' iioavnn 1

0 what'll she do in heaven, my loHmo r1

0 what'll Hhe do in heavon ?
She'll mix her ain thought** wi' ange

An1 make them inair moot for hauveit,

She was beloved by a',

She was bolovod by a1 ;
But on angel fell in lovo wi1 her,

An* took hor frao xw a'.

Low thoro thou IIOH,

Low there thou IICH ,
A bonmor form no* or wont to tho j ml,

Nor frao it will

IV soon I'll follow than, my lawuu,

Fu' soon, I'll follow thoo ;
Thou loft mo nought to covet aliia1,

But took gudeuoHH Hgl' wi' thoo.

I look'd on thy death-cold fiww,
I look'd on thy doatU-ool<l faro •

Thou soom'd a hly now out i' tho bntl,
An' fading in UH pltujo.

I look'd on thy doath-Hhut <>y<s my ltuMi<»,
I look'd on thy doatlx-Hhiii c»yo ;

An' a lovohor light in tho brow of heavon
JFoll timo Hholl ne'er destroy.

Thy lip« woro ruddy and calm, my
Thy hps wore rndtly and eaim ;

But gtino WOH tho holy breath o1 h<*avf*u
To sing tho evening pMiilm,

There's naught but clttwt now zmu«,
Thoro' H naught l>nt duut now mine j

My saul *H wi* thoo i* tho caul<l gravts
An* why Hhould T Htay bohin* !

nf—ltoin 1784, 1>M 184SJ.

1622.— THE roars BJRIDAL-DAY

Oh I my love '« like tho HtooctfaHt MUM,
Or stroamn that deepen OK thuy run ;
Nor hoary hoir«, nor forty yoar«,
Nor momentfi botweon w#h« and toatH—
Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain,
Nor dreams of glory droam'd in rain—*

r

. 1780 fa 1800.] TIIK TOWN CHILD AND COUNTBY CHILD. [A.

Nor mirth, nor Hwootant Hong wluok flown

To Hobcr joyH aud Hoft.<»u WOOH,

('an make my heart or fancy iloo

One moment, my Kwoot wifo, from thens.

Even while T mu«o, I HOC thoo flit

In maidon bloom and matron wit —

Fair, gentlo as when firnt C mw,l,

Yo pwm, but of Hodator mood ,

Yot my hoart loapn an fond for thoo

AH when, bonoath Arbigland troo,

Wo ntay'd and woo'd, and thought tlxo moon

Sot on tlio Hoa an hour too noon ;

Or hngor'd 'mid the fcdhng dow,

Whon looks wore fond and wordn woro few.

Though I HOC Hmihng at thy foot
Kvo honfl and ao fair daughter awoot ;
And timo, and caro, and birth-timo woos
Have dimm'd thino oyo, and tonuh'A thy roao ,
To thoo, and thoughtrt of ihoo, belong
All that charmH mo of talo or Bong,
When wordH <jomo down hko dowH unsought,
"With gloamH of doop onthuHiaflt thought,
And fanoy in hor hoavon flioa froo—
Thoy oozno, my loro, they oomo from the

Oh, when more thought wo #avo of old

To Hilvor than Homo givo to gold ;

'Twan H\v«ot to Hit and pondor o'or

What thmgH Hhould do«k our hnmblo bowor '

'Twort HW(Mit to pnll in hojio with tlioo

Th(j goldon fruit from Koituno'H troo ;

And Hwootor Htill to chooHo and twmo

A garland for tliomj kxtkn of tliiuo —

A Hong- wreath which maygraoo my Joan,

Whilo rxvorH flow and woodH aro groon,

At timoH thovo oomo, ofl oomo tlioro ought,
Gravo momontH of Hodator thought—
Whon Fortune frownn, nor londw our night
Ono gleam of hot inaonntant light ;
And Hopo, that dookn tho poonant^H bowor,
BhinoH like tho rainbow through tho uhowor,
Oh, thon I HOO, whilo floated nigh,
A mother' H heart Hhino in thino oyo ;
And proud ronolvo and purpORo mook
Spoak of thoo moro than words can gpoak •
1 think tho woddod wifo of mmo
Tho boHt of all that' a not divino.

Allw Uuwninglwfa--Jiwn 1784, Died 1842.

1623.— A WET SHEET AOT> A FLOWING
SEA.

A wot ahoot and a flowing soa,

A wind that follows fast,
And fills tho white and ru&thng sail,

And bonds tho gallant mast ;
And bonds tho gallant marri/, my boys,

While, like tho oaglo free,
Away tho good whip flics, and loaves

Old England on tho loo.

Oh for a soft and gentle wind 1
I hoard a fair one ory ,

Hut gjvo to mo tho nuoriug broozo,
And white waroa heaving high ,

And wliito wares hoaving high, my boys,
Tho good ship tight and froo —

Tho world of -waters is our homo,
And inorry mon are wo.

Thoro's tempest iu you horned moon,

And lightning: iu yon oloud ,
And hark tho muHio, mariuora,

Tho wind IH piping loud ,
Tho wind is piping loud, my boys,

Tho lightning ilaHhizig froo—
While tho hollow oak our palaco is,

Our hontago tho sea.

Allan OuMiwyJiMii. — linrn 1784, Died 1842.

1624.— THE TOWN CHILD AND
COUNTRY CHILD

Child of tho Counky J froo as air
Art thou, and as tho sunshine fair ;
Born like tho lily, whoro tho dow
Lies odorous when tho day is now ,
ITod 'mid tho May-floworH liko tho boo,
Nursod to swoot music on tho kiioo,
Lull'd in tho broant to that swuot tuno
Which winds mako 'inong tho woods of Juno :

I HIBg Of thoo — 'tlH SWOOt tO Hlttg

Of such a iau and gladriomo thiug.

Child of tlio Town 1 for thoo I High,

A gilded roof 'H thy goldon Hky,

A carpet IH thy daiwod sod,

A narrow street thy boundless wood,

Thy rnflhing door 's tho olaitoring- tramp

Of watchmen, thy bent light 'fl a lamp, —

Through smoke, and not through trellised

Tines

And blooming trees* thy sunbeam shines:
I sing of thoo in sadness , whoro
Else is wreck wrought in aught so fair P

Child of tho Country ! thy small foot
Tread on strawberries rod and swoot :
With thoe I wander forth to BOO
Tho flowors which most delight the bee ;
Tho bush o'or which tho throstle sung*
In April while she nursed hor ypung ;
The dew beneath tho sloe-thorn, whore
She bred hor twins tho timorous hare ,
Tho knoll, wrought o'or with wald blue-belle,
Whoro brown boos build their balmy cells,
Tho greenwood stream, tho shady pool,
Where trouts leap when tho day is cool ;
Tho eholfa's nest that seems to be
A portion of tho sheltonag tree,
And other marrols whioh my verso
Can find no language to rehearse

Child of the Town ' for thoo, alas I
Glad Nature spreads nor flowers nor grass ,
Birds build no nostu, nor in tho Bun
Olad streams come singing as they run :

A. CUNNINGHAM.]

THOU HAST VOWD.

[SRVKNTH

A Maypolo is tliy blofwcnnM, Iron ,
A beetle is thy xniurmiirin# b«o ;
Thy bird IB caged, tliy dove IB whoro
The poulterer dwcllw, boHiilo tho haro ,
Thy fruit is pluck'd, and by iho povind
Hawk'd, clamorous, o'or tho city round
No roses, twin-born on tlio Hialk,
Perfume thoo in thy evening walk ,
No voico of birds, — but to thoo comes
Tho mingled din of cars and drums,
And startling orioa, such as aro rifo
Whon wino and wassail woken etrifo.

Child of tho Country ' on tho lawn
I BOO thoo liko tho bounding fawn,
Blithe as the bird which trios its wing
The first time on the wings of Spring ,
Bright as the sun whon from tho oloud
He comes as cooks aro crowing loud ;
Now running, shouting, 'mid sunbeams,
Now groping trouts in lucid streams,
Now spinning liko a mill-whool round,
Now hunting Echo's empty sound,
Now climbing up sorao old tall troo —
For climbing' s sake — 'Tis flwoot to thoo
To sit where birds can sit alone,
Or share with thoo thy venturous throno

Child of the Town and bustling street,
What woes and snares await thy foot 1
Thy paths are paved for five long milos,
Thy groves and hills are poaks and tilos ;
Thy fragrant air is yon thick smoke,
"Which shrouds thee like a mourning cloak ;
And thou art cabin' d and confined,
At onoe from sun, and dew, and wind,
Or set thy tottering feet but on
Thy lengthen' d walks of slippery stone.
The coachman there careering reels,
With goadod steeds and maddening wheels ,
And Commerce pours oaoh piosing son
In pelfs pursuit, and holloos " liun I "
While flush' d with wino, and fitung at play,
Mon. rush from dorknosH into day.
Tho stream 's too strong for thy small bark ;
There nought can Rod, Have what IB stark.
Fly from tho town, swoot child ' for health
Is happiness, and strength, and wealth.
There is a lesson in each flower ,
A story in oach stream and bowor ;
On every horb o'er which you tread
Are written words which, rightly read,
Will load you, from earth's flagrant sod,
To hope and holiness, and God.

^^orn 1784, Died 1842,

1625.— -THOTJ HAST VOWD BT THT
FAITH, iMT JBANIB

Thou hut vow1 d by thy faith, my Jeanie,

• By that pretty white hand o' fchino,
And by all the lowing stars in heaven,
That thou wad aye be mine 1

And I havo Hworn by tny faith, niy
And by that kind heart <»' lliino,

JJy all tho fitarfl Hown thick oVr hcwon,
That thou tthalt aye bo mint' !

Thon fotil fa* tho hantln wn/l loon* Fin hntuix,

And tho hoort wad part nio lovo ;
But there' H nan hand can loom* ihn f

But tho finger of Ilini nlmvcs
Tho* tho woo, woo oot luaun \w

An* my clothing o'or HO mean,
I should lap up ri«H iti Uio fiutM't f»f

Hoavon'H jirinfu* o1 iny Jean.

Hor wluto arm wad bo a pillow to m<%

^ar Hoftor than tho down ,
And Love wad winnow o'or vui, MH kind, kind
wingw,

And flwootly wo'd Hloop, an1 noun',
Come hore to mo, thou IAHM whom 1 km*,

Oomo horo and knool wi* tno ;
Tho morn is full of tho priw<*ti<?4) of Odd,

And I canna pray but. thoo,

Tho morn-wind IH ftwnut amang tho IK>W flowrtrm

Tho woo bmlH ninpr hiift on thn tms
Our gudomau wittt in tho boum<* itmi'.hino

And a blithe anl<l bodio iif ho.
The Bouk maun bo ta'oxi wluui lui omtu

Wi' tho holy x»«aliiwKlio ;
And I will Hpoak of thoo wiitui I pray,

And thou xnauu eimtik of mo.

Allan Ctonmingtoi)to~lbm 1784, IHcd

1626.— GKNTLK fICT<»r

Go flock 111 tho wild fflon

Whoro HtroamlolH an^ fulling I
Go oook on tho lorm hill

Whoro (mrl(>wH am («Uling !
Go Rook whon tho dear Hlaxvi

SJuno down without number,
For thoru Hholl yo find him,

My true lovo, in alumbor.

Thoy Bought itx tho wild

Tho glon wan fornakon ;
They nought on tho mountain,

'Mang loxi# ladyobrooknn, j
And soro, Horo they hunted,

My true lovo to find him,
With tho strong bt>>ndH of iron

To fottor and bind him.

Yon greon lull I'll giro thoo,

Whoro tho falcon in flying,
To show me tho don whoro

ThiH bold traitor '« lying ;
0 make mo of Nithadalo'i*

Vair princedom the heiroim—
la that worth one Bmilo of

My gontle Hugh, HerrioH P

The white bread, the ewoot milk,
Aad ripe fruit* 1 found **H,

17HO to 18C6.J

PROM AKSTJEB FAIB,

[WlLLIAJff TflNNANT.

And Hufo In my fond arms
I olonp'd and I wound him ;

I warn you #o not whoro
JVTy true lovor tarries,

For sharp amiton the aword of
My gentle Hugh Horrios.

They roin'd their proud war-steeds —

Away thoy wont swooping ,
And behind thorn damoH wail'd, and

Fair maidons wont wooping j
But doop in yon wild glen,

'Manff banks of blao-bomofl,
I dwell with my loved 0110,

My gonllo Hugh Homos,

.— JJw» 1784, DM 1842.

Allan

1627.— THE STO BISES BBIGHT IN

Tho Ann rises bright in Franco,

And fair sots ho ,
But ho hatt tint tho blitho blink ho had

In my am oouutrio.
0 gladnoBH oomos to many,

Hut Korrow oomoH to mo,
AH I look o'er tho wwlo oeoan

To my alii countuo.

O it*H nao my ain ruin

That BaddouH ayo my o'o,
But tho IOYO T loft in Galloway,

WJL' bonnio bairmoH throe.
My namely hoarth burnt bonnio,

An1 smiled my fair Mario .
I've loft my hoart behind xno

In my ain oountrio.

Tho bud oomofi back to summer,

And tho blosHom to tho boo $
"But I'll won back — O noror,

To my ain oountrio.
I*m loal to tho high Heaven,

Whioh will bo loal to me,
An' thoro Til moot yo a' suno

itfrao my ain oountrio.

Allan Qw,nwigliam.--JJorn 1784, Died 1842.

1628.— PEOM AJSTSTEB FAIB.

I wish I had a cottage snug and noat

TTpon tho top of many-fountain* d Ido,
That I might thonoo, in holy f orvour, greet
Tho bright-gown' d Morning tripping up her

sido :
And whon tho low Sun's glory-buskin' d foot

Walk on the bluo wavo of tho JQgoan tido,
Oh! I would knool mo down, and worship

thoro

Tho God who garnish' d out a world so bright
and fair!

Tho sanron-olbow'd Morning up tho slope
Of hoavon canaries in her jowoll'd fthooa,

And throws o'er 3Co33y-law' H uhoop-nibblod top
Her goldon apron dripping kindly dows ;

And noTor, sinoo H!IO fiat began to hop
Up heaven's bluo causeway, of hor beams
profuHo,

Shone thoro a dawn RO glorious and so gay,

As Rhinos tho merry dawn of Anstox market-
day.

Bound through tho vast circumference of sky
One spook of small cloud cannot eye bohold,

Save in tho oast some floooos bright of dyo,
That strike tho horn of heaven with woolly
gold,

"Whoroon aro happy angels wont to lio
Xiolling, in amaranthmo flowors onroll'd,

That thoy may spy tho prooioun light of God,

Flung from tho blessed East o'er tho fair
Earth abroad.

Tho fair Earth laughs through all hor bound-
loss range,
Heaving hor green hills high to greet the

beam;
City and village, steeple, cot, and grango,

Gilt as with Nature's purest leaf-gold seem ;
The heaths and upland muirs, and fallows,

ohango

Their barren brown into a ruddy gleam,
And, on ton thousand dew-bent leaves and

sprays,

Twinkle ton thousand RUHR, and fling their
potty rays

tTp from their nostw and fields of tender com

Full merrily tho Uttlo skylarks spring,
And on their dow-bedabblod pinions borne,
Mount to tho heaven's bluo key-stone

flickering;
They turn their plume-soft bosoms to the

morn,

And hail tho genial light, and choor'ly sing;
Echo tho gladsome hills and valleys round,
As half tho bolls of Fife nag loud and swell
tho sound.

For whon the first upsloping ray was flung
On Anster-stoople's Rwallow-harbouring top,

Its boll and all tho bolls around wore rung
Sonorous, janghng, loud, without a stop ;

For, toilingly, eaoh bittor boadle swung,
Bvon till ho smoked with sweat, his greasy
ropo,

And almost broke his bell-wheel, ushering in

The morn of Anster Fair with tanHo-tankling
din

And, from our stoeple s pinnacle outspreau,
The town's long colours flare and flap on

high,

Whose anchor, blazon' d fair in green and rod,
Curls, pliant to eaoh breeze that whistles

by;
Whilst on the boltspnt, stern, and topmast

head
Of brig and sloop that in tho harbour lie,

WILLIAM TRNNANT.] THE HHBOINK OP ANSTER FAIR. fWi,vi::n-»

Streams tho rod gaudory of flagfl in air,

All to wxluto and graco tlio morn of Anstor

Twinant— Jfor» 1785, DM 1848.

1629. — THE HBBOINE OF ANSTETfc FAIR.

Her form was as tho Morning's blithesome

star,
That, oapp'd 'with lustrous coronet of

boams«

Bides up the dawning orient in hor car,
New- wash' d, and doubly fulgent from tho

streams —
The Ohaldoe shepherd eyes her light afar,

And on his knees adores hor as sho gleams ;
So shone the stately form of Maggie Lander,
And so tho admiring crowds pay homage and
applaud her.

Eaoh little step hor trampling palfrey took,
Snaked hor majestic person into grace,

And as at tunes his glossy sides sho Fttrook
Endearingly with whip's green silken laoo

(The prancor seezn'd to court such kind rebuke.
Loitering with wilful tardiness of pace),

By Jove, the very waving of hor arm

Had power a brutish lout to unbrutify and
charm {

Her face was as the summer oloud, whereon
The dawning sun delights to rest his rays '
Compared with it, old Sharon's valo, o'or-

grown
With flaunting roses, had rosign'd its

praise ,
For why ? Hor face with hoaven'n own roses

shone,
Mocking tho morn, and witching men to

And he that gazed with cold unnmilton ROU!,
That blockhead's heart was ice thnco baked
beneath tho Polo.

Her looks, apparent tufts of wiry gold,
Lay on her lily temples, fairly dangling,

And on each hair, so harmlosR to behold,
A lover's soul hung mercilessly strangling ;

The piping silly zephyrs vied to unfold
The tresses in their arms so slim and
tangling,

And thrid in sport these lover-noosing- snares,

And play'd at hide-and-seek amid tho golden
hairs

Her eye was as an honour'd palace, whcro
A choir of lightsome Graces frisk and dance ;

What object drew her gaze, how mean soo'or,
Got dignity and honour from tho glance ,

Woe to tho man on whom she unaware
Did the dear witchery ef her eye elanoo !

'Twas such a thrilling, killing, keen regard—

May Heaven from such a look preserve each
tender bard I

Ko on flho rcxlfl in virgin mnjVuty,

Charming the thin <load air to ICIMF hor lip ?,
And with tho light and grandeur «»f lu»r <«.vt\
Shaming tho proud nun into <Um tu-lip1 «« ;
Whilo round hor prowwoo oluhtorixi;; tor uncl

nigh,
On hornoback Homo, with «ilvc»r Hpnr \ mirl

whipH,

And some afoot with ahooH of <la^li««r bnrklo .,
Attended kmghtH, and lolrcta, and clowim wHU
horny kniioklcH

H5, /»MI/ IS IK.

1030. — DESCRIPTION OF TUB (M)MKUS
TO TUB FAIB.

Comes next from BoKB-Bhiro and front

land

Tho horny-knnoklod kiltod llifflilandnuiw ;
From where upon tho rocky (Vithiu'iw Htriinil
Breaks tho long wave tlint at tltn tNiIo

began,

And wlioro Lo(»hfino from lirr |»n>lifi<»
HorhorrmgH giv«n to feed t

clan,

Amvo tho brogtio-Hliod mon c»f giwcwnw nyo,
Flaidod and breeohloHH all, with MMaii'n lutiry
thigh.

They como not nowlo firo ilin Txiwlttnd HiAf^ku,
Or foray on tho bankn of For^hit^H firth ;

Claymore and broadHWord* an<l Lochabor n\<\
Are left; to rust abovo tho Ktnolcy hearth ;

Their only armH aro l)agi>ipCH now and Hack i ;
Their tooth aro not mont (l<^i>cra<<'Iy f<»r
mirth ;

And at thoir l>roa<l and Hturtl.v barku tin* hiuiff

Groat wallotH, orommM with clu-p^^ aiul
bannookH and cold tongue,

Nor ntaid away tho Inland^™, i.hat Ho

To buffet of tho Atlantic nur^o tixposfil ;
From Jura, Arran, Httrra, Hist, and Skyi«,
Piping they como, tmnhfivod,

unliofloci ;
And from that TH!O, whoMO at>lx^y

high,
Within its prooiuotH holdn d^ad

cloflod,

Where St. Oolumba oft IB HCCH to
Qown'd round with flaming iiro upon tho Hpim
astraddle.

Norfc from tho far-faniod an<»imtfc towti of Ayr
(Swoot Ayr 1 with croim of mcidy clamwil*

blORt,

That, shooting up, and waxing fat and fair,

Shine on thy brooH, tho lilioH of tho went !) ;
And from Damfrion, and from Kilmamook

(where
Aro nightcaps made, tho choapoKt and tho

best),

Blithely they rido on afls and xnulo, with ftankn
In heu of Baddies placed upon their a«w»'
backs.

RiMw 1780 to 1866,1

JEANIE MOKRISON.

(lose at ilioit heels, bestriding well-trapp'd

naff,

Or humbly riding OHHOH* baokbono baro,
Oomu Glasgow1 H merchant**, each with money-

bag,

To vurohaHo Dutch lintHood at Anstor Fair —
Sagacious follows all, who well may brag
Of virtuouH industry and talouiw rare ;
The acttomplish'd moil o' tho counting-room

COIlfOHt,

And fit to oraok a joke or argue with tho
bout

Nor keep Ihoir homos tho BordororB, that

Htay
Whoro purls iho Jod, and Esk, and littlo

Liddol,
Mon tliat oan rarely on tho bagpipe play,

And wako tho nuHobor Hpu it of tho fiddle ;
Avow'd frocbootorH, that hitvo many a day
Stolon Hhoop and cow, yot novor own'd thoy

did ill ;
Croat rogues, for sure that wight IB but a

roguo
tChat blotH tho eighth command from HOBOS'

decalogue.

And flomo of thorn in wloop of tarry side,
Como from North-Iiorwiok harbour Hailing
out,

OthcrH, abhommt of ttio niokoning tide,
Ilavo la1 on tho road by Stirling brig about,

And ooHtwiird now from long Kirkaldy rido,
Nluggmtf on iJuur Hlow-gaitod aHHOH utout,

Wlulo dangling at thoir baekH aro bagpipes

And danflrUngf hang-fl a talo on orory rhymer's
tonguo.

, Died 1848.

1631,— JEAOTS MOKBISON.

Tvo waixdor'd oaHt, I'vo wandor'd west,

Through many a woary way ;
But novor, novor oan forgot

ThQ IUTO of hfo*H young day '
Tho fire thitt'H blawn on J^oltano o'on.

May wool bo blaok gin Yulo ,
But blaokor fa' awaitH tho hoart

Whoro first fond luvo grows culo.

0 doar, doar Joanio Morriaon,

Tho thoohtfi o1 bygano yoar«
Still fling thour nhadoww owro my path,

And blind my oon wi* toara !
Thoy blind my oon wi' saut, saut toorfi,

And Naur and Hick I piuo,
An moraory idly summons up

Tho blitho blinks o' langHyno.

'Twoa thon wo luvit ilk ithor wool,

'Twas thon wo tva did part ,
Swoot timo! — sad time1 — twa bairns at
flohulo,

Two. bairns, and but ao hoart '

'TwoH thon we sat on ao laigh Link,

To loar ilk ithor loar,
And tenon, and looks, and smiles woro shod,

!Riomombor*d ovor mair

I wondor, Joamo, afbon yot,

Whon sitting on that tank,
Chook touchin' ohook, loof look'd in loof,

"What our woo heads could think.
Whon baith bout doun owro ao braid pago,

Wi' ae bulk on our knoo,
Thy lips woro on thy loaaon, but

My lesson was in thoo.

Oh mind yo how wo hung our hoads,

How chocks brent rod wi' shame,
Wheno'or tho nohule-woanB, laughin', said,

Wo clook'd thogithor liamo P
And mind yo o' the Saturdays

(Tho sohulo thon skail't at noon),
Whon wo ran aff to spool tho braes —

Tho broomy braes o' June P

My hoad rins round and round about,

My heart flows like a sea,
As ano by axio tho thoohts rush back

0* Bohulo-time and o' thoo
Oh, mornin' life ' oh, morniu' luvo f

Oh, lichtflome days and lang,
Whon hinuied hopes around our hearts,

Liko uuamcr blossoms, sprang '

Oh mind yo, luvo, how aft wo loft

Tho doaviu' dinflomo toun,
To wander by tho green buruBido,

And hear itH water croon P
Tho w'mmor loaroH hung owro our heads,

Tho flowers burst round our foot,
And in tho gloamm' o* tho wud

Tho tlirossil whusslit sweot.

The throssil whussHt in tho wud,

Tho burn sung to tho troos,
And wo with Nature's heart in tuno,

Concerted harmonies ;
And on tho knowo abune tho burn,

For hours thogithor sat
In the silontnoss o' joy, till baith

Wi' vora gladness grat !

Aye, aye, door Joanic Morrison,

Tears tnnklod doun your ohook,
Like dew-beads on a rose, yet none

Had ony power to speak »
That was a time, a blessed time,

When hearts woro fresh and young,
Whon frooly gush'd all foolangs forth,

TJnsyUablod— unsung 1

I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,

Gin I hao been to theo
As closely twined wi* earliest thoohts

As yo hoe boon to mo ?
Oh ' toll me gin thoir music fills

Thine oar as it does mino ,
Oh f say gin o'er your hoart grows grit

Wi' droamings o' langsyno P

MOTHHBWBM,,] SWORD <1ttANT OJP TIIOKSTKIN KAXJI>L [BKV«MT« PKIUOIV—

I'vo wonderM cant, T'vo wandor'd wo&t,

1'vo borne a weary lot ;
But in 107 wandoringH, far or near,

Yo novor wore forgot.
Tho fount that ftrnt burnt frao HUB heart,

Still travola on its way j
And channels deeper as it rma,

Tho luvo o* life's young clay.

0 dear, door Joanio Morrison,

Since wo wore Binder1 d young-,
I'vo never soon your f aoo, nor hoard

Tho muHio o* your tongue 3
But I could hug all 'wretchedness,

And happy could I doe,
Bid I but ken your heart still dream'd

0' bygane days and me !

, Died 1835.

1632. — SWOKD CHAOT OF TEOBSTEIN
I&A.TOI

'Tis not the gray hawk's flight o'er mountain

and more ,
'Tie not tho floot hound's oourao, tracking the

doer;
'Tis not the light hoof-print of block stood or

Though sweltering it gallop a long summer's

day,

Which mete forth the lordships I challenge as
mine •

Ha I ha ! 'tis the good brand
I clutch in my strong hand,
That can their broad marches and numbers
define

GTVBR I I kiss theo.

Dull builders of houses, base tillers of earth,
Gaping, ask mo what lordships I own'd at my

birth;
But tho pale fools wax mute when I point

with my sword
Bast, west, north, and south, shouting, «« There

am I lord ' "

Wold and waste, town and tower, hill, valley,
and stream,

Tcembhng bow to my sway,
In tho fierce battle fray,
When, the star that rules fate is this falchion's
red gleam.
MIGHT GIVES ! I kiss theo.

I've heard great harps sounding in brave bower

and hall;
I've drunk the sweet mnsio that bright lips

let fall;
I've hunted in greenwood, and heard small

birds sing;

But away with this idle and cold jargomng I
The music I love is the shout of the brave,
The yell of the dying,
The scream of the flying,

When thiH ami wioldH doath'n rtrklo, and
garnorH the grave.

JOY <<1YKK I I kit}* thttO.

Far isles of tho ocean thy lightning hath

known,
And wide o'er tho mainland thy horror* have*

shone.
Groat sword of my father, nturn joy of UU

hand'
Thou hast oarml IUH luuuo tlwp on tho

stranffor'H rod utrond,
And won him tho wlory of mulying Hon.
Koon cloavor of p[ay ordrft«,
Sharp ])ioi.r,or of broad bnumtH,
Gfrim slayer of horoon, and woourjto of tlto
strong I

OIVSE, t I kiwi thoo.

In a love more abiding than that the heart

knows
For maiden mere lovely than frammor'u flrnt

rose,
My heart 'H knit to thino, and HVOH but £«*•

thoe;
In droaminpH of ^ladnoHH thou'rt (luncm^ with

mo,
Brave mooHuroH of madnoHR, in mmi(» Inittlu-

ficld,

Whoro armour is ringing,
And noble blood Bpringing-,
And cloven, yawn helmet, *tout hauLfirk, fuifi

shield.
BBA.TH GIVJBR i I kitm thoo*

Tho flmilo of a maidon^ oyo noon may doport ;
And light IH tlio faith of fair womau'w honrt ;
Ohangoful as light cloudu, and wayward an

wind,
Be the pafiHions that govern weak woman'*

mind.

But thy motal 'H OH trno OH itH polinh in tirfoHt!
When I!!H wax in nnmlior,
Thy lovo will not HinmlKw ;
But, starliko, bunw floroor thu <larkfit tho

night.

KMA31T aJ/A1>n«N16U! I kiMH tllWI.

My kindred have portoh'd by war or by WAVO ;
Now, ohildlo8« and Ritol<w, I lon^ for tho

grave.
When tho path of our glory in whiwlow'd in

death,
With me thou wilt dumber bolow tho brown

heath;

Thou wilt rest on my bo«om, and with it
decay;

While harps shall bo ringing,
And Scalds shall bo flinging
The deeds we havo done in our old foartoiH
day*
Sowa Grratt I I kiss thoe.

, U& 1835.

to IMG.]

TIIE WATEB! THE WATER!

1633,— TirEr COME i THE

SUMMEK MONTHS.

They como ! tlio merry summer months of

bounty, H<mg, and floworn j
Tlioy flomo I the gladnomo months thai bring

thick luattnoHH to bowers.
Up, «] >, my hoard I and walk abroad j fling

rark and caro aside ;
Rook Hilcmt hlllH, or roat thyself whoro peaceful

watorn prli<lo ;
()r, tmdornoath tlio shadow vast of patriarchal

treo,
Scan through itn loaves tho oloudloBS sky in

rapt tranquillity.

Tho grass in Hoft, its velvet touch is grateful
to tho hand ,

And, liko tho kiHH of maidon love, tho broozo
IH awoot and blond j

Tho daiHy and tho buttoroup aro nodding
oourfcoouHly ;

It Btirn thoir blood with kindest love, to bless
and welcome thoo

And mark liow with thino own thin looks—
they now aro silvery gray —

That blissful broozo in wantoning, and whis-
pering, " IJo gay J "

There IH no eland that Hails along tho oooan of

you Hlvy,
But hath itn own wing'd manners to give it

melody
Thou HOOH! then- glittering fanfl outspread, all

gloaming liko rod gold j
And hark! with shrill pipe muHioal, thoir

morry oourno thoy hold
Ood bloHH thorn all, those littlo onofl, who, far

abovo thiH earth,
Can mako a Hooff of its mean joys, and vent

a nobler mirth.

But Hoft 1 mine oar npeaught a Bound-— from

yonder wood it oamo 1
Tho Hpirit of tho dim groon blado did breathe

IIIH own glad namo j
Too, it in ho i the honnit bird, that, apart from

all hfo kind,
Slow RpollH his boadu monotonous to tho soft

western wind ;
Cuekoo 1 Cuckoo ' ho sings again, — IUH notes

are void of art ;
But Himploftt strains do soonest sound tho

deep founts of tho heart.

ftood Lord ! it is a gracious boon for thought-
crazed wight liko mo,

I*o smell again, those summer fiowors beneath
this summer tree !

To suok onoo moro in every breath their little
souls away,

And food my fancy with fond dreams of
youth's bright summer day,

Whon, rushing forth like untamed colt, the
rookloss, truant boy

Wandor'd through greenwoods all day long, a
mighty heart of joy I

I'm sadder now — I have had oauso ; but 0 1

I'm proud to think
That oaoh pure joy-fount, loved of yoro, I yot

delight to drink, —
Loaf, blossom, blado, hill, valley, stream, the

calm, unoloudod sky,
Still mmglo musio with my dreams, as in the

days gono by.
"When Hummer's loveliness and light fall round

mo dark oucl eold,
I'll boar xudood life's heaviest ourso — a heart

that hath wax'd old '

, J)w(Z 1836.

1634.— TEE WATER! THE WATER!

Tho Water ' the Water I

The joyous brook for mo,
That tuneth through tho croiot night]

Its ever-living1 glee.
Tho Water I tho Water '

Thai sleepless, merry heart,
Whioh gurgles on unstintedly,

And loveth to impart,
To all around it, some small measure
Of its own most perfect pleasure.

Tho Water ! tho Water I

Tho gontlo Htroam for me,
That gushoH from tho old gray stone

IJOHi/lo tho alclor-troo.
Tho Wator' tho Water!

That over-bubbling sprang
I lovod and look'd on wlulo a ohild,

In deepest wondering,-—
And ask'd it whonoo it came and wont,
And when its treasuroa would be spent

Tho Water I the Water I

The morry, wanton brook
That bent itself to pleasure mo,

lake mine old shepherd erook.
Tho Water I the Water!

That sang so sweet at noon,
And sweeter still all night, to win

Smilos from tho pale, proud moon,
And from the little fairy faces
That gleam in heaven's remotest places.

The Water 1 tho Water '

The dear and blessed thing,
That all day fed tho little flowers

On its banks bloBsoming.
The Water I the Water '

That murmur 'd in my oar
Hymns of a saint-like purity,

That angels well might hoar,
And whisper in the gates of heaven,
How meek a pilgrim had boon shriven.

The Water1 tho Water I
Whoro I have died salt teats,

In loneliness and friendliness,
A thing of tender years.

TTTM MIDNIGHT WTOD.

Tho Wator ! tho Wafcor '

Whore t liavo happy boon,
Ami flhowor'd upon itn bonom flowers

CJull'd from, aa«h inoadow grooii ,
And idly hoped my lifo would bo
So crown' d by love's idolatry.

Tho Wator I tho Water I

My heart yot bunw to think
How cool thy fountain sparkled forth,

For parchod lip to drink.
Tho Wator ! tho Wator 1

Of mine own native glon —
The gladsome tongue I oft have hoard,

But ne'or shall hear again,
Though fancy fills my oar for aye
With, sounds that live so far away !

The Water ! the Wator '

The mild and glaRRy wave,
Upon whose broomy banks I've long'd

To find nay silent grave.
The Wator ' the Wator '

O, blest to mo ihon art r
Thus sounding in life's Hohtudo

Tho musio of my heart,
And Ailing it, despite of sadness,
With droamwgs of departed gladness.

Tho Wator ' tho Wator I

The mournful, pensive tone
That whisper' d to my heart how soon

This weary life was done.
The Water ' the Water '

That rolTd so bright and free,
And bade me mark how boaufaf ul

Was its soul's purity ,
And how it glanced to heaven its ware,
As, wandering on, it sought its grave.

Moiherwoll.— Bom 1707, Died 1836.

1635 —THE MIDNIGHT WIND.

Mournfully ' 0, mournfully

This midnight wind doth sigh,
lake some sweet, plaintive melody

Of ages long gone by !
It speaks a tale of other years,

Of hopes that bloom'd to die,
Of sunny smiles that net in tears,

And loves that mouldering lio 1

Mournfully I O, mournfully

This midnight wind doth moan '
It stirs some chord of memory

In each dull, heavy tone ,
The voices of the much-loved dead

Seem floating thereupon —
All, all my fond heart cherish'd

Ere death had made ifc lone.

Mournfully ! 0, mournf ally
TMs midnight wind doth swo'H

With its quaint, pensive minstrelsy-—*
Hope's passionate farewell

To tho dreamy joy« of narty y<*urt«t

"Kro yot grtof H oankor fc»ll
On the heart' H bloom — ay! w*kll may 1»»ar,4

Start at that parting knell !

MoilicrwolL— Horn 1707, />m/ IH«tt.

1636.— THM GAVALTKtt'H HOW*.

A fttood ' a Htood of matohli'two

A sword of metal komio !
All O!HO to uoftlo liourtoH IH droHno,

All olno ou oarth m iiKtano.
Tho noighymgo of tho war-horwo prowilo,

Tho xowlmgo of tho drum,
The clangor of tho trumpet lowdo,

Bo RotmdoH from hoavon that comn ;
And 0 ! tho thundering pro*H« of

Whenas their war cryon nwoll,
May tole from hoavon an aaffttl bright,

And rouuo a iiond from hull.

Then mounto ! thon mounto, brave*

And don your hohnen ainaitu* •
Doatho'H oouriorH, Kama and Hdu^,^!!

UH to tho Hold agauto*
No flhrowinh toaron Hhall fill onr t»yo

When tho Hword-hilt *« in our hand «
Heart whole we'll part, and no whit Might)

For tho Fayront of tho land ;
Lot piping Hwaino, and crtwcm wight,

Thus woopo and imling ory(» ;
Our buRuioKR IH like mon to fight,

And horo-liko to dio I

17»7, Mnl IMG.

1637.— THE BLOOM HATir FliKI) TIIY
OHEKK, MAHY,

Tho bloom hath flod thy olutok, Maty,
As spruig'H rath bloHHoniH <lio ;

And saduoHH hath o'erahadowM now
Thy onoo bright oyo s

But look ! on mo tho prmtu of gruif
Still dcopur lio*
J'arowoll !

Thy lips are pale and mutt), Mary ;

Thy step IH Had and «low ;
Tho morn of gladno«H hath gone by

Thou ernt did know ;
I, too, am changed liko thoo, and vvorp

For very woe.
Parowoll

It seems as 'twere but yesterday

We were tho happiowt twain,
When murmur 'd fligliH and joyoun toai'^,

Dropping like ram,
Discoursed my love, and told how lovod /

I was again.

Farewell t

From 1780 to I860.] THE COVENANTERS' BATTLE-CHANT.

'Twos not in cold and measured phiaso

Wo gave our pannion namo ;
Scorning- such tedious eloquence,

Oar hoartB* fond flame
And lonff-impriaon'd feelings fast

In doop sobs camo.
Farewell !

Would that our lore had boon tho love

That merest worldlings know,
When passion's draught to our doom'd lips

Tarns uttor woo,
And our poor dream of happiness

Vanishes so !

Farewell '

But in the wreck of all our hopes
There's yet Homo touch of bliss,

Since fate robs not our wretchedness
Of this last kiss:

DoHpaar, and love, and madness meet
In this, in this.
Farewell!

, Lied 1836.

1638.— MY HEID IS LIKE TO EEND,
WILLIE.

My heid is like to rend, Willie —

My heart it) like to break;
I'm wearm' off my feet, Willie —

I'm dyin' for your sake 1
0, lay your cheek to mine, Willie,

Your hand on my briost-bane —
0, nay yo'll think on me, Willie,

When I am deid and gano !

It's vain to comfort mo, Willie —

Sair grief maun ha'o its will ;
But lot mo rest upon your briest?

To sab and greet my fill.
Let me sit on your knee, Willie —

Lot me shod by your hair,
And look into the face, Willie,

I never sail see maw !

I'm sittiu' on your knee, Willie,

For the last time in my life —
A pur heart-broken thing, Willie,

A mither, yet nae wife.
Ay, press your hand upon my heart.

And press it y^-T and mair— —
Or it w5l burst the silken twine,

Sae strang is its despair.

0, wao's me for the hour, Willie,

When we thegither met —
0, wae's me for the time, Willie,

That our first tryst was set r
0, wao's me for tho loanin' green

Where wo were wont to gae —
\r\* wae's me for the destinie

That cart me lure thoe sae !

O, dinna mind my words, Willie —

I downa seek to blame ;
But 0, it's hoard to livo, Willie,

And dree a world's shame 1
Hot tears are hailin' ower your cheek,

And hailin' owor your chin .
Why weep ye sae for worthlessness,

For sorrow, and for sin P

I'm weary o* this warld, Willie,

And sick wi' a1 1 see,
I oanna livo as I ha'e lived,

Or bo as I should be.
But f auld unto your heart, Willie,

The heart that still is thine— -
And kiss anoe mair the white, white cheek

To said was rod langsyno.

A stoun1 gaes through my heid, Willie —

A sair stoun' through my heart j
0, haud me up and let me kiss

Thy brow ere we twa pairt,
Anither, and anither yet ! —

How fast my life-strings break !—
Fareweel ! f areweel 1 through yon kirkyard

Step lichtly for my sake 1

The lav'rock in the lift, Willie,

That hits far ower our heid,
Will sing tho morn as memlie

Abune the olay-oauld deid ;
And this green torf we're eattin' on,

Wi' dew-draps shimmorin' sheen,
Will hap the heart that luvit thee

As warld has seldom seen.

But 0, remember mo, Willie,

On land where'er ye be —
And 0, think on the leal, leal heart,

That ne'er luvit ane but theo '
And 0, think on the oauld, oauld mools

That file my yellow hair-—
That kiss the oheok, and kiss the ohin,

Ye nerer sail kiss maix.

Mofoerwell.— Bom 1797, Diet 1830.

1639,— -TEE COVENANTERS' BATTLE-
CHANT.

To battle ' To battle !

To slaughter and strife '
For a sad, broken covenant

We barter poor life
The great God of Judah.

Shall smite with our hand,
And break down tho idols

That cumber the land.

"Uplift every voice

In prayer, and in song ;
Bemember the battlb

Is not to the strong.
Lo, the Ammonites thicken '

And onward they come,
To the vain noise of trumpet,

Of cymbal, and drum.

WHEN I BENEATH THE COLD KED 29ABTH. fl**™1"1"

Thoy hahto to tlio ouHlaught,

With liagbut and spear ;
Thoy liwt for a banquet

That 'H doathful and door.
Now horseman and footman

Swoop down tho hiU-sido ;
Thoy oomo, liko fioroo Pharaohs,

To dio in tlioir prido t

Soo, long plumo end pennon
Stream gay in tho air '

Thoy aro given us for slaughter-
Shall God's people spore P

Nay, nay ; lop them o&-~-
Friond, father, and eon

All oarth is athirst till
The good work bo dono.

Braoo tight every buckler,

And lift high tho sword !
For biting mus.t blades be

That fight for the Lord.

How saints' blood was shed.
As free as tho ram, and
Homes dosolato made !

Among thorn 1— among them '

Unbunod bones cry :
Avenge ns — or, like ns,

Faith's true martyrs die I
Hew, hew down the spoilers !

Slay on, and spare none ;
Then shout forth in gladness,

Heaven's battle is won '

Motherwell —Bow 1797, Died 1836.

1640.— WHEN I BENEATH THE COLD
BED EARTH AM* SLEEPING.

When I beneath tho oold rod earth am sleep-

ing*

Life's fever o'er,
Will there for mo bo any bright eye weeping

That I'm no more P
Will there be any heart still memory keeping

Of heretofore P

When the great winds, through leafless forests
rushing,

lake full hearts break-
When the swolTn streams, o'er crag and gully
gushing,

Sad musio make —
Will there bo one, whoso heart Despair is

Mourn for my sake P

When, the bright sun upon that spot is

With purest ray,
And the small flowers, their buds and blos-
soms twmmg,

Burst through that clay —
Will there be one still on that spot repining

Lost hopes all day P

When tho Night nhadowH, >\iih tho nia^lo
swooping

Of her dark pall,

The world and all ita manifold creation Hltwji-
ing-— •

The groat and small— •

Will there bo one, oven at that dread hour,
weeping

For mo — £ or all P

When no filar twinkloH with itn oyo of jrlory

On that low mound,
And wintry storms havo with their rulnH houry

Ite lononoflH crowtt'tl,
Will there bo thon one, vowed in nuKory'tt Hlory ,

Pacing it round P

It may be so—but this is aelfinh narrow

To a0k such mood—
A weakness and a mokodnowi, to borrow

From hearts that blood
The waitings of to-day, for what to-morrow

Shall never nood,

Lay me then gently in my narrow

Thou gentle hoart !
And, though thy boHom should with (priof bo
swelling

Let no tear start ;

It .wore in vain— for Time lUbth tonjr
knelling—

Sad one, deport I

1641.— SONG OP TIIE DANISH SKA-
KING.

Our bark ut on tho watorH doop, our bright

bladou in our hand,
Our birthright is tho oouan vttflt— wo H(x>rn tho

girdled land ;
And tho hollow wind in our mufiio bravo, and

none can bolder be
Thau the hoarao-tonguod tcmpo«t tavinff o'or

a proud and swelling ma I

Our bark IB <lancing on tho wav<w, iitt tall

Before tho gale, which holln UA now with tho

hollo of a friend;
And its prow is ahooring morrily tho upcurl'd

billow's foam,
While our hoartu, with throbbing gladnowp/

choor old Ocean OH our homo !

Our eaglo-wingH of wight wo atretoh boforo

the gallant wind,
And wo loavo ihe tame and sluggish earth a

dim, mean spook behind ;
We shoot into the untraok'd doop, att earth-

freed spirits soar,
Like stars of fire through boundless space—

through realms without a shore I

r*na 1780 to 1800.]

WE ARM BBBTHBEN A.'.

[liOBIET NlOOUC,.

Lordn of thin wido-«proad wildornoHH of waters,

wo hound froo,
Tho haughty Momenta alone depute our

No landmark doth our froodom lot, for no law

of man <uiu mcto
Tho «ky which anthem o'er our head — tho waves

which kins our foot !

Tho warrior of the laud may baok tho wild

horno, in IUH prido ;
Hut a fiercer ntood wo dauntloHH broant — tlio

untamed ocean iido ,
And a noblor tilt our bark careers, an it quells

tho Hanoy wave,
Wliilo tlio Ilomld Htorm pools o'er tho doop

tho gloricH of tho bravo.

Hurrah 1 hurrah ! tho wind in up — it blowoth

frcwli and froo,
And ovory cord, instinct with kf o, pipes loud

itH foarloHH gloo ;
Dig Bwoll tho boaom'd eoila with joy, and thoy

madly kifl» tho Hpray,
As proudly, through tho foaming surge, tho

Soa-King bears away I

7, Died 1836.

1642 — THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN

High thoughtH !
Thoy oomo and go,
Like tlio woft breathing oC a lintoning

maidon,

"While round mo flow
Tho winds, from woodtt and fioldfl with

gladnofls ladon :

'When tho oorn'i nurblo on the oar doth oomo—
Whon tho OVO'B bootlo sounds itn drowHy hum —
Whon tho ntarn, dowdropB of tho summor sky,
Watch ovor all with Roft and loving oyo —
While tho loavoR quivor
By tho lone river,
And tho quiot hoart
Prom dopthR doth call
And gamors all —
IDarth grows a shadow

Forgotten whole,
And Hoaven livou
In tho blosfiod soul '

High thoughts!
They are with mo,
Whon, doop within tho bosom of tho

forest,

Thy morning molody
Abroad into tho sky, thou, throstle,

pourost.
Whon tho young sunbeams glance among tho

trees —

Whon on tho oar comes the soft song of boos —
Whon every branch has its own favourite

bird

And songs of summer, from each thicket
heard I—

Whoro tho owl flittoth,
Whore tho roo sittoth,
And hohnoss
Scorns sleeping there j
Whilo Nature's prayer
G-oes up to heaven

In purity,
Till all is glory
And joy to mo 1

High thoughts!
Thoy aro my own
Whon I am resting on a mountain's

bosom,
And soe below mo strown

The hutB and homos whoro humble virtues

blossom ,
Whon I can trace each streamlet through the

naoatfco'w— • •

Whon I can follow ovory fitful shadow —
Whon I can watch tho winds among tho com,
And soe tho waves along tho forest borne ;
Whoro blue-bell and hoather
Are blooming together,
And far doth oomo
The Sabbath bell,
O'er wood and fell ;
I hoar tho beating

Of Nature's heart ;
Hoavon is bof oro mo-
God! Thou art!

High thoughts !
Thoy visit us
In moments whon tho soul is dun and

darkon'd;
Thoy come to bless,

After tho vanities to which wo hearken' d :
Whon weariness hath oomo upon tho spirit —
(Those hours of darkness which we all

inherit)—
Bursts there not through a glint of warm

sunshine

A winged thought, which bids us not repine p
In joy and gladness,

fift y^rpjfli fljid S8idjDL6S8

Come signs and tokoiiR ;

Life's angel brings

Upon its wings
Those bright coznmunings

Tho soul doth keep —
Those thoughts of heaven
' So pure and doop !

Eobort Nicoll—Bom 1814, Died 1837

1643.— -WB AiyBi BKETEDBEN A*.

A happy bit hame this auld world wotdd be,
If men, when they're here, could make shift to

agree,

An1 ilk said to hig neighbour, in cotta^o an* ha' ,
" Oomo, gi'e me your hand — wo are brethren

<i* "

a' 74*

BOUKRT NlCOLL.]

WILD FLOWERS.

PJGUI on,—

I kon na why ano wi' anithor should fight,
Whon to 'groe would make & body cosio an'

right,
When man moots wi' man, 'tis the best way

ava,
To say, " Gi'e me your hand— wo arc brethren

a1."

My coat is a coarse ane, an* yours may bo fine,
Aad I maun drink water, while you may drink

wine;
But we baith ha'o a leal heart, unspotted to

ehaw:
Sae gi'e me your hand — we are brethren a'.

The knave ye would scorn, the unfaithfu*

deride;
Te would stand like a rook, wi' tho truth on

your side ;
Sae would I, an7 nought else would I value a

straw,
Then gi'e me your hand — we aro brethren a'.

Te would scorn to do f ausely by woman or

man;

I hand by the right aye, as weol as I can ;
We are ane in our joys, our ^ffoctions, an' a' ;
Come, gi'e me your hand — we are brethren a'.

Tour mother has lo'ed you as mithors canlo'o ;
An' mine has done for me what xnifchera can

do;
We are ane high an' laigh, an' we shouldna bo

twa:
Sae gi'e me your hand— wo are brethren a'.

We lore the same simmer day, sonny and fair ;
Hame ' oh, how we love it, an' a' that are

there!
Frae the pure air of heaven tho same life we

draw —
Come, gi'e mo your hand — we are brethren a*.

Frail Bhalrim' auld ago will soon come o'er us

baitb.

An' creeping aJang at his back will be death;
Syne into the same mithcr-yird wo will fa'
Come, gi'e mo your hand— we aro brethren a',

Robert tftoZL— Jfom 1814, DM 1837.

1644.— WILD FLOWEBS.

Beautiful children of the woods and fields !
That bloom by mountain streamlets 'mid

the heather,
Or into clusters, 'neath the hazels,

gather,
Or where by hoary rooks you make your

bieldfl,

And' sweetly flourish on through summer
weather:—

I love ye all!

Beautiful flowers ! to mo ye frcfihor worn
From the Almighty hand that fanhinnM all,
Than thono that flouribh by & gutUm-wall ,
And I can imago you, an in a dmam,
Fair, modoat maiden*, nurwsd in ham loth
small :-—

I lovo yo all t

Beautiful gems ! that on the brow of Garth
Aro fiz'd, OH in a quo<»nly diodmn ;
Though lowly yo, and mont without a nnmi*,
Toung hearts rojoioo to H«O your Imdn ruim*

forth,

As light erowhilo into ilia world «uuna :~
I lovo yo all t

Beautiful things ye aro, whero'or yo grow 1
The wild red roao— tho gpeedwuU'ti

Our own bluebell— tho daiuy, thai doth

rise

Wherever sunbeams fall or wind* do blow t
And thousands more, of bloHHod form* and
dyes.-

I love yo all I

Beautiful nuralinffs of tho oariy dc»w !
Fann'd in your lovolino««, by owry bwostis
And shaded o'er by grnon and urohinff

trees;

I often wiflh that I wore one of you,
Dwelling afar upon the groiuty IGOR :—
I love yo all !

Beautiful watchorw ! day and night yo wnlco f
Tho evening wtar grown dim and fuilm

away,
And morning comoB and goon, and tlxon the

day

Within the arum of night it* WHt dof,h tnkfl j
But yo are watchful wkoronoo'or wc»
stray: —

T lovo yo all !

Beautiful objects of tho wiid-boe' * lovo I
Tho wil&bird joyH your oponinjp Moom t<»

see,

And in your native wood* and wild* to bo.
All hearts, to Nature true, yo utrnijjoly movo ;
To aro so panning fair— MO potming f ruo ;—
1 love yo all !

Beautiful ohildron of tho glon and doll—
The dingle d0op-~tho moorland

wide,

And of toe tnoft«y f ountain»8
Te o er my heart havo thrown a lovosomo

spell;

And, though tho worldling, scorning, may
deride :—

I love ye all l
Holer* NicoH—Morn, 1814, Mod 1837.

f Vr> ml 780 to 1866.]

THE EXHJB'S SONG.

[BOB3DBT GUJ

1645 —DEATH.

The dew is on the trammer's greenest grass,
Through which tho modest daisy blushing

poopn ;

Tho gentle wind that Hko a ghost doth pass,
A waving Hhadow on tho corn-field keeps ;
But I, who love thorn all, shall never be
Again among the woods, or on the moorland
lea!

Tho sun shines sweetly— sweeter may it

shine !—

Bless' d IB tho brightness of a summer day ;

It ohoerfl lono hearts ; and why should I repine,

Although among green fields I cannot stray I

Woods ! I have grown, since last I hoard you

wave,

Familiar with death, and neighbour to the
grave !

Those words have shaken mighty human

0oulg —

Like a sepulchre's ooho drear they sound—
E'en as tho owl's wild whoop at midnight rolls

The ivied remnants of old ruins round.
Tot wherefore tremble P Can the soul dooay P
Or that which thinks and fools, in aught e'er
fade away P

Are there not aspirationH in each heart
After a bettor, bughtor world than this ?

IiongmgH for beings nobloi m each part —
ThuigH more exalted — stoop'd in deeper

blLBB?

Who gave UH those ? What are they P Soul,

in thoo
The bud is budding now for immortality !

Death comes to take me whore I long to bo ;
Ono pang, and bright blooms tho immortal

flower;
Death comes to lead me from mortality,

To lands which know not one unhappy hour;
I have a hope, a faith — from sorrow here
I'm led by Death away — why should I start
and foarP

Jf I have loved tho forest and the field,
Can I not love them deeper, better there P

If all that Power hath made, to me doth yield
Something of good and beauty — something
fair —

Freed from tho grossnoss of mortality,

May I not love them all, and better all onjoyP

A change from woe to joy — from earth to

heaven,
Death gives mo this — it loads mo calmly

where

The souls that long ago from mine were riven
Hay moot again I Death answers many a

prayer.
Bright day, shine on ' be glad : days brighter

far

Are stretch* d before my eyes than those of
mortalH are 1

Jlob&rt Nicoll.—£orn 1814, DM 1837.

1646.— OT THE DATS 0'

In the days o' langsyne, when we oarlos wore

young,

An* nao foreign fashions among us had sprung ;
When we made our ain bannocks, and brew'd

our awyill,
An' were olad frae the sheep that gaed white

on the lull;
0 1 the thocht o' thao days gars my auld heart

aye fill!

In the days o' langsyne wo were happy and free,
Proud lords on the land, and kings on the sea 1
To our foes we were fierce, to our friends we

wore kind,
An* where battle raged loudest, you ever did

find
The banner of Scotland float high in the wind 1

In the days o' langsyne we aye ranted and sang
By the warm ingle side, or the wild braes

amang :
Our lads busk'd braw, and oux lasses look'd

An1 the sun on our mountains seom'd ever to

shine;
0 1 where is the Scotland o' bonnie langsyne P

In the days o' langsyne ilka glen had its tale,
Sweet voices were hoard in ilk breath o' the gale;
An' ilka wee burn had a sang o' its am,
As it trotted alang through the valley or plain ;
Shall wo e'er hear the music o' streamlets

In the days o' langayno there wero feasting

and gloe,

Wi' pride in ilk: heart, and joy in ilk ee;
And the auld, 'mang the nappy, their eild

seem'd to tyne,
It was your stoop the nioht, and the morn

'twas mine:
0! tho days o' langsyne— 01 the days o' long-

syne

Robert CMJill<m.—Born 1814, Died 1887.

1647.— THE EXILE'S SONGK

Oh 1 why left I my hame P

Why did I cross the deep P
Oh' why left I the land

Where my forefathers sleep ?
I sigh for Scotia's shore,

And I gaze across the sea,
But I cauna get a blink

0* my am countne 1

The palm-tree waveth high,

And fair the myrtle springs;
And, to the Indian maid,

The bulbul sweetly sings.
But I donna see the broom

Wi' its tassels on the lea,
Nor hear tho lintie's sang

O' my flfa countrio !

TUB HILLS 0' GALLOWA'.

- n

Ob. ' hero no Sabbath boll

Awakes tho Sabbath morn,
Kor wonff of rouporH licartl

Airuinpr tho yellow aura .
For tlio tyrant' w voico is horo,

And tho wool of ulavorio ;
But tho nun of frooclom ahmos

In my ain couutno !

There's a hope for every woo,

And a balm for every pain ;
Bat tho first joys o* our hoart

Come never back again.
There's a* track upon tho deep

And a path across tho sea j
But the weary ne'er return

To their ain eountrio '
JBotai GrtJillw.—Boni 1814, Died 1837.

1648.— THE HILLS 0' GALLOWA'.
Among the birks sao blitho and gay,

I met my Julia homeward gaun ;
Tho lintios ohontit on tho spray,

Tho lammios loupit on the lawn ;
On ilka liowm tlio sward was mawn,

The braes m' gowans buskit bra.w,
And gloamin's plaid o' gray wan tkeawn

Out owre the hills o* Gallowa'.

Wi' music wild the woodlands rang,

And fragranoo wing'd alang the lea,
As down wo sat the flowers amang,

Upon the banks o' stately Deo.
My Julia's arms onoiroled me,

And saftly slade the hours awa':
Till dawin ooost a glimmonn' oo

Upon the hills o' OaUowa'.

It isna owson, sheep, and kyo,

It isna gowd, it isna gear,
This Hfted co wad hao, quoth I,

Tho world's drumho gloom to ohoor
But gi'e to mo my Julia doar,

To powers wha row this yirthon ba',
And 0 ' sae blithe through life Til steer,

Amang tho hills o' GtaUowa'*

Whan gloamin' daunors up tho hill,

And our gudeman oa's hamo tho yowes,
Wi' her I'll trace the mossy rill

That owro tho mtur meandering rowH ;
Or, tint amang the soroggy knowos,

My bixkin pipe Til sweetly blaw,
And sing the streams, the straths, and howos,

The hills and dales o' Ghillowa'.

And when auld Scotland's hoalthy hills,

Her rural nymphs and joyous swains,
Her flowery wilds and wimpling rills,

Awake nae mair my canty strains ;
Whore friendship dwells and freedom reigns,

Whare heather bloomsand muizcooks craw,
O £ dig my grave, and hide my bones

A-ma-ng ^e Tiiiig o' Gallowa*.

Thama* Oiww^7uw»r-J5oHil8 ? Died 1834.

1640.— LUCV»H FWTTIN".

'Twas whon tlie wan loaf fmn th« birk-i,n«n

was fa' in,
And MurtimnoH <lo\vio hod wound nj> ilw

yoar,
That Lnoy rowod up lu»r woo ki«t wf her n'

in't,
And loft hor anlrl maiHtor and wibcmrB ^n<»

door.

For Lncy lnwl mtrvcd i* Uio fj(m a1 ihn l
Sho oain tUoro aforo th(» hlootn <»am on

pea;
An or|)han wa» nhn, and ih((y hwl

till hor,

Suro that waH tho tiling broi*ht ihn t<*at to
hor eo.

Sho gaod by tho Htablo whcro Jawlo vrtt«

Bioht Hair waB hiH kind huatt hor flittin1

to see ;
"Faro ye wool, Laoyl*' quo' Jamio, nadrutt

in;

Tho gatliovm' toarn trioklod f unt frao liw oo.
As down tho burn-Hide »ho gtw'tl nlow wi* hor

flittin',
" Pare yo wool, Luoy I " wo« ilka MriT*

sang;
Sho heard tho oraw fiayiu't, high on tho trwn

sittin',

And Robin WOK ohirpin't tho brown lmv<^
amang.

c< Oh 1 what in't that pita my pnir heart in a.

flutter?
And what gar** tho team oom» HAO f nwt to

my ooP
If I wtuma ottlocl to bo ony bnitor,

Then what garn mo wiHh ony Ixttitir f o bo p
I'm just like a laminio that IOH<»H it« niithor;
Nao mithor or frion<l tlic imir lummio can

soo;

I fear I hao tint my pair luuirt a'tlwgitlior,
ITao wondor tho tour fa'K Hao fiutt frao my oo.

Wi' the roHt o' my olooH 1 luw* rowotl up tho

nbbon,

Tho bonnio blti» ribbon that Jatni(» goo mo $
Tostroon, when ho goo mo't, and wtw I won

sabbin',

I'll noror forgot tho wan blink o' liln oo.
Though now ho «aid nootlihitt but " B'aro yo

wool, Luoy!'*
It made mo I noither could Hpoak, hoar, nor

800 »

Ho oouldna say mair but junt, " Faro yo wool.

Luoy I"
Tot that I will mind till tho <lay that X (loo,

Tho lamb likos tho gowan wi' dovr when it's

droukit;
Tho haro likofl tho broko and tho braird on

tho loa ;
But Luay likow Jamio;— »ho turnM and she

lookit,

Sho ifxooht the doar plac« »ho wad noror
mair see.

TICK BROWNLj! OF BLJEDNOClf.

[W NICHOLSON.

All, wwl may young Jamio gang do WIG and

And vwl may lio groot on tlio lank o' tho

burn !
For bonnio swoot Luoy, nao gontlo and poor-

eauld in hor gravo, and will novor
return !

Willtwn LMlm.—Boyn 1810,

1650.— THE BEOWNIE OF BIJRDNOCH.

Thoro cam a strange wight to our town-on',
An' tho flout a body did him ken ,
Ho tirlod ua lung, but ho glided ben
Wi1 a droary, dreary htun.

IIiH faoo did glow liko tho glow o' tho west,
When tho drumly olond han it half o'eroast ;
Or tho struggling moon whoa she's ROIT dia-
trout,
0, sirs I 'twas Aiken-drum,

I trow tho hauldost Htood aback,

"WY a gapo an' a glower till thoix lugs did

AH tho Hlmpc>]c*HH phantom mum'linp; npak —
IItw> yo wark for Aikon-drum P

(> ! had yo won tho bairns' fright,

AH thoy utarod at this wild and xmyirthly

wight ;
AB they nkulkit in 'twoon tho dark and tho

hght,
And granod out, Aikon-drtim !

Tho blank dog growling oowor'd his tail,
TUo laMHio Hwarfd, loot fa' tho pail;
Itob'K liuglo brak OH ho mou't tho flail,
At tho Bight o* Aikou-drum.

hifl matted hoad on his broant did roflt,
A lang bluo board wan'or'd down liko a vest j
But tho f^laro o' IIIH oo hath noo bard oxprout,
Kor tho HkimoK o' A ikon-drum.

"Konn* his hairy form thoro was naothing soon
But aphilabog o' tho ranhofl groon,
An1 hifl knotted knoon play'd ayo knoit
botwoon— •
What a flight was Aikon-drum !

On hfo wauehio arms throo claws did moot,
AH thoy trail' d on tho gmn' by his taoloss

foot ;

£!fon tho auld gndoman himfiol* did swoat,
To look at Aikon-drum.

But ho drew a score, hunRol' did sain,
Tho auld wif o tnod, but hor tonguo was gano ,
While tho young ano olosor olasp'd hor woan,
And turn'd frae Aikon-dium.

But tho canny auld wife cam till hex breath,
And sho doom'd the Biblo might ward aff

soaith,

Bo it bonghoo, boglo, ghaint, or wraith —
But it jfoitr'd na Aikou-drum.

" His pronon.00 protoot us ' " quoth tlie auld

gudomau ,
" What wad yo, wharo won ye, by sea or by

lan'P
I conjuro yo — speak— by tho bout in my

han'J"
"What a grane ga'o Aiken-^rum 1

" I litod in a Ian' wlioro wo saw nao sky,
I dwalt m a spot \vhoro a burn nns no by ;
But I'BO dwull now wi* you if yo hko to
try —
Hao yo wark for Aikon-dram ?

FU shiol a* your sheep i' tho naonun' sune,
I'll borry your orap by tho light o* tho moon,
An/ ba tho bairns wi' an unkonn'd tune,
If yo'U keop puir Aiken-drum.

I'll loup tho linn when yo oanna wade,
I'll kirn tho kirn, an' Til turn tho bread 5
An' tho wildest filly that ovor ran roclo,
I'HC tamo't," quoth Aikon-drum.

ct To woat tho tod frao tho flock on tho fell,
To gatlior tho dew frao tho hoathor boll,
An' to look at xny face in your clear crystal
woll,
Might gi'o ploasuro to Aikon-dxum.

I'so seek nao guids, goar, bond, nor mark ;
I two nao botldin', tihoon, nor sark ,*
But a cogfu' o* broso 'twoon the lig-hi an*
dork
Is the wago o' Aikon-drum."

Quoth tho wylio auld wife, "The thing speaks

wool ?
Our workers aro scant — wo hoo routh o'

moal;

Gif he'll do as ho says— bo ho man, bo ho
doil—

Wow 1 we'll try this Aikon-drum."

But tho wonohoa skdrlod, u He's no bo horo r
His eldritch look gars UR swarf wi' fear ;
An' tho foint a ano will the houao oomo near,
If they think but o' Aikon-drum."

" Puir olipmalibbors ' ye hao little wit j
Is'ima hallo wmas now, an' tho crap out yot P"
Sae sho silonood thorn a' wi' a stamp o' her
fit—
" Sit yer wa's down, Aiken-drum."

BottD.' a' that side what wark was duno

By tho streamer's gleam, or tho glance o' tho

moon;

A word, or a wish, an' the brownie cam suno,
Sae helpfu' was Aikon-dnun.

JOSEPH TRAIN.]

On Blednooh banks, an' on crystal Croo,
For mony a day a toii'd wiffht was ho ;
While the bainia play'd harmloHH roun* his
knoo,
Sao social was Aikon-drum.

But a now-mado wife, fu* o' frippish froaks,
Fond o* a1 things f oat for tho fivo firtit wooks,
Laid a mouldy pair o* hor am man's brooks
By tho broso o1 Aikon-drum.

lot the loarnod dooido when thoy convene,
"What spell was him an* tho breeka between ;
For frae that day forth ho was nae niair
aeon,
An' sair-missed was Aiken-drum.

He was heard by a herd gaun by the Thriovo,
Crying, "Lang, lang now may I greet an'

grieve ;

For, alas ! I hae gotten baith foo an' loavo —
0 r Inokless Aiken-drum I "

Awa, ye wrangling sceptic tribe,
Wi* your pros an* your cons wad yo deoido
'Gtun the sponaiblo voice o' a halo country
side,
On the foots 'bout Alton-dram P

Though the " Browmo o' Blednooh " lang bo

gano,

The mark o1 his feet's left on mony a stane j
An' mony a wife an' mony a wean
Tell the feats o' Aiken-drum.

E'en now, light loons that jibe an* sneer
At spiritual guests an' a* sic gear,
At the Olashnoch mill hae swat wi' fear.
An* look'd roun' for Aiken-drum.

An' guidly folks hae gotten a fright,

When the moon was set, an' the stars giod

nae light,
At the roaring linn, in tho howo o' tho night,

Wi' sughs like Aikon-drum

WMtom Nt,cliol*on.—Bom 1805.

Bight far a-fioT I fronly

'Gain«t mony an outlaucliHh loon ;
An* wV my good rloymoro I'va brew

Mony a beardy birkio down j
Whilo I had pith to wiold it roun*,

In battlo I ne'er mot wi* uno
Could danton mo, for Untiiin'n crown,

To do Iho samo thing <»'i»r

Although I'm marching lifo'H In .t '

Wi' HOJTOW crowded roun' my brow ;
An* though tho knajwaok o' auM afro

HangH heavy on my Hhoultlcni u«»w
Yot rocollootion, over now,

Dischargos a' my toil and juvin,
When fanoy fifpiroH in my vi<»w

Tho pleasant auld thing o'or a^ain.

Joseph Traln.~-lhrn 1810.

1652.— THM CAMERONIANTH DKKAM,

In a dream of tho ni^ht t wtuf waft IM! away
To the muirland of miHt where tho martyr,*

lay;
Whore Cameron's ttword and liin ihbltt am

seen,
Engraved on tho stono whoro tlui lu^athor

giowb groon*

'Twas a dream of thono agog of darknnnH and

blood,
When tho minintor'H homu WOH tho nunint^in

and wood ,
When in Wollwood'H dark valtoy tho Hinntiatil

WiJ drums and pipes tho daohan rang,

I left my goats to wander wxdo ;
And e'en as fast as I could bang,

I bicker'd down the mountain sido.
My hazel rung and haslook plaid

Awa' I flang wi' cauld disdain,
Besolved I would nae longer bido

To do the auld thing o'er again.

Ye barons bold, whose turrets rise

Aboon the wild woods white wi' snaw,
I trow the laddies ye may prize,

Wha fight your battles far awa'.
Wi' them to stan', wi' them to fa',

Courageously I cross'd tho main ;
To see, fo- Caledonia,

The auld thing weel done o'er again.

All bloody and torn, 'montf tho !u*athf<r wan
lying.

'Twas morning , and Bumuior'M younsr mm from

tho cant
j Lay in loving ropouo on tho graon mountaiu'H

breast ;
On Wardlaw and Cainitablo tho cifiar Khi

dew
Ghston'd thore 'mong thfl heath bolln au<l

mountain floworH hluo*

And far up in hoavon, near tho whlto nunny

cloud,

The song of tho lark watt nioloctlonB and loud,
And in Glenmuir'H wild nolitudo, lougthon'd

and deep,
Wore tho whittling of plovetH and bloating

of sheep.

And Wollwood's awoot valleyH breathed munio

and gladness,
The fronh meadow bloomn liung in boauty and

redness ;

Its daughters were happy to hail tho roturning,
And drink tho delights of July'* uwwt

morning*

From 1780 to 1800.]

MOUNTAIN CHILDREN.

[MABT HOWITT.

But, oil ' thorc wore hearts cherish* d fur othor

foolingH,

lllnmod by tho light of prophetic rovoalinga,
'Who drank from tho scenery of beauty bat

Harrow,
For they know that thoir blood would bodow

it to-morrow.

'Twos tho fow faithful ones who with Cameron

wero lying,
Conceal' d 'mong tho miat whorotho hoathfowl

was crying,
For tho hornomon of EorlHhall around thorn

woro hovering)
And thoir bridlo roina rung through tho thin

miaty covering.

Thoir fanes grow palo, and thoir swords wore
unrthctvthod,

But tho vengeance that darken' d their brow
WOH uubroathod ;

'With eyes tum'd to heaven in calm resig-
nation}

They sung their last song to tho God of Sal-
vation.

The hills with tho deep, mournful musio were

ringing,

Tho ourlow and plover in concert woro singing ;
But tho melody died 'mid derwion and

laughter,
AH tho howt of ungodly raHhod on to tho

slaughter.

Though in mist and in darkness and fire they

woro shrouded,
Yot the HOU!H of tho righteous wero 'calm and

unolouded,
Thoir dark eyes flash' d lightning, as, firm and

unbending,
They stood like tho rook which tho thunder

is rending*

The muRkots were flashing, tho blue swords

woro gloaming,
The holmcts wore eleft, and the rod blood was

The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was

rolling,
When in Wollwood's dark muirlands the

mighty wore falling.

When tho righteous had fallen, and tho combat

was ended,
A chariot of fire through tho dark cloud

descended ;

Its drivers were angels on horses of whiteness,
And its burning wheels turn'd on axles of

brightness.

A seraph unfolded it* doors bright and shining,
All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining,
And the souls that came forth, out of groat

tribulation,
Have mounted the chariots and steeds of

salvation.

On tho aroh of the rainbow the chariot is

gliding,
Through the path of tho thunder the horsomon

are riding;
Glide swiftly, bright spirits! the prao is

before ye,
A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory '

James Hislop.—Soirn 1708, Died 1827.

1653 —MOUNTAIN CHILDREN,

Dwellers by lake and lull 1
Merry companions of the bird and bee '

Go gladly forth and drink of joy your fill,
With unconstrained step and spirits free !

No crowd impedes your way,
No oity wall impedes your further bounds ;
Where tho wild flock can wonder, ye may

stray,

The long day through, 'mid summer sights
and sounds.

The sunshine and the flowers,
And tho old trees that cast a solemn shade;
Tho pleasant evening, the fresh dewy

Hours,

And the green mils whereon your fathers
play'd.

The gray and ancient peaks
Bound which tho silent elouds hang day and
night;

And the low voice of water as it makes,
Like a glad creature, murmurings of delight.

These are your joys ! Go forth —
Give your hearts up unto their mighty power ;

For in this spirit God has clothed the

earth,
And spcakoth solemnly from tree and flower.

The voice of hidden rills
Its quiet way into your spirits finds ;

And awfully the everlasting hills
Address you in thoir many-toned winds.

Te sit upon the earth
Twining its flowers, and shouting fall of gloo ;

And a pure mighty influence, 'mid your

mirth,
Moulds your unconscious spirits silently.

Hence is it that the lands
Of storm and mountain have the noblest

sons;
Whom the world reverences. Tho pafo&ri;

bands
Woro of the hills like you, yo little onos I

Children of pleasant song
Are taught within tho mountain solitudes ;

For hoary legends to your wilds belong,
And yours are haunts where inspiration broods.

MAUY HOWITT 1

TICK FAIBIKS OF CALDON-LOW.

[Sr.VKNTii Piw

Thou no forth-~oarth and Hky
To you ara tributary , joyw aro spread

Profuttoly, like tho muununr flowors that

ho

In tho tfroon path, beneath your gamesome
tread!

J/r*M»iW.— jBow 1804

1654.— -THE PAJKDBS OF THE OALDON-
LOW.~- -A MIDSTTMIOB LEGEND.

*« And whoro have you been, my Mary,
And where have you been from me P "

*Tve been, to the top of the Caldon-Low,
The Midsummer night to soo 1 **

*' And what did you see, my Mary,

AIL up on the Caldon-Low P "
" I saw the blithe sunshine como down,

And I saw the merry winds blow."

" And what did you hoar, my Mary,

All up on tho Caldon-Hill ? "
" I heard tho drops of tho water made,

And the green corn ears to fill."

*6 Oh, tell me all, my Mary-
All, all that ever you know ;

For you must have soon the fairies,
9Last night on the Caldon-Low,"

" Then take me on your knee, mother,

And listen, mother of mine
A hundred fairies danced last night,

And the harpers they were nine.

And merry was tho glee of tho harp-strings,
And their dancing foot so small ;

But, oh, the sound of their talking
Was merrier far than all ' "

" And what wore the words, my Mary,

That you did hoar them Bay ? "
" I'll toll you all, my mother —

But lot mo have my way I

And some they play'd with tho water,

And rolTd it down tho hill :
c And this,' they said, ' shall speedily turn

The poor old miller's mill ,

For there has been no water

Ever since tho first of May ;
And 81 busy man php-il tho miller bo

By tho dawning of the day I

Oh, the miller, how ho will laugh,
"When he sees tho mill-dam rise !

The jolly old miller, how ho will laugh,
Till the tears fill both his eyos ! '

And some they seized the little winds,

That aotinded over the hill,
And each put a horn into his mouth,

And blew BO sharp and shrill : —

'And there,' said tJiny, ' the* im«rry wind/i

Away from ovnry horn ;
And thoHo ftliall clear tho mildow dank

From tho blind old widow' 4 corn :

Oh, tho poor, blind old widow —
Though H!IO lias bwu blind .<o

Sho'llbo merry onnuuh wln»n t Iw mild»»w'rt
And iho corn htaitdtt i ttiV and «-(tntn«y f '

And somo ihoy bronchi iho brown Hni'M'i
And fluiiR- it down from U»» Lou —

* And this,' wiid ihcy, *l»y tl»« nmri <\
In tho woavor'n c»rwft nhall ffn»w 1

Oh, Iho poor, lamo woivwr,

How will ho lau^li otttri^hii,
When ho HOM hirt dwiudlinjjc Hax-Pold

All full of flowow by ni^ht I '

And then upftpoko a browtiits
With a long board on hix <*hin~*»

c I havo fipun np all tho tow,4 wud ho,
' And I want HOUIO more to npi».

IVo gpnn a piooo of hmiipcn <»loih,
And T want to wpin atiotln»r -

A little Hho(»i for Mary'ti n««d,
And an apron for h<»r ity»<,hcr ! *

And with tluit I could not lu»Ip I nit
And T laugh'd out loud n,nd fr^» ;

And thon on tho top of tho t 'aldon-t/ow,
Thoro was no ono loft but inc.

And all, on tho top of tho
Tho miHtft woro cold and # ray,

And nothing I Haw but the RIOM* <*
That round about mo lay.

But, as I oamo down from tho hill-top,

I hoard, afar l)ol<t\v,
How busy tho jolly millor was,

And how merry tho wheel did jfo !

And I poop'cl into tli(j widow* w
And, Huro enough, was HCCU

Tho yollow GOTH of tho mildmvM
All standing wtiff aud wwn.

And down by tho w(«iv<»r'n croft J
To fioo if tho flax woro hi^h ;

But I Haw tho woavor at bin
With the good now« in liin

Now, thiw is all 1 hoard, niotlu*r,

And all that CdidHmi;
So, prithoo, mafco my lm<lt mother,

For I'm tirod ad I can bo 1 M

Mary

.'—lfa?li IHOt.

X6SJ.— TIIK MONKKY,

Monkey, Httlo merry f<tllow,
Thou art Natural Pnurthiuollo ;
Full of fun OH Puak oou1<i l>o—
Harlequin might loam of th<*(» !

17RO

THE BROOM FLOWKft.

[MARY JETowirr.

In tho very urk, no rlonbt,
You wont frolicking about ;
Never kouphiff la your mind
Drowiu'd monkeys loft boliiiul I

Haw you 110 traditions— «uono,
Of iho court of Solomon P
No memorial how yo wont
With Prinoo Hiram's ai moment '•*

Look now at him ' — Hlyly poop ,
Ho protomlfl ho is asleep '
VaHt a*doop upon his bod,
With IUH arm bonoath lus hoad.

Now that posture IB not right,
And ho is not settled qmto ,
Thoro ! that's bottor than before—-
And tho knavo protends to snoro '

Ha ! ho IH not half osloop :
Soo, ho nlyly takes a poop.
Monkey, though your oyos woro shut,
You oould BOO thie httlo nut.

Tou Hhall havo it, pigmy brother I
What, another 1 and another !
Nay, your ohooka aro Hko a sook —
Sit down, and begin to oraok.

Thoro tho littlo anoiont man
CiookH IIH fast an oraok ho can r
Now good-by, you morry follow,
Naturo'H primoat Punchinello

Mary JLomll.—Bo<rn 1804,

1656.— LITTLE STKB3AJMCS,

littlo fltroams aro light and shadow,
Mowing through tho pasture meadow,
Flowing by tho greon wayside,
Through tho forest dim and wide,
Through tho hamlot Btill and small— -
By tho cottage, by tho hall,
By tho ruin'd abboy still ;
Turning horo and thoro a mill,
Roaring tributo to tho river—*
Littlo streams, I lore you over.

Summer music IB thoro flowing—
Flowering plants m them aro growing;
Happy life is in thorn all,
Creatures innocent and small ;
Littlo birds come down to driuk,
FoarloHH of their loafy brink ;
Noble troofl beside thorn grow,
Glooming them with branches lew;
And between, tho gunshino, glancing,
In their little waves, is dancing.

Little streams hare flowers a many,
Beautiful and fair as any ;
Typha strong, and green, bur-rood;
Willow-herb, with cotton-Reed;
Arrow-hoad, with eye of jot ;
And the water- violet.

Thoro tho flowering-mull you moot,
And tho plumy moadow-Hwcot ,
And, in placon doop and HtiUy,
Marblo-hko, tho water-lily.

Littlo stroams, their voices ohoory,

Sound forth welcomes to the weary,

Flowing on from day to day,

Without Htint iind without stay ,

Horo, upon thoir flowory bank,

In tho old timo pilgrims drank —

Hero havo ROOU, as now, pass by,

King-fisher, and dragon-fly ,

Those bright things that havo their dwelling,

Whoro tho littlo stroams aio welling.

Down in valleys groon and lowly,
Murmuring not and gliding slowly ,
tip in mountain-hollows wild,
Fretting like a peevish oMld ;
Through the hamlot, where all day
In their waves tho children play ;
Banning west, or running oaut,
Doing good to man and boast-
Always giving, weary never,
Little stroams, I love you over.

Mlwy Eowitt.— Bom, 1804

1657.— THE BROOM-FLOWER

0 the Broom, the yollow Broom,
Tho anoiont poot sung it,

And dear it is on summer days
To he at rest among it.

1 know the realms whore people say
The flowers have not their fellow ;

I know where they shine out like suns,
Tho crimson and tho yollow.

I know where ladies 'live enchained

In luxury's silken fetters,
And flowers as bright as glittering gems

Aro used for written letters.

But ne'er was flower eo fair as this,

In modern days or oldon ;
It groweth on its nodding atom

Like to a garland golden.

And all about my mother's door
Shine out its glittering- bushos,

And down tho glon, whore clear as light
The mountain-water gushes.

Take all the rest ; but give mo this,
And tho bird that nestles ML it ;

I love it, for it lovos the Broom —
Tho green and yellow linnet.

Well, call the rose tho quoon of flowers,
And boast of that of Sharon,

Of lilies like to marble oups,
And the golden rod of Aaron

MABY HOWITT.]

SUMMEU WOODS.

[KKVKNTH 1'Httioit. —

I care not how thow) floworw may bo

Beloved of man and woman ;
Tho Broom it IH iho flowor for mo,

That growoth on tho common.

0 tho Broom, tho yellow Broom,

Tho ancient poot sung it,
And dear it ia on Rtunmpr days

To Ho at rest among it.

Mary Hott^W.— Born 1804

WOODS.

Come ye into the summer woods ;

There entereth no annoy ;
All greenly wave the chestnut leaves,

And the earth is fall of joy.

I cannot tell you half the sights

Of beauty you may see,
The bursts of golden sunshine,

And many a shady tree.

There, lightly swung, in bowery glados,

The honey-suckles twine ;
There blooms the rose-red campion,

And the dark-blue columbine.

There grows the four-leaved plant, " true-
love,"

In some dusk woodland spot ;
There grows the enchanter's night-shade,

And the wood forget-me-not.

And many a merry bird is there,

TTnsoared by lawless men ,
The blue-winged jay, the woodpecker,

And the golden-crested wren.

Come down, and ye fehall see thorn all,

The timid and the bold ;
For their sweet life of pleasantness,

It is not to be told.

And far within that summer wood,

Among tho leaves so green,
There flows a little gurgling brook,

The brightest e'er was seen.

There come tho little gentle birds,

Without a fear of ill ,
Down to tho murmuring water's edge,

And feooly drink their £01 1

And dash about and splash about,

The merry little things ;
And look askance with briglit black eyes,

And flirt their dripping wings.

I've seen the freakish squirrels drop

Down from thoir leafy tree,
The little squirrels with the old-

Great j oy it was to me !

And down unto tho running bronk,

I've Been thorn nimbly KO ;
And tho bright water wcnmui to

A woloomo kind and low.

The noddinjgplantu they bowed

As if in heartHomo chcor ;
They spako unto thow little* thhiflp,

*« 'Ti« merry living hwo I "

Oh, how my heart ran o'or with joy !

I saw that all wa« Rood,
And how wo might glean up dolifflil

All round n«, if wo would I

And many a wcxxl-mouHO dwollotli tluw,

Beneath iho old wood Khotfo,
And all day long haft work to do,

Nor is of aught afraid.

The green ahooto grow above tUoir hand**,

And roots so fretth and fine
Beneath their f oet ; nor i» thorn fttrlfo

'Mong thorn for mine and thiiwi.

There is enough for ovwy on«,

And thoy lovingly a#r«o ;
We might learn a loMrion, all <>F UK,

Beneath tho green-wood trwn

Mary itowitt.—Horn 1801.

1659.— LITTLK CHILDMBN.

Sporting through tho fonwt wirio ;
Playinpr by tho watorwdo ;
Waadorinff o*«r tho hoaihy fttllii;
Down within tho woodlaiwi doIlH;
All among tho niountaiim wild,
Dwolloth many a littlo ohil<l .'
In tho baron'H hall of pride ;
By the poor mau'H <lull firoHido :
'Mid iho mighty, 'mid tho ntijan,
Little children may be wxm,
Like iho floworH thai HpritiK u)> fair,
Bnght and oountloKH ovory whoro 1
In tho far inloH of iho main ;
In the doHort/H lone domain $
In tho aavago mountain-glnn,
'Monpr tho inbon of uwarthy mon ;
WhorcHoo'or a foot hath #oun ;
"WTioroHoe'cr tho HUU liath Hhono
On a league of peopled ffntund,
Little children may bo found !
BlossingB on ihoin I thoy in mo
Move a kindly Hympathy,
With their wiithaN, hope*, and foar« ;
With their laughter and their teatH ;
With thoir wondor no intonw,
And tluur Btnall oxpcrionco 1
Little children, not alone
On tho wide oarth arc ye known,
'Mid its laboum and it« <sar«K,
'Mid its sufforingH and it« Hnaroit ;

if) 1808.]

MASSACRE OF TECS 3MCACPHBBSOW.

[W.

Free from sorrow, froo from strife,
In iho world of love and life,
"Whore no wilful thing- hath trod—-
In tho presence of your God,
SpotloflH, blamoloflfl, glorified —
lattlc children, ye abide !

Mwy Hewitt.— Born 1804.

1660. — OOBNFIELDJS.

When on the broath of autumn breeze,
From postures dry and brown,

GOOH floating like an idle thought
The fair white thistle-down,

0 then what joy to walk at will
Upon the golden harvest hill 1

What joy in dreamy ease to lie

Amid a field new shorn,
And see all round on 0un»lit slopes

The piled-tip stacks of corn j
And aond the fancy wandering o'er
All pleasant harvest-fields of yore.

1 feel the day— I see the field,
The quivering of the leaves,

And good old Jacob and hifl how

Binding tho yellow sheaves 3,
And at thia very hour I seem
To be with Jottoph in his dxeam.

I HOO tho fields of Bethlehem,

And reapers many a one,
Bending unto their tickles' stroke—

And Boaz looking on \
And Bnt'a, tho Moabite BO fair,
Among tho gleaners stooping there,

AgainlseoaHttlechild,

His mother's sole delight,—
God's living gift unto

.The kind good Shtmainuiito ;
To mortal pangs I see him yield,
And the lad bear him from the field.

The sun-bathed quiet of the hills,

The fields of Galileo,
That eighteen hundred years ago

Wore full of com, I see;
And tho dear Saviour takes his way
'Mid ripe oars on the Sabbath day,

0 golden fields of bonding corn,

How beautiful they sown ;
The reaper-folk, tho piled-up shoavos,

To mo aro like a dream.
The sunshine and the very air
Seem of old tune, and take mo there.

Mary JTowttt.— Born 1804.

1661, — THE DEPABTTOE OF THE
SWALLOW.

And is the swallow gono ?

Who beheld at P

Which way sailed >t?
Pare-well bode it none P

No mortal saw it go : —

But who doth hear

Its summer cheer
AsitflittethtoaaidfroP

So the freed spirit flies '

From its surrounding clay
It steals away

lake the swallow from the skies.

Whither ? wherefore doth it go P

"Tis all unknown ,

We feel alone
That a void is left below.

W\ Item Howtt.—Born 1795.

I662.—MASSACRE OF THE
MACPHEBSON.

Fhoirshon swore a feud

Against the dan M'Tavi&h—
3£arohod into thoir land

To murder and to rafish ;
For he did resolve

To extirpate the vipers,
With fonr-and-twonty men,

And fiv0-and-thirty pipers.

IX.

But when he had gone

Half-way down Strath Canaan,
Of his fighting- tail

Just three were remauoin1.
They were all he had

To back him in ta battle ;
All the rest had gone

Off to drive ta cattle.

m.

" Fery coot ! " cried Fhairshon—

" So my clan disgraced is ;
Lads, we'll need to fight

Pef ore wo touch ta peasties.
Here's Mhic-Mao-Hethusaleh.

Coming wi' his fasaals —
Gillies seventy-three,

And sixty Bhuine' wassails ! "

rv.

" Coot tay to you, sir'
Are not you ta Fhoirahon P

Was you coming here
To visit any person?

W.

THK

OF

Pi r:<m.-~

You aro a plankifiuycK Hir '

II in now wix hniulrod
Coot long yearn, and more.

Since my glon wan plundered."

V.
" Fat is tat you Hay P

Dar you cock your poavor ?
I will toaoh you, sir,

Fat IH good pohaviour I
You shall not exist

For another day more ;
I will «hoot you, sir,

Or atap you. with, my olaymoro ! "

VI.

••lamferyglad

To learn what you mention,
Since I can prevent

Any such intention."
So Mhio-Mao-Mothuaaloh

Gave some warlike howls,
Threw hiH skhian-dhu,

An' stuck it in his powols.

vn.
In this f ory way

Tied ta f aliant Fhairflhon,
"Who was always thought

A superior porson.
Fhaarahon had a son,

Who married Noah's daughter,
And nearly spoiled ta Flood

By tanking up ta water —

vm.

Which he would have done,

I at least believe it,
Had ta mixture poen

Only half Glonhvot.
This is all my tale :

Sirs, I hope 'tis now t'yo '
Here's your fery good healths,

And tomn ta whuujEy tuty '

W. E. Aytoun.—Born 1813, DM 1865.

1663— THE BUEIAL-MABOH OF
DUNDEE.

Sound the fife, and cry the slogan —

Let the pibroch shako tho air
With its wild triumphal music,

Worthy of tho freight wo boar,
Lot the ancient hills of Scotland

Hear once more tho battle-song
Swell within their glonfl and valleys

As tho clansmen march along I
Never from tho field of combat,

Never from tho deadly fray,
Was a nobler trophy carried

Than we bring with us to-day—
Never, since tho valiant Douglas

On his dauntless bosom bore

Good Kmir K»»bi»i't'» h»»,iri tiu» p

To our <h'ai* It»»il»Kimi«r' * *»h«»n* !
Lo ! wo brintf with u i tin* IMTU •-

Lo ! wo bring tho nomint'riM'f < l
CrownM OH l«vd InmcuMtiH a \i«§tnp

From tho altar of hi-< fium* ;
FrOHh aiui blooding from tln» battle

Whonoo hiH Hpirit t(n>K it.t Hi«rUt,
MidHt tlio cniHluii'jr <'hartf<» «if

And tho thmuW <>i th*« li'd
Strike, 1 Hay, tho not«»H <>

AB wo march <>*<'r »i«u»r uud I*'!1,'
Is thoro any horn will viMttun*

To bewail otir dmul l>miil«*<> '•
Lot tho wiclowH of tho traitors

Woop until tlu«ir «y«M »rt> dim I
Wail ye may full well for Kt'ottou'l

Lot none <faro to mount for him I
See 1 above hit* glorioun body

Lies tho royal baunor'H f
See ! his valiant blood in

With its orimnon and itw golrl—
See how calm lie lookn, and Rtat«ly,

Liko a wtirrior on hm hlu«»l«^
Waiting till the UuHh of morning

Breaks alon^ tho battlo-ilcM I
See — Oh, novor more, xny (uminuloH,

Shall wo HOO that folium cyu
Boddon with itfl inward %htmn;r,

As tho hour of %ht <lr<jw nl^h !
Novor shall wo hoar tho volco that,

Clearer than tho trmn}wt'* <<nH,
Bade UH ntnko for Kinft and ( 'onntry,

Bade UB win tho fl(tld, or fall I
On tho heights of Killirotuukm

Yostor-morn our army lay :
Slowly rone tlio mint In nolumiiK

From tho rivor'H brtiffitn way ;
Hoarsely roarM tho Hwolloii torrent.

And tho PaHH waM wrapt in Kl""tn,
When tho clanKuiun ro.Mti tojrolhor

From thoir lair anudHt tho brorun.
Thon wo bolted on our turUim,

And onr bonuotn ttown w«» ilrt»w,
And wo foil our broadHWinlH1 wl^cH,

And wo i»rovod tU«»u to bti truu ;
And wo pray'd tho pniyor of MoMioiM,

And wo o.riotl tho Katlu*riuK-"ry,
And wo (jlaspod tho htuitli of kin«tmm,

And wo Hworo to <lo or dio 1
Thon our loador rodo bufor*) m

On hifl war-horHo blwric aw ni^ltt—
Well tho Oamoroulan YO)>O!H

Know that cUargor in tlio fight ! —
And a ory of exultation,

From tho boardod Wflttiorw roHo ;
For wo lovod tho hmiHO of Cltwor'tm,

And wo thought of good MontroHO.
But ho raiHod hiH hand for Hilonoo—

" BolOiorB ! I have nworn a vow :
Ero tho evening «tar Ahall glihton

On Sobohalliou'M lofty brow,
Either wo Hhall rotft in triumph,

Or anothor of tho Oratxnofi
Shall liavo died in battlo-luiraofi«

For his Country and King Jatnos !

Frmn 1780 tt> 18(!C.] ^UMMONB OF THE DESTROYING AtfGEL.

Think upon tho Jtoyal Martjrr—

Think of what Inn race onduro—
Think of him whom butchers jnnrdor'd

On tho field of Magus Hair : —
By hi« floored blood 1 charge yo,

By tlio riiin'd hoarth and shrmo —
By the blighted hope* of Scotland,

By your injuries and mine —
Strike this day as if tho anvil

Lay beneath your blows tho while,
Bo thoy covenanting traitors,

Or tho brood of {also Argylo i
Strike ! and drivo tho trembling robols

Backwards o'or tho stormy Forth;
Lot thorn toll thoir palo Convention

How thoy farod within tho North.
Lot thorn toll that Higliland honour

IB not to bo bought nor sold,
That wo acorn thoir prince's anger

As wo loatho his foreign gold.
Strike ! and whon the fight in over,

If yo look in vain for mo,
Where tho dead are lying thickest,

Search for Mm that was Dundee ! "

Loudly then tho hills re-echoed

With our answer to his call,
But a deeper echo sounded

Tn tho bottoms of us all.
For tho lands of wide Broadalbane,

Not a man who hoard him speak
Would that day httvo loft iho battle.

Burning oyo and flushing cheek
Told tho olanRmon'fl toco emotion,

And thoy harder drew thoir breath ;
For thoir souls wore strong within them,

Stronger than tho grasp of death.
Soon we hoard a challenge-trumpet

Sounding in tho Pass below,
And tho distant tramp of horses,

And tho voices of tho foe .
Down wo crouoh'd amid tho bracken,

Till tho Lowland ranks drew near,
Panting like tho hounds in summer,

When thoy scent tho stately door.
From the dark defile emerging,

Next wo saw tho squadrons come,
Leslie's foot and Levon's troopers

Marching to tho tack of drum ;
Through the scatter' d wood of birches,

O'or tho broken ground and hoath,
Wound tho long battalion slowly,

Till thoy gain'd the plain beneath ;
Then we bounded from our covert. —

Judge how look'd the Saxons then,
When they saw the rugged mountain

Start to life with armcM men !
Like a tempest down tho ridges

Swept the hurricane of steel,
Boso tho slogan of Maodonald—

Flash' d the broadsword of Loohiol I
Vainly sped the withering volley

'Mongst tho foremost of our band—-
On we pour'd until we met them,

Foot to foot, and hand to hand.

Horao and man wont down like drift-wood

When tho floods are black at Yule,
And thoir oaioaaaos are whirling

In the Garry's deepest pool.
Horse and man wont down before us—

Living foo there tarried none
On the field of Kiffieorankio,

When that stubborn fight was done !

And tho evening star was

On Sohohallion's distant head,
Whon we wiped our bloody broadswords,

And returned to count the doad.
Thoro wo found him gash'd and gory,

Stretoh'd upon tho cumber' d plain,
As he told us whoro to seek him,

In tho thickest of the slain.
And a smile was on his visage,

For within his dying ear
Peal'd the joyful note of triumph,

And the clansmen's clamorous oheer;
So, amidst tho battle's thunder, ,

Shot, and stool, and scorching flame,
In the glory of his manhood

Pass'd the spirit of the Graeme '
Open wide tho vaults of Atholl,

Whore tho bones of heroes rest —
Open wide tho hallow'd portals

To receive another guest 1
Last of Soots, and last of freemen—

Last of all that dauntless race,
Who would rather die unsullied

Than outlive tho land's disgrace !
0 thou lion-hearted warrior I

Book not of the after-time •
Honour may bo doom'd dishonour,

Loyalty bo caJl'd a crime.
Sloop in poaoe with kindred ashes

Of the noble and the true, *
Hands that never fail'd their country,

Hearts that never baseness knew.
Sleep I — and tiU the latest trumpet

Wakes the doad from earth and sea,
Scotland shall not boast a braver

Ohioft&in than our own Dundee '

W, E. 4yfot^.— J0om 1813, Died 1865.

1664.— SUMMONS OF THE DESTROYING
ANGEL TO THE OITT OF BABYLON.

The hour is come I the hour is come I With

voioe

Heard in thy inmost soul, I summon thoe,
Cyrus, the Lord's anointed I And thou river,
That flowest exulting in thy proud approach
To Babylon, beneath whose shadowy walls
And brazen gates, and gilded palaces,
And groves, that gleam with marble obelisks,
Thy azure bosom shall repose, with lights
Fretted and chequer 'd hko tho starry heavens s
I do arrest thee in thy stately course,
By Him that pouT*d thoo from thine ancient

fountain,

H.

THE FAIR BKCLTOE.

[SKVKKTH

And sent thoo forth, ovon at tho birth of timo,
One of MB holy streams, to lavo tho mount*
<)f Paradise. Thou hoar'nt mo : thou dost ohook
Abrupt thy waters a& tho Arab ohiof
His headlong squadrons. Whoro tho un-

observed

Tot toiling* Persian breaks tho ruining mound,
I BOO thoo gather thy tumultuous strength ;
And, through tho doep and roaring Nahar-

maloha,

Boll on as proudly conscious of fulfilling
Tho omnipotent command ' While, far away,
The lake, that slept but now so calm, nor

moved,
Save by the rippling moonshine, heaves on

high

Its foaming surf ape like a whirlpool-gulf,
Aixd boils and whitens with the unwonted tide.

But silent as thy billows used to flow,
And terrible, the hosts of Elam move,
"Winding their darksome way profound, where

Ne'er trod, nor light o'er shone, nor air from

heaven
Breathed. Oh! ye secret and unfathom'd

depths,

How are ye now a smooth and royal way
For the army of God's vengeance P Fellow-

slaves

And ministers of the Eternal purpose,
Not guided by tho treacherous, injured sons
Of Babylon, but by my mightier arm,
Te oome, and spread your banners, and dis-

play

Your glittering anna as ye advance, all white
Beneath the admiring moon. Oome on ! the

gates

Are open — not for banqueters in blood
lake you ' I see on either side o'orflow
Tho living- deluge of ara'd mon, and cry,
Begin, begin ' with fire and sword begin
The work of wrath. Upon my shadowy wings
I pause, and float a little while, to BOO
!&£ine human instruments fulfil my tank
Of final ruin. Then I mount, I fly,
And sing my proud song, as I ride tho clouds,
That stars may hear, and all tho hosts of

worlds,

That live along the interminable space,
Take up Jehovah's everlasting triumph !

JET. J9f. JtftZwian.— Born 1791.

1665.— THE FAIR BBOLUSB.

Sunk was the sun, and up the eastern heaven,

like maiden on a lonoly pilgrimage,

Moved the meek star of eve ; the wandering

air
Breathed odours; wood, and waveless lako,

like ™**\f
Slept, weary of the garish, babbling day.

Dove of the wilderness, tiby snowy wing
Droops not in slumber ; Lilian, thou alone,

'Mid tho doop quiet, walcettt* Pout thou rove,
Idolatrous of yon majGBtic moon,
That like a crystal-throned queen in heavcm,
Seems with her present deity to hu*h
To beauteous adoration all tho earth P
Might seem tho solemn aiiont mountain tajm
Stand up and worship I tho tramtluctmt fttmutiH
Down the lulls glittering, cherfah tho pure

light

Beneath the shadowy foliage o'er thorn ftang
At intervals ; tho lake, «o «ilver-whit«s
Glistens ; all indiatinct the Hiiowy HWOUH
Bask in tho radiance cool. Doth Uliau xnuw
To that apparent queen her vonpw hymn P

Nursling of solitude, her infant <umc*h
Never did mother watch ; within the gr*vo
She slept unwaHng : scornful turn'd aloof
Oaswallon, of thono pure inntiiuittvo joy*
By fathers felt, when playful infant grafts
Touoh'd with « feminine softno«fi, round tho

heart

Winds its light maze of undefined delight,
Contemptuous . ho with haughty joy behold
His boy, fair Halwyn ; him in bo««y fthmid
Eock'd proudly, him upbore to mountain tttwp
Fierce and undaunted, for their <lau#t«roufi

nest
To battle with tho eagle' H okmVouH brood.

But she, the while, from human tonttorn«HH
Estranged, and gentler fooling* that light up
Tho cheek of youth with tony joyouK ttnilo,
Like a forgotten lute, pky'd on alone
By chanco-caroBBingr air*, amid tho wild
Beautoously pale and uadly playful fiiw,
A lonely child, by not one human hoort
Beloved, and loving none: nor Htrango if

learnt

Her native fond affections to oiubraco
Things sonsoloHH and inanimate} , «hn lovotl
All flowreta that with rioh <'mbroi<Iory fair
Enamel the green oartli— tbo wlorouH thyme,
Wild rose, and roving o^ntino ; nor
To mourn their fading forum with

.
Gray birch and aupon hght *he loved,

droop
Fringing tho oryHtal stream i the uportivo

breeze
That wanton' d with her brown and glrumy

looks j
The Hunboom chequering1 the fro«li bank j cro

dawn

Wandering, and wandering Hiill at dewy ova,
By Glondoramakin's flower-omptirpled marffe,
Derwent's blue lake, or Orota'M wildctring gleti.
Bare sound to her was human voice, Boaro*

hoard,

Save of her aged nume or shepherd maid
Soothing the child with Dimple tale or song.
Hence all sho know of oaxthiy hopes and foara,
Life's BULB and sorrows: better known, tho

voice

Beloved of lark from mi«ty morning oloml
Bhtho oajro)ling, and wild melodiouu notoH
Heard mingling in the summer wood, or plaint
By moonlight, of the lone xught-w*rbling bird

1 780 fa 18IHJJ

ITYMN.

[H. H. HILMAN.

Nor thoy of lovo unoonMriouM, all around
Kwirlfiw, fiimihar tlwy their donoantu Hwoot
Tuned cmulouH ; hor know all living shapes
Thai tenant wood or rook, dun roo or door,
SunimifrluM dappled fiido, at noontide orouoh'd
CtcmHiiitf hop fond caress; nor ilod hor gasso
Tho hitwiiug dovo, but murmnrfd sounds of
joy.

1L Jr. Milwan.— Horn 1701.

1666.— T£fK BAY OF JUDGMENT.

Kvon thiw amid thy prido and luxury,

O Kurth! hko.ll that la»t coining burst on

thocs

That Hoarot coming of the Son of Kan,
When all tlio ohorub-thronnig cloudn shall

Irnuliato with II!H bright advancing Rign :
When that Groat Husbandman filial! wavo

hlflfan,
Swooping, like chaff, thy wealth and pomp

away ;

Still to tho noontide of that mpfhtlosH day
Shall, thou thy wonted diiwoluto oonruo main-

tain

Monty tlw 1m\v mart and crowded Htroot,
Tho Imym and tho Holler ntill nhall moot,
And nwmngc-iViiHtH lx»gi» thoir jowmd Htroia
SU11 to tho pouring out tho otii> of woo ;
Till car ih, a drunkard, rooting to and fro,
And mouutaiQK xtuiltonhy IUH burning f<*ot,
And hoavoti hin proaonoo own, all rod with

funiuoo hoat*

Tho hundrod-gatod oiiiofl thon,
The toworn and tomplon, namod o? men
Ktornal, and tho throuon of kingn ;
Tho gildod Huxanxor paltujoB,
Tito courtly bowont of lovo and oaflo,
\Vhctro Ktill tho bird of ploaHuro sxngH :
Auk yo tho douthiy of thorn P
<}o, gaieo on falling JoruHivlom !
Yt»a, niightior nomoH oro m tho fatal roll,
'UaiiiHt oarth and hoavon Uod1u Htaudard IB

unfurl'd ;

Tho sfciofc aro Hhriroli'd like a burning soroll,
Awl ono Tont oommon doom onnopulohroB tho

world.

Oh ! who ahall thon Burvivo P
Oh J who Hhall Rtand and live P
Whan all that hath boon in no more ;
When for tho round oarth hung in air,
With all itn oonfltoUations four
In tho Hky'0 azuro canopy;
Whon for tho breathing earth, and sparkling1

HOft,

TM but a fiory dolugo without shoro,

I leaving along tho abyBB profound and dork —

A fiery deluge, and withoiit on ark ?

Lord of all powor, when thon art thoro alono

On thy otomol fiory-whoolc^d throno,

That in itn high meridian moon :

iloedtf not tho porfch'd sun nor moon :

Whon thou art thoro in thy presiding state,
Wido-scoptrod monarch o'or tho roaba of

doom •
"When from tho eoo-dopths, from oaorth's

darkest womb,
Tho doad of all tho agon round thoo wait •
And when tho tribon of wickedness aro atrown
Jjiko forost-loaTos m tho autumn of thine ire .
faithful and Truo ' thou still wilt saro thmo

own f
Tho saints shall dwell within the unlarming

fire,
Bach whrlo robo spotless, blooming overy

palm

Even safe as wo, by thin still fountain's side,
So shall tho church, thy bright; and mystic

bride,

Sit on tho stormy gulf a haloyonbird of oolm.
YOB, 'mid yon angry and destroying signs,
O'or us tho rainbow of thy mercy shines ;
Wo hail, wo bloss tho covenant of its boom,
Almighty to avenge, olmightiest to redeem !
11. H. Milnwn.—Born 1791.

1667.— BRIDAL SONG.

To tho sound of timbrels sweet
Moving Blow our Holomn foot,
Wo have borne thoo on the road
To tho virgin's blent abode j
With thy yellow torches gloaming,
And thy Hoarlot mantle streaming,
And the canopy above
Swaying as wo slowly move.

Thou hast loft the joyous f oast,
And the mirth and wine liare ceased j
And now we set thee down bef oro
Tho jealously-unclosing door,
That tho favoured youth admits
Whore tho veiled virgin sits
In tho bliss of maiden fear,
Waiting our soft tread to hoar,
And tho music's brisker din
At the bridegroom's entering in,
Entering in, a welcome guest,
To tho chamber of hia rest

IL II MbMW.>—Bom, 1791.

1668.— BCTMN

POB SEKTHBNTH SUNDAY AFTER TBINITT.

"Whon our heads aro bow'd with woo,
"When our bitter tears o'orflow,
When we mourn the lont, tho dear :
Gracious Son of Mary, hoar!

Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn,
Thou our mortal griefs hast borne,
Thou hant nhod the human tear •
Gracious Son of Mary, hoar I

75

HUUTIIEft THOU ART CtONK.

(Sr.VI.NT1l l*K»li'l>.-

Wlum llin Riillcni dcuvtli-bell tolln
For our own dopurtod HOU!H—
Whnn our final doom in wear :
Gracious Sou of Mary, hoar !

Thon haHt bowM the* tyring *loa(l»
Tliou tho blcxxl of Hfo host Hhod,
Tlion hunt fillM a mortal bier •
GraoiouH Noil of Mary, hoar !

When tho heart is mul within
"With tho thought of all ita am,
Whon tho spirit ahrinlfH -with f oar,
Grooioufi Son of Mary, hoar 1

Thou tho shame, the grief haat known ;
Though the Rons were not Thino own,
Thou hast deign' d thoir load to boar •
Gracious Son of Mary, hoar '

II. II. mman.—Bom 1791.

1669.— BEOTHEB, THOU ABT GONE.

Urothor, thou art gone before us,

And thy saintly HOU! IB flown
Whore toars aro wiped from ovory eye,

And sorrow w unknown —
Prom tho burden of tho flonh,

And from oaro and sin reloaHod,
Where tho wicked cease from troubling,

And tho weary aro at rent*

The toilsome way thou 'st travoll'd o'er,

And haat borne tho heavy load ,
But Chrifit hath taught thy wandering foot

To roach HIM blest aboclo.
Tliou'rt flloepmg now, like IjnzarnR,

On his Father' H faithful breast,
Where tho wicked ceaso from troubHng,

And tho weary are at rout.

Sin can novor taint thee now,

Nor can doubt thy faith at-mil ;
Nor thy meek truflt in JOHUH ChriHt

And tho Holy Spmt foil.
And thoro thou'rt Bnro to meet tho good,

Whom on earth thou lovont beat,
Whore tho wicked eeano from troubling

And the weary aro at roHt.

" Earth to earth, and dunt to du

Thtu) tho solemn priori* hath naid
So we lay tho turf above ihoo now,

And seal thy narrow bod,
But thy spirit, brother, ftoars away

Among the faithful blcmt,
Where the wicked ooaeo from troubling,

And the weary are at rent.

And when the Lord shall summon u»
Whom ttoi now hart left bohind,

May we, tuxtaoatea by the world,
As sure a welcome find;

To bo a fflorloiw, Imfipy
Whore tho wickwl CWWHJ
And the waary arc tit

! nwl Lord of

ThuH wo tuc»V(s <mr i ml

To our Qyttilm.li* f«»obl«»Ht <»hiniinj%
Whore Thy hoiiK*^ \\# rt^t a<*nor<lH«
Ohanod and wouiultnl >>ir<lrt aro wt*,
Through tho dark air fltnl to TlMK*—
To tho nhadc»w of Thy w'mtf«*
Lord of lonlx I oiul Kin ft of

Itolinlfl, 0 Tjord ! tho liwihwi i w»o«i
The bftinchiH of Thy fruitful vim%
That its luMiriotm ioiulrih Hiwafl
O'uritlliho hilt, of Pal-hiH-.
And now thn wtl«l hoar rntuiM it»\\u ft*
Mvc»n tiH— Ui« jjftt'iMu* .t Stciu'rh.) nn»l Uv.U
Tluit, drinking of Thy nhoirmt ih»w,
Ou Eion'n hill iu b«auiy j^*w.

No ' by tlio marvcln of Thitw bund,
Tliou wilt HUVQ Thy chcwiui Iwul !
Jty all Tlutu) autnont nutrr'tort nliown,
By all our ratlu^r.*' TCKM o'orthruwn,
Uy the Kgyptinn'H car-liornfi ttn.ii,
Scattcr'd on tho Hwl Sufi ruait —
Hy that wnUi and b
UndoniMith tiui drowtiintf wntiT.

Like UM, ht uticr li<'lpl",nn<M'i,
TIL th<*ir last and w«»r jti <ii tf iv *"—
On tho Hand iutd i ca-w^t-d lytnff —
Inmcl ptmrM h<«r doleful ii;!hiii;Ti
While* tx^forc ih<* <!«'*' j* rtiui. fiowM^
.A ad bohtnd fi«trco Kirypt rml** -•
To their falhcr'H (<od
To tho I^nl of hu.ktM ft»r tud,

O.i tho mar'fin of thn
With liftod rod ihn prophet titood ;
And thn MimjnonM <%.t wmd
And aHido it Htcrnly throw
Tho ^ith^rM wuvi> i thai i<M»k
Liko cryHtiU rot'ltr-., on «itl»*r h»ml,
OrwalU of im-^rM>n nnvrhlo pilwi
Hound Homo irro;ruhir oity wild.

Tht*n tho li^ht of morning Uy
On tho woiul<'p"i>av«'d way,
Whoro th<» trf«ort»p(M <»f thn doop
In tlu^ir <-iiv(m of conil Hltidp,
Tho profound abyn/cM, wh<iro
Wa« n«vor fk<mnrl from upjwr tUrf
llang with tHraolV <thant*«l wordw ;
King of kintfw i find JU>nl of lorcb I

Then wlih bow and Irannor glancing,
On exulting Hgyiit otutno ?

From 1780 to 1800.]

LOVE.

[P. J.

With hcrchoKon horflpnion |»ranciu,£,
And lu»r cam on wheels of flamo»
In a rich and lirawtfnl ring,
All around liar furious king1,

"But tho Lord from out Itw cloud,
Tho Iiord look'd down upon tho proud ;
And tho luwt dravo heavily
I)own ilio deep bosom of the noa.

With a quick and sudden swell

Prow tho liquid ratupartw foil ;

Over horno, and over car,

Over every man of war,

Ovor I'hiwnioh'H crown of gold,

The loud thundering billown rolTd,

AH th<> lovol water* Hproad

Down thoy Bank— -they sank liko load

Down Bank without a cry or groan.

And Iho morning nun, that Rhone

On myriadH of bright-arm'd mon,

ItH meridian radiance thon

Cant on a wide BOO, heaving, as of yoro,

Against a silent, solitary shore,

JU. JL Iranian.— Jtow 1701.

1671,— HOW'S MY BOY?

" Ho, miilor of tho flea !

HOW'M my boy— xny boy P "

*' Whnt'H your boy'w name, good wife,

And in what «lup sail'd ho f "

"My boy John—
Ho that wont to BOO—
What GOTO I for tho ship, sailor P
My boy*ft my boy to MO.

" Yon oomo back from aoa,

And not know my John P

I might OB well have ask'cl some landsman,

Yondor down in tho town,

Thoro'B not an OAR in all tho parish

But knows my John.

" HOW'H my boy-~my boy P

And nnloHH you lot me know

I'll Kwoar you arc no Hoilor,

Uluo jackot or no—

Tiraiw buttonn or no, sailor,

Anchor and crown or no —

Hnro hi* nhip was tho ' Jolly Briton » "- -

** Speak low, woman, speak low ' M

" And why should I spook low, sailor,

About my own boy John P

If I WOH loud afl I am proud

I'd King him over tho town !

Why should T apeak low, sailor ? " —

" Tliat good ship wont down."

" How'fl my boy—my boy P
What caro I for the ship, sailor —
I won never aboard her.
Bo sho afloat or be she aground

Sinking or swimming-, I'll be bound

Her owners con afford her J

I say, how's my John ? " —

" Every man on board wont down,

Every man aboard her."

" How's my boy— my boy ?
What earo I for tho mon, sailor P
I'm not their mother-
How's my boy — my boy ?
Toll me of him and no other '
How's my boy— my boy P "

Sydney Eobtill. — Born 1824.

1672.— LOVE.

Love is the happy privilege of the mind —
Love is the reason of all living- things.
A Trinity there seems of principles,
Which represent and rule created life —
Tho love of self, our follows, and our God.
In all throughout one common feeling reigns *
ICach doth maintain, and is maintain' d by the

other :

All are compatible— all needful ; one
To hfo, — to virtue one, — and one to bliss •
Which thus together make the power, the end,
And the perfection of created Being,
From these throe principles doth every deed,
DoHiro, and will, and reasoning, good or bod,

come;
To these they all determine — sum and

scheme .

Tho three aro one in centre and in round ;
Wrapping tho world of life as do the skies
Our world. Hail ! air of love, by which we

live!
How sweet, how fragrant ' Spirit, though

unseen —

Void of gross sign— -is scarce a simple essence,
Immortal, immaterial, though it be.
Ono only simple essence livoth— God, —
Creator, unoroate. Tho brutes beneath,
Tho angols high above ua, with ourselves,
Are but compounded things of mind and form*
In all things animates is therefore cored
An elemental sameness of existence ;
For God, being Love, in love created all,
As he contains tho whole and penetrates.
Snraphs love God, and angols love tho good .
We love each other j and ihoso lower lives,
Which walk tho earth in thousand diverse

shapes,

According to their reason, love us too :
Tho most intelligent affect us most.
Nay, man's chief wisdom's lovo-^bhe love of

God.

Tho new religion— final, perfect, pure —
Was that of Christ and love His great com-
mand—

ifi all-sufficing precept— won't not love P
Truly to love ourselves wo mu&t love God, —
To love God we must all his creatures love, —

75*

B. W. PUOCTKU

AUDUESS TO THK OCEAN".

[Sr.VKMii I'M

To lovo hw oroottnrcfl, both cnnsidvtM and Him.
Thus lovo is all that's* wiwo, fair, pood, and
happy I

Jumro BuZ<*>/. — Eom 1810.

1673.— ADDI&ESS TO THK OCEAN.

0 thou vast Oooan ! ovor- sounding Soa !

Thou symbol of a droar immonBity I

Thou thing that windest round tho solid

world

Liko a huge animal, which, downward hurl'd
From tho blaok clouds, lies weltering and

alone,

Loaning and writhing till its strength ho gone.
Thy voice is liko tho thundor, and thy sloop
Is as a giant's slumbor, loud and (loop.
Thou spoakost in tho east and in tho wnqt
At onoo, and on thy hcavily-ladon broasfc
Fleets como and go, and shapes that havo no

hfo

Or motion, yob aro moYod and moot in Rtrifo,
Tho earth hath nought of thin : no chiuico or

ohango

Buffles its surface, and no spirit* daro
Giro answer to tho tompo**t-wakon'd air j
But o'er its wastes tho woakly tonantn range
At will, and wound its boflom as thoy go :
Eyer tho same, it hath no ebb, no flow :
But in their stated rounds tho soasons como,
Aad pass hko visions to thoir wonted homo ;
And oome again, and vanish j the young

Spring

looks eyor bright with loavofl and blossoming j
And Winter always winds his wullon horn,
"When the wild Autumn, with a look forlorn,
Bios in Ms stormy manhood; and tho akiOR
Weep, and flowers sickon, when tho suinmor

flics.

Oh ! wonderful thou art, groat olomont •
And foarful in thy nploony humours bo>nt,
And lovely in repose , thy tmmrnor form
Is beautiful, and when thy tulvor WUVOH
Make musio in earth's dork and winding

oaves,

I love to wander on thy pobblod boaoh,
Hoiking the sunlight at tho evening hour,
And hearken to tho thoughta thy waters

teach —

nd Powor.

P. W. Procter.— Born 1708.

I674.—MABCELIA.

It was a dreary place. The whallow brook
That ran throughout tho wood, thore took a

turn

And widen'd : all its musio diod away,
And in the plaoe a silent eddy told
That there the stream grew deeper. Thoro

dork trees

Funoroal (oyprnat't, y«w, ntnl 'litulou;; |iini«,
And Bpioy codar) (^ItihtcrM, atul at* /M ;h(r
Shook from thoir xnf*]iuifvlu»ly brawl, • * >iim»l <
And Hi^h** liko clnatUc *t\v«,

througli tluj dtiy
Thoy Htood quito moti»nl(M.<, nn«l I

Likonicnwmcnfal ihin^t, wlm-U iho , ,irl i»nrt!i
Kroia UK green bcHtmi had ciub out, tu t<tf>%
To mark a yonnif (rirl'H i;mv»». M'h«* \« r."

M thoir natural jrrnim, tt*nl <•<'«!» 1 1'i>«\
Axid mournful Imn; anil tho roujrU l»ri«?r,

strotohiug

HiH Htraggliag arms anrom ilto rivul
Lay like an armVl Kotititu*! thorvs cat
With hin tonucioua loaf Htraw.i,

boughn,
MOBS that tho bankw had lo«4t, cnar.to trr

which

Rwam with tho (mrrnnfc, and with th«« -» H,
Tho poor Marcolia'u <l«nthl»(nl. Nmvr

not

Of voninrous fmncr bo r»a'4 in wif h Jt*.p«-t
For not ti fl»h ulwl<»H tiiuro, Tlw • bin >\* »»r
SnortHftH ho ruiHc'i with hit !th<irf»m»*i lir»*tfh
Tho brook, and imnimff fl»«» tin* unholy |.l I«MS
And the whito liciftir IOWH, ninl pn < I»»H mi ;
TIxo foaming lumnd lapx not, inul umttir blr»l »
(Jo higher upth« Hirttam, And yni I lovt*
To loitor tKoro : and whmi ilui rLd
Mamas down tho avcmua of jtlmH, and
U(M! and clilatod through tlt<» ov^iui^ iuj <
And rlmqnorM nn ilm luuwy Iminci
To and fro with tho wind, I jtny t»» li -t»»»,
And fancy to myw»If that :i , ad v«'i«»«if
Praying, <?omo» moaning ihrmi;;h i)u*

as 'tworo
For Hoiuo miwlctfld. Tht> ;itt»ry r'^

(an orphan tolwm <h«
upon) cmr'O utniy'd thilhi-r, iiitd
'twan thought

in Iho «tw»arn: ywt m^y haw
hoard

Of cmn IMTaTrc^ia, poor NnUita'n rlitnifla^r, who
Koll ill and catno to wantf ;«*»»! oh, i,h«

lovod
A woulthy man, wlm inarkM lt«*r twt. H«i

woil,

And tlmn llw (firl nrc'w ticlr, and ].!wvl awav,
And drown1 d hurm«1f for lovo,

t—thM 17JW,

Now to thy wilont protMinno, Nl^lit, 1

In tliiH my flrut Hotiff oflftir'il * oh !
That lookcwl with thy thoitmuut <ymi of lij

Q?o thoo, an<l thy Kitury nobility
That lloat with ft rlolloiaufl murm ti

(Though unheard hctro, about
blue;

And as they rid* along? ia owlor duo,

*Yw» 1780 to 1800.]

AN INVOCATION TO BIRDS.

. W.

tlio round globo in their wandering1,
To thoo their anciout quoon and mother sing".
Mother of bounty I voil'd quoon !
FoarM and nought, ami novor soon
Without a huart-unponmg fooling,
Whlthor art thou gontly stealing?
Tu thy Mimling presence, I
I\nrr»l ui Htar-Htrnok idolatry,
And turn mo to tliino cyo (tlio moon),
Fretting that it must change so soon •
Toying with thin idle rhymo,
I Hcorn that boarded villain Timo,
Thy old remorseless onotny,
And bnild iny liuk'd vorao to thoo.
Not dull and cold and dark art thou :
Who that beholda thy clearer brow,
Endiadom'd with gontlont Rtroaka

Of floocy-Bilvcr'd cloud, adorning
Thee, fair as when the young sun 'wakes,
And from hin cloudy bondage brooks,

And lights upon the breast of morning,
But imiHt fool thy powers ;
Mightier than tlio Htorm that lours,
.Fairer than the virgin hours

That Hmilo when the young Aurora scatters
Her i one-leaves on the valleys low,
And bid* her norvant breezes blow.
Not Apollo, when ho dies,
In tlm wild October skios,

Rod and Htormy ; or when ho
In Inn meridian boauiy ridos

Ov<»r Um boHom of the waters,
And turiiH the blue and burning tides

To HUver, i» a poor for thoo,
f uU regality.

I*. W. Pwctfer.— JBorn 1798.

1676.— THE SLEEPING- FIGURE OF
MODENA.

tlpon a oonch of silk and gold
A palo enchanted lady lios,
And o'er her many a frowning fold
Of oraoHon, slxadoa her closed eyes j
And Hliaclowy creatures round her rise ;
And ghoHts of women masqued in woe ;
And many a phantom pleasure flies :
And lovers slow — ah, long ago I

The lady, pale as now sho Bleeps,
An ago upon that oonch hath lam,
Yet in one spot a spirit koops
His mansion, like a rod-rose stain ;
And, when lovers' glioHta complain,
Bhwhos like a now-born flower.
Or o« flomo bright droam of pain
Dawnoth through the darkest hour

Onoo— but many a thought hath flod,
Hince the time whereof I speak —
Once the wlonping lady bred
Boauty in hor burning chook,

And the lovely morn did break
Thiough tho azure of hor oyos,
And hor hoart was warm and meek,
And hor hopo was in the skies.

But tho lady lovod at last,
And tho passion pain'd her soul,
And hor hopo away was cast,
Far boyond hor own control ;
And tho clouded thoughts that roll
Through the midnight of the mind,
O'er hor oyos of azuie stolo,
Till they grow dojoct and blind.

IIo to whom hor hoart was given,
"When May music was in tune,
Dared forsake that amorous heaven,
Changed and careless soon 1
Oh, what is all beneath the moon
"Wi.cn his hoart will answer not !
What are all tho droams of noon
With our love forgot !

Heedless of the world sho went,
Sorrow's daughter, mook and lone,
Till some spirit downwards bout
And struck hor to this sleep of stone.
Look ! Did old Pygmalion
Sculpture thus, or more prevail,
Whon ho drew tho living tqno
From tho maiblo paloP

JB. W. Procter.— Born 1798.

1677.— AN INVOCATION TO BIRDS.

Come, all ye feathery people of mid air,
"Wlio sloop 'midst rooks, or on the mountain

summits
Lie down with tho wild winds \ and ye who

build
Tour homes amidst groon loaves by grottos

cool;
And ye who on the flat sands hoard your

eggs

For suns to ripen, como I 0 phenis rare !
If death hath spared, or philosophic search.
Permit thoo still to own thy haunted nest,
Perfect Arabian— lonely nightingale !
Dusk creature, who art silent all day long,
But when polo eve unseals thy clear throat,

loosest

Thy twilight music on tho dreaming boughs
Until they waken ; — and thou, cuckoo bird,
"Wlio art tho ghost of sound, having no shape
Material, but dost wonder for and near,
Like untouch'd echo whom tho woods deny
Sight of hor love — ooxno all to my slow

charm !
Como thou, sky-climbing bixd, wakenor of

morn,

"Who springest like a thought unto the sun,
And from his golden floods dost gather wealth

B. W.

TO THE SNOWDBOP.

fSi;vi,N'in Pi mutt.—

(Epi halamium and Pindariquo song),
And with it enrich our oarn ; oomo all to mo,
Beneath tho chamber whoro my Itidy lion,
And, in your aovoral zmiBicH, wkiHpor— Lovo !

* j& W. Procter.— &>m 1H<J8,

1678.— TO THE SNOWDttOP.

Pretty firstling of tho yoar »
Herald of the host of flowers !

Host thou. left thy cavern drear,
In the hope of summer hours P
Back unto thy earthen bowers I

Baek to thy worm world below,

Till the strength of suns and showers

Quell the now relentless snow !

Art stai here ?— Alive, and blythe P

Though the stormy Night hath fled,
And the Frost hath paHB'd MB scythe

O'er thy small, unaholtor* d head ?

Ah ! some lie amidnt the doad
(Many a giant, stubborn tree, —

Many a plant, itH spirit short),
That were bettor nursed than tlioo I

What hath saved theo P Thou wast not

'Gainst the arrowy winter furr'd, —
Arm'd on scale, — but all forgot

When the frozen winds wore atirr'd.

Nature, who doth clothe the bird,
Should have hid thoo in the earth,

Till the cuckoo's song was hoard,
And the Spring let loose her mirth.

Nature, — doop and mystic word !

Mighty mother, still unknown 1
Thou didst sure the snowdrop g<rd

With an armour all thmo own J

Thou, who Bont'flt it forth ulono
To the cold and sultan season

(Like a thought at random thrrmn),
Sent it thus for some grave reason !

If 'twere but to piorco tho mind

With a single, gentle thought.
Who shall doom thoo harsh or blind

Who that thou haHt vainly wrought ?

Hoard the gentle virtue caught
From the snowdrop,— loader wise !

Good is good, wherever taught,
On the ground or in the akios !

B. W. Proctor.-~Born 1708.

1679— SONG OF

Come hero, come here, and dwell
•ua forest deep I

Come here, come fc«re, and tell
Why thou dost weep t

TH it, for lovf» (n\u*f*t pain !)

That thiiH thou dar'nt complain

ITnio our pk^wani Hbad(%our .tummcr loaves

Whore nought ol«o grfov«»H ?

Oomo here, como lioro, and Ho

tty whiHperiiiff ntrciun !

IIovo no 0110 diuvrt to <lin

Kor IOV«*H HWiMjt <Iroiun ;

JJut health all t-cok, ami joy,

And whuu jiorvciHC annoy,

And race along Kr<1i'» l'»th'< till elu«» of «ltty,

And laugh — alway !

Or ol80, through hwlf tho yoor,
On ruwhy fl<K»r,
Wo he by watom clc»ar,
Whilo «ky-lark« pour
Their songH into tlm Him !
And when bright day i
Wo hide 'noath bollit of

or ttodtUn;?

corn,
And droutri— till inorn !

Jl »r.

1680.— TIIK IILOOD HOttHK.

Gomarra in a dainty ninnU
Strong, black, and of a noblu html,
Full of flro, and full of Ixitm,
With all hit* line of fatlutru known ;
Fine hi» none, HIH luwtrilu tlun,
But blown abroad by thti prulo \vlihiu !
HIH mane i« liko a rivor flowimr,
And his oyoH likc» omhcix (rl«n\ in.'f
In the darknoHH of iho ni^hf ,
And hits pauo m nwift ar< li;fht,

Look, — how 'round IIM niniiniti^ thr»«it
Grace and nhifttatf bmuiiy flout ;
Sinewy Htrongth IK in h»u rHtin,
And tho r«il blot>d frall(»i»H ibrtrtt*;
Ifiidhor, redder, n«v«r «iu
Tlirough tlm hooHtin# hi>ari of man*
Ho can trace hi* lituui^i^ highw
Than the Bourbon dan» tMi»ir<V'~*
Doitjclan, Gu9$nuint or ih«)
Or O'Brion'H blood itMtafl

Flo, who hath no peer, wo* born,
Hare, upon a rod Martih morn ;
Hut hiH famotiM fatliorx d«a<l
Wore Arab« oil, ntid Arab bml,
And tho loftt of that groat lino
Trod like one of raw tUvitw 1
And yet,— ho wa» but friond to one,
Who fed him at tho »ut of mm,
By some lono fountain fring«ul with |r«40tt j
With him a roving lifukniin,
rto hved (none olw> would ho obwy
through all tho hot Arabian dn-y),—
And died nntumod ttpau thfl winds
Where Balkli amidst tho dosort utandH

JET. W.

1708.

JVw» 1780 to 180G.J

THE UTOTTEK'S SONG.

[B. W. PBOCTBB,

1681.— TIIB SEA.

Tho Roa ! tlio soa ! tho opon sea !

The blno, tho iroHh, tho over froo '

Without a mark, without a bound,

It ruzmoth tho earth' B wide rogiona round ;

ft playn with tho oloudn ; it mocks tho skies;

Or liko a oradlod creature lios.

I'm on tho noa ! I'm on tho soa '

1 am whore I would over bo ;

With tho bluo abovo, and tho bluo bolow,

And Hiloneo whoi'OHou'or 1 go ;

If a Htorm should oomo and uwalco tho doop,

What mattor P I Khali ndo and sloop.

T lovo, oh, how T Jove to lido
On tho iloroo, foaming, bursting tido,
Whon every mad wavo drownw tho inoon,
< )r whiMiloH aloft IIIH tompOHt turn),
And toll** how gooth tho world bolow,
And why tho uou'wout bloats do blow.

T novor wan on tho dull, tamo shore,
But I loved tho groat noa moro and moro,
And backward flow to liur billowy broast,
Liko a bird that Hookoth itn mother 'B nout j
And ii mother who wan, and in, to mo ;
L'\>r I wan born on tho opon sea !

Tho wavow woro whito, and rod tho morn,
In tho nowy hour when I wart born ;
And tho whalo it whiHtlod, tho porpoiflo roll'd,
And tho <lolj)hnm barod thoir backw of gold,
And novor WOH hoivrd Huoh an outcry wild
AH welcomed to life tho ocean-child '

I've lived ninoo then, in calm and strife,
Knll fifty Hummortf, a flavor's lifo,
With wealth to upend and a power to range,
But novor have sought nor fligh'd for change }
And Doiith, whenever ho comes to mo,
Shall come on tho wild, unbounded aoa !

It. W. froctw.—Boni 1708,

1682.— TIIK STORMY PETBEL.

A thonxund miloH from land are wo,
Towting about on tho roaring BOO—
Vrom billow to bounding billow oast,
Liko floociy Pnow on tlio Htormy blank
Tho sailH aro aoattor'd abroad Uko woods ;
Tho strong masts uhako liko quivering: roods ;
Tho mighty cables and iron chain*) ;
Tho hull, which all oorthly strength dis-

dainn, —
Thoy strain and thoy oraok; and hearts liko

fttono
Thoir natural, hard, proud strength disown.

tip and down !— up and clown r

tfrom tho bo»o of tho wavo to tho billow's

orown,

And amidttt the ilasTimg and feathery foam,
Tho stormy petrol finds a homo ,

A home, if such a place may bo

JFor her who lives on tho wide, wide soa,

On tho craggy ico, in tho frozen air,

And only sookotli hor rocky loix

To worm her young, and to teach thorn to

spring
At once o'er tho waves on thoir stormy

wing!

O'er the doop '—o'er the doop !

Where tlio whalo, and the shark, and the

sword-fish sloop—

Outfiying tho blast and tho driving rain,
The petrol tolleth hor tale — in vain ;
For tho marinoi GUI Both the warning bird
Which bringoth mm news of the storm un-

hoord '

Ah I thus does tho prophet of good or ill
Meet hate from tho creatures he sorvoth still;
Yet he no' or falters — so, potrel, spring
Once more o'er tho waves on thy stormy

wing!

I?, TT. Procter.— Horn 1708.

1683— THE SEA— IN CALM.

Look what immortal floods the sunset pours
Upon UB — Mark! how still (OB though in

dreams
Bound) tho once wild and ternble ocean

Booms '

How silent 010 tho winds ! no billow roars ;
But all is tranquil as Elysian shores
The silver margin which uyo runnoth round
Tho moon-onohantod sea, hath hero no sound ;
Evon Echo spooks not on those radiant

moors I

What i is tlio giant of tho ocean dead,
Wlioao strength, was all numatoh'd beneath

the sun P

No ; be reposes I Now his toils are done ;
Moro q,uiot than the babbling brook is ho.
So mightiest powers by deepest calms are fed,
And sloop, how oft, in things that gentlest

bol

B. W. Protf&r.—Born 1708 *

1684.— TELE HUNTER'S SONG.

Rise ! Sloop no moro ' 'Tis a noble morn.
Tho dews hang thick on the fringed thorn,
And tho frost shrinks back, like a beaten

hound,

Under the steaming, steaming ground,
Behold, whore the billowy clouds flow by,
And loave us alone in the clear gray sky '
Our horses aro roady and steady. — So, ho '
I'm gone, like a dart from tho Tartar's bow.

Hark, hark ' — Who oalleth. tho maidon Mom
Prom hor sloop in tho woods and tho stubble
oornP

Tho horn, — the horn f
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter's horn.

J. W. PttWTKR 1

THIS OWL.

Now, through tho copse whoro tho fox irt

found,

And ovor tho stream at a muchly bmuul,
And ovor tlio high lundn, and ovor tho low.
O'er furrowfl, o'er mcwlowH, tho hunters go I
Away ! — 08 a hawk fliort lull at hw prey,
Ho flioth tho Imntcnr, itway, — away I
From tho burnt at tho cover till not of sun,
Whon tho rod fox dies, and — tho day ia done !

Hark, Hark 1 — What sound on tho wind is

bornoP
'Tin tho conquering voico of tho hunter's

horn :

Tho horn,— -<tho horn !
Tho marry* bold voico of tho hunter's horn.

Sound ! Sound tho horn I To tho hunter good
Wljifiut's tho gully deep or tho roaring flood P
Bight ovor he bounds, as tho wild stag

bounds,

At tho heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds.
Oh, what delight oan a mortal lack,
When ho onoo is firm on hw horso'H back,
With his stirrups short, and hit* snafllo strong,
And the blast of tho horn for hiB morning

song?

Hark, hark1 — Now, home! and dream till

Of the bold, sweet sound of tho hunter's horn !

Tho horn, — tho horn '

Oh, the sound of all sounds is tho hunter's
horn 1

33. W. Procter.— Born 1798.

1685— THE OWL.

In the hollow tree, in tho old gray tower,

The spectral Owl doth dwell ;
Bull, Hated, despised m the aunHhino honr,

But at dusk he's abroad and well '
Not a bird of the f orowt e'er nwtow with him —

All mock him outright, by day ,
But at night, when tho woods grow still and
clim,

The boldest will shrink away !
Oh, when tho night falls, and roonts tho fowl,
Then, then, is the reign of the Homed Owl !

And the Owl hath a bride who is fond and

bold,

And Ipvofch tho wood's deep gloom ;
And, with eyes like tho shine of the moon-
stone cold,

She awaitoth her ghastly groom ;
Not a feather she moves, not a carol she sings,

As she waits in her tree so trinll,
But when her heart hoaroth his flapping

wings,

She hoots out her welcome shrill !
Oh, when the moon shines, and dogs do howl,
Then, then, is the joy of the Homed Owl 1

Mourn notforihn Owl, nor hU fI«H»iny |*li( '. f ,

Tho Owl hath hiH nharo of gw»«l •
If a prwoner ho 1m in tlm Iwnuiti <l.i>h>'li{,

Ho in lord in fcho dark #rmmw<KKl !
Nor lonely tho bird, nor IUH phmdly innf**—

Thoy aro each unto <w*h a i»riil»» ;
Thrice fondor pcrhaptt, niwo a Htruxt",!', tl,u*J*

fato

irath rrmt thorn from «11 IJPI Mi* f
Ho, wt»on tho ui«rht falln, ami (!«»«: \ «it» Inuvl,
Sing Ho ! for tho the ri'ijjn of 1 lit1 1 l<»nn'«i ( h; I ;
Wo know not nlway
Wlio aro kintf* by day,

But tho King of tho night i» tho l»oM Etrrmn
Owl I

Tlf. 1$.

ICS6.— A BONG VOlt THR

Whon tho morry lark doth g»

With hin Hontf tho muimit»r
And thuir HCHt;, UK* Mvallovvn laiiM

In tho roofw and iopw of ttmi r ,
And the guidon broom-flower btirn \

All about tho wanto,
And tho niaid(»ii May rotnnw

With a pretty haute, —
Thou, how worry aro tho timw I
Tho Hummer tiuicw 1 tko Hpritig titnr*

Now, from off tho anhy Htono

Tho chilly midnight wickot rrii^h,
And all merry bird* aro flown,

And our dream of pl
Now tho ounn bluo lattfching ^Ky

Saddonn into gniy,
And tho frozon rivorn

Pining all away !
Now, how Holoinn an* iiio
Tho Winter tiiiion !

Tot, bo mnrry : all armmd

TH through ono viwt <»l«w
Kv<«i Miglit, who latfly frownM,

TH in palor dawn diHMolvisw.
Earth, will btirnt hor fobtttrH utrtuifro,

And in Spring grow f«KJ j
All thingH in Iho world will ohatttft*,

Savo— my lovo for tluio !
Rhig, them, hopofttl aro all tim<w t
Whiter, Wunixuor, Spring <itn«"» I

W. It. I'wter.—llnn

1687,-TirB POKT'fl SONG TO HIS

How many munmorp, luvo,

Have I boon tliino P
How many day«, thou clow,

Hattt thon boon mlno?
Timo, like iho wlngM wind

When 't bends tho flower**

17HO in

A BRIDAL DIRGE

[B. W.

Hath loft TIO mark behind,
To count tho hours 1

Some weight o£ thought, though loth,

< hi tluto ho loavOR ;
Hotnn linos of care round botli

I'crhapH ho weaves ;
ftmim foiwH, — a «oft regret

For joy« Hoaroo known ;
ftwoot, loolcH wo luilf forgot j —

All O!HO is flown !

Ah !— With what thankless heart

I mourn and sing 1
Look, whoro our children Htarfc,

Liko middon Spring '
With tonguos all swoot and low,

Like a pleasant rhyme,
They toll how much I owo

To thoo and Trnio !

IV. 2). Procter.— Born 1798.

1688.— SOFTLY WOO AWAT HER
BREATH.

Sofl*y woo away hor "breath,

(taiiilo Death!
Lot hor loavo thoo with no sirifo,

Twtdor, mournful, murmuring Lifo
fihfl Jwth HOOH hor happy day —

Hlio hath had hor bud and blossom ;
Now nho pales and MhriukM away,

Marth, Into thy geutlo boaom !

She hath dono hot bidding hero,

Angel* dear I
Bear ht«* perfect aoul above,

Seraph of tho flktos — «woot Love I
Good who won, and fair in youth ;

And hor mind was Boon to soar,
And her heart was wed to truth :

Take hor, then, for evermore —

Por oror— ovormoro 1

W. J3. I*rocbor<— Bom 1708.

1689.— TIIB MOTHER'S LAST SOKG.

ffloop !— Tho ghostly winds are blowing !
No moon abroad— no star is glowing ;
Tho rivor is doop, and tho tide ifl flowing
To tho land whoro you and I arc going !
Wo aro going afar,
ttoyond moon or star,
To tho laud whoro the sinlosB angol aro '

T lost my hoart to your hoartloflB siro,
(*T wa« moltod away by his looks of firo)—
Forgot my Ood, and my father's ire,
AH for the fluko of a man's dosiie ,

But now wo'U go
Whoro tho wators flow,
And muko us a bed whoro nono shall know.

Tho world is cruel — tho world is untrue ,
Our foes aro many, oar frionds are few ;
No work, no broad, however wo sue !
What is there loft for mo to do,

But fly— fly

From tho cruel sky,
And hide in tho deepest deeps — and dio P

W. B. Procter.— Born 1708

1690.— PEACE ' WHAT DO TEARS
AVAIL ?

Peaoe ! what can tears avail P
She lies all dumb and pale,

And from hor oye
Tho spirit of lovely life is fading—

And she must die 1

Why looks tho lover wroth — tho fnond up-
braiding P

Reply, reply !

Hath she not dwelt too long
'Midst pain, and gnef, and wrong P

Thou why not die ?
Why suffer again her doom of sorrow,

And hopeless lie P

Why nurse tho trembling dioam until to-
morrow ?

Reply, reply!

Death ! Take hor to thine arms,
Tn a,u hot stainless charms '

And with her fly

To heavenly haunts, where, clod in bright-
ness,

The angels Ho !
Wilt bear hor there, 0 Death! in all hor

whiteness ?
Reply, reply I

W. B. Procter, — Born 1708.

1691.— A BRIDAL DIRGE.

Weave no more the marriage chain 1

All unmatcd is the lover ;
Death has ta'en tho place of Pain ;
Lovo doth call on love in vain ;

Life and years of hope are over !

No more want of marriage boll '
No more need of bndal favour '

Whoro is slio to wear them well ?

You beside the lover, toll !
Gone — with all the love ho gave hor !

Paler than the stone she lies —
Colder than the winter's morning I

Wherefore did she thus despise

(She -with pity in hei oyow)
Mother's care, and lover's warning ?

1). W. L»IM>CTKU.I

Youth and beauty— -hull they nofc
Ijast beyond a briof to-morrow P

No — a "prayer and them forgot '

Thin the trttost lovor'n lot,,

Tliifl tho Hum of human Harrow r

II. ir. rw*m— Ihni 1708.

1692,— IIHRMIONE.

Thon. haftt boaufcy bright and fair,

Mannar noblo, amwot f too,
Eyofl that aro untouoh'd by caro .

What, thon, do wo ank from thoo,
Hormiono, Hormiono?

Thou hast reason quick and
Wit that envious mon admiro,

And a YOIOO, itnolf a song !
"What thon oan wo Htill dosiro ?

Hormiono, Uarmiono.

Something ihou dont want, O ((noon !

(AH tho gold doth auk alloy),
Toara — amid thy laughter noon,
Pii/y mingled with thy joy.

Thin IH all wo titdk from thco,
Hormiono, ilurimouo !

JB. W. IVoc^cr,— Born 1708,

1693.— A POET'S THOUGHT,

Toll mo, what is a poofs thought P

Is it on tho Hnddon horn P
Ts it from tho Hturiight cantyht ?
Is it by tho tompost taught if

Or by whiHpornuj morn t

Was it oradlod in tho brain *
Chaiu'd awhilo, or nursiMt in night ?

Was it wrought with t(»il and pain f

Did it bloom and fado ag
Ero it burst to light P

No moro question of it» birth :

Bather lovo its hotter part 1
'Txs a thing of Hky and earth,
Gathoring all itn goldou worth

From tho poot't* hoavi,

JB, W, Procter.— Born 1708.

1694,— A PETITION TO TIME.

Touch us gently, Time I

Let us glide adown thy stroam
Gently — as wo somotimos glido

Through a quiet dream.
Humble voyagers aro we,
Husband, wife, wxd children throe—
(One id lost— au angtl, fled
To the azuw oTerixe«4 !)

Tottiih UH

Wo'vo not pnuui nor .wiring
Our anihiiitnu, our oontt'tit,

UOH in nimpln thitij(H,
Humblo T(>ytivi|i>s arcj wo,
O'er hfo*H dim, Tint«ound<Mi ^PIV,
Hooking only w«p«» cnliu <'Jim«» .—
Touch UH gonlly, jfHitlo TIHM» !

1605.— HIT IKAVN, HAH HOt

Hit down, HIU! mml, and lumnfi

Tho mom(»nis flying ;
Como— tf'll tho «w<n»t. nmotjjit

lliat/B lont by Highint; t
TIow many Minilm 1-- » «»H»rn ?
Thon langli, and count no m«if»;
Ktir day irt dying !

Lm down, Hfid Html, ninl ,.)«« »;»,

And no tnnn» lui'ii'.uro
Tho ilight of fl'»m», n»»r WIIPJ»

Th<» IOHH of )oi!*un» ;
7tut hens by UIH 1mm
lac down with n «, tt-nd

O£ wtarry tr»»u *ttro !

"Wo dream t do thon tho wum* t

Wo lovo— for over;
"Wo laugh, yc»t f«»w w<» nliimu* —

Tho gnnfch) Ti(iv«n
Wtay, then, till S«irn»w di«M«
Thon — hojm and hafipy ^Uii t
^ro thtno for

/f. H'.

17iM.

!&/>.— .Til Frf.

\Vo ar» born ; w« lim«yli *
Wo lovo j w« dr»o|i j wi» ili*» I

Ah I whitntfrin* «1r> wo IM,U»
Why do w*« liv«t <»r din i*

Who known that j t'ftitfc «|wi|» p
not 1*

hydoih t1i(» v!<»l«»t spring

Un*won by humim ttyof
Why do th(» radiant «i«a.«f)«n l

Hwoot thoughtH that (jui/'kiy fly?
Why do owr fond hoiirU fiitta-

To thingH tluit dio ?

Wo toil— through t>ain anrl wrf>n/t j

Wo fight— and fly t
Wo lore ; wft Icwo j and thim, oro

Stono-doad wo llo.
Alifoi isaUthynongi

B. W.

From 1780 to 1800.]

THE MOTHEB'S HAND.

[CHARLES SWAIN.

1697.— THE MATTE OF THE WARRIOJt
KINU.

Thoro are noble heads bow'd down and palo,

J)oop flounclH of woo arise,
And totiw flow fa8t around tho oouoh

"Where a wounded warrior IIOB ,
Tho huo of death IH gathering dark

Upon hi« lofty brow,
And Iho arm of might and valour falltf,

Weak aa an infant's now.

I paw htm 'mid tho battling hosts,

Liko a bright and loading star,
Whopo banner, holin, and falchion gleam* d,

And flow tho boltn of war
When, in IUM ploniludo of power

Ho trod tho Holy Land,
I Raw tho routed HaranonH

Moo from iun blood-dark brand.

I Raw him in tho banquet hour

PorHthko tho foHtivo ilirong,
To nook his favourite mmntrora haunt,

And give law ROU! to «on# ;
For doarly at* ho lovod renown,

tt« lovod that Hpoll- wrought strain
Winch bade tho bravo of porwh'd days

U#ht MjutmoHt'H torch again.

Tlmn woom'd tho batd to oopo with Time,

Ami triumph oYr IUH doom— •
Anothw world in frtmlinnHM burHt

Oblivion'H mighty tomb !
Again tho hardy Uritonn runhM

Likrt UoTiH to tho fight,
Whilo how) and fool— holm, shield, and lanco,

^wopt by liifl viHion'd Might t

But battlo Hhout and waving plumo,

Tho drum'K hoart-Htirrmpr boat,
11j<» fflittorlnflr pomi> of prosperous war,

Tho rtwh of million foot,
Tho magio of tho mintttrol'fi song,

Whioh told of viotorioH o'or,
Art) ftitfhtM and Hounda tho dying king

Shall HOC — Hhall hoar no moro '

It WM tho hour of donp midnight,

In tho dim and quiot Hky, *
Whou, with Hablo cloak and 'broidor'd pall,

A funoral train flwopt by ;
Dull and Had foil tho torohot** glaro

On many a Htatoly cronl —
Thoy boro tho noblo warrior king

To hiH laMt dark homo of roat.

Swain.— Bom 1803.

VOICE OF THE MOBNINO.

Tlio voioo of tho morning is calling to child-
hood,

Prom Htroanalot, and valley, and mountain
it calls,

And Mary, tho lovolio^t nymph of Iho wild

wood,
Is crossing tho brook where the mill water

falls

Oh ' lovely is Mary, hor faco like a vfoion
Onco seen loaves a charm that will ever

enduro ,
rrom hor glance and her smilo thore beams

something elysian
Sho has but one failing — swoot Mary is poor.

Hor bosom is whito as the hawthorn, and

Rwcoter,
Hor form light and lovesome, as1 maiden's

should bo ,

Her foot like a fairy's— yet softer and fleeter—

Oh i Maiy, the morn hath no lily like thee.

But narrow and low hangs tho roof of her

dwelling,

Hor homo it is humble, hor birth is obscure ;
And though in all beauty and sweetness

excelling,
Sho wanders noglootod— for Mary is poor.

Tot, oh ! to hor heart mother Nature hath

given
The kindest affections that mortal can

know;
Sho loves ovory star that sheds radiance in

heaven,
She worhhips tho flowers as God's imago

below.

Ah i sad 'tiB to think that a being resembling

ThQ f airost m beauty, such lot wliould endure ,

But tho dewy that like tears on the hlios aie

trembling,
Are typos but of Mary— for Mary is poor.

0. Swam. — Bom 1803.

1699.— THE MOTHEB'S

A wand'rmg orphan child was I, —

But meanly, at the boat, attired ,
For oh ' my mother scarce could buy

The common food each week required;
But whon tho anxious day had fled,

It secxn'd to be hor dearest joy,
To press her palo hand on my head,

And pray that God would guide her boy.

But moro, each winter, moro and moro

Stern suffering brought hor to decay ;
And then an angel pass'd her door,

And boro her lingering soul away '
And I — they know not what IB gnef

Who ne'er knelt by a dying bed ;
AH other woe on earth is brief,

Save that whioh weeps a mother dead.

A seaman's life was soon my lot,
'Mid reokless deeds, and desperate men;

But still I never quite forgot
The prayer I ne'er should hear again f

<?HAitTii;H SWAIN, J

TUB OUFHAN HOY.

•SKM:MH

And oft, whou lialf induced to tread

Such patlw an unto wn docwy,
l*vo folt hor fond hand prosrf my hood,—-

And that Koft touoh hath Havod liur boy '

Though hard their monkery to roeoivo,

Who iio'or thomholvoH 'tfaiunt hiii had

hti ivim,
Hor who, on oarth, T darod not giiov<*,

I could not — would not — gnovo in hoavon:
And thuw from many an action dread,

Too dark for human oyoH to Hcau,
Tho wwno fond hand upon my hoad

That bloss'd tho boy — hath. Hayed tho

vnn.'n [

0. Swain.— Btnn 1803,

1700. — THE ORPHAN BOY.

Tho room is old, — tho night ZH cold, —

But night is clearer far than day ;
For then, in droam«, to him it Booms,

That Mho's roturn'd who'H gone away I
His toars aro paws'd, — ho olahp« hor fa«t, —

Again nho hold* him on hor knoo ;
And, — in MR sloop, — ho murmurs doop,

" Oh 1 mother, go no moro from mo ! "

But morning breaks, tho child awakes, —

Tho dreamer's happy dream hath fled ;
Tho fields look sore, and cold, and drear, —

Ldko orphans, mourning summer doad I—-
The wild birds spring, on shivering wing,

Or, cheerless, chirp from troo to troo ,
And still ho ones, with woopmg oyoH,

" Oh ' mother dear, oomo back to mo I "

Can no ono toll whoro angels dwoll ? —

Ho' s oall'd thorn oft till day grow dim;
If thoy woro near, — and they oonld hoar, —

Ho thinks they'd bring hor back to him '—
" Oh i angola swoot, conduct my foot,"

Ho oriofl, " whore'or her homo may bo ;
Oh ' load mo on to whoro nho'H gone,

Or bring my mother back to mo ! "

0. tiwa,i)i.—Horn, 1803,

CHIMRH.

There's mnnio in tho morning air,

A holy Toioo and swoot,
Far calling to tho houno of prayer

Tho humblest peasant's feet*
From hill, and vale, and dmtant moor,

Xiong as tho chime is hoard,
Each cottage sends its tenants poor

For God's enriching word.

Where'er the British power hath trod,

The crow of faith asooncta,
And, like a radiant arch of God,

The light of Scripture bonds 1

Denp in tho forcwt wiU««n»'* t
Tho woixUlmilt cthun*h M l^m«\vM :

A Hlu4tcrm$r winjr, in man*.-* «li trr
Sproa<l hko tho Kaviour*n ovui !

Tim warrior from hi*. itrttiM <»'»!,

Tho hoaman from ihn <i«I«»,
Var as ihn Sabbath cliiinr » «rn i*'»i-

In ChiiHtian uatimi'i tvW<«, •
Thounandh and fciH of tli«»n iui»

Thoir Horn>\vj» t
And tant<» tho ufViT-fnili

Of JOHUH* lovo divino 1

If, at an narthly ohimn, <!«• t«»a«l

Of niiilumt niilliun fm«t
Approach whonitfor tht» (ioHt**'!' < rtwl

In Uod'H own tompln-nwit,
Howblost tho wight., from thMith'n tlarl; -

To HOC Uod'H Haintn ariwi ;

Tho Mabbath of tho

('. Hwia.

1702.— T

By nylvan wavon that wowtward
A hare-boll bout ita boatity lnw*
Witli slender wnirtt imcl mod<wt brow,

AmidMt tho Hluwlt*« d<^mnli»jr.
A star look'd from i\w pal*»r »»ktv •
l^io ham-boll gazed, and with a '<i'?h
Forgot that lovo may look tw» I

And Horrow without

liy caHomnut hid, the flowcrH
A maiden InanM tuul lintonM luti^ ,
I It waK tlio hour of lovn tittd noujr,
| And early Tii#ht*b!nU <iu,Uiny :
A harqufl u^roHH ihn rfv«»r dn«w ; »•
Tho row) wan glowing through uud
Tho nuuclon*M c*hi*c*fc of inmtliliitff h
iwili^lit falling.

Maw no «tar, «ho wiw «c>
1 fcr heart <ixpazid(ui to tho hour ;

She ruokM not of hor lowly
Amichit the Hhadtw doH
With lovo thus flxM upon a
That Homn'd HO bnaukotm to tht* nl«ht»
How oould Kho think of wnm# and blight f
; And Borrow without onding.

Tho hare-boll droop'd bfincaUi tho d<tw,
I And closed li* oyo of tttuder blue $
Ko sun oould o'er it« lifo r««now,

Nor titar, in mnnio (uUHng.
The autumn loavoH woro oarly hhod ;
But earlier on hor oottago bod
Tho mavlon's loring hoort lay dmul,

Amulfit tho twilight falling I

0. 8waAn.~ Burn

180(J.]

" IN MEMXXRIAM '

[A. TENNYSON.

1703.— HONU Ol1 TUB JU1001C.

I owno from haunts of coot and horn ;

1 make a sudden sally,
And Hpavklo out among the forn,

To bickor down a volley.

By thirty hill* T hurry down,
Or Klip botwoon tho ndgow ;

By twenty thorpH, a littlo town,
And half a hundred bridges

Till liwt by Phiiip'H farm 1 flow
To joni tho brimming rivor ;

.For IIKJU may como and mon may go,
JJut I go on for ovor.

I ohattcr ovor stony ways,
Til littlo nharpB and trebles ,

1 bubblo into od< lying bayw,
I babble on tho pobblos.

With many a ourvo my banks I foot
IJy many a fiold and fallow,

And many a fairy foroland sot
With willow-wood and mallow,

I chatter, ohattor, as I flow
To join tho brimming rivor ;

For num may como and mou may go,
Hut I go ou for ovor.

1 wind about, and in and out,
With horn a bloHHom lulling,

And hwo and thorn a luuty trout,
And linni and thoro a grayling ;

And horo and thoro a foamy fluko

Upon mo, afl I travel,
With many a Hilvory watorbroak

Above tho goldoa gravel j

And draw thorn all along, and flow
To join tho brimming rivor ;

I«\>r inon mayoomo and mon may go,
Hut 1 go on for ovor.

I Hioal by lawnfl and grassy plotw ;

1 nlido l>y haTsol oovorn ;
I movo tho Hwoot forgot-mo-nota

That grow for happy Jovora.

I ulip, I Hlitlo, I gloom, I glanoo,
Among uxy Hkimming »wallowK ,

1 ntako tho netted Bunbotim donee
AgoiuHt my sandy Hliullo

I tmirmur tmdor moon and stars

In brambly wildomoHHon ;
I linger by my Hhingly barn j

I loiter round my orossoH ;

And out again I onrvo and flow

To join tho brimming rivor ;
l»V)r mon may oomo and mon may go,

JBut I go on for ovor.

Alfred Tennyson. — Ikrn 1810.

1704-— -THE BECONCILIATION-.

AH through tho land at ovo wo wont,

And pluok'd tho ripou'd oor»,
Wo foil out, my wifo and I, —
Oh, wo foil out, I know not why,

And kisw'd again with tears.

For whon wo oamo whoro lios tho child

We lost m other yoars,
Thoro above tho littlo gravo,
Oh, thoro above tho littlo gravo,

Wo kiss'd again with tears.

Alfred. Tenwyson. — Born 1810.

1705.— TUB WIDOW A3STD CHILD.

Homo they brought hor warrior do id;

Sho nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry ,
All hor maidens, watching, said,

" Sho must woop or sho will dw."

Thon they praised him, soft and low,
CoU'd him worthy to bo lovod,

Truest friend and noblest foe ,
Yot sho noithor spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from hor place,

Lightly to tho warrior stopt,
Took a faco-cloth from tho face ;

Yot Pho neither movod nor wept.

Tioso a nurse of mnoty years,

Sot hiH ohild upon, hor kneo —
Like summer tempest came hor tears —

" Sweet my child, 1 hve for thoo/ J

Alfred Tennyson. — Born 1810.

1706.— FEOM <(IKr MBMOBIAM."

I envy not, in any moods,
Tho captive void of noble rage,
Tho linnet born within tho cage,

That never know the summer weeds.

I envy not the boast that takes
His hoonso m the field of tune,
TTnf otter' d by tho sense of crime,

To whom a conscience never wakes ;

Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth,
But stagnates in tho weeds of sloth —

Nor any want-begotten rest.

I hold it true, whato'or befall —
I fool it, whon I sorrow most —
'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

"With trembling fingers did wo woavo
The holly round tho Christmas hearth ;
A rainy cloud possess' d tho earth

And sadly fell our Christmas evo.

A. TKNNYROW.7

FifcOM " IN MKHOUIAH.

[StiVI<Y1!I

At our old paHtimoH in i\w hall
Wo ganiboU'd, making vain proto&co
Of gladnotw, with an awful HWIHO

Of one mntft Shadow watching all

Wo panned ; tho windu wore in iho hooch-—
Wo hoard thorn «woq> tho whiter land ;
And in a cirolo hand m hand

8at nil<»nt, looking each at oaoh.

Than ooho-liko oar voices rang1 ;
Wo Hang, though ovory <jyo was dim —
A merry aong wo Rang with him

Last year : impetuously wo sang ;

Wo ceased. A gentler fooling oropt

Upon us ; surely roat is moot ;

" They rost," we said, " thoir sloop i«

sweet."
And silence follow'd, and wo wopt.

Our voiooa took a higher range ;
Onoo more wo sang • " They do not dio,
Nor lose thoir mortal sympathy,

Nor change to us, although thoy change •

"Rapt from tho floklo and the frail,
With gathor'd power, yet tho flame,
Piorooa tho keen seraphic flame

Prom orb to orb, from veil to veil.

Biso, happy morn I rise, holy morn '
l)raw forth tho cheerful day from night 1
O Father I touch tho oaat, and light

Tho light that shono when Hope watt born ' "

Dost thoT, look back on what hath boon,

As f-om3 divinely gifted man,

Whoso life in low OBtato began,
And on a simple village green P

Who breaks his birth's invidious bar,
And grasps tho skirts of happy chance,
And broaflts tho blows of circumstance,

And grapples with his evil star;

Who makes by force his merit known,
And livofl to clutch tlio goMon koy» —
To mould a mighty Btato'« doorocH,

And shape tho whisper of the throne ;

And moving up from high to higher,
Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope
Tho pillar of a people's hope,

The centre of a world's desire ;

Yet feels, as in a pensive dream,
When all his aotivo powers are still,
A distant clearness in tho hill,

A secret sweetness in the stream,

Tho limit of his narrower fate,
While yet beside its vooal springs
Ho play'd at counsellor* and kings,

With one that was his earliest mate j

Who ploughs with pain his native lea,
And reaps the labour of hte hands,
Or in the farrow musing stand* :

" Does my old fei«xd remember' me P °

that countt»rc»litMfl»» Ui«» fl'*»r
Of thiH flat lawn with <tu*k ami htMit :
And thou, with all thy l>rt»mllh and iu'
Of foliage, toworinjy

How often, hiihc«r wan<l«'ri«;r down*
My Arthur found your *.hiulow<t f.vir,
And Hhook to all tJi<k hlx-nil air

Tho diiHt and <lin and otmm of itmn !

Tfo brought an oyo for nit h<» • a\v ;

Ho mixM in all our tuinph* report. < ;

Thoy ploaHcd him, fiwh fntm

oourtn
And dusky puriiotiH of tho law,

0 joy to him, iti thift
Immantlod in ambrosial tlitrk,
To drink the ooolar air, ami mark

Tho landHoapo winking through tho lu^l

0 sound to rout tho brood of cartm,
Tho HWC<»P of Hovtho in inortntif* <l«*w,
Tho qiiHt that round ilm pardon fl««w,

And tumbled half tho nu'llowin^

0 bliKR, whi^i nil in c'in«1« ctrttwn
About him, hoart ati«l (*ar wi»n» ft*»I,
To hoar hint, OH lu> lay iiittl ivn, *

Tlio Tuscan tioctn on tho luwti ;

Or in tho all-tfoldwi afi^trnoon
A gnost, or happy Hini^^ Miu^r,
Or hore sho })rought tho harp, and flunj-

A ballad to the britfhtmiintf moon t

Nor ICHH it plojWiCHl, In livelier mood \,
JRoyoncl the botindinpc Hill io ntnty,
And break tho livolonn' «umim(*r day

With banquet in tho diuiutit wooti» ;

Wlioroat wo planted from thmrm
DiKcnHftM tho hook i i.o low* or hato,
Or touchM tho <ihfus;f<*s of f-h«» «tat*s

Or threaded Homo Homditi drtnutu

Tint if I praiHod tho )>«fiy town,

I To loved to rail a#stitmt it Htilt,
• For "ground iti ycmciw Morrbil mill,
Wo rub oa»«h oth«r*H angltm down,

And tncrgo/* ho waltl, *' in form and
Tho picturoftquQ of man arid man."
We talkM $ tho htruam b«»nttivth u» run,

Tbo wine-flank lying oouch'd i

Or oool'd within tho prloottiing wave $
And lattt, rotttnuxtfr from afar,
TWoro tho orimHOii-oircl<«l nUr

Had fall'n into hor fathor'n frravo,

And brnnhlng anklo deep in floworo,
Wo hoard behind tho woodbino veil
Tho milk that bubbled in tho pall,

And buzziugM of tho honoy'U hour**,

Thy oonvorflo drew tin with dijliffht,
The men of rathe and riper yours j
The feeble »oult a haunt of fwtvii j

Forgot hi** weakuesi! in thy Hi#ht*

From 1780 to 1800.]

LADY CLABE.

[A TENNYSON.

On thoo tho loyal-hearted hung,
Tho proud was half disarm' d of prido ;
Nor oared tlio norpont at thy side

To flicker with his treble tongue,

Tho atom wore mild whon thou wort by ;
Tho flippant put himHolf to school
And hoard thoo , and th.0 brazen fool

Wats Bof ten'd, and ho know not why ,

While I, thy doarost, sat apart,
And folt thy triumph was an mine ;
And lovod thorn moro, that they woro thino,

Tho graceful tact, tho Christian art ,

Not mmo tho swootnoas or tho skill,
But mino tho lovo that will not tiro,
And, born of lovo, tho vague dosiro

Tliat «purs an imitative will.

Dear f riond, far off, my lost desiro,
So far, BO noar, in woo and wool ;
Oh, lovod tho most whon moat I feol

Thuro IB a lower and & higher;

Known and unknown, human, divine '
ftwoot human hand and lips and oyo,
Dear hoavonly f riond that canst not dio,

Mine, mino, fur over, over mino !

Hirnngo friend, pawl, prommt, and to bo,
f jovcxl douplior, darklior undorntood ,
JJohold I droam a dream of good

And jniuglo all tho world with thoo.

Thy voice iri on tho rolling air ;

T hoar thoo whore tho waters run ;

Thou fttondoBt in tho rifling sun,
And in tho sotting thou. art fair.

What art thon, thon P I cannot guess ;
But though I Hoom in star and flower
To fool thoo, some diffusive power,

I do not therefore lovo thoo loss :

My lovo involves tho lovo bof oro j

My lovo JB vaster passion now;

Though mhc*d with God and Nature thou
I Boom to lovo thoo more and more.

Far off thou art, but ovor nigh ;
I have thoo still, and I rejoice,
I prOHpor, circled with thy voice ;

I shall not lose thoo, though I dio.

Alfred T<wwyson.—Bom 1810.

1707— LABY CLARE.

Lord Ronald courted Lady Clare,
I trow thoy did not part in eoorn;

lord Ronald, her oouwn, courted her,
And tlioy wiU wed tho morrow mom.

" Ho doos not lovo me for xuy birth,
Nor for my lands BO broad and fair ;

Ho lovos me for my own true worth,
And that IB well," said Lady Clare.

In there oamo old Alice the nurse.

Said, " Who was this that wont from

theo?"
" It was my cousin," said Lady Clare,

" To-morrow ho wods with mo "

" 0 God be thank'd I " said Alice the nurse,
" That all cornea round so just and fair

Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you arc not tho Lady Claro."

" Aro yo out of your mind, my nurse, my
nurso P "

Said Lady Claro, " that ye spoak BO wild ? "
" As God 's above," said Alice tho nurso,

ft I speak the truth you aro my child.

The old Earl's daughter died at my breast ;

I speak the truth as I live by bread 1
I buried her like my own sweet child,

And put my child in her stead."

" Falsely, falsely have ye done,
O mother," she said, "if this bo true,

To keep tho bost man under the sun
So many years from his due."

" Nay now, my ohild," said Ahco tho nurso,
" lint koop tho soorot for your Me,

And all you liavo will bo Lord Ronald's,
"Whon you aro man and wifo."

" If I'm a beggar bom," she said,
" I will speak out, for I dare not lie.

Pull off, puU off the brooch of gold,
And fling the diamond necklace by."

" Nay now, my ohild," said Alice the ZLTLTSG,
" But koop the secret all yo can "

She said " Not so \ but I will know
If there bo any faith in man."

"Nay now, what faith P" said Alice the nurse,
" Tho man will cleave unto his right "

" And ho shall have it," tho lady replied,
" Though I should die to-night."

" Tot give one kiss to your mother dear !

Alas, my child, I smn'd for thoo."
" 0 mother, mother, mother ! " she said,

" So strange it seems to mo.

Yet hero 's a kiss for my mother dear,

My mother dear, if this be BO ;
And lay your hand upon my head,

And bless me, mother, ere I go."

She dad herself in a russet gown,

Sho wan no longer Lady Clare ;
She wont by dale, and sho went by down,

"With a single rose in her hair.

A lily-white doe Lord Eonald had brought

Leapt up from where sho lay,
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand,

And follow* d her all tho way.

A. THNNYHON.1 DOHA..

l)o\vn ht«n>t Lord Ronald from hiw lower :
"0 Lady Ularo, yon Hhamo ycmr worth !

Why como you drwt likn a villain mtud,
That aro tlio flower of iho oarth ? "

" Tf I oomo drottl liko a villain maid,

1 am hut OH my fortunm aro
1 am o-lwtfffor born," nho «aid,

" And not tlio Lady Claro "

" Play mn no triokH," Raid IjOtd Ronald,
" For I am yours in word and flood ;

Play mo no tricks," said Lord BonalJ,
" Your riddle ia hard to road."

Oh, and proudly rtood sho -up I
Hot heart within hor did not foil ;

Sho lookM into Lord Bonald'H eyes,
And told him all hor nurse's tale.

He laugh1 d a laugh of morry acorn ;

Ho turn'd and kisB'd hor whoro sho stood:
" If you oro not tho heiress born,

And I," said ho, " tho next of blood—

If you aro not tho hoiroBB born,
And I," said ho, "tho lawful hoir,

We two will wod to-morrow mom,
And you shall still bo Lady Claro,"

Alfred Tennyson,— Born 1610.

1708.— DOKA.

With farmer Allan at tho farm abode
William and Dora. William waH hi« son,
And sho his niooo. Ilo offcoii look'd ai thorn,
And of ton thought, "I'll mako thorn man

and wife."

Now Dora folt hor unolo'n will in all,
And yoanx'd towards William ; but tho youth,

because

Ho had boon always with hor hi tho IIOUHO,
Thought not of Dora.

Thon thoro oamo a dny
Whon Allan oall'd hiH son, and aaul, u Hy

SOU:

I married lato, but X would wiflh to HOC
Hy grandchild on my knoon boforo I dio ;
And I have not my heart upon a match.
Now therefore look to Dora; sho in well
To look to, thrifty too boyond hor ago.
Sho ia my brother's daughter ; ho and I
Hod onoo hard words, and ported, and ho

died

la foreign lands ; but for hid nako I biod
His daughter Dora ; tako her for your wife ;
For I have wish'd this marriage, night and

day,
For many years." But William anawor'd

short:

" I <M«raot marry Dora ; by my life,
I will not marry Dora." Thon the old man
Was wroth, and doubled up his luuada, and

said-

"You will not, l«»yf you darn it* nn .v«*

tlmn I

But in my thnn a father1 i word wa \ tow,
And HO it nhall Im now for inc. Jrf»»k <«» '< ;
Oonwdor, William • l»ik« a mouth to thiuU,
And lot m« Iwtvo mi OIIMWIV t«> my wi»ih i
Or, by tho Lord that mwlo mo, you > halt

And novor mow? darkon my ilonn iP'ain ' "
But William IWIMMTM mwib , »»ii hi ' 1«1» ',
And broko away. Th« ««*«» ho looUM »ii

hor
Tho IOMH fco likcMl Iior; and lin w«,y.< \»i-r«»

harsh ;

But Dora boro thorn ttionLly. Thon M*w
Tho month wan ottt ho loft MM fat hor1 * h*m, o,
And hirod hisnmdf to work within tho floM.i ;
And half in lovo, luUf NplUi, h« wtmM iiwt

wod
A labouror'H daivyhtcT, Wary Worri «»M.

Tlum, whuu Ui« boliM worn rintfiujf, A Hun

call'd

Jlifl nioro and Haiti, " My ffirl, t luvo yc»« »«•!! ;
But if you Hpcak with hua that, w.u i«y . ^»»»
Or ota^o a wort! wii.li hor lw <-»ll » lii* wifo,
My home* IM nemo cif yount. My « ill i » law/'
And Dora promiHml, bom^f mook. Who thoicrht,
" It caimot 1)0 ; my unoUi'ii mind will otuin»{t» J '*
And <lay» wont on, and th«s»* w«w liwii a

boy

To William ; thon di4wwHOH cnmo on him ;
And day by day ho piwu*d hw futhi*r*n «iil»»,
Hoart-brokon, and hix fathor holjt'd him t«»t.
But Dora Htowl what litilo nho oouli) .nivf,
And wmt ib thorn by ntoaHh, nor did (hoy

know

"Who Honb it ; till at lout a fovor i ofcod
On. William, and in luirvc'it tini*' h« difvl,

Thou Dora wont to Mary* Mary twit
And lookM with toom upon hr«r buy, ami

thought

Hard thinprM of Dora. Dora t*att»» nnd /aid z
" I havo obo/d my imcilo until iuiw,
And I havo trimi'd, for it WTW all thrtttt5?1i ttto
a'liiH ovil (tarno on William at tho ftMi,
Hut, Mary, for tho wako of him tltftt'n f^»tiof
And for your nnkot tho woman that ht» O)KMO,
And for tliin orphan, I am oomo io 3011.
Tou know thoro ho* not bium for fcUo o 11 vo

yoara

So fall a harvtmt t lot mo tttkn tho hoy,
And I will w»t him in my tmolo'n <jyt»
Among tho wlioat ; that whon hin hoart i«

Of tho fnll harvoHt, ho way BOO tho hoy,
And bloHH him for tho Mako of him that'*

gotio."

And Dora took tho child, and wont hor way
Attorn tho wheat, and wit upon a mound
That won mwown, whoro many poppltvi y*ww.
Vor ofS tho format coma into tho flotd
And Rpiod h^r not ; for nono of all hlw in on
Pare toll him Dora waitod with tho child j
And Dora would have riaon and gou<t to him^
But her heart fail'd hot j and tho roapon*

reap'd,

Prom 1780 to 18GG.] TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE.

[W. M. P.BABD.

And tho mm full, and all the land was dork.
But whon ilio morrow camo, sho roso and

took

Tho child oiico moro, and Rat upon tho mound;
And marlo a little wreath of all tho flowers
That grow about, and tiod it round his hat
To moko him pleasing in hot unolo's 070.
Thon when tho farmer poss'd into tho field
Ho spied her, and ho loft his nion at work,
And camo and said! "Where were you yes-

terday ?
WhoHO , child is that P What are you doing

hero?"

So Born, cost her oyos upon tho ground,
And answer 'd softly, " This is William's

child'"

" And did I not," said Allan, « did I not
Forbid you, Bora ? " Bora said again :
" Bo with mo as you will, but take tho child
And bloHH him for tho sake of him that 's

gono ! "

And Allan said, " I ROO it is a trick
Got up betwixt you and tho woman there.
1 must be taught my duty, and by you I
You know my word was law, and yot you

darod

To slight it. Woll— f or I will take tho boy ;
But ffo you honco, and novor soo mo moro."

So Haying, ho took tho boy, that criod aloud
And Htrugglod hard. Tho wreath of flowers

foil

At Dora'a foot. She bow'd upon her hands,
And tho boy* H cry come to hor from tho fiold,
JMtoro axul moro distant. Sho bow'd down hor

hood,

Remembering- tho day when first she oamo,
And all tho thing* that had boon* Bho bow'd

down

And wept in floorot; and the reapers roap'd,
And tho Run foil, and all the land was dark,
Then Dora went to Mary's house, and

stood

TTpon tho threshold. Mary saw tho boy
Wa« not with Bora. Sho broke out in praise
To God, that holp'd hor in hor widowhood.
And Bora said, " My undo took tho boy ; ^
But, Mary, lot mo livo and work with you ;
He Hays tliat he will never BOO me moro."
Then answered Mary, " This shall novor bo.
That thou Hhonldst take my trouble on thy-

And, now I think, he Bhall not have tho boy,
For ho will teach him harshness, and to slight
HiH mother ; therefore thou and I will go,
And I will have my boy, and bring him homo,
And I will bog of him to toko thoo back \
But if he will not take thoo bock again,
Then thou and I will livo within one house,
And work for William's child until ho grows
Of ago to help us."

So tho women kiss'd

Each othor, and sot out and roaoh'd tho form.
Tho door was off the latch ; they peop'd and

Haw

Tho boy sot up botwist his grandsiro's knooa,
Who thrust him in the hollows of his arm,

And olapt him on the hands and on the

checks,
Like one that loved hun ; and the lad stretoh'd

out

And babbled for the golden seal, that hung
From. Allan's watoh and sparkled by the fire.
Thon they come in j but when the boy beheld
His mothei, ho cried out to come to her ;
And Allan sat h^Tti down, and Mary said .

" 0 father ! — if you lot me call you so —
I never came a-begging for myself,
Or William, or this child , but now I come
For Bora take hor back ; she loves you well.
Oh, sir, when William, died, he died at peace
With all mon ; for I ask'd him, and he said,
He could not over rue his marrying me —
I had boon a patient wife • but, sir, lie said
That he was wrong to cross his father thus ;
* God bless him i ' he said, ' and may he never

know
The troubles I havo gone through ! ' Thon

ho turn d

His face and pass'd— unhappy that I am I
But now, sir, let me have my boy, for you
Will moke hun hard, and he will learn to

slight

His father's memory ; and take Bora back,
And lot all this bo as it was before."

So Mary said, and Bora hid hor face
By Mary. There was silence in the room ;
And all at onco tho old man burst in sobs .—
" I hayo boon to blamo— to blame ' I havo

kill'd my son I
I havo kill'd hun— but I loved him— my dear

son!

May God forgive mo I — I have been to blamo.
Kiss mo, my children 1 "

Then they clung about
The old man's neok, and Mss'd him many

tunes

And all the man was broken with remorse ;
And all his love came back a hundred-fold;
And for throe hours he sobb'd o'er William's

child,
Thinloxig of William.

So those four abode

Within one house together ; and as years
Went forward, Mary took another mate ,
But Bora lived unmarried till her death.

.—Bom 1810.

1709.— TWENTY-EIGHT ANB TWENTY-

OTNE.

I heard a sick man's dying sigh,
And an infant's idlo laughter .

Tho Old Year went with mourning by —
The Now come dancing after 1

Lot Sorrow shod hor lonely tear-
Lot Revelry hold hor ladle ;

Bring boughs of cypress for tho bior —

rosAs on the cradle

70

HON. MHS.

P10TTJBB OF TWILIGHT.

[HKVKNTH

MutoH to wait 011 tho f uuoral state,

PapfGH to pour tho wino ;
A requiem for Twonty-oitfht,

And a health to Twonty-nino !

Alas for liuman happmoHH !

AlaH for human sorrow I
Our yontorday IB nothingness —

What olno will bo our morrow ?
Still JJoanty must bo stealing hearts,

And Knavery stealing purses ;
Still cookw must live by making tarts,

And wits by making1 verses ;
While sagos prate, and courts debate,

Tho same stars Rot and abino :
And tho world, as it roll'd through Twcnfgr-
oight,

Must roll through Twenty-nine.

Some king will oomo, in heaven's good time,

To the tomb his father came to ;
Some thief will wado through blood and crime

To a orown ho has no claim to ;
Some suffering land will rend ui twain

The manacles that bound her,
And. gather tho links of the broken chain

To fasten them proudly round her ;
Tho grand and great will love and hato,

And combat and combine ;
And much where wo were in Twenty-eight,

We shall bo in Twonty-mno.

O' Council will toil to raise the rent,

And Konyon to sink tho Nation j
And Shiel will abuse tho Parliament,

And Pool the Association ;
And thought of bayonets and swords

Will make ox-Chancellors merry ;
And jokes will be out in tho House of Lords

And throats in the County of Kerry ;
And writers of weight will speculate

On tho Cabinet's design ;
And just what it did in Twenty-eight

It will do in Twenty-nine.

And tho goddess of Love will keep her smiles,

And the god of Cups hiK orgies ;
And thoro'U bo riots in St. Giles,

And weddings in St. Ooorgo'H ;
And mendicants will sup liko kings,

And lords will swear like lacqueys ;
And black eyes oft will lead to rings,

And rings will load to black eyes ;
And pretty Kate will scold her mate,

In a dialect all divine ;
Ala« 1 they maxnod in Twenty-eight,

They will part in Twenty-nine.

My uncle will swathe his gouty limbs,

And talk of his oils and blubbers j
My aunt, Miss Dobbs, will play longer hymns,

And rather longer rubbers ;
My cousin in parliament will prove

How utterly ruin'd trade is ;
My brother, at Eton, will fall in love

With half a hundred ladies j

My patron will «ato hi« prul<t frmn i»lati»,
Aid his thirst from HonUwux wino—

His nose waH rod in Twwiby-oitfht,
'Twill bo rodder in Twenty-nine*

And O ! I fttiall find how, day liy day,

All thought* ami tliinjfH look <>Mw~
How the laugh of Vloiwurn #rowH 1«'na p-ay,

And tho hoari of KrioudHhip wilder;
But stall I shall bo what I hnvo bct'ii,

Sworn foo to Tuwly ItcoHon,
And seldom troubled wilh tin* ni»liM*n,

And fond of talking tn*uK<m ;
I shall buckle my nkato, and lonp ni>

And throw aiwl writo my linn ;
And tho woman I worahippM in
oight

I shall womhip in Twenty-nil^,

W. U. JVocdt.— JWor/t 1H02,

1710.— PIGTURK O*1 TWIMWIT.

Oh, twilight ! Spirit that dort w«n«1«»r liirth
To dim onohautiuoiitH ; molting ht^mi with

oartli,

Leaving on craRKy ^Hln aiul nmiuii^ utrcamn
A BoftuoHM liko tho atmoHplifiro of dmmw ;
Thy hour to all in wolaomol Kuiut and

HWOOt

Thy light falls round tho ptiamuit'ii homtiwurd

foot,

Who, H!OW rotuniitig from hiH ta.sk of toil,
Soos tho low HUiiHot K|1<1 i'ho (Miltttn^l Noil,
And, though Huoh rtKliauco round hint brightly

Marks tho Hixiall Hpitrk hin

throwH.

Stall OH hiH hoart fotcwUllH IUH woary immt,
Fondly ho droaiUH of »at»h faun liar fnco,
Recalls tho troaHiiruH of hiH narrow lifo-^
His rosy ohildron and hiH Hunlutrui \vift%
To whom hi» coming IH th<i «lnt»f <*v(«ut.
Of simple dayn in olworful lahotir fipi^nt.
Tho rich man' H chariot haik #(mu whirling pant,
And these poor ootlatrorH havo only mnt
One oaroloHH glance on all that H!K>W of prido,
Then to thoir tawkw turnM (nucitly ttt4ldo j
But himihoy wait for, him tluty W(*tr*mnct homo,
Kix'd HOutinolH look forth to H<KI him wmo ;
Tho fagot »<mt for whon tho firo ^»w dint,
Tho frugal meal prnparod, art) all for lam j
For him tho watohmg of that Hlurdy boyt
For V«i thone HiniloH of tmulcrm'tm and joy,
For him — who plodH hut Hauntorin^ way along
Whistling tho fragment of Homo villo^o Kong t
Boar art thou to thelovcir, thou HWootllght,
Fair Hooting Hiwtcsr of ilw mournful night I
As in impatient hope ho xtandu apart,
Compajiion'd only f>y hin boating lioart,
And with an oagor fancy oft boholdfl
Tho vision of a white robo'w fluttorinff foldn.

Hon. Jfw. Norton^—ltovn 1808.

1VBO to

TO FERDINAND SEYMOTTB.

. MBS. NOKTOW.

.— THE MOTHER'S HEAJfcT

"When firnt tliou comoHt, gontlo, why, and fond,
My oldont born, first hope, and dearoat
treasure,

My hoart received tlioo with a joy boyond
All that it yoi liad folt of earthly pleasure ;

Nor thought that any lovo again might bo

So doop and strong as that I folt for thoo.

Faithful and true, with sonno boyond thy

years,

( And natural piety that loan'd to hoavon j
Wrung by a harwh word suddenly to tears,

Yot patient of robuko when jutrtly given —
Obedient, easy to bo reconciled,
And mookly ohoorf ul — auoh wort thou, my ohild.

Not willing to bo loft fltill by my wdo
Haunting1 my walks, wlnlo summer-day was

dying?

Nor leaving in thy turn ; but pleased to glide
Through the dark room, whoro I was Hadly

lying ;

Or by the oonch of pain, a sitter meek,
Watoh the dim eye, and kiss the feverish ohook.

0 boy ! of Mich as then are oftonest made

Kurth'B fragile idolH; like a tender flower,
No Htrongth in all thy froshnoHH-— prone to

fiwlo —
And bonding weakly to tho thuudor

nhowor —
Still round tho loved, thy heart found force

to bind,
And olun# like woodbine nhnkon in tho wind

Than thou, my merry lovo, bold in thy gloo
Undor tho bough, or by tho firelight dancing,

With thy Hwoot tompor and thy spirit free,
Pidnt come as restless as a bird'H wing
glauobg,

Pull of a wild and irrepressible mirth,

Like a young sunbeam to tho gladden' d earth :

Tliine was tho shout I tho song ! the burst of

joy!
Which swoot from childhood's rosy lip re-

soundoth ;

Thine wan tho eager spirit nought could cloy,
And tho glad heart from which all gnof re-

boundoth ;

And many a mirthful jest and mook reply
Lurk'd in tho laughter of thy dark-blue eye 1

And thine was many an art to win and bless,
Tho cold and stern to joy and fondness

warming;

The coaxing smile— tho frequent soft caress —
The earnest, tearful prayer all wrath dis-
arming !

Again my heart a new affection found,
But thought that love with thoo had roach' d
its bound*

At length thou earnest—^ thou, the last and

least,

Nicknamed '* the emperor *' by thy laughing
brothers.

Because a haughty spirit swell* d thy breast,
And thou didst seek to rule and sway the

others ;

Mingling with every playful infant wile
A munio majesty that mode us smile.

And oh ! most like a regal child wert thou

An eye of resolute and successful scheming—
Fair shoulders, curling lip, and ^ftTiT|tJ6Hfl

brow —
Pit for tho world's strife, not for poet's

dreaming;

And proud tho lifting of thy stately head,
And the firm beaimg of thy conscious tread.

Different from both ' yot each succeeding claim,
I, that all other love had boon forswearing,

Forthwith admitted, equal and tho same ;
Nor injured either by tins love's comparing,

Nor stole a fraction for tho newer call,

But in the mother's heart found room for alL

Hon. JfcTrs. Norton,— JBom 1808.

1712.— TO FERDINAND SEYMOTO.

Bosy ohild, with forehead fair,
Coral lip, and shining hoar,
In whoso mirthful, clever eyes
Such a world of gladness lies ;
As thy loose curls idly straying
O'er thy mother's ohoeik, while playing,
Blend hot Roft look's shadowy twine
With tho fihttonng light of thmo, —
Who Khali Hay, who gazes now,
Which is fairest, she or thou P

In swoot contrast are ye met,
Such as heoit could ne'er forgot :
Thou art brilliant as a flower,
Crimsoning in the sunny hour 5
Merry as a singing-bird,
In the green wood sweetly heard ;
Bestiess as if fluttering wings
Bore ihoe on thy wanderings $
Ignorant of all distress,
Full of childhood's carelessness.

She is gentle ; she hath known
Something of the echo'd tone
Sorrow loaves, where'er it goes,
In this world of many woes.
On her brow such shadows are
As the faint cloud gives the star,
Veiling its most holy light,
Though it still bo pure and bright ;
And tho colour in her oheek
To the hue on thine is weak,
Save when flush'd with sweet surprise,
Sudden welcomes light her eyes ;
And her softly ohiselTd face
(But for living, moving grace)
Looks like one of those which beam
In th' Italian painter's dream,—
Some beloved Madonna, bending
O'er the infant she is tending •

HON. MBS. NORTON ]

PICTUBE OF TWILIGHT.

[HKVKNTH

Mniofl lo wait on tho funeral state,
Pages to pour tho wiuo ;

A requiem for Twenty-eight,
And a health to Twenty-nine I

Alas for

Aloft for human Borrow !
Our yofltorday i« notluugnoHB —

What O!HO -will bo our morrow ?
Still Beauty must "bo stealing hearts,

And Knavery stealing purges ;
Still cooks must live by making tarts,

And wits by making versos ;
While sagos prate, and courts debate,

Tho name «tars sot and Rhine :
And tho world, as it rolTd through Twenty-
eight,

Must roll through Twenty-nine.

Some long will oomo, in heaven's good time,

To the tomb his father eame to ;
Some thiof will wade through blood and crimo

To a crown he has no olaijn to ,
Some suffering land will rend in twain

Tho manacles that bound her,
And gather the liyka of tho broken chain

To fasten them proudly round her ;
The grand and great will love and hate,

And ooxubat and combine ;
And much whore wo wore in Twenty-eight,

We shall bo in Twenty-nine.

O'Connoll will toil to raiso tho rent,

And Konyon to sink the Nation ;
And Shiel will abuse tho Parliament,

And Peel tho Association ;
.And thought of bayonets and swords

Will make ox-Chancellors merry ;
And jokes will bo out in the HOUHO of Lords

And thioats in tho County of Kerry ;
And writ 01 s of weight will speculate

On tho Cabinet's design j
And juwt what it did in Twenty-eight

It will do in Twenty-nine.

And tho goddess of Love will koop her smiles,

And tho god of Cups hin orgiOH ,
And there'll bo riots in gt. Giles,

And weddings in St. George's ;
And mendicants will sup like kings,

And lords will swear hke laocjuoyH ;
And black eyes oft win lead to rings,

And rings will load to black eyes ;
And pretty Kate will scold her mate,

In a dialect all divine ;
Alas i they married in Twenty-eight,

They will part in Twenty-rune.

My unole will swathe his gouty limbs,

And talk of his oils and blubbers ;
My aunt, Miss Dobbs, will play longer hymns,

And ratber longor rubbers ;
My cousin in parliament will prove

How utterly ruin'd trade is j
My brother, at Eton, will fall in love

With half a hundred ladies j

Marks tho Hiimll ftpark IUH ooiUi^o- window

thrown.

Still OH hin hnart ff>rcHfjiJlf< hta uoary
Fondly ho (IraatiiM of iwh fauiiHur
Kooallw tho troiiHuroH of IUH narrow
HIM roHy childron and IUH Httnburut wlfo,
To whom k'in oomitiK1 IH tlm <*hii»f <>v<*ttt
Of simple dayn in ohmtrful labour f-iuuii.
l^lio rich mati*H cthtirtot hatli ffouu whirling pant,
And thoHO poor ooUujrtw liavo only nowt
One ooroloHH Klan<ui on all that nhow of prl^lo,
Then to thoir ttiKkH tum'<l fiuidtly awtdtt;
But Mm they wait for, him tltoy wclt^nui hamo,
Kix'd HcmtmolH look forth to mut him <u>m<j •
The fagot Hont for whon tho firo pftow dim,
The frugal uioal proporod, aro all for hitu ;
Vor him tho washing of ihat ntnrdy buy,
For him thono Htnikm of i<»nd<'rn<mH and joy,
For him — who plod* bin Hiumtorintf way along
Whistling tho fragment of Homo villngo Hong I
Bear art thou to tholovor, thou tiWoetlight,
Fair fleeting Kfator of tho mournful night t
As in impatient hope ho utandu apart,
Companioned only by hiH boatinK hoort,
And with an eager fancy oft beholds
Tho vision of a white robe'* fluttering fold*.

Hw. Mr*. Norton.— J3<m

My patron will nato IUH pridu from

And his thirHt from Bordeaux "wi
His none WOH rod in Twmity-wjrht,

'Twill bo rodder in Twenty-nine*

And 0 1 I Hliall find how, day Ity «lnjr,

All thoughts mid thm#H look oMur—
How tho laugh of Phwmw tfrown !«•»«» gay,

And tho lioart of KrwndHhip wilder;
But still I flhall bo what I havo burn,

Sworn foe to Lady Id'ason,
And seldom troubled with tho .«i»h'«»n,

And fond of talking treason ;
I shall buckle my nkato, uud Inap my j»uto,

And throw and wrlio my Hn« ;

™* tho woman J wcHnthipii'ii in Twmty* J
eight

I shall worship in Twonty-nhm, •

w. M. ;voo(Z.— ^orrt iHoa,

1710.— rJCTTTHP] OF

Oh, twilight I Spirit that dot.f, roitdor 1 art It
To dim outjhautiuimtH , molting lu'avmi with

earth,

Leaving on oraggy hillH mid nmniiiir tdronmn
A HoftnoHH like tho atmoHi>lu»ro of dmuuN ;
Thy hour to all IH woloomol Fniut und

HWCOt

Thy light falln round tho ixmHirat'ti hotnoword

foot,
Who, H!OW returning from hin ttw^lc «»F toll,

SOCH thO low HUUHOt ?\\(\ ihf) (Mlltlinnl ft t'd,

And, though hiirh riwliiLii(H) ronml him brightly

*Vvm 1780 to IHIW ]

TO FJBKDINAND SEYMOTO.

[HoN. MBS. NOBTON*

MOTllEtt'S HJEAJfcT.

Whonfirnt tlxou earnest, gontlo, shy, audfoiid,
My oMoHl bom, first hope, and doaroat
treasure,

My heart received tlieo with a joy beyond
All that it yet had folfc of oarthly pleasure j

Nor thought that any lovo again might bo

So doop iiud 8trong as that I folt for thoo.

Faithful and truo, with sonso boyond thy
yoarfl,

/bid natural piety that loan'd to heaven ,
Wrung by a harnh word suddenly to tears,

Yet putiout of rebuke when justly given—-
01>odioiit, cony to bo reconciled,
And meekly cheerful — auoh woit thou, my child.

Not willing to bo loft . Htill by my side
Haunting my walks, while summer-day was

dying ;

Nor leaving in thy turn; but pleased to glide
Through the dark room, whore 1 was Badly

lying;

Or by the oouch of pain, a sitter meek,
Watoh the dim eye, and kiss the i OYOrxsh eheek.

0 boy ! of finch as thou are oftenost made
Earth* H fragile idols, like a tender flower,

No strength in all thy froHhnoHs*— prone to

fade —
And bonding weakly to the thunder

Rtill round iho loved, thy heart found force

to bind,
AndoteOtf like woodbine Bhakon in the wind.

Then tliou, my merry love, bold in thy glee
Under the bough, or by the firelight diwoing,

With thy nwoet temper and thy spirit free,
Didttt come as restless as a bird's wing
glancing',

Pull of a wild and irrepressible mirth,

Like a young Bunboom to the gladdened earth :

Thine was the shout 1 the song I the burst of

joy!
Which Hwoot from childhood's rosy lip ro-

souncloth ;

Thine was the eager spirit nought could cloy,
And the glad heart from which all grief ro-

boundeth ;

And many a mirthful jest and mock reply
Lurk'd in tho laughter of thy dark-blue eye !

And thine was many an art to win and bless,
Tho cold and stern to joy and fondness

warming;

Tho coaxing emilo— tho frequent soft caress —
The earnest, tearful prayer all wrath dis-

arming 1

Again my heart a now affection found,
But thought that love with thoo had roach' d
its bound.

At length thou earnest — thou* tho last and

least,

Nicknamed "the emperor" by thy laughing
brothers,

Because a haughty spirit swell' d thy breast,
And thou didst seek to rule and sway the

others;

Mingling with every playful infant wile
A minuo majesty that made us smile.

And oh ! most liko a regal child wort thou

Anoye of resolute aad successful scheming1 —
Fair shoulders, curling lip, and dauntless

brow —
Pit for tho world's strife, not for poet's

dreaming;

And proud tho lifting of thy stately head,
And the firm boating of thy conscious tread.

Different from both ' yet each succeeding claim,
I, that all other lovo had boon forswearing,

Forthwith admitted, equal and tho same $
Nor injured either by this love's comparing,

Nor stole a fraction for tho newer call,

But UL the mother's heart found room for all.

Hon. 2fra. Norton.— -Born, 1808.

1712.— TO FEEDINAND SETMOTJB.

Rosy child, with f orohoad fair,
Coral lip, and shining hair,
In whose mwrthful, clever eyes
Such a world of gladness lies ;
As thy loose curls idly straying
O'er thy mother's cheek, while playing,
Blond her Roft lock's shadowy twine
With tho glittering light of thine, —
Who shall Bay, who gazes now,
"Which m f aireat, she or thou P

In sweet contrast are ye met,
Such as heart could ne'er forget :
Thou art brilliant as a flower,
Orimsoning m the sunny hour ;
Merry as a singing-bird,
In tho green wood sweetly heard ;
Restless as if fluttering- wings
Bore thoo on thy wanderings ;
Ignorant of all distress,
ML of childhood's carelessness,

She is gentle ; she hath known
Something of tho ooho'd tone
Sorrow leaves, where'er it goes,
In this world of many woes.
On her brow such shadows aro
As the faint cloud gives the star,
Yelling its most holy light,
Though it still be pure and bright ;
And the colour in her cheek
To tho hue on thine is weak,
Save when flush' d with sweet surprise,
Suddon welcomes light her eyes j
And her softly ohiselTd face
(But for living, moving grace)
Looks like one of those which beam
In th' Italian painter's dxoom, —
Some beloved Madonna, bending
O'er tho infant she is tending ;

76»

HON. Mtts. NOIITOX. j \VI'J UAVK IU3KN VHIHNDS Tom

[Si:vi;»rii l>nitoi>.~

Holy, bright, and undcfiiod
Mother of the Hoavcn-born oliild ;
Who, tho* painted Btrangoly fair,
SoomR but made tor holy prayer,
Pity, tears, and Rwoot appeal,
And fondness such OH angola fool j
Baffling: oartlily passion* H sigh
With aoronotit majesty !

Oh ! may those enshrouded years
"Whoso fair dawn alono appears, —
May that brightly budding Kf o,
Knowing yot nor sin nor strife, —
Bring its store of hoped-for joy,
Mother, to thy laughing boy 1
And the good thou dost impart
He deep-treasured in his heart,
That, when he at length shall strive
In the bad world where wo live,
Thy sweet name may still be blest
As one who taught his soul trao rest !

Eon. Mrs. Norton.— Bow, 1808.

1713.— WE HATE BEEN FRIENDS
TOGETHER.

We have been friends together,

In Bunstane and in shade ;
Since first beneath the chestnut trees

In infancy we played.
But coldness dwells within thy heart—

A cloud is on thy brow ;
We have been friends together

Shall a light word part us now P

We have boon gay together ;

We havo laugh'd at'littlo jests ;
For the fount of hope was gushing1,

Warm and joyous, in oar breasts.
But laughter now hath fled thy lip,

And sullen glooms thy brow ,
We have been gay together —

Shall a light word part us now ?

Wo have boon sad together —

Wo havo wept, with bitter team,
O'er the grass-grown graves, whoro slum-
bor'd

The hopes of early years.
Tho voices which are silent there

Would bid thoo clear thy brow ;
Wo have been sad together —

0 ! what shall part us now P

Hon. Mrs. Norton*— Born 1808.

1714.— ALLAN PEROT.

It was a beauteous lady richly dress'd ;

Axound her neck are chains of jewels rare ;
A velvet mantle shrouds her snowy breast,

And a young child is softly slumbering
there.

In her own armn, Iwncath that glowing nun,
She boars him onward to the fttoon-wiwd

tree;
Is the dun heath, thou fair and thought Iw;

one,

Tho place whoro an Earl'ii son should
cradled boP

Lullaby I

Though a proud Karl lio father to my chili!,
Yot on tho KWtml my blcKW'd bubo *.lmlt

ho;
Lot tho winds lull him with thwr murmur**

wild,
And toflH tho groon bough* upward* to tho

sky.
Well knows that Karl how long my *pirit

pined.

I lovod a forester, glad, bold, and fr<to ;
And had I wedded on my heart inclined,
My child wore cradled 'noath tho grrum-
wood tree.

Lullaby!

Slumber thou still, my innocent — mino own,

While I call book tho droauiH of other day**
In tho doop foront I fool loim alono

Than whon thono palace Bplondorn mock

my gtwso.
Fear not ! my arm shall baro thoo nafoly lutuk ;

I nood no squire, no page with bondfid kuiM*f
To bear my baby through tho wild wood irottk,

Whoro Allan Percy unoA to roam with mo.
Lullaby!

Hero I can nit; and whilo tho frotth wind

blows,

Waving tho ring-lota of thy shining hoar,
Giving thy chock a deeper tin^o of row,
I can dioam droumti that comfort my de-
spair;
I can make visiona of a tlifforont homo.

Such OH wo hop(»d in othor day» might bo ;
There no proud Karl's unwoloomo footntops

oomo— -

Thoro, Allan Percy, T am flftf o with thoo !
Lullaby!

Thou art mino own— I'll boar thoo whoro I

list
For from tho dull proud tower and donjon

koop;

From my long hair tho pearl ohaina I'll un-
twist,
And with a peasant's heart wit down and

woop.
Thy glittering broidor'd robo, my procioufl one,

Changed for a simpler covering- Mhnll bo ;
And I will dream thoo Allan Percy's HOU,
And think poor Allan guards thy «loop with
mo.

Lullaby!

Hon. Mrs. Norton. — Bom

From 1780 to 18GC.]

THE BBOOK-SIDB.

[LOUD HotraHTOK.

1715.— LOVE NOT.

Lovo not, lovo not ! yo hapless sons of day !
Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly

flowers*—

Things that are made to fade and fall away
Ere they have blossom'd for a few short hours.
Love not!

Love not 1 the thing yo love may change ;
The rosy Up may cease to smile on yon,
The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange,
The heart still warmly boat, yet not bo trne.
Lovo not I

Love not r tho thing you lovo may die —
May perish from tho gay and gladsome earth ;
Tho silent stars, tho blue and smiling sky,
Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth*
Lovo not !

Lovo not ! oh warning vainly said
In present hours as in years gone by ;
Lovo flings a halo round tho dear one's head,
Faultless, immortal, till they ohange or die.

Love not !
Hon. Mrs, Norton. — Born, 1808.

1716.— THE KING OF DENMARK'S BIDE.

Word was brought to tho Danish King

(Hurry!)

That tho lovo of his heart lay suffering,
And pined for tho comfort his voice would
bring;

(0 1 ride as though you wore flying !)
Better he loves each golden curl
On tho brow of that Scandinavian girl
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl ;
And his Boso of tho Isles is dying !

Thirty nobles saddled with speed;

(Hurry I)

Each one mounting a gallant steed
Which he kept for battle and days of noed ;

(0 1 ride as though you wore flying !)
Spurs wore struck in tho foaming flank ;

Worn-out chargers stagger' d and sank ,
Bridles wore slaokcn'd, and girths were burst ;
But ride as they would, the king rode first,
For his Boso of tho Isles lay dying !

His nobles arc beaten, one by one ;

(Hurry!)
They have faintod, and faltered, and homewara

gone;
His little fair page now follows alone,

For strength and for oourago trying !
Tho king look'd back at that faithful child ;
Wan was tho face that annwcnn^ smiled ,
They pass'd the drawbridge with clattering

din,

Then ho dropp'd ; and only tho king rode in
Where his Boso of tho Isles lay dying ;

Tho king blew a blast on his bugle horn.

(Silence ')

No answer came ; but faint and forlorn
An echo return'd on tho cold grey mom,

lake the breath of a spirit sighing.
The castle portal stood grimly wide ;
None welcomed the king from that weary ride ;
For dead, in tho light of the dawning day,
The pale sweet form of tho woloomor lay,
Who had ycarn'd for his voice while dying !

The panting steed, with a drooping crest,

Stood weary.

The king return' d from her chamber of rest,
Tho thick sobs choking in his breast ;

And, that dumb companion eyeing,
Tho tears gush'd forth which he strove to

chock ,

He bow'd his head on his charger's neck •
" 0, steed — that every nerve didst strain,
Dear steed, our nde hath, been in vain
To the halls whore my love lay dying I "

I/on. Mrs. Norton. — Bom 1808.

1717.— THE BBOOK-SIDE.

I wandor'd by the brook-side,

I wandor'd by tho mill ,

I could not hoar tho brook flow —

Tho noisy wheel was still ;

There was no burr of grasshopper,

No ohirp of any bird,

But the boating of my own heart

Was all the sound I hoard.

I sat beneath the elm-tree ;

I watoh'd tho long, long shade,

And, as it grow still longer,

I did not fed afraid;

For I listen* d for a footfall,

I listen' d for a word —

But the beating of my own heart

Was all the sound I hoard.

He came not, — no, he came not —
The night oamo on alone —
The little stars sat one by one,
Each on his golden throne ;
Tho evening wind pass'd by my cheek,
Tho loaves above were stirr'd —
But the boating of my own heart
Was all tho sound I heard.

Fast silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind ;
A hand was on my shoulder —
I knew its touch was kind :
It drew mo nearer — nearer, —
We did not spoak one word,
For tho boating of our own hearts
Was all tho sound we heard.

Lord Ttoughton. — Born 1809

IiOttD HOtiailTONT

MKN OK <>M>

r8l!VKNTH

17i8.— TUB MEN OV OLD.

I know not tliat tho mc»u of old

Woro bettor than mou now,
Of heart more kind, of hand moro bold,

Of moro ingonuouH brow :
I hoed not thane who pino for force

A ghont of time to raise,
AB if thoy than could chock tho course

Of those appointed days.

Still in it trao and ovor irao,

That I ddiffht to oloso
This book of lifo solf-wiso and now,

And let my thoughts rpposo
On all that humblo happiness

The world has suxoe foregone —
The daylight of oontentodnoss

That on those faces shone i

With rights, though not too closely soaun'd,

Enjoy' d as far as known —
"With will, by no reverse unmann'd —

With pulse of ovon tono —
They from to-day and from to-night

Expected nothing more,
Than yesterday and yesternight

Had proffer 'd them before.

To them was life a simple art

Of duties to bo done,
A game where oaoh man took his part,

A race where all must run ;
A battle whose great scheme and scope

They little oared to know,
Content, as men at arms, to cope

Each with his fronting foe

Man now his -virtue's diadem

Puts on, and proudly wears —
Great thoughts, groat feolinga, came to thorn,

Like instincts unawares
Blending their souls' sublunest needs

With tasks of evory day,
They went about thoir gravest deoda>

As noble boys at play.

A man's best things are nearest him,

Lie close about his foot,
It is tho distant and the dim

That wo are sick to greet :
For flowers that grow our hands beneath

We struggle and aspire—
Our hearts must die, except thoy breathe

The air of fresh desire.

But, brothers, who up reason's hill

Advance with hopeful cheer—
0 ! loiter not, those heights are chill,

As chill as they are clear ;
And still restrain your haughty gazo,

The loftier that ye go,
Remembering distance leaves a haze

On all that lies below.

Lord HougKton.—Bom 1809.

17,9.— THK U>N«-A<i<>.

On that deop-rotiriuK nhn«»

Frequent pourta of bcwuty li<»,
Whoro tho paHhion-wavw of yon*

Fiercely boat and inonntwl
SorrowR tliat aro twrrowtt hiill

LOBO tho bitter toHttt of wo ;
Nothing

In tho griofn of

Tombs whoro lonely love ropni<«8,

Ghastly tenement* of tt»nr *,
Whoro tho look of happy Hhrinw

Through tho golduu mint of y<*ttw s
Death, to thoKo who trtiHt in flood,

ViudioatoH hiH hardtwt blow *
Oh ! wo would not, if wo uould,

Wake the aloop of Long-ago !

Though the doom of swift doony

Shocks tho Houl whoro lifo IK
Though for frailer hoarin tlu» day

LuifforH wwl and ov<»rlf«»j(—
Still tho woiffht will find tt liMtvon

Still tho Hpoilcr'n hand in nlmv,
Whilo tlio fuiuro hiw HH hoavcti,

And tho POH! ita

Lord Umtylitvn. — /torn IHOIU

1750.— THE OLD ABM-OHAIU.

I lovo it, I lovo it ; and who Khali daro
To cb.de mo for loving that did arm-chair ;
I've troasurod it lon^ OH a Haiiitcul prixn ;
I'vo bodow'd it with team, and omhalm*tl it

with HighH.

'Tis bound by a tliounatid ban<l« to my liuart ;
Not a tie will break, not a link will KtarU
Would yo loam tho Hpoli?— a motlmr mi,

there ;
And a Boorod thing- it* that old arm-chair.

In childhood's hour I linger* d near
Tho hallow' d float with Interning oar j
And gentle wordH that mother would giro ;
To fit mo to dio, and toaclx mo to livu.
She told mo shame would novor boticl(»,
With truth for my croo<l and (loci for Jny

guide;

She taught mo to linp my oarliont prayer ;
As I knelt booido that old arm-ohair.

I sat and watoh'd her many a day,

Whon hor oye grow dim, and her looks wore

gray;
And I almost worshipped hor who* nho

smiled,

And tum'd from hor Bible, to bloflfl hor child,
Yoats rolTd on ; but tho loftt ono upod—
My idol was shattered ; my oarth-utar fled :
I learnt how much the heart con boar,
When I saw hor die in that old arm-ch*ir.

From 1780 to 1800]

THE OLD FABM-GATE.

*T is past, 't is past, but I gazo on it now
With quivering breath and throbbing brow
'T was there sho nurHod mo, 't waa thoro she

died:

And memory flows with lava tide.
Say it in folly ; and doom mo weak,
While the scolding drops ntart down my

ohook ;

"But 1 love it, I love it ; and cannot tear
My soul from a mother's old arm-chair.

Eliza, Cook. — Bmn 1817.

.— THE LAND OP MY BIRTH.

There's a magical tie to tho land of our

_ homo,

"Which tho heart cannot break, though the

footstep may roam :
Ho that land where it may, at the Line or the

Polo ;
It still holds tho magnet that draws back tho

aoui.
'Tis loved by tho freeman, 'tis loved by tho

slave,
'Tis dotir to tho coward, more dear to tho

brave '
Ask of any the spot they like best on tho

earth,
And thuy'll answer with prido, "'Tis tho

land of my birth."

Oh, England! thy white cliffs aro clearer to

mo
Than all the famed coasts of a far foreign

flea;
What emerald can poor, or what sapphire can

vie,
With tho grass of thy fields or thy summer-

day niy P
They toll, mo of regions whore flowers are

found,
Whoso perfume and tints spread a paradise

round,

But brighter to me cannot garland tho earth
Than those that spring forth in the land of

my birth.

Did I broatho in a clime whore tho bulbul is

hoard,
Where tho citron-tree uostlos tho soft hum-

ming-bird :
Oh I I'd covet tho notes of thy nightingale

still,
And remember tho robin that foods at my

sill.
Did my soul find a feast in tho gay " land of

song,"
In tho gondolier's chant, or tho carnival's

throng
Could I over forgot, 'mid their music and

mirth,
The national strain of tho land of my birth ?

My country, I love thee , — though freely I'd

rove
Through the western savannah, or swoot

orange grovo ,
Yet warmly my bosom would welcome tho

galo
That bore me away with a homeward-bound

sail.
My country, I lovo theo ' — and oh, mayst thou

have
Tho last throb of my heart, oro 'tis cold in

the grave ;
Mayst thou yield mo that grave, in thino own

daisied earth,
And my ashes repose in the land of my birth '

Eliza, Cook — Born 1817.

1732.— THE OLD FAJRM-GA.TE.

"Where, where is tho gato that once served to
divide

Tho elm-shaded lane from tho dusty rood-
side P

I like not this barrier gaily bedight,

With its glittering latch and its trellis of
whito

It is soomly, I own — yet, oh ' dearer by far

Was tho red-rusted hinge and tho woathor-
warp'd bar.

Hero aro fashion and form of a modernized
dato,

But I'd rathor have look'd on tho Old Farm-
gato.

'Twas horo whore tho urchins would gather to

play,

In the shadows of twilight, or sunny mid-day ;
For tho stream running nigh, and tho hillocks

of sand,
Were temptations no dirt-loving rogue could

withstand.
But to swing on tho gate-raih, to clamber and

ride,
Was tho utmost of pleasure, of glory, and

pride j
And tho oar of the victor, or carnage of

state,
Never carried such hearts as the Old Fann-

gate.

'Twas here whore tho miller's son paced to
and fro, *

When tho moon was above and the glow-
worms below j

Now pensively leaning, now twirling his stick,

While the moments grow long and his heart-
throbs grew quick

Why, why did ho linger so restlessly there,

With church-going vestment and spruooly-
comb'd hair P

Ho lovod, oh 1- he loved, and had promised to
wait

For tho ono ho adored, at the Old Farm-Rate.

ELIZA COOK.]

THE LOVKD ONM WAS NOT THE11K [tfevuNTU

Twos horo whoro tho gioy-ltoadod goa«ips

would moot ;
And tlio falling of markets, or goodness of

whoai—
This nold lying: follow — that hoifor just

boufiht —
Woro favourite thomoa for discussion and

thought.
Tlio merits and faults of a neighbour just

dead—

The hopes of a oouplo about to bo wod —
The Parliament doing** — tho Bill and De-
bate—
Wero all oaoxvaaa'd and weighed at tho Old

Fam>gato.

'Twas ovor that gate I taught Pinohor to

bound
With the strength of a stood and tho grace of

a hound*
The beagle might hunt, and tho spaniel might

swim;
But none could loap ovor that postern like

him.
When Dobbin was saddled for mirthxmaking

tnp,
And the quickly-pull'd willow-branch served

for a whip,
Spite of lugging and tugging, ho'd stand for

his freight,
While I climb' d on his bock from tho Old

Farm-gate.

'Tis well to pass portals where pleasure and

fame
May cone winging our moments, and gilding

our name,
But give me the joy and tho freshness of

mind,
When, away on somo sport — tho old gate

slamm'd behind— ~
I've hsten'd to music, but none that could

speak
In such tones to my heart as tho tooth-sotting

creak
That broke on my ear whon tho night had

worn late,
And the dear ones oame homo through tho

Old Farm-gate.

Oh 1 fair is tho barrier taking its place,

But it darkens a picture my soul long'd to

trace.

I sigh to behold tho rough staple and liawp,
And the rails that my growing hand scarcely

could clasp.
Oh I how strangely the warm spirit grudges to

part
With the commonest relic once link'd to tho

heart;
Aad the brightest of fortune— tho kindliest

fate-
Would not banish my love for tho Old Farm-
gate.

m*a Cook.— Born 1817.

LOVKD ONK VfM NoT
THtiUtf.

Wo gathorM round tlio fmtivct l>nar»i,

Tho crackling fagot biased ;
But few would tanto tho witw that pimr

Or join tho hong wo rai <ud :
For thoro WOH now a glium unfillM —

A favourM plaoo to Hparo ;
All oyoH woro <lull, rill iicmriiH won* c*hiUM

Tho loved one wai

No happy laugh was hoard in rin;?,

No form would Imul tho <lann» ,
A sinothorM Borrow «(»omM to ilm#

A gloom in awry ftlanco*
Tho gnivo had olonod upon a l>row,

The honoftt, bright, and fair ;
Womisa'd our mate, womotirnM tho Wrnv —

Tho loved ono wan not thoro.

tilisa Uuuk.—lhrn 1827*

1754.— THE OLD WATKU-MIWi.

And is thin tho old mill-Htroam that ton yc^ar^

ago

Was so fast in itn current, MO pure in iU llnw ;
Whoso muBioal watorK would ripplo n,tul fduno
With tho glory and dawh of a mmiaturo Khino F

Can this bo itH bod P — I romombor it w<41
Whon it Hparklod hko Hllvor through itwuuow

and doll;
When tho pot-lamb ropoHPtl on it<t cmoruM

flido,
And tho minnow and porch dartotl Hwif t through

its tide.

TOR ' hero was tho » nllor'H honno,

abode '
Whore tho flower-twined poroh drow all

from tho road ;
Whoro roHOfl and joHmino cmibowmrM a tlo»r
That never wa*» (ilonod to tlw wayworn or poor.

Whoro tho miller, God blown him I oft tfttvo u»

"adanoo,"

And lod off tho ball with hit* Houl in hi« Klati<t«) ;
Who, forgetting groy hairn, watt ast loud in liin

mirth
As tho veriest youugtilorH that circled hi*

hoarth.

Blind Balph was tho only muHloian wo had,
But hifl tunes— oh, auch tuuon — would make

any heart glad '
"The Boast Boof of Old England," and " Uroon

grow the KubhoH/*
Woko our oven' brightont boamn, and our

cheeks' warmoHt fluehou.

No lustre resplendent its brilliancy shed,
But the wood fire blazod high, and tho board
was well spread ,

From 1780 to 1800 J

A BEMEMBBANOE.

[Da^ff ALFOBD.

Our floats wore undamask'd, our partners were

rough,
Yot, yot wo wore happy, and that was enough.

And hero was tho mill whoro wo idled away
Our holiday hourB on a oloar summer day ;
Whoro Roger, tho miller's boy, loJTd on a

sack,
And chorus' d his song to tho morry click-

dock.

But lo r what rude saorilogo horo hath boon

clone '

The stroamlot no longer purls on in tho sun ,
It'H course has boon turu'd, and tho desolate

edge
Is now mournfully cover* d with duokweed and

sedge.

Tho mill is in ruins. No welcoming' sound
In tho mastiffs gruff bark and the wheels

dashing round ;

Tho house, too, untonantod— lef t to deoay —
And the miller, long dead : all I loved pass'd

away!

This play-place of childhood wns graved on
my heart

In rare Paradise colours that now must de-
part;

Iho old water-mill's gone, tho fair vision is
fled,

And I wcop o'er its wrook as I do for tho
dead.

Coofc.-— Bom. 1817.

HOME IN THE HEART.

Oh 1 ask not a home m tho mansions of pride,
Where marble shines out in the pillars and

walls;
Though the roof bo of gold, it is brilliantly

cold,
And joy may not bo found in ifcs toroh-

lightod halls.

But nook for a bosom all honest and true,
Whoro love, onoo awaken' d, will never de-
part:
Turn, turn to that breast like the dove to its

nost,

And you'll find there's no home like a homo
in the heart.

Oh ! link but one spirit that's warmly sincere,
That will heighten your pleasure and solace

your care ;
Find a soul you may trust as tlio land and

tho just,
And be sure tho wido world holds no

tioasuro BO xaro.
Then the fiowns of Misfortune may shadow

our lob,

Tho cheek-soaring toor-drops of Sorrow may
start;

But a star never dim sheds a halo for Vm
Who oan turn for repose to a homo in the
heart.

EUasa, Cook— Bern 1817.

1736. — A REMEMBRANCE.

Mothinkfl I can remember, when a shade
All soft and flow'ry was my couch, and I
A little naked child, with fair white flesh,
And wings all gold bedropt; and o'er my

head
Bright fruits were hanging, and toll, balmy

shrubs

Shed odorous gums around me, and I lay
Sleeping and waking in that wondrous air,
Which seem'd infused with glory — and each

breeze

Bore, as it wander'd by, swoet melodies,
But whenoe I knew not: one delight was

there,

Whether of fooling, or of sight, or touch,
I know not how — which is not on this earth,
Something oil-glorious and all beautiful,
Of which our language spoaketh not, and

which

Flies from tho eager graspings of my thought,
As doth the shade of a forgotten dream.
AH knowledge had I, but I oared not then
To search into my sotil, and draw it thence :
The blessed creatures that around me play'd,
I know them all, and whoro their resting was,
And all their hidden symmetries I knew,
And how tho foim is link'd unto the soul ;
I know it all ; but thought not on it then ;
I was so happy.

And upon a time,

I saw an army of bright, beamy shapes,
Pair-faced, and rosy-cinctured, and gold-

wing'd,

Approach upon the air ; they came to me ;
And from a crystal chalice, silver-brimm'd,
Put sparkling potion to my lips and stood
All around me, in tho many blooming shade,
Shedding into tho centre where I lay
A mingling of soft light ; and then they sung
Songs of the land they dwelt in ; and the last
langoroth oven till now upon mine oar.
Holy and blest
Be the calm of thy rest,
For thy chamber of Bleep
Shall bo dork and deep :
They will dig thoo a tomb
In the dark, doop womb,
In tho worm, dark womb.
Spread ye, spread the dewy mist around

him ;
Spread yo, spread, till tho thick, dark night

surround him——*

Till the dark, long night hai bound him,
Which bindoth all bof ore thoir birth
Down upon tho nethoi earth.
Tho first cloud w beamy and bright,
Tho noit cloud is mellow1 d in light,

THE PAST.

Tho third oloud IB dim to tho flight,
And it strotohM away into gloomy nitfht \
Twino yo, twine the niyntw thread** around

Mm;

Twino yo, twine, till tho fant, firm fato sur-
round him —

Till tlio firm, cold fato hath bound him,
"Which Imidoth all boioro thoir birth
Down upon tho nether garth.
Tho firnt thread i« beamy and bright,
Tho noxt thread is mollow'd in light,
Tho third throad IB dim to tho sight,
And it Btrotohoth away into gloomy night.

Sing yo, wag tho spirit Hong- around him ;
Sing yo, fling, till tho dull, warm sloop stir-

rouncL j^ypfr < <•

Till tho worm, damp Bleep hath 'bound him,
"Which bindoth all before thoir birth
Down upon tho nether oarth.
The first dream is boamy and biitfit,
The next droam is mollow'd in Ivrht,
The third droam is dim to tho Hi^ht,
And it strotohoth away into gloomy night
Holy and blent
Is tho calm of thy lost,
For thy chamber of sloop
Is dark and deep ,
They have dug thoo a tomb
In the dark, deep womb,
Tho warm, dark womb
Then dimness pass'd upon mo ; and that

song

Was sounding o'er me when I woke again
To be a pilgrim on tho nethor oarth.
Twine yo, twine the mysiao threads around

Mm;

Twine ye, twine, Ml the fast, firm fato sur-
round him—

Till the firm, cold fate hath bound him,
Which bindeth all boforo their birth
Down upon tho nether oarth.

Bonn Afford. — Bom 1810.

*7a7« — THE PAST.

Few have hvod

As we have lived, unsovor'd ; our young life
Was but a aummor'a fioho • wo have been
Xdke two babes passing hand-m-hand along
A sunny bank on fiowors-— tho busy world
Goes on around us, and its multitudes
Pass by mo and I look thorn in tho face
But cannot road suoh moaning as I road
la this of thine , and thou, too, dost but movo
Among them for a season, but rotumost
With a light stop and smiloH to- our old seats,
Our quiet walks, our solitary bower.
Some wo love well ; the early presences
That were first round us, and tho silvery tones
Of those most far away, and dreary voices
That sounded all about us at the dawn
Of our young life— these, as the world of

things

Sots in xipon our taring lilco n tiil«»»
Koop with UH, and aic» for <^<»r up|
And Bomo tlicro aro, lull* bountiful, titui
"WhoHO Htop w h«avou\\ar<l, ami \\lmv •null

havo pant

Out from tho nothor darkness and IHM«II bori»t«
Into a now and glnrioutt WIIIVIT ><«,
Who Hpook of tliinjjfH t<» cmm1 1 l»ui tln*T*» i <

that

In thy Hoft pyw and lon;:-»<»ruHi<miM vnn*r»
Would wm ino fiom tlnuu nil

Kor Hm<'(« our l»irfh,
Our thought hu\« ilowM tc»|crlhi'r iu 0114*

stream ;

All tbrough tho WIKOII ^ of c»«r infancy
Tho namo hilln rowc altoui. UH— tln« t(auio
Now baro, now Hpriukkwt with tho
Now thick with full dark folk^o— *tlu»

church,

Our own dear village ohnrolt, has Moon UK prity
In tho samo fioat, with hancU olimpM niUo by

wdo, —

And wo have HTIIIJ? togotlinr ; and him* wit IK M,
Full of ono thought, alou^ iht1 huiao \\unl

lane,

And so woro we Imilt upward1! for tin* . i'»nii
That on my walln luiih fallen mi ,iinriiurl,\,
Shattonng tlioir frail fouudaiuuiH ; utid winch

thou

Hast yot to look for, but haul found iht* help
Which thon I know 7iut—»ro<it thtu) firmly

thorol
# * # # t

Whon firnt I i««u(»cl f<irth into thn wr»rhl,
Well I romoiulw'r— that unwclpoino numi
Whon wo row) long bufortt the acMMiHtninM

hour,

By tho ftuui tapc'r-h^hi, and by that tfak<»
Wo just now Kwimfy behind us c»ar«*l<nt,1y,
I gavo theo tho lant kih> ^ ; I travdPtt on,
Giving my mind up to tin* world without,
Which pour'd iu htran;r» idt«i-t <»f

NowtownH, no\V ftlmr(!l«js, wn

And over and anon nomo happy fluid

Beneath a roHO-truil'cl porch playM art I

patm'd ;
And thon the thought of thoo twctpt through

my soul,
And mode tho hot dropH titaud in oillmr oy«.

18 10.

* 179$.— ONJfl

I remember well, ono immmar'H inKht,
A clear, soft, silver moonliKlit, thou and I
Sat a full hour togothor, nilonily ;
Looking abroad into tho puro palo haavou.
Perchance thou luxHt forgotUm \ but my arm
Was on thy shoulder, and thy oluHtorin

looks

Hung lightly on my hand, and zny oloar eyo
Gliaten'd beside my forohoad ; and at

f 01806]

ENGLAND.

[DBAN ALVOBD.

Thou saidHt— • " 'Ti« timo wo wont to rost , "

and thon

Wo TOKO and parted for tho night • no words
But those woro Hpokon, and wo never since
Have told each othor of that moment

Doom Alford.—£<>rn 1810.

1729—MOBNTOa AND EVENING,

Evening and Morning— -those two anoiont

namoH

So Knk'd with childish wonder, whon with arm
Fast wound about tho nook of ono wo loved,
Oft questioning, wo hoard Creation's talo —
Evouing and morning over brought to mo
Strange joy ; tho birth and funonil ot light,
Whether in door, unclouded majesty
Tho largo HUU pour'd hiH offluonoo abroad,
Or tho gray clouds roll'd silently along-,
Dropping thoir doubtful tokens OB thoy poss'd
Whether above tho mils intensely glow'd
Bright linos of parting glory in tho west,
Or from tho voil of foinUy-roddou'd mist
Tho darkuoHH glow donoondod on tho earth ;
Tho passing to a fltato of things all new —
Now foarn and now onjoymontH — this WOH all
Food for my Hooking spirit I would stand
Upon t}io jutting liiUn that overlook
Our lovol moor, and watch tho daylight fodo
Along tho prospect now bohmd tho loaves
Tho golden twinlcloH of tho woHtoimg HUU
Doopou'cl to riohoHb crimson • now from out
Tho Holomn beech-grove, through tho natural

aides

Of pillar1 d trunks, tho glory in tho west
Show'd Hko Jehovah's proHonoo firo, bohold
In oldon timot* abovo tho Mercy-seat
Botwoou Iho f oldod wings of Ohorubim ;—
I loved to wander, with tho evening star
Hooding nay way, till from tho patent spook
Of virgin silver, ovormore lit up
With radianoo OH by spirits niiiuator'd,
Sho soom'd a living- pool of goldon light ,
I lovod to lonra tho strange array of shapes
That pans along tho oirolo of tho yoar ,
Somo, for tho lovo of anoiont yoro, I kopt •
And they would call into my fancy's oyo
Ghaldojon beacons, over tho drear sand
Soon faintly from thiok-towor'd Babylon,
Against tho Hunset — shepherds in the field,
•Watching thoir flocks by night— ox shapes of

mon

And high-nock' d camels, passing leisurely
Along tho starr'd horizon, whoro the Rpico
Swims in the air, in Araby tho Blent ,
And Homo, as Fancy lod, I figured forth,
Misliking thoir old names ; ono circlet bright
Gladdens mo often, near the northern wain,
Which, with a ohildiah playfulness of choice
That hath not poHs'd away, I lovod to oall
Oflfcie crown, of glory, by tho righteous judge
Against tho day of his appearing, laid
In store for him who fought the fight of faith.

Dean Alford.—Bmn 1810.

1730.— THE OJROSS.

Mothinks I could have borne tolivo zny days
Whon by tho pathway side, and in tho dolls,
By shading rostuig-plaoe, or hollow bank
Whoro curved tho streamlet, or on pooping

rook,

Eoso swootly to tho traveller's humble oyo
Tho Cross in overy oomor of our land ;
Whon from tho wooded valleys morn and eve
Pass'd the low murmur of tho angel-bell ;
Methinks I could have led a peaceful hfe
Daily bonoath the tuple-vaulted loof,
Chanting glad matins, and amidnt the glow
Of mellow ovening towards tho village towor
Pacing my humble way.

Dem Alford. — Born 1810.

1 781.— GENTLEST GIRL.

Gentlest girl,

Thou wert a bright creation of my thought
In earliest childhood — and my seeking soul
Wander' d ill-sattafiod, iill ono blost day
Thino imago pasfi'd athwart it — thou wort then
A young and happy child, sprightly OB life ;
Yet not so bright 01 beautiful as that
Mmo inward vision , — but a whispeimg voico
Said softly — This is she whom thou didst

chooflo ,

And thonooiorth ovor, through tho morn of life,
Thou wort my playmate — thou my only joy,
Thou my ohiof Horxow whon T saw thoo not —
And whon my daily consciousness of Mo
Was bom and died— thy name tho last went

up,

Thy namo tho first, before our Heavenly Guide,
Por favour and protection. All the flowers
Whoso buds I oheriah'd, and in summer heats
Pod with mock showers, and proudly show'd

their bloom,

For thoo I rear'd, because all beautiful
And gontlo things reminded mo of thoo •
Tea, and tho morning, and tho rise of sun,
And tho fall of evening, and the starry host,
If aught I loved, I loved because thy name
Sounded about mo whon I look'd on them

Dewn Afford. — Born 1810.

1732.— ENGLAND.

We have been dwellers in a lovely land,
A land of lavish lights and floating shades,
And broad green flats, border'd by woody

capos

That losson ever as thoy stretch away
Into tho distant blue , a land of hills,
Cloud-gathering ranges, on whose anoiont

breast
The morning mists repose: each autumn

tide

BEAN ALVOKD ]

THBBE IS AN ANCIENT MAN.

fSKYKNTir

Doop pnrplo with tlio hoath-bloom ; from whoso

brow

Wo might "behold tho crimson nun go down
Behind tho barrier of tho wontorn ftoa ;
A land of beautiful and stately fanon,
Atrial tomplon moBt magnificent,
Itisinp: with cluatorH of rich pimiaolort
And fretted liattlomontn ; a land of towers,
Whoro HloopH ^10 muHio of doop-voicod bolls,
Save whon in hulyday timo tho joyous air
Ebba to tho wolliiig sound; and Sabbath

morn,

Whon from a choir of hill-sido villages
Tho peaceful invitation churchward chimes.
So woro our souls brought up to lovo this

earth

And feed on natural beauty : and tho light
Of our own sunsets, and the mountains bluo
That girt around our homo, woro very parts
Of our young being; link'd with all wo

know,

Centres of interest for undying thoughts
And themes of mindful converge. Happy

they

Who m the fresh and dawning timo of youth
Have dwolt in such a land, turning their

soul*

To the deep melodies of Nature's laws
Heard in the after-tune of riper thought
Reflective on past seasons of delight.

Deem Afford. — Bom 1810.

1733.— THEKE IS AN AJSTOIENT MAN.

There is an ancient man who dwells
Without oar parish bounds,
Beyond the poplar-avenue,
Across two meadow-grounds ;
And whensoo'er our two small bolls
To church call momly,
Leaning- on our churchyard gate,
This old man ye may BOG

He is a man of many thoughts,
That long havo found thoir roat,
Each in its proper dwollmg-plaoo
(Settled within his broaat :
A form oroct, a statoly brow,
A sot and measured mien —
The satisfied unrovjng look
Of one who much hath seen.

And once, whon young in core of souls,
I watch'd a sick man's bed,
And willing half, and half aHhomod,
luigor'd, and nothing said •
The ancient man, in accents mild,
Removed my shame away—
"Listen ' " he said, "tho minister
Prepares to knool and pray."

These linos of humble thankfulness
Will never meet his eye ;
Unknown that old man moans to livo
And unremembor'd die.

The formH of lif« Iww Rc»vt»rM UM--
Jtat whim that lifo Khali <md,
Fain would I hiul that rovornnd mun,
A father and a frii*u«l.

I*™ AlfHft1*—tom IBM

1734*— TUB FATIIKK AND <'H1U>.
" Father, wako— tho Htortu IM loud,
Tho rain is falling font ;
Lot mo go to my mother1* grove,
And screen it from tho 1>la*t,
She cannot sloop, (the will not rout,
The wind ia roaring *& ;
Wo pray'd that flho might lio in poartt— '
My father, let ua«o!"

" Thy mother ttleopH too firm * atoop
To hood tho wind that blown t
There ore angol-ohawnH tliat hunh tho
From roaohmg hor ropOKO,
Hor spirit in drotmiR of tho l»l<»HHt\l F>ati<l
Is flitting at JOHU'H foot ;
Child, noHtlo tlioo in tnhin arnin mill pray
Our rest may bo OH Hwoot ! "

t 1H10.

I735-— AUTUMN*

How soothing i« that sound of fat-ofF wliooln
Undor tho golden Hhaon of tho harv(^t»moan !
In tho shado-choquor'd ronxl it half rwunU
A homoword-wentling Kronp, with htutrfc In

tune

To thankful merriment ;•— father and t>nyf
And maiden with hor gloaitinpnt on lu«r htwl ;
And tho loflt waprffon'« ntmblo h<uird with joy
In tho kitchen with tho ondiutf-HUppor wprojul.
But while I lintoning ntand, tho Hmttul hath

COOROd ;

And hark, from many v<»ioflH hiniily
Tho harvest homo, tho proludo to tlui f(wvHt,
In moanurod bursttt in pooHn^f loud ami high \
Soon all in ntill oirain bonoath th» bright
Fall moon, that guidon mo homo thin autumn

night.

Dem AlftmL—lfarn 1810*

I73&— MY OWN DEAE COUNTRY.

My own door country t— thy remembrance

comes

Like softly.flowinff mnflio on my Heart ;
With thy green minny hills, and happy homes,
And cota roHO-boworM, bowom'd in dolLi apart ;
Tho merry poaliug of our villago-boll*
Gush ever and anon upon mine oar j
And is there not a far-off nomid that tolls

From 1780 to I860.] THE CHILD AND THE MOTONEBS. [Ca*RLES MAOKA.T.

Of many- voiced laughter shrill and clear ?
Oh 1 wore I now with thoo— -to sit and play
Under iho Iiawthorn on tlio Hlopo o' ih* hHT,
AH I was wont to do ; or pluck all day
Tlio cownlip and tho flaunting daffodil,
Till shepherds whwtlod homeward, and tho

WOBt

Folded tho largo sun in crimson breast 1

Doom, jM/orti.— Bom 1810.

1737.— THE PARTING OF LOVERS.

Now, from his eastern couch, the sun,

Erowhilo in oloud and vapour hidden,
Boso in hit* robes of glory dight ;
And skywards, to salute his light,

TTpHprang a choir, unbidden,
Of joyous larks, that, as they shook

Tho dowdrops from their russet pinions,
PoulM forth a hymn so glad and clear,
That darkness might have paused to hear

(Palo sentinel on morn's dominions),
And envied her the flood of song
Those happy minstrels pour'd along.

Tho lovers Kston'd. Earth and heaven

Hoom'd pleased alike to hoar the strain ;
And Gilbert, in that genial hour,

Forgot hw momentary pain •
" Happy," said ho, " bolovi\l maul,

Our UVCH might flow 'mid sconon like this ;
Still eve might bring us dreams of joy,

And mom awaken us to bliss.
I could forgive thy jealous brother ;

And Mora's quiet shades might bo
Blows'^ with the love of one another,

A Paradise to the* and mo.

TOR, Peace and Love might build a nest

For UR amid those vales serene,
And Truth should bo our constant guest

Among these pleasant wiM-woods green.
My heart should never nurse again
The once fond dreams of young Ambition,
And Glory's light should lure in vain,

Lost it should load to Lovo's perdition ;
Another light should round me shine,
Bolov&d, from thoso eyes of thine ! "

" Ah, Gilbert f happy should I bo
This hour to dio, lest fate reveal

That life can never give a joy
Such as the joy that now I fooL

Oh, I happy I happy ! now to die,

And go before tlioo to the sky ;

Losing, maybe, some charm of life,

But yet escaping all its strife ;

And, watching for thy soul above,

Thoro to renew more perfect love,

Without tho pain and tears of tins—

Eternal, never palling bliss ! "

And more she yot would say, and strives to

speak,
But warm, fast tears begin to course her cheek,

And sobs to olioko her; so, reclining still
Her head upon his breast, she weeps her fill ;
And all so lovely in those joyous tears
To his impassion'd eyes tho maid appears ;
Ho cannot dry them, nor one word essay
To soothe such sorrow from her hoart away.

At last she lifts her drooping head,

And, with her delicate fingers, dashes
Tho tears away that hang like pearls

Upon her soft eyes' silken lashes
Then hand in hand they take their way

O'GJL tho green meadows gomm'd with dew,
And up tho hill, and through the wood,

And by tho streamlet, bright and blue,
And sit them down upon a stone
With mantling mosses overgrown,

That stands beside hor cottage door,
And oft repeat,
When next they meet,

That time shall never part thorn more.

HO'B gone ' Ah no ! he lingers yet,
And all her sorrow, who can tell P

As gazing on hor face he takes
His last and passionate farewell.

" One kiss » " said ho, " and I depart

With thy door imago in my heart :

One more— to soothe a lover's pain,

And think of till I come again 1

One more/ ' Their red lips meet and trembble>

And she, unskilful to dissemble,

Allows, deep blushing, while ho presses,

Tho warmest of his fond caresses.

Chwlcs Mackctflj.-^Sorn 1812.

1738.— THE CHILD AND THE
MOURNEBS,

A little child, beneath a tree,

Sat and chanted cheerily

A little song, a pleasant song,

Which was — she song it all day long —

"When the wind blows tho blossoms fall ;

But a good God reigns over all."

There pass'd a lady by tho way,
Moaning in tho face of day :
Thoro wero tears upon hor cheek,
Grief in hor heart too great to speak ;
Hor husband died but yester-morn,
And left her in tho world forlorn.

She stopp'd and listen1 d to the child

That look'd to heaven, and singing, smiled ;

And saw not, for her own despair,

Another lady, young and fair,

Who also passing, stopp'd to hear

Tho infant's anthgni ringing clear.

For she bat few sad days before
Had lost tho little babe she boro ;
And grief was hoavy at hor soul
As that sweet memory o'er hor stole,
And showM how bright had boon tho post,
Tho present drear and overcast.

CHAitiiUB MAUKAY ]

I'MHIli THE HOLLY iSOUUii.

Si:\hNTII

And JIH they utood bononth tho 1reo
LiHtoning, Hoothotl and pltu'idlj ,
A youth came by, whoso Hiuikcxi e-yes
Spake of a load of miHorioH ;
And ho, axroBtod liko tlio twain,
Stopp'd to listen to tko htram.

Death hail bow'd tho youthful howl
Of IUH briclo bolovod, hiH brido imwod :
Hor marriage robes woro fitted on,
Hor fair young face with bluwhoH shono.
When tho destroyer sinoto her low,
And changed tho lover's bliss to woo

And those throe listen 'd to tho sons,
Silver-toned, and sweet, and strong,
Which that child, tho livelong day,
Chanted to itself in play :
" When tho wind blows the blossoms fall ;
But a good God reigns over all."

The widow* B lips impulsive moved ;
The mother's grief, though unroproved,
Soften' d, as her trembling tongue
Repeated what tho infant Rung ,
And the sad lover, with a start,
Oonn'd it over to his hoart.

And though tho child — if child it woro,
And not a seraph sitting there—
Was aeon no more, the sorrowing throo
Went on their way resignedly,
The song stUl ringing in their earn —
Was it music of the spheres ?

Who shall tell ? They did not know.

But in the midst of deepest woo

The strain reourr'd, when sorrow grow,

To warn thorn, and console them too

" When the wand blows the bloHHoma fall ;

But a good God reigns over all."

QlwrlQS Ifoc&uj/.— #ont 1812.

1739.— UNDBB THE HOLLY BOUGH.

A SONG- 2TOB CHRISTMAS.
I.

Te who have scorn'd each other,
Or injured friend or brother,
In this fast fading year ;
To who, by word or deed,
Have made a kind hoart bleed,
Come gather here I
Let aonn'd against, and sinning,
Forget their strife's beginning,
And join m friendship now —
Be links no longer broken ; —
Be sweet forgiveness spoken
Under the Holly Bough.

iz.

Te who have loved each other,
Sister, and friend, and brother,

In iliirt fttwt fading ><*ur :
Mother and mro and c-hilil,
Yomitf man, suitl maiden imld*
Coino galhor hero ;
And let your hoarU tftow fi»atl«r.
A« memory nlittll |Kind(»r
Kuoli paHt unbroken vow.
Old IOVOH and ycnuifpT
Aie KW«»«t in tlu^
Under tho Holly

zn.
To who havo nournh

from liope aud

In ihiH faHt fading y«wr ;
Yo with o'orlmtdtmM mind
Mado ttlionh from your kind,
Come gather hnro.
Let not tho uftatasft sorrow
Pursue you night and morrow.
If o'er you hopod, hopo now- -
Take heart ;•— unoloud your faww,
And join in our ombriuiOH
Tinder tho Holly Bough.

(Jharfa MttrlMyf-lb

1740.— WITAT MIOHT »K DOHK

What might be dono if mon w^rtt wi*w—
What glorious doodtt, my Huffcriiijc brother,

Would they unito

In love and ri^ht,
And coaHo thoir Boom of 0110 l

OpproRHiou's heart mi^H IK> hubued
With kindlniff dropK of lovinff-kimlno,^ ;
And knowlnd^fo pour,
From Hhoro to Hh«r«t
Light on tho oyoH of moutiU blirulruwt.

All Hlavery, ^arfaro, HOK, and vmrngsi,
All vice and orimo, iniffht dm to^e-ihor ;
And wino and com,
To oaoh man boni»
Bo free as warmth in nuunmor woathw.

The moanoHt wretch that over ttod,
Tho doopotti Hunk in guilt aud Hnrrow,

Might Htand oroat

In Holf-roflpcot,
And Rhare tho teeming world to-morrow.

What might bo dono P Thitt might bo dono,
And more than this, nay Hufforhitf broihor*-7

More than the tongno

E'er Raid or Bung,
If men woro wise and loved oaoh othor.

1812.

J'jvw 1780 to 180C.J

THE SAILOB'S WIFE.

[OHABLHS MAOKA.T

1741 —THIS GOOD TIME COMING.

There's a good timo coming, boys,

A good tuno coming
Wo may not, livo to BOO tho day,
But oaifch Hhall ghnton in tho ray

Of tho good timo coming.
Cannon hull** may aid tho truth,

I Jut thought '« a weapon stronger ;
Wo'll wm onr battle by its aid , —

Wait a httlo longer.

There's a good timo coming, boys,

A good timo coming :
Tho pon Hhall Huporsodo tho sword ;
And Bight, not Might, Hhall bo tho lord

In tho good timo coming.
Worth, not Buth, shall rulo mankind,

And l>u acknowledged stronger ;
Tho proper impnlno has boon given , —

Wait a littlo longer.

There* H a good timo coming, boys,

A good timo coming :
War in all men's eyes Hhall bo
A monrttor of iniquity

In tho good timo coming
NationH Hhall not quarrel then,

To provo which IH tho stronger ;
Nor slaughter mon for glory'a wako ; —

Wait a Uttlo longer.

There* H a good timo coming, boys,

A good timo ooming .
Hateful vivn.ln.ow of croud
Shall not make their martyrs blood

In tho good time ooming.
Koligion nhall bo shorn of pride,

And flourish all the stronger ;
And Oharity nhall trim hor lamp j——

Wait a littlo longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time ooming :
And a poor man's family
Shall not bo hia misery

In tho good time ooming.
Every child Hhall be a holp

To make his right arm stronger;
The happier ho the more ho has ; —

Wait a little longer.

There's a good time ooming, boys,

A good tune ooming ,
Littlo children shall not toil
Under, or above, tho soil

In the good timo ooming ;
But shall play in healthful fields

Till limbs and mind grow stronger ;
And every one shall read and write , —

Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time ooming :
The people shall bo temperate,
And fthall love instead of hate,

In tho good timo oomiug.

They shall use, and not abuse,

And make all virtue stronger ;
The reformation has bogun , —

Wait a littlo longer.

There's a good time ooming, boys,

A good timo ooming :
Let TLS aid it all wo eon,
Every woman, every in an,

Tho good time coming.
Smallest helps, if nghtly given,

Makes the impulse stronger ;
'TwJl be strong enough one day ;—

Wait a little longer.

Charles Mackay. — Born 1812.

1742.— THE SAILOB'S WIFE.
PAST L

I've a letter from thy sire,

Baby mine, Baby mine .
I can rood and never tire,

Baby mine I

Ho is sailing o'er the sea —
Ho is ooming book to theo,
Ho is ooming homo to me.

Baby mine 1

Ho1 s boon ported from us long,
Baby mine, Baby mine 1
But if hearts bo true and strong,

Baby mine I

They shall bravo Misfortune's blast,
And bo overpaid at last
For all pain and sorrow pass'd,

Baby mine 1

Oh, I long to see his face,

Baby mine, Baby mine I
In his old accustom' d place,

Baby mine I

Like the roso of May in bloom,
Like a star amid tho gloom,
Like tho sunshine in the room,

Baby mine 1

Thou wilt see him and rejoice,
Baby mino, Baby Tm.no I
Thou wilt know him by his voice,

Baby mine !

By his love-looks that endear,
By his laughter ringing clear,
By his eyes that know not fear,

Baby mine 1

I'm so glad — I cannot sloop,

Baby mine, Baby mino T
Tm so happy— I could weep,

Baby mine (

He is sailing o'er the sea,
He is coming home to me,
He is ooming book to theo.

Baby mine 1

LADY BAEBABA.

PART II.

0>or tho Mxio ocean gloaming
She soes a dwtant nhip,

AB Hmoli to viow

AH tho whitp Hoa-inow
Whoflo wingK in tho billows dip.
" Blow favouring goioR, inhor answering soils !
Blow ntoadily and froo !

Rejoicing, strong.

Singing- a flong,

Hor rigging and hor Hpars among,

And waft the YOBBO! in prido along,
That boors my lovo to mo."

Nearer — still noaror driving,
Tho whito sails grow and swell ;
dear to hor oyoa
The pennant flies,
And the flog she knows so woll.
*'Blow favouring gales, in her answering

sails '

Waft him, O gontio sea !
And still, 0 heart J
Thy fluttering start !
Why throb and boat as thon wouldst

part,

When all so happy and bloss'd thou art ?
Ho comoa again to thoo I "

Tho swift ship drops hor anchor —
A boat pats off for shore —
Against its prow
The ripples flow,
To the music of the oar*
"And art thou here, mine own, my doar,
Safe from tho perilous sea P —
Safe, safe at homo,
No more to roam !

Blow, tempests blow — my lovo has come'
And spnnklo the clouds with your dank-
ing foam '
He shall part no more from mo ' "

Qlwrlcs Maclwy. — Born 1812.

1743 — LADY BAJRBABA.

Earl Gawam woo*d tho Lady Barbara, —
High-thoughtod Barbara, so white and cold !
'Mong broad-branch* d beoohos in the Bunimor

shaw,

la soft green light his passion ho has told.
When ram-beat winds did shriek across tho

wold,

Tho Earl to take her fair reluctant oar
Framed passion-trembled dittios manifold ;
Salont sho sat his am'rous broath to hoar,
With calm and steady oyos, her heart wan

otherwhere.

He sigh'd for hor through all tho summer

weeks ;

Sitting beneath a troe whoso fruitful bonglw
Bore glorious apples with, smooth, shining

cheeks,

Karl Gawain «amc and

rouwo 1

Thou art HO v<»nf al hold in holy VOWH ;
Out with our famous to Iho iilwtnaut h<*ft<h."
Hor fathor'H blood lonpl up unto h<»r brow* —
Ho who, exulting on tlio truiniwt'ft hrrnih,
Oamo charging like a Hi at iwrom tlw» IL^i of

doatb,

Tromblod,

And thou nho Hat, hor luvtulH clu. i»M

hor knco :

Liko one far-thowghtcd wiw thft liuly*« l*u»k,
For in a morning cold OH iuiHt*ry
Sho Maw a lone Rhi]t KoilitiK <>n tho R(»«, ;
Boforo tho north 'two« driven liko a fl«itt<l,
Ifigh on tho poop a man wvt motirtkfuUy :
Tho wind WOK whintUng through biaht niul

shroud.
And to tho whintUng wind tlxun did ho HitJ«-

aloud .— —

" Didst look loHt wight upon my xuttivo vnlw,
Thou Sun! that from tho (Irotiohh)fr H(Mt Itiutt

clomb P

To demon wmdH ! that glut my {piping Pailt^
Upon tho salt Roa mimt I over roam,
Wander for over 011 tlui li/irrcn foam P
Oh 1 happy uro yo, rontiiiK nuirincrM.

0 Death, tiiat tliou wouldttt coum and f aku

mo home I

A hand toiHoon tliis VOHW! onward Nitwit,
And onward E munt float through «low mocm*

moasurod yoarM*

" To wiudH I whon liko a curno yo clrovu \w tm*
Frothing tho watorH, and along- our way,
Nor capo nor headland thrtmgh rod morniiift*

Hhono,

One wopt jalmid, <m« HluulcJorM down in i»r»y,
One howl'd, * Upon Urn <l«»p w« «rn anirtty*1
On our wild heartn Inn wordn f<»H liko iv

blight:

In onn Hhort hour my hair won fct,ri««l««tt jtray,
For all tho orow wink K^wWy »n »»y «iffhi
As wo wout tlriving on thrf»u|yli tho i»«»W «t<my

night.

*' MacluoRR fell on mo in my lonctlimwH,
Tho Hoa foamM (ititHOH, and tho nxiliiif: »ky
Booamo a dreadful faoo Which <Hd (»iii»rtuiK
Mo with tlic woifrht of it* umvinUiu# cyn.
tt fled, when I burnt forth Into a rry—
A tdioal of iitttulM carao on mo from tho dt«*p 7

1 hid, but hi all oornorH th<\7 did pry,

And droptf'd mo forth, and round did duuao

and leap ,
l^ioy moubKM on mo in clroam, aiul toro mt\

from Rwoot nloop.

"Rtrango oonHtollationR burnMa}>ovomy>ioad,
Rtranffn >nrdH around tho vo^ol xhrlokM on<l

flow,
Strongo HhapoR, liko tthadown, through tlio

oloar Koa fled,
As our lono Hkip, wido-wing'd, camo

through,

1780 to 1800.]

LOVE IN THE YALLflY.

[GHOBOB MBJKBDITH.

Angering to foam tho smooth and aleopmg

bluo."

Tho lady High'd, •• l«\ir, far upon tlio Hoa,
My own Sir Arthur, could 1 tlio with you I
Tho wind bloww hhrill botwoon my lovo and

mo."
Jk'ond heart I tho ttpaoo between was but tlio

applo-troo.

Thoro wa« a cry of joy, willi Hooking hands
Sho U(*d to him, hko woin bird bo her nowt ,
Like worthing water on tho lignicd nandn,
IhH bohitf oamo and wi«ut iu *woot unroot,
AM fiom tho mighty fdwltor ol hiw breast
Tho Idwly Barbara hor hood uproars
With a wan raulo, ** Mothmks 1'ni but half

blOHt

Now whon Tvo found thoo, aft or weary yearn,
L cannot H«O thoo, lovo ' HO blind I am with
toiii-H,"

Ah\mnd<>r tiimlh —/Ami 1800.

1744.— LOVE JN THE VALLEY.

Under yondor boooh-troo Htanding on tho groon

Hward,

1 'nnch'd -with h(»i aim \ behind hor hLtlo hood,
Hor kuoiH foldud up, and hor LIOHHUH on hor

IJKM my yoimx lov<» HloopniH in tho uliado
Had I tlio hoart to Hlido ono ibim bonoitthhorl
Pro.w hor droatuiu^ hpn UH hor waint I folded

Hlow,
\Vakiu<t on the iuwtaiit who could not but om-

braoo mo—-
Ah ! would Hho hold mo, and novor lot ino go P

Why afi tho nqnirrol, and wayward as tho

wwallow j
Swift OH tho Hwallow whon athwart tlio western

flood
<Jir<?lotinff tho Biu-faoo ho moots his mirror 'd

IH that (loar one m hot maidon bud.

Nhy an tho Hquirrol whoHO nokit IH m tho pmo-

(Jontlo — ah! that Hho wore joaloun — as tho

dove !
tfull of all tho wildnoHH of tho woodland crea-

tures,
Happy in herself IH tho maiden that I lovo r

What can have taught hor dintmat of all I toll

hor?
Can Hho truly doubt mo whon looking on my

browH ?
Nature novor teaches dmtruut of tender love*

tttlOH —

What can liavo taught her diHiruac of all my

VOWH ?

No, she does not doubt mo ' on a dewy ovotido
Whispering together bonoath. tho listening

moon,

I pray'd till hor check fluah'd, implored till

she falter' d —
iFluttor'd to my bosom — ah ' to fly away BO

soon'

Whon hor mother tends hor before tho laugb

jug mirror,

Tying up hor locos, looping tip her hair,
Often Hho tkmka — wero this wild thing wedded,
1 Hliould havo more lovo, and mnoH loss oaio.
Whon hor mother tends hoi boforo tho boHhf u3

min'or,

Loosomng hor laoos, combing- down hor curls,
Often sho thinks — woro thia wild thing wedded,
I should IOHO but one for so many boyu and

girlw.

Olambonng roses poop into hor ohjunber ,
ffaHiuino and woodbine breathe Hwoot, sweot,
White-nock' d Bwallows, twittoiuig of aummor,
MH hor with balm and nested poaoo from hoad

to foet.

Ah ' will tho roso-bongb soe hor lying lonoly,
Whon tho petals fall and fierce bloom is on tho

loaves p
Will tho autumn garners see hor still un-

gathor'd,
Whon tho fioklo Bwallows f orsako tho weeping

oavos f

Comes a sudden question — should a strango

hand pluok hor '

Oh ' what an anguish smites mo at tho thought1
Should aoino idle loidling bnbe hor round with

jowolH ' —

Can Huoh boauty ovor thus bo bought ?
Homotimos tho huntumon prancing down tho

valloy

Eye tho village lassos, full of sprightly mirth;
They woo, as I soo, mine IH tho fairest '
Would sho woro oldor and oould road my

worth!

Aro there not sweet maidens, if sho still deny

moP

Show the bridal heavens but one bright star ?
Whoroforo thus, then, do I ohaso a shadow,
Clattering ono noto bio a brown ove-jar ?
So I rhyme and roason till sho darts before

mo —
Through the milky moadows from flowor to

flower sho flies,
Sunning hor sweot palms to shade hor dazzled

oyohds
From tlio golden love that looks too eager in

hor oyos.

Whon at dawn she wakens, and hor fair face

gozou

Out on tho weather through the window panes,
Beauteous sho looks ' like a white water-lily
Bursting out of bud on tho ripplod river plains
Whon from bod sho rises clothed from nook to

ankle
In hor long night gown, sweot as boughs of

May,

Eeanteous she looks ! like a tall garden lily
Pure irom tho night and perfect for the day 1

77

TTIK STKN OF FORTY-ETWIT.

*|, ti l«»

Happy* happy timo, when the gray »tar

twmklea

Over tho iioltlH all fro^h with bloomy (low ;
"When tho eold-eheok'd dawn j'rowH ruddy tip

Ilio twilight,
And tho gold Him vnikcrf and wodn her in tho

blno.
Then whmi lay darling tciapU iho oiwly

broozos,
Sho tho only fclar that di<»H not with tho

dark;

FoworloHH to Hpoak all tlio ardour of my pasRion,
I onfcoh lior littlo hand OH wo liaton to tho

lark.

Shall tho bird* in vain thon valcntmo their

awoothoartft P

Season aftor Reason toll a f ruiilofls talo p
Will not tho virgin listen to tlioir VO'IOOB P
Toko tho hono/d moaning, wear tho bridal

YOilP

Foarw fiho fronts of wmtor, foara sho tlio baro

branches P
Waits Mho tho garlundH of Hiring for her

dowor ?

Is Kho a nighlm^alo that will not bo iiontod
Till tho Aprd woodland han built her bridal

bowor P

Thon como, mprry April, with all thy birdH

and boautius !
With thy oroscont brows and thy flowory,

showery gloo '
With thy budding loafago and froah groon

pastures j
And may thy luptrous croscoiit grow a houoy-

moon for mo '
Como, morry month of tho ouokoo and tho

violet '
Gome, woopnig LovolinuHH in nil thy bluo

dobght '
Lof tho nost is lomly, let mo not laiigiuHh

longer !
Bring hor to my aimw on tho iirnt ]\ray mjyht.

Query it Met cdith — Bwn 1828

I74S-— THE MEN OF FOETY-EIGHT.

They rose in Freedom 'a rare Rnnriso,

lake giants xousod from wino \
And in their hearts and in their oyea

The god leapt up drvino '
Their souls flash' d out like naked swords,

Unshoath'd for fiery fate ;
Strength wont like battle with their words —
The men of Forty-eight ;
Hurrah I

For the men of Forty-eight.

Bark days have fallen, yet in tho strife

They bate no hope sublime,
And bravely works the exultant life,

Their heart's pulse through the time ;

AH gra*H w »rrv<«iu(

So KulP'rhi'r tiuiki' • mon i*n».if .
And thiM dink ii(l<* -li.ill richly rr-n

Tho work of ^or(>-i^1if ;

Hiirrnti !

For tins turn of Forty -ci" tit.

in a bloody buiial flr< j>%

Liko ({«M>Kh to i',l<»ry yntn\
But in tlmir ntonn avon^i<r » l«'«i>

With tlu'ir j»ro<if-urniour (in t
And hearts l»*at hi*;h with duuutlc liu >i

To triumph HOOII or lait%
Though they bo nunddcrhir down in <lu t -

Jlravo iiion <»f Korty-(M«:ht !

Uurnih!

For the mwa of Korty-nU?ltt.

Oh ! when tho world wakvn up to wor 1,

Tho tyrautH ourc* ajraiti,
And I'Yoodom'ri HununoriH-tdiotii rdmll bur f ,

Itowro nniHin 1 on the brain, - -
With heart to hwirl, ni many a Inttd,

Yofll find ilicin all dnli« --
Drfivo renniani, of Uuii, SpnHait 1'Mi-I,

Tho men of KoH,t> M;-lil,,

Uurnih!

L^or tho moii of l'\*rty-ci}»U< .

f/mi/i^Uiw* ./.--/.' tt\

1746.— NO JJMWJKLI/I) BKAUTY 1H MV
LOVM.

No jewcllM boaufcy JM my lo>i»,

Y«t in her earwjHt fiuwj
Thoro'H wK-li a world of tetu!» *•»»<* *,*,

Hho IHH»<IH no «»Un»r fiin1**.
Hoi minion and voiec urounr( t<n, lift)

Ln HKUI. and miiHie t,v\iitof
And dear, oh ! very ilunr to ntn

IH thi^ Hwt*ot lovo of mine*,

Oh joy ! to know tltcnt'ii ono fcrnd hoart

Jj(Mii,H (iver into to tnu :
It Hoiw inino leaping lifeo a Jyro,

in HWtM»t«Hl, melody ;
My HOU! np-wprin^H, a deity 1 *

To hoar hor voion <livin« ;
And <l«ar, oh ! vory detw to tno

JH thin Hwoot love of min«.

If OTW I have Hijfh'd for wealth,

'Two* all for hor, I trow ;
And i£ I win Fttiao'B victor-wreath,

I'll twino it on hor brow.
There may bo form* moro beautiful,

And KOU!M of nunuier Mliiuo,
But nono, oh 1 nono HO doar to tno

AB thia Hwoot lore of mine.

(JerM M<x*8q/.~-BQrn 1828.

F/WI* 1780 to 1800.]

SWEBT-AND-TWENTT.

[GERALD MASSBT.

I747-— A POOJi MAN'S WIFE.

(for dninfy hand ncBtlad m luiuo, rioli and
win U«,

And timid IIH trembling dove ;
And it twmUod about mo, a jowol of light,

AH H!IO giirumh'd otir foast of lovo
'Twan tho <iuoouliQHt hand in all lady-] and,

And H!IO wan a poor man's wxfo '
Oil ' htilo yoM think how that woo, whito band

Could daro m tho battlo oi JiCo.

1 1 or hinu't it was lowly aH maiden' H might bo,

JJut hath uluub'd to horoio height,
Aud IiuitiM liko a Nluold m defence of mo,

On tho KoxuKt Hold of fight '
And Htartliug as iho, it luw of toil flanh'd up

hi her oy<»H, tho good hoarfc mid raro '
AH Hho drank down hor hall of oui* bitloroHt
cup,

And taught mo how to boar,

Hor Hwoot oyoH that soouiM, with thoir smilo

Hubiuuo,

Made to look mo and light mo to hoavon,
Thoy havo trmmph'd through bittor toarw

many a tuno,

Hincio thoir Jovo to my lifo waa given ;
An<l iho niaidoix-mook voice of tho womanly

wifo

Still brmgoih tho heavens ni^hor
For it rui",H liko tlui voioo of (jod ovor my

lif<S
Ayo bidding mo climb up higher.

I hardly durod thiuk it WUH human, when

1 flrnt look'd JLU hor yoiirtun^ facie ;
For it Hhone on tho hoavoiiH had opon'd thon,

Atid olad it with glory and grooo 1
JJnt duaror itn light of healing grow

£n our dark and dOHolato day,
AH tho rainbow, when hoavon hath no bioak
of blno,

Smiloth tho etorm away.

Oh ' hor nhapo wan tho lithoHt loyolinoss, —

Juwt an armful of hoavon to onfold '
But tho form that bonds flower-like m lovo's

OaiOBB,

With tho viotor'R Btron^th IB woul'd '
tn lior worshiped prosonco tranafigui-od I

Htand,

And tho poor inan'n Knglish homo
Who lights with tho beauty of Groooo the

grand,
And too glory of regalloat Home.

1748.— KISSES. ^

Ono kiss more, awoot '
Soft an voluptuous wind of the west,
Or silkonost surge of thy purple- vein' d breast,
Ripe lips all rudddy melting* apart,
Brink up the honey and wine of my heart 1

Ono kiss more, sweet '
Warm as a morning sunbeam's dewy gold
Slips in a red roso's fragrantost fold,
Sots its groon blood all o-blu&h, burning up
At tho frouh fool of lifo, in its crimson oup I

Ono loss more, sweet !
Pull as tho flush of tho sea-waves grand
flooding tho sheeny fire out of the sand ;
On all tho shores of my being let bliss
Break with, its neap-Udo sea in a JOBS I

G&aU Masse //.— r JJom 1828.

1 749. — S WEET-AJND-T WJBNTY.

Oh i my IOVO'B a winsomo lady ,
Sweotor face ne'er fod Love onl

In a court, or forest shady,
Quodulier beauty novor shone.

Like a ladyo from a far loud
Came my true lovo, bravo to see 1

As to heaven its rainbow garland,
Is her beauty rioh to mo.

In wliite arms of lovo she wound mo,
And 1 look'd up in ibex amilo :

In warm arniH of lovo &ho bound me,
As the Rua takes soxne blowt isle.

AH flome duHky hike may minor
Ono fair star that Bhinon abovo,

So my lifo — aye growing cloojcor —
Holds this tromtdouu stivr of lovo.

Oh ! to HOO hor life in bio sworn,

With its bloom of bravery 1
Pure the dew hos in tho boaom

Of hor Bwoot virginity.

Nearest to my heart I woar her ;

As a bark the waves above —
Oh I so proudly do I bear hex

On tho bosom of my lovo '

Look you, how sho coxneth, trilling
Oat hor gay heart's bird-like bliss !

Morry as a May-morn, {.y^nfrpg
With the dew and sunHhino's kiss

Euddy gossips of her beauty

Are hor twin checks and hor mouth
In its ripe warmth smileth, fruity

As 'a garden of tho south.

Ha ! my precious Sweot-and-Twenty,
Husband still your virgin piide !

Just a month, and this door, dainty
Thing shall be my wedded bride.

Gerald Mass&yj—Ewn 1828.

77*

KT SHKIT 0V MY LOVK.

PITKHI.—-

1750— SWMKT HMUIT 01* MY LOVE.

Swoot Spirit of my lovo !
Through all tins world wo walk apart*

Thou inaynt not in my hoHoni liu :
I may not prosn thoo to my heart,

Nor floo lovo-tlnnluntfH light ihino oyo .
Yot art thou. with mo. All my life

Orb« out in thy warm boauty'tt Hphoro;
My bravcwt droanis of thoo arc rifo,

And colour' d with thy prowonoo door.

Swoot Spirit of my lovo I
I know how beautiful thou art,

Ihit novor toll tho Htarry thought
I only whiRpor to my heart,

" She lights with hoavon thy carthhoHt

spot."
And birds that night and day ra.joico,

And fragrant wmda, givo back to mo
A muaio ringing of thy voioo,

And flurgo my hoait's lovo-tido to thoo.

Swoot Spirit of my lovo '
Tho spring and Huuiinor, bloom-bodight,

That garland oarth witli roinbow-HUoworK,
Morn's kiSHing breath, and oycw of light,

That wako in HmiloH tho winlc'mg ilowoin,
Tho air with honey 'd fragrance fod,

Tho flashing watorn, — soughing troo, —
Noon's gohlon glory, — Rundown rod,

Ayo warble into songs of thoo.

Swoot Spirit of my lore '
"When night's soft silonoo clothoH tho earth,

And wakes tho passionate bird of lovo ,
And stars laugh out in golden mirth,

And yoammg souls chvinolior movo ;
"When dod'a hroatli hallowH ovory Hpot,

And, lapp'd in foolnig'H luxury,
Tho hoait's break-full of tondor thoni>M ;

Thon art thoa with ino, Htill with mo.

Swoot Spint of my lovo ?
I listen for thy footfall,— -fool

Thy look ia bunnug on wo, wwh
As roads my Jioarfc I HomotiinoH ro<4

And throb, oxpootant for thy touch i
Tor by tho voioo of WOOI!H atul brookw,

And floworfl with vlrgni-fragrnuco wot,
And oarnoHt Htarti with yoanunjr lookw,

I know tliat wo nhall muiglo yot.

Swoot Spirit of my lovo '
Strange places on mo Hmilo, an thou

HadBt pawj'd, and loft thy boauty'H tintH .
The wild flowors ovon tho «orrot know,

And liyht and Kliaclo flanh myHiio luutn.
Mesooms, 3iko olclcn gods, thon'lt come;

In cloud , but mino anomUjd oyoH '
Shall soo tho glory burn through gloom,

And olosp thoo, Swoot ' with largo «ur-
priso

Gerald M<jui80y.-*.B<)rn 1828.

Thoro nhc nitu in her I --la ml

VooilohH uiiifditr IMT IH'IT*!
And Humaiiiiy oft to h<»r arum ilutli (MHIM«.

To <»ah<» it*i jiiM»r liwiri <»f ii'ar
Old Kiitflaiid Htill ihrobi \\i\\i ih<» muillM tiro

Of a pant u\\<* <«ini IH»\I r for «< f ,
And agtiin nlmll .iho liiinnrr tin* \\«»rM up

](\>r thon*\i lifo in flu* <>1«1 Land ,\«»t.

They would mode tit h<(r umv, ^hn nf f«l»i

lonk'd forth

In thtur ft»ar, HM th«*y h«'»ril lu*r «f«»r ;
But loud will your wtul bis O Kin;: . nf the

Earth t
When tho Old Ijiuul Hop.iluvtn tu tin*

war,
Tho avalancho trcuibltH, hcilMattnrbM, un^l

half-riven,

Ilor voico will iti motion !n«{ •
Oh ring out the tidm'% y«« nviiiih <»f li«"iv<'ii I
llioro'H lifo in tho (>M Luu>l .v t.

Tho old TiurHiug tm»i,l«»r'H not lnmr> >«*f ,
Thoro is Hap in lu'i S.i\on 1i»«i* , -

Lo ! Him lift(*th n IwHimi of »«l«»rv >i't.

Through her ittH't , to th«« HUH nud tht*

Fair tiH tho ^uccu of

<% fn* h from

Or a niar iu a dark cloud <"*i ;
Yo may blazon Itcr wlianu*, y> in.iy lt*tip

hor nanus- -
But thorn'* life in Uu> Old liitiMl >it,

at,

Ix)t tho Hionu binvd,, it, will find Ilio < Md
14<»H,dv*rip<» f«»r a vou«d», r*-*l ftM> !

Who will iijrht as H!HI fought \vl»«n ,*h«« toot, hi i*

Htand
For tho Ui/hi in 11 ic <»ld«>n duy,

Ay, roiiHo tlut <»ld w»ji«l .mil, I'!wo|»»'rt lw»,t

IH lu»r Hword.(»d{«'o by Vi«'|oi«y i'i
Who iihull da^h KriMutoiu'ii fotM u lown

glootuy hiopo ;
j*\>r thoro'n Uftt iu \\u\ Old tittnd ,v«ii,

4/rfMii/, Unfit IHiiH.

1752— MN<JUNI) C«)KH TO UATTLK.

Now, glory to our Mn^land,

AH nh« viHOH, (ut!m and j-'i'^nd,
"With tho anciittit Hjurit hi lM<r tiyoK,

Tho good Hword hi Iwr hiunit
Our royal rijrhi on baiilo i-'rouml*

Wan ay<t to boar th<» brunt j
Ho! bravnhourtl f or (»iu»paxKU matt i bound,

And tako thy piano in Frtmt 1
Now glory to our Mn«l,wu1,

AM Hho riHoM, ot^ni and irmwl,
"With tho an<»i«mt npirit hi 1'cr «yo«,

Tha good Hword iu

Prom 1780 In

TO A BELOVED ONE

MAJ3SHY.

"Who would not fight for England ?

Who would not fling a hfo
I* the ring, to moot a tyrant's gage,

And glory m tho ntrifo P
Hor Ktom in thomy, but doth burnt

A glorionM roKO a-top !
AJM! nhall om doar roHO wither ? "First

We'll drain hfo'H clotiroHt drop !
Who would not light lor England ?

Who would not fling a hfo
I1 tlio ring, to moot u tyrant's gage,

And gloiy in tho Htrifo ?

To battle* tfoon our England,

All IIH gallant and an gay
AH lovor to tlio altar, on

A moi ry marriage-day.
A woavy nijjlit H!I« wtood to watcli

Tlio battlo-dawu np-i olVd ,
And hor Hpuit loapH within, to match

Tho noblft doodn of old.
To battle gooH our England,

All OH gallant and aw gay
As lovor to tlio altar, on

A niorry marriage-day.

Now, fair bofall our England,

On hor proud and poriloim road
And woo and wail to tboho who make

Hor footprints rod with blood '
Up with oui lod-oroHH banner — roll

A thundor-pual of drumn '
Pif^ht on thoiv, ovcry valiant ».oul,

And c/)uraff(i ' lOnp^laud OOIIIOH r
Now, fair bofall our Mngland,

On hor proud and porilouH roa<l
And woo and wail to OIOHO who make

Hor footprint rod with blood 1

Now, victory to our England J

And whoro'or flho lif t« hor hand
In Frondom'fl ilpflit, to ronmio Hi^ht,

God bloMH tho doar Old Land 1
And whon tho Htorm lian paHu'd away,

Jn pflory ami m culm,
May H!IO Hit down i' tho groon o' tho day,

And King hor poaooful psalm !
Now, victory to our England !

And where'er aho HCts hor hand
In Kroodom'fl fight, to ro«cuo Kight,

God blows tho doar Old Land '

Ocrald Mftssey.—lim'n 1828.

1753.— THERE'S NO DEARTH OP
KOTDNESS

Thoro'H no cloarth of kindnoas

[n this world of ours ;
Only in our blmdnoss ^

Wo |yathor thorns for flowers T
Outward wo are spurning —

Trampling ono another '
"While wo are miy yearning

At the name of " Brother I "

Thoro'B no dearth of kindnosa

Or lovo among manland,
But in darkling lononoss

Hooded hoartH grow blind '
Eoll of kindness tingling,

Soul w Rhut from soul,
Whon they might bo mingling

In one kindred whole !

There' H no dearth of kindness,

Though it bo unHpokon,
Prom the hoait it buildotli

14auibow-KmiloH an token —
That there bo nono HO lowly,

Jiut have Homo angel-touch : «/
Yet, nniKing loves unholy,

Wo livo for self too much I

AH tho wild-rose blowoth,

As runs tho happy river,
KmdneBB freely flowoth

In the heart for over.
But if men will hanker

Ever for golden dust,
KiugliOKt hearts will canker,

Brightest Bpints rust.

Tlioro'fl no doaith of kindness

In this woild of ours ,
Only in our blindness

Wo gather thorna for flowers '
Oh, cherish God's best giving,

falling from above '
Lif o wore not worth living,

Wore it not for Lovo

Gerald Muwuy —JJom 1828.

I754-— TO A BELOVED ONE.

Heaven hath its orown of stars, the Earth

Hor glory-robe of flowers —
The Sea its gems— tho grand old Woods

Then? songs and greening showers •
The Birds have homos, where leaves and
blooms

In beauty wreathe above ,
High yearning hearts, their rainbow-dream —

And we, sweet ' wo have love. t

Wo walk not with tho jowoll'd gieat,

Whoro Love's door name is sold ;
Yet have wo wealth wo would not give

For all then- world of gold !
Wo revel not in corn and wino,

Yet have we from above
Manna cbvine, and we'll not pine,

While we may hvo and lovo.

There's sorrow for the toiling poor,

On Misery's bosom nursed .
Rich robes for ragged souls, and crowns

For branded brows Cain-curst !
But Cherubim, with clasping wingK,

Ever about us be,
And, happiest of God's happy things,

There's love for you and mo i

GERALD MAWKY.!

A WAIL.

I i-!l. VI N III 1*1 IMMji.—

Thy LI>H, thai kiHH till cloaili, liavo tumM

Lifo'H wak«r into wino ;
Tho flweot lito molting tluouqh tliy look*,

Hath niado my lifo divino.
AJ1 Lovo'n dour pronriso hath boon kept,

811100 then to mo wort given ;
A ladder for my HOU! to climb,

And trammer high in hoavon.

I know, door lioart » Unit in our lot

Hay minglo tearn and HOI row ;
"But, LOVO'H rich rainbow's built from ionxs

To-day, with Rimloa to-morrow.
l"ho Bunshino from our Hky may dio,

Tho greenness from Life's tree,
But oror, 'mid the warring* storm,

Thy nost shall shelter/ d bo.

I see thee 1 Ararat of my Mo,

Smiling the wayeH aboyo 1
Thon haal'st mo victor in tho Htrifo,

And beacon* wt mo with lovo.
The world may novor know, dear hoart !

"What I have found in thoo ;
But, though nought to tho world, dear heart !

Thou'rt all tho world to mo.

QcraU Mabsey.—Jtot n 1828.

1755 —A WAIL.

The day goeth down rod darkling,
Tho moaning waves dash out tho light,

And thero is not a star of hope spaikung,
On the threshold of my night.

Tho wild winds of autumn go wailing

"Op tho valloy and ovor tho hill,
Like yearning ghontu round tho world sailing

In search of iho old love still

A fathomless floa IK rolling

O'or the wreck of tho Lravost bark ;
And my pain-mnftlod hoart in ioihug

ItB dumb-pool down in tho dark.

The waves of a mighty sorrow
Have wholm<\l tho pearl of my life :

And thoro oomoth to mo no morrow
Shall solaoo this doHolaio strifo.

Gone are tho lawt faint flashoFi,

Sot is tho sun of my yoaru ;
And ovor a fow poor anneq

I sit in my darkness and toarn.

Gerald Ma&sey.—Bom 1828.

LAY THY HAND IN* MOTS,
DEAE!

Oh, lay thy hand in mine, dear !
We're growing old, wo're growing old;

Bnt Timehaih brought no M"m ili«,ir.
That Iwttrts I*PI»W mM, th,*t» Iwurl
cold.

'TlM l()llf?, loll"1 W1M§I> OUT 1U«W lliV4»

M ado lifts divnu', matlo lifo ibviuo;
But ago oiirii'ht'lh tnn» lim*.
Liku nolilo \MII*S lib* at it ilo \\iit«.

And lay tliy olu'd* t<» iiiirns <i«'f»r,

Andtako thy n\ tM ami in!," ili\ r»f t ,
Mino IUIIIH around iliro Iwlnc, <1< ,ir,

And nmku tli> IK- i, and ntiiUi* iliv nc !.
A nuvuy (uirt's aro imscin*?

On tliiH <luar head, <n> thi < d«'.tr ht ,H! ;
Uni iSorrowV hiuidw tu blc

Axo surely laid, aro iniroly I

Oh, lean thy hfo on mino, cU«»r !

'Twill Hholtor thoo, 'twill nhi'iU r tlwis
Thou wort a witiHomn viiu\ <lonr,

On my young trwo, on my i<»ni»i* tr»'f» :
And HO, till bou^lm arc l<uiil<ih:i,

And HtmgbadH flnwu, utid i««fi'l

flown,
We'll twine, 1,hc»n lay «• , «»ri««fl«' s,

Togothor down, lo;*Hhir dtmi.,

BloHHom of tho ahnoml.tnu'H,
April'H gift to April*;! bc<^,
Birthday oniainoni of Mjiriti'?,
Flora'H fiun'it cLuinlifortiii"1; -
Coming wlu>» no ilow'r*'! \ <Ian»
TruHt th«> crm'l «mtc«r uir ;
Wlwmtho royal lJii«r-«'»i{> l»oM
Daren noi tloti lii,i coat, of ynlit ;
Arul iho Hinrtly bhwlvihoni
mlvor for iln» M«t

no (lu\\'tvt.i
Savo thy lowl> hi ^.orhoo*^
Karly violet v blue* and white,
Dyinjf for tlwlr lov«i of li«rht.
Almoiul blon u>ui, Hont io iMK'U 11 4
That tho Kprin,<?-dii(.VM tuxtn will roanh UK,
Lo.4, with loiifinir ovor-lruul,
Wo dio as tho yioh^.i «Hc«cl «
BloHHom, doudiu^ all tho iroo
With thy crhntton broid(»r> ,
Long boforo a leaf of tfroon
On tho l>nvvcHt bough IH Ktioti ;
Ah ' vrhon winter wlndH aro
All thy rod bolln into ringing
With a boo in ovory boll,
Almond bloom, wo greet thoo wolL

1831.

F/vmt 1780 to 1800.]

PHILOMELA*

[MA.TTITHW AJBNOUX

1758.— WOMAN'S VOICE.

Not in tho swaying of tho summer trees,
Whon tivomng breezes wing tlioir vesper

hymn-—
Not in tho mmrttrol'n mighty symphonies,

Nor ripploH breaking- on tlio rivoj 'w brim,
IH oarth'n best music j thowo may have awhile
High thoughts in happy hoaitd, and oarkmg
COTOH beguile

3 Jut ovon aw the swallow's silken wings,

Skimming tlio wator of tho deeping lake,
Stir tho ntill Hilvor with a hundred rings —
Ho doth ono Honnd tho sleeping spirit

wake
To bravo tho danger, and to boar tho

harm —

A low ami gentle VOJLOO — doar woman' H ohiofost
charm

An oxijollont thing it IH ' and over lonfa
To truth and lovo, and meekness , thoy who

own
This gift, by tho all-^raoiouH Giver Hunt,

Mvor by <jmot stop and Hmilo aro known ,
By kind oyoH that havo wopt, hoarta that

have HorrowM —

I>y pationuo novor tirod, from thoir own trials
borrow' d

An oxoollont thm# it IH — whon firnt in gla<l-

Z1OHM

A mother lookrt into hor i»r«,nii's oyoH —
SuiiloH to its HmiloH, and HitddonK to itn uad-

JIOHK—

PaloH at HH palonoHH, BOITOWH at atrt orios ,
Ttn food and Hloop, and Htmlo* and liLtlo

joys-

All thoHo oonao ovor blout with ono low gontlo
VOJLOG.

An oxoollont thing it ia whon life SM loaving —
Leaving with gloom and gladness, joys and

Tho Htrong hoari fajJong, and tho high soul

griovinpr
With Htrangost thoughtH, and wild nuwontod

Thon, thon a woman* H low soft sympathy
C^omoH Hko an angel's voioo to toaoh us how to
clio.

]Jnt a xnont oxoollont thing it IK in youth,
Whon tho fond lovor hoars tho lovod ono'B

tuuo,

'Hiat foar«, but longs, to syllable tho truth —
flow thoir two hoartn aro ono, and she his

own,

Tt makes sweet human music — oh ' tho spoils
That haunt tho trembling tale a bright-eyed
maiden telta '

AmoU — Horn 1831

1759— OTANIA.

She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh,
While wo for hopeless passion die ,
Tot sho could lovo, those oyos declare,
Wore but men nobler than thoy aro.

Eagerly onoo her gracious kon
Was turn'd upon tho sons of men ;
But light the serious visage grow —
She look'd, and smiled, and saw them through.

Our potty souls, our strutting wits,
Our labotu 'd puny passion-fits —
Ah, may sho scorn them still, till we
Scorn thorn aa bitterly as sho '

Yot oh, that Falo would let her see
Ono of some worthier race than wo —
Ono for whoso sake sho onoo might piove
How deeply she who scorns can lovo.

His pyos bo like tho starry lights —
His voioo like sounds of summer nights—
In nil his lovely mien lot pierce
Tho xnagio of tho universe !

And she to him will roach hor hand,
And ffazuig in hiH eyes will stand,
And know her fuend, and weep for glee,
And cry — Long, long I've look'd for thoo !

Then will she weep — with smiles, till then,
Coldly H!IO mocks tho sons of men
Till thon hor lovely oyoH maintain
Thoir gay, unwavering, deep dwdam

MaUlu'w Arnold.— Vwn 18SJ2,

1 760 — PHTLOMBLA.

TTark I ah, tho Nightingale !
rJTio tawny-throated I

Hark ' from that moonlit cedar what a burst I
What triumph f hark — what pain '
Oh, wanderer from a Grecian shore,
Still—- after many years, in distant lands—
Still nourishing in thy bowildor'd brain
That wild, unqnoncli'd, deep-sunken, old-world
pain —

Say, will it never heal P
And can this fragrant lawn,
With its cool trees, and night,
Ancl the sweet, tranquil Thames,
And moonshine, and the dew,
To thy raek'd heart and brain

Afford no balin P

Dost thou to-mght behold,
Here, through, "the moonlight on this English

grass,
Tho unfriendly palace m the Thraoian mid P

Post thou again peruse,
With hot cheeks and sear'd eyes,
Tho too clear web, and thy dumb sister's
ohame ?

A U N( l LT> ,]

EUPHKOSYNE.

t vrsrii

1>OKb ihou oneo morn esnay
Thy flight; and feel eome o\er thoo,
Poor fugitive, the feathery eluuitfo ;
On<jo more ; and <mc,« worn wuktt resound,
With low and luito, triumph and agony,
Lano DanliH* and i.ho high Oephihiim valo ?

How tluVk tlio bui'Htrt como crowdin

tho leavoH '
Again- — thou lioarosti !
Eternal pawHion 1
Eternal pain '

1832.

i y 6 1 . — ETTPiniOB Y N 1Q.

I must not Ray that ihou wort true,
Yet lot mo Hay that tliou wort fair
And thoy that lovely faoo who view,
They wll not ask it truth bo thoro

Truth — what is truth? Two blooding

hearts

Wounded by mou, by Fortune tried,
Out woox u'd with thon lonoly porta,
Vow to boat henceforth Hiclo by Hides

Tho woild to thorn WOH storn and drear ;
Thoir lot was but to woop and nioaii.
Ah, lot thorn koop thoir faith Kiuooro,
For noithoi oould flabtiXHt alono !

But souls whom ROHXO benignant broath
Has oharm'd at birth from gloom and caro,
Those ask no lovo — thoRO plight no faith,
For they aro happy as thoy aro

Tho woilrl to tliom may homago mako,
And gailocdri for thoir forehead woavo ,
And what tho world oan fiivo, thciy tako—
But thoy bring more than thoy rocoivo

Thoy smilo upon tho world ; ihoir oarn
To ono domaiid alouo in o coy
Thoy will not givo us lovo and 1oars —
Thoy bring us light, and warmth, and joy.

On ono slio smiled, and ho waH blent >
She Hmilos olnewhero — wo m&ko a dm !
But 'twas not lovo that hoavod his brwtHt,
Fair child ' it wa» tho bh^H within.

Muttlicw Artutltl— Horn

1762— THE AGE OF WISDOM".

Ho I protty page, with tho dimplod ohm,

That novor has known tho foorbor'H ahoar,
All your wiflh i» woman to win —
Thia is the way that boys bogin, —
Wait till you oomo to Forty Yoar.

Curly gold looks cover foolish brains,

Billing- and ooomg is all your cheer ;
SigMng and singing of midnight strains,
Under BonnybelTs window panos, —
Wait till you come to Forty Year,

Forty tiin*1^ c»\cr li«t Mi«'hu««li»,» • |«M

(IrissxlniK Imir HM» l«rtiu «l»'fh Hisir
Tbcii you know ;i |M«,\ i an it ,
Tlioti you lviio\\ th«' xinrMi "f » Li ",
Onco you hiivo conn- in !'Wf> \ra

I'loilfTO me round. I l't«t >«• cli^lmn,

All jjoo<l M\<t\\ , vJm i' l»« n»il » HIV
Did not the iiutv i ttf titf l.nr

nud v»«' iri *»im» MNI
\va pa'f nun; ;

fi lip * thal» o\«»i* 1mvi» Ki »n»'l,
Th<» brightc.it i«yi« • iliat «'V«»r ILIVO t<lu
May pray and ttluwpcr, uti<l wt> ttttt ti t,
Or look away, nnd u<'\v»r IM» in! * »*«!,
Kr« 3fot over a month i«» '"OM^

(iillian'H dmwl— (lod rent tun* bi«r !

JIow T lovtwl liw twrnty ywiw *'y«u !
ManairH married ; but I nit. IUTO,
Alono nnd morry «.t KoHy V«»ar,

JUipping my nontj in tho (liv^on wiuo.

1763.— DART AUKM, T\V<)

Juryiuon of f liijtl'ind ! who n«!jmrr»

your comitr/H lnw-4,
And proclaim a Hritir-h Jury worthy of the

realm' H appliuiKu
Gaily compliment eanh ot.hnr at tht« iru»tn* of

Which waH triod at ({tiildford '* IWM, {hi '
wcok an over

Unto that augimt tribtui.ii ivune ,

jn griof —
(Hppoial wan ilio UriU.(h jury, niiii

tho Harou ('lm*f)
CDIUCH a Bnt.ihh ttuin nii'l lui liutt»i, a"kii»}? of

i.ho law relief,
Kor IUH wifo wan ntolon from ]iita -hoM havo

vongeaueo mi the tluuf,

Yes; his wife, Urn l»li»sw»«l Inwturtt with ttur

which MH life win crownml,
Wickedly WOH iniviHhod from him by a hypo-

»rito profound.
A n< I ho oomrm bofore. twelve HriioitM, nien for

muiHo and tririlt renowmul,
To award hitn for IHH danm;:o twonly lumtlred

atorlinf: pound*

IIo by ooutiHol and attorney thoro at UmMforl

Anlcing dainago of tint villain who Kodundd hiw

Lwly doar •
Jfat I oan't liolp aKking, though tho

guilt wan all too clear,
And though guilty tho defendant, wasn't

plaiiitiiEF rather qtzoor F

l^irnt tho lody'n mother upoko, and tiaid

Koon hor daughter cry
But a fortnight after marriago— oarly titacw

for piping oyo,

HUM 1780 In 1HOO.]

TO A CJJIOKET.

[W.O

Six montiiM after, tilings wore worwo, and tho

piping oyo wiut bluok,
And thin gallant UntiHh husband oanod his

wife upon tho baok »

rriiroo ttumtlw after they woro married, hus-
band pUHhod her to tho dooi,

Told hor to bo off and loavo him, for ho wanted
hor no more ;

AH H!IO would not go, why UG wonl — thrico ho
loft hm lady door,

Loft hor, too, without a penny, for more than
a qnartor of a year.

MrH. IKranooH Duncan know tho parties very

\ioHindood,
She had noon him pull his lady's nose and

niako hor lip to blood ,
Tf 1m tilmnoGcl to Bit at homo, not a Hinglo word

ho Haul ,
Onoo H!IO HILW lam throw tho cover of a di«h

at IU'H lady'H hoad.

Sarah Cirooti, another witness, olcar did to tho

jnry note
How sho naw this honest follow Roisso his lady

by tho throat ; .
How ho ourHod hor and abused hor, boating

hor into a fit,
Till tli« pitying nort-door neighbours croasod

tho wall and witnoHHod it

Next door to thi« injured Briton Mr Owors, a

butcher, dwelt ,
MrH OWOVH'H foolwh heart towards thin erring

damo did molt— -
(Not that flho had orrod OH yot ; crime was ]

not developed in lior) ;
But, bohiff loft without a penny, MrH Owors [

supplied hor dinner : ?

(*od be merciful to MrH. Owors, who was

merciful to this sinner I J

( iutoline Naylor was their servant ; said they

led a wretched life,
Saw thiH most distinguished Union fling a

teacup at his wife
He wont out to balls and pleasures, and never

onoo, iti ton montht*' Hpaoo,
Sate with hit* wifo, or apoko hor kindly This

was tho defendant's OOHO.

Pollock, 0. B., charged tho jury, said tho

woman' H guilt was clear
Tliatwaa not tho point, however, which the

jury oame to hear.
But tho damage to determine which, as it

should true appear,
This moHt tondor-hoartod husband, who so

used his lady dear ;

Boat her, kicked hor, oanod hor, ouraod hor,

left her starving, year by yoar,
Flung her from him, parted fiom her, wrung

her neok, and boxed her ear , —
What the reasonable damage this afflicted

man oould claim,
By tho loss of tho affections of this guilty

graceless dame P

Then the honest British Twelve, to oaoh other

turning round,
Laid their clever heads together with a wisdom

inoRt profound ,
And towaxds his Lordsliip looking, spoko tho

foreman wise and sound,
"My Lord, wo find for this hero plaintiff,

damages two hundred pound "

So God blofls the Special Jury, pride and joy

of English giound I
And tho happy land of England, whero true

justice does abound '
British jurymen and husbands, lot us hail this

vordict proper, —
If a Butish wiie offends you, Britons, you've

a right to whop hor.

Though you promised to protect her, though.

you promised to defend her,
You ore welcome to neglect her, to tho devil

you may send her ;
You may strike hor, ourso, abuso her, so-

declares our law renowned j
And if after this you lose her — why, you're-

paid two hundred pound.

W. M. TJiackoray.

' 1764— INVOCATION TO BAJN IN

SUMMER.

0 gontlo, gentle summer rain,

Lot not tho mlvor hly pino,
Tho drooping lily pino m vain

To fool that dowy touch of thin$ —
To drink thy frenhnoss once again,
O gontlo, gentle summer ram I

In heat tho landscape quivering lies ,
Tho cattle pant beneath the tree ,

Through parching air and putplo skies
Tho earth looks up, in vain, for thee ;

For thoo — for thoe, it looks in vain,

O gentle, gentle summer ram.

Come thou, and brim tho meadow streams,
Anrl soften all tho lulls with mist,

0 falling dew ! from burning dreams
By thoo shall horb and flower bo kiss'd,

And Earth shall bless thoe yot again,

O gentle, gontlo summer rain.

W. 0. BcTWMtt. — JSorn 1820.

1765 —TO A OBIOKBT.

Voice of Summer, keen and shrill,
Chirping round my winter firo,
Of thy song I never tire,
Weary others as they will ;
For thy song with summer's fill'd—
FilTd with sunshine, fill'd with June ;
Firelight echo of that noon
Hears in fields when all is still' d

W. C.

IUBT MAY.

i'l W«»I»-

In tlw ffoldon light of May,
111 inghiK Hoouts of now-mown hay,
BOOH, and birdn, and Unworn away:
PrithflG, haunt my iirwub HUll,
Yoioo of Summor, kuon and Hhrill '

ir. C'. /fc'iittfW,— torn* 1820

1766.— BABf MAY.

Chock* as ftoft OB July poaohoH ,
IAI>H whose dewy scarlet touctuoH
PoppioH paleness ; round, largo oyos
Kyer groat with now Burprino ;
Minatofl fill'd with Hhadoloflfl gltuluoflH ;
Minutes just as brimm'd with saduoHH ,
Happy smiles and wailing crion ;
Crows and laughs and tearful eyes ,
Lights and shadows, swifter born
Than on wind-swept autumn com ;
Ever some new tiny notion,
Making ovory limb all motion ,
Catching^ up of logs and onim ;
ThrowmgH back and Hiuall alarirw ,
Clutching fingers j Rtnug litnmug jorks ;
Twining foot who-^o oaoh too works ;
Kickings up and straining rimugfl j
Mother's eror now fiur]>ri«in#« ,
Etonds all wants and looks all wondor
Afc all tbingR the hoavonn nndoc ,
Tiny soorns of smilod roprovmgfl
That have more of love than lovingn ,
Mischiefs done with snoli a winning
Archnoss that we pnzo wuoh Himung;
Bioakings dixo of plates and glansos ,
Oranpings small at all that POHHGM ,
Fnlhngs ofT of all that's able
To bo caught fiom tray or tablo ;
Silences — small moditotioiw
Doop as thoughts of curon for nations.
Breaking into wiHORt BpocoliOH
In a tongno that nothing toaolicH ;
All the thoiifthtH of whoso }>oimoHmn#
Must bo wooM to li^lit by pro-Miner ;
Slumbers — such Hwoot aii^o]-H(MiiiHti^s
That wo*d over havo such dr<»iuum#H,
Till from Hloop wo ROO thu breaking,
And we'd always havo thoo waknig ?
Wealth for wliich we know no moawwo,
Pleasnro higli above all ploanwo ;
G-ladnoHR brimming over glmliieHS $
Joy in care ; delight in ftodziohH ;
Lovoliuoss beyond oomplotcxieHH ;
SwootnoFtH dihiiunoing all HwootnoHS j
Beauty all that beauty may be : —
That's May JBonaiott— that's my baby !

W. 0. XonnoU.—tttjrn 1820.

1767.— BABY'S SHOES.

Oh those little, those little blue shoes 1
Those shoes that no little feet use.

< >li tho
That
rI'hoHt» httlo

won* bi«rli
i would l
H'd N!«M-

For tlw»y holii ilio Hiuall hh MM* i»p f«" f
That no moro tlunr m«iihor ' r; i- i mi*

That, by Uod'n ;r«»««d will,

YOUTH »iuc«, frrt*w »iil!.
And conned from t!n»ir tnH*«r r«> ;.

And oh, HIIICW that baby » l<'pt»

So htmh'd, how tlw niolhw Iia. I* p',,

With a tuarful plivv.uns

That littlo dear 1 n*;i ttns ,
And o'or thorn thought and w«<pt. !

For they mind hc»r f«r t»v«'r«»»r*s
Of a patter ulozij; tho floor;

And blue oyoH Mho suw

Jjook np fntm lukr kuwH
With tho look tYxat in iifu thoy wore

AH they lio before hi«r 1«1i««nt«
Thoro biibblos from rlwur 1o t'hair

A litU<» ,S\\<M»(. f,HM»

Th.it'it a ."Joiim in flio placo
With itri httlt* |?old curl \ of Ii.ur.

rJli(M» oh, won dor not that her h<(>tH>
From all olxo would ralhor ]iarit

Than thont) tiny Muo i itot< t

That no Httlo ftx^t tuo,
And whoHO Might tuakoa Htioli fond burnt
Htartt

WORN

won r,, thin, d««,ir ttif^t alt,
KiittimorH not a fmv,

I put it on your {ln«ft*r flr.ii, hnvt* pivuM
o'or wo and you ;

And, lov«», what <\luiih?*M wo huv« ,'i««»ii- what
(!:if()H and nI<Mt;utrcn, too,

you ))0oaino my own dmr \\if<% whon
thin old ring W&K ttfw*

Oh, bloHHingrf 011 that happy tiny, (,h« U

of my lif o,
When, thankH to (io<l, your low, iwwt " Yw"

n»wb you my loving wlfo ;
Vonr heart will nay tho «amo, f know; thai

day'n HH dour to you,—
That day that made* mo yourn, doar wifts, when

tliix oltl rhitf wan now.

}Iow woll do 1 ronwiuhftt now your younK

Hwoot fuflo that <lay I
How fair you woro, bow doar you wore, my

tongue could hardly Hay j
Nor bow 1 do&tod on you ; ah, how prou<l I

was of you 1
But did T lore you more than now, when thi*

old ring was now P

180G.]

MOTHEB AND SON.

[W. 0.

no ; no fairer wore you thon than at tins

hour to ino ;
And, dour as life to mo this day, how could

you dealer l>or*
AH swoot your fac*o might bo that day an now

it IH, VIH truo ;
Rut did I know your heart an well whoii this

old ring was now ?

< >h, partuor of my gladness, wife, what oaio,

what grief is thoio
For mo you would not bravoly faoo, with nio

you would not share ?
Oh, what n woary want had ovory day, if

wanting you,
Wanting tho Jovo that Ood nwdo mmo whon

HUH old ring waH now.

Warn bring Crush links to bind us, wifo —

young voicoH that arc horo,
Yoimtf Fivoos round our fire that make thoir

mother' H yot xnoro doar,
\oung, loving hoartH, your oaro oaoh day

makes yot more liko to you ,
Moro liko tho loving heart inado iniuo whon

thiH old ring watt now

And, Wnsu'd bo Hod1 all Ho him given aro

with UH yot ; in ouud
Oui tal»Io ovoiy prooiourf life lout to us still

IS 1<>Ull<l,

Though citron wo'vo known, with hopeful
luMirlH the worHt wo'vo struggled through-

Hh'us'd l>o Hw iiamofor all JJirt love since this
old ring wan now !

Tho past is dear ; its swootnoHB still our me-
mories treasure yot ;

The giiofs wo'vo borne, together borne, wo
would not now forgot ;

Whatever, wifo, tho future brings, heart unto
heart still true,

We'll share as wo have shared all olso since
this old ring was now.

And if (jlod spare us 'monj»Rt our sons and

daughters to grow old,
Wo know Ifis goodness will not lot your heart

or mine grow cold;
Your agod oyos will soo in mine all they've

still shown to you,
And mine in yours all thoyhavo soon since

this old ring was new.

And oh, whon death shall como at last to bid

mo to my rest,
May I dio looking in those eyes, and resting

on that breast ;
Oh, may my parting gasso bo bless* d with tho

doar sight of you,
Of those fond oyos — fond as they wore whon

this old ring was new.

TT. 0. Hewlett.— Bom 1820

1769— WBDDDra WORDS.

A jewel for my lady's oar,

A jewel for her finger fine,
A diamond ior her bosom dear,

Her bosom that is mino.

Dear glances for my lady's eyes,
Boar looks around her form to twine,

Boar kiHsos for tho hps I prize,
Her dear lips that aro mine

Boar breathings to her, soft and low,
Of how my lot who's made divine,

Boar silences my love that show
For her whoso love is mine

Boai oatos no cloud shall shade her way,
That gladness only on hoi nhmo,

That she bo happy as tho May
Whoso lot IH one with mine.

Boar wishes hovering round her hfo

And tending thoughts, and dreams diving;

To feed with perfect joy tho wife
Whose happiuobs is mine.

W. 0. Bennett.— Xom 1820.

1770— MOTHMJB AND SON

" Mothoi, tho stoim, how it Hhnoks without ' "
" "Kit ui»ht JCor tho work, HOB, we're about "

" Mother, tho razor's smear 'd with blood "
" Flmpr it far whoie tho river oonios down m
flood."

" Jilood on those hands, blood will bo soon "
" Water, my son, will wash them clean "

" What will whiten tho sheets and bod P "
" I'll wash them in peace now your father's
dead."

" They'll seo whore the now-tum'cl earth looks

brown "
" fcJon, with my foot I trainplod it down."

" Oh, that dead faoo ' oh, hide it, night ' "
" Tho quick-limo I etrew'd will soon eat that
sight."

" God ' I can soo his mangled throat ' "
" Silence, boy ! how you drivel and dote."

" Mother, his blood, it sears my soul ' "
" Sou, on. mine alone be the whole."

" Oh, would that my father wore horo again ' "
" Thank God ' that wish is wiaVd in vain."

" Here, oven to drive us mad with blows."
''Thank God1 from his hoart his life-blood
flows!"

"Here, though mad-drunk, to lull us he

swore "
"Thank God' such oaths ho'll swear no

moro

. 0. BKNNPSTT/]

TO A LAI>Y T KNOW, A<VKD OXK.

i nn>i»

" ICoro again, though ho Hturvwl us dead."
"Thank (lodl now my work *ill \mi\u \w
Inroad."

" Horo again, to rcqumt IU'H win."

c< Thank Uocl I to hoavon novor lio'll win."

" Oh, that ho wore living, and dead w«ir« wo ! "
" Bleep, Rlocp, my mm, and comfort mo."

" How tlaro I nloop f how davo I droain ' "
"Without him, our lives like hoavon will
. Boom."

" Hoavon '— -hell, holl, iw for you and mo ' "
" God help UB ' there will your father bo f "

" Hell hereafter 1 holl hero i " " Korgot
" Will bo hell's pains if wo'ro whoro ho'n not I "

W. C J}emirtl.—Jhrn, 1820.

1771.— TO A LADY I KNOW, AGED ONE.

Oh, sunny ourlH ' oh, oyo« of bluo !

The haidost naturow known,
Baby, would softly Hpoak to you,

With strangely loader tone ;
What marvol, Mary, if from muili

Your swootnoas lovo woidd call P
Wo lore you, baby, oh how much '

Most dear of all thmgn Hmall !

TTnborn, how, more than all on earth,

Your mothor yoarn'd to moot
Your droarn'd-of face , you, from your birth,

Most swoot of all thinqH «woot '
BTon now, foi yoiu Hmall handw' firni i>roHH

Of hor full happy bi oast,
How oft dooa H!IO UotVrt goodnoss bloH^,

And fool hor heart too blont '

You oamo, a wondor to hor

That doatocl on otich grano,
Each oharm, tlxat fitill with now

She nliow'd UH in your faco
Small boautioa P ah, to hor not

How plain to hor bloHt mind '
Though, baby door, I doubt if all

j^}\ that sho found could find.

A yoax has gono, and, mother, say,

Through all that yoar'a blent round,
In hor has ono Bwoot wook or day

Not some now boauty found?
What moment has not fanoiod ono,

Since first your eyow Hho mot P
And, wife, I know you have not done

With finding fresh ouos yet.

Hor I , for, baby, some new charm

Bach coming hour supplies,
So sweet, we think change COD. but harm

Your sweetness in our eyes,

Till o.omoH a nmv<«i*, und u«» l*nm\,
AH tliui. fr»»sh <*liann wo • «««».

In you, HWi'ot Nature \\\\\ 1-» ,.iu,v,
How fair a bairn citii IM».

Kind ({(HUitiaf. jrn\«» ilti » |ir<»»ii»u • i I h

MOTU <*hni«f-lci f«vi»r> <l»,i ,
To Tlujo <ntv <\M* * w«' iriMiilihn^ hit —

Tako not Th v pl'l «wa> «
Ijoolviujf on hor, w<» ^t-iri HI «liv!i«K

Wo hta\ our tluifUt^riii^r hnwtli,
And Hhrink tct f*»i*l flu* tnr*»r '{ti«»

In that oun <lurk w<»nl

Oh, tcmdcr pypM ! olu bounty

When childhood nhull <l<*]i
Oh, that thou, l»abc, through <*V4*ry

MayBt koq> that infant liwrt !
Oh, ^JTUUOUH <iod i oh, this mako HUM

That, of no gram* lic^u'tlml,
Tho woman bo in HOU! a,» nuro

AH now H!IO IM — a child !

1772.— (*UA1)tiK

Tj-allaby— lullaby, baby dwr !
Tiiiko thy roHt without a fiwr •
Qnioi Hlonp, for mother in Iwri-
Evor walcttftil, ovw
Lullaby !

— lullaby l jf<>»" »<* thi*
Y«t l(»t not darkncsH m,v bnl»,v
Mothor IH with hor amid ih«''iji»»lif
Thou Hoftly Hlot«j), my

May thy mnall drumi'i «o ill 1 ,

Kind Itoavou koop wat««h, my lmbtvf <»'«»r th<»«> •
Kind aniydM brijrht thy frtmnUnti4*hf>,
And ffivo th(»(* KmiliiiK tc» d»vy and to mo,
Lullaby '

Kloop, Hlodp on! thy rc«t is dwp ;
Hut, ah i what wild thotitrhl'i f«i mo cwtp,
AH by thy Hido my watc.h I K(*«j>,
To think how liU to dnath in Mlw«p !
Lnllaby I

But Ood our Katlwir will hour my prn.y«r,
And have thoo, doar <»«», in Urn Mini ;
Thoo, Httlo ones Hoft braathiiifr tht»r«,
To mo tho Lord'w doar lovo will Hpuro,
Lullaby I

Sloop on 1 nloop on » till fflwl d«y l»nwlc,
And with tho Hunnhmo gladly wak<s
Thy rnothor'H tlay, how blunt to make 1
Hor life, what joy I through thy dwir gakfl,
Lullaby!

W. a ItemwU*— Horn 1H20.

JBVwn 1780 to 18C«.] SKETCHES FROM A PAINTER'S STUDIO. [W. 0.

I773-— TO W. 0. JB.

Soul, not yot from lieavon )>oguilod,
Honl, not yot by earth doiilod,
Dwelling in thiH littlo child,

Bo, oli, to him bo

All wo woidd have thoo '

Through thm lifo of joy and oaro,
If that fti lof muHt bo Inn share,
Make, oh, intiko him wtiongto boar

AlHlod wiUutli.aU

That to him must fall.

Oh, wlum PIIHHIOUH Htir lua heart,
Tempting him from good to port,
JMLako him Jrom the ovil start,

That ho walk aright,

HoilloHH ui Uod'n wight '

Taint him not, with mortal am,

That hcwvoii'H palnut IUH liandH xuay win,

That honvou'H gaton ho outer in,

Of Uod'H favour warn,

Paio OH ho IH pure !

If ho wiwidor from tlio right,

Oh, through error' H darksome mglxt

On to hoavoii'H otonial light,

(liuidn, oh guide IUH way,

To hoavoii'H porfoot day

W ('

1774.— TI nfl QTTEEN.

HONG.

TOM, wife, I'd bo a thwwM king,
That you might nharo iny royal Hoat,
That titled Ixuutty f might bring,
And priiitJOH* homage to your foot.
How qmokly, thou, would nobloH «oo
Your courtly graoo, your rogal mion ;
Mvou dnohoHHOH all blmd Hhoul<l bo
To flaw or spook in you, thoir quoon

Poor wwh I 0 wifo, a qnooa you aio,
To wlioHO foot many a flubjoot bnugs
A traor lioinago, nobler far
Than bonds boforo tho tlironoM of kings.
You rulo a roahn, wife, in this heart,
Whore not ono robol fancy's scon,
"Whore liopon and mulles, bow joyouH ! start
To own tlio sway of you, thoir quoon

How loyal aio my thoughtfl by day 1
How faithful IB oaoh dream of mglit '
Kot ono but IIVOH but to oboy
Your rulo — ^to Horvo you, its delight ,
My hours — eaoh inHtaut- — every broath
Are, wifo, an all have over boon,
Your slavoH, to worvo you unto doath ,
O wife, you aro nulfod a <moon I

W. C Bermett.—Bo™ 1820.

1775— SKETCHES FROM A PAINTER'S
STUDIO.

A TALU OB1 TO-DAY

A broad stream, smooth with doep-grass'cl

fields,

Through rushy turnings winding slow ;
A dam where atirloBS watoru sloop
Till Hhot on tho moss'd whool bolow
A duuiy mill, whoso shadows fall
On tho stay'd waters, white o'orall

A vuio-olimbM cottage, rodly-tilod,
Doop-nook'd withui an orchard's green,
Ptiwt whioh a white road winds away,
That hedgerow elms from summer screen ;
A busy wheel's noor sound that tolls
Within the thriving miller dwells.

A cottage parlour, neatly gay,
WitH littlo comforts orjghten'd round,
Where simple ornaments, that speak
Of more than country taste, abound,
Whore bookcase and piano well
Of more than village polish toll.

A bluff, blunt miller, woU to do,
Of broad, loud laugh — not hard to please;
A kindly houHowifo, koon and sago—-
And busy as her very boo* ,
A bright-oyod daughter — imifch and health,
Their piirlo — their woalbh above all wealth.

A tripping, fair, Imht-hoartod girl,
Not yot tho ripoii'd woman quite,
WhoHO ohooiful mirth and thoughtful love
Light up tho cottage with delight,
And with a thousand gentle ways
With pleasure brim her parents' days.

A titled slip of lordly blood,
A few wooks' lounger at the hall,
To gain now zest for pall'd delights
And sqiiondor'd waste of health recall ,
An anglor in the nulldam's water
A chatter with tho miller's daughter.

A mooting 'noath a summer's night ;

Soft sirulos — low wordw — impassion'd sighs ;

Tho trembling clasp of mooting hands ;

Tho hot gaze mot with downcast eyes ;

Foul perjuries that pollute tho air,

With burning hopes and doubts heard thozo.

A thin, pale faco, whore autumn sees
No more tho Bmilow that lit the spring j
A foot loss light upon tho stair ;
A low voice hoard no moio to sing ;
Ono now that lost to all things sits,
Now starts to ovor-mirth by fits.

Dear tongues that ask a gapping girl
Of what to utter wore to kill ;
Lookn that she feels upon her fix'd ;
Eyes that with tears puisuo hoi still ;
Oaro in tho old accustom' d place
Of mirth, upon hor father's face.

W. 0.

FROM INDIA.

(Sl.VI NTH 1*1,1, riiK— .

A dark, Hinall, whitoly-ourtuinM room ;
A form flung on tho unopniM luul ;
Quick Holm that quiver through iho gloom;
ToaiH rtuuM from hot oyos HivoH'ii and rod,
And words that through thcur wild oVhpair
Still htrivo to shape thomnt»lvi'H to prayer.

A winter midnight*** starry gloom ;
A vanning tread HO light, that Htoalrt
AoroHH tho lauding— <lowu tho htnirs,
That Hcaroo a oroak a stop rovoulu ;
A stifled Hob— a bolt undrawn ;
A form — low words — a daughter gono.

A froHli-titrt'd, narrow, hoop-bound grave,
Heaping a country churchyard' « groon,
On whoso white headstone, newly carved,
The mill's old master's name IB soon,
The wayside mill's, that boars no more
Tho well-known name so long it boru.

A stooping woman, scarcely old,

Yet with the feeble walk of ago,

The dull, faint sense of whose blank xumd

No thing around her can ongngo,

Tot who, when into speech beguiled,

Will mnttoi of some absent child,

A ooHtly-furnifih'd west-end room,
Whoso mirrors — piotuios — all things show
A stintless and abounding wealth,
An easeful luxury few can know ,
A flaunting thing its glare witluu ;
A thing of >shamo, romorno, and sin.

A noise, of quarrel ; keen reproach,
Fronted with taunt, loud oath and mirsc,
Hoap'd out with such vile store of worn
That hate in vain might seek for woiso ,
Hook pleadings, stricken to a <'!OM<>
With, shame to manhood ' brutal blo\s«,

A tiling that once was woman , >* Into,
Thin, haggard, hollow-oyod, and wau ,
Ahonoi that the hhuddoimg oyo
Starts back aghast from rosim", on ;
Whoso only joy now loft IH dnnJ\,
Whose firo burns out tho i>owt»v to thuil;.

A ridgo, all winter keen with

On whose cold pathways hen Iho ni#ht ;

Stony and desolate and dark,

Save round tho gag-lamps' flickering light,

And swept by drifts of icy sleet,

That numb oaohhouholoss wretch they moot

A wintry river, broad and black,

That through dark arches slides along,

Bmg'd, whore tho gaslights on it play,

With coiling eddies swirling strong,

That far below tho disszy height

Of tho dark bndgo swim through the night.

A crouching form that through the gloom
Paces its stones a hundred times,
That pausing — glancing keenly round,
The dark, high balustrade upclimbB ;
A plunge— a shriek — from all its wooe
A weary soul hath calm repose.

A loiif, bright unit, of still* 1> r<nnn",
Whoro to • oft nmsfcV. c»liiiti"<>t'ul \i « II
Keeps tinio Ui« l«'iit <»f ftillinjf IV«-t
And all tiling but of jilnu »in' i«»ll :
"Whoro, imHiior IJM.V ol nobb- -f, luitid ',

Jr. ('. n(t«nff.> t!,,tt> I.

1776.— KUOM 1

, and, -n

"Oh, comojou from tin*

mm you tull
Aught of ilin ipdlant 00th, ttiwl wtu» nn* -tf*'

and well F
O Holdwr, Hiyy my son l« «ttf<»— for notlun1- **! m

I caro,
And you shall havo a inotiicr'H thank '.— , !ml!

have a widow*H pr«y««r."

"Oh, Tvocrmio from tln« In<li««n~ Pv»« ju t « M«»I>

from Hut war,
And w<»ll I kuow tho OOth, and *;.tllitni l*n

they aro ;
Krom colonel down 1o rank und titts I I.JIM w

my (;onirad<m well,
And news Tvo brought for yon^ mf»th»»r. >M»tr

" And do you know my Ilobort, HOW ,' t >2i .r'l
• mo, toll mo tru<s
0 eoldior, toll mo word for word ull ih^f, lu»

said to you I
Jlis very words— my own boy'n wt»r«l i « »!i i^-U

mo cvciry ono !
Tou htttlu know how dear to hi.i old utMllt.T it

niy Hon."

"Through EIiiv(»I(Mtk*n il|i;ht(» and nuin11^* \\M

90th worn thcvn f
In all tho gtiUant DOth did, your K'obrH «lid

iiin nharo ;
Twiuo ho w«i»t into Lttftkiiow, uutouriiM i»y

stool or ball,
And you may bloMH your <}od, old <litm<s that

brought him Hafct through all."

" Oh, thanks unto tho living ( lod that hoard lii t

mother* » prayer,
Tho wi«low*M ory that roHO on hlgli hiv only J.MII

to Hi)aro 1
Oh, blossM bo (iod, that turn'd from him tho

sword and shot away !
And what to hin old mother did t«y ilnrlin^

bid you Hay f'1

"Mother, ho saved hln wilcmnl'n lifts and

bravely it WOK clon« j
In the despatch they told it all, and named ami

prainod your son ;
A modal and a pension'* his; good hu'k to

him I say,
And ho hot) not a oomrodo but will wtali him

well to-day."

From 1780 fe 18(J(J 1

THE BOAT-BACK.

[W. 0

" Now, Holdior, blcHsuigH on your tougno : O

Imrikuul, that you know
ilow woll our boy pays mo this day for till

thiil 1'vo gone thiough,
All 1 havo dono ami borno for lum tho long

years HIUOO you'ro de«ul '
Hut, ttoMicr, toll mo howlio look'd, aud all my

liobort Haid."

" HO'H broiixod, and tanu'd, and boarded, and

yon'd hardly know him, damo,
Wo'vo made your boy into a man, but still his

heart' H tho names ,
For often, darao, hw talk's of you, and always

to ono tuno —
Hut thoro, IUH ship is noarly homo, and ho'll

bo with you noon "

" Oh IH ho roally coming homo, and shall I roally

HCO

My boy again, my own boy, homo ? and whnn,

whon will iL bo P
Dili you way Boon P "— " Woll, ho is homo ;

keop cool, old damo ; he's horo."
«0 ftobort, my own blessed boy!"— "O

mother— mother dear ! "

W, 0. BwncU—Born 1820

1777.— TUB BOAT-RACE.

" Thoro, viu tho cup and you shall havo my

girl

I won it, Nod ; and you shall win it too,
Or waifc a twolvoinouth. Book** — for ovor

books !

Nothing b\it talk of pootH and their rhymes !
I'd havo you, boy, a man, with thown and

strength
To breast tho world with, and to oloavo your

way,

No maudlin dreamer, that will nood her care,
Who needing youm Thoro— there — I lovo yon,

Nod,
Itoth for your own, and for your mother' H

Hake;

Bo win onr boat-raoo, and tho oup, next month,
And you shall havo her/' With a broad, loud

laugh,

A jolly triumph at his rare conceit,
Ho loft the subject ; and, across tho wino,
Wo talk'd— or rather, all the talk was his —
Of tho best oarsmen that his youth had known,
Both of his set, and others— Clare, tho boast
Of Jesus', and young Edmonds, ho who fell,
Cleaving tho ranks at JJuoknow , and, to-day,
There was young Cheater might be named

with thorn*

" Why, boy, I'm told his room is lit with cups
Won by his sculls. Ned, if he rows, he wins ;
Small ohanoe for you, boy I" And again his

laugh,
With its broad thunder, turn* d my thoughts to

gall;
But yet I mask'd my humour with a mirth.

Moulded on his ; and, feigning hasto, I went,
.But loft not. Through tho garden-porch I

turn'd,
But, ou ita sun-flook'd scats, its jessamine

shades

Tromblod on no one Down tho garden's paths
Wander 'd my oyo, in rapid quost of ono
Swootor than all its roses , and across
Its gloaming lihos and its azuro bolls,
Thoro, in tho orchard' a greenness, down

boyond
Its swootbriar hodgo-row, found her — found

hor thoro,

A suminor blosHom Unit tho peering sun
Poop'd at through blossomH,— that the summer

airs
Wavor'd down blossoms on, and amorous

gold,

Warm OH that rain'd on DanoiJ. With a stop,
Soft as tho Hun-light, down tho pebbled path
I pusa'd, and, ore hor oyo could cease to

count

Tho orchard daMos, in some summer mood.
Dreaming (was I her thought P), mymurmur'd

" Kate "

Shook'd up the tell-tale roses to her cheek,
And lit hor eyes with starry l%hts of love
That dmun'd the daylight Then I told her

all,

And told hor that hor father's jovial jest
Should mako her mine, and kiss'd her sunlit

Away, and all Kor little trombling doubts,
Until hope won hor heart to happy dreams,
And all tho future smiled with happy lovo
Nor, till tho wtill moon, m tho piu-pling East,
Gleam' d through tho twilight, did wo stay onr

talk,
Or part, with kisses, looks, and whispor'd

words

Komombor'd for a lifetime, Home I wont,
And in my college rooms what blissful hopes
Were mine f — what thoughts, that still* d to

happy dreams ,

Where Kate, the fadeless summer of my life,
Made my years Eden, and lit up my homo
(Tho ivied rectory my sleep made mine),
With little /aeon, and the gleams of curls,
And baby crows, and voices twin to hers.
Oh, happy night ' Oh, more than happy dreams !
But with tho earliest twitter from the eaves,
I rose, and, in an hour, at Clifford's yard,
As if but boating were the crown of life,
Forgetting Tennyson, and books, and rhymes,
Even my now tragedy upon the stocks,
I throng' d my brain with talks of lines and

curve*,

And all that makes a wherry sure to win,
And furbish' d up tho knowledge that I had,
Ero study put my boyhood's feats away,
And made me bookworm ; all that day my

hand

Grew moio and more familiar with tho oar,
And won by slow degrees, as reach by reach
Of tho green river lengthen' d on my sight,
Its by-laid ounnuig back , so, day by day,

W. 0

THK WIFK'H APPEAL,

'Sr.viiM It Pi Kt< »!>.-*.

Mi tlawjtiloiu'liM our rim-top* (illilui

<iloamM tluough tho hlumbroiu leafage of our

lawns,

T flonliM Iho ilowinjr I KM from tny oans
And clroamM of triumph ami tho pmo io

oomo ;

Ami broathnd myself, in nport, one after ono,
Againut tho mem with whom I wan lo row,
Until I foar'd hut <'hostor — him alouo.
So J uuo Htolo ou io ,) uly, mm by HUH,
And tho day oumo; how woll I in aid that

day'

Glorious "with Ktmimor, not a cloud abroad
To dim tho goldou grooniuwB o£ tho ItaldH,
And all a happy imah about tho oarth,
And not a hum to atir tho drowwng noon,
Save whoro along tho peopled towmg-pathH,
Banking tho rivor, Rwarm'd tho oity out,
Loud of tho content, bright an linmming-bmlH,
Two winebag ramboww by tho nvor'n brinkw,
That flush'd with boata and barges, Hilkou-

awn'd,

Shading tho fltitioiing1 beauties of our balln,
Our college toatitH, and gay with jest and

laugh,
Bright an thuir champagne. Ono, among

thom all,

My oyo Haw only ; ono, that morning, loft
With punlos that hid tho torrorn of my heart,
And spoke oi certain hope, and mookM aL

fears-—

Ono, that upon my nook had parting hung
Anns whito an daisies — on my bonom hid
A toarful faoo that sobb'd against my heart,
iFilTd with what fondness ' yoarzung with what

lovo 1
0 hope, and would tho glad day make hor

xnme '

0 hope, was hopo a prophet, truth aloun p
Thore was a murmur in my htwrt of " VC»H,"
That sung to Hlumboi every wakomrifr f<»ar
That hUli would ntir and Hhako mo with itH

dread.

And now a liuflh waB on tho wavering crowd
That sway'd along the nvor, roach by iviuih,
A grassy milo, to whoro w<> woro to tum —
A bargo moor'd midHtrcam, fluHh'd with Hut-

toring flagfl.
And wo woro ranged, iind, at the gun, wo

wont,

As in a horflo-ra<jo, all, at fhht, a-orowd ;
Then, thinning slowly, ono by ono dropp'd off,
Till, rounding tho moor'd mark, (JhoHUir and I
Left tho lant lingerer with UH IcmgtliH ahtcni,
The victory hopoloHa. Then T kuuw tho ntufo
Was come, and hoped 'gainHt fear, and, oar to

oa*,
StraanM to tho work beforo mo. lload to

head
Through tho wild-cheering river-banks wo

clove

The swarming waters, raining Btroams of toil;
But Chester -gain'd, BO much his tutor'd

strength
Held aa enduring— mine still waning more,

And parting willi ih« vii'li»r>, iiifl1 1*.*
Yot Htniiumg <m, an if I «irt»vi« tttt'i il«'»f!i(
Until I groanM wiih an;rt« «h. < 'hi- •!« r h« ml,
And turnM a won<i<«nii;y fiu*r» upon tnt< i|i4ti»l..
And toh«M a lawjh norn », wi*h j«< »iin'" wm.l
44 What, No'l, my bo>, nu«l do .von i*iU«» it -ms
Tho cjup'n not worth (ho n.<umu<r <»!' » »nm,
No, nor iho triumph, Tinh ! l»*»*, I inr f

win/'
Tlion fiom the' uii«r»i 'h «»f »».v I»*MH a «T,V

" Kato, <) <)t<an»»f. U.iti* <> Inn' \\t>

"Ah ' I'vu a Kiiin, too, IUT*» to • «M* iu«* win,"
JIo atiHwovM ; ** Kuilh! m.v li«^t I |nf,\ t\«m "
"Oh, if you hn«»,M I an rivci-wi, * >i»« hut !»••«•
A wook'n wild triumph, uuti its j»nu D uiul

prido ,

I, loHing, IOKO what priwUMM >'«krtr,» of j«»y !
Vorchanco a lifct'H whol<* mini of hnt»]»iii<»' « •
Wliat >oarH with lu^r that I niif<;ltt oull nty

wifo !

Winning, f win hor ! " < »li, thri**H in ililn hi«nrl !
I Haw il>o imxtking latigh fatlo front hi.i lur«' .
I Haw a noblor Ji;fhL IiK»t up M» ««>«M» ;
I naw tlm ilnsh of pride din into «»m»
Oi manly tt»ndoi IH»WI urul ) li-trti n* nh<*:
No word lie* Hpoki* , ono oul.v I«mK !»»' 1l»i'4n\,
That told mo all , und, <«rt* my in urt mul-1

In prayors aud bloMMit^raiuM uj»r»ti hi
L WOH boforo him, through flu1 irnrhtrttf »\;
Of following ilioiiHaii'ln, hf»ntlin;t to
Tho Hhouting goal, that hurl'd

Milort wido in triumph, "JV.ti'r fnilM «t,

lant!"

Oh, how J turnM to him ' wilh \vlinf, a Ito.uf '
Unlioard tho HhouW tin »•«»« ih<* rrovnliMj;

g.ixo
That rui^'d UM. How I wrmn; lli^ nii'nvmn'f

liaiitl
With unihpH that l)l»wnM him, tuul with Ilu"h

that told

I Hliomcd to hoar niy nniuiMitoro lou«l Umit bin,
And Hpuni'd ii.H triuiujih. So I won iu.v wif<*»
My own dear wifo ; and HO I won a
ChoHix'r, tnnnt (hutr than all hut only h'
And tht'HO, thu KUiall oium of my

drcuuiH.

1778.— THB Wira*H

Oh don't go in to-night, .fohn 1

Now, huHband, don't go iii I
To Hpotul our only Hhillhig, J<jhn,

Would bo a oruol Kin.
Tboro'H not a loaf at homo, John $

Thoro'H not a <soal, yon know j
Though with hungor f am faint,

And cold oomoH down tho wnow.

Thon don't go in to-niffht I

1780 to I860 ]

ALL WELL.

[HOJRATItJS BONAR

Ah, John, yon muwt romombor,

And, John, I can't foigot,
Whon novcr foot of yourH, John,

WaH in tho alehouse Hot.
Ah, tlioHo woio happy times, John,

No quarrolH thon wo know,
Awl nono wore happioi in our 3 one,

Thau I, door John, and you

Thon don't go in to-night !

You will not go ' John, John, I mind,

Whon wo woro courting, f ow
Ilod arm as strong- or atop as firm

Or ohook as rod an you
But drink haw fit olon your strength, John,

And poled your ohook to white,
HOB tottering mode your young firm troad,

And bow'd your manly height.

you'll not go 121 to-night !

You'll not go in ? Think ofl tho day

That made mo, John, yoiu wife,
What pluoHimt talk that day wo had

Of all our future lifo ,
Of how your Htoody ooruingfl, John,

No wonting should conHumo,
But wooUy some new comfort bring

To dock our happy room.

Thon don't go in to-night !

To HOC UH, John, OH thon wo

Ho tidy, (iloan, and neat,
Hi ought out all oyoH to follow UH

AH wo wont down tho ntroot.
Ah, little thought our nmghboim* thon,

And wo an httlo thought,
Tliat ever, John, to ragH like those

By drink we Hhould bo brought

You won't go iix to-night

And will you go P If not for me,

Yet for your baby stay 1
You know, John, not a taste of food

HOH pasM'd my bps to-day,
And toll your father, little one,

'Tin mine your life hangs on ;
You will not Hpond tho shilling, John ?

You'll giro it him P Come, John,

Come homo with us to-night

W. 0. B&mott —Born 1820.

1779.— A LITTLE WHILE.

Beyond tho smiling and the weeping

I shall be soon j

Beyond the waking and the sleeping,
Beyond tho sowing and tho reaping,

I shall be soon
Love, rest, and home I
Sweet hope '
Lord, tarry not, but oomo.

Boyond tho blooming1 and the fading

I shall be soon,

Boyond the shining and the shading,
Beyond tho hoping and the dreading,

I shall be soon ,
Love, rest, and home I
Sweet hope '
Lord, tarry not, but come.

Boyond the rising and tho sotting

I shall be soon ,

Beyond the calming and tho fretting,
Boyond remembering and forgetting,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home !
Sweet hope !
Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond tho gathering and the strewing

I shall be soon ,

Beyond tho ebbing and the flowing,
Beyond the coming and tho going,

I shall be soon
Love, rest, and home '
Swoet hope I
Lord, tarry not, but oome.

Beyond tho parting and tho meeting

I shall bo soon ;

Beyond tho farewell and tho greeting,
Boyond this pulse's fever-beating,

I shall be soon
Love, rest, and homo !
Sweet hope '
Lord, tarry not, but come

Boyond tho frost-chain and the fever

I shall be Boon ,

Beyond the rook-waste and the rivor,
Boyond the ever and the never,

I shall bo soon.
Love, rest, and home !
Swoet hope!
Lord, tarry not, but come*

.— Born 1810.

1780,— ALL WELL.

No fleas again shall sever,

No desert intervene ,
No deep, sad-flowing river

Shall roll its tide between.

No bleak cliffs, upward towering,
Shall bound our eager sight ;

No tempest, darkly lowering,
Shall wrap us in its night.

Love, and unsevor'd union
Of soul with those wo love,

Nearness and glad communion
Shall be our joy above.

No dread of wasting sickness,
No thought of ache or pain,

No fretting hours of weakness,
Shall mar our peaoe again.

T-K \NCKH HHOWKK.]

IF THAT WBUW TttUB !

[ Hi, kM VI H \1ttMfi,..-

No <Wih, our homoH o
Shall o'or our harpn uuatrmj? :

For all in lrf» unfading
In proaonco of our King*

lfaiiar.—ltorn, 1810.

1781.— IF THAT WJQBB TBTOl

*Tifl long ago— wo have toil'd and traded,
Have lost uiid fretted, have gaia'd and griovod,
Sinoo lant tlio light of that fond faith faded ;
But, friends— in its day — what -wo "believed f
The poets* dreams and tho peasants1 Htorion —
Oli) novor will timo that trout rouow '
Tot they woro old on tho oarth boforo UH,
And lovoly talon — liad thoy boon true !

Some spake of homos in tho greenwood hidden,
Whero ago was fearless and youth WM froo —
Where nono at life's board Hoom'd giu'Htn

unbidden, •

But mou had years hk<» f.lio foroHt iroo •
Goodly and fair and full of Humntor,
As lives wout by when tho world WOH now,
Ere over tlio angcjl ntops pa*m'd from Iwr —
Oh, dreamers and bards — if that woro truo '

Homo told us of a Htamloflfl Htitndard—
Of hearts that only in death grow oold,
Whoso march was over in Freedom's vanguard j
And not to bo wtay'd by stool or gold.
The world to their very graven was debtor-
Tho tears of her lovo fell thoro hko dow ,
But there had been neither wluvo nor fetter
This day in her realms — had that boon truo !

Our hopo grow strong- OH tho giant-wlayor.
They told that life was an houoHt game,
Where fortune favour'd tho fuiroHt player,
And only tho false found IOHH and bluinn —
That men woro honour' d for uittn and gracon,
And not for the prizon folly <lrow ,
But there would bo many a change of pliwoH,
In hovol and hall — if that WITO truo !

Somo said to our wilont nouK What fear yo ?
And talk'd of a lovo not bahod on olay —
Of faith that would neither wane nor weary,
With all tho duat of tho pilgrim's day ;
Thoy said that fortune and Timo wore

ohongoxs,

But not by their tides suoh frionclHhip ffrw 5
Oh, we had never been tru.Htlo«R
Among our people — if tluit woro truo '

And yet since the fairy timo hath poriHh'd
With all its frouhnoBB, from liilln and hoarts,
Hho last of its lovo, HO vainly choriHK'd,
Is not for these days of sohooln and marts
TTp, up 1 for the heavens «U11 circle o'er UH ;
There's wealth to wm and there's work to do,
There's a sky above, and a grave boforo ua —
And* brothers, beyond them all IB truo !

Jfrcmottt Mrowne. — Morn 1818.

1782.— IM IT COM h

TH it comof ilioy nild, on <h«* Kml* of <ho

Wile,
Wlio loitkM for the w«»t'M'.< l»m«? I»IHI»I «*.l

day,
And «aw but tlw Htrtfo of Mryi»f '• t<»il»

With tin* diwrtV muitl «i»«l ih»« iiranid' i«ri»y.
Vrom tlio pi ran lid, tcinplo, ami tn-u aired

dead,

Wo vainly ftwk for l»4r wi'^lo
Thoy tell UH of tho t^mni'n iln-
Vot thoro wan hopo \vh<*« that. «li».y ln» MIII.

The (1hal«lc« oatnn, with hn ufnrry l«»r«s

And built up Uubjylcm' < crown uml r*rt*» d j
And briokH w(»«t «tiwnpM on th(» Tij?ri i* ' ln«n»

With rnRttK whioli our i*u*ir<tH iu»nn«*» fiir nn»«L
From NinttH* Tcunpltt, and Kimr<Mr« TtmiT,

'Jlio rul(» of tho old KiifttY tanpirt* »ij»r<M*l
T)nr(>aHonin^ fiiith and tutqtUMUo

JlJui Htill, IH it ooiao? tho watc

Tho lif^lit of tho iVrnian'H w/t) InpjAl <I,
Tho auohnit bondit';^ it t fi]»lMn«inur

And OIUHJ, on tlu» \V«**it ri .'iim-i i« i*«tm*,
Wfion <irt!<'oo 1o IHT t'ViMMloin*:t iru<i

With drt^auiM to tho utmost ««,;P'

With human K^'dn, nnd with tfo<Mtltt' in«'ii,
Ko uiarvot tho far-off day wimn'tl iiMtr

To oyeH that lookM through ItMf lntm»I i
then.

Tho JKoiniwm oonqunrM A»H! n>v(*IlM ton,
Till honour, and fnilh, iuid |iimi«rf

And doonor old Kurojio'n <InrUn«»

AH, wavo iift«T wave, tin* <tofii runii* on.

The gown wa« loannii^, ih<* wvvonl wu^ ln.wf
Tlio poctplo t«(TV(ul in tlio oxHi'u : ttmd;

Unt over Homo f?l<'itm tho \vatrh<«r tdiwt
And ovormoro, JH it <jom« f they iwid,

I^Hii and wj(ir that r{UOHtion ciauKhi,

Abov« tho din of lifo'K f(«irn and fr««t'i ;
Tt ntarohM with lottwi, it toilM ^vil h i,ho»Kltt,
HohoolM nrwl omnlw whli'h thi* wwih

And utatoHnion triilo, and pricnttH
And trjwlcrn burtor ottr world o,wny<»-

Yet licarU to that golden prontitio cUnivn,
And Htill, at titnoH, IH it <?omo f thoy my,

Tlio dayn of tho nationw Iwiar no tnuu»

Of all tho wnwhino HO far foruiold ;
The cannon HpoakK in tho t<whc«r'H plju^o—

rJ'lio ago iH woary with work and gold ;
And high IIOJKJK witlior, and nuimorhw wano

On hoartliH and altarw tho firoH arc dan/I ;
But that brave faith hath not llv
vain—

And tlilH IH all that our watohor i

1818.

17*0 in 1800.]

ONM WAY OF LOVE

1783.— OH, THE PLEASANT DAYS OF
OLD!

Oil, tlio pleasant days o£ old, which so often

people praino !
True, tlioy wanted all tho luxuries that graoo

oar modern days
Bare floors woro strow'd with, rushes — tho

walla lot in tho oold ;
Oh, how thoy must have shivor'd in thoso

pleasant days of old !

Oh, thoHo ancient lorda of old, how ™pjrm'fi-

oont thoy woro !
Thoy throw down and impriHon'd longs — to

thwart thorn who might daro H
Thoy rulod their florf H right ntomly , thoy took

from JOWB their gold —
Above both law and equity woro thoso groat

lordti of old '

Oh, tho gallant knightn of old, for thoir valour

BO renown' d !
With Hword and lonoo, and armour strong, thoy

Boour'd tho country round ;
And whenever aught to tempt them thoy mot

by wood or wold,
By rfeht of Hword thoy ROiz'd tho prize —

thoHO gallant loiighfcti of old '

Oh, the gtmtto dainon of old ! who, qruto free

from foar or pain,
Could gtuso on joiiHt and tournament, and HOG

thoii* oliampioiiH Hlain ,
Thoy lived on good beufHteakH and olo, which

iruwlo thorn strong and bold —
Oh, more liko mon than women woro those

gentle dames of old '

Oh, thoso mighty towers of old I with their

turrettt, moat, and keep,
Thoir battlements and bastions, their dun-

goonH dark and deep
Full many a baron hold his court within the

oastlo hold ;
And many a captive languish' d thoro, in thoso

strong towers of old '

Oh, the troubadours of old ! with their gentle

mmstrolsio
Of hope and joy, or deep despair, whicho'or

their lot might bo —
For years thoy served their ladyo-lovo ore

they their passion told —
Oh, wondrous pationoo must have had those

troubadours of old '

Oh, those blessed times of old 1 with their

chivalry and state ;
I love to road thoir chronicles, which such.

brave deeds relate ,
I love to sing thoir ancient rhymes, to hear

thoaz legends told —
But, Heaven be thank' d 1 I live not in those

blessed tones of old !

j&Vmcas Browne,— Born 1818.

1784.— LOSSES.

Upon tho white sea-sand
There sat a pilgrim band,

Tolling tho losses that their lives had known :
While evening waned away
From breezy cliff and bay,

And tho strong tides went out with weary
moon*

One spake, with quivering lip,

Of a fair freighted ship,
With all his household to tho deep gono
down,

But one had wilder woo —

For a fair face, long ago
Lost in the daiker depths of a great town

There woro who mourn" d then: youth

With a most loving ruth,
For its bravo hopes and memories over green ;

And one upon tho West

Turn'd an eye that would not rest,
For far-off hills whereon its joys had been.

Somo talk'd of vanish'd gold,

Some of proud honours told,
Some spoke of friends that were their trust
no more j

And one of a green grave,

BoBide a foreign wave,
That made him sit so lonely on the shore.

But when their talos woro done,

There spoko among them one,
A strangoi, Booming from all HOITOW froo .

" Sad losses have yo mot,

"But mine w heavier yet ,
For a boljovmg heart hath gono from mo."

" AJas ' " thoso pilgrims said,
" For the living and the dead —
For fortune's cruelty, for love's sure cross,
For the wrecks of land and sea !
But, however it came to theo,
Thine, stranger, is life's last and heaviest
loss."
Francos Browne. — Eorn 1818.

1785.— ONE WAY OF LOVE.

I.

All Juno I bound the rose in sheaves ,
Now, rose by rose, I strip tho leaves,
And strew them whore Pauline may pass.
She will not turn aside P Alas '
Lot them he. Suppose they die P
The chance was they might take her eye.

ii.

How many a month I strove to suit
These stubborn fingers to the lute !
To-day I venture all I know.
She will not hoar my music P So !
Break the string — fold music's wing.
Suppose Pauline had bade me sing '

JbGOHKIfiT BlW)WNIN<l,"j

IN A YKATi.

11 1.

My whole lifo lottff 1 loani'd to lovo ;

Thin hour my uiwcmfc art T pvovo

And Hpouk my poHtiion. — Hoavon or hell P

Hho will not givo mo heaven f "!' is well !

LOHG who may — I ntill oon nay,

Those wlio wm hcavon, Host oro thcjy.

1812.

A YEAJGL

Never any more,

While I live,
Need I hope to see his face

As before.
Onoo TaiB lovo grown dull,

Mine may Rtrivo —
"Bitterly wo rof'tnbraoo,

Single still.

Was it something Raid,

Something dono,
Vexed him P WOK it touch, of hand,

Turn of head ?
Strange ' that very way

Lovo begun.
I as httlo understand

Love's decay.

When I sow'd or drew,

IrocaU
How he look'd as if I Bang

— Sweetly too.
If I spoke a word,

First of all
Up his oheek the colour flprang,

Then he hoard.

Sitting by my side,

At my foot,
So ho breathed the air I breathe'!,

Satisfied'
I, too, at love's brim

Touch' d the swoot.
I would die if death bequeathed

Swoot to him.

" Speak— I lovo thoo best I "

Ho exclaim' d—-
" Let thy lovo my own foretell."

I confessed
" Clasp my heart on thine

Now nnblam'd,
Since upon thy soul as well

Hangeth mine I "

Was it wrong to own,

Being truth ?
Why should all the giving prove

His alone P
I had wealth and oaso,

Beauty, youth—
Since my lover gave mo lovo

I gave these.

That WOK all I im'iiai,

— To IH* ju*t,

And thr* pus turn 1 hut! riu,M*n

To pontoni.
Since ho chn/*n io chun^o

(ialil for fhit<{,
If I ^tvc him whiii h<> prni c<l

Wan M, htran^** f

Wonlil Im lovM mo yrt,

< hi ami on,
Wlnlo 1 found xotno wn.v

— Md iny «i«M !
(Java more lifo and m<>r<s

Till, all
Ho hhouhi

41 What— xlio folt tho whilo,

MuHtl think?
LOVO'H HO <HfTrrmit with UM i

" Pyiiiff f(»r my wikc—

Wluio and i»inlc !
Can't we touch thont bubbles th*»n

Hntthiy hmkp"

Dear, ihu inui^ in

Do ihy jtart,
ITavw thy plwistiro. How iim'iih'Xt

(IrowM twllttfi
Well, thin oold <ilny clod

Wiw man'H hoitri*
Crnmbln it— ruicl what oomoK xt^xt ^

IH it (tod P

i/.-— //<»/•»* I

OP TICK H

Qr-r-r— UMJWS jjo, my hoa\rt*n abhorrMi<*<« I

Water your dumu'd How*«r-pot»i» cU» I
IfliatekillM nw«n, HrotluT Lawrt*ti«'«s

(tod'H blood, would not mino lull you t
What P your myrHo-lwih wawta trimwiuff )

Oh, thai romt has prior ditimiu -
NoodH itH Iwwlcm viw« fiird brimmirtf? ?

Uoll dry yoti uj> with itH flatnoti I

n,

At the mt«il wo nit lotfothor 3

ftalvo tibi ! f latmt hoar
WiHO talk of tho kind of woathor,

Hort of ftooHon, tlnut of ywuft
Not a pluntooiiH (tork-otop j Hotirooly

IJoro wo ho|>o oak-ifitllH, T doubt t
What's tho Jjtttm iiamo for " i»ar«l<»y P "

IVhat'n tho (Irock uamo for Hwino'w Hnont P

Wliew I Wo'll have oar plat
Laid with coro on our own rthalf 1

With a firo-now flpoon wofro fumiuh'd,
And a goblet* for ouwolf »

1800. J

EABLY 1M33NDSHIP.

Homotliing sacrificial
Kro 't IH fit to touch our chapn —
Mark'd with L. for our initial '
(Ho, ho ! There His lily snaps ')

IV.

Saiut, forsooth ! While brown Dolores

Squats outtdde tho Convent bunk,
With Sanohioha, tolling stories,

•Stooping troBBOs in the tank,
Blue-black, lustrous, thick, hko horsehairs,

— Oan't I soo his dead 070 glow
Bright, a» 'tworo a Barbary corsair's ?

<That is, if he'd lot it show )

Whon lio finishes refection,

ICnifo and folk ho novor lays
OOHS-WIHO, to my recollection,

AH do I, m Jesus' praise.
T tho Trinity illustrato,

Drinking water' d orange-pulp —
In throe HipH tho Arian frustrate,

Wliilo ho drains his at one gulp !

VI.

Oh, those melons I If he's able

We're to have a foaflt , BO moo f
One goes to tho Abbot's table j

All of us got ouoh a Hlioo
How go on your flowei s P None double ?

Not ono fimt-horl oan you Hpy ?
fttiango ! — And T, too, at fmoh trouble,

ICoop 'ont closo-nipp'd on tho sly !

VII.

There's a groat text in Oalatians,

Onne you trip on it, entails
Twenty-nine distinct damnations —

One unro, if another fails.
If I trip him just a-dying,

Sure of Heaven as sure oan be,
%in him round and send him flying

Off to Holl, a Manioheo P

VIII.

Or my scrofulous French novel,

On gray paper with blunt type I
'Simply glance at it, you grovel

Hand and foot in Belial's gnpe •
If I double down its pages

At tho woeful sixteenth print,
'When he gathers his green gages,

Ope a sieve and slip it in 't P

IX.

Or, there's Satan ' — one might venture

Pledge one's soul to him, yot leave
Such a flaw in tho indenture

As he'd miss, till past retrieve,
Blasted lay that rose-aoaoia

We're so proud of ' Hy, Zy, BCtne . .
7St, there 's Vespers ' Plena gratia

Ave Virgo I Ghr-r-r— you swine I

Robert Brovmbifj. — Born 1812.

1788.— THE LOST LEADEE.

x.
Just for a handful of silver ho left us ;

Just for a riband to stiok in his coat —
Found the ono gift of whioh fortune bereft us,

Lost all the others she lots us devote.
They, with tho gold to givo, doled him out

silver,

So much was theirs who so little allow'd.
How all our copper had gono for his service 1
Bags — wore they purple, his heart had

been proud '
We that had loved him so, foUow'd him,

honoured him,

Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,
Leorn'd his groat language, caught his clear

accents,

Hade him our pattern to live and to die '
Shaknpearo was of us, Milton was for us,
Bums, Shelley, wore with us — they watch

from their graves '

He alone breaks from tho van and the free-
men ;
Ho alone sinks to the roar and the slaves 1

II.

We shall march prospering — not through his

presence ;

Songs may inspiiit us — not from his lyre ,
Deeds will be done — while ho boasts his

quiescence,
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade

aspire
Blot out his name, then — record ono lost soul

more,
One task more declined, one more footpath

untrod,
One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for

angola,
Ono wrong more to man, one more insult

to God '
Lifo'ri night begins ; lot him never come back

to us!

There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,
Forced praise on our part — tho glimmer of

twilight,

Never glad confident morning again '
Best fight on well, for we taught him, — strike

gallantly,
Aim at our heart ere we pierce through his

own;
Then let Tirm receive the new knowledge and

wait us,

Pardon' d in Heaven, the first by tho
throne 1

JRo&ertf Browning. — Born 1812,

1789. — EAJRLY FRIENDSHIP.

The half -seen memories of childish days,
When pains and picas-ores lightly came and

went,
The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent

SONG.

In fearful wandering thrwi'{li forbidden

wayw ;
Tho vaguo, but manly, wihh to tread tho

maze

Of lifo to noblo ondn ; whereon intent,
Ajtiking to know for what miui horo IH Hont,
Tlio bravont heart muni, often pautto, and

gaze —

Tho firm resolve to Hook tho ohOHOii end
Of mimhood'H judgment, oautioiiH and matnrci :
Each, of those viowloss bonds binds friond to
1 friond

'With strength no soluHh purpose can secure.
My happy lot in thin, that all attend
That friendship which test came, and which
shall last endure.

Aubrey do Vwo.~-3om 1814

I790.—SONO-.

I.

Sing the old song1, amid tho Bounds diHporHing
fiiat burden troasur'd in your hearts too

long,
Sing it with voice low-breathed, but

never namo hor *

She will not hoar yon, in her tnrrots nursing-
High thoughts — too high to mate with

mortal song-
Bond o'er her, gentle Heaven, but do
not claim her !

re.

In twilight eaves, and secret lonelinesses,
She shades the bloom of hor unearthly

days;
The forest winds alone approach to woo

hor.
Ear off wo ootch tho dark gleam of hor

tresses ,
And wild birds haunt the wood-walkw where

she strays,
Intelligible muHio warbling to her.

TIT

That spirit charged to follow and defend hor,
He also doubtless sufforH thin love-pain ;
And she perhaps i« Had, hearing MH

sighing.

And yet that face is not HO sad as tender ;
lake some sweet singer's when hor sweet-
est strain

Prom tho heaved heart in gradually
dying I

Aubrey fa V&re.~~liom 181<L

NNET.

Sad is our youth, for it is over going,
Orombling away beneath our very foot 5
Sad is our hf e, for onward it is flowing
la current unperoeived, because BO fleet ;

Sad aro our

for

A I'll til

Uut tarns

Iwv«»

wllfMlt ,

Sad are our jnyn, for Ui»«y wrii* :wi'«t in

blowing—

Ami Htill, (> HUH, Itonr dyini; brwrtli i i w*«i»t ,
And HWtmt iH youth, uliliuttfch it lutih l»Mr«H

UH
Of that whioh matlo <»ur «'hil«tho<»<I

to

And swoot IH mid<ll(* Hf(», for it huih IM m

A ntuiror good to t«ur« un oUU«r til ;

And BWOOT. aro all things wlum wi« l*'urn

])riaso tlitim,
Not for thmr nates but ni»t wh

or denies them !

Avbrey Dti

1792.— A (iHUIHTMAK HYMN.

It wan tho oiilm and sihnit niirht '

Seven hmulrod yoarn ami Iif<.y-1hn»n
Had JWorao boon tftt»wintf up to mii;M,

And now WJIH <iiu»on of Imiti and ,u*a.
No sound waft hoard of <»lnriiiti# wiirn—

Poaoo brooded <»'or tho huuliM domain :
Apollo, VallaH, Jovo, and Mar«4

Hold undiHtitrbM tholr atioifmi rm^n,

lii tho Holotnn midnight,

<)enturi<w ago*

'Twos in tho calm and mlcmt, niffht t

The Henator of luui^lil.y Itomo,
Impatient, ur^yod IIIH charioi*H flight,

JbVoin lordly rovol rolling homo j
Triumphal ar»hoM, gleaming nud)

HIM broant with thon^rhiH of IxmiulltWH nwnyj
What rock'd OKI Untuati what h«jfi«ll

A paltry pvovi*u*o far away,

hi thn Molomn i«i«lniffht,

Within that provintw fur awiiy

Wont plodding homo a wi«ury bow ;
A Htroak of light boforo him lay,

Fallen through a half-Khut, tit<tbl(Hl</or
AOTOHH hi*) path* Hf) paw

Told what wait goln^ on within ;
How keen tho HtarM, hi«4 only thottg

Tho air how oalm, ami cold, and thin,

In the Moltmm midnight,

Conturiofl ago !

0, ntrange indifToronoo 1 low and hi#h

Drowsed over common joyn and (tarAH ;
Tho earth was Htill— but knotv uot why

Tho world wo* liHtonitigt unawartw.
How calm a xnomont may proccdo

One that Hhall thrill tho world for over t
To that HU11 moment) none would hood,

Man's doom wan link'd 110 more to isover—
In tho Molomn midnight,
OenturltiN ago !

*Yr>?/t 1780 to I860.]

APRIL,

Tt IB tho calm and Rolomn nitfht !

A thouHand bolls rfotf out, and throw
Thoir joyoufl poolH abroad, and Route

ITio darknoHH — ohannM and holy now f
Tho ni#ht that owt no nhamo had worn,

To it a happy namo is given ;
For m that Htablo lay, now-born,

Tho peaceful famoo of earth and hoavon,
In tho solemn midnight,
Centuries ago '

Alfred VommM—Itorn 1815

1793,— THJE MEMOI&Y OF THE DEAD.

Who fears io speak of Ninety-eight P

Who bltiwhoH at tho namo ?
When oowardH mock tho patriot's fate,

Who liangn his head for shame P
Ho'fi all a knave, or half a slave,

Who Blights to country thus ,
Bat a true man, like yon, man,

Will fill your gloss with us.

Wo drink fcho memory of tho bravo,

Tho faithful and tho fow —
Somo lio for off boyond tlio wave —

Homo nloop xu Troland, too ;
All, all arc c?ono — but Htjll livofl on

The fame of thoso who died—
All true mon, liko you, men,

Bomembor thorn with prulo

Somo on tho Hhoros of dintant landrt

Thoir woary hcarta havo laid,
And by tho s tranter's hoedloBfl hands

Thoir lonely graves wcro mado ;
But, though their clay be far away

Boyond tho Atlantic foam-
In truo mon, liko yon, mon,

Thoir gpirit's still at homo.

Tho dtu*t of florae to Iriuh oarth;

Among thoir own thoy rost ;
And tho Hamo land that gave thorn birth

Has oauffht thorn to hor broaHt j
And wo will pray that from thoir clay

Full many a race may start
Of truo mon, hko you, mon,

To act as brave a part.

Thoy roao in dark and evil days

To right ihoir native land ,
Thoy kmclled here a living blaze

That nothing shall withstand.
Alas I that Might can vanquish Bight —

They fell and paas'd away ,
But truo mon, liko you, men,

AJCO plenty here to-day.

Then here's their memory— may it be

For us a guiding light,
To cheer our strife for liberty,

And teach us to unite.

Through good and ill, bo Ireland's still,
Though Had as theirs your fate ;

And true mon, be you, men,
Like thoso of Ninety-eight '

/. K. Ingrain—Born 1820.

I794.— MOONftJSE

What stands upon the highland P
What walks across tho rise,

Aa though a starry island
Were Binkmg down the skies P

Wliat makes tho trees so golden P
What decks tho mountain side,

Like a veil of silver f olden
Bound tho white brow of a bride ?

The magic moon is breaking,
Like a conqueror, from the east,

The waiting world awaking
To a golden fairy feast.

She works, with touch ethereal,
By changes strange to see,

The cypress, so funereal,
To a lightsome fairy tree ;

Black rooks to marble turning1,

Like palaoofl of kings ;
On ruin windows burning,

A festal glory

Tho desert halls uplighting,
While falling shadows glance,

lake courtly crowds uniting
For the banquet or the dance ;

With, ivory wand she numbers

The stars along tho sky,
And breaks the* billows' slumbers

With a love glance of her eye

Along- tho cornfields dances ,
Brings bloom upon the sheaf ;

.From tree to tree she glances,
And touches leaf by leaf ;

Wakes birds that sloop in shadows j
Through their half-olosedeyehdsgleams;

Withhorwhite torch through the meadows
Lights the shy deer to the streams.

The magic moon is breaking,
Like a conqueror, from the oast,

And the joyous world partaking1
Of her golden fairy feast.

Ernest Jones.— Born 1820, Died 1869,

1795 — APBIL.

Lessons sweet of Spring returning,
Welcome to the thoughtful heart !

May I call ye sense or learning,
Instinct pure, or heaven-taught art P

THH

flOBTPTlTRK.

I'l i

1k* your title what it may,
Hwcot and longtlinuing April day,
While with you tlio nml H froo,
"Ranging wild o'ar hill and loa;

Soft an Moinnon'H harp at morning,

To tho ixxward oar dovout,
Touoh'd by light with heavenly warning1,

Your trauHporting chords ring out.
Every loaf in every nook,
Bvory wave in ovory brook,
Chanting with a flolomn voipo,
Minds UH o£ oar bettor choice.

Needs no show of mountain hoary,
Winding shore or deepening glon,

Where tho landscape in its glory,
Touches truth to wandering mon.

Give true hearts but earth and flky,

And some flowers to bloom and die ;

Homely scenes and simple views

Lowly thoughts may best mfune

See the soft green willow Hpriuging
'Whore tho waters gently pass,

Every way her free arms flinging
O'er the moss and reedy gratis.

Long ore winter blasts are Hod,

See her tipp'd with vernal rod,

And her kindly flower display'd

Ere her leaf eon oast a shade.

Though the rudest hand assail her,

Patiently she droops awhile,
But when showers and breezes hail her,

Wears ogam her willing smile.
JChus I learn Contentment's power
From the slighted willow bower,
Beady to give thanks and live
On the least that Heaven may give.

If, the quiot brooklet leaving,

Up the stormy vale I wind,
Haply half in fancy grieving

For the shades I leave behind,
By the dusty wayside door,
Nightingales with joyous ehoor
Sing, my sadness to reprove,
(3-ladlier than in cultured grove.

Where the thickest boughs ore twining

Of the greenest, darkest tree,
There they plunge, the light declining—

All may hear, but none may see.
Fearless of the passing- hoof,
Hardly will they fleet aloof,
So they live in modest ways,
Trust entire, and ceaseless praise.

John Kcllo.—Bowi 1800, Died I860.

1796.— THE ELDER SCBIPTTOE.

There is a book, who runs may road,
"Which heavenly truth imports,

And all the lore its scholars need-
Pure eyes and loving hearts.

Tho workn of (Joti* nhoti*. !»«»!« »tv,

Within UH, and uriMml,
Am patf«> i in that book, tit i«hnw

How (}<>»l luniwlf M fouwi.

Tho gioriouK «Ky, I'liilirnriiit; all,

iHhko tho MiUuV i lo*«*j
Wharowith oncomtuL ..'<!> tfit'iif. ur i , mull

In IIOIUIQ and onhir iuu\o.

Tho dow of Ki*nv4m w llkn Hi rmv •
ilH in mlf^un* down ;

h, iht* fav »tir'«i t !u< «i
l\y ru'lu^t fruitn IH known,

Two worldH aro otir,-; : 'tin only fin

KorbidH UH to dowry
The mystin hoav«n ami t*ari li within

Plain as the earth and ftiy.

Thou who hn«t given m0 py<M to
And love thin night «o fulr»

Give me a hoart to find out Thw
And road Thee wurjrwhw.

John, AV6/I'.— /fcirw IHOO, /

1797.— ST. PKTKK'H IUY.

Thou thrice denied, yet thrido bttlovotl,
Watoh by Thino own forgivim frit»iul {

In eharpOHt i^riln faithftxl i»r<»vml,
Lot hiH Houl love Thee to thn <mtl.

Tho prayer i« hftard— ulmt why H?> ili»i*p
Ills slumber on thu ov<* of (loath i1

And wherefore mmloH ho in liiw nl^np^
As one who drew wlohtml brcat h ?

He IOVOH and iw l>olov<ul t

Can hiri wonl chrwno but ho at mil ?
Sorrow hath fled away, and pniu

DoroH not invade tho gtturdtul ntMf,«

Ho dearly IOVOH, and not alotio ;

For IUH wing'd thought** aro Koivrtng high
Whoro never ynt frail hmiH WUH known

To breathe in vain affoatiou'M Hijrh.

lie loves and woop« ; but morn thatt town
Have MoalM Thy woloowu* and Kin lovw—

(Jno look UvoH in hitn, ami ondtvirH
CTOSSOH and wrongn whoro'or ho

That grooiouH chiding look, Thy coll
To win him to himHfllf and Thtw,

Sweetening tho narrow of hiH fall
Which else were rued too bitterly j

Even through tho voil of nloop it
Tho memory of that kindly glanue ;—

The angel, watching by, divittcx,
And spares awhile hi* bliiwf ul trance

Or haply to his native lake
His viHion -w-afts him bfutk, to talk

With JORUS, ore hi* flight ho tako,
Act in that aolomn evening walk,

1780 to 180CJ O MAJSY, GO AND CALL THE CATTLE HOME.

"When to the bosom of his friend,
The Shepherd, Ho whose name is Good,

Did His doar lambs and sheep commend,
Both bought and nourish' d with His blood ;

Then laid on him th' invortod tree,
Which, firm embraced with heart and arm,

Might caHt o'er hope and memory,
O'er life and death, its awful charm.

With brightening heart ho boars it on,
His passport through th' eternal gates,

To his sweet homo — so nearly won,
Ho seems, as by the door he waits,

Tho unexpressiro notes to hoar
Of angel song and angel motion,

I&ising and falling on the oar
Like waves in Joy's unbounded ocean

His dream is changed — the tyrant's voice
Calls to that lant of glorious deeds —

But an he rises to rejoice,
Not Horod, but an angel loads.

Ho dreams ho sees a lamp flash bright,
Glancing around his prison room ,

But 'tis a gleam of heavenly light
That filln up all the ample gloom.

Tho flame, that in a few fthort years
Deep through the chambers of the dead

Shall pierce, and dry the fount of tears,
Is waving o'er hw dungeon-bod

Touch' d, ho upstartH — hi* chains unbind—
Through darksome vault, up massy stair,

His dizzy, doubting footsteps wind
To freedom and cool, moonlight air.

Then all himself, all joy and calm,
Though for awhile his hand forego,

Just as it touch'd, the martyr's palm,
Ho turns him to his task below «

The pastoral staff, the keys of heaven,
To wield awhile in gray-hair* d might —

Then from his cross to spring forgiven,
And follow Jesus out of sight.

Jolm KcUo.—JlomlSQO, Died I860.

1798.— «IS THIS A TIME TO PLANT
AND BUILD?"

Is this a time to plant and build,
Add house to house, and field to field,
When round our walls the battle lowers —
Whea mines are hid beneath our towers,
And wato hf ul foes are stealing round
To search and spoil the holy ground P

Is this a time for moonlight dreams
Of love and homo, by mazy «tioams —
For fancy with her shadowy toys,
Aerial hopes and pensive joys,
While souls are wandering far and wide,
And curses swarm on every side P

No — rather steel thy molting heart
To act the martyr's sternest part —
To watch, with firm, unshrinking eye,
Thy darling visions as they die,
Till all bright hopes, and hues of day,
Have faded into twilight gray

Yes— let them pass without a sigh
And if the world seem dull and dry—-
If long and sad thy lonely hours,
And winds have rent thy sheltering bowers —
Bethink thoo what thou art, and where
A sinner in a Me of care

The fire of God is soon to fall —
Thou know'st it— on this earthly ball
Full many a soul, the price of blood
Mark'd by the Almighty's hand for good,
To utter death that hour shall swoop —
And will the saints in heaven dare weep ?

Then in His wrath shall God uproot
The trees He set, for lack of fruit ;
And drown in rude, tempestuous blaze
The towers His hand had deign' d to raise.
In silence, ere that storm begin,
Count o'er ?*•»» mercies and thy sin.

Pray only that thine aching heart—
Fiom visions vain content to part,
Strong for love's sake its woo to hide-
May cheerful wait the cross beside
Too happy if, that dreadful day,
Thy life bo given thee for a prey.

Snatch' d sudden from the avenging rod,
Safe in the bosom of thy God,
How wilt thou then look back, and smile
On thoughts that bitterest soom'd erowhilo,
And bless the pangs that made thee see
J?his was no world of rest for theo I

John KeblQ.—Born 1800, DM 18C6.

1799.— 0 MARY, GO AND CALL THE
CATTLE HOME.

" 0 Mary, go and call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
Across the sands o' Dee ' "
The western wind was wild and dank wi'

foam
And all alone went she

Tho creeping tide came up along the sand,
And o'er and o'er the sand,
And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see ;
The blinding mist came down and hid the land :
And never home came she

" Oh is it weed, or fish, or floating hair —
A tress o' golden hair,
O' drowned maiden's hair-
Above the nest at sea p
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair,
Among the stakes on Dee."

IClWIKMJY/]

TITK FTflHKRMKWT.

[Si VI,-T MI

Tlwy towM h<*r in iwnw-H tho rolling fami —
Tho nntcil, crawling foam,
Tho <«rm»l, hungry foam—
To hor Rwve boHulo tho wa ;
But &till tho boitttttoii Ixotuc lior call tho cuttio

homo
AoroHH tho HaiwlH of Doo.

CVwi /•/<'» Juwf/wZej/.— Born 1810.

1800,— THB3

Throe fishers wont Hailing out into tho "WoKt—

Out into tho Wont as tho sun wont down ;

Eaoh thought of tho woman who loved him

the host,
And the children stood watching thorn out

of tho town ;

For mon must work, and women munt woop ;

And there 's little to cam aixd many to koop,

Though tho harbour bat bo moaning.

Throo wives sat up in tho %hthouRO towor
And trimm'd tho lamps an tho mtn went

down,
And they look' d at tho Hquall, and they look'd

at tho flhowor,
And tho rack it oamo rolling up, ragged and

brown ,

3)ut mon must work, and women must woop9

Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,

And the h&rbour bar be moaning*

Three corpses lay out on the shining- Rands
In tho morning gloom as the tido wont

down,
And tho women aro watching and wringing

their hands,
For those who will never come book to tho

town ;

For men must work, and wmnon must woop —
And tho soonor it'n over,, tho floonor to

sloop —
And good-bye to tho bar and itH moaning.

, Qlwrlcs Kingslcy. — Sony 1810.

1801.— THE THREE SON8.

I hare a son, a Htllo son, a boy jtwt fiyo years
old,

With oyos of thoughtful caraostnosfl, and
mind of gentle mould.

They tell me that unuKual grace in all his
ways appears,

That my child is grave and wise of heart be-
yond his childish years.

I oannot say how this may be \ I know his
face is fair—

And yet his cHefest comeliness is his sweet
and serious air ;

I know IIM Moult i.« lin«l »i.»l f*»»' I . M n«u\ h»»

lov<(th mi1;
Hutlovoth yet IJM JnntliiT nu«r»« wtli ; i"f<'f«l

It t that ^hu«h riiln«r<» HIM f
thought \vh;ch lilt 4 hi i iiii

fall, *

\vh(»r<k doth t

1m ft T«

wo tttj^ihcT ^ a ;
lie HOiuroly ihinkH an uliiMri'ii

UM cliildrcH tnlk.
Nor onrcH ho much for <ilitlt!i It t jwil'i. <1i»tiM

tint on l»at or ball,
But loolcH on manhood** way** nn<! wt^rk -, <tu<i

aptly tniinicH {ill.
ICin Httlo heart w bu^y ^iiil, mul t»{(«<tif im»».i

porplox'd
With thought** about tlu'M worltl of mm, ni:*t

ihoughtR about tho next,
Ho knoolrt at his door ino<lu»r^ ltt«»«*- '*hi^

totuilicvfeh him to pray,—
And nirango, and Hvv<»ot, attd fftlcnm fin ti urn

tho wontn \\hioli lie will tny.
Oh, HhouM my gentle chiltl In* ,'j''ii'*<t (n m in-

liood'H yonrn lik»* iui»,

A holiorundawiHtTttian I ttuH ilmt Utk^t1U'(«;
And wh<«ii I Inrrfc into hiA <^t'», niul • fruit** IIIM

thoughtful brow^
I dare not think what I nhottUi M, won* I (o

lose him now*

I have a Ron, a Kooond mm, A Hiruplo ciaM of

throo ;
I'll not doolnro how hri;;}it and fair hi . lit tlo

foaturoH bo,
How Bilvor Hw<»(«t tli<t « toi«M of hist ulu ti lw*

prattloH on my knci* ;
I do not think hin H^hL-bluo t<y(t i't, lil.c hi'i

l>rothor*H, kwm,
Nor hm brow ho full of t-hilditih ihou^tti w

hiw hath over bocii ;
lint IUH httlo hcaH'H a fotmUIn purt* of ktml

and tondor fotilmj? j
And KIH ovory look'n a ^loani of li/.ht, rich

doptlm of lovn rovoaHttfr.
\VTion Uo walkw with tn<s tho (umidrtv folk,

who POKH UK in fclm
Will Hhout for joy, ainl bl<u!» «iy l«>y, hi* lo

HO mild and Hwcai,
A playf allow IK ho to all ; an<l y«t, with <

fnl tonn,
Will Hiiitf IUH little* «oni3f of lovo» wh«n Iftft to

sport aloiui,
IIiH proHOiico in liko Muuithiito ^<uit in /fluxltUiti

homo and hearth,
To comfort UH in all out ffri«fn, utul «wwton

all our miHlt.
Should Uo grow up to ripot ycwwn, <fad ^mnt

hi« hoart may provo
AH Hwoot & homo for hoavonly ^nwo OH now

for oarthly lovo ;
And if, bomde hiM #ravo, tho toar« our nMn%

oyos must dim,
Ood comfort u« for all tho lovo wlibh wo

shall IOHO in him t

1780 to 180(5.]

BE PATIENT.

. C. TRBNOQC.

T have a son, a third sweet son; his ago I

cannot toll,
l«\>r thoy rookon not by years and inonthw

whoro ho in gono to dwell
To IIH, for fourteen anxioua months, his infant

HinilcH woio given,
And thou ho bado forowoll to Earth, and wont

to live in Ifoavon
1 aannot toll what form is his, wliut looks Ko

woaroth now,
Nor guess how "bright a glory crowns his

whining soraph l>row.
Tlio thoughts that fill his sinless soul, tho

bliss which ho doth fool,
Are nnmbor'd with tho secret things which

Clod will not reveal.
But 1 know (for God hath told me this) that

ho M now at rent,

Whoro other blessed infants he, on their Sa-
viour* H lovmg breast.
1 know Ida Hpmt fools no more this weary

load of flesh,
But his nloop ia bloflsM with, ondloss dreams

of joy for ever fresh
I know tho augols fold him close beneath

their glittering wings,
And Hoothe Win, with a Hong that bioalhos of

Hoavon'rt diviuost things.
I know that wo shall moot om babe (his

ituriihor dear and J),
Whuro (jiod for aye shall wipe away all tears

from ovory oyo.
Wliato'or bofallH hiH brethren twain, IUB bliss

can iiovor COOHO ,
Thuir lot may here bo grief and foar, but liis

in certain peace.
It may bo that too Tempter's wiloa their souls

from bliss may sevor ;
But, if our own poor faith fail not, ho must

bo OUTR for over.
Whon wo think of what our darling is, and

what wo still must bo —
Whon wo muHO on that world's perfect bliss,

and this world's misery —
Whon wo groan beneath this load of sin, and

fool this gnof and pain —
Oh I wo'd rathorloso our other two, than have

him hero ogam.

1802.— HABMOSAN.

Now tho third and fatal conflict for tho Per-
sian throne was dono,

And tho Moslem's fiery valour hod the crown-
ing victory won.

Harmosan, tho lost and boldest tho invader to

defy,
Captive, overborne by numbers, they wore

bringing forth to die.

Then oxoloim'd that noblo captive • " Lo, I

perish in my thirst ;
Give mo but one drink of water, and let then

arrive tho worst I"

In his hand ho took tho goblet ; but a while

tho draught f orboro,
Scorning- doubtfully the purpose of the foemen

to explore.

Woll might thon have paused tho bravest —

for, around him, angry foes
With a hedge of naked weapons did that

lonely man enclose.

"But what foarost thou ? " cried tho Caliph ;

" is it, friend, a secret blow P
Poor it not ' our gallant Moslems no such

treacherous dealing know.

" Thou may'st quench thy thirst securely, for
thou shalt not dio before

Thou hast drunk that cup of wator : this re-
prieve is thmo — no more ' "

Quick the Satrap dosh'd tho goblet down to

earth with ready hand,
And tho liquid sunk for ever, lost amid the

burning sand.

" Thou hast Raid that mine my life is, till thft

wator of that cup
I havo dcain'd- thon bid thy servants that

spill' d wator gather up ' "

For a moment stood the Caliph as by doubt-
ful passions stirr'd —

Thon exclaimed, " For over sacred must re-
mam QI monarch's word.

" Bring another cup, and straightway to the

noblo Poisian give
Brink, I said before, and poridh — now I bid

theo drink and live ' "

tticlwrd OJwneuto Trench.— Bom 1807.

1803.— BE PATIENT.

Bo pationt ' oh, bo patient 1 Put your ear

against tho earth ;
listen there how noiselessly tho germ o' tho

seed has birth-
How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its

little way,
Till it parts tho scarcely broken ground, and

tho blado stands up in tho day.

Bo parent ' oh, be pationt ' The germs of

mighty thought
Must have their silent undergrowth, must

underground be wrought j
But as suro as there 's a power that makes

the grass appear,
Our land shall be green with liberty, the

blade-time shall be here.

Bo patient I oh, be patient ' — go and watch

tte wlieat-oars grow —
So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change

nor throe—

FJCKDKUTCK

OF

Day aftor day, (lay after day, till the oat IH

fully #rown —
And then again day after <Uiy, till tho ripmi'd

field IH brown,

3Jo patient 1 oh, bo imtiunt !— though yot our

,
Tho harvoHluoldn of freedom shall bo orowu'd

with Hunny Hhoon.
Bo ripomng' bo ripening !—inaturo your

flilont way,
Till tho whole broad land IK tonguod with firo

on freedom's harvoKt day.

Jiic/wmi Qhonwto Trench.— Horn 1807.

1804.— PIBST OF MAJJCH.

Through tho gaunt woodH tho windn aro

fihnllmg' cold,
Down from tho rlftod rack tho sunbeam

pours

Over the oold gray dopes, and stony moorH;
Tho glimmering watercourse, tho oastorn wold,
And over it the whirling Bail o' tho mill,
The lonely hamlet with its moBHy Hpiro,
Tho piled city smoking like a pyro,
TFetoh'd out of shadow gleam with light aH
ohUl.

n.
The young loaves pino, thoir early promiHO

stayed;

The hope-deluded sorrow at tho night
Of tho sweet blossoms by tho treacherous

light

Flattor'd to death, like tender love botray'd ,
And stepdamos frown, and aged virguw

ohido ,

Relentless hearts put on their iron mood ;
The hunter's dog IIOH dreaming of tho wood,
And dozes barking by tho inglo-mdo.

ill.

Larks twitter, martens glance, and outH from

far
Bago down tho wind, and straight aro hoard

no inoro ;
Old wives poop out, and scold, and bang tho

door;

And clanging clocks grow angry in tho air
Sorrow and care, perplexity and pain
Frown darker Hhadowa on tho homeless

one,

And tho gray boggar buffeting alono
Pleads in tho howling Htorm, and pleads in
vain.

IV.

The field-fires smoke along tho champaign

drear,

And drive beforo the north wind streaming
down

(HlIVKM'll t*l.ttl<W,—

Bloak hill, and fttrmw <Urk, and fallow

brown ;

Vow living things alonj: thi* Iniul »]«|M*ar
Thn woary horHo loukn out, hi « ntatir a <tra>,
With anxioiiK fi'tU»ck, ami niton »>• !'>•'»
And t-crH thoNmrUrt-cnri « jro mii«U,\ l»>
With liili'lonK ilrivorn n'f*kh* »M r»f this nay.

V,

*, thai frwtihli*'! tlry nw\

Tho w»r«

All tho long wintor on th« frn .f « }ioiu;h,
Or fllcpt in ((tiict uit(lcnu*afh (he* t m»H,
Ply off, liko rcwtirrctntum«( of th«* «K%i«I i
Tho horny ploughman, ami htu >ok»'»l n\,
Wink at tho iny bla4K; and fipi(i,ttit>'» hM,
Btout, and rwl-hotHlwl, flw tmfori* ttu* '.'«*M :
And ohLUben'K oyon ar<t bitn(int) by i\w «h'n 1 1.

VI.

To\i cannot hoar tho watopn for t>ho * in«I ;
Tin* brook that foaiuw, and fall 4, ati'l tm)ihl*« \

by,

Hath loflt iiH voice— hut attcitMit tm^tliM

Hi«fh,

And bolfri(*H moan— and rnuv fThi» rf •, **ntiAni'fl
In dark comix, weep, and nhak'» i h<* )

And ory from point* of windy
Howl through tho bat,*, Mid 'plain

And fthriok, and wail Hfco votw* of ilu*

vtf.

And who in Ho, that down tho moimiitiii< uM«,
Hwift AH a Hluulow ft>'ing from the -urn,
JMwuou the wingH of Htontty \\iw\'\ ,lnih

run,
With fiorcw blue c^yOK, ttnd eynbrow;. Kitii with

prido ;
Though now ami thnn 1 mw nw«ui luu^ht<«tn

play

XTpon hinlipH, lilco iiiouieiii/t of bright, hoavon
Thrown 'twix tho crmtl l>lnnt<t of tnorn ,uul

ovon,
And goldtin look« bonoath hit* hc^wl of t(wy i*

vm.

SomotimoH ho turuH him horde to wavo fare-
woll

To hiH palo niro with i«y boar«l ami littir j
Sometime ho HomlntHiforo him throtijrh tho ii'ir
A ory of wolcomo <lown a «un«y fli»ll ;
And whilu tin* cxtliooH aro around him ritiffiiifft

Sudden tho angry wind brontho* low ami

HWUtit,

Toung violotM Hhow thoir bluo oyctM at IIIH

foot,
And tho wild lark in hoard ab<m*

Fredvrick

from 1780 to I860.]

THE BBTDAL.

[FXUBD&BXOK TBNNYSOW.

1805.— THE BTHDAL.

x.
Oh, tho bolls ' tho morning bolls !

Hulking-, swelling1, Roft and clear,
Glad ptoan, hark I it tolls

Joy la horo ,

Through light ambrosial dream of earliest
mom,

Tho melody came wafted from afar,
Swoot an tho harps of angola earthward

borno
On Homo descending star '

I TOHO — I loan'd through woodbines o'or

tho lawn —

'Twan early day, right oarly — and tho dawn
Wax'd like tho Hpringtido of a wavoleflfl sea
Beyond tho dark hills and tho umber loa ;
And with the breath of tho -upcoming day,
Ton thouHOttd spirits of tho blisaful May
(•Vom cowslip Hlopos, groou banks, and hoathy

folk,
Did oomo and go like those sweot morning

bolls.

Oh welcome), goldon dawn, and summer olime,
Wild bird and dowy ilowor, and tuneful chimo,
Make dnink my Henno, and let mo dream

that E

Am junt uowborn in Homo lont isle of joy,
And that tho happy godH axo luthor winging
With bloHHom moonHo and tho sound of singing,
Oh wolcomo, Vowtnl UOUVH j I will away,
1 too will haste mo, 'tia a marriage day '

Thoro on tho hillside is that home of thine
Curtain* d in jasmin-wreaths, and curly vine ;
And thou too wakost, Ko«a, and tho light
HathoH in thy blue oyos searching for delight ;
Thy woloomo 'tis, thy jubilee a-ringing I
Vet from tho fount of Joy a tear is springing,
Jb'or oh t tho selfsame Loyo that lights thine

oyo
Shows theo tho boauty of the days gone by.

it.
The marriage bolls are ringing,

Tho merry winds go by,
The flummor birds arc singing

Tn tho flky !
The Inidal bells, ah' merrily, hark! they

ring,

Rising and falling tike a lover's heart,
Over the hills their silver sounds thoy fling,
And valloys fax apart '

And Ho too wakes ! tho glory of the prime
BhinoH on his brow, and in his heart sublime ;
Through charmed light he sees the illumined

spring,

"With his own joy he hoars the skylark sing ;
And tho young airs that ripple the treetops
Have got their wings from his enchanted

hopes ;

The dazzling dews that on the roses He,
Tho sunlit streams axe kindled at his eye I

With heedless heart he looks across the land,
And far as he can soe on either hand
Greenwood and garden, and the wealth that

fills
The teeming vales, and robes tho summer

hilld

Are his , but from his tower ho only sees
One mossy roof half hid among the trees ;
There is the -priceless treasure that outweighs
All hopes and memories, all delights and praise.

And if his heart is plumed with sudden

pride —

" Mine is tho noble race that lived or died
For honour , mine tho name unstain'd of ill,
Blown from the lips of Tamo, with echoes

still,
Mine are the sires whom bards have sung—

who hold

First place in council, first in battlefield ;
Yot afi is nought" — ho sigh'd — " till thou art

mine;

Kings might give crowns fox that one ho art
of thine ' "

in.

The bridal bolls are pealing I

Wo will rojoico to-day '
The blissful sounds are stealing

Hearts away ,

Tho jocund bolls are pealing fast and sweet,
'Softly thoy oomo and go like lovers'

sighs,
In one glad thought the young and old are

mot,
Tho simple and tho wise

Thoy roach tho woodman in the morning air,
Thoy reach tho baron in his oarvon chair,
Tho dark-eyed damsel bending o'er the spring,
The scholar in dim cloister murmuring ;
The dusty pilgrim stays across tho stile;
Tho smith upon Ms anvil leans awhile ,
Boys whistle — beggars bustle — shepherds

sing —
The marriage bolls ring merrily ; hark, thoy

xing'

The sun is kissing off from woodnymphs'

eyos
Their evening tears, and dewy breathings

rise
From wildflowor urns — o'or waving fields of

wheat
Swift shadows stream away, and woodnotes

floot

From frolic finches tremble here and there
'Mid tho loud carols and the breezy air —
I hoax blithe tongues and tread of rustic feet,
The joyous bells axe pealing fast and sweet 1

Of hfo, and love, and luck the countryfolk
Discourse by nverside, and hedgerow oak,
Of fairy gifts, and wondrous fortune after,
They tell with faith, with antique songs and
laughter;

THK

If ono Hlircwd tmitfuo tdiould jar and c«uik to

Tho brulu'H nawlionourn with hor huinMo n:mio,
Thou in Iior jiluuo wouldst tuurii tlmut own

Thoy cry — 'but nho i« bottor iluux Ihoir
best!"

IV.

Tho luippy bollH lire chiming1 ;

Jloro (tomes tho XKJorUtHH bride,
A mighty hoHt IH climbing

Tho lull sido ;
Through briory byetfath and o'or Bunny

down

Thoy hawto unto tho bridal, for to-day
Tho lord of half tho country and iho

town

Shall load hie brido away.
Who is tlio brido P a wimple villuj*o miuM —
Beauty and Truth — a violot m tlio Hluwlo,
But she ahull show proud Sin au«l ptuuicul

Soorn

That Truth and Beauty aro to honour born ;
Ho tuaoh pioud hoartH to fool, proud cycH to

BOO
How strong IH Nature, win#od Lovo how

froo •
Long bo thoir dayH, their forfcunoH glad and

suro —
His blood xs noble and hor hoavt in pure !

Look on hor*— m that anpoot yo may apy
Her mirror' d soul whero all Hwoot picturos

lio;
Spring, stunmor, with tlion oliangoo o'or it

flit,
And morn and GYG, twin sistorH, look from

it,
While momonofl of groon woodn and tunoful

stroaiiiH,
Lono son#R, and autumn fii^IiH, and April

glaaru.fi

In shadowH of Hoft xnolanoholy flow
Up from hor hoart aoroHB hor orownM brow.

Tho littlo maidens gaxa into hor faco,
And tttoro Rwoot rooordn for tho aftor-dayn j
And iron mon fool tender momontH twino
Thoir hoorta of oak, hko tondriln of tho vino ;
And tho faint lightning of an infant mirth
Playg round palo lipw — tlio lont thoy fool on

Garth——

Of agod women loaning on thoir Fttavon,
Like early rosos dropp'd ra opon graven.

v.

Hark! tho loud-voicod bollw

Stream on tlio world around
With tho full wind, as it BWollH,

Soon of Round I

It is a voico that calls to onward yearn —
'Turn back, and whon delight is flod

awayr

Lookthrough theeTeningmista of mortal toars
On this immortal day**

That m»«mory, 1il»i» Ih^il^tt' ^' M '" ^h' w««it,
Shall kitho your blurts f*vit»if .« »• .ml* to

rent,

N"ot only \\ith ili«» j?^»w *»f J»*«M| thin " «it«in««t
Hut with tU« fuith, thai, whi'h \our «!,i,v.« ltr\

<l<nus

Anotlu'rinonulull rj'in, l»u* iif>f fo »*««<.,
Atwl yo Hlwll iiKMjt c»ii«u» im»rcs n \ nti*'»» u» IIM*^
Your bounty wrought, to {$<*;• I«y <^*M *tm«p,
Tho j«»y wiihin yi» p4*rfi««»|i«il fop »«VJ*P :
Oh! wlnt mw llunt^hti ur<* hit, <»U ! what

To gasso upon lu«r, li«»l<l h<*r in hi *-i'^<*.

To quaff l»»r HiniU»«, »w Uiir *fy l«*i« th •< i<»|».

N"UK/-lod withm a it<Km«iio ^lv''Ji ''"!'»

Thaliwt hwootn, lt*;«i a drop t*« th« ir in vutn ;

And in tliai rapiiiw nil rHmnnlx r'«t jnr»

Kxhalcw, and for a moment ht« «»;iti ' ^c

A li-hinm^ ftitxli of what thi^ Soul *4mlt tut!

Itut Hhn — dear Iw'ttH — hiw

To far-off morns nitd i'uiiitiK»r »ii**l«f *«f >«P**.
, aiut nuUtuj^, jitnl the <*M JM!L * tulo,
and liarvc i<M itud tin- duuri* i' th»*

vvord'i hbnlovi^l —qtuuuf ln»p«M
Hlut f<*d,
J1Ho HOU^M who hting— UM» fiuiiifn] w«

Till Hho has tumd to lotilc up tti hi *^,*< *
I(1orttU thoir warmth to mm lmrtim«-lt*

VI,

S'oftly UM» invent Iwllsi fail {

1 hoar a linmtt ^in;r
Amou^ tlui MoMuuiM Jt<i)ln

Of tho HpruiK:
Alono ho Miii#'. tt{»oa a uliUrlhurn < pray

And tilln tho )?u<ity witnl (
Tin* ottoifMiH hinwhiMiif th
Tho bridal ;)ft*

" What IH «M»W» full «f 2io|N* Hifitt

JIo wuitf, *« tnoro )>l«'ni thtvu it / nvii vnlh'y

HCOtUH

Mid horblo^H ro<iknf nioni jmr** Uwvn mouutmn

hiroarnw F
ChaHtor than HtfhtF wnnti^r than 1 nut; ml

More full of promirio tlmn th*» vipiwl
Moro pciiwjoful thaw a wUrry KUtiiitt«>r%t ov«» ?
More «w<u«t than moHH-rom* oilonm uH^r ruin
"With violotH mbc*d? or it two-voic«Ki .i

"Wliatin mows wdcomothati tho dawn of day
To lono awn Uwt m d«,rkttt»^H and filMmivy P
To ogcwl oyo» thiut i« tho huo of wi»« P
To w^ary wiwiclororn than tho wuncl and
Of Hud<lon wuturK in a <l(wort pltutn P
To a Had brothor than a Bi«U?r'« f&oa P 1f
Oh! Lovo, tout Lovo, no full of hoyo

truth;
A guilolof)0 maidon and a ffontlo youth*

ftwi* 1788 to 380G.]

THE BLACKBIRD.

Through arohos of wroathod roso thoy lako

thoir wuy,

Ho tlio Iroxh Morning, she tho bottor May,
'Twi\t jowind hoartu and voicos jubilant
And UUHOOU gods that guard on either hand,
And bliHHful toarH, and tondor smiles that fall
On lior dear hoad — groat summer over all !
\Vhilo Envy, of tlio triumph half afraid,
Sliiika, like a dazzlod soipont, to tho ahado.

VII.

Softly tho loud poal dios,

In pawning windw it drowns,
But brontliOH, like porloot joys,

Tender tonoH ;

3tat clearer comes tho wridbird's oagor call,
"Wliilo tho robud poiup IB streaming out

of Hi#ht,

JRut a full HimbniHl showers tho festival,
Aud orowuH farowoll with light.

*' Faro well ! and while tho summers wax and

wauo,

In ohildrou'H children may yo live again ,
Oh I may your boauty from ita ashes mo,
Voiu* Htrongth bo thoirfl, your virtues light

thoir oyofi f
your Ohaiuty — groon vino that clasps tho

Htoiu

Of withor'd Sorrow — bloom and spread in thorn ;
Ati<I whilci nofl moHHOrt clothe tho forowt troo,
May Mijjlit wod Moroy , Trido, Humility.

*' Karowoli 1 and like Lho echoes of thoHo chimes
•May your pure ooucord Htir tho uftorUmoB ;
Your Htory bo a mgnal lamp to giudo
Tho gonoratiouH from tho wanto of pride j
Liko tho aim beam that flows before your

path,
Your faith right onward scatter oloudg of

wrath ;

And livo, oh, lire, in aongB that shall bo Hung,
Tho firHt true hearts that made tho old world

young I "

Jftuwell ! oud other tongues book up tho

Bonnd

AH though tho long-loHt Ooldon Ago woro found :
l^ittt Hhout of joy wont up among tho hilta
And roach* d a holy hormit bow'd with ilia j
And ho breathed up a solitary prayor
iTom hiu pale lips into tho nunny cor —
*' Oh ! that on those young hearts, this day,

might rout,
Father, thy blessing" — and thoy shall bo blest '

vni.
Tho windrt have hush'd thoir wings,

Tlio morry bollH are still,
No more tho linnet sings

On tho hill ,
But toudor maidens linger with soft eyos

Under tho dim gleam of a throbbing star,
Thoa close their lattioos with low sweet

sighs,
Light as the dewless air.

"With glittering looks, like summer, he

descends
'Mid courteous aspects — flatterers, feers, and

fnonds ,

Brothers and uncles on his footsteps wait
Aunts, sisters, cousins,' that must bow to

Fate,
She takes their forood welcome, and their

wiles
For her own Truth, and lifts her head, and

smilos j

Thoy shall not change that Truth by any art,
Oh ' may her loyo ohango them before they

part

Tho minstrels wait thorn at tho palace-gate,
Sho hoars the flood, and sees the flash of

For all tho mirth, tho tumult, and tho song,
Hor fond thoughts follow the departing

throng,

Sho turns away, her eyes are dim with tears,
Her mother's blessing lingers in her ears
" Bless theo, my Ohild" — the music is unheard,.
Hor heart grows strong on that xemomber'd

word.

Again in dreams I hoard tho Marriage bolls
Waving from far sweet welcomes and fare-
wells,

And Alleluias from tho Deep I heard,
And songs of star-brow* d Seraphim mRpherod,
That obb'd unto that Soa without a shore,
Leaving vawt awo and silence to adoro ;
13 ut still, mothwkH, t hoar tho dyuig strain— -
" Tho orookod straight, and tho rough places
plain!"

Frederick

1806 —THE BLACKBIRD.

How swoet the harmonies of Afternoon !

The Blackbird sings along the sunny breeze

His ancient song of leaves, and Summor boon;

X2ioh breath of huyfiolds streams thro*

whiaporing trees ,
And birds of morning tnm thoir bustling

wings,
And listen fondly— while the Blackbird sings.

XI.

How soft the lovolight of the West reposes
On -flvip green valley's cheery solitude,

On the trim cottage with its screen of roses,
On tho grey belfry with its ivy hood,

And murmuring mill-race, and the wheel that

Its bubbling- freshness — while the Blackbird
sings.

in.

The very dial on tho village church

Seems as 'twere dreaming- in a dozy rest ;

LINKS TO FAWNY.

Tho Roribblud bcmchuH underneath tlui IK rch
Bask in tho kindly welcome* of tho Went ;
But tlio brood ciiHOinoiitu of the old Throe

KingH
Blazo like a furnace— wbilo tho Blackbird «ng«.

TV.

And tticro beneath tlio immemorial olru
Throe* rony rovollorn round a table Hit,
. And through gray oloudu givo lawB unto tho

roa.hu,
Curwj good and groat, but worship thoir

own -wit,

And roar of fight*, and fairs, and junketings,
Corn, coltH, and ours— tho whilo tho Black-
bird Hinga.

v.
Before hor homo, in her acoufltoiu'd &oat,

The tidy grandam spins bonoath tho Hliado
Of tho old honeysuckle, at hor foot

Tho dreaming puff, and purring tabby laid ;
To hor low ohair a httlo maidun dingH,
And spoils in silence — whilo tho Black*
bird sings.

VI.

SomotimoB tho shadow of a lazy cloud
Broathos o'or tho hamlet with ita gardens

groon,

Whilo tho far Holds with sunlight overflow' d
Lake golden Bhoros of Fairyland aro aeon ,
Again the sunshino on tho shadow HprmgH,
And fires tho thicket — whoro tho Blackbird
sings.

TO.

Tho woods, tho lawn, tho poakf^d manor-houRo,
With its poaoh-ooTer'd walls, and lookory

loud,
Tho tnm, quaint gardon alloys, flcroen'd with

boughs,

Tho lion-hooded pratoa, HO ffiiin and proud,
Tho mossy fountain with ata murmuring n,
Lio in warm sunbhuio — wlulo tlio .Blackbird
sings.

vn r.
Tho ring of silver VOIOOH, and tho whoon

Of foetal gannontfl — and my lady Htrcwnm
"With hor gay oourt aoross tho gardon grocn ;
Some laugh, and dance, Home whihpor their

lovo-droama ;

And ono callfl for a httlo pago ; ho Ktringn
Her luto bosido hor — whilo tho Blackbird sings.

IX.

A littlo whilo— and lo 1 the charm is hoard ;
A youth, whose lifo has boon all summer,

steals

Forth from tho noisy guests around tho board,

droops by hor softly j at hor footstool knoola ;

And, when sho pauses, murmurs tender things

Into hor fond ew— whilo tho Blackbird singH.

z.

Tho smoke-wreaths from tho ohimnoys ourl up

higher,

And dizzy things of eve begin to float
TJ^on the ligh* ; the breeze begins to tire.

Half-way to minwt itith a 'Iro^^.y t
Tho tuieu'ut clock fnnu i»ut tho \u11<*tv
The griuidam nodfi—un<
wngfl.

xt.

Far nhontH and laiifrhtt-r fi-tiin ih«i fnrrn ti'A*1
iu»al,

Where ilm gn>v*i Hi nek in i»ilirtf tti <hr* f tin ;
Thro1 narrt>w jfaton o*orlatiMi wn^Nin.i «•!•!,

And burking <MITH into ttw \\im\i\i run ;
Whilo tho inoouHtant wind bisu
Tho xnorry icwiwHt— - and tho Uhu«kl»ir»l

Xlt,

On tho hiffh wotd thci liut lonk of iht* tun

Bums, like a boa«<m, fwtr tlnl»» un«l /tr«*tun ,
Tho nhoutu have coanwl, tlu» lauyhifr iui«i the

fun;
Tho graudam Hlfwpw, lucid iKW4'ftil tw her

droain ;

Only a hammer on an anvil T'UW*
Tho day ui <lying — still tho

XIIK

ITow tho good vit'ur pits* o » from h»* • ^»i»»
Sorono, with lonjrwliito hiiin run! nt hi ii')t*

UuriiH tho <-l(Uir hpirit thai, hath c<m<iucrM

Kato,
And foil tlm WIII^H of hninortaliiy ;

HiHltcari IK throned with

And toudor moroujH- -whiltt Ihti

XIV.

Down by tho Imiok ho bmtdu hi \ r*{ *«p , mid

through

A lowly wickot ; ami at liui lu* ht ii»<l i
Awfnl bonido tint bod of onii who
Jh^rom hoyhood with htm

hands

And oyc«H wcmH INI i>iti tiff in fur w^h
And flwootor muHki—thuii th<* Hl«»«'KJ»ir't .

Two ffoldtm HttiTM, Hko iok<»nn from <ti« Mt^i,
Strike on himhm orb,! fnuu t hi* m«t.t it t(f nun ;

thcm^h hn HttM uThy
donol"

oyoH, thoy BOO not thrw*
oarH, they hoiti not—what thn
skgw.

t'k 7'c nn

1807.— LINPW TC) FANNY,

WITIt A JWNfJlf <H»» WIUl'H

Along tho garden-walk

To cull a fitting flower for time ;
And muftiug thoro T long dctUyM,

XTneertain which that flow'r should

1800.]

, MANY TTDAUS AOO.

[T LOKHB.

For, for tho maid who wakes my muse,

In heart HO pttro, in face so fair,
It noud fnl WOH thai 1 Hhould choose

Tho pnroHi and tho fairest thoro.

At longth, honoath tho fdioltering shado

Of rorc»s, hiding from tho light,
Jiy Uuur own fragrant Hwoots botray'd,

ThuHo white pinka caught my wandering

Might.
Mo ohawtoly delicate thoir mion,

Ho Hwootly rich thoir fragrance rare —
" Hritfht flow'rH' " 1 oriod, " yo aro, X woon,

Tho purest and tho fairest thero."

T onllM thorn, for 'twaK Icnown to mo,

Thy Hiro would hold a foant to-night,
And lh.it 1 thuro should moot with tlioo,

Amid tho lorcln and ladioH blight
And still, in wmploHt garb array'd,

I find thno horu, aw ovoiywhoro ;
Though bright tho throng, bolov<\l maid '

Tho putont and tho fairest thoro.

Toko thorn ; and may thy breast bo found

AH froo an tiioy from any blot, ,
And Hhml it« fragrant virtues ronnd

On iikoHO wlio own a lowlier lot.
80 Hluilt Ihoti, whon from doath'n ropoao

Thou walcost, hoav'nly joyH bo uliaro,
SI ill Hhmo amid tint throng that nhows

Tho ptiroHt and tho duiioHt thoro

Peter tSjjciirtv.

1808.— HMNT WITH A 3W)S1G TO KOSJ

Go, bluRlwnjr flow'r !
And toll hor thiH from mo,

That in tho bow'r,
IVom whioh 1 patlior'd thoo,
At ovoninjf I will be.

And further tell, ,

In toaruif? thoo away,

A JK^dl foil ,

And, falling, Hoom'd to say —
" Thy roHO IM hurt to-day."

And, while I stripp'd
Thy wtem of loaves bolow,

A (low-drop slipp'd,
HlippM on iny hand, to whow —
"'And thou hart dealt tho blow."

But, wlulo I stand,
Tho toar, with subtlo art,

DrioB on my hand ;
AH wislnnj? to impart —
"And thou canst heal tho smart "

Then bid her fly,
Whon sun-sot skirts tho West,

To mo, that I,
Upon my happy breast,
May soothe her own to rest.

Peter Spencer.

1809.— A THOUGHT AMONG THE
ROSES.

Tlio Eosos grew so thiokly,

I never saw the thorn,
WOT deom'd tho stem was prioldy,

Until my hand was torn.

f

Thus, worldly joys invite us,

With rosy-oolour'd hue ,
But, ero they long delight us,

We find they prick us too.

Poter Spencer.

i8i<x— MANY, MA3STY YEABS AGO,

Oh, my golden days of childhood,

Many, many years ago '
Ah I how well do I romombor

What a pride it was to know
Whon my hi/tie playmates muster' d

On tins old familiar spot,
To Roloot their infant pastimes,

That my namo was ne'er forgot ;
Whon with merry, rosy faces,

They so oagorly would come,
Boasting of the longest top-string,

Or a top of loudest hum ,
Or, as proud and prancing horses,

Chaso oaoli other to and fro, „
In my golden days of childhood,

Many, many years ago '

Oil, my balmy days of. boyhood,

Many, many years ago '
Whon 1 ranged at will tho wild woods,

For tho Toorry or tKo sloe ,
Or tho gentle blue-eyed violet,

Traced by its own perfume e^oet ;
Or with light and cautious footstep

Sought the linnet's snug retreat ;
Or with little blooming maidens

To the nutting groves ropair'd,
And m warmth of purest boy-love,

Tho rich clusters with them shared ;
Or when hoary-hoadod winter

Brought his welcome frost and snow,
How wo thiong'd tho frozen streamlets,

Many, many yearn ago 1

Thon my days of dawmng manhood,

Many, many years ago '
Whon the future soom'd all brightness

Lit with Love's enchanting glow ,
Whon what hopes and blissful day-dreams

Would my buoyant boiom crowd,
As I forth led my beloved one,

She as fair as I was proud ,
Lod hor forth with lightsome footstep,

Whore some happy rustic throng
To old Bobin's merry music

Would so gaily dance along.
Or when round came joyous Christmas

Oft beneath tho mutlotoo,
lave I toy'd with blushing maidens,

Many, many years ago I

79

T. J.

THK ANUKL OB1 THM FLOWKKH,

i nut* -

Alt, yc ffohtan day« '

Yot full oft on mwuor/M
Yo return liko Homo bright vinion,

And both joy and KOWTOW bring.
"Whore urn now my boy companions,

ThoHo dear frimidH of lovo and truth P
Death hath twol'd tho lijm of many,

Pair ami boautiful in youth.
Bobin'H lute hatt long- boon Hflont,

And tho trow aro old and bate ;
Silent too tho rippling brooklotn,

Tho old playground in not thoro ;
Time hath stolon my fair one's beauty,

And ho soon will strike iho blow
That will break those tics that bound UK

Many, many yean ag6 1

T. faker.

1811.— THE ANGEL OF TUB ELOWETW

Sho comoH adown tho palo blno dopthB of

hoavon ,

Above her head, on undimn'd wroath of light
Spans tho deep other domo, fn cither hand
A vaBO of fronted Hilvor, whence ariHO
Tranhpaicmt cloud** of inoonHe. On her lusad
A coronal of HnowdropH, liko gemm'd toarw
Now fallen from Bad loving Hpiritu1 oyo«.
Hor spotless wings, liko Hun-illuminod HHOW,
Fan tho ambrosial air, at* RGodlingH rino
la beauty infantine, spreading their loavoH
To catch tho lusoiouu Higha. Sho gently

oomofl,

To biBR her sister May,
Who, robod in hawthorn, white,
Like a young- fairy aprito,

SingH her enchanted lay.
Tho hoiioyRiieklo bollH
Tho air with perfume nwellH ,

And from the woodland Hproy
Tho HonffHtor's joy-«oteH trill,
AH tho low whiHparintf rill
BreathoB forth its earning xnuHio till tho cloRO
of day.

Tho beauteoufl panHios HBO
In pui7>1o} fi'old, and blue,
With tmtfl of rainbow hue

Mookin^ tho Bunsot nlcioa $
The modeftt violotw,
Under tho hedge-row Hots,

lift up their Boft lilno eyes ;
And tho meek dawion dhow
Their breaBts of satin HULOW,
Bedeck' (1 with tiny Htars of gold 'mid perfume
sighs.

Moon-dyed primroeefl nproad
Their loaves, her path to cheer,
As her stop draweth near ;

And tho bronzed wallflowers shod
Bich incense ; summer hours
Axe by the sweet be!L*flowors

Usher' d to life, and fed

Hy <h<»

Who olfln muui<i rnjr,
the b(*r»rt from <mt ih«*ir
frugratit Iwd.

From ilifir palm Itiupid
Fair Nnind«»H «r»"<»,
With lawffhinjr, ht»'ii> ««.v<* i ;

And lavi^ hc»r ivc»ry fw*t ,

At thoir briytlit rrynf nl
Yorni^ bwln i«mt forth <l*
Karth ttprmi fvarlut
hfo and joy from Na-tur««'n

Sho eomoH with nmilm
ahook— -

h<r

A paragon of bounty a dt«/»ir<»—
An aiitfol «ho of

!m<nm

lii*»- ;

i8i2,~THK HWAHONH
Hi'KiNtt.
t.

Tho soft #mm ftrntw in
O'w nwndow and r»'f
IThc wilvcry founts «,p<»

'»/</' t til, tit .».

I.IFK,

Thn puto HiKiwdrttp i,. '

To jjfr^'t UK* "lowiti
Tlio i»r«MniM» hWH»t \.\

Porfumo tho IliM i f)itinn«; ;
Tho tro<»H arn in th<* hht^Han,

The bmln iir<^ in Ilioir HOW,
AH Kprin<? ti|«>n tin* |ut"<tm

Of Nitturo's bom itlon^.

Ro tho dawn of httmuit Hft« doth jr^'"'! nn<i

vonlttiit Hprmff ;
It doth littln ww«n tl«^ »trtf«» thai «ff *«r ywtrn

Like tho Httowdrnp It in fair, nnd lik<» tito

But itH innonnnoo aan'i w,uro thn blight from
its rotroat.

it.

Tho full rlpci corn

Tn wavoM of
The now-mown

Tho brec^o i« Hoftly Hltf
To cool tho par<jhM f

Tho rain, to wm thorn
Woops forth it«

1780 to 18(10.1 TIME'S SONG-.

[Awoir.

Tho merry fish aro placing,

Adown yon oiyHtal stream ;
And night from clay is straying,

AH twilight gives its gleam.

And thus manhood, in its prime, is full and

ripo and ntrong ,
And it Hoarooly dooms that timo can do its

boanty wrong.
Liko tho merry fish wo play adown the stream

of lifo,
And wo rook not of tho day that gathers what

is rifo.

AUTUMN
III

Tho flowers all aro fading,

Thoir Hwootrt arc rifled now ;
And night Honds forth her shading

Along tho mountain brow ,
Tho boo hath ooasod its winging

To floworw at early mom ;
Tho birds havo oeawod thoir singing,

Shoafd IH tho golden com. ,
Tlio harvoHt now IH gathor'd,

I*ratoctod from tho olimo ,
Tho loaves aro woai'd and wither* d,

That lato Hhono m tlioir priino

Thus whon fonrncoro yoarw aro gone o'or tho

frail lifo of man,
Timo HitH hoavy on liin throno, an near his

brow wo scan ;
Liko tho autumn loaf that falln, \vhon wmdn

tho branches wavo,
Liko night-Hhadows daylight palls, liko all, ho

finds a gram

WINTER.
IV.

Tho snow is on tho mountain,

Tho front IH on tho vale,
Tho 100 hangs o'or tho fountain,

Tho Htorm ndos on the gale ;
Tho oarth is baro and nakod,

Tho air IH oold — and droar,
Tho sky with snow-clouds flaked,

And donso foul fogs appear;
Tho nun shines not so brightly

Through tho dark murky skies,
Tho nights grow longer — nightly,

And thus tho winter diet*

Thus fallH man, his season past, the blight
hath ta'on his bloom ;

Summer gone, tho autumn blast consigns him
to tho tomb ,

Thon the winter, cold and droar, with pesti-
lential breath,

Blows upon his silent bier, and whispers—
This is Death.

T/wroos

1813.— TE'BE A' THE WAKL' TO ME,
LASSIE!

Oh, yo'ro a' the warl' to me, lassie '

To'ro a* the warl* to me;
This heart shall oeaso to boat for aye,

E'ro it proves false to thee !

Oh, the soldier loves his country's cause,

And he stands or falls for Fame,
The statesman courts the loud applause

That bodes a deathless name ,
In Pleasure's train tho thoughtless sweep ,

The miser loves his gold ,
But they're nought to mo, if I could keep

That love that thou hast told.
For, Yo'ro a* the warl', &o.

Can I forgot that gloamin' sweet,

On the banks o' bonny Doe,
"Where Nature's wildest beauties meet

To dock the flowery lea ;
I wadna gio, I fondly vow,

For gem o' earth or sea,
That sprig o' thyme, though wither'd now,

To puid and gied to mo '

For, To'ro a' the warl', &c.

Blow, favouring winds, and fill those Hails

That waft mo from tliiH strand,
To streams and glens and hoath'ry hills,

My own — my native land '
In foroiga olimoR no more I'll rovo,

JBnt, 'noath our trysting tioo,
With withor'd flower, I'll claim that IOTO

Yo, tiuHtmg, vow'd to mo '

For, Yo'ro a* tho warl', &o.

T. M Gemmct.

1814— TIME'S SONG.

O'er tho level plain— where mountains greet

me as I go ; —
O'er the desert waste— whore fountains at my

bidding flow,
On tho boundless stream by day, on the oloud

by night —
I am rushing hence away who will chain my

flight?

War his woary watch was keopuig I have

crushed his spoor ;
Gnef within her bower was weeping . I havo

driod her toar ,
Pleasure caught a minute-hold, then I hurried

by,
Leaving all hor banquet cold, and her goblet

dry.

Power had won a throne of glory where is

now his fame ?
Gonras said, "I live in story" — who hath

heard his name P

79*

J. OttBKT,]

TKKAHUUIiH

j Si, VI, VIII

Lo\o, bmiotitn a inyrtlo bough,

<* "Why no fast P "
AndthoroHOH on UIH browwiUwrM AH

I have hoard th« hmfcr lowing o'er tlio wild

wavo'H bud ;
rhavo noon thu billow flowing where tho oat tie

fed.
Whore began my watuloringH ? Mom'ry will not

Bay.
Whore Hhall rest my woaty wingH F Scrionoo

turns away.

1815.— HOTTSEHOLB TRI3ASTIBE&

Household. trooBurofl, honaehold 1

Gems of wortli, way, what oro they P
Walls of jasper, doors of cedar,

Arras of Huporb array P
Caakotfl of tho coHtliont jewels,

Cabinets of ancient store,
Shrrnos whore Art her moonso offorfl,

YolumoH of profoundoHt loro P

Household troaflntos, homo'H trao jowoln,

Boom I boitor far than thoHO •
Prattling1 chaldron, blithe and luddy

As tho dow-boRpangloA rono.
Tempt me not with gold of Ophir,

Wroatho not gomH to dook niy head ;
Winsome hoartlilinga, homo's fond angolfl,

^ro tho things 1 cravo niHtoacL

Swoot tho song tho ukylork trillcth,
Bnght tho hue tlio rono aHsmncH.

iPoro tlio quiot-wooinp lily
That upon tlio lakolot blooxns ;

But more swoot, inoro bn^ht, and purer
Seom tho lipn and heart of youth ;

Elo^sod BontphH, flont to utter

t Syllables of love and truth.

Joyous oreatnroH, < hoico I

May-floworn in lifo'rt wmlor hour;
Beams of smiHhino, c.luuiing ever

Shadows that may OITOHS tho dw>r ;
Drops of rain, wlmn oaro or anjfUHh

Paroh the Hpmi'H Denial Kprirttftt ;
Soothing rnnmtrolH, whon unkm<luosu

Snaps tho heart's melodious

Hotwohold troaflnreH, houh<iliol<l troowiros,

GomH of wortli, Hay, what arr tlioy P
All that wealth or grandeur proffor,

Soon, aJafl 1 must know dootiy ;
Bnt, 'raidst omaranthft unfading

With the joso-Btoln'd ehorul)im,
Happy children, gone bof ore nn,

Swell the everlasting hymn.

J. Orach

THK KIKKT cT«(KOi> «»FTHK
YKAIJ,

Tho flower ^ w»ir»» Mnm.iin<; fi»* h un«l fvir,

rl'lm air wiu (.w<'i*i uml till ,
A HMISC* of joy in »1l ihiii'" 1»* tmM

From woodland, datts in.ff h.Il ,
On every iipr.ty liu«l f.uri* \ hu»!*r

Thi'ir «purKHn;r IHIIII* « *»i '^« v..
Whon Hr«t m*n»«» ihi« tius

Thy wrlcuiunvoirn, nif'
"Cuckoo* t'urUoo ' M Nu
lu all thti HO»;?ii of l»ir»l< *

Tho witrly Minwiif ttiiMly bnVlil,

Tho wood 4 worn Hlf^p111^ ''*1^
And fuiartu* n rliirp pntiu^fniin thn

Or murmur fmm tb^ rill j
It WOH an Nat urn piuinc«l to hoar

hii"1i'«l

And in nor ox

N» ttlillur ottu«l
In all thu Hoii}f,i of Itiri! f i i» "fnl

And a« ihy V««»M« ruiry ihr*»it ]» (i »i ,*!'•,

All Naturt* falr«'i* »,t<-u •
The itfiinn^o hiul a hri'ilitcr tiul,

Th« vi«»lft «li»(»|«T l»l«i»s
Th<» cow«-]ii) bung a rn'hir II'M» nt,

Aiwl gnimur inmnM tim vi*rtv ',,»• .1
Tn ItHtonnig to thy lay .

Inali tho HOUJ;M of bmi<; !
And, -

now alar, n
A Mon;r ilinf in

(tt wii.t'lirpy to hour,
And IM»V«T i J ilw .j»n»" iMiMplr'o

Without i ugy Hiauj'rli' - .\nfts
And *a thy t'omimr i*» our wififch,

() otutkoo. nil rigoin*.
a<Ju<!koo ! (uu'k<*o ! " No htitht r . onwl
In all tho HoitjTH of bird » rt found.
,1, A,

Ti> f MWA« T1IK
TIIINOH WHiril AlftK «4 WJAim

o ('n'.M^r tliitijT* wJii«f1i <^ »«•'>» HW*,

Uut to <

liit Nxoi'M-l '•«• ?tr'»j fi'<«i, do w«
o rod gold and friinl.itic*fti"« from far,
To rnudcr up! Uold <»f Hi« li*»arl*i* ^'wnjr

lovo
Bartnrinjffor Mftnimon (pru'toits It*? world*

namo) ;

Parts fiKpirailotm far biww, flftof,ntK famt);
And far ftdHo joy« of oartlt, a hwvun altovo

From 1780 to 18GO.]

THE IVY GEEEN.

DIOEENS.

What do wo lay boforo "our Father V

throne ?

The broken heart tho -world hatli trampled on,
But ooultl nob tool , the bruiHo'd hopes flung

buck
From Onwar'ft throno, when our reward wo

laok ;

iryHRoj) and vinegar TIow oft thoy "bo
Our only tribute, Lord, reserved for Thoo '

/ 0. Huntc

1818.— THE IVY GREEN.
Oh ! a dainty plant is the Ivy green,

That oroopoth o'er rums old '
On right choice food are his meals, I ween,

In hi« coll HO lone and cold.
The wall nrant bo crumbled, the stone dooay'd,

To plcaHuro his d.iuity whim ,
And the mouldering1 dust that years have made,
IB a morry meal for him.

Creeping whore no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

Fast ho stealoth on, thoug-h he wears no wings,

And a staunoh. old heart has ho ;
How closely ho twmoth, how close he clings,

To his friend the huge Oak Tree !
And slily ho traileth along the ground,

And his leaves he gently waves,
As he joyously hugs and orawloth round

The rich mould of dead men's graves

Creeping where grim DeaLh has boon,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

Whole ages have fled, and their works deoay'd,

And nations have scatter* d been ;
But the stout old Ivy shall never fade

From its halo and hearty green
The brave old plant in its lonely days

Shall fatten on the post •
For the stateliest building man con raise

Is the Ivy's food at last.

Creeping on where Tune lias been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green I

Qlwrlos Dicfcena.— Born 1812.

POEMS OMITTED TO BE PRINTED IN THEIR
PROPEB ORDER.

1819,— FROM «{ENDTMION.11

WTio lluiH woro npo for high contemplating,
Might turn thoir stops towards tho sobor ring
"Whoro Hat JMndymion and tho agod priest
'Motif? Hhophords gone in old, whoso looks

Tho Hilvory netting- of thoir mortal Htar
Tlittru they cliKooiirnod apon tho iragilo bar
That koopn us from our homos ethereal ;
And what our dutios thoro : to nightly call
Vesper, tho boaaty-oro«t of summer weather;
To Huinmon all tho dowmont olouds together
For tho Hurt's purple couch , to emulate
In ministering tho potont rule of fato
With Hpcjod of lire-tail'd exhalation* ,
To tint hor pallid ohook with bloom, who oons
Hwoot, poutty by moonlight • besides those,
A world of other uutfiuwH'd ofliooH
Anon thoy wandor'd, by divnio converse,
Into KlyHium; vying to lohoaiHO
Kouh 0110 hiH own antioipatod bliss
One folt heart-certain that ho could not miss
HIH quick-gone lore, among fair bloHHom'd

boughs,

Whoro OTory zephyr-sigh pouts, and endows
Hor lips with muwio for tho welcoming.
Another wish'd, 'mid that eternal spring,
To moot his rosy child, with feathery sails,
Hwoopinff, oyo-oarnostly, through almond

valoB ,
Who, suddenly, should stoop through the

Hmooth wind,

And with tho balmiest loaves his temples bind ,
A ad, ovor after, through those regions be
If in messenger, hiH little Mercury.
Homo wore atbirHt in soul to see again
Their foUow-huntsmon o'er tho wide cham-

paign

In times long past ; to sit with them, and talk
Of all tho chances in their earthly walk ;
Comparing, joyfully, thoir plenteous stores
Of happiness, to when upon tho moors,
Benighted, close thoy huddled from the cold,
And shared their famish'd scrips Thus all

out-told

Their fond imaginations,— saving My*
Whoso eyelids curtain' d up thoir jewels dim,
Endyouon - yet hourly had he striven
To hide the cankering venom that had riven
His fainting recollections. Now indeed
Hib senses had swoon'd off he did not heed

Tho sudden silence, or the whispers low,
Or tho old oyos dissolving at his woo,
Or anxious calls, or close of trembling palms,
Or maiden's High, that grief itself embalms :
But m tho aolf-Bomo fixed trance ho kept,
Like one who on tho earth had never stopt.
Ay, even as dead-still as a marble man,
Frozen in that old tale Arabian.

Who whispers him so pantingly and close P
Poona, his swoet sistoi of all those,
His fnonds, the dearest. Hushing signs she

made,

And breathed a sister's sorrow to persuade
A yielding up, a cradling- on hor care.
Hor eloquence did breathe away tho curse
She led him, like some midnight spirit nurse
Of happy changes in emphatic dreams,
Along a path between two littlo streams, —
Guarding his forohoad, with her round elbow,
From low-grown blanches, and his footsteps

slow
Fr6m stumbling ovor stumps and bollocks

small,
Until thoy came to whore those streamlets

fall,

With mingled bubblings and a gentle rush,
Into a river, clear, brimful, and flush
With ciystol mocking of the trees and sky.
A littlo shallop, floating there hard by,
Pointed its beak over the fringed bank ,
And soon it lightly dipt, and rose, and sank,
And dipt again, with the young couple's

weight, —

Peona guiding, through the water straight,
Towards a bowery island opposite ,
Which gaming presently, she steered light
Into a shady, fresh, and ripply cove,
Where nested was on arbour, ovorwove
By many a summer's silent fingering ;
To whose cool bosom she was used to bring
Her playmates, with their needle broidery,
And minstrel memoiies of times gone by.

So she was gently glad to see him laid
Under her favourite bower's quiet shade,
On her own couch, now mode of flower leaves,
Dried carefully on the cooler side of sheaves
When last the sun his autumn tresses shook,
And the tann'd harvesters rich armfuls took.
Soon was he quieted to slumbrous rest .
But. ere it crept upon him, he hod piest

KNDYMTO&

[Si vt *;ni t*!,»THt>. -

! lui^y hand agiiiti-iti hi • Up1.',
And HUH, a-rtlrophifr, ln'M hi*r iiii'M«r-Uiih
In tcniiW prohHuro. Ami JH a willow koqw
A itaticiit watch ovor the* Uri'itm that rrw»i»8
Windmgly by it,, HO tho <iuii»t. timid
Hold hor in p«aw no that a whispering Wado
Of tfrasn, a wailful gnat, a bc»« ImHtiinj?
Down 111 llu» hlut'-lmlH c>r * wifti %ht runtling
Anumjf noro IOA\OH and twi^H, might all "bo
hoard.

0 maffio ttloop ! 0 comfortaHo Mrd,
That broodoht o'or tho tronUivl H<J«I of tho mind
Till it ih luwh'd and smooth ' <> uiiconfinod
Restraint ' iiopriwwx'd liberty ! great fcoy
To goldcm palaooH, atrango miiwtoalHy,
Fountain* grotewquo, now treats bespangled

Echoing grottooa, full of tumbling wavon
And moonlight ; ay, to all tho mazy world
Of silvory onohautmont ! — who, npfnrlM
Bonoath thy drowHy wing a tnplo hour,
Hut ronovatos and IJVOH if — Than, in tho bower,
Endymion wan oalm'd to life again.
Opening his eyelids with a healthier brain,
He said " 1 f col thiH tluno endearing- lovo
All through my bosom • Ihoa art ftH a dovo
Trembling its cloned oyc« and Hlockod wirigH
About me , and tho poarhoHt clow not brinjfH
Such morning inoonno from tho iioldfl of May,
A& do thoao brighter drops that twinkling

stray
Prom thoao kind oyos,— tho Tory home and

haunt

Of sisterly affection Can I want
Aught else, aught nearer hoavon, than such

tears?

Yot dry thorn up, in bidding honco all foarn
That, any longer, I will pass my days
AJono ami sad. No, T will ouco moro raiHO
My voice upon tho mountain-heights ; onco

moio
Hako my horn parley from thoir forohoadn

hoar
Again my trooping houndu thoir totiguon Khali

loll

Around tho broatbod boar* again I'll poll
The fair-grown yow-treo, for a choHon bow :
And, whou tho pleasant Hun la getting low,
Again I'll linger in a (doping mead
To hear tho spocklcd thriiHlios, and HOO food
Our idlo sheep* Bo bo thou oliotwd, »woot !
And, if thy Into IB bore, »oftly entreat
My soul to keep m its roHolvod oourHo."

Heroat Peona, in thoir Hilver source,
Shut her pure sorrow-dropH with glad oxolaim,
And took a lute, from which thoro pitting

oame

A lively prelude, fashioning tho way
In which her yoico should wandw. 'Twa« a lay
More subtlo-oadenoerl, move forest wild
Than Dryope'e lono lulling of her child ;
And nothing sinoo has floatod in tho air
So mournful strange. Surely eomo mfiaenco
tare

'fh i\w •bin ••!' • 1m* i
* wn|»h.t « , >\»* ^JOU
rm«» , *»>*'» thnuy;h

lt. a%\uv n«»l

V/Vwt, Hpirittml,
For Httll, with
Tho qiiic-k

naw

Knflynmm'H spirit
Huforo tho d<M«p ini

But Hoon Hht'Tjitno, with 'Uihlon !>ur f,
Her nolf-pofoNM^ttfii MIW H»« lnf»» » i»N»
And wtriM'Htly mid* •*Hrnfh*ir, 'ti \.»u. hii
That ihou do4 know «f thiu-r* »»> tijn^,j
Innnortfil, Htarry; Mich nlutu* rnul'l fhm
down thy nature, Hal then

in au^ht

o tho tuiavp»l.v pnw»T « ? < '.n-Mi
A Paplnan dovo upon a uir ' 'n;;«^ H'j.f P
Thy (toatltftil IK>W tyrai*iHf< ,u'i:t«* •i«'*'r-h«Tit \^n
Htusrod tr> DianP Haply , t'i««t tun* M«I
Her nakml Hmlm antonft ih<1 n,hl« r . <*r<'t<n ;
And that, aht^ ! in d(<«iih* N<», I twti (rii<'n
Homothxng moro high iiKrplflMit"1 iu thy I****1'

KtKlymiou lookM at Iwr, and pr**, 4**1 I

hand,
And naid, u Art them m pul«s \\h»i Vtit»f »

bland

And worry hi our utointo\\i ': ll«*u i M!u * /
Toll mo thino lulta^nt : tdl tiu« ,\\\ ,nm • i 1
Ah ' thou hant Itccn unhappy ni, ihr r hiuifi*
Wrought Huddci^y in itio, Wluvt , uid«»"d, »jo

Htrangi^ ?

Or moro oomplott^ to ovorwlmlm fwrwi ir t'
Ambition i« no Hlu|(f^t.rd * HIM mt i*mi»«
That toiling y<»arK would put wtthm my tfr;t
That T havo w^hM for * with Hit dwlly j
No man ti'or pun tod fttr a mortal Invo,
So all havo t-ot my heavier |?u<*f alum*
ThoHO tlihigH which happ<«n, liijjhtl

thoy dono •
1, who hl/ill HUW tho hfri/.otifjil 0111
Iluavo l»in broad nlmnl-ln- o < r t)j«» *-d'-^ (if tho

world,

()iit-fiu*ing IitN'ifi'r, nn<l th»*?i liail liurl'ii
My HjuMir ulofif JH H^NII! fi»r flu* *'h » «»
I, >\ho, for v<*ry Hport^ of h<*art, H*<uM r4»*<«
With my own h(,<M««l front \r,i)*y , i»J«i«K tidim
A vtiltuw fr<»m hi 4 t«»wi-ry |H«rr'hini* ; frrmti
A hoit into ffrowliti'r* loth fi»*irr •
To loHd, at otuss all my toil'tiri'fdiit:; Hn\
And Hink thin low ! but I will firm my ttrtwit
Of H«cr«t ffripf, luint in thin liow*»ry n^^t,

urn»Hrivr»r dwM not M*«»* tin* twUid »ky
Till it liflginn to proj»r*« u Mlv**rly
Around thn wo'iicni border ot tht* W<MH|,
Whnnro, from a CfrUiu ^.pot., it s wmdunr flw«t
H^tomH at tho diMtanr*o hlu* a rmimtt
Arid in that zumk, Ui') very [irtd<* <*f
Had I Iwort t(N<>d to i»a,ut my weary <
Tlio ratluir for tho mm tin will in*? Icuvtu
H<» dwir n, pintnro of Inn mtvfwiffn powfr,
And I could witmw'* lui. mo it kindly hour,
Whon ho doth tifrht,i»n up th«» ftolthm r«mH,
And pacnn IciHtirdy < low it atnb(*r pl^hm
HIH Hnortinft four. Now, whnn hm nhttriot litftt
It« boamfi a^amttt tho xmitan-licm cn.it'f,
Thoro blottftom'd widdeuly a tntt^n bod
Of Rocrod dittany, wad poppttw rod i

*V<mt 1780

[JOHN KEATS.

At which t wondor'd groatly, knowing well
Thai but ono night liad wrought this flowory

Aiwl, sitting down oloso by, hogan to rauso
What it nught moan. Perhaps^ thought I,

Mot pliouH,

In passing hero, his owlot pinions shook ,
Or, it m,iy bo, ore matron Night uptook
Uor obon urn, young Mercury, by stealth,
Hod dipp'd IXIH rod in it : Mich garland wealth
Oamo not by common growth. Thus on 1

thought,

Until my head was dizzy and diwtraught.
Moreover, through tho dancing poppies stolo
A Imwo tiHMb f-oftly lulling to my soul,
And shupmtf viwionn all about my feight
Of colour*, wingH, and burhtu of Hpangly light,
Tho which became more strange, and Htraiigo,

aud dim,

And thon wc»ro gulfd in a tiunultuouH swim:
And then I Ml anlnnp Ah, «m 1 toll
Tho cuflliantmoiil that aftoi mirtlH boJtol?
Yet it waM but a droam • yot wwli a droam
That noror touguo, although it ovortoom
With mo) low uttoranoo, like a cavern spring,
Could figure out and to conception bring ,
All I beheld and foil. Mothought I lay
Watching tho Kouith, whoro tho Milky Way
Amoni* tho Htarn in virgin splendour pours ,
An<l travelling my oyo, until tlio doors
Of hoiivon appeared to opon for my flight,
T b<wamo loth and fearful to alight
Vrom Huoh lu« h Hoarmg by a downward glaneo
So kept mo HlodfoHt in that auy trance,
Spreading imaginary pinionw wido.
Whcm, proHcmtly, ilio utarw began to ghdo,
And faint away, before lay oagor view :
At whioh I High'd that I could not pursue,
And tlropj-'d my vision to the horizon's vorgo,
And lo 1 from opening clouds, I saw omorgo
Tho lovclioHt moon, that over silvor'd o'or
A Hholl for Koptnno'H goblot ; she did soar
Ho paHHumatoly blight, my dazzled BOtd,
Oommmgluag with hor argont Rphores, did roll
Tlirotigh oloar tuicl cloudy, ovonwhonsho wont
At loHt into a dark and vapoury tent —
Whereat, mothought, tho lidloss-oyod train
Of planotH all wore in tho blue again
To comirnino with thoso orbs, once more I

rained

My night right upward : but it wan quite dazed
By a bright Homething, Bailing down apace,
Making mo quickly veil my eyes and faoe :
Again £ look'd, and, 0 ye deities,
Who from Olympus watch our destinies !
Whonoo that completed form of all com-

pleteness P
Whence cuino that high perfection of all

swootnoflH ?
Speak, stubborn Garth, and tell mo where, 0

whoro,

Hast thon a symbol of her goldon hair P
Not oat-sheavofl drooping in the western sun $
Not — thy soft hand, fair sister ' lot mo shun
Such follying before theo — yot she had,
Indeed, looks bright enough to make mo mad;

And they wore simply gordion'd up andbraidod,
Loavmj.% in nakod comeliness, unshaded,
Her pearl round oais, white nook, and orbed

brow,

Tho which wore blended in, I know not how,
With Ruch a paradise of lips and eyes,
Blubh-tmtod cheeks, half smiles, and faintest

BlgJlfl,

That, when I think thereon, my spirit clings
And plavs about its fancy, till the stings
Of human neighbourhood ouvonom all.
Unto what awful power hhall I call ?
To what hi»h fane P — Ah ' see hor hovering

foot,
Moio bluoly vom'd, more soft, more whitely

swoot

Than thono of soa-bom Vonun, when she rose
J^i om out hor cradle shell Tho wind outflows
] Tor scarf into a fluttering pavilion ,
'Tin blue, and ovor-flpanglod with a million
Of little eyes, as though thon wort to shed,
Over tho darkest, lushest blue-bell bod,
Hondfuls of daisies "— " lUndyznion, how

stranp-o !
Droam within droam ! " — " She took an airy

range,

And thon, towards mo, hko a very maid,
Camo blushing, waning, willing, and afraid,
And pross'd me by tho hand Ah ! 'twas too

much;

Mothonght I fainted at the charmod touch,
Yot held my recollection, even as ono
Who dives three fathoms where tho watois inn,
Gurgling in bods of coral . for anon
I f olt upmountod in that region
Whoro falling Htars darb thoir artillery forth,
And eagles struggle with the buffeting north
That balances the hoary meteor-stone ;—
Foil too, I was not fearful, nor alone,
iVat lapp'd and lulTd along the dangerous sky
Soon, as it seom'd, we left onr journeying high,
And straightway into frightful eddies swoop'd ;
Such as aye muster where grey time has

sooop'd

Huge dens and caverns in a mountain's side :
There hollow sounds aroused me, and I sigh* d —
To faint onoo more by looking on my bhss —
I was distracted ; madly did I kiss
Tho wooing arms which held me, and did give
My eyes at onoo to death , but 'twas to live,
To take in draughts of Me from tho gold fount
Of kind and passionate looks , to count, and

count
Tho moments, by somo greedy help that

seem'd

A second self, that each might be redeem' d
And plundered of its load of blessedness.
Ah, desperate mortal » I even dared to press
Her very cheek against my orowne'd lip,
And, at that moment, felt my body dip
Into a warmer air : a moment more
Our feet were soft in flowers. There was store
OfxnoweRt joys upon that alp. Sometimes
A scout of violets, and blossoming limes,
Loiter'd around us; then of honey-ceils,
| Made dehoate from all white dower bells

JOHN KKATS.J

TIIK KVK OF* ST, AUM'IS.

Ami once, above ilia ctciqpK of our newt,

An arch faeo jnx»i»M,— an < >r*»ml IIH I HUC*H «'d.

4 Why did I dream that nloop o'or-powi'iM

mo

In midHt of nil tins Iwavpn ? Why not HOO,
"Far oft tho Hlmdnwh of his pimonH dark,
And htnr<» t horn from ino ? Bnt no, liko a Hpark
That, ucntiH imtut dio, although itn little boain
Koflootn upon a diamond, my nwoot dream
Foil into nothing— into Htupul Hleey.
And HO it WUM, until a gentle creep,
A careful moving caught my waking- earn,
And up I Htartod * Ah ! my ftitfhrt, my toora,
My clenched hands ;— for lo ! tho poppicH hung
"Dow-dabbled on thoir « talks, the ouzel tmag
A heavy ditty, and the aullon day
Had chidden herald HonporuH away,
With leaden looks * the nolitary broozo
Bluatoc'd, and tdept, and its wild aolf did tease
With, wayward melancholy ; and I thought,
Mark me, Poona ! that BomotimoB it toou#Ut
Faint faro-thoo-wolle, and aigli-Hlirillod

Away I wondot'd — all the pleasant htwm

Oi hoavon and earth had faded • docpcHt filiation

Wero do<»post dungoonH , heaths and Hunny

gladoH

Wozo full of poHtilont light , OUT taiutlcsH nllH
sooty, and o'orgproad with

Of dying fifth f the vermeil rono had blown
In frightful scarlet, and itn thornH outgrown
like spiked aloe If an innocent bird
Before my heedless footsteps Btirr'd, and

stirr'd

In little journeys, I behold m it
A disguised domon, missioned to knit
My soul with tinder darknoKH -, to entice
My stambltogfl down some monntrouH

prooipioo ,

Therefore I oa#er follow'd, and did ctirHO
The disappointment Time, that agod nurwcj,
Bock'd mo to patience. Now, thank goutlo

hoavon '
Those ^ things, with all their comforting*, aro

given

To my down-sunken hourn, and with thoe,
Sweet sister, help to stem tho ebbmjr noa
Of weary life."

John Kcatf>.~J*om 1705,

1820,

1820.— THJS EVE OF ST. ACNES.
x.

St. Agnes' Eve— Ah, bitter chill it waa !
The owlt for ail his feathers, waa a-cold ;
The hajce limp'd tromblaag througli the

frozen grass,

And silent was the flock in woolly fold *
EainD were the Boadsmim's fingers while

he told

lllx roMiry, and wlit!*« hi* In* i<si t<rr
pious intn>n t<> front it ortt icr n|tl»
M taking ih;;ht f\«r li*vi\i-n
cleat tu

tho Hw<»i»t Vtr^ii ,4 j»i»itun»,
Jii' .-LI it h

II.

iH prayor ho wiith, thi

kntuw,
And back

»*> tn.in;

u tin*n«rr»\ lituvfHnt, wan,
» \^
on

Tho

in blii^k, i>ur{mtf»rii>l ml ^
Knight*, ltuiifi»<t prttyin^ in rittttttf HI^TI-HM,
Ho pam«tih by ; and hi** w«i«k ».|«rrf f»il**
To think how tinny may m*ht* in u<> huttri « &»<i
matin.

in.

Korthward hn turttatli
And H<mn*o thrwi

tongue

Flatter* d to tt'arw Uim inr«'«l wiun antl jti*nr;
Itut no— already lutd hi • «l«'uih boil rui>^:
Tho joyn of nil Inn Iifn Wf«r« Mint «tit«I , utny *
Ilm \VILM hartth ppnanci* cm St. A'
A no tli or way 1m %oni( and .mm
Utm^h ash<m Hat he* for hi't hout'H f
Aud all niKht kept tuwako, for mnttrrV w»L«

grbvc.

IV-

That anoient EUMuiiiman h<urd tint j

soft ;
And HO it tfhiuiuml, for many a fhuir WA«

wido,

From hurry to j«ul fro, S*«m. tt)» nl*if<t
Tho HiJv<»r, NiiarlmfT <rumpi«*>i I*M\ to<*hidoc
Tho lovol ciutuilM'ni, nwlv willi (hwr j*n»tttf
Wer« fflowuiK t <» wwi\ o it t lion <iui«l ifiMi tU s
Tho «arv<nl an^i*lu, f»yiir <»ji'N«r'*\y»'»J,
»StanNi, whom upon tlunr hn.ul **tii«

rosin,
With hatr blown luutk, iii«i ^m^n put

WIH<» on tiun

V.

i burxi in tlm ,

With plume, tiara, and all noh array,
KumorouH an Mhadowa haimiinw WHly
The brain, now ntufTtl, lit youth, wiih

tnumpliH #ay

Of old romance. Th«w» lot UK «r»«b away,
And turn, aouUhouKhtwi, to «w* I *dy th«wf
Whowo hoart htul brood«d> itU tltai; wintiy
^ day,

On love, and winRM Ht. A«m<ia' naintly <»»«>,
As bhe had heard old damoH fail many titno*
declare.

Vf-

They told her how, upon Ht. Agno*' Kvo,
Young virginH might hav<i vi«ion« of duUgfefc,
And «oft oflorings from thwr town rcooivo
Upon the lionoy'd middle* of the aight,

THE EVJB OF ST. AGNES.

[JOHN- ICEATS*

If ceremonies duo they did aright ,
As, KupporlosH to bod they must retire,
Arid ooutih Hupmo their beauties, lily white ;
Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require
Of JULoavpn with upward eyes for all that they
dotiiro.

VII.

Full of thin whim wan thoughtful Madeline;
Tliu muHio, yearning like a God in pain,
&ho scarcely heard her maiden eyes divine,
Hx'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping

train

PaflH by — nho hooded not at all in vain
Camo many a tiptoe, amorous oavalior,
And back rotirod, not oool'd by high

disdain,

But Hho Haw not . her heart wan otherwhere ;
She High'd for Agnes' drou-nan, the sweetest of

the year.

VIII.

She datiood along with vague, regardless

Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and

short :
The hollow'd hour was near at hand : she

Highs

Amid the timbrels, and the throng' d resort
Of wluHporoin in auger, or in sport ,
'Mid lookH of love, defiance, liato, and acorn,
Hoodwink' d wii.h faoryfauey , all amort,
Have to Si Atfiuw and hor lambs unuhorn,
And all the bliHH to be before to-morrow morn.

IX.

So, purposing each moment to retire,

Sho linger' d still. Meantime, across the

moors,
Had oome young Porphyro, with heart on

firo

For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,
Itattroim'd from moonlight, stands ho and

implores

All flamts to give him sight of Madeline,
Jtat for one moment in the tedious hours,
That ho might gaze and worship, all unseen ;
Perchance speak, knool, touch, loss — m sooth

such things have been

Ho ventures in : let no buzz'd whisper tell •
All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords
Will storm his heart, Love's feverous

citadel:
For him, those chambers held barbarian

hordes,

Hyena f oemen, and hot-blooded lords,
Whoso very dogs would execrations howl
Against his lineage • not one breast affords
Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,
Save one old beldame, weak in body and in

souL

XI.

Ah, happy chance ! the aged creature came,
Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,

To whore he stood, hid from the torch's

flame,

Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond
The sound of merriment and chorus bland:
He startled her ; but soon she know his face,
And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand,
Saying, " Mercy, Porphyro ! hie th.ee from

this place;

They are all here to-night, the whole blood-
thirsty race1

XII.

"Got hence! got hence' there's dwarfish

Hildobrand ,

He had a fever late, and in the fit
Ho ourue*d thee and thine, both house and

land
Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a

whit
More tamo for his grey hairs — AJas me!

flit!

Flit like a ghost away."—" Ah, Gossip dear,
We're safe enough; here, in this arm-chair

sit,
And toll mo how "— « Good Saints I not

here, not here ,
Follow mo, child, or olwo these stones will be

thybior"

xra

Ho follow'd through a lowly aiohe'd way,
Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume ;
And aw she mutter'd " Well-a— well-a-day '"
Ho found him in a little moonlight room,
Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb
" Now toll mo where is Madeline," said he,
" O toll me, Angola, by the holy loom
Which none but secret sisterhood may see,
When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving
piously."

XIV.

" St. Agnes ! Ai J it is St. Agnes' Eve--
Yet men will murder upon holy days :
Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,
And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays,
To venture so . it fills me with amaze
To see thoe, Porphyro 1— St Agnes' Eve I
God's help I my lady fair the conjuror plays
This very night • good angels her deceive 1
But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle tune to
gneve."

xv.

Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,
While Porphyro upon her face doth look,
Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone
Who keepeth closed a wondrous nddle-book,
As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.
But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she

told
His lady's purpose; and he scarce could

brook
Tears, at the thought of those enchantments

cold,
And Madeline asleep in lap of 'legends old.

JOHN KEATS.]

THE EVE OF ST. AGNES.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

XVI.

Sudden a thought come like a full-blown

rose,

Flushing his brow, and in his paineM heart
Made purple riot • then doth he propose
A stratagem, that makes the beldame start :
" A cruel man and impious thou art .
Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep and

dream

Alone with her good angels, far apart
From wicked men like thee. Go, go ! I

deem
Thou canst not surely bo tho same that thou

didst seem"
*>

XVII.

" I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,"
Quoth Forphyro : " O may 1 ne'er find grace
When my weak voice shall whisper its last

prayer,

If one of her soft ringlets I displace,
Or look with ruffian passion in her face :
Good Angela, believe me by these tears ,
Or I will, even in a moment's space,
Awake, withhornd shout, my foemen's oars,
And beard them, though they be more fong'd

than wolves and bears ! "

XVIII.

" Ah ' why wilt thou affright a feeble soul ?
A poor, weak, poky-stricken, churchyard

thing,
"Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight

toll;
Whose prayers for thee, each morn and

Were never miss'd." Thus plaining, doth

she bring

A gentler speech from burning Porphyro ;
So woeful, and of such deep sorrowing,
That Angela gives promise she will do
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or
woe.

XIX.

Which was to lead him, m close secrecy,
Even to Madeline's chamber, and their hide
Him in a closet, of such privacy
That he might see her beauty uneapied,
And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,
While legion' d fairies paced the coverlet,
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.
Never on such a night have lovers met,
Since Merlin paid his Demon all tho monstrous
debt.

xx.

"It shall be as thou wishest," said the

Dame
"All oates and dainties shall be stored

there
Quickly on tills feast-night : by the tambour

frame
Her own lute thou wilt see no time to

spare,
Fox I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare

On such a catering trust my dizzy head
Wait hero, my chid, with patience kneel in,

prayer
The while . Ah f thou must needs tho lady

wed,
Or may I never leave my grave among the

dead "

XXI

So saying, she hobblod off with busy fear.
Tho lo vox's endless minutes slowly pass'd j
The damo return' d, and whisper' d in his

ear

To follow her ; with agod eyes aghast
From fright ot dim espial. Safe at last,
Through many a dusky gallery, they gain
The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd and

chaste ,

Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain.
His poor guide hurried back with agues in her

brain.

xxn.

Her faltering hand upon the balustrade,
Old Angela was feeling for the stair,
When Madeline, St Agnes' charmed maid,
Rose, hke a mission' d spirit, unaware
With silver taper's light, and pious care,
She turn'd, and down tho aged gossip led
To a safe level matting Now prepare,
Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bod ,
She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove

fray'd and fled.

Out went the taper as she hurried in ,
Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died .
She closed the door, sho panted, all akin
To spirits of the air, and visions wide
"No utter'd syllable, or, woe betide '
But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
Paining with eloquence her balmy Ride ;
As though a tongucless nightingale should

swell

Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in
her dell.

XXIV.

A oasomont high and tnple-aroh'd thoro was,

All garlanded with oarvon imageries

Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot*

grass,

And diamonded with panes of quaint device,
Innumerable of stains and splendid dyon,
As arc the tiger-moth's doop-damosk'd

wings;
And in tho midst, 'rnong thousand ho-

raldnes,

And twilight saints, and dim emblazoning*),
A shielded scutcheon blu&h'd with blood of

queens and kings.

xxv.
Full on this casement shone tho wintry

moon,
And throw warm gulos on Madeline's fair

As down she knelt for heaven's grace and
boon,

JVom 1780 to 1866.]

THE EVE OF ST. AGNES.

[JOHN KBATB.

Rose-bloom fell on. her hands, together

prest,

And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
And on her hair a glory, like a saint
She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drcat,
Savo wings, for heaven: — -Porphyro grow

faint

She knelt, BO pure a thing, so free from mortal
taint.

xxvi.

Anon his heart revives • her vespers done,
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair sho frees ,
Unclasps her waimed jewels one by one ;
Loosens her fragrant bodice , by degrees
Her rich attire creeps rustling to hor knees •
Half-hidden, like a xnormaid in seaweed,
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bod,
Bat dares not look behind, or all the charm
la fled.

XXVII.

Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay,
Until tho poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd
Hor soothed limbo, and soul fatigued away ,
llown, like a thought, until tho morrow-
day;

Blissfully havon'd both from joy and pain ,
Clasp 'd like a mibsal where swart Paynims

pray;

Blinded alike from sunRhmo and fiom rain,
As though a roue should nhut, and bo a bud
again.

XXVIII.

Stolon to this paradise, and so entranced,
Porphyro gassed upon her empty <IIOHH,
And Imton'd to her breathing, if it chanced
To wake into a ttlumborouH tenderness ;
Which when ho hoard, that mmuto did ho

UOHB,
And breathed himself : thon from tho oloRot

cropt,

NoihdoHH IIH fear in a wild wildonioHs,
And over tho IniHh'd carpet, mli>nt, wtept,
And 'twoon tho curtawH poopM, where, lo ! —

how fuHl Hho Hlopt

XXIX.

Thou by the bod-Bulo, whoro tho fadod moon
IVItvle a dim, silver twilight, Hoft ho net
A table, and, halt ttngiunli'd, throu thereon
A cloth of woven ciimHon, gold, and jot :—
O for acme drowny Morphoan amulet '
rllio boiwtorouH, midnight, fontivo olurion,
Tho k«ttlo-di*uni, and far-hoard clarionot,
Affray hw oavB, though but in dying tono —
Tho hall-door ahuta again, and all tho HOJHO m
gone.

And still she slept an azure-lidded nloop,
In blanched hnon, smooth, and lavoudor'd,
While ho from forth tho closet brought a
heap

Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and

gourd;

With jollies soother than tho creamy curd,
And lucent syrops, tinot with cinnamon ;
Manna and dates, in argosy transferred
From Fez ; and spiced dainties, every one,
From silken Sarnaroand to cedar' d Lebanon.

Those dehcates he heap'd with glowing

hand

On golden dishes and in baskets bright
Of wreathed silver • sumptuous they stand
In the retired quiet of tho night,
Filbng tho chilly room with perfume light. —
"And now, my love, my Beraph fair, awake!
Thou art my heaven, und I thmo oromite :
Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agues' sake,
Or I shall drowse besido thoe, BO my soul doth

ache."

XXXII.

Thus whispering, his warm, ttnnorvdd arm
Sank in hor pillow Shaded was hor dream
By tho duuk curtains * — 'twas a midnight

charm

Impossible to molt an we'd stream -
Tho lustrous solvers in tho moonlight

gloom,

Broad golden fringe upon tho carpet lies :
It scom'd ho novor, never, could redeem
l<1rom such a steadfast spoil his lady's eyes;
So muHod nwhilo, oiitoiTd in woofed phan-

tasies.

XXXIII.

Awakening up, he took hor hollow Into, —
Tumultuous, — and, in chords that tendered

be,

He play'd an ancient ditty, long flinco mute,
In Provence called "La belle danio saua

moroy."

Olo-o to hor oar touching tho melody ; —
Wherewith, disturbed, sho uttor'd a Boft

moan.
He cloned — she panted quick — and sud-

denly

Her blue aiTrayod oyos wide open shone •
CJpon bin knoos he sank, polo as Hinooth-

xxxiv.

Hor oyo« wore open, but sho ntill behold,
Now wulo awttko, the viniou of Lor Kleop .
There wan a painful change, thut nigh

Tho bliHHCH of hor dream HO puro and (loop.
At which fair Madeline begun to woop,
And moan forth witlenn woidw with umiiy a

fii»h,
\Vljilo Htill hor gaze on Porpliyro would

Who knelt, with joined handH and iiitooun

«.V<'i
3Tckavnit? to move or spool-, Bho looVd no

JOHN KEATS.]

TRUE BEAT7TT IN WOMAN.

*e Ah, Porphyro ' " said she, " but even now
Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,
Made tuneable with every sweetest vow ;
And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear
How changed then art' how pallid, flfrnllj

and drear !

Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,
Those looks immortal, those complainings

dear!

Oh leave me not in this eternal woe,
For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where

to go."

XXXVI.

Beyond a mortal man impassion' d far
At these volnptnous accents, he arose,
Ethereal, flush* d, and hke a throbbing star
Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep

repose,

Into her dream he melted, as the rose
Blendeth its odour with the violet, —
Solution sweet- meantime the frost-wind

blows,

Like Love's alarum, patt' ring the sharp sleet
Against the window-panes , St. Agnes' moon

hath set

'Tis dark : quick pattereth the flaw-blown

sleet:
"This is no dream, my bride, my Made-

line!"
'Tis dark, the ioe*d gusts still rave and

beat.

" No dream, alas ! alas r and woe is mine !
Porphyro will leave me here to fade and

pine —
Cruel ' what traitor could thee lulher

bring- P

I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,
Though thou f orsakest a deceived thing , —
A dove forlorn and lost with sick unprune*d
wing."

XXXVIII.

"My Madeline' sweet dreamer' lovely

bride'

Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest P
Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and

vermeil dyed P

Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my vest
After so many hours of toil and quest,
A famish'd pilgrim, — saved by miracle.
Though I have found, I will not rob thy

nest
Saving of thy sweet self, if thou think'st

well
To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidej.

" Hark 1 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land,
Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed •
Arise — arise ! the morning is at hand ; —
The bloated wassailers will never heed • —

Let us away, my love, with happy speed j
There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,—-
Drown* d all m Hhenish and the sleepy mead •
Awake ' arise ' my love, and fearless be,
For o'er the southern moors I have a home
for thee."

XL.

She hurried at his words, beset with fears,
For there were sleeping dragons all around,
At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready

spears —
Down the wide stairs a darkling way they

found,

In all the house was hoard no human sound.
A cham-droop'd lamp was flickering by each

door,
The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and

hound,

Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar j
And the long carpets rose along the gusty

floor.

3X1.

They glide, like phantoms, into the wide

hall'

Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide,
Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl
With a huge empty flagon by his side
The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook

Ins hide,

But his sagacious eye an inmate owns
By one, and one, the bolts fall easy slide —
The chains he silent on the footworn stones ,
The key turns, and the door upon its hinges

groans,

xui.

And they are gone ay, ages long ago
These loveis fled away into the storm.
That night the Baion dreamt ot many a woe,
And all his warnor-gueistH, with hhado and

form

Of witch, and demon, and largo coffin-worm,
Were long be-mghtmarod. Angola the old,
Died palsy-twitch'd with meagre faco

deform;

The Beadsman, after thousand aves told,
For aye unsonght-for slept among his aaboB

cold.
John, Route.— Born 1795, J)M 1820.

1821.— TRTJE BEAUTY IN WOMAN.

Woman ' when I behold thoe flippant, vain,
Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fan-
cies;

Without that modest softening thatonhances
The downcast eye, repentant of the pain
That its mild light creates to heal again ;
E'en then, elate, my spirit leaps and

prances,

E'en then my soul with exultation dancoe
For that to love, so long, I've dormant lain •
But when I see thee meek, and kind, and

tender,
Heavens ' how desperately do I adore

From 1780 to 1866.]

ODE TO A OTGHTINQALE.

Thy winning graces ; —to be thy defender
I hotly born— to bo a Cahdore —

A very Bed Cross Knight— a stout Leander —
Might I be loved by thee like these of yore.

Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair ,
Soft dimpled hands, white nook, and creamy

breast ,
Aro things on whioh the dazzled senses

rest

Till the fond, fixed eyes, forget they stare.
From such fine pictures, Heavens ' I cannot

dare

To turn my admiration, though unpossessed
They be of what is worthy, — though not

drest,

In lovely modesty, and virtues rare
Yet theso I leave as thoughtless as a lark ;
Those lures I straight forget, — e'en ore I

dmo,
Or thrioo my palate moisten, but when I

mark

Such charms with mild intelligences shine,
My ear is open like a greedy shark,
To catoh the tunings of a voice divino*

Ah ' who can o'er forget so fair a being P
Who oan forget her half -retiring sweets ?
God1 Hhe is like a milk- white lamb that

bloats

For man'n protection. Surely the All-sooing,
Who ioyB to HOC us with hw gifts agreeing,
Will no vor uivo him pinionn, who introats
8uoh innocence to rum, — who vilely cheats
A dovo-hko bosom. In truth thoro IH no free-
ing
Ono'B thoughts from suoh a beauty ; when I

hoar

A lay that onco I saw hor hand awake,
Her form floomn floating palpable, and noar
lluxl T o'or soon her from an arbour tako
A dowy flower, oft would that hand appear,
And o'or my eyes iho trembling uioiHturo
uhako.

Jolm Keats.— Horn 1705, DM 1820.

1822.— ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.

My heart aohos, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had

drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
Ono minuto post, and Letho-wards had

sunk:

'Tia not through onvy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thy happiness, —
That thou, light-winged Dryad of tho
trees,

Tn some melodious plot
Of booohon groon, and shadows numberless,
Street of summer in full-throated ease.

II.

O for a draught of vintage, that hath boon

Cool'd a long ago in the deop-delvod earth,
Tasting of Flora and tho country-green,
Dance, and Provencal song, and stm-burnt

mirth'

0 for a beaker full of tho warm South,
Fall of the true, the blushful Hippoorene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the
brim,

And purple-sta]n6d mouth ;
That I might drink, and leave the world un-
seen,

And with theo fade away into the forest
dim :

in

Jfctdo far away, dissolve, and quito forget
What thou among tho loaves hast nevoi

known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Hero, whore men sit and hear each other

gioan ,
Whore palsy shakes a fow, sad, last gray

hairs,
Where youth grows polo, and spectre-thin,

and dies,

Where but to think is to be full of sor-
row

And Jondeu-eyod despairs ;
"Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous

oyos,

Or now Lovo pine at them beyond to-
monow.

IV

Away 1 away ' for t will fly to thro,

Not charioted by JJaooliuB and his pards,
But on tho viowloHs wmgH of Poowy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and re-
tards :

Already with thoo I tender is the night,
And haply tho Queen-Moon i» on her

throne,
CluHtorM around by all hor starry Fays ,

Hut hero there IH no light,
Savo what from heaven is with the breezes

blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding
mossy ways.

V.

I cannot see what flowers aro at my foot,
Nor what soft inoenao tangs upon the

boughs,
But, in ombalmdd darkness, gnosH oaoh sweet

Wherewith tho seasonable month endows
Tho grass, tho thicket, and tho fruit-tree wild ;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglan-
tine ,
Past-fading violets cover' cl tip m leaven ;

And mid-May's oldest child,
Tho coming musk-rowo, full of clowywino,
Tlio murmurous haunt of fliou on summer
ovos.

JOHMT KEATS.]

ODE ON A GRECIAN TON

[SEVENTH PHBIOU—

VI.

Darkling I listen ; and for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,
CalTd him soft names in many a muse*d

rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet bieath ;
Now more than ever seems it noh to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pounng foith thy soul
abroad

In such an ecstasy !
Still wouidst thou sing, and T have ears in

vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird

No hungry generations tread thee down ,
The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown
Perhaps the self -same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Buth, when sick

for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn ;

The same that oft-times hath
Charm1 d magic casements, opening on the

foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

vni.

Forlorn » the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self !
Adieu 1 the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu I adieu ' thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over tho still stream,

Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades
Was it a vision, or a waking dream ?

Fled is that music • — do I wake or sleep ?
JoTm Eeats.—Born 1795, Died 1820.

, 1823 —ODE ON A GBECIAN T7RN.

z.

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness '

Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express

A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme •
What leaf -tanged legend haunts about thy

shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,

In Tempe or the dales of Aroady P
"What men or gods are these P What maidens

loath?

What mad pursuit P What strugglo to escape P
What pipes and timbrels i? What wild
ecstasy P

n.

Heard melodies ore sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter, therefore, ye soft pipes, play
on;

Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone

Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not

leave

Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ;

Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,

Though winning near tho goal — yet, do not

grieve ;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not

thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair '

m.

Ah, happy, happy boughs ' that cannot shed
Tour leaves, nor ever bid the Spring a«itGu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,

For ever piping songs for ever new ;
More happy love ; more happy, happy love '
For ever warm and still to bo enjoy'd,

For ever panting and for ever young ;
AH breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high sorrowful and

oloy'd,

A burning forehead, and a parching
tongue.

IV

Who are these coming to the sacufice P

To what green altar, 0 mystenous priest,
Leod'st thou that heifer lowing at tho skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands

drest?

What little town by river or sea-shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,

Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn P
And, little town, thy stieets foi evermore
Will silent be , and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can O'OL rotnrn.

0 Attic shape ' Fair attifrmlo r with brode

Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodrlon wood ;
Thou, silent form * dost toaso us out of

thought
As doth eternity Cold Pastoral '

Whon old ago shall thin generation waste,

Thou shall lomam, in midHt of other woe
Than oms, a friend to man, to whom thou

say'st,

Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all
Te know on earth, and all yo need to
knpw
JO/MI J&ata— JJont 1795, DM 1820

A 1824.— SONNET.

To one who has been long in oily pant,
'Tis very sweot to look into tho fair
And open face of heaven, — to breathe a

prayer

Full in the smile of tho blue firmament.
Who is more liappy, when, with heart's

content,

Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair

from 1780 to 1866.]

LA BELLE DAME SANS MEBCI.

KEATS.

And gentle tale of love and languishment P
Beturmng home at evening, with an ear

Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye
"Watching the sailing cloudlet's bnght career,

He mourns that day so soon has glided by
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear

That falls through the clear other silently.

John Keats.— Bwn 1795, IHed 1820

1825.— LA BELLE DAME SANS MEECI.

A BALLAD.

O what can ail thoe, kmght-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering P
The sedge has wither' d from the lake,

And no birds sing.

II.

0 what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone ?

The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

in

1 see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withoieth too

IV.

I mot a lady in tho meads,
Ml beautiful— a faery's child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes wore wild.

v.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

Sho look'd at mo as she did love,
And mode sweet moon.

VI

I sot her on my pacing steed,
And nothing1 elso saw all clay long1,

For sidelong would she bond, and sing
A faery's song.

TO.

She found me roots of relish swoet,
And honoy wild, and manna dew,

And sure in language strange she said-—
" I love thee true."

vni.

Sho took mo to her elfin grot,

And there she wept, and sigh'd full soro,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream' d— Ah ' woe botido

The latest dream I ever dream' d
On the cold lull's side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all)

They cried-—" La Belle Dame sans Morci
Hath thee in thrall I "

XI.

I saw thoir starved lips in the gloom,
With homd warning gape'd wide,

And I awoke and found mo here,
On the cold hill's side.

XII

And this is why I sojourn here,

Alone and palely loitering,
Though tho sodgo is withor'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

John JKoafo— -JBom 1705, DM 1820,

80*

LATEE POEMS.

1826 — FROM " LULIPTTT LEVEE."

, They seized the keys, they patrolled the street,
They drove the policeman off his beat,
They btult barricades, they stationed sen-
tries—

You must give the word, when you come to
the entries !

They dressed themselves in the Riflemen's

clothes,
They had pea-shooters, they had arrows and

bows,

So as to put resistance down —
Order xeigns in Luliput-town !

They made the baker bake hot rolls,
They made the wharfingor faond in coals,
They made the butcher kill the calf,
They out the telegraph-wires in half

They went to the chemist' fl, and with their

foot

They kicked tho physic all down tho street ,
They went to the school-room and tore tho

books,
They munched tho puffs at tho pastrycook's.

They sucked tho jam, they lost the spoons,
They sent up several fire-balloons,
They lot off crackers, they burnt a guy,
They piled a bonfire over so high.

They offered a prize for tho laziest boy,
And ono for tho most Mtippiificont toy ;
They Hplit or burnt tho canes off-hand,
They mado now laws in Lilliput-land.

Never do to-day wlutt you cm

Vut off till to-morrow, one of thorn ran ;

Late to led and late to nsc,

Was another law which they did devise.

They passed a law to have always plenty
Of beautiful things, wo shall mention twenty ;
A magic lantern for all to see,
; Babbits to keep, and a Christmas-tree.

A boat, a house that went on wheels,
An organ to grind, and sherry at meals,
Drums and wheelbarrows, Roman candles,
Whips with whistles let into the handles,

A real live giant, a roc to fly,

A goat to tease, a copper io sky,

A garret of apples, a box of paints,

A saw and a hammer and no complaints.

Nail up the door, slide down the stairs,
Saw off the legs of the parlour-ohaurs—
That was the way in LJliput-land,
The children having the upper hand.

They made the Old Folks come to school,
All in pinafores,-— that was the rule, —

Koritler-wheoler-whiler-wuss ;

They made them loam all sorts of things
That nobody liked They had cateohismgs ;
They kept thorn in, they sent them down
In class, in school, in lilliput-town

O but they gavo them til-f or-tat '
Thick bread-and-butter, and all that ;
Stick-jaw pudding that tiros your chin
With tho marmalade spread over so than '

They governed the clock in Lilliput-land,
They altered the hour or tho minute-hand,
They mode the day fast, they made the day

slow,
Just as they wished tho time to go.

They never waited for king or for oat ;
They never wiped their shoes on tho ma
Their joy was groat j their joy was greater $
They rode in the baby's perambulator !

There was a Lovee in lallipul-town,
At Pinafore Palace. Smith and Brown,
Jones and Robinson had to attend —
All to whom they cards did send.

Every one rode in a cab to the door ;
Every one oatno in a pinafore ;
Lady and gentleman, rat-tat-tat,
Loud knock, proud knock, opera hat !

Tho place was covered with silver and gold,
Tho place was as full as it ever could hold •
Tho ladies kissed her Majesty's hand ;
Such was tho custom in Hliput-land.

W.li Eomfo.
80*

W. B.

BABY.

[SEVENTH I'JBUXOD. —

1827 —BABY.

O when did Baby come ?
"When half the world was dumb,
Babe was dressed in white,
In the black, dead night.

0 Baby came from where P
That place is very fair >
The middle of the skies,
The heart of Paradise.

0 who sent Baby here P
It was an angel dear,
A spirit of purple flame ;
Love is that angel's name.

0 who was Baby's shield
Down from the heavenly field
Along the pathway dim P
— One of the cherubim ;
His sword he took with him..

His golden head he bowed
To cleave the hindering cloud r
A seraph shone behind
Singing through the wind.

Singing and shining thus,
They brought the gift to us,
And in the dead of night,
The child was wrapt m white.

O God,— who art the Lord
Of the cherub with the sword,
And the seraph with the lamp, —
Let both of them encamp

Beside the hushing tent
Of the creature that is sent
Prom the middle of Thy sky, —
To guard, to beautify ;

To make the inaudible breath
More terrible than Death,
And light the unconscious face
As from a heavenly place
With the wonder of Thy ways I

Oh, why are your beautiful eyes so red,

Fair Lady P

They have taken my baby out of my bed,

My baby!

Speak sooth, your babe has gone up to God,

Fair Lady.

His little feet, little feet were not shod,

My Baby.

But the road that leads to the heavenly town
Is all over clouds as soft as down,

Fair Lady.

The way of the clouds is long and dun,
I would I were there to carry him,

My Baby

He will be holpen by cherubs bright,
A fair new star for a lamp they light,

Sweet Lady !

The way to the heavenly town is long-,
I would I could sing him a cradle song,

My Baby.

Our Lord stands waiting at heaven's door,
And Mary Mother runs on before,

Sweet Lady.

0 he will feel strange in the heavenly street,

My Baby.

But the happy Innocents he will meet,

Fair Lady.

For the comely food he will cry, and gays,

My Baby.

They make him a feast in the heavenly place,
Our Lord will be there to speak the grace,
And Mary Mother, with godly gays,

Fair Lady.

The heavenly town will grow so dear,

He will forget his mother here,

My Baby.

He shall think of his mother in all the cheer,

He shall not forget in a thousand year,

Fair Lady
W. .B* Rands

1828.— THE SECRET WAY.
(From «THB LOST TALES OF MILETUS.")

In haste he sent to gather fresh recruits
Among the fiercest tribes his fathers ruled,
They whom a woman led
When to her feet they tossed tho head of
Cyrus.

And the tribes answered — " Lot the Scythian

King

Eeturn repentant to old Scythian ways,
And laugh with us at foes.
Wains know no sieges— Freedom movns
her cities."

Soon came the Victor with his Persian guar<K
And all the rallied vengeance of his Motion ,
One night, sprang up dread camps
With lurid watch-lights caroling doomed
ramparts,

As hunters round the wild beasts in thoir lair
Marked for the javelin, wind a bolt of fire.
Omartos scanned his walls
And said, " Ten years Troy baffled Aga-
memnon "

Yot pile up walls, out-topping Babylon,
Manned foot by foot with sleepless sontmolfl
And to and fro will paws,
Free OB tho air thro* keyholes, Lovo ant
Treason.

Be elsewhere told tho horrors of that sioffp,
Tho desperate sally, slaughter, and ropuluo
Repelled in turn the f oo,
With Titan ladders scaling- oloud-cai
bulwarks,

THE APPLE OF LIFE.

LYTTOW.

Hurled back and buried under rooks heaved

down
By wrathful hands from scatheless battle*

ments.
With words of holy charm,

Soothing despair and leaving resignation

Mild thro1 the oity moved Argiope,
Pale with a sorrow too divine for fear ;
And when, at morn and eve,

Sho bowed her meek head to her father's
blessing,

Omartes felt as if the rig-hteons gods

Could doom no altars at whose foot she

prayed.

Only, when all alone,
Stole fiom her lips a murmur Eke com-
plaint,

Shaped in these words, " Wert thou, then, bnt

a dieam P

Or shall I soo theo in the Happy Fields ? "
Now oame with stony eye
The livid vanquisher of cities, Famine ;

And moved to pity now, the Persian sent
Heralds with proffered peace on terms that

seem

Gentle to Asian kings,
And unendurable to Europe's Freemen ,

*' I from thy city will withdraw my hosts,
And leavo thy people to thoir chiefs and laws,
Taking from all thy realm

Nought savo tho river, -which I moke my
border,

*' If but, in homage to my sovereign throne,
Thou pay this petty tribute onoe a year ,
Six grains of Scythian soil,
One urn of wator spared from Scythian
fountains."

And tho Soyth answered — "Let the Mode

demand

That which is mine to give, or gold or life ,
Tho wator and the soil
Are, overy grain and every drop, my
country's :

" And BO man hath a country whore a King
Pays tribute to another for his crown."
And at this stern reply,
The Persian doomed to fire and sword the
city.

Lord Lytton.

1829— THE APPLE OF LIFE.
(From " CHRONIOLBIS AND CDTABAOTIBRS.")

So sho rose, and wont forth thro1 tho oity

And with her tho applo sho bore
In her bosom ; and stood 'mid the multitude,

waiting therewith in the door
Of tho hall whore tho King, to givo judgment,

ascended at morning his throne
And, kneeling there, cried, "Lot the King

live for ovor ' liohold, I am one

" Whom tho vilo of themselves count the

vilest. But groat is tho grace of my

lord.
And now let my lord on his handmaid look

down, and give oar to her word '*
Thereat, in tho witness of all, she drew forth,

and, uplifting- hoi bead,
Show'd the Applo of Life, which who tastes,

tastes not death. " And this applo," whe

said,
"Last nig-ht was deliver'd to mo, that thy

servant should oat, and not die.
But I said to the soul of thy servant, 'Not so.

For behold, what am I ?
That the King-, in his glory and gladness,

should cease from tho light of the sun,
Whiles I, that am least of his slaves, in my

shame and abasement live on '
For not sweet is tho life of thy servant, unless

to thy servant my lord
Stretch Ins hand, and show favour , for surely

tho frown of a king is a sword.
Sat the smile of the King is as honoy that

flows from tho olefls of tho rook,
And his grace is as dew that from Horeb

descends on the hoods of the flock
In tho King is tho heart of a host, the King's

strength, is an army of men :
And the wrath of the King is a lion that

roaroth by night from his don
But OH grapes from tho vines of En-Godi arc

favour H that fall fiom his hands,
And as towors on tho hill-topw of Shomx tho

tlvtono of King Solomon stands.
And for this, it woic wpll thai, for ever the

King, who is many in one,
Should sit, to bo soon thro' all time, on a

throno 'twist tho moon and tho sun !
For how shall one lose what he hath not P

Who hath, lot him keep what ho hath.
Wherefore I to tho King give this applo/'

Then great was King

Solomon's wrath.
And ho rose, rent his garment, and cried,

"Woman, whence come this apple to

thee ? "
But when ho was 'woro of tho truth, then his

heart was awaken' d. And ho
Know at onco that the man who, orowhile,

unawares coming to him, had brought
That Apple of Life WOH, indeed, God's good

Angel of Death. And ho thought

"In meroy, I doubt not, when man's eyes
were open'd and made to soo plain

All tho wrong in himself, and tho wretched-
ness, God sent to close thorn again

For man's sake, his last friend upon earth —
Death, tho servant of God, who IB just.

Let man's spirit to Him whence it Cometh
return, and his dust to the dust 1 "

Then tho Apple of Life did King Solomon seal

in an urn that was sign'd
With tho Boal of Oblivion • and summon' d tho

Spirits that walk in tho wind

EOBBBT LTTTON ]

EPILOGUE.

[SBVBNTII PERIOD — —

Unseen on the summits of mountains, where

never the eagle yot flew ;
And these he commanded to bear far away, —

out of reach, out o£ view,
Out of hope, out of memory, — higher than

Ararat buildeth his throne,
In the Urn of Oblivion the Apple of Life.

But on green jaspar-stone
Bid the King write the story thereof for in-
struction. And Enoch, the seer,
Coming- afterward, search* d out the meaning.
And he that ha-th ears, let Tv*yi hear.

Robert Jjytton (Owen Meredith),

1830.— EPILOGUE.
(JEVom "CHBONICLBS AND

Long of yore, on the mountain, the voice

Of the merciful Master was heard
To the mourners proclaiming " Rejoice " :

And, rejoicmg, they welcomed his word :
To the hand of the rich man " Bestore,"

To the heart of the poor man " Be fed,"
And " Be heal'd," to the souls that were sore,

And to all men " Be brothers," it said.
But, since Ohnst hath been naiTd to the tree,

Fruits unnpe have our hands gather' d of

. it:
ISfoisy worship of lip and of knee,

Niggard love, not of love, but of profit.
For the poor is oppreat as of old :

And of all men is no man the brother •
And the Ohurohes but gather their gold,

While the nations destroy one another •
Only, all of these things are now done

In another than Caesar's name
And all wrongs that are Chnstless go on

Unashamed of all Christian shame
By the white man despised is the black

And the strong hath his heel on the weak •
By the burthen still galTd is the back

And the goal is yet distant to seek :
Tho', to guide us, its shining is oft,

Like a fire on the midnight, discern' d :
When the hope of man's heart leaps aloft

From the chain that hiq anguish hath

spurn' d :
As in Germany once : when a priest

Was changed into a man, for man's sako ;
And his word, as the dawn fills the East,

FilTd the West, till a world was awake $
In the letter a soul was created

By the breaking the seals of a book ;
And man's conscience in man, reinstated,

All conscienceless sovereignties shook.
Shook indeed, but not shatter' d ! For straight-
way

When indignant and bold in the breach
Thought arose, and sped on thro' the gate-
way,

Whence she beokon'd to all and to each,

They that loosed her lost heart : and, as
onward

She explored her oompanionless track
To the goal of her destiny — sunward,

They wrung hands, and shriek'd to her,

"Comeback'"
So she pass'd from among them for ever,

And hath left them where, still in the dark,
Blowing watchfires spent, they shall never

Blow the ashes thereof to a spark
Once in England, when Hampden's high will,

Eliot's truth that was true to the death,
Pym's large speech, and the sword that hath
still

" FREEDOM," graven by Law, on its sheath,
Won for England what woe to the day

When England forgets to revere,
Or unheedfully oasts it away,

Thro' Futurity helmless to steer !
Once in France : when the storm of the sound

Of the spirits of men rushing free
Shook the shores of the nations around,

As the roar of a jubilant sea ;
And the heart of the feeble wax'd strong,

For his friends were as one flesh and blood
In the casting away of time's wrong

And the gathering up of earth's good ;
But dull tune goeth deafly since when

Those rejoicings were mingled by tune
With the moans of the murders of men,

And the cursings of carnage and crime ;
All is silent and sullen again :

And again the old cankering forms
Beappear, as when after the ram

From the earth reappear the earth-worms.
0 the infinite effort that seems

But in infinite failure to finish '
Man's belief in the good that he dreams

Must each fact, he awakes to, diminish ?
God forbid f Whom thank thou for whatever

Of evil remains — understood
As good cause for continued endeavour

In the battle 'twixt Evil and Good.
Heed not what may be gain'd or be lost

In that battle. Whatever the odds,
Fight it out, never counting the cost ;

Man's the deed is, the consequence God's.

Robert Lytton (Owen Meredith).

—THE OWL AND THE BELL.

" Bvng, Bimt Bang, Borne f '*

Sang the Bell to himself in his house at homo,

Up in the tower, away and unseen,

In a twilight of ivy, cool and green ;

With his Bvng, Bim, B<mg, -Boma /

Singing bass to himself in his house at home.

Said the Owl to himself, as he sat below
On a window-ledge, like a ball of enow,
" Pest on that fellow, sitting up there,
Always calling the people to prayer!
With his j&ngr, Bim, Bmg9 Borne !
Mighty big in his house at home 1

Prom 1780 to 1866.]

BEQUIESOAT DST PACE.

" I will move/' said the Owl " But it suits

me well,

And ono may get used to it, who can tell ? "
So he slept in the day with all his might,
And rose and flapped out in the hnsh of night,
When the Bell was asleep in his tower at

home,
Dreaming over his Bvng9 Bang, Some !

For the owl was born so poor and genteel,
He was forced from the first to piok and

steal,

He scorned to work for honest bread —
" Bettor have never been hatched ' " he said.
So he slept all day ; for he dared not roam
Till night had silenced the Bmg, Bcmg,

Some!

When his six little darlings had chipped the

egg,

Ho mnet steal the more : 'twas a shame to beg
And they ate the more that they did not sleep

well-
"It's their gizzards," said Ma; said Pa,

" It's the Bell '
EOT they quiver lake leaves in a wind-blown

tome,
When the Bell bellows out his Bwg, Bcmg,

Home'"

But the Bell began to throb with the fear
Of bringing the house about his one ear ,
And his peoplo were patching all day long,
And propping the walls to make tiiom strong.
So a fortnight ho sat, and felt like a momo,
Vox he dared not shout his B'Wj, Bang, Some '

Said the Owl to himself, and hissed as ho said,

" I do believe the old fool is dead.

Now — now, I vow, I shall never pounoo

twice j

And stealing shall be all sugar and spioo.
But I'll sec the corpse, ore he's laid in the

loam,
And shout in his ear Sing, Sim, Bwg,

Some f —
Hoo! hoo1" ho cried, as he entered the

steeple,
" They've hanged him at last, the nghteous

people !

His swollen tonguo lolls out of his hood —
Hoo 1 hoo ' at last the old brute is dead.
There lot him hang, the shapeless gnomo '
Choked, with his throat full of Sing, £<mg,

Some!"

So he danced about him, singing Too-wJioo !
And flapped the poor Bell, and said, "Is that

youP

Where is your voice with its wonderful tone,
Banging poor owls, and making thorn groan ?
A fig for you now, in your great hall-dome \
Too-wlioo is better than Sing, Bang, Some !"

So bravo was the Owl, the downy and dapper,
That he flew inside, and sat on the clapper ,
And he shouted Too-wlwo ' till the echo

awoke,
like the sound of a ghostly clapper-stroke :

"Ah, ha!" quoth the Owl, "I am quite at

home —
I will take your place with my Sing, Sang,.

Some!'9

The Owl was uplifted with pride and self-
wonder ;

He hissed, and then called the echo thunder;
And he sat the monarch of feathered fowl
Till — Sang I went the Boll — and down went

the Owl,

lake an avalanche of feathers and foam,
Loosed by the booming Bvng, Bang, Sonic '

He sat where he fell, as if nought was the

matter,
Though one of his eyebrows was certainly

natter.

Said the eldest Owlet, " Pa, you were wrong ,
He's at it again with his vulgar song."
"Be still," said the Owl; "you're guilty of

pride:
I brought J"*q to life by perching' inside."

" But why, my dear P " said his pillowy wife ;
" You know he was always the plague of your

life."

" I have given "M™ a losson of good for evil ;
Perhaps the old ruffian will now be civil."
The Owl looked righteous, and raised his

comb j
But the Boll bawled on his Bing, Bam/j,

Some'

0 cargo Ifac&onalil.

1832.— BEQTHBSOAT EST PACE!

0 my heart, my heart is sick awishing and

awaiting:
The lad took up his knapsack, he went, he

wont his way ;
And I looked on for his coming, as a prisoner

through tho gratuag

Looks and longs and longs and wishes for
its opening day.

On the wild purple mountains," all alone with

no other,
The strong terrible mountains, he longed,

he longed to be;
And he stooped to kiss his father, and he

stooped to kiss his mother,
And till I said " Adieu, sweet Sir/' ho quite
forgot me.

He wrote of their white raiment, the ghostly

capes that screen them,
Of the storm winds that beat them, their

thunder-rents and soars,
And the paradise of purple, and tho golden.

slopes atween them,

And fields, where grow God's gentian bells,
and His crocus stars.

JEAN INQHLOW]

KEQUEESCAT IN PACE.

PEBIOD -—

He wrote of frail gauzy olouda, that drop on

them like fleeces,
And make green their fir forests, and feed

their mosses hoar ,
Or come sailing up the valleys, and get wrecked

and go to pieces,

Like sloops against their cruel strength then
he wrote no more.

0 the silence that came next, the patience and

long aching !
They never said so much as " He was a dear

loved son ; "
Not the father to the mother moaned, that

dreary stillness breaking .
" All < wherefore did he leave us so — this,
our only one?"

They sat within, as waiting, until the neigh-
bours prayed them,
At Cromer, by the sea-coast, 'twere peace

and change to be ;
And to Cromer, in their patience, or that

urgency affrayed them,
Or because the tidings tarried, they came,
and took me.

It was three months and over since the dear

lad had started.
On the green downs at Cromer I sat to see

the Tie w;
On an open space of herbage, where the ling

and fern had parted,

Betwixt the tall white lighthouse towers,
the old and the new.

Below me lay the wide sea, the scarlet sun was

stooping;
And he dyed the waste water, as with a

scarlet dye ;
And he dyed the lighthouse towers; every bird

with white wing swooping
Took his colours, and the cliffs did, and the
yawning sky*

Over grass came that strange flush, and ovor

ling and heather,
Over flocks of sheep and lambs, and over

Cromer town ;
And each filmy cloudlet crossing drifted like

a scarlet feather

Torn from the folded wings of clouds, while
he settled down.

"When I looked, I dared not sigh:— In the light

of God's splendour, v

With Bis daily blue and gold, who am I ?

what am I P
But that passion and outpouring seemed an

awful sign and tender,
Like the blood of the Redeemer, shown on
earth and sky.

O for comfort, 0 the waste of a long doubt

and trouble r
On that sultry August eve trouble had made

I was tired of my sorrow — O so faint, for it

was double

In the weight of its oppression, that I could
not speak '

And a little comfort grew, while the dimmed

eyes were feeding,
And the doll ears with murmur of waters

satisfied
But a dream came slowly nigh me, all my

thoughts and fancy leading
Across the bounds of waking Ufo to the
other side.

And I dreamt that I looked out, to the waste

waters turning,
And saw the flakes of scarlet from wave to

wave tossed on ,
And the scarlet mix with azure, where a heap

of gold lay burning

On the dear remote sea reaches ; for the
sun was gone.

Then I thought a fax-off shout dropped across

the still water —
A question as I took it, for soon an answer

came
From the tall white ruined lighthouse . " If it

be the old man's daughter
That we wot of," ran the answer, " what
then — who's to blame P "

I looked up at the lighthouse all roofless and

storm-broken •
A great white bud sat on it, with neck

stretched out to sea ;
Unto somewhat which was sailing in a skiff

the bird had spoken,

And a trembling seized my spirit, for thoy
talked of me

I was the old man's daughter, the bird wont

on to name him ;
"He loved to count the starlings as ho sat

in the sun '
Long ago he served with Nelson, and his story

did not shame Jhm> »

Ay, the old man was a good man — and his
work was done."

The skiff was like a oroscent, ghost of somo

moon departed,
Frail, white, she rooked and curtseyed as

the red wave she crossed,
And the thing within sat paddling, and the

orescent dipped and darted,
Hying on, again was shouting, but the
words were lost.

I said, "That thing is hooded; I could hoar

but that floweth
The great hood below its mouth:" then tho

bird made reply,
" If they know not, more's the pity, for th*

little shrowmouse knowoth,
And tho kite knows, and the oagle, and the
glead and pye."

From 1780 to 1866 ]

THE SEA.

[A. 0

And he stooped to whet his beak on the stones

of tho coping1 ,
And when onoe more the shout came, in

querulous tones he spake,
" What I said was ' more's the pity; ' " if the

heart be long past hoping,
Let it say of death, " I know it," or doubt
on and break.

" Men must die — one dies by day, and near

him moans his mother,
They dig his grave, tread it down, and go

from it full loth ;
And one dios about the midnight, and the

wind moans, and no other,
And the snows give him a burial — and God
loves them both.

"The first hath no advantage — it shall not

soothe his slumber
That a lock of his brown hair his father aye

shall keep;
For tho last, ho nothing gmdgofch, it shall

nought his quiet cumber,
That in a golden mesh of HIS callow eaglets
sleep.

" Men must die when all is said, e'on the kite

and glead know it,
And tho lad's father knew it, and the lad,

tho lad too ;
It was never kopt a secret, waters bring it

and windu blow it,

And ho met it on tho mountain — why then
make ado ? * *

With that he spread his white wings, and

swept across the water,
Lit upon the hooded head, and it and all

went down ;
And they laughed as they went under, and I

woke, " the old man's daughter,"
And looked across the slope of grass, and at
Oromor Town.

And I said, " Is that tho sky, all grey and

silver suited P "
And I thought, " la that the sea that lies

so white and wan ?
I have dreamed as I remember ; give me time

— I was reputed

Once to have a steady courage — 0, 1 fear
'tis gone '"

And I said, " Is this my heart P If it bo, low

'tis beating,
So he lies on the mountain, hard by the

eagles1 brood;
I have had a dream this evening, while the

white and gold wore fleeting,
But I noed not, need not tell it — whoro
would be tho good ?

* Where would be tho good to them his father

and his mother P

For the g-hoat of their dead hope appoareth
to them still.

While a lonely watohfiro smoulders, who its

dying red would smother,
That gives what little light there is to a
darksome hill P"

I rose up, I made no moan, I did not cry nor

falter,
But slowly in the twilight I came to Cromer

town.
What can wringing of the hands do that

which is ordained to alter P
He had climbed, had climbed the mountain,
he would ne'er come down.

But, 0 my first, 0 my best, I could not choose

but love thee •
0, to be a wild white bird, and seek thy

rooky bed!
From my breast I'd give thoe burial, pluck

tho down and spread above theo :
I would sit and sing thy requiem on the
mountain head.

Fore thee well, my love of loves ! would I had

died before thee 1
0, to bo at least a cloud, that near thee I

might flow,
Solemnly approach the mountain, weep away

my being o'er thee,

And veil thy breast with icicles, and thy
brow with enow '

fecm,

1833.— TEE SEA.

THB TBHIMCPK or TIMB.")

I will go book to the groat sweat mother —
Mother and lover of men, the Soa.

I will go down to her, I, and none other
Close with her, kiss her, and mix her with
mo;

Cling to her, strive with her, hold her fast ;

0 fair white mother in days long past, —

Born without Bister, born without brother, —
Let free my soul as thy soul is froe.

0 fair, green-girdled mother of mine,

Sea, that art clothed with tho sun and tho

rain,
Thy sweet, hard kisses are strong liko wine,

Thy largo embraces are kcon like pain.
Savo me and hide mo with all thy waves,
Find me one gravo of thy thouHand graves, —
ThoRO puro cold, populous graves of thino,
Wrought without hand in a world without
stain.

1 shall sloop, and movo with tho moving HliipH ;
Change as tho winds change, voor in tho

tide ;

My lips will foost on tho foam of thy lip«,
I shall nso with thy rising, with thoe nub-
side*

A. C.

MELEAGKR DYING-.

[SEVENTH PERIOD. —

Sleep, and not know if she be, if she were —
Filled fall with life to the eyes and the hour,
As a rose IB full filled to the rose-leaf tips
With splendid summer, and perfume, and
pnde.

This woven raiment of nights and days,
Were it once oast off and unwound from me,

Naked and glad would I walk in thy ways —
Alive and aware of thy ways and thee ;

Clear of the whole world9 hidden at home,

Clothed with the green and crowned with the
foam, —

A pulse of the life of thy straits and bays,
A vein in the heart of the streams of the
Sea.

Eair mother, fed with the lives of men,

Thou art subtle and cruel of heart, men

say

Thou hast taken, and shalt not render again.
Thou art full of thy dead, and cold as they.
But death is the worst that comes of thee ;
Thou art fed with our dead, O mothei, O Sea.
But when hast thou fed on our hearts ? or

whan,

Having- given us love, hast thou taken
awayp

O, tender-hearted, O, perfect lover,

Thy lips are bitter and sweet thine heart.
The hopes that hurt and the dreams that

hover

Shall they not vanish away and apart ?
But thou, thou art sure, thou art older than

earth;
Thou art strong for death and fruitful of

birth,

Thy depths conceal and thy gulfs discover
From the first thou wert , in the end thou
art.

Alg&rnon OJiwrles

1834. — HOT/EAGER (son of CEneus and
Althaea) DYING.

(From " AT ATLANTA IN CALYDON.")

Pray thou thy days be long before thy death,
And full of ease and kingdom, seeing in

death

There is no comfort and no aftergrowth.
Nor shall one thence look up and see day's

dawn,

Nor light upon the land whither I go.
Live thou, and take thy fill of days, and did
"When thy day comes , and make not much of

death,

lest ere thy day thou reap an evil thing.
Thou, too, the bitter mother and mother-
plague

Of this my weary body— thou, too, queen,
The source and end, the sower and the scythe,
The ram that ripens and the drought that
slays,

The sand that swallows and the spring that

feeds,

To make me and unmake me, — thou, I say,
Althaea, since my father's ploughshare, drawn
Through fatal seedland of a female field,
Furrowed thy body, whence a wheaten ear
Strong from the sun and fragrant from the

lains

I sprang and cleft the closure of thy womb.
Mother, — I, dying, with unforgetful tongue
Hail thee as holy and worship thee as just
Who art unjust and unholy 5 and with my

knees

"Would worship, but thy fire and subtlety
Dissundering them, devour me; for these

limbs
Are as light dust and Grumblings from mine

urn
Before the fire has touched them; and my

face

As a dead leaf ox dead foot's mark on anow,
And all this body a broken barren tree
That was so strong; and all this flower of

life

Disbranched and desecrated miserably,
And 'mimshed all that godlike muscle and

might

And lesser than a man's . for all my veins
Pail me, and all my ashen life burns down.
I would thou hadst let mo live, but gods

averse,

But fortune, and the fiery feet of change,
And tune, these would not, — these tread out

my life, —
These, and not thou, me, too, thou hast

loved, and I
Thee ; but this death was mixed with all my

life,

Mine end with my beginning, and this law,
This only, slays me, and not my mother at

all.

And let no brother or sister grieve too sore,
Nor melt their hearts out on me with their

tears,

Since extreme lore and sorrowing overmuch
Vex the great gods, and ovorloving men
Slay and are slam for love's sake ; and this

house
Shall bear much better children. Why should

these
Weep P But in patience let them livo their

lives,

And mine pass by forgotten : thou alono
Mother, thou solo and only, — thou, not those,
Keep me in mind a little when I die,
Because I was thy firbtbom , let thy soul
Pity me, pity even me gone hence and dead,
Though thou wert wroth, and though thou

bear again

Much happier eons, and all men later born
Exceedingly excel me ; yet do thou
Forget not, nor think shame ; — I was thy son.
Time was I did not shame thee ; and time was
I thought to live and make thee honourable
With deeds as great as these men's , but they
live,

From 1780 to 1866.]

IRIS, THE BAINBOW.

These, and I die ; and what thing should have

been

Sorely I know not ; yet I charge ti.ee, seeing
I am dead already, not to love me less, —
Me, O my mother; I charge thee by those

gods —

My father's, and that holier breast of thine,
By these that see me dying, and that which

nursed,
Love mo not less, thy first-born tliou, grief,

come,

Gnef only, of mo, and of all these great joy,
And shall come always to thee, for thou

knowest,
0 mother, 0 breasts that bare me, for ye

know,

0 sweet head of my mother, sacred eyes,
Ye know my soul, albeit I sinned , ye know
Albeit I kneel not, neither touch my knees,
But with my lips I knoel, and with my heart

1 fall about thy feet and worship thee.
And ye farewell now, all my friends > and ye
Kinsmen, much younger and .glorious more

than 1,

Sons of my mother's sister , and all farewell
That were in Colchis with me, and bare down
The waves and wars that mot us : and though

times

Change, and though now I be not anything,
Forgot not me among you what I did
In my good time , for even by all those days,
ThoHo days and this, and your own living

HOUlH,

And by the light and luck of you that live,
And by tlufl miserable spoil, and mo
Dying, I boHoooh you lot my name not die.
But thou, door, touch me with thy roso-liko

hands,

And fasten up my eyelids with thy mouth,
A bitter kiss j and grasp me with thine anna,
Printing with heavy lips my light waste flesh
Made light and thin by heavy-handed fate,
And with thine holy maiden oyes drop dow,
Drop tears for dew upon me who am dead,
He who havo loved thee ; seeing without sin

dono

I am gone down to the empty, weary house
"Whore no flesh is, nor beauty, nor swift oyes,
Nor sound of mouth, nor might of hands and

feot;

But thou, dear, hide my body with thy veil,
And with thy raiment cover foot and head,
And stretch thyself upon me, and touch hands
With hands, and lips with lips : be pitiful
As thou art maiden perfect ; lot no man
Defile mo to despise me, saying, This man
Died woman-wise, a woman's offering, slain
Through female fingers in his woof of life,
Dishonourable , for thou hast honoured me
And now, for God's sake, kiss me onoo and

twice

And let me go , for the night gathers mo,
And in the night shall no man gather fruit.

Algernon Qlwiles

1835.— EBIS, THE BAINBOW.

'Mid the cloud-enshrouded haze

Of Olympus I arise, ,
With the full and rainy gazo

Of Apollo in mine eyes ,
But I shade my dazzled glauco

With my dripping pinions white,
Where the sunlight sparkles dance

In a many- tinctured light •
My foot upon the woof

Of a fleecy cloudlet small,
I glimmer through the roof

Of the paven banquet hall.
And a soft, pink ladianoo dips

Through the floating mints divine—
Touching eyes and checks andhps

Of the mild-eyed Gods supine ,
And tho pinky odour rolls

Bound their foreheads, while I siaun
With a blush liko wmo the bowl«

Of foam-crusted porcelain
Till tho whole calm place has caught

A deep gloazn of rosy fire —
When I darken to the thought

In too oyos of Zeus tho Siro.

Then Zeus, arising, stoops

O'er the ledges of tho skies,
Looking downward through the loops

Of tho stazry tapostnos .
On tho evident dork plain

Spocklod with wood and lull and stream,
On tho wnaklod tawny main,

Whore the ships Hike Huowflakos gleam ,
And with fingor without aworvo

Slightly hitcd, swiftly wlmlod,
Ho draws a magic curve

O'er the cirrus of tho world ;
When with waving wings displayed

On tho sun-god's threshold bright
I upleap and seem to fade

In a humid flash of light.
But I plunge through vapours dun

To tho dark low-lying land.
And I tumble, float, and swim

On the strange curve of tho Hand :
Prom my wings that drip, drip, drip

With cool rains, short jots of fire,
As across green Oapes I slip

With tho thought of Zeus tho Sire.

Thence, with drooping wings bedewed,

Folded close about my form,
I alight with foot unviowod

On iho ledges of the storm;
For a moment, cloud-enrolled,

'Mid tho murmurous rain I stand,
And with meteor oyos behold

Vapoury ocean, misty land :
Till the thought of Zeus outspnngs

From my ripe mouth with a sigh,
And unto my lips it clings

lake a shining butterfly \
When I brighten, gleam, and glow

And my glittering wiuga unfurl,
And tho molting colours flow

To my foot of dusky pearl;

A. H CLOUGH ]

INCITEMENT TO FEBSEVEBANCE. [SBVBNTH PBSRIOD.—

And the ocean, mile on mile,

Gleams through capes, and straits, and

bays,
And the vales and monntains smile,

And the leaves are wet with rays, —
"While I wave the hnmid Bow

Of my wings with flash of fire,
And the tempest, crouched below,

Knows the thought of Zens the Size.

JR. Buchanan.-— Bom 1841.

1836.— INCITEMENT TO PEBSE-

YEBANOE.

Say not, the straggle nought availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain;

The enemy faints not nor f aileth,
As things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes fears may be liars,
It may be in yon smoke concealed ,

Your comrades chase e'en now the flyers
And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no powerful inch to gain,

Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the mam.

And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light ;

In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly,
But westward, look, the land is bright.

A. JET. dough — Bom 1819, Died 1861.

1837. — TO A SLEEPING CHILD.

Lips, lips, open '

Up comes a little bird that lives inside,
Up comes a little bird and peeps, and out he
fiies.

All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he

sings,
Up he oomea and out he goes at night to spread

his wings

Little bird, little bird, whither will you go P
Bound about the world while nobody can know.

lattte bird, little bird, whither do you flee ?
Far away round the world while nobody can
see.

Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam ?
All round the world and around again homo

Bound the round world, and back thro' tho air,
When the morning comes the little bird is
there.

Back comes the little bird and looks, and in he

flies,
Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his oyes.

Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird 's away,
Ia±tLe bird will come again by the peep of day.

Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird must go
Bound about the world, while nobody can know.

Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
Bound and round he goes, sleep, sleep sound.

A. H. dough.— Bom 1819, Died 1861.

1838.— THE EMIGBANT'S ADIEU TO
BALLYSHANNON.

Adieu to BaUyshannon * where I was bred and

born,
Go where I may, Til think of you, as sure as

night and morn,
The kindly spot, the friendly town, where

every one is known,
And not a face in all the place but partly

seems my own ;
There's not a house or window, there's not a

field or hill,

Bat, east or west, in foreign lands, I'll recol-
lect them stilL
I leave my warm heart with you, though my

back I'm forced to turn —
So adieu to Ballyshannon, and the winding

banks of Erne I

No more on pleasant evenings we'll saunter

down the Mall,
When the trout is rising to the fly, the salmon

to the fall
The boat comes straining on her net, and

heavily she creeps,
Cast off, cast off ! — she feels the oars, and to

her berth she sweeps ,
Now fore and aft keep hauling, and gathering

up the clue,
Till a silver wave of salmon rolls in among tho

crew.
Then they may sit, with pipes a-lit, and many

a joke and " yarn " , —
Adieu to Ballyshannon, and tho winding bonks

of Erne'

The music of the waterfall, the mirror of the

tide,
When all the groen-hill'd harbour is lull from

side to side—-
From Portnasum to Bulliobawns, and round

the Abbey Bay,

From rooky Inis Sauner to Coolnargit Bond-
hills grey;
While far upon the southern lino, to guard it

like a wall,
Tho Leitrim monntains, clothed in blue, gaze

calmly over all,
And watch the ship sail np or down, tho red

flag at her stern , —

Adieu to those, adieu to all the winding banks
of Erne '

* * # #

Farewell to every white cascade from the
Harbour to Belleek,

And every pool where fins may rest, and ivy-
shaded oreek ;

Prom 1780 to 18G6 ] FBOM " THE LOVES OF GUDRITN."

[WILLIAM MOBBIS.

The sloping fields, the lofty rocks, where ash

and holly grow,
The one split yew-tree gazing on the curving

flood below ;
The Lough, that winds through islands under

Turaw mountain green ,
And Oastte Oaldwell's stretching woods, with

tranquil bays between ;
And Breesie Hill, and many a pond among the

heath and fern, —
For I must say adieu— adieu to the winding

banks of Erne '

The thrush will call through Camlin groves

the livelong summer day ;
The waters run by mossy cuff, and bank with

wild flowers gay t
The girls will bring their work and sing be-

neath a twisted thorn,
Or stray with sweethearts down the path

among the growing corn ;
Along the river side they go, where I have

often been, —
0, never shall I see again the days that I

have seen !
A thousand chances are to one I never may

return,—
Adieu to Ballyshannon, and the winding bonks

of Erne!

William Alhnglwm.

1839— OFKOM "THE LOVES OF

Alone fcho wan, her hood against the wall
Had fallen, her heavy eyes wore shut when ho
Stood on the threshold ; sho rose quietly,
Hearing the olash of arms, and took hiB hand,
And thus with quivormg lips awhile did stand
Begarchng him ; but he mode little show
Of manliness, but let tho hot tears flow
Fast o'er his chocks. At lost she spake •

" Weop then !

If thou who art tho kindest of all men
MuBt sorrow for me, yet more glad wore I
To soo thoo loavo my bower joyfully
ThiH font tiino , that when o'er thee sorrow

came,
And thought of mo therewith, thou mightst

not l)lamo

My little lovo for over Hoddoning thoo.
Lovo * — lot mo Hay lovo once — groat shalt thou

bo,

Beloved of all, and dying ne'er forgot,
Farewell » farewell I farewell ' and think thou

not

That in my heart thoro lingers any hato
Of her who through those years for thoo did

wait,

A woary waiting — throo long, long, long yoara,
Well over now ; nay, when of mo she hoars,
Fain wore I who should hate mo not. Behold,
Hero ifl a ooif. woll wrought of silk and gold
By folk of MicklpKuarth, wlio hod no thought
Of theo or ma, and thence* by merchants brought

Who perchance loved not. Is Gudrun too fair
To take this thing a quoon might long to wear?
Upon tho day when on tho bench ye sit,
Hand held in hand, crown her fair head with

it
And toll her whence thou hadst it. Ah, fare-

woll,
Lest of mine eyes thou shouldst have worso to

tell
Than now thou hast '"

Therewith she turned from him
And took the ooif , wherein tho gold was dim
With changing silken threads, the linen white,
Scarce seen amid the silk and gold dolight
With hands that trombled little did she fold
Tho precious thing, and sot its weight of gold
Within a silken bog , and then to his
She reached her hands, and in one bitter kiss
Tasted his tears, while a groat wave of thought
Of what sweet things the changed years might

have brought

Swept over her and then she knew him gone,
And yet for all that scarcely felt more lone
Than for many days past she had felt
So with fixed eyes she drew into hor belt
Her kirtlo, and to this and that thing turned
With heart that over for the long rest yearned
Wilbcm Moms.

1840.— FROM « THE LOVES OF
GUDRTO."

Then Gndrun turned
Sick-hearted from thorn, how hor longing

burned

Within hor heart ' ah, if ho diod not now,
How might she tell whoroto his hate would

growP

Yet a Hlrongo hopo that longing shot across,
AH sho got thinking what would be tho IOQB
If Bodli fell 'neath Kiartan'B hand. That day,
Like years long told, post Gudrun wore away,
She know not how; but when tho next day

came
She onod aloud, "The same, ah, still tho

flame,

Shall every day bo, now that ho is dead ! "
She started aa she hoard hor voioe, hoi* head
Seemed filled with flame • sho crawled into her

bowor,

And at hor mirrored face hour af tor hour
She stared, and wondered what she really

was,
Tho onoe-lovod thing o'er which Ms lips would

pass.

Hor foot grow heavy al tho oncl of day,
Her hoart grow faint, upon hor bod «ho lay
Moveless for many an hour, until the Hun
Told hor that now tho last day woo begun ;
Then she arose, OH one might in a dream,
To clothe horHolf, till a groat cloud did Room.
To draw away from hor , as in bright hell
SunloBH but nhiulowloHH who saw full well
Hor life that WUH and would bo, now nKo know
Tho deed unmonkod that summer day should

do.

DANTE GABKCEL ROSIDTTI.] FROM " THE BLESSED DAMOZEL " [SEVENTH PEBIOD,

And then she gnashed her teeth and tore her

hair,

And beat her breast, nor lightened thus despair,
As over and over the sweet names she told
Whereby he called her in the days of old ;
And then she thought of Refna's longing eyes,
And to her face a dreadful smile did nse
That died amidst its birth, as back again
Her thoughts went to the tender longing pain
She onoe had deemed a sweet fair day would

end;

And therewith suoh an agony did rend
Her body and soul, that all things she f orgat
Amidst of it , upon the bed she sat
Rigid and stark, and deemed she shrieked, yet

made

No sound indeed ; but slowly now did fade
All will away from her, until the sun
Risen higher, on her moveless body shone,
And as a smitten thing beneath its stroke
She shrank and started, and awhile avroke
To hear the tramp of men about the hall.
Then did a hand upon the panel fall ,
And in her very soul she heard the ring
Of weapons pulled adown, and everything,
Yea, even pain, was dead a little space.

WiMwm Morris

1841.— FROM "THE BLESSED
DAMOZEL."

The blessed damozel leaned out
From the gold bar of Heaven ;

Her eyes were deeper than the depth
Of waters stilled at even ;

She had three lilies in her hand,
And the stars in her hair were seven.

Her robe, ungirt from elasp to hem,
No wrought flowers did adorn,

Put a white rose of Mary's gift,
For service meetly worn ,

Her hair that lay along her bad?
Was yellow like ripe corn

It seemed she scarce had been a day

One of God's choristers ,
The wonder was not yet quite gone

From that still look of hers ;
Albeit, to them she left, her day

Had counted as ten years.

Gabmel Rosetti

1842.— -FROM "THE PORTRAIT."

This is her picture as she was :

It seems a thing to wonder on,
As though mine image in the glass

Should tarry when myself am gone.
I gaze until she seems to stir, —
Until mine eyes almost aver

That now, even now, the sweet lips part

To breathe the worda of the sweet heart :-—
And yet the earth is over her.

Alas ! even such the thin-drawn ray
That makes the prison-depths more rude,-—

The dnp of water night and day
Giving a tongue to solitude.

Yet this, of all love's perfect prizo

Remains , save what m mournful guise
Takes counsel with my soul alone ,
Save what is secret and unknown,

Below the earth, above the skies.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

1843.— NEWBORN DEATH.
i.

To-day Death seems to me an infant child
Which her worn mother Life upon my knee
Has set to grow my friend and play with

me,

If haply so my heart might be beguiled
To find no terrors in a face so mild, —
If haply so my weary heart might be
Unto the newborn milky eyes of theo,
0 Death, before resentment reconciled
How long, 0 Death ? And shall thy feet de-

part
Still a young child's with mine, or wilt thou

stand

Fnllgrown the helpful daughter of my heart,
What tune with thee indeed I reach the

strand
Of the pale wave which knows theo what thou

art,
And drink it in the hollow of thy hand ?

ii.

And thoa, 0 Life, the lady of all bliss,

With whom, whon oar first heart boat full

and fast,
I wandered till tho haunts of moii were

pass'd,

And in fair places found all bowers amiss
Till only woods and waves might hoar our

loss,
While to the winds all thought of Death

wo cast —
Ah, Life I and must I have fromthoo at

last

No smile to greet me and no babo but thiw P
Lo ! Love, tho child onco ours ; and Song,

whose hair
Blew like a fiamo and blossomed hko a

wreath,

And Art, whose eyos wore worlds by God f ouna
—-

These o'er tho book of Nature mixed their

breath
With neck-twined arms, as oft wo watohod

them there :

And did these die that thou mightst bear
me Death?

Oabriel RossM.

AMEEICAN POETS.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

PTTTTTP

A MAN of considerable genius Among Mr.
Freneau's poems are illustrations of creative
passion which will preserve his name long after
authors of more refinement and elegance are
forgotten His best pieces were for the most
part written in early life, when he was most
ambitions of literary distinction. It is worthy of
notice that he was the fiist of onrauthors to treat
the " ancients of these lands " with a just ap-
preciation, and in a truly artistioal spirit His
song of "Alknomock" had long the popularity
of a national air. Washington Irving has
recorded that whon ho was a youth it was
familiar in every drawing-room, and among
the ourhoHl thoatiical reminiscences of Mr.
William B, Wood is its production in charac-
ter upon the stage The onoc well-known
satire, entitled "A Now England Sabbath-day
Chase," was so much in vogue whon Mi Ir-
ving was a school-boy, that he committed it
to memory as an exorcise in declamation.
The political odes and pasquinades which he
wrote during the revolution possess much
historical interest, and, with his other works,
they will sometime undoubtedly bo collected
and edited with the oare due to unique and
curious souvenirs of so icmarkable an age —
JBow 1752, Died, 1832.

JOHN TBUMBULL.

Thus poet was a popular lawyer, and ap-
pointed to honourable offices by tho people
and iho government From 1705, in con-
sequence of ill-health, ho declined all pub-
he employment, and was for several years
an invalid At length, recovering his custo-
mary vigour, he was in 1800 elected a member
of the legislature, and m tho year following a
judge of the Superior Court. In 1808 he was
appointed a judge of the Supreme Court of
Errors, and hold tho office; until 1819, when
ho finally retired from public life. His poems
were collected and published in 1820, and in
1825 he removed to Detroit, where his
daughter, the wife of the Honourable William
Woodbndge, recently a member of the United
States Senate for Michigan, was residing, and

died there in May, 1831, in iho eighty-first
year of his age, — Itom 1750, Died 1831.

TIMOTHY DWIGHT.

The merits of Dr D wight as a poet are
eminently respectable Cowper, who wrote
a criticism of his " Conquest of Canaan " in
the " Analytical Review " for 1789, says : —
" His numbers imitate pretty olosoly those of
Pope, and therefore cannot foil to be musical ;
but ho is chiefly to bo commended for tho
animation with which he writes, and which
rather increases as ho proceeds than Buffers
any abatement. ... A strain of fine onthuHi-
asm runs through the whole seventh book,
and no niau who has a wonl improHHiblc by a
bright display of tho giandoat tmhjoctu that
revelation iunushos, will road it without Homo
emotion."— Morn 1752, Jtocd 1817.

DAVID HUMPHREYS.
The principal poems of Colonel Hnmpnreyfl
are an " Address to tho Armies of tho United
States," written in 1772, while ho was in the
army, "A Poem on the Happiness of America,9*
written during his residence in London and
Paris, as secretary of legation; "Tho Widow
of Malabar, or tho Tyranny of Custom, a
Tragedy, imitated from tho French of M. Le
Miorro," written at Mount Vernon; and a
" Poem on Agriculture," written while ho was
minister at the court of Lisbon. The "Address
to the Armies of tho Umtod States " paused
through many editions in America and Europe,
and was translated into the French language
by tho Marquis do Ohafiteilux, and favour-
ably noticed in tho Parisian gazettes. The
"Poem on the Happiness of America" was
reprinted nine times in three years, and
the "Widow of Malabar " is eaid, an the dedi-
cation of it to tho author of " MoFingal," to
have met with " extraordinary success" on tho
stage Tho " MiHCollanoouH Works of Colonel
Humphreys" wore published in on octavo
volume, m New York, in 1790, dedicated to tho
Duke de Eoohofouoauld, who had been his

BIOORAPHIOAi NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

intimate friend in France. In the Dedication he
Bays . " In presenting for your amusement the
trifles which have been composed during my
leisure hours, I assume nothing beyond the
negative merit of not having ever written any-
thing unfavourable to the interests of religion,
humanity, and virtue '* He seems tohave aimed
only at an elegant mediocrity, and his pieces
are generally simple and correct in thought and
language. He was one of the "four bards
with Scripture names " satirized in some verses
published in London, commencing,

"David and Jonathan, Joel and Timothy,
Over the water, set up the hymn of the," <&c.

and is generally classed among the "poets of
the Revolution." The popularity he enjoyed
while he lived, and his connection with Trnm-
buU, Barlow, and Dwight, justify the intro-
duction of a sketch of his history and writings
into this volume.— Bom 1753, Died 1818.

JOEL BAELOW.

In the summer of 1808 appeared his
" Columbiad," in a splendid quarto volume,
surpassing, m the style of its typography
and embellishments, any work before that
time printed in America. From his earliest
years Barlow had been ambitious to raise the
epio song of frig nation. The <c Vision of
Columbus," in which the most brilliant events
in American history had been described,
occupied his leisure hours when in college, and
afterward, when, as a chaplain, he followed
the standard of the liberating army. That
work was executed too hastily and imperfectly,
and for twenty years after its appearance,
through every variety of fortune, its enlarge-
ment and improvement engaged his attention.
The events of the Eevolution were so recent
and so universally known as to be inflexible
to the hand of fiction ; and the poem could
not therefore be modelled after the regular
epio form, which would otherwise have been
chosen. It is a series of visions, presented by
Hesper, the genius of the western continent,
to Columbus, while in the prison at Valladolid,
where he is introduced to the reader uttonng
a monologue on his ill-requited services to
Spain. These visions embrace a vast variety
of scenes, circumstances, and characters
Europe m the middle ages, with her political
and religious reformers; Mexico and the
South American nations, and their imagined
history , the progress of discovery , the settle-
ment of the states now composing the fede-
ration , the war of the Revolution, and
establishment of republicanism ; and the chief
actors in the great dramas* which he attempts
to present.

The poem, having no unity of fable, no
regular succession of incidents, no strong ex-
hibition of varied character, lacks the most

powerful charms of a narrative; and has,
besides, many dull and spiritless passages,
which would make unpopular a work of much
more faultless general design. The versifica-
tion is generally harmonious, but mechanical
and passionless, the language sometimes in-
correct, and the similes often inappropriate
and inelegant. Yet there are in it many bursts
of eloquence and patriotism, which should
preserve it from oblivion The descriptions
of nature and of personal character are
frequently condensed and forceful , and pass-
ages of invective, indignant and full of energy.
Barlow was much respected in private life
for his many excellent social qualities. His
manners were usually grave and dignified,
though when with his intimate f nends he was
easy and familiar. He was an honest and
patient investigator, and would doubtless have
been much more successful as a metaphysical
or historical writer than as a poet. As an
author he belonged to the first class of his
tune in America ; and for his ardent patriot-
ism, his public services, and the purity of his
life, he deserves a distinguished rank among
the men of our golden age — Born 1755, Died
1812.

ST. JOHN HONEYWOOD.

The poems embraced in the volume of his

I writings published in 1801 are generally

I political, and ore distinguished for wit and

vigour. The longest in the collection was

addressed to M. Adet, on his leaving America

for IFrance.-— J3om 1765, &ied 1812.

JOHN QXJINCY ADAMS.

The merits of Mr Adams as a poot are not
great, but he wrote much m voise, and fre-
quently with good sense, humour, and scho-
larly polish Among his earlier productions
are translations of the seventh and thirteenth
satires of Juvenal, written for Denme's "Port-
folio," and Mr Griswold speaks of a transla-
tion of Wieland's " Oberon," which ho mado
while residing officially at Berlin, in 1708 It
would have been printed at the time, had not
Wieland informed a friend of Mr. Adams, who
exhibited to him the manuscript, of the Unglifth
version of his poom then just published by
Mr Sothoby, of the existence of winch Mr.
Adams had not been aware. The longest of
Mr. Adams' original poems in " Dormot Mao
Morroijh ; or, the CoiiqucHt of Ireland, an
Historical Talo of the Twelfth Century, in
Four Cantos," which appeared in 1832. It is
a story of various profligacy and brutality, in
which it is difficult to see any poetical ele-
ments, but Mr. Adams doomed the subject
suitable for an historical tale , and to give it
" an interest which might invite readers," it
appeared " advisable to present it in the garb
ot poetry." " Dermot Mao Morrogh " addod

From 1780 to 1806.]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

very little- to Mr. Adams's literary fame.
Reviewers of all parties condemned it as an
utter failure in poetry, philosophy, and wit
It is probable that the eminent position of the
author was as injurious to him with the
oritios, as it was advantageous to his book-
sellers with the public. A collection, of his
shorter eifu&ions appeared soon after his
death, under the title of " Poems of Religion
and Society," and the editor expresses an
opinion that many of them "aro informed
with wisdom and various learning," and that
some of the illustrious writer' a hymns " aro
among the finest dovotional lyrics in our
language." This praise is not altogether un-
deserved, but perhaps it may be diaooverod
that they are more remaikablo for tho quality
of piety than for that ot poetiy — Born 17(57,
Died 1848.

JOSEPH HOPKINSON.

Joseph Hopkinson, LL I) , son of Francis
Hopkinson, author of "The Battle of the
Kegs," &o , was educated for tho bar in the
office of his falhor He wrote versos with
fluency, but had little claim to be regarded as
a poet. His "Hail, Columbia1" is, howovoi,
ono of the very fe\y national songR of America,
and is likoly to bo looked for in all collections
of American poetry. At tho time of hib death,
which occurred on tho 1 511* of January, 18 113,
Lho author wan Promdont of tho PennHyl-
vama Academy of tho Fine Arln, ono of tho
Vaoo-Profiidonts of tho American Philosophi-
cal Society, an<l a Judge of tho District Court
of the United States.— Morn 1770, DM 1842

WILLIAM CLIFTON.

Tho pootry of Clifton has moro energy of
thought and diction, and in generally moro
correct and harmoniouH, than any which had
boon previously written in thin country.
Much of it IH satirical, and relates to persons
and events of tho period in which ho lived ,
and tho small volume of his writings publiHhod
after his death doubtless contamw some pioccn
which would have boon excluded from an
edition prepared by himself, for thin reason,
and because they wore unfiniHhod and not
originally intended to meet the eyo of tho
world.— Born 1722, J)wtl 1709.

WASHINGTON ALLSTON.

Of this artist and pool, Mr. Griswold says
that although ho " owed his chief oolebrity to
Ms paintings, which will preserve for his name
a place in, the list of tho greatest artists of all
the nations and ages, his literary works alono
would have given him a high rank among men

of genius A great painter, indeed, is of neces-
sity a poet, though ho may lack tho power to
express fittingly his conceptions in language*
Allston had in remarkable perfection all the
faculties required for either art, * The Sylphs
of the Seasons,' his longest poem, in which he
describes the scenery of spring, summer,
autumn, and winter, and the effects of each
season on the mind, show that he regarded
nature with a cunous eye, and had power to
exhibit her beauties with wonderful distinct-
ness and fidelity 'The Two Painters' is an
admirable satue, intended to ridicule attempts
to roach peif oction in ono excellency in the art
of painting, io the neglect of every other.
Tho * Paint King' IH a singularly wJLd, ima-
ginative story , and nearly all his minor poems
arc strikingly oiiginal and beautiful It was
in his paintings, however, that the power and
religious grandeur of his imagination wore
most stiongly developed." — Born 1779, Died
1843.

HENKy KOWE SCHOOLOEAFT.

Dr Sohoolcraft has written voluminously
upon tho North Amonoan Indians, and most
American writers aio indebted to hiH labours
logordmg thono tribow HIB principal work in
thiH connection IR '< Information respecting
tho Ilwtory, Condition, and ProHpocyta of the
Indian TnboH of tho United Statow,'1 mfive
<iuiirto volumoH, published by tho Government.

WILLIAM CULLEN JJRYANT.

When but little more than eighteen years of
ago ho had written his noble poem of " Thana-
topBis," which was published m the "North
American Jftovicw" for 1816. In. 1821 he
delivered before tho Phi Beta Kappa Society
of Haxvord College his longest poem, "The
Ages," in which, from a survey o£ the past
eras of the world, and oi the HUOOOHHIVO ad-
vances oi mankind in knowledge, virtue, and
happiness, ho endoavourn to juutify and confirm
tho hopes of the philanthropist for tlio futeo
destinies of man. It is in tho stons-a of
SponHorVTaonoQuoeno " "ToaWutoifowl,"
" Inscription for ail JBhitrouoo to a Wood," and,
several other pieces, wore likowiho written
about the Hitmo time, In 1832 a collection of
all the pooniH Mr. Bryant had then written
was publwhod an Now Jfwrk , it wan soon after
reprinted in. Boston, and a copy of it roocMng
Washington Irving, who was then in England,
he caused it to bo published ua London, whore
it has since passed through several edition**.
In 1842 ho published "Tho Fountain and
other PoomB;" in 1844 "Tho White-looted
Doer and other Poems ;" in 1846 an edition
of his complete Pootacal Works, illustrated
with engravings from pictures by ]joutzo ; and
in 185*5 another edition, containing hiti later

81

BIOOBAPHICAIi NOTICES.

PERIOD.

poems, in two volumes His " Letters of a
Traveller" appeared in 1852, and the last
result of his laborious mind is the translation
of the "Hiad " (ISfO).— Bom 1794.

FIT21-GREE1TE HALLBCB..

In 1822 and 1828 Mr Ealleok visited Great
[Britain and the continent of Europe. Among
the souvenirs of his travels are two poems,
"Burns," and " AJnwiok Castle," which, with
a few other pieces, he gave to the public in a
small volume in 1827. His fame was established
by these, and in New York, where his per-
sonal qualities are best known, and his poems,
frorn^ 'their local allusions, are read by every-
body, he has enjoyed a constant popularity, —
Born 1795.

GKEOBGE P. MORRIS.

General Moiris has written a number of
popular songs That one whioh represents
him here is widely known, but not everybody
remembers -who is the author For many
years he has been connected with Mr. Wilbs
in journalistic labours — Born 1801.

RALPH WALDO EMEBSON.

This American essayist, the son of a Uni-
tarian minister of Boston, XT. 3., was designed
for the same profession. The peculiarity of
his views, however, led him into other studies,
whioh broke his connection with the religious
body to which he belonged After publishing
several essays or orations, he, in 1840, started
a publication called the "Dial," devoted to
the discussion of prominent questions in
philosophy, history, and literature. It lived
for four years, during which period Mr. Emer-
son kept himself before the public by deliver-
ing orations upon popular subjects. In 1844
he published " Lectures on New England Be-
formers," and subsequently lectured on
Swedenborg, Napoleon, and other eminent
men. In 1846 appeared a volume of poems,
and in 1849 he visited England, where he de-
livered a series of lectures, and afterwards
published them, under the title of " Repre-
sentative Men." Soon after, he published
"English Traits," embodying some of his
observations on English manners, customs,
and characteristics. Besides these more special
labours, he contributed to various reviews and
other periodicals.

> Mr. Emerson's sympathy with nature is
evinced m everything he has written ; beauty,
in external objects, whether it be grandeur,
st^limity, splendour, or simple grao%, is not
with him an illustration merely , it is an in-
structing' presence, to be questioned and heard
a* one of the forma or manifestations of i

divinity* The old prayer of Ajax is translated
in his verse .

" Give me of tne true, —

"Whose ample leaves and tendrils, currd

Among the silver hills of heaven,

Draw everlasting dew,

Wine of wine,

Blood of the world,

Form of forms, and mould of statures,

That I, intoxicated,

And by the draught assimilated

May float at pleasure through all natures ;

The bird-language nghtiy spell,

And that which roses say so well."

'What to others who have repeated the
words has been an unmeaning fable, has to
hfrn been a truth . he has found

" Tongues m trees,books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing,"

and tius he says for himself, in a little poem
called

"THE APOLOGY.
" Think me not unkind and rude

That I walk alone in grove and glen v
I go to the god of the wood
To fetch his word to men.

" Tax not my sloth that I

Fold my arms beside the brook ;
Each cloud that floated in the aky
Writes a letter in my book.

" Chide me not, laborious band,

For the idle flowers I brought ;
Every aster in my hand
Goes home loaded with a thought.

<e There was never mystery

But 'tis figured in the flowers ;
Was never secret history
But birds tell it in tho bowers.

" One harvest from thy field

Homeward brought the oxen strong;
A second crop thy acres yield,
Which I gather in a song."
Mr. Emerson was born about 1803 —

Be&ton's Dicfanopy of Biography. \

CHARLES FENNTO HOFFMAN.

I havo endeavoured to dofino the sphere and
dignity of the song: but whatever may be
thought of it as an order of writing, I am
satisfied that Mr. Hoffman has oomo as near
to the highest standard or idea of excellence
whioh belongs to this species of composition,
as any American poet has done in his own
department, whatever that department may
be. Many of his productions havo received
whatever testimony of merit is afforded by
great and continued popular favour; and
ihough there are undoubtedly some sorts of
composition respecting which the applause or
silence of the multitude is right or wrong only
by accident, yet, as regards a song, popularity

From, 1780 to 1866.]

BIOCKBAPHIOAL NOTICES.

appears to me to bo the only test, and lasting
popularity to be an infallible teat of excellence.
— Born 1806.

HEKTBY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

The most successful of all American poets ;
liis name is as familiar in English homes as in
the Pilgrim States If his fame is a little
exaggerated, he is still entitled to a very re-
spectable position in the poetic roll. We can
only briefly refer to his works. " Outre Mor,
or a Pilgrimage beyond the Sea," tales and
sketches appeared about 1838; in 1839,
"Hyperion," in 1848, "Kavanagh," In
1845 " Tho Poets and Poetry of -Europe" was
published, winch is described by an admirer as
11 the mottt comprehensive, complete, and ac-
curate roview of the poetry of the continental
nations that has over appeared in any lan-
guage " The first collection of his own poems
was published in 1830, under iho title of
"Voices of the Night." His "Ballads and
other Poems" followed in 1841 ; "The Spanish
Student, a Play," in 1843,* "Poems on
Slavery," in 1844 5 "The Belfry of Bruges and
other Pooms," in 1845 5 " Evangehno, a Talo
of Acadio," in 1847; "The Seaside and the
Fireside," in 1840 , " The Golden Logond," in
1851 , and " Tho Song of Hiawatha," in 1855.
Many editions of his pooms have boon pub-
linhod both in England and America His
latest works have boon "Milos StandiBh"
and translations from JDanto.

From an American critic wo quoto the fol-
lowing : — " Of all our poets Longfollow beet
deserves the title of artist. Ho has studied
the principles of verbal melody, and rendered
himself master of iho mysterious aflinitiGs
which exist between sound and sense, word
and thought, fooling and expression. Bis tact
in tho use of language is probably the chief
cause of his success Thoro is an aptitude, a
gracefulness, and vivid beauty, in many of his
sfcanzafl, which at onoo impress tho memory
and win Iho oar and heart There is in tho
tono of his poetry little passion, but much
quiet earnestness. It is not so much the
power of the instrument, as tho skill, with
which it is managed, that excites our sym-
pathy. His acquaintance with foreign litera-
ture has boon of great advantage by xondonng
frim familiar with all the delicate capacities of
language, from tho grand symphonic roll of
Northern tongues, to tho ' soft, bastard Latin*
of tho South. His ideas and metaphors aro
often very striking and poetical , but there is
no affluence of imagery, or wonderful glow of
emotion, such as take us captive in Byron or
Shelley: tho claim of Longfellow consists
rather in tho wise and tasteful use of his
materials than in their richness or originality.
He has dono much for tho Art of Poetry in
this country by his example, and in this ro-
speot may claim the praise which all good

entice of English poetry have bestowed on
Gray and Collins. Tho spirit of Longfellow's
muso is altogether unexceptionable in a moral
point of view. He illustrates tho gentler
themes of song, and pleads for justice, hu-
manity, and particularly the beautiful, with a
poet's deep conviction of their eternal claims
upon tho instinctive recognition of the man."
Mr Longfellow was born in 1807.

N. P WILLIS.

Mr Willis is bettor known as a prose writer
than a poet. The one poem which represents
him hero is a fair specimen of his powers. —
Born ISO1?.

JOHN GBEENLEAF

When he was twenty, he began literary
work aa conductor of " The American Manu-
factures," a "protection" journal After-
wards he gavo himself to politics and agri-
culture, and wrote but little. In 1836,
howover, ho published tho poom of "Mogg
Mogono ** In this, as in tho ballad of " Cas-
sandra Southwiok," and in some of his prose
writings, ho has exhibited in a very striking
manner tho intolerant spirit of the Puritans
In 1838 Mr. Whittior published a volume of
" Ballads ; " " Lays of my Homo, and other
Pooma," in 1845, a full collection of his
"Pooms," in 1849; "Songs of Labour," in
1851 , and " Tho Chapol of tho Honmtfl, and
other Poomn," in 1852. HIM prow works,
besides " Legends of Now England," bofoie
mentioned, are " Tho Stranger in Lowell/' a
collection of proso essays, 1845; "Super-
naturalism in Now England," 1847; Leaves
from Margaret Smith's Journal," illustrating
tho ago of tho Puritans, 1849 j "Old Portraits
and Modern Sketches," 1850 , and " Literary
Recreations and Miscellanies," in 1854. Ho
is thus cnticisod by Mr. Griswold. — "Al-
though boldness and energy aro Whittior's
loading characteristics, his workH are not
without passages scarcely less diutinguishod
for tenderness and grace. Ho may reasonably
bo styled a national poet. His works breathe
affection for and f aitlx in our republican polity
and unshackled religion, but an affection and
a faith that do not blind him to our weakness
or wickedness, He is of that class of authors
whom wo most need in America to build up a
literature that shall elevate with itself tho
national fooling and character " — Horn 1808.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

Mr. Gnswold thus writes of tho author of
the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table: —
" Tho earlier poems of Dr. Holmes appeared
in 'The Collegian.' They were little lose

81*

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

[SEVENTH PBBIOD.—

distinguished for correct and melodious versifi-
cation than his more recent and moat elaborate
productions. They attracted attention by
their humour and ouginahty, and were widely
republisheJ in the periodicals. But a small
portion of them hare been printed under his
proper signature. In 1831 a small volume
appeared in Boston, entitled ' Illustrations of
the Athenssum Gallery o£ Paintings,' and
composed of metrical pieces, chiefly satirical,
written by Br Holmes and Epes Sargent. It
embraced many of our author's beat humorous
verses, afterwards printed among his acknow-
ledged works His c Poetry, a Metrical Essay/
was delivered before a literary society at
Cambridge. It is in the heroic measure, and
in its versification it is not surpassed by
any poem written in America. It relates to
the nature and offices of poetry, and is itself
a series of brilliant illustrations of the ideas
of which it is an expression. In 1843 Dr.
Holmes published ' Terpsichore,' a poem read
at the annual dinner of the Phi Beta Elappa
Society in that year , and in 1846, ' Urania, a
Rhymed Lesson,' pronounced before the Mer-
cantile Library Association. The last is a
collection of brilliant thoughts, with many
local allusions, in compact but flowing and
harmonious versification, and is the longest
poem Dr Holmes has published since the
appearance of his 'Metrical Essay' m 1835.
Br Holmes is a poet of wit and humour and
genial sentiment, with a style remarkable for
its punty, terseness, and point, and for an
exquisite firman and grace* His lyrics ring and
sparkle like cataracts of silver, and his serious
pieces — as successful in their way as those
mirthful frolics of his muse for which he is
best known — arrest the attention by touches
of the most genuine pathos and tenderness
All Ms poems illustrate a manly feeling, and
have in them a current of good sense, the
more charming because somewhat out of
fashion now in works of imagination and
fancy." English readers are best acquainted
with his " Autocrat " and " Professor " Hia
novels may be considered popular, and there
can be no doubt that " Elsie Venner " and
"The Guardian Angel" contain original and
characteristic portraits, drawn with subtlety
and delicacy As a physician and writer of
physiological works, he is much to be admired,
for he speaks plainly and seeks to rid the
world of many an absurd theory cherished
ignorantly and warmly His principal medical
writings are comprised in his "Boylston Prize
Essays," "Lectures on Popular Delusions in
Medicine," and "The Theory and Practice of
1809.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

The wayward life of this wonderful writer
we have no space to record. He was at
a school in England for four or five years,

travelled through Great Britain, and returned
to tlie States-tan 1822 Thon he went to Jeffer-
son University, CharlottesvJlo, Virginia, and,
in 1829, to West Point Two yoois later he
began his literary career, wrote magazine
articles and edited periodicals at Richmond and
Philadelphia. In 1841 appeared his "Tales
of the Grotesque and Arabesque "

Near the end of 1844 Mr Poe removed to
New Yoik, where he conducted for seveial
months a literary miscellany called "The
Broadway Journal " In 1845 ho published a
volume of "Tales," and a collection of his
'' Poems , " in 1846 wrote a series of literary
and personal sketches entitled " The Literati
of New York City," which commanded much
attention ; in 1848 gave to the public, first as
a lecture, and afterwards in print, " Eureka,
a Prose Poem , " and in the summer of 1849
delivered several lectures, in Richmond and
other cities, and on the 7th October, while on
his way to New York, died, suddenly, at
Baltimore, aged 38.

In poetry, as in prose, he was most success-
ful in the metaphysical treatment of tho
passions. His poems are constructed with
marvellous ingenuity, and finished with con-
summate art They illustrate a morbid
sensitiveness of feeling, a shadowy and gloomy
imagination, and a taste almost faultless in
the apprehension of that sort of beauty most
agreeable to his temper. His rank as a poet
is with the first class of his times. "Tho
Raven," "tTlalame," " Tho Bells," and several
of his other pieces, will be remembered as
among the finest monuments of tho capacities
of the English language — Lorn 1811, Died
1849.

HENRY THEODORE TUCKERMAN.

Mr. Tuokermon has spent a considerable
poition of his time in European travel, and in
1839 published "Isabel, or, Sicily, a Pilgrim-
age," which, la 184G, was ropxuitud m London.
Subsequently appeared, "Thoughts on the
Poets," "Artist Life," "Characteristics of
Literature," and some biographies and criti-
cisms A collection of his " Poems " appeared
in 1851, but it embraces only a small propor-
tion of those he had published in tho magazine*}
and newspaper*. In his works it has boon
noted he has occasionally done injustice to
his own fine powers by tho carelessness with
which he has adopted familiar idoas, images,
and forms of expression from othor writes. —
Born 1813.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

The author of the "Biglow Papers "was born
at Boston, educated at Harvard, and his first
appearance was in 1839, when ho printed
a class poem recited at Cambridge. It was a
composition in heroic verse, which, though it

From 1780 in 18G6 ]

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.

betrayed marks of haute, contained many
stroke? of vigorous satire, much sharp wit,
and occasional bursts of feeling- Two years
afterwards he published a volume of mis-
cellaneous poems, under the title of ' A Year's
Life " This bore no relationship to his first
production It illustrated entirely different
thoughts, feelings, and habits. In 1844 Mr
Lowell published a new volume evincing very
decided advancement in thought, and feeling,
and execution The longest of its contents,
"A Legend of Brittany," is without any of the
striking- faults of his piovious compositions,
and in imagination and artistic finish is the
best poem ho has yet printed In the same
volume appeared the author's " Prometheus,"
" Rhoocns," and somo of his most admired
shorter pieces He gave to the public a third
collection of his poems in 1 848 In this there
is no improvement of versification, no finer
fancy, or braver imagination, than in the pre-
ceding volume; but it illustrates a deeper
interest in affairs, and a waim partisanship
for the philanthropists and progressists of all
classes. Among his subjects are " The Pre-
sent Crisis," "Anti-Texas," "The Oanture of
Fugitive Slaves," " Hunger and Coici, ' " Tfto
Landlord," &c Ho gives hero the first ex-
amples of a peculiar humour, which ho has
since cultivated with snc^oas [n tho same
year Mr Lowell published "A "Fable for
Critics, or a Glance at n Few of our Literary
Progenies," a rhymed essay, critical and
Hatirical, upon tho prmoipal hvmcr wntors of
tho country. Afterwards came the " Jiiglow
Paporn," a collection of VOTROH in the Now
England dialect, with introduction anil notes
by a RuppoHititiouB, pedantic, but koon-wittod
and patriotic country parson. " Tho VIHIOQ
of Sir Lannfal, a Logout! of the Holy Grail,"
wan also issued about tho samo time — Born
1819.

THOMAS DUKN ENGLISH.

Dr. English publiHhod a collection of hin
"PoomH," m Now York, in 1855 "Sovoxal
of thorn are written," says his biographer,
" in a stylo of vigorous declamation, upon
subjects to which, Hucli a stylo is suitable
Tho fltimng lyric of " Tho GallowH-Goers " is
the best of hw productions, and there are fow
more effective examples of partisan verse. It
was much quoted during tho agitation of tho
death-punishment quosUon in several of the
States betwoon 1845 and 1850, Of a more
poetical chai actor aro various lovo songH,
written caroloHaly, but with froshnoss and
apparent oarnostnoss. Of ono of those,
entitled "Dora Loo," tho concluding vornos
display in a creditable manner Ins abilities for
description — Mot n I8Jf>

THOMAS BTTCSANTAtf BEAD.

Mr. Bead is a painter as well as a poot, and
Bottled at Florence m 3 853 His ooihoHt lito-
lary woik was a sorios of lyrics puhliRhod m
tho " Boston Connor" in 1843 and 1844 In
1847 he printed in Boston tho first collection
of his "Poems," in 1848, in Philadelphia,
"Lays and Ballads," in 1849, in the same
oifcy, " Tho Pilgrims of tho Groat Saint Ber-
nard," a prose romance, in the RUCCOSBIVO
numbers of a magazine , in 1853 an illustrated
edition of his " Poems," comprising, with somo
now pieces, all ho wished to preserve oi his
other volumes , and in 1855 tho longest of hie
works, " Tho Now Pastoral," in. tluity-sovon
books. His verso, though sometimes irrogu-
lar, is always musical Indeed, in the easy
flow of his stanzas and in tho melody of thoir
cadences, ho scorns to follow Bomo chime of
sound within his brain. Thin is tho pervading
expression of his poems, many of which might
more probably bo called songs. Though he
has wntton in tho dramatic form with freedom
and unaffected fooling, and oxtromoly woll in
didactic and descriptive blank vcrnc, his
pvcmnco is evidently tho lyrical. Liko most
of our pootH, in his oarlior poems Mr. Bead
wrote fiom the inspiration of foreign song and
frfcory, and ho Rooms but laloly to havo porooivod
that tho most appropriate field fox tho OTer-
OIRO oi his powers is to bo iound at homo. —
Morn 1822.

CHARLES G LELAND.

Mr. Lolfind is boat known to KngliHU roadorn
aB tho author of "MoiHtor Karl's Skotoh
Book," and tho translator of Hoiiu-ioh HCUIG'H
poems. An American critic says of him :
" His poomfl aro for tho most part in a peculiar
voin of natmcol humour. He has an invincible
dudiko of tho sickly extravaganoon of Rmall
RontiniontaLflts, and tho absurd osHnmptionM
of small philanthropiHtfl. Ho IR not altogether
inorodulouR of progroRR, but doott not look for
it^from that boastiul mdopondonco, oharaotor-
issing tho now generation, which rojootfl tho
authority and derides tho wifldom of tho past.
Ho IB of that boalthy intolloctual oonHtitntion
which promises in every dopartmont tho boot
fruits to his industry." Ho was born in 1824.

BAYAJtD TATLOB.

Mr. Taylor has travollod vory largely, and
wntton excellent accountn of his wandormgn.
lie has pnbliHhod "Tho Atnoiican TjOgond,"
a poem delivered before tho Plu Beta Kappa
Society of Harvard ITuivcrmty, in 1850 ; and
"Poems of tho Orient," which appeared in
1854, and embrace only such piocosasworo
wntton wlulo ho was on IIIH pasaago roimd tbo

BIOORAPHICAL NOTICES.

PHBIOD,

world, and present the more poetical phases
of that portion of his experiences. — Bora
1825.

B. H. STODDAKD.

He originally was placed in an icon foundry,
and on 1847 some verses m the " Union Maga-
zine " gave evidence that his mind as well as
Ha body was toiling. The.first was, however,

the stronger of the two, for ra 1848, after
publishing a small volume entitled " Foot-
prints," his health gave way, and he surren-
dered his mechanical occupation He has
furnished a considerable number of pieces to
" Putnam's Monthly " and " Graham's Maga-
zine," and to the last, two, " The Burden of
Unrest " and " The Squire of Low Degree," in
the composition of which he has exercised with
suitable care his best abilities.

SEVENTH PERIOD— Gonti<wea.

1844— THE DYING INDIAN.

" On yonder lake I spread the Bail no more '
Vigour, and youth, and active days aro past —
Relentless demons urge mo to that shore
On whoso black forests all Iho dead are

cast. —

Te solemn tram, prepare tho femoral song,
For I must go to shades below,
"Where all is strange and all is now ;
Companion to the airy throng ! —

What solitary streams,

In dull and dreary dreams,
All melancholy, must I rove along '

To what strange lands must Ohequi take his

way'

Groves of tho dead departed mortals tiaco
No door along those gloomy forests stray,
No huntsmen there take ploasuio in tho chase,
But all aro empty, unRubtitantial shadow,
That ramble through those vimonary glados ;
No spongy fruits from verdant trees depend,
But siokly oiohardn thoio
Bo fruits as siokly boar,
And apples a consumptive visage show,
And wither' d hangs tho whortleberry blue.

Ah mo ! what mischiefs on the dead attend !
"Wandering a stranger to tho shores below,
Where shall I brook or real fountain find 1
Lazy and Hod deluding waters flow —
Such IH tho picture in my boding uund !

Fine tales, indeed, they toll

Of shades and purling rills,

Whoro our dead fathers dwell

Beyond tho western hills ;
But when did ghost return his state to show ,
Or who can promise hoJf tho tale is true '

I too must bo a fleeting ghost ' — no more —
None, none but shadows to those mansions go ;
I leave my woods, I leave tho Huron shore,

For emptier groves below '

Ye charming solitudes,

Te tall ascending woods
Te glossy lakes and purling streams,

Whose aspect still was swoet,

Whether the sun did greet,
Or the pale moon embraced you with hox
beams —

Adieu to all '

To all, that charm' d me where I stray' d,
The winding stream, the dork sequestered

shade,

Adieu all triumphs here I
Adiou the mountain's lofty swell,
Adieu, thou little verdant hill,
And seas, and stars, and skies—farewell
For somo remoter sphere I

Perplex'd with doubts, and tortured with de-
spair,

Why so dejected at this hopeless sleep ?
Nature at lost these ruins may repair,
When fate's long dream is o'er, and she forget*

to woop ;

Somo real woild once more may be assign' d,
Some now-born mansion for the immortal

Farewell, sweet lako, farowell, surrounding

woods
To othor groves, through midnight glooms I

stray,
Beyond tho mountains and boyond tho floods,

Boyond tho Huron bay '
Prepare tho hollow tomb, and place me low,
My trusty bow and arrows by my side,
The cheerful bottlo and tho vonison. store,
For long tho journey is that I must go,
Without a partner, and without a guide/'

He spoko, and bid the attending- mourners

woep,
Then dosed his oyos, and flunk to ondleas

sloop!

JFrmoau.—!}®™ 1*752, fried 1832.

1845— OIIABAOTEE. OF MoFINGAL.

When Yankees, Bkxll'd in martial rule,
First put the Untinh troops to school ;
Instructed them xn warlike trade,
And now manoeuvres of parade ;
Tho true wor-donoo of Tankoo-roolfl,
And mwiuoJl w&rcixo of hooln ,
Made them give up, like saints complete,
Tho arm of nouh, and trust tho foot,
And work, like Christians undiHRombling>
Salvation, out by fear and trembling ;
Taught Percy fashionable races,
And modem modes of Chovy-Ohacos %

TIMOTHY DWIGHT.]

ENGLAND AND AMERICA.

[SEVENTH PEBIOD. —

From Boston, in his beat array,
Great Squire MoFingal took his way,
And, graced with ensigns of renown,
Steer1 d homeward to his native town
Tfr H high descent our heralds trace
To Ossian's famed Pingalian race ,
For thong-h their name some part may lack,
Old Fmgal spelt it with a Mac ,
Which great McPherson, with submission,
We hope will add to the next edition.

His fathers flourish' d in the Highlands
Of Scotia's fog-benighted island ,
Whence gam'd our squire two gifts by right,
Rebellion and the second-sight
Of these the first, in ancient days,
Had gain'd the noblest palms of praise ;
'Gainst kings stood forth, and many a crown' &

head

With terror of its might oonf otmded ;
Till rose a king with potent charm
His foes by goodness to disarm ,
Whom every Scot and Jacobite
Straight fell in love with — at first sight ;
Whose gracious speech, with aid of pensions,
Hush'd down all muiznurs of dissensions,
And with the sound of potent metal,
Brought all their bluat'nug swarms to settle ,
Who ram'd his ministerial mannas,
Till loud sedition sung hosannas 5
The good lord-bishops and the kirk
United in the public work ,
Bebelhon from the northern regions,
With Bute and Mansfield swore allegiance,
And all combined to raze, as nuisance,
Of church and state, the institutions,
Pull down the empire, on whose rains
They meant to edify their new ones,
Enslave the American wildernesses,
And tear the provinces in pieces
For these our squire, among the vakant'st,
Employ' d his tune, and tools, and talents ,
And in their cause, with manly zeal,
Used his first virtue — to rebel j
And found this new rebellion pleasing
As his old king-destroying tieason.

Nor less avail'd his optic sleight,
And Scottish gift of second-sight.
No ancient sibyl, famed in rhyme,
Saw deeper in the womb of time ;
No block in old Dodona's grove
Could ever more oracular prove
Nor only saw he all that was,
But much that never came to pass ;
Whereby all prophets for outwent he,
Though former days produced a plenty .
For any man with half an eye
What stands before him may espy ,
But optics sharp ifc needs, I ween,
To see what is not to be seen
As in the days of ancient fame,
Prophets and poets wore the samo,
And all the praise that poets gain
Is but for what they invent and feign :
So gain'd our squire his fame by seeing
Such things as never would have being ;

Whence he for oracles was grown
The very tripod of his town.
Gazettes no sooner rose a lie in,
But straight he fell to prophesying ;
Made dreadful slaughter in his course,
Overthrew provincials, foot and horse ;
Brought armies o'er by sudden pressings
Of Hanoveiians, Swiss, and Hessians ,
Feasted with blood his Scottish clan,
And hang'd all rebels to a man,
Divided their estates and pelf,
And took a goodly shore himself.
All this, with spirit energetic,
He did by second-sight prophetic

Thus stored with intellectual noh.es,
Skill* d was our squire in making speeches,
Where strength of brains united centres
With strength of lungs surpassing Stontor's.
But as some muskets so contrive it,
As oft feo miss the mark they drive at,
And, though well aim'd at duck or plover,
Bear wide and kick their owners over •
So fared our squire, whose reas'zung toil
Would often on himself recoil,
And so much injured more his side,
The stronger arguments ho applied ;
As old war-elephants, dismay'd,
Trod down the troops they came io aid,
And hurt their own side more in battle
Than less and ordinary cattle
Yet at town meetings ev'ry chief
Pinn'd faith on great MoFmgal's sleovo
And, as he motion'd, all by rote,
Raised sympathetic hands to vote.

Jo/in Trwnbull — Born 1750, Died 1&3I.

1846— ENGLAND AND AMERICA

Soon fleets the sunbnghi form, by man

adored f —

Soon fell the hoad of gold to Tune a proy,
The arms, tho trunk, his cankering tooth

dovour'd,

And whirlwinds blew tho iron dust away.
Whore dwelt imperial Timur, far astray
Some lonely musing pilgrim now inquiroH ;
And, rock'd by storms and hastening to

decay,

Mohammed's mosque foresees its final firoa,
And Dome's more lordly temple day by day

expires.

As o'er proud Asian realmH tho traveller

winds,

His manly spirit, huflh'd by terror, falls
When some forgotten town1 nlostsito ho finds
Where ruin wild his pondering oye appals,
Where silonoo swims along tho moulder* <1

walls,

And broods upon deported Grondour'H tomb,
Through tho lono, hollow aisloB, nod Echo calla
At each slow step ; deep sighs tho breathing

gloom,

And weeping fields around bewail their cm-
press' d doom.

I"

jFVowi 1780 to 1806 ]

"WESTERN EMIGBATION.

[DA.VID HTJMPmKBYS

Where o'er a hundred realms the throne

uprose
Tho screech-owl nests, the panther builds

Ins home ,

Sloop the dull newts, the lazy adders doze
Whero pomp and luxury danced the golden

room ;

Low lies in dust the sky-resembled dome,
Tall grass around the broken column waves,
And brambles cLuxb and lonely thistles

bloom ;
The moulder' d arch, tho weody streamlet

lares,
And low resound, beneath, unnumber'd sunken

graves.

In thee, O Albion ' queen of nations, livo
Whatever splendours earth's wide loalms

havo known ;

In theo proud Poisia soes her pomp revive,
And Gieooo her arts, and Borne Lor lordly

throne ;

By every wind thy Tyrian fleets aro blown ;
Supremo, on Fame's dread roll, thy heroes

stand.

All ocean's realms thy naval sceptre own ;

Of bards, of sages, how august thy band '

And one nch Edoii blooms around thy garden' d

land.

But, 0 how vast thy orimos ' Through Hea-
ven* H groat year,

When few contuiial suns havo tiacod their
way,

When Southern Europe, won by fouds
severe,

Weak, doting, fallen, has bowM to Busman
away,

And flofcting Glory, boam'd her farewell ray,

To wastes, porohanoo, thy brilliant fields
shall turn ;

In dust thy temples, towers, and towns
decay ,

Tho forest liowl whoro London turrets burn,
And all thy garlands deck thy sad funereal turn.

Some land, scarce glimmering in tho light of

fame,

Sceptred with arts and arms (if I divine),
Some unknown wild, some snore without a

name,

In all thy pomp shall then majestic shine
As silver-hooded Time's slow years decline,
Not ruins only moot tho inquiring oyo ;
"Whore round yon mouldering oak vain

brambles twine,

The filial stem, already towering high,
Ere long shall stretch his arms, and nod in

yonder sky*

TVhoro lato resounded the wild woodland

roar,
Bkw heaves tho palace, now the temple

smiles ,
Where frown'd the rude rook and the desert

shore.

Now Pleasure sports, and Business want be-
guiles,

And Commerce wings her flight to thousand
isles;

Culture walks forth, gay laugn the loaded
fields,

And jocundLabour plays his harmless wiles ;

Glad Science brightens, Art her mansion

builds,

And Peace uplifts her wand, and Heaven his
blessing yields

Twiotlvy Dwiglvb — Born 1752, Died 1817.

1847-— WESTERN EMIGRATION.

With all that's ours, together let us rise,
Seek brighter plains, and more indulgent

skies;

Whore fair Ohio rolls his amber tide,
And nature blossoms in her virgin pride ,
Where all that Beauty's hand octn form to

please
Shall crown the toils of war with rural ease.

Tho shady covorts and tho sunny Irilla,
Tho gentle lapse of evor-murmunng nils,
The Hoft roposo amid tho noontide bowers,
Tho evening walk among tho blunhing flowers,
The fragrant groves, that yield a Bwcofc per-
fume,

And vernal glories in perpetual bloom
Awuat you there , and heaven thall WCBH tho

toil
Your own tho produce, and your own tho Hoil*

There, fioo fiom oavy, cankering caro and

strife,

Mow tho calm pleasures of domestic lifo ;
There mutual friendship soothes each placid

breast

Blest in themselves, and in each other blest.
From house to honBO tho social glee extends,
For friends in war in peace aro doubly friends.

There cities rise, and spiry towns increase,
With gilded domes and. every art of poaco.
Their Cultivation shall extend his power,
Rear the green blade, and nurno tho tender

flower ,

Hake the fair villa in full splendour smile,
And robe with verdure all the genial soil.
There rfiall rich Commerce court the favouring

gales, ,

And wondering wilds admire tho paflHiiiff sails,
Whoro the bold ships tho stormy Huron brave,
Whore wild Ontario rolls Hie whitening wave,
Where fnir Ohio hw pure current pours,
And MisflifiHippi lavoH tho extended shores.
And thou Supreme ! whoso hand sustains this

ball,

Before whoso nod tho nations rise and fall,
Propitious Rmilo, and shod dmnor oharmw
On this bleflt land, tho quoon of arts and arms ,
Make the groat empire rise on wiedoxn'H plan,
Tho seat of bliRs, and last retreat of num.
Dwid Humphreys.— Born 1753, Diet 1818.

JOJBI. BABI.OW.]

BUBNING OF NEW ENGLAND TILLAGES. [SEVENTH

1848.— BTJJRNING OF NEW ENGLAND
TILLAGES.

FBOM THE " COLUMBIAN."

Through solid curls of smoke, the bursting

fires

Climb in tall pyramids above the spires,
Concentring all the •winds; whose forces,

driven

With equal rage from every point of heaven,
"Whirl mto conflict, round the soanthng pour
The twisting flames, and through the rafters

roar;

Suck up the cinders, send them sailing far,
To warn the nations of the raging war ;
Bend high the blazing vortex, swell' d and

ourl'd,

Careering, brightening o'er the lustred world.
Seas catch the splendour, kindling skies re-
sound,
And falling structures shake the smouldering

ground.

Crowds of wild fugitives, with frantic tread,
ITit through the flames that pierce the mid-
night shade,

Back on the burning1 domes revert their eyes,
Where some lost friend, some perish' d infant

lies.
Their maim'd, their siok, their age-enfeebled

sires

Have sunk sad victims to the sateless fires ;
They greet with one last look then* tottering

walls,

See the blaze thicken, as the rain falls,
Then o'er the country train their dumb despair,
And far behind them leave the dancing glare ;
Their own orosh'd roofs still lend a trembling

light,
Point their long shadows and direct their

flight
Till, wandering wide, they seek some cottage

door,

Ask the vile pittance dne the vagrant poor ,
Or, faint and faltering on the devious road,
They sink at last, and yield their mortal load.

Joel Baarlow. — Bora 1755, Died 1812.

1849-— CEIMES AND PUNISHMENTS.

Of crimes, empoison'd source of human

woes,
Whence the black flood of shame and sorrow

flows,

How best to check tho venom's deadly force,
To stem its torrent, or direct its course,
To scan the merits of vindictive codes,
Nor pass the faults humanity explodes,
I sing — what theme moro worthy to engage
The poet's song, the wisdom of the sage ?
Ah ' were I equal to the great design,
Were thy bold genius, blest Beocana ' miuo,
Then should my work, ennobled as my aim,
Like thine, receive the meed of deathless

fame.

0 Jay ! deserving of a purer age,

Pnde of thy country, statesman, patriot,

Beneath whose guardian care our laws as-
sume

A milder form, and lose their Gothic gloom,
Bead with indulgent eyes, nor yet refuse
This humble tribute of an artless muse.

Great is the question which the loarn'd

contest,
What grade, what mode of punishment is

best,

In two famed sects the disputants decide,
These ranged on Terror's, those on Season's

side,

Ancient as empire Terror's temple stood,
Capt with black clouds, and founded deep in

blood j
Grim despots here their trembling honours

paid,

And guilty offerings to their idol made :
The monarch led — a servile crowd ensued,
Their robes distain'd in gore, in gore imbrued ;
O'er mangled limbs they held infernal feast,
Moloch the god and Diaoo's self tho priest
Mild Reason's fane, in later ages rear'd,
With sunbeams crown' d, in Attic grace ap-

pear'dj

In just proportion finish'd ovory part,
With the fine touches of onhghton'd art
A thinking few, selected from the crowd,
At the fair shiine with filial rov'ronoo bow'd ;
The sage of Milan led the virtuous choir,
To them sublime ho strung tho tonof nl lyro :
Of laws, of ciimos, and pumshmontH ho sung,
And on his glowing lips pciBuanion liuiig
Prom Reason's source each inference junt he

drew,
While truths fresh polish' d struck the mind

as now

Pull in the front, in vestal robofl array'd,
The holy form ot Justice stood (Iwplay'd •
Pirm was her oyo, not vengeful, though BOVOTO,
And e'er she frown'd sho chock'd tho Htarting

tear. *"

A sistor form, of moro benignant face,
Celestial Mercy, hold tho second place ,
Her hands outspread, in suppliant guiwo sho

stood,

And oft with eloquence resistless sued ;
But where 'twas impious e'en to doprooato,
She sigh'd assent, and wept the wretch's fato.

In savago times, fair Freedom yet unknown,
The despot, clod m vengeance, filTd the throne;
His gloomy caprice scrawl'd tho ambiguous

code,

And dyod each page in characters of blood,
Tho laws transgress'd, the prinoo in judg-

And Rage decided on tho culprit's fato .
Nor stopp'd he hero, but, skill' d in murderous

art,
The sceptred brute usurp'd the nangmaa'el

part;

Prom 1780 to 18G6.]

THE WANTS OF MAJST.

[Jon* QTTXXTOT ADAMS.

With liia own hands tho tiombhng victim

hew'd,

And basely wallow' din a subject's blood.
Pleased with tho fatal game, tho royal mind
On modes of death and cruelty refined :
Honco tho dank caverns of the choorloss mine,
Whore, shut from hght, the famish'd wretches

pmo;

Tho face divine, in seams unsightly sear'd,
The eyeballs gouged, the wheel with goro be-

smear* d,

The Russian knont, the suffocating flame,
And forms of torture wanting yet a name.
Nor was this rage to savage tunes confined ;
It reach' d to later years and courts refined.
Blush, polish' d France, nor let the muso

relate

The tragic story of your Damien's fate ;
The bed of stool, whore long the assassin lay,
In the dark vault, sooludod from tho day
Tho quivering nosh which burning pincers

tore,

The pitch, pour'd flaming in tho reoont sore j
His oarcaso, warm with life, convulsed with

pain,
By steeds dismembered, dragg'd along tho

plain.

As daring quacks, tmsfolTd in medic lore,
Proscribed tho nostrums quacks prescribed

bofoio ,

Careless of at?o or HOX, whato'oi befall,
Tho same dull recipe must servo for all
Our senates thtw, with rovoronco bo it said,
Have boon too long by blind tradition lod .
Our civil code, from feudal dross refined,
Proclaims tho liberal and enlighten1 d mind;
But till of lato tho penal statutes stood
In Gothic rudeness, smear' d with civic blood ;
What base memorials of a barbarous age
What monlcwh whimsies sullied every page '
Tho clergy's benefit, a trifling brand,
Jost of the law, a holy sleight of hand-
Beneath thin saintly cloak what crime*) ab-

horr'd,

Of sable dyo, woro shelter1 d from tho lord j
While tho poor starveling, who a oont pur-

loin'd,

No reading saved, no juggling trick ossom'd ;
His was tho scrnlo lash, a foul disgrace,
Through tune transmitted to hiH hapless race ;
Tho fort and dare, the traitor's motley doom,
Might blot tho story of imperial Borne,
What late disgraced our laws yot stand to

fltam
The splendid annals of a George's reign.

Say, legislators, for what end designed
This waste of lives, this havoc of mankind P
Say, by what right (ono case exempt alone)
Bo yo prescribe, that blood can crimes atone ff>
If, when our fortunes frown, and dangers

To act tho Roman's part bo to transgress ,
For man the uso of life alone commands ,
Tho fee residing in. tho grantor's hands*

Could man, what timo tho Booial pact ho

Code to tho state a right he nevor hold P

For all the powois which in tho stato reside,

Besult from compact, actual or imphod

Too well tho savago policy wo trace \

To times remote. Humanity's disgraco j

E'en while I ask, the trite response rooms, 1

Example warns, seventy dotors.

No milder moans can koop tho vile in awo,

And state necessity compels tho law.

But lot Experience speak, sho claims our

trust;

The data false, tho inference is unjust.
Ills at a distance, men but slightly f car ;
Delusive Fancy never thinks thorn near •
With stronger forco than fear temptations

draw,

And oumung thinks to parry with tho law
"My brother swung, poor novice in his art,
Ho blindly stumbled on a hangman's oart ;
But wiser I, assuming every shapo,
As Proteus erst, am certain to escape."
The knave, thus jeering, on his skill reliow,
For nover villain doom'd himself unwiso.

St. John Honeyiuood.— Bom 1765, DM 1798

1850.— THE WANTS OF MAN.

" Man wants but httlo horo bolow,

Nor wanlw that httlo long "
'Tis not with mo exactly BO,

But 'tin KG in tho song,
My wants aio iminy, aiul if told,

Would inuHtor rnuiiy a Booro ;
And woro ottoh wish a mint of gold,

I still uhould long for more.

What first I want is daily broad,

And canvas-backs and wino ,
And all tho realms of nature Hpread

Before mo whon I dino ;
With four choico cooks from Franco, boside,

To dross my dinner well ,
Four courses ucarcoly can provide

My appetite to quell.

What next I want, at heavy cost,

Is ologant attiro *
Block Hablo fur« for winter* R frost,

And silkn for pummor*s fire ;
And Cashmere shawls, and JBrussolrt laoa

My bosom's front to dock,
And diamond rings my hands to grace,

And rubies for my nook

And tnon I want a mansion fair,

A dwelling-house, in stylo,
Four stories high, for wholesome air —

A mawBivo marble pile ;
With halln for banquetings and balls,

All furnish' d rich and fine ,
With high-blood studs in fifty Htalla,

And collara for my wino.

JOHN QUINCY ADAMS ]

THE WANTS OF MAN.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

I want a garden and a park, *

My dwelling to surround —
A thousand acres (bless the mark r)

'With walls enoompaes'd round —
Whore flocks may range and herds may low,

And kids and lambkins play,
And flowers and fruits commingled grow,

All Eden to display.

I want, when Slammer's foliage falls,

And autumn strips the trees,
A house within the city's walls,

For comfort and for ease ,
But here as space is somewhat scant,

And acres somewhat rare,
My house in town I only want

To occupy — a square.

I want a steward, butter, cooks ;

A coachman, footman, grooms ;
A library of well-bound books,

And picture-garnish' d rooms ;
Corregio's Magdalen, and Night,

The Malron of the Chair ,
Guide's fleet coursers, in their flight*

And Claudes at least a pair.

I want a cabinet profuse

Of medals, coins, and gems ,
A pnntdng-press for private use,

Of fifty thousand ems ;
And plants, and minerals, and shells ;

Worms, insects, fishes, birds ;
And every beast on earth, that dwells

In solitude or herds

I want a board of burnish' d plate,

Of silver and of gold ,
Tureens, of twenty pounda in weight,

And sculpture's nchost mould ,
Plateaus, with chandeliers and lamps,

Plates, dishes — all the same ;
And porcelain vases, with the stamps

Of Sevres and Angoul6mo.

And maples of fair glossy stain,

Must form my chamber doors,
And carpets of the Wilton grain

Must cover all my floors ,
My walls with tapestry bedeck'd,

Must never be outdone ;
And damask curtains must protect

Their colours from the sun.

And mirrors of the largest pano

From Venice must be brought ;
And sandal-wood and bamboo-cane>

For chairs and tables bought ;
On all the mantel-pieces, clocks

Of thrice-gilt bronze must stand.
And screens of ebony and box

Invite the stranger's hand.

I want (who does not want P) a wifo,
Affectionate and fair,

To solace all tho woes of life,

And all its joys to share ,
Of temper sweet, of yielding wiD,

Of firm yet placid mind,
With all my faults to lovo mo still,

With sentiment refined

And as time's car incessant runs,
And fortune fills my store,

I want of daughters and of &oas
From eight to half a score

I want (alas ' can mortal doro
Such bliss on earth to crave ?)

That all tho girls bo chaste and fair—-
The boys all wise and brave.

And when my bosom's darling sings,

With melody divine,
A pedal harp of many strings

Must with her voice combine.
Piano, exquisitely wrought,

Must open stand, apart,
That all my daughters may be taught

To win tho stranger's heart

My wife and daughters will dosiio

Eefreshmont from perfumes,
Cosmetics for the skin requuo,

And artificial blooms.
The civet fragrance shall diHpenso,

And treasured sweets return ,
Cologne revive tho flagging tsonHo,

And smoking amber bum
•

And when at night my weary hood

Begins to droop and dose,
A chamber south, to hold my bod,

For nature's sofo repose ,
With blankets, counterpanes, and sheet,

Mattress, and sack of down,
And comfortables for my foot,

And pillows for my crown

I want a warm and faithful friend,

To cheer the adverse hour,
Who no'or to flatter will descend,

Nor bond the knoo to power ,
A fnend to chide mo when I'm wrong-,

My inmost soul to ROC ;
And tliat my fnondnhip prove OR strong

For him, as his for mo.

I waut a kind and tender heart,

For others' wontH to feel ;
A soul secure from fortune's dart,

And bosom arm'd with stool j
To bear Divine chastisement's rod,

And, mingling in my plan,
Submission to tho will of God,

With chanty to man

. want a keen, observing eye,

An ever-listening oar,
The truth through all disprmso to spy,

And wisdom's voice to hoar ;

From 1780 to 1866.]

TO WILLIAM GIFFOKD, ESQ.

[WILLIAM CLIFTON.

A tongue, to speak at virtue's need,

In heaven's sublunest steam ,
And lips, the cause of man to plead,

And never plead in vain.

I want uninterrupted health,

Throughout my long career,
A1"^ streams of never-failing wealth,

To scatter far and near —
The destitute to clothe and feed,

Free bounty to bestow,
Supply the helpless orphan's need,

And soothe the widow's woe.

I want the genius to conceive,

The talents to unfold,
Designs, the vicious to retrieve,

The viituous to uphold ,
Inventive power, combining skill,

A persevering- soul,
Of human hearts to mould the will,

And reach from polo to pole.

I want the seals of power and place,

The ensigns of command,
Charged by tho people's unbought grace,

To rulo my native land ,
Nor orown, nor sceptre would I ask,

But from my country's will,
By day, by night, to ply tho task

Her cup of bliss to nil

I want tho voice of honest praise

To follow mo behind,
And to bo thought, in luturo days,

Tho friend of human kind ,
' That aftor-agew, aw thoy nso,

Exulting may proclaim,
In choral union to tho skies,

Their blessings on my name.

These are tho wants of mortal man ,

I cannot need them long,
For life itself is but a span,

And earthly bliss a song.
My last groat want, absorbing all,

Ifl, when beneath tho sod,
And summoned to my final call —

Tho moroy of my God

And oh ! while oircloa in my veins

Of life the purple stream,
And yet a fragment small remains

Of nature's transient dream,
My soul, in humble hopo unsoarod,

Forgot not thou to pray,
That thus THY WANT may bo prepared

To meet the Judgment-Bay.

J. Q Adorns.— JBom 1767, Died, 1848.

1851.— HAJL, COLUMBIA.

Hail, Columbia ' happy land '
Hail, ye heroes, heaven-born band '
"Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
"Wlxo fought and bled in Freedom's cause,

And when the storm of war was gone,
Enjoy* d tho peace your valour won !
Let independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost ;
Ever grateful for tho prize,
Let its altar reach the ekies.
Firm— -united— let us be,
[Rallying round our liberty ,
As a band of brothers join/d,
Peace and safety we shall find.

Immortal patriots ' rise once more ,
Defend your lights, defend your shore ;
Lot no rude foe, with impious hand,
Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Invade the shrine where sacred lies
Of toil and blood the well-earn' d prize.
While offering peace sincere and just,
In Heaven we place a mauly trust,
That truth and justice will prevail,
And every scheme of bondage fail.
Firm— united, Ac.

Sound, sound tho trump of Fame !

Let Washington's groat name
Bing through tho world with loud applause,
Ring- through tho world with loud applause :

Let every clime to Freedom dear

Listen with a joyful ear.
With equal skill and godlike power,
He governs in tho fearful hour
Of horrid war , or guides with ease,
Tho happioi tunes of honest peace.
Firm — united, <fcc.

Behold tho chief who now commands
Once more to servo his country blonds —
Tho rook on which tho Htorin will boat,
Tho rook on wliich tho storm will bout :
But, arm'd in virtue firm and true,
His hopes are fix'd on heaven and you.
Whon Hope was sinking in dismay,
And glooms obscured Columbia's dky,
His steady mind, from changes froo,
Besolvod on death or liberty.
Firm— united, &o.

Joseph IfopJfftowon. — Born 1770, Died 1842.

1852.— TO WILLIAM GIFFOBD, ESQ.

In those oold shades, beneath those shifting

skies,

Whore Fancy sickens, and whore Oonius dies ;
Whore few and fooblo arc tho muwo'a strains,
And no fine frenzy riots in tho veins,
There still oro found a f ow to whom belong
Tho fire of virtuo and tho HOU! of song ;
Whoso kindling ardour still oan wake tho

strings*
Whon looming triumphs, and whon Gilford

sings.

To thoo tho lowliest bard his tribute paya,
His httlo wild-flowor to thy wroath convoys;
Pleased, if permitted round thy namo to bloom,
To boast ono effort rescued from the tomb*

WILLIAM CLIFTON.]

TO WTLLTAM GUTOBD, ESQ.

[SEVENTH PERIOD.—

While this delirious age enchanted seems
With heotio Fancy's desultory dreams ,
While wearing fast away is every trace
Of Grecian vigour and of Boman grace,
With fond delight, we yet one bard behold,
As Horace polish' d and as Perseus bold,
Reclaim the art, assert the muse divine,
And drive obtrusive dulness from the sknne.
Since that great day which sawthe Tablet rose
A thinking blook, and whisper to the eyes,
No time has been that touoh'd the muse so

near,

No Age when Learning had so much to fear,
As now, when love-lorn ladies light verse

frame,
And every rebus-weaver talks of Fame.

When Truth in classic majesty appear' d,
And Greece, on high, the dome of science

rear'd,

Patience and perseverance, care and pain
Alone the steep, the rough ascent could gain
None but the great the sun-clad summrl

found,
The weak were baffled, and the strong were

crown'd

The tardy transcript's high-wrought page con-
fined

To one pursuit the undivided mind
No venal critic fatten' d on the trade ;
Books for delight, and not for sale were made ,
Then shone, superior, in the realms of thought,
The chief who govern'd, and the sage who

taught •
The drama then with deathless bays was

wreath' d,
The statue quioken'd, and the canvas

breathed.

The poet, then, with unresisted art,
Sway*d every impulse of the captive heart.
Touoh'd with a beam of Heaven's creative

mind,

His spirit kindled, and his taste refined
Incessant toil infonn'd his rising youth ,
Thought grew to thought, and truth attracted

truth,

Till, all complete, his perfect soul display' d
Some bloom of genius which could never fade.
So the sage oak, to Nature's mandate true,
Advanced but slow, and strengthen'd as it

grew'

But when, at length (fall many a season o'er),
Its virile head, in pride, aloft it bore ;
When steadfast were its roots, and sound its

heart,

It bade defiance to the insect s art,
And, storm and tune resisting, still remains
The never-dying glory of the plains

Then, if some thoughtless Bavius dared

appear,

Short was his date, and limited his sphere ;
He could but please the changeling mob a day,
Then, like his noxious labours, pass away •
So, near a forest tall, some worthless flower
Enjoys the triumph of its gaudy hour,

Scatters its little poison through tho skies,
Then droops its empty, hated head, and dies.

Still, as from famed Hysstis' classic shore,
To MJncius' banks, tho muse her laurel boie,
The sacred plant to hands divino was given,
And deathless Maro nursed the boon of

Heaven.

Exalted bard ' to hear thy gentler voice,
The valleys listen, and their swains rejoice ;
But when, on some wild mountain's awful

form,

We hear thy spirit chanting to the storm,
Of batthng chiefs, and armies laid in gore,
We rage, we sigh, wo wonder, and adore.
Thus Borne with Greece in rival splendour

shone,

But claim' d immortal satire for her own ;
While Horace pierced, full oft, tho wanton

breast

With sportive censure, and resistless jost;
And that Etrurian, whose indignant lay
Thy kindred genius can so well display,
With many a well-aim' d thought, and pointed

line,

Drove the bold villain from his black design.
For, as those mighty masters of tho lyro,
With temper' d dignity, or quenchless no,
Through all the various paths of science trod,
Their school was Nature and their teacher

God

Nor did the muse decline till, o'er her hoad,
The savage tempest of the north was spread ,
Till arm'd with desolation's bolt it came,
And wiapp'd her temple in funereal flame.

But soon the aits once more a dawn diffuse,
And Dante haiTd it with his morning muse ,
Petrarch and Bocooce jom'cl tho choral lay,
And, Aino glisten'd with returning day.
Thus science roso ; and, all her troubles pasH'd,
She hoped a steady, tranquil reign at laHt;
But Faustus came (indulge tho painful

thought,)
Were not his countless volumes dearly

bought ?

For, while to every dime and class they flow,
Their worth dimimsh'd as thoir numbers grow.
Some pressman, rich an Homer's glowing page,
Could give ton epics to one wondering ago ,
A single thought supplied tho groat design,
And clouds of Iliads sproad from ovory lino.
Nor Homer's glowing page, nor Virgil's firo
Could one lone breast with equal flame inHpiro,
But, lost in books, irregular and wild,
The poet wonder'd, and tho critic smiled
The friendly smile, a bulkier work repays j
For fools will print, while greater fools wil
praise.

Touch'd with tho mania, now, what million

rage

To shine tho laureate blockheads of the ago
Cho dire contagion creeps through ovory grade
Ghris, coxcombs, peers, and patriots drive tt:

trade,

From 1780 to 1866 ] GKEEHALE AN INDIAN LAMENT. [H. E. SOHOOIOBAPT.

And e'en the Mad, his fruitful fields forgot,
For rhyme and misery leaves his wife and cot
Ere to his bieast the wasteful mischief spread,
Content and plenty ohoer'd his little shed ;
And, while no thoughts of state perplex'd his

mmd,

His harvests ripening, and Pastora kind,
He augh'd at toil, with health and vigour

bless' d,
For days of labour brought their nights of

rest-

But now m rags, ambitious for a name,
The fool of faction, and the dupe of fame,
His conscience haunts him with his guilty Ho,
His starving children, and Ins rum'd wife
Thus swarming wits, of all materials made,
Their Gothic hands on social quiet laid,
And, as they rave, unmindful of the storm,
Call lust, refinement , anarchy, reform

WtiUwn Clifton— limn 1772, Died 1799.

I8S3--

-AMEKIOA TO G-BEAT
BEITAIN.

AH hail ' thou noble land,
Our father's native aoil '
0 fltrotoh thy mighty hand,

Gigantic grown by toil,
O'er tho vast Atlantic ware to our shoro ;
For thou, with magic might,
Canst roach to wlioio the light
Of Phcobus travels bright
The world o'or 1

Tho goniuB of our olimo,

From his pine-ombatiiod steep,
Shall htttl tho groat subluno >

While tho Tritons of tho deep
"With their oonohs the Mndred loaguo shall
proclaim,

Thon lot tho world oombino — >
O'or tho main our naval line,
like tho milky-way, shall shmo
Bright in fame I

Though ages long have pass'd,

Szaoo our fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravolTd seas to roam, —
Tot liros the blood of England in our veins I
And shall wo not proclaim
That blood of honest fame,
Which, no tyranny can tamo
By its chains ?

While the language free and bold
Which the bard of Avon sung,
In which our Milton told

How the vault of heaven rung,
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host ;
While this, with reverence moot,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rook repeat
Bound our coast ,

While the manners, while the arts,

That mould a nation's soul,
Still chng around our hearts,

Between let ocean roll,
Our joint communion breaking with tho sun :
Yet, still, from either beach,
The voice of blood shall roach,
More audible than speech,
"We are one1"

WaMngton AlUton.—Eorn 1779, Died 1813.

1854.— GJEEHALE AN INDIAN
LAMENT.

The blackbird is singing on Michigan's

shoie

As sweetly and gaily as ever before ,
For ho knows to his mate ho, at pleasure, can

hio,

And the dear little brood she is teaching to fly.
The sun looks as ruddy, and rises as bright,
And reflects o'or the mountains as beamy a

light

As it ever reflected or ever expross'd,
When my skies were tho bluest, my dreams

wore tho best
The fox and the panther, both boasts of the

night,

Biotiro to their dons on tho gleaming of light,
And they Hpring with a fioo and a sorrowloss

track,
For they know thai tlioir mates ore expecting

them back
Each biicl and oaoh beaut, it IB blows' d in

dogioo *
All nature is cheerful, all happy, but mo.

I will go to my tent and lio down in de-

spair;
I will paint mo with block, and will sever my

hair;
I will Hit on tho shoro, whoro tho hurricane

blown,

And reveal to tho god of tho tempest my woes ;
I will wcop for a fiooflon, on bittornoHB fod,
For my kindred are gone to tho hills of the

dead,
But thoy died not by hunger, or lingering

decay —
Tho steel of tho whito man hath swept thorn

away.

Thin snake-skin, that once J BO Baorcdly wore,
I will toss, with disdain, to the storm-beaten

flhoro •

Its charms I no lorgor obey or invoke,
Its spirit hath left mo, its spoil is now broko.
I will raise up zny voice to tho source of the

I will dream on the wings of the bluebird at

night;

I will speak to the spirits that whisper in leaves,
And that mirustex balm to the bosom that

giiovos ,

W. 0. BRYANT.]

TEGS PRAIRIES

[SEVENTH PBRIOIX—

And will toko a new Monito — such as snail

seem
To "be kind and propitious in every dream.

O. then I snail banish these cankering sighs,
And tears snail no longer gash salt from my

eyes;
I qfrp.ll wash from my face every cloud-colour' d

stain,

j£ed — red shall, alone, on my visage remain !
I will dig up my hatchet, and bend my oak bow 5
By night and by day I will follow the foe ;
Nor lakes shall impede me, nor mountains, nor

snows ,
BJS blood can alone give my spirit repose

They came to my cabin when heaven was

black.
I heard not their coming, I knew not their

track.

But I saw, by the light of their blazing fusees,
They were people engender' d beyond the big

My wife and my children, — 0 spare me the

tale'
For who is there left that is kin to Geehale ?

Hewry Rowo Sclwolcraft. — Born 1793.

185$.— THE PRAIRIES.

These are the gardens of the desert, these
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,
For which the speech of England has no

name —

The prairies. I behold them for the first,
And my heart swells, while the dilated sight
Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo ' they

stretch

In airy undulations far away,
As if thfl ocean, in his gentlest swell,
Stood still, with all his rounded billows fix'd,
And motionless for ever.— Motionless ?— —
No— they are all unchain' d again The clouds
Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath,
The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye ,
Bark hollows seem to glide along and chase
The sunny ridges Breezes of tho south'
Who toss the golden and the name-like

flowers,
And pass the prome-hawk that, poised on

high,
Maps his broad wings, yet 'moves not — ye

have play'd

Among the palms of Mexico and vines
Of Texas, and have orisp'd the limpid brooks
That from the fountains of Sonora glide
Into the calm Pacific — have ye fann'd
A nobler or a lovelier scene than this ?
Man hath no part in all this glorious work
The hand that built the firmament hath heaved
And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown

their slopes
With herbage, planted them with island

groves,

And hedged them lound with forests Fitting

floor

For this magnificent temple of the sky —
With fioweis whose glory and whoso multitude
Rival the constellations ! The groat heavens
Seem to stoop down upon tho scene in lovo,-~
A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue,
Than that which bends above the eastern, hills,

As o'er the verdant wasto I guide my steed,
Among the high, rank grass that sweeps his

sides,

The hollow beating of his footstep soonw
A sacrilegious sound I think of those
Upon whose rest he tramples. Arc they licio —
The dead of other days p — and did the dust
Of these fair solitudes onoo stir with life
And burn with passion P Let the mighty

mounds

That overlook the rivers, or that nse
In the dun forest, crowded with old oaks,
Answer A race, that long has paas'd away,
Built them ,— a disciplined and populous race
Heap'd, with long toil, the earth, while yet

the Greek

Was hewing the Pentehcus to forms
Of symmetry, and rearing on ita rock
The glittering Parthenon Those ample field*
Nounfch'd their harvests; hero their herds

were fed,

When haply by thoir stalls the bison low'd,
And bow*d his manod shoulder to tho yoke.
All day •frhiH desert murmur7 d with their toils,
Till twilight blnsh'd, and lovers wolk'd, and

woo'd

In a forgotten language, and old tunes,
From instruments of unromombor'd form,
Grave tho soft winds a voice Tho rod man

The roaming hunter-tnbos, warlike and fioroo,
And tho mound-buildois vanish' d, from tho

eoith.

Tho solitude of centuries untold
Has settled whore they dwelt. Tho prairie

wolf
Hunts in thoir meadows, and hiH froflh-dug-

don
Yawns by my path. Tho gopher mines tho

ground
Whore stood there swarming citioH. All is

gone—-
All— save the piles of earth that hold thoir

bones —
Tho platforms whero they worahipp'd unknown

gods-—

Tho barriers which they buildod from tho soil
To keep tho foe at bay — till o'er tho walls
The wild beloaguerors broke, and, ono by one,
The strongholds of tho plain were forcod, and

heaped
With corpses. The brown vultures of the

wood

Flook'd to those vast, uncovered «opnlohros,
And sat, unsoared and silent, at thoir feast.
Haply some solitary fugitive,
Lurking in marsh and forest, till the sonae ,

From 1780 to 1866 ]

FOREST HYMN".

[W.

Of desolation and of fear became
Bitterer than death, yielded himself to die
Man's better natuie tnnmpa'd Kindly words
Welcomed and soothed him, the rnde con-
querors

Seated the captive with their chiefs , ho chose
A bride among1 thoir maidens, and at length
Seem'd to forget, — yet ne'er forgot, — the wife
Of his first love, and her sweet little ones
Butoher'd, amid their shrieks, with all his
race.

Thns change the forms of being. Thus

arise

Eaoos of living things, glorious in strength,
And perish, as the quickening breath of God
Fills them, or is withdiawn. The red man,

too,
Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so

long,

And, nearer to the Rooky Mountains, sought
A wider hunting-ground The beaver builds
No longer by these streams, but far away,
On waters whose blue surface ne'er gave back
The white man's face — among Missouri's

springs,

And pools whoso issues swell the Oregon,
He rears his little Venice In these plains
The bison feeds no more Twice twenty

leagues

Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp,
Roams tho majestic brute, m holds that shako
The earth with thundering stops — yet hoio 1

moot
His ancient footprints stamp* d boHido tho

pool.

Still this great solitude is quick with lif o.
Myriads of insects, gaudy an tho flowers
They flutter over, gentle quadruped**,
And birds, that scarce have learn' d tho fear

of man,

Arc here, and sliding reptiles of the ground,
Startlingly beautiful. The graceful door
Bounds to the wood at my approach. The boo,
A more adventurous colonist than man,
With whom ho camo across tho eastern deep,
ViUfl tho savannas with his murmuring^,
And hides hin sweets, as in the golden ago,
"Within tho hollow oak. I listen long
To his domestic hum, and thiuk I hoar
The sound of that advancing multitude
Which soon shall fill these deserts. Prom the

ground

Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice
Of maidens, and tho swoet and solemn hymn
Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of hords
Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain
Over the dark-brown furrows All at once
A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my

dream
Ajid I am in the wilderness alone.

W. C, Bryant.— -Born lft)4.

1856 — FOREST HYMN.

Tho groves were God's first templos. Ere

man learn' d

To hew tho shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them, — ore he

framed

The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
The sound of anthoms , in tho darkling wood,
Amid tho cool and silence, ha knelt down,
And offer' d to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And supplication. For his simple heart
Might not resist tho sacred influences,
Which, from the stilly twilight of tho place,
And from the grey old trunks, that high in

Leaven
Mingled their mossy boughs, and fiom the

sound

Of the invisible breath, that sway'd at once
All their green tops, stolo over him, and bow'd
His spirit with tho thought of boundless

power

And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why
Should wo, in tho world's ripei years, uogloot
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adoi'O
Only among tho crowd, and under roofs
That our frail hands have raised P Let mo,

at least,

Hore, in tho shadow of this aged wood,
Offer ono hymn — Ihiioo happy, if it find
Acceptance in His oar

Father, Thy hand

Hath icai'd those venorablo columnH, Thou
Didst woavc this verdant loof Thou didst

L ook down

Upon tho nukod earth, and, foithwrlh, roso
All those fair ronlvH of tiooH Thoy, in Thy

sun,
Budded, and shook thoir green loavos In Thy

breeze,
And shot towards hoavon. Tho century-living

crow,
Whoso birth was in thoir tops, grew old and ,

died
Among their branches; till, at last, they

As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark,
Fit shrine for humble wornhippcr to hold
Communion with his Maker. Those dim

vaults,

Those winding aisles, of human pomp or prido
Report not. No fantastic carvings show,
Tho boast of oar vain race, to change tho

form
Of Thy fair works. But Thou art here — Thou

fill'st

The solitude. Thou art in the soft windu,
That run along the summit of those tree**
In music , — Thou art in the cooler breath,
That, from tho inmost darkness of the place,
Comes, scarcely felt, tho barky trunks, the

ground,
The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with

Thee

Hore is continual worship ,— nature, hero,
In the tranquillity that Thou dost love,

W. 0. BRYANT ]

THE PRAIRIES

SEVENTH PBRIOD,-

And will tako a new Mamto — such as sliall

To "be kind and propitious in every dream.

O. then I shall banish these cankering sighs,
And tears snail no longer gush salt from my

eyes,
C shall wash from my face every cloud-colour* d

stain,

Bed — red shall,, alone, on my visage remain 1
I will dig up my hatchet, and bend my oak how ;
By night and by day I will follow the foe ,
Nor lakes shall impede me, nor mountains, nor

snows ,
His blood oan alone give my spnit repose

They came to my cabin when heaven was

black.
I heard not their coming, I knew not their

track,

But I saw, by the light of their blazing fusees,
They were people engender' d beyond the big

seas:
My wife and my children, — 0 spare me the

tale'
Per who is there left that is km to Geehale ?

Hewry Howe Schoolcrajt. — Born 1793

1855.— THE PBAIBJE8.

These are the gardens of the desert, these
Ihe unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,
For which the speech of England has no

name—

The prairies. I behold them for the first,
And my heart swells, while the dilated sight
Takes in the encircling vastness. JJo ' they

stretch

In airy undulations, far away,
As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell,
Stood still, with all his rounded billows fix'd,
And motionless for over — Motionless P —
No — they are all unchain' d again. The clouds
Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath,
The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye ,
Dark hollows seem to glide along and chaso
The sunny ridges Breezes of the south'
Who toss the golden and the flame-like

flowers,
And pass the praine-hawk that, poised on

high,
Flaps his broad wings, yet "moves not — yo

have play'd

Among the palms of Mexico and vines
Of Texas, and have cnsp'd the limpid brooks
That from the fountains of Sonora glide
Into the calm Pacific — have ye fann'd
A nobler or a lovelier scene than this P
Man hath no part in all this glorious work
The hand that built the firmament hath heaved
And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown

their slopes
With herbage, planted them with island

groves,

And hedged them round with forests. Fitting-
floor

Tor this magnificent temple of the sky —
With flowers whose glory and whose multitude
Rival the constellations ! The groat heavens
Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love, —
A nearer vault, and of a tendeier blue,
Than that which bends abovo the eastern hills,

As o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed,
Among the high, rank grass that sweeps his

sides,

The hollow beating of his footstep Rooms
A sacrilegious sound I think of those
Upon whose rest he tramples Arc they lioro —
The dead of other days p — and did the duat
Of these fair solitudes onco stir with life
And burn with passion P Let the mighty

mounds

That overlook the rivers, or that rise
In the dun forest, crowded with old oaks,
Answer A race, that long has pass'd away,
Built them ,— a disciplined and populous race
ECeap'd, with long toil, the earth, while yet

the Greek

Was hewing the Pentolious to forms
Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock
The glittering- Parthenon. These ample field*
Nourish' d their harvests; here thoir herds

were fed,

When haply by their stalls the bison low'd,
And bow'd his maned shoulder to the yoke.
All day this desert murmur7 d with their toils,
Till twilight blush'd, and lovers walk'd, and

woo'd

In a forgotten language, and old tunes,
Prom instruments of unromombor'd form,
Gave the soft winds a voice. Tho rod man

The roaming hunter-tribes, warlike and fierce,
And the mound-builders vanish' 0, from tho

earth

Tho solitude of centuries untold
Has settled where they dwelt. Tho prairio

wolf
Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug-

den
Yawns by my path. Tho gopher minos tho

ground
Where stood their swarming cities All is

gone —
All — save the piles of earth that hold their

bones —
The platforms where thoy worshipp'd unknown

gods —

Tho barriers which they buildod from tho soil
To keep the foe at bay — till o'er tho walls
The wild beleaguerers broke, and, ono by one, j
The strongholds of tho plain were forced, and I

heaped
With corpses. The brown vultures of the

wood

Flook'd to those vast, uncover'd sepulchres,
And sat, unsoarod and silent, at their feast.
Haply some solitary fugitive,
Lurking in marsh and forest, till the souse .

Jfcam 1780 to 1806.]

FOREST HYMCNf.

[W, O

Of desolation and of fear became
Bitterer than death, yielded himself to die
Han's better nature triumph3 d Kindly words
Welcomed and soothed him, the rude con-
querors

Seated the captive with their chiefs , he chose
A bride among their maidens, and at length
Seexn'd to forgot, — yet ne'or forgot, — the wife
Of his first love, and her sweot little ones
Butcher' d, amid their shrieks, with all his
race.

Thus change the forms of being Thus

arise

Races of living things, glorious in strength,
And perish, as the quickening breath of G-od
Fills them, or is withdrawn The red man,

too,
Has loft the blooming wilds ho ranged BO

long,

And, nearer to the Hooky Mountains, sought
A wider hunting-ground Tho boaver builds
No longer by these stream*, but far away,
On waters whoso bluo surface no' or gavo back
The white man's face — among Missouri's

springs,

And pools whoRO indues swell the Oregon,
He roars his little Vomoo. In those plains
The biHon fooda no more Twice twenty

loagnes

Beyond lomotost smoke of hunter's camp,
Itooms the majestic brute, in herds that shako
Tho earth with thundering stopw — yot hero I

moot
His anoiout footprints stamp1 d botudo the

pool.

Still this groat solitude is quick with life.
Myriads of insects, gaudy as tho flowers
They flutter over, gentle quadruped,
Aud birds, that scarce have learn' d tho foor

of man,

Aro hero, and sliding reptiles of tho ground,
Starthngly beautiful, Tho graceful door
Bounds to tho wood at my approach. The boo,
A more adventurous colonist than man,
With whom ho come across tho eastern deep,
Fills tho savannas with his murmunngH,
And hides his sweets, OB in the golden ago,
Within the hollow oak. I listen long
To his domestic hum, and think I hoar
Tho sound of that advancing multitude
Which soon shall fill those deserts. Prom the

ground

Comes up tho laugh of children, the soft voice
Of maidens, and tho sweet and solemn hymn
Of Sabbath worshippers. Tho low of herds
Blends with the rustling of the heavy groin
Over the dork-brown furrows. All at once
A frcmhor wind sweeps by, and brooks my

dream
ddwiii I am in the wilderness alone.

W. a J0ryan£.-r JSorw 1794.

1856.— FOREST HYMN.

The groves were God's first temples. Ere

yqttvQ loam'd

To hew tho shaft, and lay tho architrave,
And spread the roof above them,— ore ho

framed

Tho lofty vault, to gather and roll book"
The sound of anthems , m tho darkling wood,
Amid tho cool and silence, ho knelt down,
And offer'd to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And supplication For hiH simple heart
Might not resist the sacred influences,
Which, from tho stilly twilight of tho place,
And fiom the grey old trunks, that high in

heaven
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from tho

sound

Of the invisible breath, that nway'cl at onco
AH their greon tops, stolo ovor km, and bow'd
His spirit with tho thought of boundlosn

power

And inaccessible majesty Ah, why
Should wo, m tho world's riper yoors, nogloot
God's anciont sanctuaries, and adore
Only among tho crowd, and under roofs
That our frail hands have raised P Let mo,

at least,

Hero, in tho shadow of this aged wood,
Offer one hymn — thnco happy, if it find
Acceptance in His oar.

Father, Thy hand

Hatli reai'd those venerable columnH, Thou
Didst weave tins vordunt roof Thou didst

I ook down

Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rouo
AIL those fair ranks of tu>on. They, ixi. Thy

stm,
"Budded, and shook their green loaves in Thy

broosso,
And shot towards hoavon. Tho oontury-Hving

crow,
"Whoso birth was in their tops, grow old and

died
Among their bronchos; till, at last, they

stood,

Afl now they wtand, massy, and toll, and dork,
Fit Hhriuo for humble woinhippor to hold
Communion with Ids Makor. Those dim

vaults,

Those winding atalcs, of human pomp or prido
Report not. No fantastic carvings show,
Tho boast of our vain race, to change tho

form
Of Thy fair works But Thou art hore— Thou

fill'st

Tho sohtndo. Thou art in. tho Roft winds,
That lun along the nammit of those iroow
In music j — Thou art in tho ooolor breath,
That, from tho inmost darkness of tho place,
Comes, scarcely felt, tho barky trunks, tho

ground,
Tho fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with

Thoo.

Hore is continual worship ; -^nature, hero,
In the tranquillity that Thou dost love,

W. 0. BBTANT.]

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.

[SEVENTH

Enjoys Tliy presence jSfoiselessly around,
From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes , and yon clear spring1, that, midst its

herbs,

Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale
Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left
Thyself without a •witness, in these shades,
Of Thy perfections* Grandeur, strength, and

grace,

Are hore to speak of Thee This mighty oak
By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem
Almost annihilated, — not a prince,
In all that proud old world beyond the deep,
E'er wore his orown as loftily as he
Wears the green coronal of leaves with which
Thy hand has graced him Nestled at his

root

Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare
Of the broad sun That delicate forest flower,
Withtdehoate breath, and look so like a wnifr
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould.
An emanation of the indwelling Life,
A visible token of the upholding Love,
That are the soul of this wide universe.

My heart is awed within me, when I tlunk
Of the great miracle that still goes on
In silence, round me — the perpetual work
Of Thy creation, finish' d, yet renewed
For ever Written on Thy works, I read
The lesson of Thy own eternity.
Lo f all grow old and die — but see, again,
How on the faltering footsteps of dooay
Youth presses— ever gay and beautiful youth,
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors
Moulder beneath them O, there is not lost
One of earth's charms upon her bosom yet,
After the flight of untold centuries,
The freshness of her far beginning lies,
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate
Of his arch-enemy, Death — yea, seats himself
TTpon the tyrant's throne— the sepulchre,
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe
Makes his own nourishment. For he came

forth
From Thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

There hare been holy men who hid them-
selves

Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they

outlived

The generation born with them, nor seem'd
Less aged than the hoary trees and rooks
Around them;— and there have been holy

men

Who deem'd it were not well to pass life thus.
But let me often to these solitudes
Eetire, and in Thy presence reassure
My feeble virtue* Here its enemies,
The passions, at Thy plainer footsteps shrwk
"And tremble, and are stul. 0, God ' when

Thou
'Dost scare the world wxth tempests, set oxx fire

The heavens with falling thundoibolts, or fill,

With all the waters of the firmament,

The swift, dark whnlwind that uproots the

woods

And drowns the villages ; whon, at Thy call,
Uprises the great deep and throws himself
Upon the continent, and overwhelms
Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight
Of these tremendous tokens of Thy power,
His pride, and lays his atrtf os and f olhos by ?
0, fiom these sterner aspects of Thy face
Spare mo and mine, nor let us need tho wrath
Of the mad, unchain* d elements to teach
Who rules thorn Bo it ours to moditato
In these calm shades Thy milder majesty
And to the beautiful order of Thy works
Learn to conform the order of our lives.

W. C. BryoMit — Born 1704.

1857 —THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.

Here are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled

pines,
That stream with grey-green mosses , horo tho

ground
Was never touoh'd by spado, and flowers

spring up

Unsown, and die ungathcr'd. It is Hwoot
To linger here, among the flitting birds
And leaping squirrels, wandeimg brooks and

winds

That shake the leaves, and scatter as thoy pass
A fragrance from the cedars thickly not
With pale blue bemos In those poacofnl

shades —

Peaceful, unpranod, immeasurably old—
My thoughts go up tho lont? dim path of years
Back to the earliest days of Libeity,

0 Freedom ' thou art not as poota droam,
A fair young girl, with light and delicate

limbs,

And wavy trosaos gushing from tho cap
With which tho Boman master crown'dhis

slave,

When he took off tho gyvos. A boarded man,
Arm'd to tho teeth, art thou one maittd hand
Grasps tho broad shield, and ono tho swoul

thy brow,

Glorious in beauty though it bo, is soarr'd
With tokens of old wars ; thy maflHivo hmbs
Are strong and straggling. Power at thoo has

launch1 d
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten

the©*
They could not quench tho lif o thou hast from

Heaven.

Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon doop,
Ind his swart anaourors, by a thouBaad fires,
Have forged thy chain j yet while ho doom*

thee bound,

Che links are shivor'd, and the prinon walls
Fall outward , tombly thou sprmgost forth,
As springs the flame abovu * bnmuxor £Ue>

J^m 1780 to 1866]

SONG Or MARION'S MEN.

[W. 0.

And shoutost to tho nations, who return
Thy shoutings, while tho polo oppressor flies.

Thy birthright was not given by human

hands
Thou wort twin-born with man. In pleasant

fields,
While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with

him,

To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars,
To teach the reed to uttor simple air&
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood,
Didst wax upon the panther and tho wolf,
His only foes and thou with him cUdst draw
The earliest furrows on tho mountain side.
Soft with the Deluge Tyranny himself,
The enemy, although of levorond look,
Hoary with many yoars, and for oboy'd,
IH later born than thou , and as ho meets
Tho gravo defiance of thine older eye,
The usurper trembles in his fastnesses

Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of

years,

But he shall fado into a feebler ago ;
Fooblor, yet subtler; ho shall weave his

snares,
And spring them on thy careless steps, and

clap

His wither' d hands, and from their ambush, call
His hordes to fall upon thoo lie shall Bond
Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant

ixuon,

To catch thy gasso, and uttering graceful words
To charm thy oar, while hw sly irapH, by

stealth,
Twine round thoo threads of stool, light thread

on thread,

That grow to fetter* ; or bind down thy arms
With chains oonooaTd in chaplets. Oh I not

yet

Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by
Thy sword, nor yet, 0 Freedom ! close thy

lids

In slumber , for thine enemy never sleeps,
And thou must watch and combat till the day
Of tho new Earth and Heaven. But wouldsl

thou rest

Awhile from tumult and tho frauds of men,
Those old and friendly solitudes invite
Thy visit. They, while yet tho forest trees
Wore young upon tho unviolatod oarth,
And yot the moss-stains on the rock were

new,
Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced.

W. 0. Bryant— Born 1794.

1858.— OH MOTHEB OF A MIGHTt
BAOB,

Oh mother of a mighty race,
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace 1

The older domes, thy hanghly poers,
Admiro and ha.to thy blooming yoars.

With words of whamo
And taunts of scorn they join thy name.

For on thy cheeks tho glow is spread
That tints the morning hills with rod ;
Thy stop — the wild deer's rustling feet
Within thy woods, aie not more fleet ;

Thy hopoful oyo
Is bright as thine own sunny sky.

Ay, let them rail — thoso haughty ones —
While safe thou dwollo»t with thy sons.
Thoy do not know how loved thou art —
How many a fond and foarloss heart

Would rise to thiow
Its life between thoe and tho f oo '

Thoy know not, in their hato and prido,
What virtues with thy children bido ;
How truo, how good, thy graceful maids
Make bright, like flowers, tho volloy shades;

What generous men
Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen:

What cordial welcomes greet tho guest
By tho lone rivers of tho Wost ;
How faith is kept, and truth rovorcd,
And man IK loved, and God is foar'd,

En woodlaud homos,
And whore tho solemn ocean foams 1

Thoro's freedom at thy gatofl and rost
For eaitli'H dowu-troddou and oppress* d,
A flholtor for tho hunted hoad,
For tho starved labourer toil and broad.

Power, at thy bounds,
Stops and calls back his baffled hounds.

Oh, fair young mothor ' on thy brow
Shall sit a nobler grace than now,
Poop in tho brightness of thy skios
Tho thronging years in glory riao,

And, as they fleet,
Drop strength and ncheB at thy foot.

Thino oyo, with ovory cowing hour,
Shall brighten, and thy form HhaJl tower ;
And when thy sisters, older born,
Would brand thy zuuaao with words of
scorn,

Before thine oyo,
Upon then? lips tho taunt shall die !

TF. 0. Bryant.— Horn 1792.

1859.— SONG OF MABION'S MEN,

Our band is few, but true and tried,

Our loader frank and bold ;
The British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is tho good grcon wood.

Our tout tho cypress tree ;
We know tho forest round us,

As seamen know the sea.

82* J

"P. HALLBCE; ]

BURNS.

[SEVENTH PERIOD •

We know its walls of thorny vinos,

Its glades of reedy grass,
Its safe and silent islands

"Within the dark morass.

Woe to the English soldiery

That little dread us near '
On them shall light at midnight

A strange and sudden fear
When, waking to their tents on fire,

They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us

Are beat to eaith again ;
And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil :
We talk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gather'd

To crown the soldier's oup.
With merry songs we mook the wind

That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly

On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon

The band that Marion leads —
The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery Barb

Across the moonlight plain ,
'Tis life to feel the night-wind

That lifts MB tossing mane
A moment in the British camr/*—

A moment — and away
Back to the pathless forest,

Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,

Grave men with hoary hairs,
Their hearts are all with MooMon,

For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band

With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,

And tears like those of spring
For them we wear these trusty arms,

And lay them down no more,
Till we have driven the Briton

For ever from our shore

W. 0. j&ri/an*.-- Born 1792.

1860.— BUBNS.

TO A BOSS, BROUGHT PBOH N3UB AI.LOWA.Y

KIBE, IN AYBSHIKB, IN THE AUTUMN OF

Wild rose of Alloway ! my thanks,
Thou mind'st me of that autumn noon,

When first we met upon " the banks
And braes o' bonny Boon."

Like thine, beneath the thorn-tree's bough,
My sunny hour was glad and brief,

We've oross'd the winter sea, and thou
Art withered— flower and leaf.

And will not thy death-doom be mine —
The doom of all things wrought of clay —

And wither 'd my life's loaf, like thine,
Wild rose of Alloway P

Not so his memory, for whose sake

My bosom boro thee far and long,
His, who an humbler flower could moke1

Immortal as his song.

The memory of Burns — a name
That colls, when brimm'd her festal oup,

A nation's glory, and her shame,
In silent sadness up.

A nation's glory — be the rest
Forgot— she's canonized lv,g mind ,

And it is joy to speak the best
We may of human kind.

I've stood beside the cottage-bed,
Where the bard-peasant first drew breath r

A straw-thatch' d roof above his head,
A straw-wrought couch beneath

And I have stood beside the pile,
His monument — that tells to heaven.

The homage of earth's proudest isle,
To that bard-peasant given.

Bid thy thoughts hover o'er that spot,
Boy-minstrel, in thy dreaming-hour ;

And know, however low his lot,
A poet's pride and power

The prido that lifted Burns from earth,
The power that gave a child of song

Ascendency o'er rank and birth,
The noh, the brave, the strong;

And if despondency weigh down
Thy spmt's fluttering pinions then,

Despair — thy name is written on
The roll of common men.

There have been loftier themos than hw>
And longer scrolls, and louder lyres,

And lays lit up with Poesy's
Purer and holier fixes .

Yet read the names that know not death ;

Few nobler ones than Burns are there;
And few have won a greener wreath

Than that which binds his hair. (

His is that language of the heart,
In which the answering heart would speak,

Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start,
Ox the smile light the cheek ;

And his that music, to whose tone
The common pulse of man keep* time-

In cot or castle's mirth or mo*fc»
In oold or sunny clime.

from 1780 to 1806 ]

ALNWICK CASTLE.

[P. HALLEOK. ;

And who hath heard his song, nor knelt
Before its spoil with willing knee,

And hston'd, and believed, and felt
Tho poet's mastery,

O'er tho mind's sea, in calm and storm,
O'or the heart's sunshine and its showers,

O'or Passion's moments, bright and warm,
O'er Reason's daik, cold hours ,

On fields whore brave men " die or do,"
In halls whore rings tho banquet's mirth,

Where mourners weep, wheio lovers woo,
3ft. om throno to oottage hearth ,

What sweet tears dim the eyes unshed,
What wild vows falter on tho tongue,

Whon " Soots wha hao wi' Wallace bled,"
Or "Auld Lang Syne" is sung'

Pure hopes, that lift tho soul above,
Oomo with his Cotter's hymn of praise,

And droa.ms of youth, and truth, and love,
With " Logan's " banks and braos.

And when he breathes his master-lay
Of Alloway's watch-haunted wall,

All passions m our frames of clay
Come thronging at his oall

Imagination's world of air,

And our own woild, its gloom and gleo,
Wit, pathos, pootiy, aro there,

And dcath'a sublimity

And BumH — though bnof tho raoo ho ran,
Though rough and dark tho path ho trod, —

Lived— -died — in form aud BOO! a man,
Tho imago of his God.

Though oaro, and pain, and want, and woo,
With wounds that only death could hoal,

Tortures— the poor alone oan know,
Tho proud atone oan feel ;

He kept his honesty and truth,
His independent tongne and pen,

And moved, in manhood and in youth,
Pnde of his follow-mon

Strong sense, deop foelmg, passions strong,

A hate of tyrant and ot knave ;
A lovo of right, a scorn of wrong,

Of coward, and of slave.

A kind, true heart, a spirit high,
That could not fear aud would not bow,

Wore written in his manly eye,
And on his manly brow.

Praise to tho bard ' hia words are driven,
Like flower-poods by tho far winds sown,

Where'er, beneath, the sky of hoavon,
Tho birds of fame have flown.

Praise to tho man ' a nation stood

Beside Irs coffin with wet oyos,
Hor brave, her beautiful, her good,

As when a loved ono dies.

And still, as on his f anoral day,
Mon stand his cold earth-couch around,

With the muto homage that wo paj
To consecrated ground.

And consecrated ground it is,
The last, the hallow'd home of ono

Who lives upon all memories,
Though with the buried gono.

Such graves as his are pilgrim-shrines,
Shnnos to no code or creed confined—

Tho Delphian valos, tho Palestines,
The Moccas of tho mind

Sages, with Wisdom's garland wreathed,
Crown' (1 kings, and mitred pnosts of power*

And warriors with their bright swords

sheathod.
The mightiest of tho hour ;

And lowlier names, whose humble homo
Is lit by Fortune's dimmer star,

Aro there— o'er wave and mountain como,
From countries near and far ;

Pilgrims, whose wandering- feet havo press' d
Tho Switzer's snow, tho Arab's sand,

Or tiod tho poled loaves of tho Wost,
My own green f orost-land ;

All ask tho oottage of his birth,

Gazo on tho scones ho lovod and sung,

And gather feelings not of earth
His fields and streams among.

They linger by tho DOOU'B low Ireon,
And pantoral Nitli, und wooded Ayr,

And 10 and thy sepulchres, Dumfries !
Tho poet's tomb IB there

But what to thorn tho sculptor's art?,
HIB funeral columns, wreaths, and urns P

Woar they not graven on tho heart
Tho name of liobort Burns ?

Jftte-Cfremo ZfaZteck— Sum 1795.

1861 — ALNWICK CASTLE.

Home of tho Percy's high-born raco,

Homo of their beautiful and bravo,
Alike their birth and burial-place,

There cradle and their grave '
Still sternly o'er tho cauUo gate
Their house's Lion stands in state,

As in IUH proud departed hours ,
And warriors frown in stono on high,
And feudal banners " flout the sky"

Above his princely towers.

A gentle hill its side inclines,
Lovely in England'*! fadeless green,

To moot the quiot stream wliieh winds
Through this romantic scene

As silently and swootiy still,

As when, at evening, on that Hill,

I*.

MABCO BOZZAJEUCS

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

While surfer's winds blew soft and low,
Seated by gallant Hotspur's sido,
Has Katharine was a happy bride,

A thousand years ago

Gaze on tho Abbey's ruin'd pile •

Does not the succouring fry, keeping

Her watch around it, seem to smile,
As o'er a loved one sleeping P

One solitary turret grey

Still tells, in melancholy gloiy,
The legend of tho Cheviot day,

The Percy's proudest border story.
That day its roof was tnumph's arch ,

Then rang, from aisle to pictured dome,
The light step of the soldier's march,

The music of the trump and drum ,
And babe, and sire, the old, the young,
And the monk's hymn, and minstrel's song,
And woman's pure kiss, sweet and long,

Welcomed her wamor home.

Wild roses by the abbey towers

Ace gay in their young- bad and bloom •
They were born of a race of funeral flowers
That garlanded, in long-gone hours,

A Templar's knightly tomb
He died, the sword in his moiTd hand,
On the holiest spot of the Blessed Land,

Where the Cross was damp' d with his dying

breath,

When blood ran free as vestal wino,
And tho sainted air of Palestine

Was thick with the darts of death.

Wise with the lore of centuries,

What tales, if there bo "tongues in trees,"

Those giant oaks could tell,
Of beings born and bnned here ;
Tales ot the peasant and the peer,
Tales of the ondal and the bier,

The welcome and farewell,
Since on their boughs the startled bird
First, in her twilight slumbeis, heard

The Norman's curfew-boll.

I wander* d through the lofty halls

Trod by the Porcies of old fame,
And traced upon the chapel walls

Each high, heroic name,
From him who once his standard set
Where now, o'er mosque and minaret,

Glitter the Sultan's crescent moons ;
To him who, whon a younger son,
Fought for Kong- George at Lexington,

A major of dragoons.

That last half stanza— it has dash'd
From my warm lip the sparkling cup ,

The light that o'er my eyebeam flash1 d,
The power that bore my spirit up

Above this bank-note world — is gone j

And Alawiok's but a market town,

And this, alas 1 its market day,

And beasts and borderers throng the way ;

Oxen and bleating lambs in lots,
Northumbrian boors and plaided Scots,

Hen in the coal and cattlo lino ;
From Teviot's bard and hero land,
From loyal Berwick's boaoh of sand,
From Wooler, Morpeth, Hexham, and

Newoastie-upon-Tyne.

These are not the romantic tunes
So beautiful in Sponsor's rhymes,

So dazzling to tho dreaming boy
Ours are the days of fact, not fable,
Of Knights, but not of the Bound Table,

Of Bailie Jarvie, not Bob Boy
'Tis what " our President," Monroo,

Has oalTd "tho era of good feeling :"
The Highlander, the bitterost f oo
To modern laws, has felt their blow,
Consented to be taxed, and vote,
And put on pantaloons and coat,

And leave off cattle-stealing ;
Lord Stafford mines foi coal and salt,
The Duke of Norfolk deals in molt,

The Douglas in red hemngs •
And noble name and cultured land
Palace and pork, and vassal band,
Are powerless to the notes of hand

Of Bothsohild or the Barings

The age of bargaining, said Burke,
Has come • to-day tho tuibon'd Turk
(Sleep, Richard of the Lion Heart !
Sleep on, nor from your cerements start)

Is England's fnond and fast ally ;
The Moslem tramples on tho Grook,

And on the Cross and altar slouo ,

And Christendom looks tamely on,
And hoars tho Christian moidon shriek,

And soos tho Christian father dio ,
And not a sabro-blow IB givon
For Greece and famo, for faith and hoavon,

By Europe's craven chivalry.

You'll ask if yot tho Poroy KVOB

In tho arm'd pomp of foudal stato P
The prodont loprosontativos

Of Hotspur and his «e gontlo Kate "
Aro some half-dozen serving mon,
In the drab coat of William Ponn ;

A chambermaid, whoso lip and oyo,
And chock, and brown hair, bright and curling,

Spoke nature's arihtooracy ,
And ono, half groom, halt Ronosohal,
Who bow'd me through court, bower, and

hall,

From donjon-keep lo turret wall,
For ton-and-sixponco sterling1.

Jfalleclc.—Born 1795.

1862.— MABCO BOZZABIS,

At midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk WOB dreaming of the hour

When Greece, her knee in snpplianee tent.
Should tremble at his power :

JVom 1780 to 1800]

WOODMAN, SPAKE THAT TREE.

[G. P. MORRIS.

In dreams, through camp and court, He bore
The trophies of a conqueror .

In dreams his song: of triumph heard ;
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring
Then press'd that monarch's throno — a king ;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

As Eden's gardon-bird

At midnight, in the forest shades,

Bozzans ranged his Suhoto band,
True as tho stool of thoir tried blades,

Heroes m heart and hand.
Thoro had tho Persian's thousands stood,
There had tho glad earth drunk thoir blood

On old Platsea's day ,
And now thoro breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires who conquer 'd there,
With arm to Btiiko, and soul to daro,

As quick, as far as they.

An hour pass'd on — tho Turk awoko ,

That blight dioam was his last ,
He woko — to hoar his sentries shriek,
" To arms r they oomo ' the Greek I tho

Greek '"

Ho woke — to die midst flamo and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,

And (Loath-shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from tho mountain-cloud ,
And hoard, with voice as trumpet loud,

Bozzarin choor his band
" Stnko — till tho last arm'd foo expires :
Strike — for your altars and your fii-on ?
Strike — f or tho groon giavos of your Biros ,

Uod — and your native land ! "

Tlioy fought — liko brave men, lon# and well ,

They piled that ground tilth Moslem slain ,
They conquer* d — but Bozzana foil,

Blooding at evory voiu.
His fow surviving comrades saw
Hin smilo whon rang thoir proud hurrah,

And tho rod field was won .
Them naw in death his eyelids olono
Calmly, aa to a night's repose,

Like flowers at sot of sun.

Oomo to tho bridal chamber, Death '

Come to tho mother's, whon she fools,
For tho firat tune, hor firsloorn's breath ;

Como whon tho blessed seals
That close tho pOBtilouco are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke :
Oomo in conflumption's ghawily form,
Tho earthquake shook, tho oooon-siorm,
Oomo when tho lioart boats high and warm,

With banquet-song, and danoo, and wine $
And thon art terrible — tho tear,
The groan, tho knoll, tho pall, the bior ,
And all we know, or droam, or fear

Of agony, aro thine

But to tho hero, when his sword
Haa won tho battle for tho free,

Thy voioo sounds like a prophet's word ,

And in its hollow tones are hoard
The thanks of millions yot to bo.

Come, when his task of famo is wrought —
Come, wiih hor laurel-leaf, blood-bought —

Come in her crowning hour — and thon
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light
To him is welcome as tho night

Of sky and stars to pxison'd mon :
Thy grasp is welcome as tho hand
Of brother in a fozeign land ,
Thy summons welcome as tho cry
That told the Indian, isles woro nigh

To tho world-socking Gonoeso,
Whon the land-wind, fiom woods of palm,
And orange-groves, and fields of Mm,

Blew o'er the Haytian seas.

Bozzans ' with tho storied bravo

Greece nurtured m her glory's time,
Best theo — Ihoro is no prouder gravo,

Even in her own proud ohtno.
She woro no f unoral woods for thoo,

Nor bade tho dork hearse wave its plumo,
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree,
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry,

Tho heartless luxury of tho tomb ,
But she remembers theo as ono
Long loved, and for a season gone ;
Tor thee hor poet's lyro is wreathod,
Hor marble wrought, her music breathed ;
Foi theo slio rings iho birthday bells ;
Of iihuo her babes' first lisping tolls :
For thino hor ovoning prayer is said,
At palace conch and cottage bed ;
Hor soldier, olouing with the foe,
Given for thy sake a deadlier blow ;
His plighted miudon, whon she foars
For him, tho joy of hor young yoars,
Thinks of thy fate, and chocks hor tears .

And she, iio mothor of thy boys,
Though in hor oyo and faded cheek
IH read tho grief she will not apeak,

Tho memory of hor bunod joys,
And oven sho who gave thoo birth,
Will, by their pilgrim-oirolod hearth,

Talk of thy doom without a Bigh ;
For Ifcou art Freedom's now, and Fame'*,
Ono of the fow, tho immortal namos,

That were not born to dio

tiattcck — 7?om 1705,

1863 —WOODMAN, SPA-RE TIUT TREE.

Woodman, spare that tree '

louon not a Binglo bough '
In youth it shelter' d mo,

And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand

Thai placed it near his oot ;
Thoro, woodman, lot it stand,

Thy axe snail harm it not !

That old familiar treo,

Whose #lorv and renown
Are Hprea'l o'er land anrt Hoa,

And wouldnt thon liow it down P

K W. EIOSRSOK ]

" GOOD-BYE, PROUD WORLD ' "

[SEVENTH PERIOD. —

Woodman, forbear thy stroke r
Out not its earth-bound ties ,

Oh spare that aged oak,
Now towering- to the skies '

'When but an idle boy

I sought its grateiul shade ,
In all their gushing1 joy

Here too my sisters play'd.
My mother kiss'd me here ;

My father press'd my hand —
Forgive this f oohsh tear,

But let that old oak stand '

My heart-strings round thee cling,

Close as thy bark, old friend '
Here shall the wild-bird sing,

And still thy branches bend
Old tree ' the storm still brave '

And, woodman, leave the spot ;
While I've a hand to feave,

Thy axe shall harm it not,

George P. MOM%S — Born about 1800,

1864.— "GOOD-BYE, PROUD WORLD!"

Good-bye, proud world I I'm going home j
Thou art not my friend , I am not thine

Too long through weary orowds I roam —
A river ark on the ocean brine,

Too long I am toss'd like the driven foam ;

But now, proud world, I'm going home

Good-bye to flattery's fawning face,
To Grandeur with his wise grimace ;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye ;
To supple office, low and high ,
To crowded halls, to court and street,
To frozen hearts, and hasting feet,
To those who go, and those who como,
Good-bye, proud world, I'm going homo

I go to seek my own hearth-stone
Bosom'd in yon green hills alone ;
A secret lodge in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frohc fairies plann'd,
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay ,
And evil men have never trod
A spot that is saored to thought and God.

0, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I mock at the pnde of Greece and Rome ;
And when I am stretch'd beneath the pines
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and pnde of man,
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan ;
For what are they all in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet P

Waldo Emerson. — Bom about 1803.

1865.— TO THE HUMBLE-BEE.

Fine humblo-beo ! fine humblo-beo '
Where thou art is clime for mo,
Let them sail for Poito Rique,
Far-off heats through seas to sock,—
I will follow thec alone,
Thou animated torrid zone '
Zig-zag steerer, dosort cheerer,
Let me chase thy waving linos,
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,
Singing over shrubs and vines.

Flower-bells,
Honey'd cells,—
These the tents
Which he frequents.

Insect lover of the sun,
Joy of thy dominion '
Sailor of the atmosphere,
Swimmer through the waves of air,
Yoyager of light and noon,
Epicurean of June,
Wait, I prithee, till I come
Within earshot of thy hum, —
All without is martyrdom.

When the south wind, in May days,
With a net of shining hazo,
Silvers the horizon wall,
And with softness touching all,
Tints the human countenance
With a colour of romance,
And infusing subtle hosts
Turns the sod to violets, — -
Thou in sunny solitudes,
Rover of the underwoodw,
The green silence dost displace
With thy mellow breezy bass

Hot midsummer's petted crono,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tono,
Telling of countless sonny hours,
Long days, and solid bonks of flowers,
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound
In Indian wildernesses found,
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
f Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.

Aught unsavoury or unclean
Hath my insect never seen,
But violets, and bilberry bolls,
Maple sap, and daffodols,
Clover, catchfly, adders-tongue,
And brier-roses dwelt among.
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he pasa'd.

Wiser far than human BOOT,
Yellow-breeoh'd philosopher,
Seeing only what is fair,

Sipping only what is sweet
Thou dost mock at fate and care,

Leave the chaff and take the wheat.
When the fierce north-western blast
Cools sea and land so far and fa&t,-—

JProm 1780 to 1866.]

THE PROBLEM.

[R. W.

Thou already slumberest deep,
Woe and want thou canst outsleep ,
Want and woe which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous.

Waldo Emerson. — Born 1808.

1866.— THE SNOW-STORM.

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky
Arrives the snow, and driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river and the

And veils tho farm-house at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopp'd, the Conner's

feet
Delay'd, all friends shut out, the housemates

sit

Around the radiant fire-place, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north-wind's masonry
Oat of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnish' d with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Bound evory windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, tho myriad-handed, his wild woi1
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion Mockingly
On coop or kennel ho hangs Parian wreaths ;
A swon-hko form invents tho hidden thorn ,
Mis up the farmer's lano from wall to wall,
Mattgre tho farmer's sighs, and at tho gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are number' d, and the

world

Is all his own, retiring, as ho wore not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonish' d Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.

Ral/ph Waldo flm&rson. — Born 1803.

1867.— TEE PROBLEM.

I like a church, I like a cowl,
I love a prophet of tho soul,
And on my heart monastic aisles
Fall like sweet strains on pensive smiles,
Tot not for all his faith con see
Would I that cowled churchman be.

Why should the vest on him alluro,
Which I could not on me endure P

Not from a vain or shallow thought
His awful Jove young Phidias brought ;
Novor from lips of cunning fell
The thrilling Delphic oracle ,
Out from the heart of nature roll'd
The burdens of the Bible old ,
The litanies of nations camo,
Like the volcano's tongue of flame.

Up from the burning

The canticles of love and woe

The hand that rounded Peter's dome,

And groin' d the aisles of Christian Rome,

Wrought in a sad sincerity.

Himself from God ho could not free ;

He builded better than he knew,

The conscious stone to beauty grew.

Know'st thou what wove yon wood-bird's

nest

Of leaves, and feathers from her breast ;
Or how tho fish outbuilt her shell,
Painting with mora each annual cell ,
Or how the sacred pine-tree adds
To her old loaves new myriads P
Such and so grew these holy piles
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles.
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon
As the best gem upon her zone ,
And morning opens with haste her lids
To gaze upon the Pyramids ,
O'or England's Abbeys bonds the sky
As on its friends with kindred eyo ;
For, out of Thought's interior sphere,
These wonders rose to upper air ;
And nature gladly gave them place,
Adopted them into her race,
And granted thorn an equal dato
With Andes and with Ararat.

Those temples grow as grows the grass,
Art might obey but not surpass.
Tho passive Maxtor lent hiu hand
To tho vast Soul that o'er him plann'd,
And tho same power that roor'd the shrine,
Bestrode the tribes that knelt within.
Ever tho fiery Pentecost
Girds with one flame the countless host,
Trances the heart through chanting quires,
And through tho priest the mind inspires.

The word unto the prophet spoken,
Was writ on tables yot unbroken j
The word by sects or sibyls told
In groves of oak or fanes of gold,
Still floats upon tho morning wind,
Still whispers to the willing mind.
One accent of the Holy Ghost
Tho heedless world hath never lost.
I know what say tho Fathers wise, —
Tho book itself before mo lies, —
Old CJvrysobtwi, bost Augustine,
And he who blent both in his lino,
The younger Golden laps or miuos
Taylor, tho Shaksporo o£ divines 5
His words aro music in my ear,
I see his cowlod portrait dear,
And yot, for all his faith could BOO,
I would not tho good bishop bo.

Ralph Waldo JEwcrtwn. — Jtom 1803.

THE POET

[SEVENTH

1868.— THE POET.

For this present, hard

la the fortune of the bard >

Born out of time ,
All his accomplishment, '
!From nature's ntmost treasure spent,

Booteth not him.
"When the pine tosses its cones
To the song of its waterfall tones,
He speeds to the woodland walks,
To birds and trees ho talks .
Caesar of his leafy Borne,
There the poet is at home.
He goes to the river side, —

Not hook nor line hath he :
He stands in the meadows wide,—

Nor gun nor scythe to see 5
With none has he to do,

And none to seek him,
Nor men "below,

Nor spirits dim.
What he knows nobody wants ;
What he knows, he hides, not vaunts.
Knowledge this man prizes best *
Seems fantastic to the lest ;
Pondering shadows, colours, clouds,
Grass buds, and caterpillars' shrouds,
Boughs on which the wild bees settle,
Tints that spot the violets' petal,
Wliy nature loves the number five,

And why the star-form she repeats ;—
Lover of all things alive,

Wonderer at all he meets,
Wonderer chiefly at himself, —

Who can tell him what he is ;
Or how meet in human elf

Coming and past eternities p . . . .
And such I knew, a foiest seer,
A minstrel of the natural year,
Foreteller of the vernal ides,
Wise harbinger of spheres and tides,
A lover true, who knew by heart
Each joy the mountain dales impart ;
It seem' d that nature could not raise
A plant in any secret placo,
In quaking bog, on snowy hill,
Beneath the grass that shades the nil,
Under the snow, between the rooks,
In damp fields known to bird and fox,
But he would come on the very hour
It open'd in its virgin bower,
As if a sunbeam show'd the place,
And tell its long descended race.
It seem'd as if the breezes brought him,
It seem'd as if the sparrows taught him
As if by secret sight he knew
Where in far fields the orchis grew.
There are many events in the field,

Which are not shown to common eyon,
3ut all her shows did nature yield

To please and win this pilgrim wise.
He saw the partridge drum in the woods,

He heard the woodcock's evening hymn,
He found the tawny thrush's brood,
L And the shy hawk did wait for him.

What others did at distance hear
And guess'd within the thicket's gloom,

Was shown to this philosopher,
And at his bidding seem'd to come.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, — Born 1803.

1869 — DIRGE.

Knows ho who tills this lonely field

To reap its scanty corn,
What mystic fruit his acres yield

At midnight and at morn P

In the long sunny afternoon

The plain was full of ghosts,
I wander'd up, I wander' d down,

Beset by pensive hosts

The winding Concord gleam' d below,

Pouring as wide a flood
As when my brothers, long ago,

Came with me to the wood

But they are gone — the holy ones
Who trod with me this lonely vale,

The strong, star-bright companions
Are silent, low and pale.

My good, my noble, in their prime,
Who made this world the foast it was,

Who learn'd with me the lore of Timo,
Who loved this dwelling-place ;

They took this valley for their toy,
They play'd with it in ovory mood,

A cell for prayer, a hall for joy,
They treated Nature as they would.

They oolour'd the whole horizon round,
Sfcais flamed and faded as they biulo,

All echoes hearken' d foi thoir sound,
They made the woodlands glad or mod,

I touch this flower of silken leaf
Which once our childhood know,

Its soft leaves wound mo with u. griof
Whose balsam never grow

Hearken to yon pino warblor,

Singing aloft in tho tree ;
Hearest thou, 0 traveller I

What he singoth to me P

Not unless God made sharp thmo oar

With sorrow such as mine,
Out of that delicate lay couldui thou

Its heavy talc divine.

" Go, lonely man," it aaith,
«' They loved thoo from thoir birth,

Thoir hands wore pnre an<l puro thoir faith,
Thera are no such hearts on earth.

** Te drew one mother's milk,

One chamber held yo all,
A very tender history

Did in your childhood fall.

" Te cannot unlock your heart,

The key is gone with them ;
The silent organ loudest chants

The master's requiem."

Ral/ph Waldo Emerson.— Born 1803.

From 1780 to 1866]

INTJBEMBERGK

[H.W LONGFELLOW.

1870— THE MOUNTAIN AND THE
SQUIBEEL.

The Mountain and the Squirrel

Had a quarrel,

And the former called the latter, " Little

Png"

Bun replied —

" You are doubtless very big ,
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together
To make up a year,
And a sphere ,
And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry •
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track.
Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put ;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you oraok a nut "

Waldo Em&rson.—Bom 1803.

1871.— THE ORIGIN OF MINT JULEPS.

'Tis said that tho gods, on Olympus of old,
(And who the blight legend profoneH with a

doubt ?)
One night, 'mid thoir revels, by Booolms were

told

That his last butt of nectar had somehow
run out!

But determined to send round tho goblet onco

more,

They suod to tho fairer immortals for aid
In comporting a draught, whioh, till drinking

wore o'er,

Should cast every wino ovor drunk in tho
shade.

Grave Oeros herself blitholy yielded her corn,
And the spirit that lives in each ambor-

huod groin,
And whioh first had its birth from the dews of

tho morn,

Was taught to stool out in bright dewdrops
again.

Pomona, whoso choicest of fruits on tho board
Were scattered profusely in ovory one's

reach,
When ooll'd on a tribute to cull from tho

hoard,

Expressed tho mild juice of tho delicate
pooch.

The liquids wore mingled, while Yonus look'd

on,

'With glances so fraught with sweet magical
powor,

That tho honey of Hybla, e'en whon they woro

gone,

Has never been mias'd in tho draught from
that hour.

Flora then, from her bosom of frograncy

shook,
And with roseate fingers pross'd down in

tho bowl,
AJ1 dripping and fresh as it camo from tlio

brook,

The herb whoso aroma should flavour the
whole.

Tho draught was delicious, each god did

ox claim,
Though something yet wanting they all did

bewail*,

But juleps tho drink of immortals became,
Wnen Jovo himself added a handful of
hail

Oluirles F&wo Hoffmtw. — Bora 180C.

1 872.— NTOEMBEBG.

In the volley of the Pegmtss, where across
brood meadow-lands

Biso tho blue IVancomon mountains, Nurem-
berg, the ancient, atandti.

Quaint old town, of toil and traffic, quaint old

town of art and song,
Memories haunt thy pointed gables, liko tho

rooks that round thorn throng ;

Momonos of tho Middle Ages, whon tho

omporors, rough and bold,
Had thoir dwelling in thy castle, time-defying,

centuries old ,

And thy bravo and thnfty burghers boasted,

in thoir uncouth rhyme,
That thoir great imperial city atretoh'd its

hand through every clime

In tho courtyard of tho castle, bound with.

many an iron bond,
Stands tho mighty linden planted by Queen

Oumgundo's hand,

On tho square tho oriel window, whore in old
heroic days

Sot the poot Molohior singing Kaiser Maximi-
lian* H praise.

Everywhere I BOO around mo rise the wondrous

world of Art, —
Fountains wrought with riohoHt sculpture

standing m tho common mart ;

And above cathedral doorways saints and

biwhops carved in stone,
By a former ago commission' d as opogfcloB to

our own

H. W. LONGUTDI.LOW ] THE AJJSENAL AT SPEING-FIELI). [SEVENTH PBBJOD —

In the church of sainted Sebold Bleeps en-
shrined his holy dust,

And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from
age to age their trust ,

In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a

pix of sculpture rare,
like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising

through the paintod air.

Here, when art was still religion, with a simple,
reverent heart,

Lived and laboured Albrecht Durer, the Evan-
gelist of Art ,

Henoe in silence and in sorrow, toiling still

with busy hand,
Like an emigrant he wander'd, seeking for

the better land.

Ermgrawt is the inscription on the tombstone

where he lies ,
Dead he is not, — but departed, — for the artist

never dies

Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine

seems more fair,
That he onoe has trod its pavement, that he

once has breathed its air !

Through these streets so broad and stately,
these obscure and dismal lanes,

Walk' d of yore the Mastersingers, chanting
rude poetic strains.

From remote and sunless suburbs, come they

to the friendly guild,
Building nests in Fame's great temple, as in

spouts the swallows build.

As the weaver plied the shuttle, wovo he too

the mystic rhyme,
And the smith ]fag iron measures hammer 'd to

the anvil's ohime ,

Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes

the flowers of poesy bloom
In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues

of the loom,

Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of

the gentle craft,
Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in hnge

folios sang and laugh.' d.

But his house is now an ale-house, with a

nicely sanded floor,
With a garland in the window, and his face

above the door;

Painted by some humble artist, as in Adorn

Pusohxnan's song,
A* the old man grey and dove-like, with his

great white beard and long.

And at night the swart mechanic comes to

drown his cark and care',
Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the

master's antique chair.

Yanish'd is the ancient splendour, and before

my dreamy eye
Wave these mingling shapes and figures, like

a faded tapestry.

Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisors, win for

thee the world's regard ,
But thy painter, Albreoht Duror, and Hans

Sachs, thy cobbler-bard

Thus, 0 Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region

far away,
As he paced thy streets and courtyards, f-ang

in thought his careless lay :

Gathering from the pavement's crevice, as a

floweret of the soil,
The nobility of labour, — the long pedigree of

toil

BT. W. Longfellow.— Born 1807.

X873.—THE ABSENAL AT SPRING-
FIELD.

This is the Araonal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge organ, rise the burnish' d arms,

But from their silent pipes no anthem pooling,
Startles the villages with strange alarms

Ah ' what a sound will rise, how wild and

dreary,
When the death-angel touches those swift

What loud lament and dismal Miserere
Will minglo with their awful symphonies !

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,
The ones of agony, the endless groan,

Which, through the ages that havo gone bef oro

us,
In long reverberations roach our own.

On helm and harness rings tho Saxon hammer,
Through Oimbno forest roars tho Norse-
men's song,

And loud, amid tho universal clamour,
O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.

I hoar the Florentine, who from his palace
Wheels out his battle-boll with dreadful

din,

And Aztec priests upon thoir teooallis
Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's
skin,

The tumult of each saok'd and burning village ;

Tho shout that every prayer for moroy

drowns,
The soldiers' revels in tho midst of pillage ,

The wail of famine in beleaguer' d towns ;

The bursting shell, tho gateway wronoh'd
asunder,

The rattling musketry, the clashing blado ;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,

The diapason of the cannonade.

From 1780 to 1866.]

THE SKELETON IN ABMOTXR.

[H. W. LONGFELLOW.

Is it, O man, with, such discordant noises,
With such accursed instruments as these,

Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly

voices,
And jarrest the celestial harmonies P

Were half the power that fills the world with

terror,
Were half the wealth bestow'd on oamps

and courts,

Given to redeem the human mind from error,
There wore no need of arsenals nor forts

The warrior's name would be a name abhorr'd '
And every nation, that should lift again

Its hand against a brother, on its forehead
Would wear foi evermore the curse of
Cain!

Down the dark future, through long genera-
tions,
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then

cease,

And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,
I hear once more the voice of Christ say
"Peace!"

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of war's great organ shakos tho
skies'

But beautiful as songs of the Immortals,
Tho holy melodies of lovo arise.

H W. Longfellow — Sorn ISO1?.

1874— THE SKELETON IN AJBMOUE.

" Speak ! speak ' thou fearful guest !
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude Armour drest,

Comest to daunt me !
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy floshless palms
Stretclu'd, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt mo P"

Thou, from bhoso cavernous eyes,
Pale flashes seom'd to nso,
As when tho Northern skies

Gleam in December ,
And like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe

From the heart's chamber*

"I was a Viking old I
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,

No Saga taught theo I
Take hoed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse !

For this I sought thoo.

" Far in the Northern Land,

By the wild Baltic's strand,
1} with my childish hand,
Tamed the ger-f alcon ;

And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimm'd tho half -frozen Sound,
That tho poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

" Oft to his frozen lair
Track* d I the gnzzly bear,
While from my path tho hare

Fled like a shadow ,
Oft through tho forest dark
Follow'd tho were- wolf's bark,
Until the soaring lark

Sang from the meadow.

" But when I older grow,
Joining1 a corsair's crew,
O'er tho dark sea I flow

With tho marauders
Wild was the hfo we lod ,
Many tho souls that sped,
Many tho hearts that bled,

By our stern orders.

" Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long winter out ;
Often our midnight shout

Set the cocks crowing,
As wo the Borsork's tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining tho oaten pail,

FiU'd to o'orflowing

" Once as I told in gleo
Talcs of tho stormy sea,
Soft oyos did gaze on me,

Burning out tender ;
And as the white stars ahino
On the dork Norway pine,
On that dark heart of arine

Foil their soft splendour*

" I woo'd the blue-eyed moid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade

Oar vows wore plighted.
Under its looseii'd vast
Flutter' d her little breast,
Like birds within their nest

By the hawk frighted.

" Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleam' d upon the wall,
Loud sang tho minstrels all,

Chanting his glory ;
When of old Hildebrand
I ask'd his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrel stand

To hear my story.

" While the brown ale he quaffd,
Loud then tho champion laugh* cl.
And as the wind-gusts waft

The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of Room,
Oat of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn

Blew the foam lightly,.

H. W LONGFELLOW J

A PSALH OF LIFE

[SEVENTH

«' She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blush' d and smiled,

I was discarded '
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did thoy leave that night
Her nest unguarded P

" goaroe had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me, —
Fairest of all was she —
Among the Norsemen '
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armed hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.

" Then launch* d they to tho blast,
Bent like a reed eaoh mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,

When the wind fatt'd us ,
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw

Laugh as he hail'd us.

" And as to oatoh the gale
Bound veer'd the flapping sail,
Death ' was the helmsman* s hail,

Death without quarter I
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel ;
Down her black hulk did reel

Through the black water.

" As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rooky haunt,

With his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.

" Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore

Stretching to lee-word ,
There for my lady's-bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking sea- ward.

" There lived we many years ;
Time dried the maiden's tears ;
She had forgot her fears,

She was a mother ;
Death dosed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies .
Ne'er shall the sun arise

On such another I

" Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen !
Hateful to me were men,
The son-light hateful!

In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Pell I upon my spear,
Q, death was grateful I

"Thus, seam'd with many soars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars

My soul ascended '
There from the flowing bowl
Deep dnnks the warrior's soul,
Skoal ' to the Northland ' skoal I "

—Thus the tale ended.

ST. W Longfellow — BornlSW.

I875.—A PSALM OP LIFE.

WHAT TOT HEABT Off THE TOUJTO- MAN SAID
TO THB PSALMIST.

Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream 1

For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things arc not what thoy seem.

Life is real ' Life is earnest !

And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thon art, to dust roturnost,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow
[Finds us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and bravo.

Still like muffled drums arc boating
Funeral marches to tho gravo

In the world's broad field of batUo,

In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !

Be a horo in the strife I

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant I
Lot tho dead Past bury its doad I

Act, — act in the living present 1
Heart within, and God o'orhoad !

Lives of great men all remind us
We can moke our lives sublime ;

And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,

A forlorn and ahipwreok'd brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doingr,

With a heart for any f ato ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labour and to wait.

H. W. L<>ngf*ttow,+~BQrn 1807,

Vrm 1780 to 1806.]

IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY.

[H. W. Lo NO PEL tow.

ENDYMION

The rising moon has hid tho stars,
Hor level rays, like goldon bars,
Lie on the landscape green,
"With shadows brown between.

And silver- white tho nvor gleams,
As if Diana, in her dieams,

Had dropt her silver bow

Upon the meadows low.

On such a tranquil night as this,
Sho woko Endymion with a kiss,
When, sleeping in the grove,
He dream' d not of her love

lake Dion's kiss, nnask'd, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought ,
Nor voioo, nor sound betrays
Its deop, impassion' d gozo

It comes — tho beautiful, tho free,
The orown of all humanity —

In silenoo and alone

To seek the elected one.

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows doop
Are Life's oblivion, tho soul* a sloop,
And kisses the cloned eyes
Of him, who slumbering lies.

0, weary hearts ' 0, slumbering eyes '
O, drooping souls, whoso destinies

Are fraught with fear and pain,

Ye shall bo lovod again '

No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,

Bat some heart, though unknown,

Responds unto its own.

Responds — as if, with unseen wings,
A breath from heaven, had touch' d its

strings;

And whispers, in its song,
'* Where hast thou etay'd so long P"

E W. Longfellow.— Born 1807.

1877. — TEE BELEAGUERED CITY.

I have read in some old marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,

That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguer* d the walls of Prague

Beside the Moldan'a rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,

There stood, as In an awful dream,
The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,

And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flow'd between.

No other voice nor sound was there,

No drum, nor sentry's paoo ;
The mist-like banners clasp* d tho air,

As clouds with clouds ombiaoe

But when the old cathedral boll
Proclaim* d the morning prayer,

The white pavilions rose and foil
On the alarmed air.

Down the broad valley fast and far

The troubled aimy flod ,
Up rose the glorious morning star,

The ghastly host was dead.

I have read in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,

That an aimy of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer tho human soul.

Encamp1 d beside Life's rushing stream,

In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows glenm

Portentous through the night.

Upon its midnight battle-ground

The spectral camp is soon,
And with a sorrowful, doop sound,

Plows the Bivor of Lifo betwoon.

No other voice nor Bound is thoro,

In tho army of tho grave ;
No othor challenge breaks tho air,

But tho rushing of Life's wave

And whon tho solemn and docp church-boll

Entreats tho soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms fool tlio wpoll,

Tho shadows pwoop away.

Down the broad Vale of Toon* u,lur

The spectral camp is fled ;
Faith shineth as a morning star,

Our ghastly fears are dead*

IT* W. Longfellow.— Born 1807.

1878,— IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAT.

The sun is bright, the air is clear,
The darting swallows soar and sing,

And from the stately elms I hear
The blue-bird prophesying Spring.

So blue yon winding river flows,
It seems an outlet from tho sky,

Where, waiting till the west wind blows,
The freighted clouds at anchor lie.

All things are now — the buds, tho leaves,
That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest,

And even the neat beneath the oaves-
There axe no birds in last year's nost.

AJ1 things rejoice in youth, and love,
Tho fulness of their first delight,

And learn from the soft heavens above
The melting tenderness of night.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.] MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING- YEAB [SEVENTH PEBIOD.—

Maiden I that read'st this simple rhyme,
Enjoy thy yonth— -it will not stay ,

Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
For, O ' it is not always May '

Enjoy the spring- of Love and Youth,
To some good angel leave the test,

For Time will teach thee soon the truth —
There are no birds in last year's nest.

IT. W. Longfellow.— Born 1807-

1879— MIDNIGHT MASS FOB THE
DYING YEAB.

Yes, the year is growing old,
And his eye is pale and blear* d !

Death, with frosty hand and cold,
Plucks the old man by the beard,
Sorely, — sorely '

The leaves are falling-, falling,

Solemnly and slow ,
Caw 1 caw ! the rooks are calling,

It is a sound of woe,
A sound of woe '

Through woods and mountain-passes
The winds, like anthems, roll ,

They are chanting solemn masses,
Singing ; Pray for this poor soul,

The hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain,

And patter their doleful prayers , —
But their prayers are all in vain,
JMl in vain '

There he stands, in the foul weather,

The foolish, fond Old Year,
Crown'd with wild flowers and with heather,

Like weak, despised Lear,
A king1, — a king '

Then comes the summer-like day,

Bids the old man rejoice '
His joy ' his last O, the old man grey

Loveth her ever-soft voice,
Gentle and low.

To the crimson woods he saith,

And the voice gentle and low
Of the soft air, hke a daughter's breath,

Pray do not mock me so I
Do not laugh at me '

And now the sweet day is dead ; .

Cold in his arms it lies,
No stain from its breath is spread

Over the glassy skies,
No mist nor stain '

Then, too, the Old Year dieth,

And the forests utter a moan,
lake the voice of one who crieth.

In the wilderness alone,
Yex not his ghost !

Then cornea, with an awful roar,

Gathering and sounding on,
The storm-wind from Labrador,

The wind Euroclydon,
The storm-wind !

Howl r howl r and from the forest

Sweep the red leaves away '
Would the sins that thou abhorrest,

0 soul ' could thus decay,
And be swept away '

For there shall come a mightier blast,

There shall be a darker day ;
And the stars, from heaven down-cast,
Like red loaves be swept away !
Kyiie Eleison ,
Chnstie Eleison !

JET. W. Longfellow.~-Born 1807.

1880 —MAIDENHOOD.

Maiden ' with the meek, brown eyes,
In whose orbs a shadow lies,
Like the dusk in evening skies '

Thou, whose locks outshine the sun,
Golden tresses, wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run I

Standing, with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet t
Womanhood and childhood fleet !

Gazing, with a timid glance,
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse '

Deep and still, that gliding stream
Beautiful to thee must soem,
As the river of a droaan

Then, why pause with indecision,
Whon. bnght angola in thy vision
Beckon thee to holds Elysian ?

Seesfc thou shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Sees the falcon's shadow fly P

Hearest thou voices on tho shore,
That our ears perceive uo more,
Deafen' d by the cataract's roar ?

O, thou child of many prayors !

Life hath quicksands, — Life hath snares t

Care and age come unawares !

lake the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June

Childhood is the bough where slumber' d
Birds and blossoms many-number'd j—
Age, that bough with snows encumber' &

From 1780 to 1866.] THE WBBCK OF THE HESPEBTJS. [H. W.

Gather, then, each flower that grows,
When the young- heart overflows,
To embalm that tent of snows

Bear a lily in thy hand ,

Gates of brass cannot withstand

One touch of that magic wand

Bear, through sorrow, wrong, and rath,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.

0, that dew, like balm, shall steal
Into wonnds, that cannot heal,
Even as sleep oar eyes doth seal ,

And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart,
For a smile of God thou art.

If. W. Longfellow — Bom 1807.

1881 —THE CHTLDBEN'S HOUR.

Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lour,

Comes a pause in the day's occupations.
Thai itt known as the Children' a Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me,

The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is open'd

And voices soft and sweet

From my study I soo in tho lamplight,
Descending the broad hall-stair,

Gravo Alice, and lang-hing Allegra,
And Edith with goldon hair.

A whisper, and then a silence ;

Yet I know by their merry eyes,
They are plotting and planning together

To toko me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from tho hall,

By thioo doors left unguarded,
They enter my castle wall.

They climb up into my turret,
O'er the arms and back of my chair ;

If I try to escape, tboy surround me ,
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devoui mo with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,

Till I think of the Bishop of Bmgon
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine !

Do you think, 0 blue-eyed banditti,
Because you hare scaled tko wall,

Such an old moustache as I am
la not a match for you all f

I have you fast in my fortress,
And I will not let you depart,

But put you down into the dungoon
la the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you for ever,

Yes, for ever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble in ruin,

And moulder in dust away.

H W. Longfellow.— Born 1807*

1882.— A SPRING LANDSCAPE.

The green trees whisper' d low and mild :

It was a sound of joy ,
They were my playmates when a child,
And rock'd me in their aims so wild, —
Still they looked at mo and smiled

As if I were a boy .

And ever whisper'd, mild and low,
" Come, be a child once more 1 "

And waved their long arms to and fro,

And beckon' d solemnly and slow :

Oh ! I could not choose but go
Into the woodlands hoar ;

Into the blitho and breathing air,
Into the solemn wood —

Solemn and silent everywhere —

Nature with folded hands soem'd there,

Kneeling at her evening prayer-
Like one in prayer I stood.

Before me rose an avenue

Of toll and sombrous pmos ;
Abroad their fanlight bronchos grew,
And whoio the sunshine darted through.
Spread a vapour soft and blue

In long and sloping linos.

And falling on my weary brain,

lake a faat-folliDg shower,
Tho dreams of youth came book again-
Low lispwgs of the summer rain,
Dropping on the ripon'd grain,

As once upon tho flower.

IT. W. Longfellow.— Born 1807.

1883.— THE WEECKOP THE HESPERUS.

It was the schooner Hesperus,

That soil'd the wintry sea ;
And the skipper had taken his little daughter,

To bear him company*

Blue wore her eyes as the fairy flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day j

And her bosom white as tho hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,

With his pipe in his mouth,
And watoh'd how the veering flaw did Wow

Tho smoke, now west, now south.

Then up, and spake an old sailor,
Had sau'd tho Spanish Main—
" J rr*w theo, put into yonder port,
f oar a hurricane,

83

"3SC. P.

APBIL VIOLETS.

[SEVENTH PJJBTOD. —

" Last night, the moon bad a golden ting,
And to-night no moon we see,"

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laugh* d he.

Colder and louder blew the wind,

A gale from the north-east ;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,

And the billows froth' d like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain,

The vessel in its strength ;
She shudder' d, and paused, like a frighted
steed,

Then leap'd her cable's length.

** Gome hither, come hither, my little daughter,

And do not tremble so ,
For I can weather the roughest gale

Tnat ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat.

Against the stinging blast ,-
He out a rope from a broken spar,

And bound her to the mast.

" 0 father, I hear the church-bells ring *

O say, what may it be ? "
'' 'Tis a fog-bell on a rook-bound coast,'*

And he steer' d for the open sea

" 0 father, I hear the sound of guns !

0 say what may it be ?"
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live

In such an angry sea ' "

" O father, I see a gleaming light '

0 say, what may it be *','
But the father answer' d never a word —
| A frozen corpse was he '

! Lash'd to the helm all staff and stark,

, With his face to the skies,

| The lantern gleam'd thro7 the gleaming snow

i On his fix'd and glassy eyes.

' Then the maiden olasp'd her hands and pray'd,

That saved she might be ,
And she thought of Christ, who still'd the

wares
On the lake of Galilee.

And fast through the mid-night dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,

Lake a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept,
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever, the fitful gusts between,

A sound came from the land ;
It was the sound of the trampling surf

On the rooks, and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows,

She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew,

Like icicles, from her deck.

She struck, where the white and fleecy waves

Look1'1 soft as carded wool ,
But the siruel rocks they gored her side *

Like the horns of an angry bull

Her rattling shrouds, all sheath'd in ice,
With the masts, went by the board ;

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, —
Ho ' ho ' the breakers roar'd.

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,

A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair

Lash'd close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,

The salt tears in her eyes ,
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,

On the billows fall and nse

Such was the wreck of the Hesp&nts,

In the midnight, and the snow ,
Christ save us all from a death like this,

On the reef of Norman's Woe !

If. W. Longfellow. — £orn 180.T.

1884.— APBIL VIOLETS.

I have found violets April hath come on,
And the cool winds feel softer, and the rain
Falls in the beaded drops of summer-time
You may hear birds at morning, and at ove
The tame dove lingers till the twilight falls,
Cooing upon the eaves, and drawing in
His beautiful, bright neck; and, from the

hills,

A murmur like the hoarseness of tho soa,
Tells the release of waters, and the Garth
Sends up a pleasant smell, and tho dry loaves
Axe lifted by tho grass , and so I know
That Nature, with her delicate ear, hath hoard
The dropping of the velvet foot of Spring.
Take of my violets ' I found them whore
The liquid south stole o'er thorn, on a bonk
That lean'd to running water. There's to mo
A daintiness about those early flowers,
That touches me like poetry. They blow
With such a simple loveliness among
The common herbs of pasture, and breathe

out

Their lives so unobtrusively, like heart*
Whose beatings are too gentle for tho world.
I love to go in the capricious days
Of April and hunt violets, when tho rain
Is in tho blue cups trembling, and they nod
So gracefully to the lasses of tho wind.
It may be deexn'd too idle, but tho young
Bead nature like the manuscript of Hoavon,
And call tho flowers its poetry. Go out '
Ye spirits of habitual unrest,
And read it, when tho " fovor of tho world "
Hath made your hearts impatient, and, if life
Hath yot one spring unpoison'd, it will be
Like a beguiling music to its flow,
And you will no more wonder that T love
To hunt for violets in the April-tuno.

N. P. WilU8.-~Bom 1807

JVoro 1780 to 1866 ] THE BALLAD OF CASSANDRA SOTJTHWIOK. [J. a. WHITTEBB.

1885,— THE BALLAD OF CASSANDRA
SOUTHWICK.

To the God of all sure meroioa let my blossing

riao to-day,
From the scoffer and the cruel He hath plnok'd

the spoil away, —
Tea, He who cool'd the furnace around the

faithful three,
And tamed the Chaldean lions, hath set His

handmaid free '

Last night I saw the sunBot molt through my

prison bars,
Last night across my damp earth-floor fell the

pale gleam of stars ,
In the coldness and the darkness all through

the long night-time,
My grated casement whiten' d with Autumn's

early nmo

Alone, in that dark sorrow, hour after hour

crept by ,
Star after star look'd palely in and sank

adown the sky ,
No sound amid night's stillness, save that

whioh seom'd to be
Tho dull and heavy boating of the pulses of

the sea;

All mght I sat unsleeping, for I know that on

tlio morrow
Tho ruler and the oruol priest would moot mo

in my sorrow,
Drag#'d to their place of market, and

bargain1 d for and sold,
lake a lamb before the shambles, like a heifer

from the fold 1

Oh, the weakness of the flesh was there — tlio

shrinking and tho shame ;
And the low voice of the Tempter liko

whiHpora to mo came :
"Why sit'Ht thou thus forlornly?" the

wicked murmur said,
" Damp wallH thy bower of beauty, cold earth

thy maiden bod P

" Where bo the smiling faces, and voices soft

and Hwcot,
Seen m thy father's dwelling, heard in tho

pleasant street ?
Whore bo tho youths, whoso glances the

summer Sabbath thiough
Turn'd tenderly and timidly unto thy father's

pew?

"Why sit'st thou hero, Cassandra P— Bethink
theo with what mirth

Thy happy schoolmates gather around tho
warm bright hearth ;

How the crimson shadows tremble, on fore-
heads white and fair,

On oyoa of merry girlhood, half hid in goldon
hair

" Not for thee tho hearth-fire brightens, not

for thee kind words are apoken,
Not for thee the nuts of Wonham woods by

laughing boys ore broken ,
No first-fruits of tho orchard within thy lap

are laid,
For theo no flowers of Autumn the youthful

hunters braid.

" Oh ' weak, deluded maiden I— by crazy

fancies led,
With wild and raving Tailors an evil path to

tread;
To leave a. wholesome worship, and teaching

pure and sound ;
And mate with mamao women, looso-hair'd

and sackcloth-bound.

" Mad scoffers of tho piiosthood, who mock

at things divine,
Who rail against the pulpit, and holy broad

and wino,

Sore from their cart-tail scourgings, and from
, the pillory lame,
Bejoioing in their wretchedness, and glorying1

in their shame.

" And what a fate awaits thoe I — a sadly toil-
ing slave,

Dragging the slowly lengthening chain of
bondage to tho grave '

Think of thy woman's nature, subdued in
hopeless thrall,

Tho easy prey of any, the scoff and scorn of
all!"

Oh * — over as tho Tempter spoke, and feeble

Natuio'a fears
Wrung drop by drop the scalding flow of

•unavailing tears,
I wrestled down tho evil thoughts, and strove

in silent prayer
To feel, oh, Helper of tho weak '—that Thou,

indeed, wort there '

I thought of Paul and Silas, within PMlippi's

coll,
And how from Fetor's sleeping limbs tho

prison shackles fell,
Till I seem'd to hear tho trailing of an angel's

robe of white,
And to feel a blossod presence invisible to

sight.

Bless tho Lord for all His mercies ' — for tLo
peace and love I felt,

Like dew of Hennon's holy hill, upon my
spirit molt

Get behind me, Satan I " was tho lan-
guage of my heart,

And I felt the Evil Tempter with all his

Slow broke the grey cold xnorniiig ; again tho

sunshine foil,
Fleck' d with tho shade of bar and grato within
my lonely cell ;

H3*

J. G. WHITTIBB.] THE BALLAD OF CASSANDBA SOTJTEWICK. [SEVENTH

The hoar-frost molted on the wall, and upward

from the street
Came careless laugh and idle word, and tread

of passing feet.

At length the heavy bolts fell back, my door

was open oast,
And slowly at the sheriff's side, tip the long

street I pass'd ;
I heard the murmur round me, and felt;, hut

dared not see,
How from every door and window the people

gazed on me.

And doubt and fear fell on me, shame burn'd

upon my cheek,
Swam earth and sky around me, my trembling

limbs grew weak -
" 0 Lord I support Thy handmaid; and from

her soul oast out
The fear of man, which brings a snare — the

weakness and the doubt."

Then the dreary shadows soatter'dlike a oloud
in morning's breeze,

And a low deep voice within me seem'd whis-
pering words like these

" Though thy earth be as the iron, and thy
heaven a brazen wall,

Trust still His lovwg-kmdness whose power is
over all."

We paused at length, where at my feet the
sunlit waters broke

On glaring reach of shining beaoh, and shingly
wall of rook ;

The merchant ships lay idly there, in hard
clear lines on high,

Tracing with rope and slender spar their net-
work on the sky.

And there were ancient citizens, cloak- wrapp'd

and grave and cold,
And gnm and stout sea-captains with faces

bronzed and old,
And on his horse, withBawson, his cruel clerk

at hand,
Sat dark and haughty Endioott, the ruler of

the land.

And poisoning with his evil words the ruler's

ready ear,
The priest lean'd o'er his saddle, with laugh

and scoff and jeer ;
It stirr'd my soul, and from my lips the seal

of silence broke,
Aa if through woman's weakness a warning

spirit spoke*

I cried, " The Lord rebuke thee, thon smiter of

the meek,
Thou robber of the righteous, thoutrampler of

the weak'
Go light the dark, cold hearth-stones — go turn

the prison lock
Of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou

wolf amid the flock!"

Dark lower'd the brows of Endioott, and with

a deeper red
O'er Rawson's wine empurpled cheek the flush

of anger spread ,
"Good people," quoth the white-lipp'd priest,

" heed not her words so wild,
Her master speaks within her — the Devil owns

his child I"

Bat grey heads shook, and young- brows knit,
the while the sheriff read

That law the wicked rulers against tho poor
have made,

Who to their house of Eiznmon and idol priest-
hood bring

No bended knee of worship, nor gainful offer-
ing.

Then to the stout sea-captains tho sheriff

turning said:
« Which of ye worthy seamen will take this

Quaker maid ?
In the Isle of Barbadoes, or on Virginia's

shore,
You may hold her at a higher prico than Indian

girl or Moor."

Grim and silent stood the captains ; and when

again he cried,
" Speak out, my worthy seamen !" — no voice

or sign replied ;
But I felt a hard hand press my own, and kind

words met my ear
" God bless thee, and preserve thee, my gentle

girl and dear '"

A weight seem'd lifted from my heart, — a

pitying friend was nigh,
I felt it in his hard, rough hand, and saw it

in his eye ,
And when again the sheriff spoke, that voice,

so kind to mo,
Growl'd back its stormy answer like the roar-

ing of the sea •

" Pile my ship with bars of silver — pack with

coins of Spanish gold,
From keel-piece up to deck-plank, the roomage

of her hold,
By the living God who made mo I— I would

sooner in your bay
Sink ship and crew and cargo, than boor this

child away I"

"Well answor'd, worthy captain, shamo on

their cruel laws ' "
Ban through the crowd in murmurs loud the

people's just applause.
" Like the herdsman of Tokoa, in Israol of

old,
Shall we see the poor and righlous attain for

silver sold *"

I look'd on haughty Endioott ; with weapon

half-way drawn,
Swept round the throng his lion glaro of

bitter hate and scorn;

From 1780 to 1866.]

PENTTTCKET,

p. G.

Fiercely he drew his bridle rein, and turn* d in

silence book,
And sneering- priest, and baffled clerk rode

murmuring in his track.

Hard after them the sheriff look' d in bitterness

of soul ;
Thnce smote his staff upon the ground, and

crush* d his parchment roll
" Good friends," he said, " since both have

fled, the rnler and the priest,
Judge ye, if from their further work I be not

well released."

Load was the cheer which, fall and clear,

swept round the silent bay,
As, with kind words and kinder looks, he bade

mo go my way ;
For He who tarns the courses of the streamlet

of the glen,
And the nver of groat waters, had turn'd the

hearts of men

Oh, at that hoar tho Tory earth seem'd changed

beneath my eye,
A holier wonder round me rose the blue walls

of the sky,
A lovelier light on rook and hill, and stream

and woodland lay,
And softer lapsed on sunnier sands the waters

of tho bay.

Thanksgiving to the Lord of life '—to Him all

praisoa bo,
"Who from the hands of evil men hath set His

handmaid free ;
All praiKO to Him before whose power tho

mighty are afraid,
Who takes the crafty in the snare, which for

the poor is laid !

Sing, oh, my soul, rejoicingly j on evening's

twilight calm
Uplift tho load thanksgiving — poor forth the

grateful psalm ;
Let all door hearts with me rejoice, as did the

saints of old,
When of the Lord's good angel the rescued

Petortold.

And woop and howl, ye ovil priests and mighty

men of wrong,
The Lord shall smite the proud and lay Has

hand upon the strong.
Woe to tho wicked rulers in Bos avenging

hour!
Woe to the wolves who soek the flocks to raven

and devour :

Bat let tho Iramblo ones arise, — tho poor UL

heart bft glad,
And lot w> mourning ones again with robes

of praoflfl be clad,
For He w>0 cool'd the furnace, and smooth' d

the rifprmj wavo,
And tamed the Chaldean lions, is mighty sia

G. Whither.— Born 1808.

1 886.—PENTXJOKET.

How sweetly on the wood-girt town
The mellow light of sunset shone '
Each small, bright lake, whoso waters still
Mirror tho forest and the hill,
Reflected from its waveless breast
The beauty of a cloudless west,
Glorious as if a glimpse were given
Within the western gates of Heaven,
Left, by the spirit of tho star
Of sunset's holy hour, ajar '

Beside the river's tranquil flood
The dark and low-wall' d dwellings stood,
Where many a rood of open land
Stretoh'd up and down on either hand,
With corn-leaves waving freshly green
The thick and blacken' d stumps between ;
Behind, unbroken, deep and dread,
The wild, untravelTd forest spread,
Back to those mountains, whito and cold,
Of which the Indian trapper told,
Upon whose summits never yet
Was mortal foot in safety set.

Quiet and calm, without a fear
Of danger darkly lurking near,
The weary labourer left his plough —
The milkmaid oaroll'd by her cow —
Prom cottage door and household hearth
Rose songs of praise, or tonos of mirth.
At length the murmur died away,
And silence on that village lay —
So slept Pompeu, tower and hall,
Ere tho quick earthquake swallow'd all,
Undreaming of the fiery fate
Which mode its dwellings desolate I

Hours pass'd away. By moonlight sped
The Morrimaok along his bod.
Bathed in the pallid lustre, stood
Bark cottage-wall and rock and wood,
Silent, beneath that tranquil beam,
As the hush'd grouping of a dream.
Yet on the still air crept a sound —
No bark of fox — no rabbit's bound —
29*0 stir of wings — nor waters flowing —
Nor leaves in midnight breezes blowing.

Was that the tread of many feet,
Which downward from tho hill-side boat ?
What forms wero those whioh darkly stood
Just on the margin of the wood P —
Charr'd tree-stumps in the moonlight dim,
Or paling rudo, or leafless limb P
No— -through the trees fierce eyeballs glow'd,
Dark human forms in moonshine show'd,
Wild from their native wilderness,
With painted iimbs and battlo-dross !

A yell, the dead might wake to hoar,
Swell' d on the night air, far and clear—
Then smote tho Indian tomahawk
On crashing door and shattering look-
Then rang the nflo-shot — and thon
The shrill doath-Bcream of btriokon men--

J. Q.

RAJSTDOJLPH OP BOAtfOKE

[SEVENTH PBBIOD.—

Sunk the red axe in woman's brain,
And childhood's cry arose in Yarn. —
Busting through roof and window oame,
Bed, fast, and fierce, the kindled flame ;
And "blended fire and moonlight glared
Over dead corae and weapons bared.

The morning sun look'd brightly through
The river-willows, wet with dew.
No sound of combat filTd the air,
"So shout was heard, — nor gun-shot there :
Yet still the thick and sullen smoke
Prom smouldering rums slowly broke ;
And on the greensward many a stain,
And, here and there, the mangled slain,
Told how that midnight bolt had sped,
Pentncket, on thy fated head I

E'en now, the villager can tell
'Where Rolf e beside his hearth-stone fell,
Still show the door of wasting oak
Through which the fatal death-shot broke,
And point the curious stranger where
Be Rouville's corse lay gnm and bare —
Whose hideous head, in death still fear'd,
Bore not a trace of hair or beard —
And still, within the churchyard ground,
Heaves darkly up the ancient mound,
Whose grass-grown surface overlies
The victims of that sacrifice.

John & Wlwtti&r. — -Bom 1808.

1887.— BAKDOIPH OF ROANOKE.

Oh, Mother Earth T upon thy lap

Thy weary ones receiving,
And o'er them, silent as a dream,

Thy grassy mantle weaving —
Told softly in thy long embrace

That heart so worn and broken,
And cool its pulse of fire beneath

Thy shadows old and oaken

Shut out from him the bitter word

And serpent hiss of scorning ;
Nor let the storms of yesterday

Disturb his quiet morning
Breathe over him forgetfulness

Of all save deeds of kindness,
And, save to smiles of grateful eyes,

Press down his lids in blindness

There, where with living ear and eye

He heard Potomac's flowing,
And, through his tall ancestral trees

Saw Autumn's sunset glowing,
He deeps— still looking to the west,

Beneath the dark wood shadow,
As if he stall would see the sun

Sink down on wave and meadow.

Bard, sage, and tribune ' — in himself
All moods of mind contrasting —

The tenderest waft of human woe,
The SGOXZL like lightning blasting ;

The pathos which from rival eyes

Unwilling tears could summon,
The stinging taunt, the fiery burst

Of hatred scarcely human '

Mirth, sparkling liko a diamond-shower,

From lips of life-long sadness ,
Clear piotunngs of majestic thought

Upon a ground of madness ,
And over all, romance and song

A classic beauty throwing,
And laureU'd Clio at his side

Her storied pages showing.

All parties fear'd him each in turn

Beheld its schemes disjointed,
As right or left his fatal glance

And spectral finger pointed.
Sworn foe of Cant, ho smote it down

With trenchant wit, unsparing,
And, mocking, rent with ruthless hand

The robe Pretence was wearing.

Too honest or too proud to feign

A love he never chensh'd,
Beyond Virginia's border line

His patriotism pen&h'd
While others haiTd in distant skies,

Our eagle's dusky pinion,
He only saw the mountain bird

Stoop o'or his Old Dominion I

Still through each change of fortune strange,

Raok'd nerve, and brain all burning,
His loving faith in mother-land

Knew never shade of turning
By Britain's lakes, by Nova's wave,

Whatever sky was o'er him,
He heard her rivers' innhmg sound,

Her blue peaks rose boforo him.

He held his slaves, yet made withal

No false and vain pretences ,
Nor paid a lying pnoHt to sock

For scriptural defences.
His harshest words of proud rebuko,

His bitterest taunt and scorning,
Fell firehko on the Northcm brow

That bent to him in fawning.

He hold his slaves yet kept tho while

His reverence for the human ;
In the daik vassals of his will

He saw but man and woman I
No hunter of God's outraged poor

His Boanoko valley ontor'd ;
No trader in the souls of men

Across his threshold ventured >

And when the old and wearied mob

Laid down for his last nlceplng.
And at his etido, a slave no more,

His brother man stood wooping.
His latest thought, his latest broaJb,

To freedom's duty giving,
With failing tongue and trembling Uand

The dying bless' d the living*

From 1780 to 1866 ]

DEMOCRACY.

[J <2K

Oh ' never bore his ancient state

A truer son or braver ;
.None trampling with, a calmer scorn

On foreign hate or favour
Ho knew her faults, yet never stoop'd

His proud and manly feeling
To poor excuses of the wrong,

Or meanness of concealing

Bat nono beheld with clearer oye

The plague-spot o'er her spreading,
Nono heard more snro the stops of Doom

Along her future treading
For her as for himsolf he spako,

"Whon, his gaunt frame upbraoing,
He traced with dying hand, " Remorse ' "

And ponHh'd in tho traoing

As from tho grave where Henry sloops,

From Vornon's weeping willow,
And from tho grassy pall which hides

The sage of Montioollo,
So from the loaf-strewn burial-stone

Of Randolph's lowly dwelling,
Virginia ' o'er thy land of slaves

A warning voice is swelling.

And hark > from thy deserted fields

Are sadder warnings spokon,
From quenched hearths, whore thine exiled sons

Thoir household gods havo broken.
Tho curso IB on theo — wolves for men,

And bnorfl for oorn-shoavon giving '
Oh ! moro than all thy dead ronown

Wore now ono hero living !

JbTwt Q. Wlvttti&r.—Bom 1808.

1888 —DEMOCRACY.

Oh, fairest-born of love and light,
Yet bending brow and eye severe

On all which pains the holy sight,
Or wounds tho i>uro and perfect oar '

Beautiful yet thy tomples rise,

Though there profaning gifts are thrown ;
And fires, unkindlod of the skies,

Are glaring round thy altar-stone.

Still floored— though thy name bo breathed
By those whoso hearts thy truth deride ;

And garlands, pluok'dfromthoe, are wreathed
Around tho haughty brows of pride.

0, ideal of my boyhood's tuno '
The faith in which my father stood,

Even when the sans of lust and crime
Had stain' d thy peaceful courts with blood t

Still to those courts my footsteps turn,
HVw, through the mists that darken there,

I soo tho flame of freedom burn —
The Kobla of tho patriot's prayer '

The generous feeling, pure and warm,
Which owns tho right of all divine—

Tho pitying heart— tho helping arm —
The prompt self-sacrifice — are thine.

Beneath thy broad, impartial oyo,
How fade the lines of oaste and birth '

How equal in their suffering he
The groaning multitudes of earth !

Still to a stricken brother true,
Whatever olune hath nurtured him ;

As stoop'd to heal the wounded Jew
The worshipper of Gonzim.

By misery unrepelTd, unawed

By pomp or power, thoa seo'st a man

In pnnoe or peasant— slave or lord —
Pale pnost, or swarthy artisan

Through all disguise, form, place or name,
Beneath the flaunting robe? of ton,

Through poverty and squalid shame,
Thou lookest on tho man within.

On man, as man, retaining yet,
Howe'or debased, and soiTd, and dim,

Tho crown upon his forehead sot —
The immortal gift of God to him.

And there is reverence in thy look ;

For that frail form which mortals wear
Tho Spin! of tho Holiest took,

And ved'd His perfect brightness there.

Not from tho cold and shallow fount

Of vain philosophy thou art,
ITo who of old on Syria1 H mount

Thrill' d, wara'd by turns the listener's
heart

In holy words which cannot die,

In thoughts which angels yearn'd to know,
Proclaim* d thy message from on high —

Thy mission to a world of woe.

That voice's echo hath not died 1

From tho blue lake of Galileo,
And Tabor'p lonely mountain-Bide,

It calls a struggling world to theo.

Thy name and watchword o'er this land
I hear in every breeze that stirs,

And round a thousand altars stand
Thy banded party worshippers.

Hot to those altars of a day,
At party's call, my gift I bring ;

But on thy olden shrine I lay
A freeman's dearest offering •

Tho voiceless utterance of hie will—-
His pledge to freedom and to truth,

That manhood's heart remembers fitiU.
The homage of its generous youth.

John Q Whittier.—JBovn 1808*

O.W. HOLMES.]

ON LENDING A PTJNCH-BOWL.

[SEVENTH

1889.— ON LENDING A PUNCH-BOWL.

This ancient silver bowl of mine — at tells of

good old tunes —
Of joyous days, and jolly nights, and merry

Christinas chimes ,
They were a free and jovial race, but honest,

brave, and true,
That dipp'd their ladle in the punch when this

old bowl was new.

A Spanish galleon brought the bar, — so runs

the ancient tale ;
'Twas hammer* d by an Antwerp smith, whose

aim was like a flail ;
And now and then between the strokes, for

fear his strength should fail,
He wiped his brow, and quaff* d a oup of good

old ITlemish ale*

'Twas purchased by an English squire to

please his loving dame,
"Who saw the oherubs, and conceived a longing

for the same ;
And oft, as on the ancient stock another twig

was found,
'Twas nil' d with candle spiced and hot, and

handed smoking round.

But, changing hands, it reach' d at length a
Puritan divine,

"Who used to follow Timothy, and take a little
wine,

But hated punch and prelacy ; and so it was,
perhaps,

He went to Leyden, where he found conven-
ticles and sohnaps.

And then, of course, you know what's next it

left the Dutchman's shore
"With those that in the Hay-Flower

hundred souls and more —
Along with all the furniture, to fill their new

abodes—
To judge by what is still on hand, at least a

hundred loads.

'Twas on a dreary winter's eve, the night

was closing dim,
When old Miles Standish took the bowl, and

fill'd it to the brim ,
The little captain stood and stirr'd the posset

with his sword,
And all Ms sturdy men-at-arms were ranged

about the boaxd.

He pour'd the fiery Hollands in— the man that

never fear'd —
He took a long and solemn draught, and wiped

his yellow beard :
And one by one the musketeers — the men that

fought and pra^d —
All drank as 'twere their mothers' tmiTr^ and

not a man afraid.

That sight, affrighted from his nest, the

screaming eagle flew .
He heard the Pequot's ringing whoop, the

soldier's wild halloo j

And there the sachem learn' d the rule he

taught to kith and kin
" Run from the white man when you find he

smells of Hollands gin '"

A hundred years, and fifty more, had spread

their leaves and snows,
A thousand rubs had fiatten'd down each little

cherub's nose ;
When once again the bowl was fill'd, but not

in mirth or joy —
'Twas mingled by a mother's hand to obeer

her parting boy.

" Drink, John," she said, "'twill do you good ;

poor child, you'll never boar
This working in the dismal trench, out in tho

midnight air ;
And if — God bless me — you were hurt,

'twould keep away the chill."
So John did drink — and well he wrought that

night at Bunker's hill I

I tell you, there was generous warmth in good

old English cheer ;
I bell you, 'twas a pleasant thought to drink

its symbol here.
'Tis but the fool that loves excess . hastthou

a drunken soul P
Thy bane is in thy shallow skull— not in my

silver bowl 1

I love the memory of the past — its pressed yet

fragrant flowers —
The moss that clothes its broken walls, the ivy

on its towers —
Nay, this poor bauble it bequeath' d . my eyes

grow moist and dim,
To think of all the vanish' d joys that danced

around its brim.

Then fill a fair and honest oup, and boar it

straight to me ;
The goblet hallows all it holds, whato'er th»

liquor be,
And may the oherubs on its face protect m<r

from the sin
That dooms one to those dreadful words — "My

dear, where have you been P "

0. W. Holmes. — Born 180&

1890,— AN EVENING THOUGHT.

WEITTEN AT SBSA.

If sometimes in the dark-blue eye,

Or in the deep-red wine,
Or soothed by gentlest melody,

Still warms this heart of mine,
Yet something colder in the blood,

And calmer in the brain,
Have whisper' d that my youth's fright fl'ood

Ebbs, not to flow again.

JWow 1780 to 1806]

THE TREADMILL SONG.

[0. W. HOLMUS,

If by Helvetia's aznre lake,

Or Arao's yellow stream,
Each, star of memory oould awake,

As in my first young dream,
I know that when mine eye shall greet

The hill-sides bleak and bare,
That gird my home, it will not meet

My childhood's sunsets there

0, when love's first, sweat, stolen kiss

Bnrn'd on my boyish brow,
Was that young forehead worn as this P

Was that flnsh'd oheek as now P
Were that wild pulse and throbbing heart

Joke these, whioh vainly strive,
In thankless strains of soulless art,

To dream themselves alive P

Alas ' tho morning dew is gone,

Gone ere tho full of day ,
Life's iron fetter still is on,

Its wreaths all torn away ,
Happy if still some casual hour

Can warm the fading shrine,
Too soon to chill beyond the power
Of love, or song, or wine I

Oliver W. Holmes —Bom 1809.

1891.— LA GRISETTE

Ah, Clemonco ' when I saw thoe last

Trip down tho Rue de Some,
And turning, when thy form had pasfi'd,

I said, "Wo moot again,"
I droam'd not m that idle glance

Thy latest image came,
And only left to memory's trance

A shadow and a name.

Tho few strange words my lips had taught

Thy timid voice to speak ,
Their gentler sighs, which often brought

Fresh roses to thy cheek ;
Tho trailing of thy long, loose hair

Bent o'er my couch of pain,
All, all rcturn'd, more sweet, more fair;

0, had we met again I

I walk'd where saint and virgin keep

Tho vigil lights of Heaven,
I knew that thou hadst wooa to weep,

And sins to be f orgivon ,
I watch'd where Geneviove was laid,

I knolt by Mary's shrine,
Beside mo low, soft voices pray'd ,

Alas I but whore was thine P

And when tho morning sun was bright,

When wind and wave were calm,
And flamed, in thousand-tinted light,

The rose of Notre Dame,
I wmder'd through the haunts of men,

From Boulevard to Qoai,
Till, frowning o'er Saint Etienne,

The Pantheon's shadow lay.

In vain, in vain , we meet no more,

Nor dream what fates befall ,
And long upon the stranger's shore

My voice on theo may call,
When years have clothed the line in inoas

That tells thy name and days,
And wither'd, on thy simple cross,

The wreaths of Pere-la-Chaise !

Olw&r W. Holmes. — Born 1809.

1892. — THE TREADMILL SONG-.

The stars aro rolling in the sky,

The earth rolls on below,
And we can feel the rattling wheel

Revolving as we go.
Then tread away, my gallant boys,

And make the axle fly ;
Why should not whools go round about

lake planets in tho sky P

Wake up, wake up, my duok-legg'd man,

And stir your solid pegs ;
Arouse, arouse, my gawky fnend,

And shako your spider legB ;
What though you're awkward at tho trade P

There's tune enough to learn, —
So lean upon the rail, my lad,

And take another tuin.

They've built us up a noble wall,

To keep the vulgar out ,
We've nothing in tho world to do,

But just to walk about ;
So faster, now, you middle men,

And try to beat the ends .—
It's pleasant work to ramble round

Among one's honest friends.

Hero, tread upon the long man's toes,

Ho sha'n't be lazy hero ;
And punch the little fellow's ribs,

And tweak that lubber's oar ,
He's lost thorn both j don't pull his hair,

Because he wears a scratch,
But poke him in tho farther cyo,

That isn't in the patch.

Hark 1 fellows, there's tho supper-bell,

And so our work is done ;
It's pretty sport, — suppose we take

A round or two for fun 1
If ever they should turn me out,

When I have better grown,
Now, hang me, but I mean to have

A treadmill of my own 1

OUvor W. HbZmcs.— Born 1809.

O. W. HOLMES.]

LATTBB^DAT WAENIKGS.

1893.— LATTER-DAY WARNINGS.

"When legislators keep the law,

When banks dispense with, bolts and looks,
"When bemes, whortle-, rasp-, and straw-,

Grow bigger downwards through the box,— •

When he that selleth house or land
Shows leak in roof or flaw in right, —

When haberdashers choose the stand
Whose window hath the broadest light, —

When preachers tell us all they fib-'mlr)
And party leaders all they mean, —

When, what we pay for, that we drink,
Prom real grape and coffee-bean, —

When lawyers take what they would give,
And doctors give what they would take,—

When city fathers eat to live,

Save when they fast for conscience' sake,—

When one that hath a horse on sale
Shall bring his xnent to the proof,

Without a he for every nail

That holds the iron on the hoof, —

When in the usual place for nps
Our gloves are stitch' d with special care,

And guarded well the whalebone tips
Where first umbrellas need repair, —

When Cuba's weeds have quite forgot

The power of suction, to resist,
And claret-bottles harbour not

Such dimples as would hold your fist, —

When publishers no longer steal,
And pay for what they stole bof oro, —

When the first locomotive's wheel
Bolls through the Boosac-tunnel's bore 5—

Till then let Gumming blaze away,
And Miller's saints blow up the globe ;

Bat when you see that blessed day,
Then order your ascension robe !

Olwor W. Holmes — Bom 1809.

1:894,— THE OLD MAN'S DBEAM.

Oh for one hour of youthful joy I
Give back my twentieth spring '
I'd rather laugh a bright-hair' d boy
Than reign a grey-beard king >

11 Off with the wrinkled spoils of ago 1

Away with learning's crown '
Tear out life's wisdom- written page,

And dash its trophies down '

"One moment let my life-blood stream

^Erom boyhood's fount of flame !
Give me one giddy, reeling droam
* Of hfe all love and fame ' "

— My listening angel heard the prayer.

And calmly smiling, said,
"HI but touch thy silver'd hair,

Thy hasty wish hath sped.

" But is there nothing in. thy track

To bid thee fondly stay,
While the swift seasons hurry back

To find the wish'd-for day P"

" — Ah, truest soul of womankind*!

Without thee, what were life P
One bhss I cannot leave behind

I'll take— my— precious— wife ! "

— The angel took a sapphire pen,

And wrote in rainbow dow,
" The man would be a boy again,

And be a husband, too '"

— " And is there nothing yet unsaid

Before the change appears ?
Remember, all their gifts have fled

With these dissolving years ' "

" Why, yes , for memory would recall

My fond paternal joys ;
I could not bear to leave them all ;

I'll take — my — girl — and — boys ! "

The smiling angel dropp'd his pon,— -

" Why this will never do ;
The man would be a boy again,

And be a father, too I"

And so I laugh'd, — my laughter woke
The household with its noise, —

And wrote my dream, whon morning broke,
To please the grey-haor'd boys.

Olm&r W. Holmes.— Born 1809.

1895.— WHAT WE ALL THINK.

That age was older onoo than now,
In apito of locks untimely nliod,

Or silver'd on the youthful brow ;
That babes moke love and children wod.

That sunfthino had a heavenly glow,
Which faded with those " good old days,"

Whon winters camo with deeper snow,
And autumns with a softer hazo.

That — mother, Bister, wife, or child—
The " best of women " each has known.

Were school-boys over half so wild P
How young the grandpapas have grown.

That but for this our souls woro froo,
And but for thai our IXVCB woro blest ;

That in some season yet to bo
Our cares mil leave uu timo to roflt.

Whene'er wo groan with ache or pain,
Some common ailment of the race, —

Though doctors think Iho matter plain, —
That ours is " a peculiar OOHO "

That when like babos with fingorw bum'd
We count one bitter maxim more,

Our lesson all the world has loarn'd,
And men are wiser than before.

1788 to 1866]

CONTENTMENT.

[0. "W.

That when we sob o'er fancied woes,

Tho angols hovering overhead
Count evory pitying drop that flows,

And love us for the tears we shod

That when we stand with tearless eye
And turn the beggai from our door,

They still approve us when we sigh,
" Ah, had I but one thousand more f "

That weakness smoothed the path of sin,
In half tho slips our youth has known ,

And whatsoe'er its blamo has boen,
That Moroy flowers on faults outgrown

Though temples crowd tho crumbled brink
O'orhanging truth's eternal flow,

Thoir tablets bold with what wo think,
Thoir oohoos dumb to what we know ;

That ono unquostion'd toxt we road,
All doubt beyond, all foar above,

Nor crackling pile nor cursing creed
Can burn or blot it • God is Love 1

QUv&r W. Holmes— Born 1809.

1896.— THE LAST BLOSSOM.

Though young no moie wo still would droam
Of boauty'H door deluding wilos ,

Tho loaguoH of hie to groyboardH Room
Shorter than boyhood' u lingering milos.

Who knows a woman's wild caprice P
It play'cl with Gootho's silver' d hair,

And many a Holy Father's " niooo "
Has softly smoothed the papal chair.

When sixty bids us sigh in vain
To molt tho hoart of awoot sixteen,

Wo think upon those ladies twain
Who lovod HO well the tough old Dean.

We soo the Patriarch's wintry face,
Tho maid of JHJgypt'a dusky glow,

And dream that Youth and Ago embrace,
AH April violotH fill tho snow.

Tranced in her Lord's Olympian smile
Hit* lotus-lovjng Momphian Hew, —

Tho musky daughter of tho Nile
Witli plaited hair and almond oyos.

Might wo but flliaro ono wild caress
Ero life's autumnal bloMHoms fall,

And earth's brown clinging lips impress
Tho long cold kuaa that waits us all !

My boHom heaves, romomboring yot
Tho morning of that blissful day

When Rose, tho flower of spring, I mot,
And gave my raptured soul away.

Flung from her eyos of purest WUG,

A lasso, with its leaping chain,
Light as a loop of larkspurs, flew

O'er sense and spint, heart and br&3*

Thou corn's* to cheer my waning age,
Sweet vision, waited for so long !

Dove that would seek the poet's cage
Lured by the magic breath of song !

She blushes ! Ah, reluctant maid,
Love's dia/peau rowjc the truth has told 1

O'er girlhood's yielding barricade
Floats the gioat Leveller's crimson fold I

Come to my arms ' — love heeds not yoars ;

No frost tho bud cf passion knows, —
Ha ! what is this my f ronzy hears P

A voice behind mo utler'd,*— Rose I

Sweet was her amile, — but not for me I
Alas, whon woman looks too kind,

Just turn your foolish head and see, —
Some youth is walking close behind I

Olw&r W, Holmes.— Born 180Q

1897.— CONTENTMENT.

Little I ask , my wants aro few ,

I only wish a hnt of utone,
(A vory plain brown stono will do,)
That I may coll my own ;—
And closu at hand IH such a ono,
In yonder street that fronts the sun.

Plain food IB quito ouough for me ;

Thioo courwoH aro OH good as ton ;—
1C Nature con nubhibi on three,

Thank Hoavon for thioo. Amen 1
I always thought cold victual nice ; —
My choice would be vanilla-ice.

I caro not much for gold or land ; —

Give mo a mortgage here oud thoro, —
Somo good bank-stock, — some note of hand,

Or trifling railroad share , —
I only ask that fortune solid
A little more than I whall spend.

Honours 010 Hilly toys, I know,

And titloH aro but ompty nornos; —
I would, perhaps, bo Flompo, —
But only lusar St. JamoH ,
I'm vory sure 1 whould not caro
To fill our QubomiLtor'tt cliait.

JbwelB aro baublcH , 'tiB a ain

To ooro for Huoh unfruitful things ;•—
Ono good-sissod diamond in a pin,— »

Somo, not so large, in ring-H,—
A ruby, and a pearl, or BO,
Will do for mo , — I laugh at show

My dame shall droau in cheap attiro j

(Good, heavy silktt aio never dear ;) — •
I own porhapa I might (losiro

Some uhawlfe of true Cashmoro,—
Somo marrowy crayon of China pi Ik,
lake wrmklod nkius on scalded milk.

k CLARK]

EUTHANASIA.

[SEVENTH PBBIOJX-

I would not nave the horse I drive

So fast that folks must stop and stare ;
An easy gait, two, forty-five —

Suits me ; I do not care ;-—
Perhaps, for just a single spurt,
Some seconds less would do no hurt.

Of pictures I should like to own

Titians and Raphaels three or four, —
I love so much their style and tone, —

One Turner, and no more, —
(A landscape, — foreground golden dart, —
The sunshine painted with a squirt )

Of books but few, — some fifty score

For daily use, and bound for wear ;
The rest upon an upper floor , —

Some little luxury there
Of red morocco's gilded gleam,
And vellum nch as country cream.

Busts, cameos, gems, — such things as these,

Which others often show 'for pnde,
I value for their power to please,
And selfish churls deride ;
One Stradivarius, I confess,
Two meerschaums, I would fain possess

Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn,
Nor ape the glittering upstart fool , —
Shall not carved tables serve my turn,

But all must be of buhl P
Give grasping pomp its double share, —
I ask but one recumbent chair.

Thus humble let me live and die,

Nor long for Midas' golden touch, ^
If Heaven more generous gifts deny,
I shall not miss them much, —
Too grateful for the blessing lent
Of simple tastes and mind content f

Oliver W. Holmes.— Born 1809.

1898.— EUTHANASIA,

Rethinks, when on the languid eye
Life's autumn scenes grow dim ,
When evening's shadows veil the sky,

And Pleasure's siren hymn
Grows fainter on the tuneless ear,
Like echoes from another sphere,

Or dreams of seraphim,
It were not sad to cast away
This dull and cumbrous load of clay.

Jt were not sad to feel the heart

Grow passionless and cold j
To feel those longings to depart
That cheer' d the good of old;
To clasp the faith which looks on high,
Which fires the Christian's dying eye,

And makes the curtain-fold
That falls upon his wasting breast
The door that leads to endless rest

It were not lonely thus to he

On that triumphant bed,
Till the pure spirit mounts on high,

By white-wing'd seraphs led .
Where glories earth may never know
O'er " many mansions" lingering glow,

In peerless lustre shed ;
It were not lonely thus to soar,
Where sin and gnef can sting no more.

And, though the way to such a goal

Lies through the clouded tomb,
If on tl e free, unfetter'd soul

There rest no stains of gloom,
How should its aspirations nse
Far tftrough the blue, unpillar'd skies,

Up, to its final home !
Beyond the journeymgs of the sun,
Where streams of living waters run.

Willis 0. CZarfc.— Born 1810, Died 1841.

1899.— ANNABEL LEE.

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may

know

By the name of Annabel Lee ;
And this maiden she lived with no other

thought
Than to love and be loved by mo

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea ,
But we loved with a love that was more than
love —

I and my Annabel Leo —
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long* ago,

In this kingdom by the flea ;
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee ,
So that hor highborn kinsmen came

And bore hor away from mo,
To shut her up in a sepulchre,

In this kingdom by the soa.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Wont envying her and mo —
Tea ' — that was the reason (as all men know

In this kingdom by tho Boa),
That the wind came out of the cloud by night*

Chilling and TnHfog1 my Annabel Loo.

But our love it was stronger by far than the
love

Of those who were older than we —

Of many far wiser than we —
And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under tho sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

From 1780 to 1866.]

ULALUME.

[B. A. POB.

For the moon never beams, without bringing

me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ;
And the atais never rise, but I feel the bright

eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee :
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the

side
Of my darling*— my darling— my life and my

bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea —
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Edgar A. Poe.—Bvrn 1811, Died 1849.

1900— ULALITME . A BALLAD.

The skies they were ashen and sober ;

The leaves they were crispM and sere —

The leaves they were withering and sere ,
It was night in the lonesome October

Of my most immemorial year ,
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,

In the misty mid region of War —
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Woir.

Hero once, through an alloy Titanic,
Of cypress, I roam'd with my soul —
Of cypress, with Psyche, my soul

Those wore days when my heart was volcanic
As tho scoriae rivers that roll —
As tho lavas that restlessly roll

Their sulphurous currents down Yoanek,
In theiealms of tho boreal polo

Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they wero palsied and

sero —
Oar momonos wore treacherous and sere —

For wo knew not the month was October,
And we marked not tho night of the year —
(Ah, mghb of all nights in the year 1}

"We noted not the dim lake of Auber,

(Though once wo had j ourney* d down hero) —

Bern ember M not tho dank tarn of Anber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Woir.

And now, as tho night was senescent,
And Btar-dialfl pointed to mom —
As tho star-dials hintod of mom —

Ab tho oiid of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,

Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn—

Afltarte's bodiamondod orescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said — " She is warmer than Dian
She rolls through an other of sighs — >
She revels in a region of sighs*

She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, whero the worm never dies,

And ha? oomo past the stars of tho Lion
To point ns tho path to the skies —
To tho Lethean peace of the skies-

Come up, in despite of the Lion,

To shine on us with her bright eyes—-
Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes."

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said — " Sadly this star I mistrust-—
Her pallor I strangely mistrust :

Oh, hasten !— -oh, let us not linger I
Oh, fly ' — let us fly ! — for we must.JI

In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings till they trail' d in the dust— -

In agony sobb'd, letting sink her
Plumes till they trail'd in the dust —
Till they sorrowfully trail'd in the dusk.

I replied — " This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light—-
Let us bathe in this crystalline light 1

Its sibylho splendour is beaming
With hope and in beauty to-night •
See, it flickers up the sky through the
night

Ah, we safely may trust to its gloamings.
And be sure it will lead us anght —

We safely may trust to a gleaming
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to heaven through the
night."

Thus I pacified Psyche and kiss'd her,
And tempted her out of her gloom—-
And conquer' d her scruples and gloom;

And wo paas'd to tho end of tho vista,
But woro stopp'd by the door of a tomb—-
By tho door of a legondod tomb ;

And I said, " What w written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legondod tomb ?"

She replied, " Ulolume — Ulalume—

'Tis the vault of thy lost tTlolame I"

Then my heart it grow ashen and sober
As tho leaves that wero criapi^d and sore —
As the leaves that woro withering and sere,

And I cried, " It was surely October
On this very night of last year,
That I journey' d — Ijourney'd down here
That 1 brought a dread burden down here—-
On this night of all nights in the year.
Oh, what demon ha* tempted mo hero P

Well I know, now, this dun lake of Auber,
This misty mid region of Woir —

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir,"

Said we ihon — the two, then — " Ah, can it
Have bcon that the woodlandish ghouls —
Tho pitiful, tho merciful ghouls —
To bar up our way and to ban it
From the secret that lies in these wolds —
From the thing that lies hidden in these

wolds —
Have drawn up tho spectre of a planet

From the limbo of lunary souls—-
This sinfully scintillant planet

Iftom tho hell of tho planetary souls ? "

A Poo.— Bom 1811, Ihed 1840.

Jff. A. FOB.]

DKEAM-LAOTX

[SEVENTH PERIOD. —

1901 .— PBB AH-LAOT).

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named Night,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reach' d these lands but newly
From an ultimate dun Thule' —
Prom a wild, weird clime that heth, sublime
Out of space — out of fame

Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
"With forms that no man can discover
For the dews that drip all over ;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore ;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire ;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters — lone and dread —
Their still waters — still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.

By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead —
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily —
By the mountains, near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever—
By the gray woods — by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp-
By the dismal tarns and pools

Where dwell the ghouls —
By each spot the most unholy,
In each nook most melancholy-
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted memories of the past ,
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by ,
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to earth — and heaven '

For the heart whose woes ore legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region ;
For the spiiit that walks in shadow
J^LB — oh, 'tis an Eldorado !
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not, dare not openly view it ,
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed ;
So wills its King-, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid ,
And thus the sad soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darken' d glasses.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named Night,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wander'd homo but newly
Prom fhfo ultimate dim Timid.

Edgar A. Poe.—Bom 1811, Died 1849.

1902 — LENORE.

Ah, broken is the golden bowl,

The spirit flown for ever !
Let the bell toll'
A saintly soul

Floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy Do Vere,
Hast thou no tear P

Weep now or nevermore 1
See, on yon drear
And rigid bier

Low lies thy love, Lenore f
Come, lot the burial-rite be read —

The funeral-song be sung ' —
An anthem for the queonliest dead,

That ever died so young —
A dirge for her the doubly dead,

In that she died BO young I

" Wretches ! ye loved her for her wealth,

And hated her for her pride ;
And when she fell in feeble health,

7e bless'd her — that she died !
How shall the ritual, then, be read P

The requiem, how be sung
By you — by yours, the evil eyo —

By yours, the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence

That died, and died so young! "

Peccavimus

But rave not thus !

And let a Sabbath song

Go up to Gtod so solemnly, tho dead may

feel no wrong !
The sweet Lenoro
Hath " gone before,"

With Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild
For the dear child

That should have boon thy bride—
For her, tho fair
And debonair,

That now BO lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair

But not within hor oyos —
The life still there,
Upon her hou —

The death upon her eyes.

"Avaunf to-night
My heait is light,

No dnge will I upraise.
But waft the angel on her flight

With a psoan of old days !
Lot no bell toll'—
Lest her swoet soul,

Amid its hallow'd mirth,
Should catch the note,
As it doth float —

Up from the damnM earth.
To friends above, from fiends below.

The indignant ghost is riven —
Prom hell unto a high estate

Far up within the heaven*—

JProro 1780 to 1866.]

THE BELLS.

[E. A. POB.

From grief and groan,
To a golden throne,
Beside the TTmg of Heaven "

. Poe.— Born 1811, Died

1903.— ISRAFEL

In heaven a spirit doth dwell

" Whoso heart-stnnga are a Inte ; "

None sing so wildly well

As the angel Israfel,

And tho giddy stars (so legends toll)

Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
01 his voice, all mute.

Tottonng above

In her highest noon,

Tho enamour' d moon
Blushes with lovo,

While, to listen, the red lovin

(With tho rapid Pleiads, oven,

Whioh were seven)

Pauses in heaven.

And they say (the starry ohoir
And the other listening things)

That Israfoli's fore

Iti owing to that lyro
By which ho flits and sings —

Tho trembling living wire
Of HLOHO unusual strings

But tho skies that angel trod,
Whoro doop thoughts are a duty—

Whoro Love '« a grown-up god-
Where the Houri glances aro

Imbued with all tho beauty
Whioh wo worship in a star.

Therefore, thon art not wrong,

Israfeli, who donpisost
An unirnpassion'd song;
To thoo tho laurels belong,

JBehfc bard, booauso the wisest !
Mornly live, and long!

Tho ecstasies above

With thy burning measures suit—
Thy giiof, thy joy, thy hato, thy love,

With tho fervour of thy lute —
Well may the stars bo muto 1
TOR, hoaven is thino ; but this

Is a world of sweets and sours ,*

Our flowers aro merely — flowors,
And tho shadow of thy perfect bliss

Is tho sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell

Whore Israfel

Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well

A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell

From my lyre within tho sky.

. Poe.— Born 1811, Died 1849.

1904. — THE BELLS.

Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells —

What a world of merriment their melody fore-
tells '
How they tinklo, tinHe, tioMo,

In the icy air of night 1
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle

With a crystalline delight,
Keeping tune, tune, time,
In a sort of Hume rhyme,
To the tuxtabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bolls, bolls,

Bells, bells, bells—

From the jingling and the tinkling: of the
bells.

II.

Hear the mellow wedding bells,

Golden bells '

What a world of happiness their harmony
foretells!

Through the balmy air of night
How they iing out then delight T
From tho molton-goldon notes,

And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To tho turtle-dove that listens, while she
gloats

On the moon '

Oh, from out tho sounding cells,
What a gush of ouphony voluminously wells I
How it swells !
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tellfl
Of tho rapture that impels
To tho swinging and the ringing

Of tho bells, bolls, bolls,
Of the bolls, bolls, bolls, bells,

Bells, bells, bells—

To the rhyming and tho chiming of the
bells!

in.

Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells'

What a tale of terror, now, then* turbnleney
tells'

In tho startled ear of night
How they Boroam out then- atfright 1
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,

Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of tho

fire,

In a mad expostulation with the deaf and
frantic fire.

Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavour
Now — now to ait or novor,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.

B. A. Pea.]

TO F. a <X

[SEVENTH PEEIOD.-

Oh, the bells, bells, bells,
What a tale their terror tells

Of Despair I

How they clang, and clash, and roar !
"What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air '
Xet the ear it folly knows,
By the twanging-,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows ;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the Kmlrmg or the swelling in the anger of
the bells—

Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells—

In the clamour and the clangour of the
bells!

TV.

Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron bells i

"What a world of solemn thought their monody
compels !

In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone '
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats

Is a groan

And the people — ah, the people —
They that dwell up in the steeple,

All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,

In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone —
They are neither man nor woman —
They aie neither brute nor human —

They are Ghouls
And their king it is who tolls ,
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,

Rolls,

A pecan from the bells '
And his merry bosom swells

With the proan of the bells !
And he dances and he yells ;
Keeping tune, time, time,
In a sort of Banio rhyme,
To the proan of the bells —

Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the throbbing of the bells —
Of the bells, bells, bells—

To the sobbing of the bells ;
Keeping time, time, time,

As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,

To the rolling of the bells —
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bolls

Edgwr A. Poe.— JEtora 1811, Died 1849.

1905 —TO F. S. 0.

Thou wouldst be loved P — then let thy heart

From its present pathway part not I
Being everything which now thou art,

Be nothing which thou art not.
So with the world thy gentle ways,

Thy grace, thy more than beauty,
Shall be an endless theme of praise,

And love — a simple duty.

Poe.—Bom 1811, Died 1849.

1906.— FOR ANNIE.

Thank Heaven ' the crisis —

The danger, is past,
And the lingering illness

Is over at last —
And the fever call'd " Living "

Is conquer' d at last.

Sadly, I know

I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move

As I he at full length ;
But no matter ' — I feel

I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly,

Now, in my bed,
That any beholder

Might fancy me dead —
Might start at beholding mo,

Thinking me dead —

The moaning and groaning,
The sighing and sobbing,

Are quieted now,
With that homble throbbing

At heart • — ah that horrible,
Horrible throbbing '

Ihe niokncRs — the nausea —

The pitiless pain —
Have ceased, with the fever

That maddon'd my brain —
With the fevor call'd " laving"

That burn'd in my brain.

And oh ' of all tortures,

That torturo the worst
Has abated— the terrible

Torture of thirst
For the napthaline river

Of Passion accurst :
I have drunk of a water

That quenches all thirst ,-—

Prom 1 780 fc 1866]

THE HAVEN".

[B.A.POBL

Of a water that flows,

With a lullaby sound,
From the spring but a few

Feet under ground —
From a cavern not very far

Down under ground.

And ah' let it never

Be foolishly said
That my room it is gloomy

And narrow my bed ,
Pot man never slept

In a different bed —
And, to sleep, you must slumber

In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit

Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never

Bogrettmg, its roses-
Its old agitations

Of myrtles and roses.

For now, whale so quietly

Lying, it fancies
A holier odour

About it, of pansies —
A rosemary odour,

Commingled with pansies —
With rue and the beautiful

Puritan pansics.

And so it lies happily,

Bathing m many
A dream of tho truth

And tho beauty of Annie-
Drown' d in a bath

Of the tresses of Anmo.

She tenderly kiss'd me,

She fondly caress' d,
And then I fell gently

To sleep on her breast —
Deeply to sleep

From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extixiguiah'd,

She cover' d me worm,
And eho pray'd to tho angels

To keep me from harm —
To tho quoon of tho angels

To bhield mo from harm.

And I lie so composedly,

Now, in my bed,
(Knowing her love,)

That you fancy mo dead —
And I rest so contentedly,

Now, in my bed,
(With her love at my breast,)

That you fancy me dead —
That you shudder to look at mo,

Thinking me dead — •

"But my heart it is brighter

Than all of the many
Stars of the sky,

For it sparkles with Annie-

It glows with the light
Of the love of my Annie —

With the thought of tho light
Of the eyes of my Annie.

Edgar A. Poe.— Born 1811, Died 1849.

1907.— THE EAVEN.

Once upon a midnight dreary,
While I ponder'd. weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious

Volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping,
Suddenly there camo a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping,
Rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I mutter' d,
" Tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember,
It was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember

Wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wish'd the morrow ;
Vainly I had tried to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-
Sorrow for the lost Lenore —
For tho rare and radiant maiden
Whom the angels name Lenoro—
Nameless hero for evermore.

And tho silken, sod, uncertain
Bustling- of each purple curtain
ThnlTd me— fill' d mo with fantastic

Terrors never felt before ;
So that now, to still the boating
Of my heart, I stood repeating
" 'Tas some visitor entreating

Entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating

Entrance at my chamber door ;—

This it is, and nothing more."

Presently nay soul grow stronger ;

Hesitating then no longer,

u Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly

Tour forgiveness I implore ;
But tho fact is I wan napping,
And so gently you come rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping,

Tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I hoard you," —

Hero I opon'd wide tho door :

Darkness there, and nothing moro !

Doop into that darkness peering,
Long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal

Ever dared to dream bef oro j
But the silence was unbroken,
And tho darkness gave no token,

84

% A POE.]

THE RAVEN.

[SEVENTH J?JBI:RIOD.— .

And the only -word there spoken

Was the whisper'd word, " Lenore '"

This I whisper'd, and an echo

Murmur'd back the word, " Lenore I"
Merely this, and nothing1 more*

Then into the chamber training,
All my soul within me "burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping

Somewhat louder than before.
" Surely /' said I, " surely that is
Something at my -window lattice ;
Let me see, then, what thereat is,

And this mystery explore —
Let my heart be stiU a moment,

And this mystery explore ; —

*Tis the wind, and nothing more I1'

Open here I flung the shutter,
When, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepp'd a stately raven

Of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisanoe made he ,
Not an instant stopp'd or stayed he ;
But, with mien of lord or lady,

Perch'd above my chamber door —
Peroh'd upon a bust of Pallas

Just above my chamber door —

Peroh'd, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling

My sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum ,

Of the countenance it wore,
" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,
Thou," I said, " art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven,

Wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is

On the Night's Plutonian shore •"

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore."

Much I marvell'd tfrift ungainly
Fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-
Little relevancy bore ,
For we cannot help agreeing
That no living human being
Ever yet was bless'd with seeing
Bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured
Bust above his chamber door,
With such name as " Nevermore."

But the raven sitting lonely
On the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in

That one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he utter* d—
Not a feather then he flutter'd—
Till I scarcely more than xnutter'd

" Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me,

Aa my hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said, ' •Nevermore/'

Startled at the stillness broken

By reply so aptly spoken,

" Doubtless/' said I, " what it utters

It is only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master
"Whom unmerciful Disaster
Follow'd fast and follow'd faster,

Till Tbig songs one burden bore— —
Till the dirges of his Hope the

Melancholy burden bore

Of ' Nevermore/— of < Nevermore.' "

But the raven still beguiling
All my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeTd a cushion' d seat in

Front of bird and bust and door ;
Then upon the velvet Binfrvng,
I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinkmor

What this ominous bud of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly,

Gaunt and ominous bud of yore

Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing,

But no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes nor.

Burn'd into my bosom's core i
This and more I sat divining,
With my head at ease reclining:
On the cushion's velvet lining

That the lamplight gloated o'er;
But whose velvet violet lining

With the lamplight gloating o'or,

She shall press, ah, never more !

Then, methought, the air grew denser,
Perfumed from an unseen censor,
Swung by angels whose faint foot-foils

Tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath loat

thee,

By these angels he hath sent thoo
Respite-— respite and nepenthe

From thy memories of Lenore !
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe,

And forget this lost Lonoro !"

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore."

" Prophet '" said I, « thing of evil I—

Ptophet still, if bud or devil J

Whether tempter sent, or whether
Tempest toss'd thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted,

On this desert land enchanted—

On this home by Horror haunted—
> Toll me truly, I implore—

Is there— is there balm in GileadP
Tell mo— toll mo, I implore 1"
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore.'*

« Prophet I" said I, « thing of evil—

Prophet still, if bird or devil '

By that heaven that bonds above Tia—

By that God we both adore—
Tell tfcis soul with sorrow laden
If, within the distant Aidonn,

from 1780 to 1866.]

MAE7.

[H. T.

It shall clasp a sainted maiden
Whom the angels name Lenore —

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden
Whom the angels name Lenore.'*
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting,
Bird or fiend I" I shriek'd, upstarting —
" Get thee back into the tempest

And the Night's Plutonian shore !
Leave no blaok plume as a token
Of that lie thy soul hath spoken '
Leave my loneliness unbroken I —

Quit the bust above my door '
Take thy beak from out my heart,

And take thy form from off my door !"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting,
Still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas

Just above my chamber door j
And his eyes hayo all the seeming
Of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming

Throws his shadow on the floor ;
And my soul from out that shadow

That lios floating on the floor

Shall be lifted— nevermore !

. Poe.—Born, 1811, DM 1849.

1908.— THE CONQTIEBOB WORM.

Lot 'tis a gala night

Within the lonesome latter years !
An angel throng, bewing'd, bodight

In veils, and drown' d in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see

A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully

The music of the spheres.

Mixaos, in the form of God on high,

Mutter and mumblo low,
And hithar and thither fly—

Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things

That shift tho scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings

Invisible Woo I

That motley drama I— oh, be sure

It shall not bo forgot !
With its Phantom chased for evermore,

By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever retornethin

To the self-same spot,
And ranch of Madness, and more of Sin,

And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout,

A crawling shape intrude !
A blood-red thing that writhes from out

The soenio solitude I

It writhes ! — it writhes r — with mortal pangs,

The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs

In human gore imbued.

Out— out are the lights — out all !

And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,

Comes down with a rush of a storm,
And tho angels, all pallid and wan,

Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"

Its hero the Conqueror Worm.

Edgar A. Poe.— Born 1811, Ihed 1849.

1909.— MABT.

What though the name is old and oft

repeated,
What though a thousand beings bear it

now,
And true hearts oft the gentle word have

greeted —
What though 'tis hallow'd by a poet'*

vowP
We ever lovo the rose, and yet its blooming

Is a familiar rapture to the eye ,
And yon bright star wo hail, although its

looming
Ago after age has lit the northern sky.

As starry beams o'er troubled billows stealing,

As garden odours to tho desert blown,
In bosoms faint a gladsome hope revealing,

Like patriot music or affection's tone —
Thus, thus, for aye, the name of Mary spoken

By lips or text, with magic-like control,
The course of present thought has quickly
broken,

And atirr'd the fountains of my inmost
souL

The sweetest tales of human weal and sorrow,

The fairest trophies of the limner's fame,
To my fond fancy, Mary, seem, to borrow

Celestial halos from thy gentle name :
The Grecian artist glean' d from many faces,

And in a perfect whole the parts combined,
So have I counted o'er dear woman's graces

To form tho Mary of my ardent mind.

And marvel not I thpfl call my ideal—-
We inly paint OB wo would have things be—

The fanciful springs ever from tho real,
As Aphrodite rose from out the sea.

Who smiled upon me kindly day by day,
In a far land where I was sad and lone P

Whose presence now is my delight away p
Both angels must the same bless' d title own

What spirits round my weary way ore flying
What fortunes on my future life await,

Like the mysterious hymns the winds are

sighing,
Are all unknown — in trust I bide xny fate ;

. T.

PLOEENOB.

[SEVENTH

But if one blessing I might crave from

'Two-old be that Mary should my being

cheer,

Hang o'er me when the chord of life is riven,
Be my dear household word, and my last

accent here.

T. Tttcfeanncw.— Born 1813.

1910.— FLOEENGE.

Princes, when soften'd in thy sweet

embrace,

Team for no conquest but the realm of grace,
And thus redeem' d, Lorenzo's fair domain
Smiled in the light of Art's propitious reign.
Delightful Florence! though the northern

gale

"Will sometimes rave around thy lovely Tale,
Can I forget how softly Autumn threw
Beneath thy skies her robes of ruddy hue,
Through what long days of balminees and

peace,
From wintry bonds spring won thy mild

release?

Along the Arno then I loved to pass,
And watch the violets peeping from the grass,
Mark the grey Trine each chestnut grove

between,

Startle the pheasants on the lawny green,
Or down long vistas hail the mountain snow,
like lofty shrines the purple clouds below.
Within thy halls, when veiTd the sunny rays,
Marvels of art await the ardent gaze,
And liquid words from lips of beauty start,
With social joy to warm the stranger's heart.
How beautiful at moonlight's haUow*d hour,
Thy graceful bridges, and celestial tower '
The girdling hills enchanted seem to hang
Round the fair scene whence modern genius

sprang;

O'er the dark ranges of thy palace walls
The silver beam on dome and cornice falls ;
The statues cluster' d in thy ancient square,
Like mighty spirits print the solemn air ;
Silence meets beauty with unbroken reign,
Save when invaded by a choral strain,
Whose distant cadence falls upon the ear,
To fill the bosom with poetic cheer !

Henry T. Tuck&rmcm.~-Born 1813.

1911.— TO THE DANDELION.

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside

the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,

First pledge of blithesome May,
Which children pluck, and, full of pnde, up-

hold,

High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoy'd that
they

An Eldorado in the grass have found,

Which not the rich earth's ample round

May match in wealth— thou art more dour
to me

Than all the prouder summer-blooms may
be.

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish

prow
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas,

Nor wrinkled the lean brow
Of age, to xob the lover's heart of ease ;
7Tis the Spring's largess, which she scatters

now
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand,

Though most hearts never understand
To take it at God's value, but pass by
The offer' d wealth with unrewarded eye.

Thou art my trophies and mine Italy,
To look at thee unlocks a warmer dime j

The eyes thou givest mo
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time1,

Not in mid June the golden-ouirass'd bee
Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment

In the white lily's breezy tint,
His conquer' d Sybans, than I, when first
From the dark green thy yellow circles
burst

Then think I of deep shadows on the grans —
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,

Where, as the breezes pass,
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways —

Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,
Or whiten in the wind — of waters Uuo

That from the distance spoikle through,
Some woodland gap — and of a sky above,
Where one white cloud like a stray lamb
doth move.

My childhood's earliest thoughts are link'd

with thee,
The sight of theo calls back the robin's song,

Who, from the dark old tree
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long,

And I, secure in childish piety,
Listen' d as if I heard an angel sing*

With news from heaven, which ho clici

bring

Fresh every day to my untainted oars,
When birds and flowers and I wore happy
peers.

How like a prodigal doth Nature scorn,
When thou, for all thy gold, so common artr

Thou teaohost mo to deem
More sacredly of every human heart,

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam
Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret
show,

Did we but pay the love we owo,
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look
On all these living pages of God's book.

James R. j&otuall.— -Born 1819*

From 1780 to 1866.]

THE POET.

[J. B. I/OVTBT A.

1912.— THE POET.

In the old days of awe and keen-eyed wonder,

The Poet's song with blood-warm truth was

xife;
He saw the mysteries which circle under

The outward shell and «1rm of daily life.
Nothing to him. were fleeting tune and fashion,

His soul was led by the eternal law j
'There was in him no hope of fame, no passion,

But with calm, godlike eyes, he only saw.
He did not sigh o'er heroes dead and buried,

Chief mouiner at the Golden Age's hearse,
Nor deem that souls whom Charon grim had
ferried

Alone were fitting themes of epio verse :
He could believe the promise of to-morrow,

And feel the wondrous meaning of to-day;
He had a deeper faith in holy sorrow

Than the world's seeming loss could take

away.
To know the heart of all things was his duty,

All things did sing to *"*» to make him

wise,
And, with a sorrowful and conquering beauty,

The soul of all look'd grandly from his eyes.
He gazed on all within him and without him,

He watoh'd the no wing of Tune's steady tide,
And shapes of glory floated all about him,

And whisper'd to him, and he prophesied.
Than all men he more fearless was and freer,

And all his brethren cried with one accord, —
" Behold tho holy man * Behold the Seor !

Him who hath spoken with tho unseen

Lord!"
He to his heart with large embrace had taken

The universal sorrow of mankind,
And, from that root, a shelter never shaken,

Tho tree of wisdom grew with sturdy rind.
He could interpret well the wondrous voices

"Which to the calm and silent spirit come ;
He knew that the One Soul no more rejoices

In the star's anthem than the insect's hum.
He in his heai t was over meek and humble,

And yet with kindly pomp his numbers ran,
As he foresaw how all things false should
crumble

Before the free uplifted soul of man •
And, when he was made full to overflowing

With all tho loveliness of heaven and earth,
Out rush'd his song like molten iron glowing,

To show God sitting by the humblest

hearth.
With calmest courage he was ever ready

To teach that action was the truth of

thought,

And, with strong arm and purpose firm and
steady,

The anchor of the drifting world he

wrought,
So did he make tho meanest man partaker

Of all his brother-gods unto him gave ,
All souls did reverence him and name him
Make*,

And when he died heap'd temples on his
grave.

And still his deathless words of light are

swimming

Serene throughout the great, deep infinite
Of human soul, unwamng and undimming,
To cheer and guide the mariner at night.
But now the Poet IB an empty rhymer,

Who lies with idle elbow on the grass,
And fits his singing, like a cunning timer,
To all men's prides and fancies as they

pass.

Not his the song, which, in its metre holy,
Chimes with the music of the eternal

stars,

Humbling the tyrant, lifting up the lowly,
And sending sun through the soul's prison-
bars.
Maker no more, — O, no ' unmaker rather,

For he unmakes who doth not all put forth
The power given by our loving Father
To show the body's dross, the spirit's

worth.
Awake ' great spirit of the ages oldon 1

Shiver the mists that hide thy starry lyre,
And let man's soul be yet again beholden
To thee for wings to soar to her desire.
0, prophesy no more to-morrow's splendour,
Be no more shame-faced to speak out for

Truth,
Lay on her altar all the gushmgs tender,

The hope, the fire, the loving- faith of youth !
0, prophesy no more the Maker's coming,
Say not his onward footsteps thou canst

hear

In the dun void, like to the awful humming
Of tho great wings of some now-lighted

sphere '
0, prophesy no more, but bo the Poet !

This longing waa but granted unto thee
That, when all beauty thou oouldat feel and

know it,

That beauty in its highest thou couldst be.
0, thou who meanest, tost with sealike long-
ings.

Who dimly nearest voices call on thee,
Whose soul is overfill' d with mighty throng*

ings

Of love, and fear, and glorious agony,
Thou of the toil-strung hands and iron sinews
And soul by Mother Earth with freedom

fed,
In whom the hero-spirit yet continues,

The old free nature is not chain' d or dead,
Arouse ' let thy soul break in music-thunder,

Let loose the ocean that is in thoe pent,
Pour forth thy hope, thy fear, thy love, thy

wonder,
And toll the age what all its signs have

meant.
Where'er thy wildoi'd crowd of brethren

jostles,

Where'er there lingers but a shade of wrong,
There still is need of martyrs and apostles.

There fltill axe texts for nover-dying song ;
From age to ago man's still aspiring Bpitti
Finds wider scope and sees with otaarer
oyos,

' J. B. LOWBLL ]

THE SIBENS.

[SEVENTH PERIOD —

And thou in larger measrae dost inherit
"What made thy great forerunners free and

wise.

Sit thon enthroned where the Poet'd moun-
tain

Above the thunder lifts its silent peak,
And roll thy songs down like a gathering foun-
tain,
That all may dnnk and find the rest they

seek.
Sing • there shall silence grow in earth and

heaven,

A silence of deep awe and wondering ;
For, listening gladly, bend the angels, even
To hear a mortal like an angel sing.

Among the toil-worn poor my soul is seeking
For one to bring the Maker's name to light,
To be the voice of that almighty speaking
"Which every age demands to do it right.
Proprieties our silken bards environ ,

He who would be the tongue of this wide

land
Must string his harp with chords of sturdy

iron

And strike it with, a toil-embrowned hand ;
One who hath dwelt with Nature well-at-
tended,
Who hath learnt wisdom from her mystic

books,
"Whose soul with all her countless lives hath

blended,

So that all beauty awes us in his looks ;
"Who not with body's waste his soul hath

pamper'd,
Who as the dear north-western wind is

free,
"Who walks with Form's observances

And follows the One Will obediently ;
Whose eyes, like windows on a breezy summit,

Control a lovely prospect every way ;
Who doth not sound God's sea with earthly

And find a bottom still of worthless clay ;
Who heeds not how the lower gusts are work-

ingj

Knowing- that one sure wind blows on above,
And sees, beneath the foulest faces lurking,

One God-built shrine of reverence and love;
Who sees all stars that wheel their shining

i marches

Around the centre fii'd of Destiny,
Where the encircling soul serene o'orarohes
The moving globe of being, like a sky ;
Who feels that God and Heaven's great deeps

are nearer

Him to whose heart his fellow-man is nigh,
Who doth not hold his soul's own freedom

dearer

Than that of all his brethren, low or high j
Who to the right can feel himself the truer
For being gently patient with the wrong,
Who sees a brother in the evildoer,
tad finds in Love the heart's blood of Ms
song:—

This, this is he for whom the world is waiting

To sing the beatings of its mighty heart,
Too long hath it been patient with the giatrag

Of scrannel-pipes, and heard it misnamed

Art
To him the smiling soul of man shall listen,

Laying awhile its crown of thorns aside,
And once again in every eye shall glisten

The glory of a nature satisfied.
His verse shall have a great, commanding
motion,

Heaving and swelling with a melody
Learnt of the sky, the river, and tho ocean,

And all the pure, majestic things that be.
Awake, then, thou ! we pine for thy great
presence

To make us feel the soul once more sublime,
We are of far too infinite an essence

To rest contented with the lies of Time.
Speak out ' and, lo ' a hush of deepest wonder

Shall sink o'er all his many-voiced scene,
As when a sudden burst of rattling thunder

Shatters the blueness of a sky serene.

J. JR. Lowell— Born 1819.

1913— THE SIRENS.

The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary,
The sea is restless and uneasy ;
Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary,
Wandering thou knowest not whither , —
Our little isle is green and breezy,
Come and rest thee ' O come hithor '
Come to this peaceful home of ours,

Where evermore
The low west wind creeps panting up the

shore

To be at rest among the flowers ;
Full of rest, the green moss lifts,

As the dark waves of the sea
Draw in and out of rooky rifts,

Calling solemnly to thee
With voices deop and hollow,—
" To tho shore

Follow i 0 f bllow !
To be at rest for evermore '
For evermore ! "

Look how the grey old Ocean
From the depth of his heart rejoices,
Heaving with a gontlo motion,
When he hears our restful voioos ;
List how he sings in an undertone,
Chiming with our melody ;
And all sweet sounds of earth and air
Melt into one low voice alono,
That murmurs over the weary soa,—
And seems to sing from every where, —
" Here mayest thou harbour peacefully,
Here mayest thou rest from the aching oar;

Torn thy curved prow ashore,
And in our green isle rest for evermore 1
For evermore I "

From 1780 to I860.] AN INCIDENT IN A IRAILROAD CAB.

pr. "R. LOWW.I,

And Echo half wakes m the woodod hill,
And, to hor heart BO calm and deep,
Murmurs over in her sleep,
Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still,
" Evermore ' "

Thus, on Life's woary sea,
Heareth the marinore
Vbioos sweet, from far and near,
Evor singing low and clear,
Ever singing longingly.

Is it not better hero to bo,
Than to be toiling- late and soon P
In the dreary night to see
Nothing but tho blood-red moon
Go up and down into tho sea ,
Or, in tho loneliness of day,

To see tho still seals only
Solemnly lift their faces grey,

Making it yot more lonely?
Is it not better, than to hear
Only the sliding of the ware
Beneath the plank, and feel so near
A cold and lonely grave,
A restless grave, where thou shalt he
Even in death unquietly P
Look down benoath thy wave-worn bark,

Loan over tho side and nee
The leaden eye of tho side-long- shark

tTpturniM patiently,
Evor waiting thoio for thoo
Look down and BOO those shapoloBfl forms,

Which over koop their droamlesH sloop

Par down within tho gloomy doop,
And only stir themselves in stormH,
Rising like islands from beneath,
And snorting through tho angry spray,
As the frail vessel porisheth
In the whirls of their unwieldy play :

Look down ' Look down I
Upon tho soawood, slimy and dark,
That wavos its arms so lank and brown,

Beckoning for thoo '
Look down bonoath thy wave-worn bark

Into tho cold dopth of tho Roa I
Look down ' Look down '

Thus, on Lifo'B lonoly sea,
Hoareth tho mannero
Voices sad, from far and near,
Evor singing full of fear,
Evor singing drearfully.

Hero all is pleasant as a dream ;
Tho wind soarco ahakoth down tho dow,
Tho green grass flowoth like a stream
Into tho ocoan'B bluo
Liwton ' O hston '
Hero if) a guHb of many streams,

A song of many birds,
And every wish and longing seems
Lull'd to a numbor'd flow of worda, —

Listen ' 0 listen '
Here over hum tho golden boos
tJndomoatli full-bloflsom'd twos,
At onoo with glowing fruit and flowers
orown*d ,—

The sand IR so smooth, tho yollow sand,
That thv kool will not grate, as it touches tlio

land;

All around, with a slumberous sound,
Tho singing waves slide up the strand,
And there, where the smooth, wot pebbles bo,
The waters gurglo longingly,
As if they fain would seek tho shore,
To be at rest from tho ceaseless roar,
To be at rest for evermore, —
For evermore.

Thus, on Life's gloomy sea,

ECearoth tho marinore

Voices sweet, from for and noar,

Ever singing in his oar,

"Here is rest and peace for thee » "

James n. Lowell •— Born 1819.

1914,— AN INCIDENT IN A BAILBOAD
CAB.

He spoko of Burns men rude and rough
Press'd round to hoar tho praise of one
Whoso heart was made of manly, simple stuff,
As homespun as their own.

And, whon he read, they forward lean'd,
Drinking, with thirsty hearts and oars,
His brook-like songs whom glory never

woon'd
From humble smiles and tears.

Slowly ihoro grow a tender awo,
Sun-like, o'or faces brown and hard,
As if in him who read thoy felt and saw
Some presonoo of tho bard.

It was a sight for sin and wrong
And slavish tyranny to see,
A sight to mako our faith more pure and

strong
Ixi high humanity.

I thought, those men will carry honeo
Promptings their former life above,
And something of a finer reverence
For beauty, truth, and love.

G-od scatters love on every side,
Freely among his children all,
And always hearts are lying open wide,
Wherein some grams may fall.

There is no wind but sowoth seeda
Of a more true and open life*
Which burst, unlook'd-for, into high-8o*il*d

deeds
With wayside beauty rife.

Wo find -within those souls of ourq
Some wild germs of a higher birth,
Which in the poet's tropic hoart boar iiowor«
Whose fragrance fills tho oartfn

3. Jt£. LOWELL.]

THE HERITAGE.

Within the hearts of all men lie
These promises of wider bliss,
Which blossom into hopes that cannot die,
In sunny hours like this.

All that hath been majestioal
In life oz death, since time began,
IB native in the simple heart of all,
The angel heart of man.

And thus, among the untaught poor
Great deeds and feelings find a home,
That oast in shadow all the golden lore
Of classic Greece and Borne.

O mighty brother-soul of man,
Where'er thou art, in low or high,
Thy skyey aroh.es with exalting span
O'er-zoof infinity 1

All thoughts that mould the age begin
Deep down within the primitive soul,
A-nd from the many slowly upward win
To one who grasps the whole :

In his broad breast the feeling deep
That struggled on the many's tongue,
Swells to a tide of thought, whose surges leap
O'er the weak thrones of wrong.

All thought begins in feeling, — wide
In the great mass its base is hid,
And, narrowing up to thought, stands glorified,
A moveless pyramid.

Nor is he far astray who deems

That every hope, which rises and grows

broad
In the world's heart, by order' d impulse

streams
From the great heart of God.

God wills, man hopes • in common souls
Hope is but vague and undefined,
Till from the poet's tongue the message rolls
A blessmg to his kind.

Never did Poesy appear

So full of heaven to me as when

I saw how it would pierce through pride and
fear

s To the lives of coarsest men.

It may be glorious to write
Thoughts that shall glad the two or three
High souls, like those far stars that come in

sight
Once in a century; —

But better fax it is to speak
One simple word, which now and then
Shall waken their frete nature in the weak
And friendless sons of men ;

To write some earnest verse or line,
TChfah, seeking not the praise of art,
"Tofcali make a clearer faith and manhood shine
In the untutor'd heart.

He who doth this, in verse or prose,
May be forgotten in his day,
But surely shall be crown' d at last with those
Who live and speak for aye.

J. JR. Lowell.— Born 1819.

1915.— THE HERITAGE.

The rich man's son inherits lands,
And piles of brick, and stone, and gold,

And he inherits soft, white hands,
And tender flesh that f ears the cold,
Nor dares to wear a garment old ;

A heritage, it seems to me,

One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

The rich man's son inherits cares ,
The bank may break, the factory bum,

A breath may burst his bubble shares,
And soft, white hands could hardly earn
A living that would serve his turn ;

A heritage, it seems to me,

One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

The rich man's son inherits wants,
His stomach craves for dainty fare ;

With sated heart, he hears the pants
Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare,
And wearies in fri3 easy chair ,

A heritage, it seems to me,

One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man's son inherit P
Stout muscles and a sinewy heart,

A hardy frame, a hardier spirit ;
King of two hands, he does his part
In every useful toil and art ;

A heritage, it seems to me,

A king might wish to hold in fee

What doth the poor man's son inherit P
Wishes o'erjoy'd with humble things,

A rank adjudged by toil-won merit,
Content that from employment springs,
A heart that in his labour singH,

A heritage, it seems to me,

A king might wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man's son inherit P
A patience learn* d by being poor,

Courage, if sorrow come, to boar it,
A fellow-feeling that is sure
To make the outcast bless his door ;

A heritage, it seems to me,

A king might wish to hold in fee.

0, rich man's son f there is a toil,
That with all others level stands ;

Large chanty doth never soil,
But only whiten, soft, white hands,—
This is the best crop from thy lands ;

A heritage, it seems to me,

Worth being noh to hold in fee.

From 1780 to 1866 ]

TO THE FUTTJBE.

[JT. B.

O, poor man's son, soorn not thy state ,
There is worse weariness than thine,

In merely being rich and great ,
Toil only gives the soul to shine,
And makes rest fragrant and benign ,

A heritage, it seems to me,

Worth being poor to hold in fee.

Both heirs to some six feet of sod,

Are equal in the earth at latt ,
Both, children of the same doar God,

Prove title to your heirship vast

By record of a well fill'd past ,
A heritage, it seems to me
Well worth a hfo to hold in fee.

J R Lowll.—Born 1819.

1916.— TO THE FUTUBE.

O, Land of Promise ' from what Plsgah's

height
Can I behold thy stretch of peaceful

bowers P

Thy golden harvests flowing out of sight,
Thy nestled homes and sun-illumined

towers P
Gazing upon the sunset's high-heap* d gold,

Its orags of opal and of chrysolite,
Its docps on doepH of glory that unfold
Still brightening abysses,
And blassing precipices.
Whence but a soawty leap it seems to

heaven,

Sometimes a glimpse is given.
Of thy more gorgeous realm, thy more un-
stinted blisses.

0, Land of Quiet ! to thy shore the surf

Of the perturbed Present rolls and sleeps ;
Our storms breathe soft as June upon thy

turf
And lure out blossoms; to thy bosom

leaps,

As to a mother's, the o'erwoaried heart,
JB oaring for off and ftpp. the toiling mart,
The hurrying feet, the curses without

number,
And circled with the glow Elysian,

Of thine exulting vision,
Out of its vory cares woos charms for peace
and slumber.

To thoo the Earth lifts up her fetter' d hands
And cries for vengeance ; with a pitying

smile

Thou blessest her, and she forgets her bands,

And her old woe-worn face a little while

Grows young and noble; unto thee the

Oppressor
Looks, and is dumb with awe ;

The eternal law

Which mokes the crime its own blindfold
rodresser,

Shadows his heart with perilous fore-
boding,
And he can see the grim-eyed Doom

From out the trembling gloom
Its silent-footed steeds toward his palace
goading.

What promises hast thou for Poets' eyes,
•Aweary of the turmoil and the wrong !
To all then: hopes what overjoyed replies I
What undxeam'd ecstasies for blissful

song i
Thy happy plains no war-trumps brawling

clangour
Disturbs, and fools the poor to hate the

poor;
The humble glares not on the high with

anger;
Love leaves no grudge at less, no greed

for more ;
In vain strives self the godlike sense to

smother ,

Prom the soul's deeps
It throbs and leaps ;

The noble 'neath foul rags beholds his long-
lost brother.

To thee the Martyr looketh, and his fixes
Unlock their fangs and leave his spirit

free;
To thee the Poet 'mid his toil aspires,

And grief and hanger climb about his knee
Welcome as children • thou upholdest

The lono Inventor by bis demon haunted $
The prophet ones to thoo when hearts axe

coldest,
And gazing o'er the midnight's bleak

abyss,

Sees the drowsed soul awaken at thy kiss,
And stretch its happy arms and leap up disen-
chanted.

Thou bringest vengeance, but so loving-
kindly

The guilty thinks it pity , taught by thee,
Fierce tyrants drop the scourges wherewith

blindly

Their own souls they were scarring , con-
querors see
With horror in their hands the accursed

spear

That tore the meek One's side on Calvary,
And from their trophies shrink with ghastly

fear;

Thou, too, art the Forgivox,
The beauty of loan's soul to man xevoal-

iag;

The arrows from thy quivor
Pierce error's guilty heart, but only pieroc for
healing. .

0, whithex, whither, glory-wingM dreams,
From out Life's sweat and turmoil wooid
ye bear me P

Shut, gates of Fancy, on your golden crloame,
This agony of hopeless contrast spare me !

y. B. LOWELL.]

THE FOUNTAIN",

[SEVENTH PDJBIOD —

Pade, cheating glow, and leave me to my

night'

He is a coward who would "borrow
A charm against the present sorrow
From the vague Future's promise of delight :
As life's alarums nearer roll,
The ancestral buckler call*,
Self-clanging, from the walls
In the high temple of the soul ,
Where axe most sorrows, there the poet's

sphere is,

To feed the soul with patience,
^ To heal its desolations

With words of -unshorn truth, with love that
never wearies.

J. E. Lowell— Born 1819.

1917.— THE FOUNTAIN.

Into the sunshine,

Full of light,
Leaping and noshing

From morn to mghb '

Into the moonlight,

Whiter than snow,
Waving ao flower-like

When the winds blow !

Into the starlight,

Rushing in spray,
Happy at midnight,

Happy by day !

Ever in motion,

Blithesome and cheery,
Still climbing- heavenward

Never a- weary '

Glad of all weathers,

Still seeming best,
Upward or downward

Motion thy rest;
Full of a nature

Nothing ftftn tamo,
Changed every moment,

Ever the same , —

Ceaseless, aspiring ,

Ceaseless, content;
Darkness or sunshine

Thy element.

Glorious fountain !

Let my heart be
Fresh, changeful, constant,

Upward, like thee '

J. & Lowell— Born 1819.

1918-- BEN BOLT.

Vttft you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt P
Sweet Alice whose hair was so brown,

Who wept with delight when yon gave her a

smile,
And trembled with fear at your frown P

In the old churchyard in the valley, Bon Bolt,

In a corner obscure and alone,
They have fitted a slab of the granite so grey,

And Alice lies under the stone.

Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt,

Which stood at the foot of tho hill,
Together we've lain in the noonday shade,

And hsten'd to Appleton's mill
The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Bon Bolt,

The rafters have tumbled in,
And a quiet which crawls round the walls as
you gaze,

Has folloVd the oldon din

Do you mind the cabin of logs, Bon Bolt,

At the edge of the pathless wood,
And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs,

Which nigh by the door-step stood P
The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt,

The tree you would seek in vain ;
And where once the lords of the forest waved,

Grows grass and the golden grain.

And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt,

With the master so cruel and grim,
And the shaded nook in the running brook,

Where the children went to swim ?
Grass grows on the master's grave, Bon Bolt,

The spring of the brook is dry,
And of all the boys who were schoolmates
then,

There we only you and I.

There is change in the things I loved, Ben

Bolt.
They nave changed from tho old to tlio

new:
But I feel inthodeops of my spirit the truth,

There never was change in you
Twelvemonths twenty have post, Bon Bolt,

Since first we weie friends — yot T hail
Thy presence a blessing, thy friendship a

truth,
Ben Bolt, of tho salt-sea galo

Thomas Dwin Englwn.—>JBorn 1819.

1919.— TBTR BBICKMAKEB.

Let tho blinded horse go round
Till tho yellow clay be ground,
And no weary arms bo folded
Till the mass to brick be moulded.

In no stately structures skillM,
What tho temple wo would bmld P
Now tho massive kiln is risen —
Call it palace — call it prison ;
View it well . from ond to end
Narrow corridors extend —
Long, and dark, and smothor'd owles :
Choke its earthy vaults with piles
Of the resinous yellow*piao ;

Jrovn 1780 to 18G6.]

THE

T. B.

Now thrusb m the f otter' d Firo —
Hearken ' how he stamps with ire.

Treacling out the pitchy wine ;
Wrought anon lo wilder spoils,

Hoar him shout his loud alarms ;

Soo him thrust his glowing arms
Through tho windows of his cells.

But hia chains at last shall sever;
Slavery hvos not for over;
And tho thickest prison wall
Into rum yot must fall.
Whatsoever falls away
Springoth up again, they say ;
Then, when this shall break asunder,
And tho firo bo freed from under,
Toll us what imperial thing
From tho rtun thall upspnng ?

There shall grow a stately building-
Airy dome and oolumn'd walls ;

Mottoes writ in richest gilding
Blazing through its pillar' d halls.

In ihoBO chambers, atom and dreaded,
They, tho mighty ones, shall stand ;

Thero shall sit the hoary-headed
Old defenders of the land.

Thero shall mighty words be spoken,
Which shall thnll a wondering world;

Then shall anoient bonds bo broken,
And now banners bo unfurl'd.

But anon those glorious unes
In. thoHO chambers nhuJl ho dead,

And fcho world's antique abuses,
Hydra-hdudod, riao instead.

But this wrong not long shall linger-— >

Tho old oupitol must fall ;
For, behold ' tho fiery finger

Flames along tho fated wall.

n.

Lot tho blinded horso go round
Till tho yellow clay be ground,
And no weary annn be folded
Til] tho muHH to buck bo moulded —
Till tho heavy walla bo nson,
And tho fire IB in his prison .
But when break tho walls asunder,
And tho firo is freed from under,
Say again what stately thing
From tho -ruin shall upepring ?

Thero Hliali grow a church whose steeple

To tho heavens shall orfpiro ,
And shall oomo the mighty people

To tho mumo of the choir.

On tho infant, robed in whiteness,

Shall baptismal waters fall,
While the child's angelic brightness

Shods a halo over all.

There shall stand enwroath'd in marriage

Forms that tremble — hearts that thrill-
To the door Death's sable carriage
Shall bring forms and hearts grown still !

Dook'd in garments richly glistening,
Bustling wealth shall walk the aisle ;

And the poor without stand listening,
Praying in their hearts tho while.

There tho veteran shall come weekly
With his cane, oppioss'd and poor,

'Mid tho horsos standing meekly,
Oozing through the opon door.

But those wrongs not long shall linger-—
The presumptuous pile must fall ,

For, behold ! the fiery finger
Flames along the fated wall.

nr.

Let the blinded horse go round
Till the yellow clay be ground,
And no weary arms be folded
Till the mass to brick be moulded :
Say again what stately thing
From the ruin snail upspring P

Not the hall with oolumn'd chambers,
Starred with words of liberty,

Whore the freedom-canting members
Feel no impulse of the free :

Not the pile whore souls in error
Hear tho words, " G-o, sin no more I"

But a dusky thing of terror,
With its cells and grated door.

To its inmates each to-morrow

Shall bring in no tide of joy.
Born in darkness and in sorrow,

There shall stand tho fated boy.

With a grief too loud to smother,
With a throbbing, burning hood,

There shall groan some desperate mother,
Nor deny the stolen bread !

veteran, a poor debtor,
Mark'd with honourable soars,
Listening to some clanking fetter,
Shall gaze idly through tho bars :

Shall gaze idly not demurring,
Though with thick oppression bow'd,

While the many, doubly ernng,

Shall walk honour' d through, the crowd.

Tot these wrongs not long shall linger —

The benighted pile must fall;
For, behold ' the fiery finger

Flames along tho fated wall.

IV.

Let tho blinded horse go round
Till the yellow clay bo ground,
And no weary arms be folded
Till tho mass to brack bo moulded —
Till tho heavy wall be risen
Ajdd the firo is in his prison.
Capitol, and church, and jail,
Liko our kiln at last shall fail ;

T.

MY HEEMITAGE.

[SEVENTH PEBIOD. —

Every shape of earth shall fade ;
But the heavenly temple, made
For tlie sorely tned and pure,
With, its Builder snail endure !

T.JB.Jtoac&.— Bom 1822.

1920,— MY HERMITAGE.

Within ^a wood one summer's day,

And in a hollow, ancient trunk,
I shut me from the world away,

To live as lives a hermit monk.

My oell was a ghostly sycamore,

The roots and limbs were dead with age ;
Decay had carved the Gothic door
Which look'd into my hermitage.

My library was large and full,

Where, ever as a hermit plods,
I read until my eyes are dull

With tears , for all those tomes were God's.

The vine that at my doorway swung

Had verses wnt on every leaf,
The very songs the bright bees sung

In honey-seeking visits brief—

Not brief — though each stayed never long —

So rapidly they oamo and went,
No pause was left in all their song,

For while they borrowed still they lent.

All day the woodland minstrels Bang-
Small feet were in the leaves astir —

And often o'er my doorway rang
The tap of a blue-wing'd visitor

Afar the stately river sway'd,
And pour'd itself in giant swells,

While here the brooklet danced and play'd,
And gaily rung its liquid bells.

The sprmgs gave me their crystal flood,
And my contentment made it wine—

And oft I found what kingly food
Grew on the world-forgotten vine.

The moss, or weed, or rnnning flower,
Too humble in their hope to climb,

Had in themselves the lovely power
To make me happier for the time.

And when the starry night came by,
And stooping look'd into my cell,

Then all between the earth and sky
Was circled in a holier spell

A height and depth and breadth sublime
O'erspwad the scene, and reach'd the stars,

Until Eternity and Time
Seemed drowning their dividing bars.

And voices which the day ne'er hears,
And visions which the sun ne'er sees,

Prom earth and from the distant spheres,
Came o* the moonlight and the breeze.

Thus day and night my spirit grew

In love with that which round me shone,
Until my calm heart fully knew
' The joy it is to be alone.

The time went by, till one fair dawn

I saw against the eastern fires,
A visionary city drawn

With dusky lines of domes and spires.

The wind in sad and fitful spells
Blew o'er it from the gates of mom,

Till I could clearly hear the bells
That rung above a world forlorn.

And well I listen' d to their voice,
And deeply pondered what they said —

TJ1 1 arose— there was no choice—
I went while yet the east was red.

My waken'd heart for utterance yearn'd—
The clamorous wind had broke the spell—

I needs must teach what I had learn' d
Within my simple woodland oell.

T. B. Read.— Born 1822.

1921 .— THBLEMJB.

I sat one night on a palace step,

Wrapp'd up in a mantle thin ,
And I gazed with a smile on the world without,

With a growl at my world within, —
Till I heard the merry voices ting

Of a lordly companie,
And straight to myself I began to sing,

"It is there that I ought to be."

And long I gazed through a lattice iaised

Which smiled from the old grey wall,
And my glance went in, with the evening
breeze,

And ran o'er the revellers all ;
And I said, "If they saw me, 'twould cool
their mirth,

Far more than this wild breeze free,
But a merrier party was ne'er on earth,

And among thorn I fain would be.'1

And oh ! but they all were beautiful,

Fairer than fairy dreams,
And their words were sweet as the wind harp's

When it rings o'er summer streams ;
And they pledged oaoh other with noble *flfo",

" True heart with my life to thoc I"
" Alack !" quoth I, " bat my soul is dry,

And among them I fain would be !"

And the gentlemen were noble souls,

Good fellows both sain and sound,
I had not deom'd that a band like this

Could over the world be found ;
And they spoke of brave and beautiful things,

Of all that was dear to me ;
And I thought, " Perhaps they would like me
well,

If among them I once rourht be f"

From 1780 to 1866.]

THM THREE FRIENDS.

[0. CK LBIAOT.

And loyely were the ladies too,

Who sat in the light bright hall,
And one there was, oh, dream of life !

The loveliest 'mid them all ;
She sat alone by an empty oharr,

The queen of the feast was she,
And I said to myself, " By thab lady fair

I certainly ought to be."

And alond she spoke, " We have waited long

For one who, in fear and doubt,
Looks wistfully into our hall of song

As he sits on the steps without ;
I have sung to him long in silent dreams,

I have led him o'er land and sea,
Go welcome him in as his rank beseems,

And give "him a place by me 1"

They open'd the door, yet I shrunk with shame,

As I sat in my montlo thin,
But they hail* d mo out with a joyous shout,

And merrily led me in —
And gave me a place by my bright-hair 'd
love,

And she wept with joy and glee,
And I said to myself, "By the stars abovo,

I am just whore I ought to be I*'

Farewell to thoe, life of joy and grief f

Farewell to ye, oaio and pain '
Farewell, thou vulgar and selfish world 1

For t never will know thoo again.
I live m a* land whoro good follows abound,

In rrholom6, by the sea ;
They may long for a "happier Mo" that
will,—

T am just where I ought to bo !

0. (7. Lolwndr— Born 1824.

1922— A DEEAM OF LOTO1.

I dream' d I lay boBide tho dark blue Ehine,

In that old towor where once Sir Roland

dwelt,
Mothought his gentle lady-love was mine,

And mmo tho cares and pain which once ho

fait.
Dim, cloudy centuries had roll' (3 away,

K'cn to that minstrel ago— tho olden time,
When "Roland's lady bid him woo no more,

And ho, aweary, sought the eastern clime.

Mothcmght that I, like him, had wandor'd long
In those strango lands of which old legends

toll;
Then home I turn'd to my own glancing

Rhino,

And f oxrad my lady in a convent cell ;
And I, like mm, had watch' d through weary

yoars,
And dwelt unseen hard by her convent's

bound,

In that old towor, which yet stands pitying
The cloister-isle, enclosed by water round.

I long had watoh'd — for in the early morn,

To ope her lattice came that lady oft ;
And earnestly I gazed, yet naught I saw,

Save one small hand and arm, white, fair,

and soft.
And when, at eve, the long, dark shadows fell

O'er rook and valley, vineyard, town, and

tower,
Again she came— again that small white hand

Would close her lattice fox the vesper hour.

I linger'd still, e'en when the silent night

Had oast its sable mantle o'er the shrine,
To see her lonely taper's softon'd light

Gleam, far reflected, o'er the quiet Ehine 1
But most I loved to see her form at times,

Obscure those beams — for then her shade

would fall,
And I beheld it, evenly portray'd —

A living profile, on that window small

And thus I lived in love — though not in

hope —
And thus I watoh'd that maiden many ft

year,
When, lo ! I saw, one mom, a funeral train —

Alas i they bore my lady to her bier '
And she was dead— yet grieved I not there-
fore,
For now in Heaven she know the love I

folt,

Death could not kill affection nor destroy
Tho holy peace wherein I long had dwelt.

Oh, gentle lady ! this was but a dream ,
And in a dream I bore all this for theo.
If thus in sleep love's pangs assail my soul,
Think, lady, what my waking hours must
bo!

0. <?. J&flZcwwiK.— tforn 1824.

1923.— THE THREE FRIENDS.

I have throe friends, three glorious friends,

three dearer could not be ;
And every night when midnight tolls, they

meet to laugh with me.
The first was shot by Oorlist thieves, three

years ago, in Spain ;
Tho second drown' d, near Alicante, and I

alive remain.

I love to sec their thin white forms come steal-
ing through tho night,

And grieve to ROC thorn fade away in tho early
morning light

Tho first with gnomes in tho TTndor-land is
leading a lordly life,

The second has married a mermaidcn, a beauti-
ful water-wife.

And since I have friends in tho earth and sea
— with a few, I trust, on high,

'Tis a matter of small account to mo, the tray
that T may die.

BEDOTOT

[SEVENTH PEKXOD.— «

For whether I sink in the foaming flood, or

awing on the triple tree,
Or die in my grave as a Christian should, is

much, the same to me.

0. #• Zetanfl.— Bom 1824

1924.— BEDOUIN S03STG.

From the Desert I come to thee

On a stallion shod with fire ;
And the winds are left behind
In the speed of my desire.
Under thy window I stand,

And the midnight hears my ory :
I love thee, I love but thee,
"With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows oold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

Look from thy window and see

My passion and my pain ,
I lie on the sands below,

And I faint in thy foaftaj-n.,
Let the night- winds touch thy brow
With the heat of my burning sigh,
And melt thee to hear the vow
Of a love that shall not die

T^LL the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold !

Iffy steps ace nightly driven,
By the fever in my breast,
To hear from thy lattice breathed

The word that shall give me resfc.
Open the door of thy heart,

And open thy chamber door,
And my kisses shall teaoh thy lips
The love that shall fade no more
jPifl the son grows oold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

£. !TayZor.-T Bom. 1825.

1925.— THE ARAJB TO THE PAI«M.

Next to thee, 0 fair gazelle,

0 Beddowee, girl, beloved so well;

Next to the fearless Nedjidee,

Whose fleetness shall bear me again to thee j

Keart to ye both I love the Pflfo^

With his leaves of beauiy, Jus fruit of balm ;

Nerfe to ye both I love the Tree
Whose fluttering shadow wraps us three
With love, and silenoe» and mystery !

Oar tribe is many, our poets vio
With any under the Arab sky ,
Yet none can sing of the Palm bat L

The marble minarets that begem

Cairo's citadel-diadom

Are not so light as his slender stem.

He lifts his leaves m the sunbeam's glance
As the Almees lift their awtns m danco—

A slumberous motion, a passionate sign,
That works in the colls of the blood-like wine.

Full of passion and sdrrow is ho,
Breaming where the beloved may be.

And when the warm south winds arise,
He breathes his longing m fervid sighs — •

Quickening odours, kisses of balm,
That drop in the lap of his chotion palm.

The sun may flame and the sands may stir,
But the breath of his passion reaches her.

O Tree of Love, by that love of thino,
Teaoh me how I shall soften mine '

Give me the secret of the sun,
Whereby the wooed is evor won !

If I were a Sing, 0 stately Treo,
A likeness, glorious as might DO,
In the court of my palace I'd build for thee!

With a shaft of silver burnish' d bright,
And leaves of beryl and malachite.

With spikes of golden bloom o-bloze,
And fruits of topaz and ohrysopraso :

And there the poets, m thy praiBo,

Should night and moiuing framo now lays— •

New measures sung to tnnofl divino ;
Bat none, 0 Palm, should equal iniuo '

B. Tw/lor.—Bom 1825.

1926.— KUBLEH ;

A STORT 03T THE AWSYUIAN DESEBT.

The "black-eyed children of tho Ttauort drove

Their flocks together at tho not of Hun,

The tents were pitoh'd, Uto weary camels

bont
Their suppliant socks, and I noil upon the

[ sand;

I The hunters quartor'<l by tho kmdlocl fires
Tho wild boars of tho TipriH limy had wlain,
And all the stir and HOUIK! of atoning1 ran
Throughout tho Shainniar camp Tho dowy

air

Bore its foil burden of oonfiwcul delight
Across the flowery plain, and wlu'lo, afar,
The snows of Koordinb. monntamK in tho ray
Flash'd roseate ambor, Nimroud's ancient
mound

r-

UPVoro 1780 to 1866]

KTJBLEH.

[B TAYLOR,

'Bose brood and black against the bunting

West.
/The shadows deepen' d, and the stars came

out

'Sparkling in violet ether ; one by one
Glimmer' d the ruddy camp-fires on the plain,
.And shapes of steed and horseman moved

among

jTho dusky tents with shout and jostling ory,
lAnd noigh and restless prancing. Children

ran

To hold the thongs, while every rider drove
'His quivering spear in the earth, and by his

door

tCother'd the horse he loved. In midst of all
(Stood Shammeriyah, whom they dared not

touch,-—

tho foal of wondrous Knbleh, to the Sheik
A doaror wealth than all his Georgian girls.
£But whon thoir meal was o'er, — when the red

fires
Blazed brighter, and the dogs no longer

bay'd,-
When Shammar huntors with the boys sat

down

To cleanse their bloody knives, oamo Alimar,
.Tho poot of the tribe, whose songs of love
Axe sweeter than Bassora's nightingales, —
Whoso songs of war can fire the Arab blood
Liko war itself who knows not Alimar P
Then aak'd the men: "0 poet, sing of

Kubloh '"
And boyw laid down the kmvos half burnish1 d,

Raying.

" Toll us of Kubloh, whom wo never saw —
Of wondrous Kubloh!" Closer flock' d tho

group

With eager eyes about the flickering1 fire,
While Alimar, beneath tho Assyrian stars,
Sang to the listening Arabs .

" God is great !

0 Arabs, never yet since Mahmoud rode
The sandu of Yemen, and by Mecca's gate
Tho wmgM stood bostrodo, whose mane of fire
Blazed up tho zenith, whon, by Allah coll'd,
Ho boro the Propliot to tho walls of heaven,
Was like to Kubloh, Sofuk'H wondrous mare
Not all tho milk-whito barbs, whoso hoofs

danh'd flame

In Bagdad's stables from tho marble floor—-
Who, swathed in purple housings, pranced in

Htato

Tho gay bazaars, by groat Al-Baschid book'd .
Not the wild charger of Mongolian brood
That wont o'er half tho world with Tamerlane •
Nor yot thoHO flying coursers, long ago
Irom Ormuz brought by swarthy Indian

grooms

To Persia's kings — tho foals of sacred mares,
Sired by tho fiery stallions of tho soa '

"Who over told, in all tho Desert Land,
Tho many deeds of Kubloh ? Who con toll
Wnenco oamo she, whence hor liko shall como

again?
C Arabs, like a tale o£ Sohorezade

Hoard in the camp, when javelin shafts aro

tned
On the hot evo of battle, is her story,

" Far in the Southern sands, the hunters

say,

Bid Sofuk find her, by a lonely palm*
The well had dried ; hor fierce, impatient eye
Glared red and sunken, and her alight young

limbs
Were lean with thirst. He check' d his camel's

pace,

And while it knelt, untied the water-skin,
And when tho wild mare drank, she follow'd

him.

Thence none but Sofuk might the saddle gird
Upon hor back, or clasp the brazen gear
About her shining hoad, that brook' d no curb
Prom evon him , for she, alike, was royal

" Her form was lighter, in its shifting grace,
Than some unpassion'd AlmeVs, when tho

dance

Unbinds her scarf, and golden anklets gloom
Through floating drapery, on the buoyant air.
Her light, free hoad was ever held aloft ;
Between her slender and transparent ears
Tho silken forelock toss'd ; hor nostril's arch,
Thin-drawn, in proud and pliant beauty spread,
Snuffing the desert winds. Her glossy nook
Curved to the nhouldor like an oaglo's wing,
And all her matchless lines of flank and limb
Seom'd faskion'd from tho flying shapes of air
By hands o£ lightning. Whon tho war-shouts

rang

From tent to tent, hor koon and restless eye
Shone like a blood-red ruby, and hor noigh
Bang wild and sharp abovo tho clash of spears.

" The tribes o£ Tigris and the Desert knew

her.

Sofuk before the Shammar bands she bore
To moot the dronxl JTobours, who waited not
To bid hor welcome ; and the savage Koord,
Chased from his bold irruption on tho plain,
Has soon hor hoof prints in his mountain snow.
Lithe as tho dark-oyed Syrian gaatollo,
O'or lodge and chasm and barren stoop, amid
The Sincljar hills, she ran the wild ORB down.
Through many a battle's thickest brunt sho

storm d,
Booking with sweat and dust, and fotlook-

doop

In curdling goro. Whon hot and lurid hazo
Stifled tho crimson sun, sho swopt boforo
The whirling Band-spout, till hor gusty inane
Flared in its vortex, while tho camels lay
Groaning and helpless on tho fiery waste,

" Tho tribes of Taurus and tho Caspian know

her-
Tho Georgian chiefs have hoard hor tmmpot-

noigh

Boforo tho walls of Tiflis. Pinoa that grow
On ancient Caucasus have harbour' d hor,
Sleeping by SoCuk, in their spicy gloom.

B. TATLOB.]

THE POET IN THE EAST.

[SEVENTH

The surf of Trebizond has bathed her flanks,
"When from the shore she saw the white-sad* d

bark
That brought him home from Stambonl.

Never yet,
0 Arabs, never yet was like to Kubleh I

"And Sofuk loved her. She was more to

Vifor>

Than all his snowy-bosom' d odalisques. ,
For many years, beside his tent she stood,
The glory of the tribe.

i<~ " At last she died-

Died, while the fire was yet in all her limbs—-
Died for the life of Sofnk, whom she loved.
The base Jebours — on whom be Allah's

carse' —

Came on his path, when far from any oamp,
And would have slam him, but that Kubleh

sprang ^

Against the javelin-points and bore them down,
And gain'd the open desert Wounded sore,
She urged her light limbs into maddening

speed

And made the wind a laggard. On and on
The red sand slid beneath her, and behind
Whirr d in a swift and oloudy turbulence,
As when some star of Eblis, downward hurl'd
By Allah's bolt, sweeps with its burning hair
The waste of Darkness. On and on, the

bleak,

Bare ridges rose before her, came and pass'd ;
And every flying leap with fresher blood
Her nostril stain' d, till Sofuk's brow and

breast
Were fleck5 d with crimson foam. He would

have turn'd
To save his treasure, though himself were

lost,

But Kubleh fiercely snapp'd the brazen rein
At last, when through her spent and quivering

frame

The sharp throes ran, our distant tents arose,
And with a neigh, whose sknll excess of joy
O'ercame its agony, she stopp'd and fell
The Shammar men came round her as she lay,
And Sofuk raised her head and held it close
Against his breast Her dull and glazing eye
Met his, and with a shuddering gasp she died
Then like a child his bursting grief made way
In passionate tears, and with him all the tribe
Wept for the faithful mare.

" They dug her grave
Amid Al-Hather's marbles, where she lies
Buried with ancient kings j and since that time
Was never seen, and will not be again,
0 Arabs, though the world be doom'd to live
As many moons as count the desert sands,
The like of wondrous Kubleh. God is great '"

B Taylor. — Born 1825.

1927.— THE POET IN THE EAST.

The poet came to the land of the East,

When Spring was in the air ;
The earth was dress' d for a wedding feast,

So young she seem'd, and fair ;
And the poet knew the land of the East—

His soul was native there.

All things to VT» were the visible forms

Of early and precious dreams--*
Familiar visions that mock'd his quest

Beside the western streams,
Or gleam' d in the gold of the cloud unroll' d

In the sunset* s dying beams.

He look'd above in the cloudless calm,

And the Sun sat on his throne ;
The breath of gardens deep in balm,

Was all about him blown,
And a brother to him was the princely Palm,.

For he cannot live alone.

His feet went forth on the myrtied hills,
And the flowers their welcome shed ;

The meads of milk- white asphodel
They knew the Poet's tread,

And far and wide, in a scarlet tide,
The poppy's bonfire spread.

And, hflJf in shade and half in sun,

The Rose sat in her bower,
With a passionate thrill m h&r crimson
heart

She had waited for the hour !
And, like a bride's, the Poet kiss'd

The hps of the glorious flower

Then the Nightingale who Rat above
In the boughs of the citron- tree,

Sang : " We are no rivals, brother mine,
Except in nunstrolsy ;

For the rose you kiss'd with the kiss of lovo.
Is faithful still to me."

And further sang the Nightingale ,

" Tour bower not distant lien.
I heard the sound of a Persian luto

From the jasmined window rue,
And like twe stars from tho lattice-bats,

I saw the Sultana's eyes."

The Poet said • M I will here abide,

In the Sun's unclouded door ,
Here are the wells of all delight

On tho lost Arcadian shore :
Here is tho light on soa and land,

And the dream deceives no more "

E. Taylor— XtornlQZS

1928 — KILIMAKD JABO.

Hail to thee, monarch of African mountain*,
Beznote, inacessible, silent, and lone—
Who, from the heart of the tropical fervours,
Lif test to heaven thine alien snows,

From 1780 it 1866.]

AN OBIENTAL IDYL.

[B. TATJLOB.

Feeding for ever the fountains that make thee
Father of Nile and Creator of Egypt I

The years of the world are engraved on thy

forehead ,
Time's morning blush' d red on thy firstfallen

snows ;

Yet lost in. the wilderness, nameless, unnoted,
Of Man nnboholdon, thou wert not till now.
Knowledge alono is the' being of Nature,
Giving a soul to her manifold features,
Lighting through paths of the primitive

darkness

Tho footsteps of Truth and the vision of Song*
Knowledge has born tlioo anew to Creation,
And long-baffled Time at thy baptism rejoices.
Take, ^thon, a namo, and be fill'd with

existence,

Yoa, bo exultant in sovereign glory,
Whilo from tho hand of the wandering- poet
Drops tho first garland of song at thy feet.

Floating alone/ on the flood of thy making,
Through Africa's mystery, silence, and firo.
Lo ! in my palm, like the Eastern enchanter,
I dip from the waters a magical mirror,
And ihon art reveal' d to my purified vision.
I seo thoo, supreme in tho midst of thy co-

matos,
Standing alono Itwizt the Earth and the

Heavens,

Hour of tho Sunset and Herald of Morn,
Zone abovo zone, to thy shoulders of granite,
Tho chmatos of Earth aro diflplay'd, as an

index,

living tho scope of tho Book of Creation.
There, in the gorges that widen, descending
From cloud and from cold into summer eternal,
Gather the threads of the we-gondqr'd

fountains—

'Gather to riotous torrents of crystal,
And, giving each sholvy roooss where they

dally
Tho blooms of the North and its evergreen

turf ago,

Leap to tho land of tho lion and lotus !
'There, in tho wondering airs of tho Tropics
Shivora tho Aspen, still dreaming of cold *
Thoro atretchos tho Oak, from tho loftiest

ledges,

His arms to tho far-away lands of his brothers,
And the Pino-treo looks down on his rival the

Palm.

Bathed in tho tendoreat purple of distance,
Tinted and flhadow'd by pencils of air,
Thy battlements hang o'er the slopes and the

Seata of the goda in the limitless other,
looming eubHmeJy aloft and afar.
Abovo them, like folds of imperial ermino,
Sparkle the snow-fields that furrow thy fore-

head—

Desolate realms, inaccessible, silent,
Chasms and caverns where Day is a stranger,

Gamers where storeth hie treasures the

Thunder,
The Lightning his falchion, his arrows the

Hail!

Sovereign Mountain, thy brothers givo wel-
come

They, the baptized and the crowned of ages,
Watch-towers of Continents, altars of Earth,
Welcome thea now to their mighty assembly.
Mont Blano, in the roar of his mod avalanches,
Hails thy accession , superb Orizaba,
Belted with beech and ensandal'd with palm;
Chimborazo, the lord of the regions of noon-
day,—

Mingle their sounds in magnificent chorus
With greeting august from the Pillars of

Heaven,

Who, in tho urns of tho Indian Ganges,
Filter the snows of their sacred dominions,
TTnmark'd with a footprint, unseen but of
God.

Lo ! unto oaoh is the seal of his lordship,
Nor queation'd the right that his majesty

giveth ;

Each in his awful supremacy forces
Worship and reverence, wondor and joy.
Absolute all, yet in dignity varied,
None has a claim to the honours of story,
Or the superior splendours of song,
Greater than thou, in thy mystery mantled—
Thou, the sole monarch, of African mountains,
Father of Nile and Creator of Egypt 1

# TayZor,-- Som 1825.

1929. — AN ORIENTAL IDYL.

A silver javelin which tho hilla
Have hurl'd upon the plain below,

Tho fleetest of the Pharpar's rills,
Beneath mo shoots in flashing flow.

I hear tho never-ending laugh
Of jostling- waves that come and go,

And suck the babbling pipe, and quaff
The sherbet cool'd in mountain enow

The flecks of ennehino gleam like stars
Beneath the canopy of shade ;

And in the distant, ffi™ bazaars
I scarcely hear the hum of trade*

No evil f oar, no dieam forlorn,
Barkens my heaven of perfect bine;

My blood is temper' d to the mom —
My very heart is- steep'd in dew.

What Evil is, I cannot toll;

Bat half I goofiR what Joy may be;
And, as a poccrl within its shell,

The ha#py spirit sleeps in 10*.

85

i. TATLOB ]

HASSAN TO HIS MAJRE.

I feel no more the pulse's strife, —
The tides of Passion's ruddy sea,

Bat liTe the sweet, unconscious life

Thajb breathes from yonder jasmine-tree.

Upon the glittering pageantries
Of gay Damascus streets I look

AR idly aa a babe that sees
The painted pictures of a book.

JPorgotten now are name and race ;

The Past is blotted from my brain ;
For memory sleeps, and will not trace

The weary pages o'er again.

I only know the morning shines,
And sweet the dewy morning air ;

Bnt does it play with tendnll'd vines P
Or does it lightly lift my hair?

Deep-sunken in the oharm'd repose,
This ignorance is bliss extreme .

And whether I be Man, or Bose,
Oj pluck me not from out my dream I

JB. I%Zor.— Born 1825.

1930.— HASSAJNT TO HIS MAJRE.

Come, my beauty ' oome, my desert darling !

On my shoulder lay thy glossy head 1
Pear not, though the barley-sack be empty,

Here's the "hnM of Hassan's scanty bread.

Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty !

And thou know*st my water-skin is free :
Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant,

And my strength and safety lie in ihee.

Bond thy forehead now, to take my lassos '
Lift in love thy dork and splendid eye

Thou art glad when Hassan mounts the

saddle —
Thou art proud he owns thee . so am I.

Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses,
Prancing with their diamond-studded reins ;

They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetnoss
When they course with thee the desert
plains 1

Let the Sultan bring Ms famous horses,
Let Trim bring his golden swords to me —

Bring his slaves, his eunuchs, and his harem ;
He would offer them in vain for thee.

We have seen Damascus, 0 my beauty '
And the splendour of the Pashas there ;

"What's their pomp and nehes p Why, I would

not
Take them for a handful of thy hair !

Khaled sings the praises of his mistress,
Anjl because I've none he pities me :

What care I if he should have a thousand,
Fairer than the morning P I hare thee.

Ho will find his passion growing oooJftr
Should her glance on other suitors fall $

Thou wilt no'er, my mistress and my darling,
Fail to answer at thy master's call

By-and-by some snow-white Wodjid stallion
Shall to thoe his spring-timo ardour bring ;

And a foal, the fairest of tho Desert,
To thy milky dugs shall crouch and cling.

Then, when Khaled shows to me his children,
I shall laugh, and bid him look at thino ;

Thou wilt neigh, and lovingly caress mo,
With thy glossy neck laid close to mine.

S. Taylor.— Born

1931. — THE PHANTOM.

Again I sit within the mansion,

In the old, familiar seat ;
And shade and sunshine chase each other

O'er the carpet at my feet

But the sweetbriar's arms have wrestled up-
wards

In the summers that are past,
And the willow trails its branches lower

Than when I saw them lost.

They stiive to shut the sunshine wholly

From out the haunted room ,
To fill the house, that onoo was joyful,

With silence and with gloom.

And many kind, remember' d faces

Within the doorway come —
Voices, that wake tho sweeter uintuo

Of one that now is dumb.

They sing, in tones as glad as ovoi,

The songs she loved to hoar ,
They braid tho rose in summoi garlands,

Whoso flowors to her wore dear.

And still, her footsteps in tho paflHogo,

Her blushes at the door,
Her timid words of maiden welcomes

Come book to mo once moro.

And all forgetful of my sorrow,

TTnuiindf ul of my pain,
I think she has but newly loft mo,

And soon will oome again.

She stays without, porohancft, a moment,

To dross her dark-brown hair ;
I hear the rustle of her garments —

Her light stop on tho stair !

0, fluttering heart I control thy tumult.

Lest eyes profane should soo
My cheeks betray the rush of rapture

Her coming brings to me 1

She tames long: but lo, a whisper

Beyond the open door,
And, gliding through the croiot sunshine*

A shadow on the floor!

From 1780 to 1866 ]

UEOKATUS.

[R.

All ' 'tis tlie whispering pine that calls me,
The vine, whose shadow strays ;

And my patient heart most still await her,
Nor chide her long delays.

But my heart grows sick with weary waiting,

As many a time before :
Her foot is ever at the threshold,

Tet never passes o'er.

JB. 2%W.— -Born 1825.

1932.— LBONATUS.

The fair boy Leonatns,
The page of Imogen :

It was his duty evermore
To tend the Lady Imogen ;
By poop of day he might be seen

Tapping against her chamber door,
To wake the sleepy waitaxg-maid $
Sho woke, and when she had array'd
The Prinoess, and the twain had prayed,

{Thoy pray*d with rosanes of yore,)
They oall'd him, pacing to and fro ;
And oap in hand, and bowing low,
He onter'd, and began to food
Tho singing birds with fruit and sood.

The brave boy Loonatus,
Tho pago of Imogen .
Ho tripp'd along llio kingly hall,

.From room to room, with messages ;

JIo Htopp'd tho butlor, clutoh'd his koys,
(Alboit he was broad and tall,)

And dragg'd him down tho vaults, whoro
wino

In bins lay boadod and divino,

To pick a llask of vintage flno ,
Came up, and olomb the garden wall.

And pluok'd from out tho sunny spots

PoaohoH, and luscious apricots,

And filTd his golden salvor thero,

And hurried to his Lady fair.

Tho gallant Leonatus,
Tho pago of Imogen :

Ho hod a fitood from Arab ground,
And whon tho lords and ladies gay
Wont hawking in tho dowR of May,

And hunting in tho country round,
And Imogen Old join tho band,
Ho rodo him like a hunter grand,
A hooded hawk upon his hand,

And by hi» sido a slender hound :
But whon thoy saw tho door go by,
Ho dipp'd the leash, and lot him fly.
And gavo his fiery barb the rein,
And scour' d beeido her o'er the plain.

Tho Btrango boy Loonatus,
Tho pago of Imogen :
Somotimoft ho used to stand for hours
Within her room, behind her chair ;
Tho soft wind blew his goldon hair
Aorosn hiu oyes, and boos from flowers

Humrn'd around him, but ho did not stir •
He fix'd his earnest eyes on her,
A pure and reverent worshipper, ,
A dreamer building airy towers :
But when she spoke he gave a start)
That sent the warm blood from hid heart
To flush his cheeks, and every word
The fountain of his feelings etirr'd.

The sad boy Leonatus,
The page of Imogen :

He lost all relish and delight,
For all things that did please before ;
By day he wiah'd the day was o'er,

By night he wish'd tho same of night :
He could not mingle in the crowd,
He loved to be alone, and shroud
His tondor thoughts, and sigh aloud,

And cherish in his heart its blight.
At last his health began to fail,
His fresh and glowing cheeks to pale ;
And in his eyes the tears unshod
Bid hang lake dew on violets dead.

The timid Loonatus,
The page of Imogen :

"What ails tho boy '" said Imogon :
Ho stammor'4, eigh'd, and answer'd

"Naught."
Sho shook her head, and thon she thought

What all his malady could moan ;
It might bo lovo , her maid was fair,
And Loon had a loving air ,
Sho watoh'd thorn with a jealous oaro,

And play'd tho spy, but naught was seen:
And thon flho was aware at first,
That sho, not knowing it, had nursed
His memory till it grow a part—
A heart within her very heart !

Tho door boy Loonatus,
The pago of Imogen :
She loved, but own'd it not as yet ;

Whon he was absent sho was lone,

Sho felt a void before, unknown,
And Leon fill'd it whon thoy met ;

She oall'd him twenty tunes a day,

She knew not why, she could not say;

Sho fretted when ho went away,
And liTod m sorrow and regret ;

Sometimes sho frown' d with stately mien,

And ohid him like a little queen ;

And then she soothed him meek and mild,

And grew as trustful as a child.

The neat scribe Loonatus,
Tho pago of Imogen :
She wonder' d that he did not speak,
And own his love, if love indeed
It was that made his spirit bleed;
And she bethought her of a, freak
To test the lad ; flho bade him wxito
A letter that a maiden might,
A billet to hot heart's delight ;
Ho took tho pen with fingers woak.
' Unknowing what ho did, and wrote,
And folded up and scaled the note :

85*

B, E. STODDATVD ]

THE SHADOW OI1 THE EAOT.

[SEVENTH

She wrote the superscription sage,
"For Leonatus, Lady's Page I"

The happy Leonatus,
The page of Imogen :
The page of Imogen no more,
Bat now her love, her lord, her life,
For she became his wedded wife,
As both had hoped and dream' d before.
He used to sit beside her feet,
And read romances rare and sweet,
And, when she touch' d her lute, repeat
Impassioned madrigals of yore,
TTplooking in her face the while,
Until she stoop1 d with loving smile,
And press' d her melting mouth to his,
That answered in a dreamy bliss—
The joyful Leonatus,
The lord of Imogen 1

R. H. Btoddard.—Born 1825,

10,33 — Tim SHADOW OF THE HA3TD.

You were very charming, Madam,

Trt yotir tnlTrg and satins fine •
And yon made your lovers drunken,

But it was not with your wine !
There were court gallants in dozens,

There were princes of the land,
And they would have perish' d for you

As they knelt and kiss'd your hand— •
For they saw no stain upon it,
It was suoh a snowy hand I

But for me— I knew you better,

And, while you were flaunting there,
I remembered some one lying,

With the blood on his white hair !
He was pleading for you, Madam,

Where the shriven spirits stand ,
But the Book of Life was darken'd,

By the Shadow of a Hand 1
It was tracing your perdition,
For the blood upon your hand !

R. S. 8todfaffd.—Born 1825.

1934-— INVOCATION TO SLEEP

Draw the curtains round your bed,
And F 11 shade the wakeful light ;
'Twffl be hard for you to sleep,

If you have me still in sight : —
But you must though, and without mo,
For I have a song to write :

Then sleep, love, sleep !
The flowers have gone to rest,
And the birds are in the nest :
'Tis time for you to join them beneath the
wings of SleepI

Wave thy poppies round her, Sleep 1

Touch her eyelids, flood her brain 5
Banish Memory, Thought, and Strife,
Bar the portals of her life,

Till the morning comes again I
Let no enemy intrude
On her helpless solitude :

Fear and Pain, and all their train —
Keep the evil hounds at bay,
And all evil dreams away !
Thou, thyself, keep thou the key,
Or intrust it unto me,

Sleep * Sleep' Sleep'

A lover's eyes are bright
In the darkest night ;

And jealous even of dreams, almost of thee,
dear Sleep !

I must sit, and ffimfc1) and think,
Till the stars begin to wink :
(For the web of song is wrought
Only in the looms of Thought ')
She must he, and sleep, and sleep,
(Be her slumbers calm and deep !)
Till the dews of morning weep ;
Therefore bind your sweetest sprite
To her service and delight,
AJ1 the night,

And Pll whisper in her ear,
(Even in dreams it will be dear I)
What she loveth so to hear,
Tiding sweeter than the flowers,
All about this love of ours,

And its rare increase .
Singing in the starry peace,
Ditties delicate, and free,
Dedicate to her, and thee,
Sleep ' Sleep ' Sleep '
For I owe ye both a boon,
And I mean to grant it soon,
In my golden numbers that breathe of Love
and Sleep !

JR. JET. Stoddwd.—Born 1825.

» 1935.— AT BEST.

With folded hands the lady lies
In flowing robes of white,

A globed lamp beside her couch,
A round of tender light.

With suoh a light above her head,

A little year ago,
She walk'd adown the shadowy vale,

Where the blood-red roses grow !

A shape or shadow join'd her there,
To pluck the royal flower,

But from her breast the lily stole,
Which was her only dower.

*Vom 1780 to 1866.]

BROKEN FAITH.

[ELIZABETH

That gone, all went • her false IOYO first,

And then her peace of heart ;
The hard world frown* d, her friends grew cold,

Sho hid in tears apart :

And now she lies npon her conoh,

Amid the dying light •
Nor wakes to hear the little voice

That moans throughout the night !

R. If. 8toddard.— Born 1825.

1936.— THE WAT OF THE WOBLD.

A youth would marry a maiden,

For fair and fond was she ;
But she was rich, and he was poor,
And BO it might not be.
A lady never could wear —

Her mother held it firm —
A gown that came of an Indian plant,

Instead of an Indian worm 1
And so tno cruel word was spokon ;
And so it was two hearts were broken.

A youth would marry a maiden,

For fair and fond was she j
But he was high, and sho was low,
And so it might not bo.
A man who had worn a spur,

In ancient battle won,
Had sent it down with groat renown,

To goad his future son !—
And so tho cruel word was spoken ;
And so it was two hearts were broken.

A youth would marry a maiden,

For fair and fond was sho ;
But thoir siros disputed about the Mass,
And so it might not be.
A couplo of wicked Kings

Three hundred years agone,
Had play'd at a royal game of chess,

And the church had been a pawn I—
And 00 the cruel word was spokon j
And so it was two hearts wore broken.

£ <?. #000.

1937.— YH TAILYOB-MAtf.

A COKrTBHF&ATXVH BALLAD.

Bight jollie is ye tailyor-man,

As aunie man may be ;
And all ye daye upon ye benohe

He worketh merrilie.

And oft ye while in ploauante wise
He coileth np his lymbes,

He eingeth songs ye like whereof
Are not in Watts his hymns.

And yet he toileth all ye while

His meme catches rolle ;
As true unto ye needlo as

Ye needle to ye pole.

What cares ye valiant tailyor-man

For all ye oowaide feares P
Against ye scissors of ye Fates

He pointes his mightie sheares.

He heedeth not ye anciente jcsba

That witlesse sinners use ;
What fearetb, ye bolde tailyor-man

Ye hissinge of a goose P

He pulleth at ye busie threads,

To f eode hia lovmge wife
And eke his ohilde , for unto them

It is ye threade of He.

Ho outtoth well ye riohe man's coate,

And with unseemhe pride
He sees ye little waistooate on

Ye cabbage bye his side.

Meanwhile ye tailyor-man his wife,

To labour nothinge loth,
Sits byo with readie hands to baste

Ye urchin and yo cloth.

Full happie is ye tadlyor-man,

Yot is ho often tried,
Lest he, from fnllnesse of yo dimes,

Wax wanton in his pxido.

Full happie is ye lailyor-man,

And yet he hath a f oo,
A cunninge onomio that none

So well as tailyors knowe.

It is ye slipporio customer
Who goes his wicked wayes,

And weares ye tailyor-man his coate,
But never, never payee !

X Gf. 3*00

1938.— BBOKEN FAITH.

Budfl on the apple-boughs,

And robins in every tree ;
Brown on tho children's sun-kiss1 d brows

A softer blue on tho tender sea,

AJbimot

Bees in the maples murmuring,
Brooks on tho hillsides ;— and yet, 0 Spring,

Thou hast broken thy faith with me !

Broken thy faith with me,

Who have pined for theo so long,—
Waiting and waiting patiently

Through all the Winter's omel wrong,

Ah me!

Climbing the rugged, desolate hills
To watch the sky for the faintest bhrillfl

Of the azure yet to be.

ELIZABETH AKBES ]

TOTE.

Violets sweeten the woods

And purple the river-Bides,
{While deep in the shady solitudes

^ The last sweet bud of the arbutus hides,
>: Ah me 1

And the treacherous honeybee stays his wingt
iTo wrong its sweetness ;— but yet, O Spring,

N Thou hast broken thy faith with me !

Never a bud IB seen

"Within my garden walls, —
frever a touch of sprouting green 5
?And the fitful snnlight faintly falls,

Aimel

On broken trellis and leafless -vine,
."Where last year's tendrils bleach and pine,
With blaoken'd stems between.

June will be here anon,

Hushing the smiling skies,
Pnttiag her bravest garments on,
Haunting her roses in homesick eyes,

Ah me'
"Which will not smile at the thoughts they

bring,
Or weep when they wither,— for thou, 0

Spring,
Hast broken thy faith TQ.th me '

Elizabeth Alters.

1939. — TIME

Yon see the tree that sweeps my window-
pane P
An the long winter-time it moans and

grieves;

In the bleak night I hear its boughs com-
plain,

Praying for gracious sunshine and warm rain,
And its withheld inheritance of leaves.

'But what avails itP Though the sad tree

wears
Its heart out with its grief, what shall it

gam?

Do yon believe the tardy summer cares
3Tor all its wild rebukes and passionate

prayers,
Or that the sun shines warmer for its pain P

Verily not. "No pleader can prevail
Who prays against the laws of Time or

Fate:

No matter how we murmur and bewail,

The robins will not build in winter hail,

*JSTor lilacs blow in February. Wait!

Have faith, my friend. And when these stormy

glooms -

Hare chasten'd us for June, come here

again,
And you shall see my tree made glad with

blooms,

Its branches all a-tose with, purple plumes
Sweeping across this selfsame window-pane I

1940.— -ENDITBANOB.

How much the heart may bear, and yet not

break'

How much the flesh may suffer, and not die !
I question much if any pain or aoho

Of soul or body brings our ond more nigh :
Death chooses his own time; till that ia
tfworn,

All evils may be borne.

We shrink and shudder at the surgeon's knife,

Each nerve recoiling" from the cruel steel
Whose edge seems searching for the quivering

life,

Yet to our sense the bitter pangs reveal,
That still, although the trembling flesh, bo
torn,

This also can be borne.

We see a sorrow rising in our way,

And try to flee from the approaching ill ;
We seek some small escape; we weep and
, pray;
But when the blow falls, then our hearts

are still ;

Not that the pain is of its sharpness shorn.
But that it can be borne.

We wind our life about another life ;

We hold it closer, dearer than our own s
Anon it faints and fails in deathly strife,

Leaving us stann'd, and stricken, and alone ;
But ah ! we do not die with those wo mourn, —
This also can be borne.

Behold, we hve through all things, — famine,
, thirst,

'Bereavement, pain , all grief and misery,
All woe and sorrow , life inflicts its worst
On soul and body, — but we cannot die.
Though we be sick, and tired, and faint, and
worn,——

Lo, all things con bo borno '

Ettxabetih Afars.*

1941. — SINGING IN THE RAIN.

Where the olm-treo bronchos by the rain aare

stirr d,

Careless of the shower, swings a little bird :
Clonds may frown and darken, drops may

fall in vain ; —
Little heeds the warbler singing in the rain !

Silence soft, unbroken, reignoth everywhere, —
Save the rain's low heart-throbs pulsing on

the air,
Save the song, which, pausing, wins no

answering strain ; —
Little cares the robin singing in tho rain !

Not yet are the orchards rich with rosy snow,
Nor with dandelions are the fields aglow;
Yet almost my fancy in his song's sweet flow
Hears the June leaves whisper, and the
roses blow!

JFVow 1780 to 1866.]

Dimmer fall the shadows, mistier grows the

air,—
Still the thick clouds gather, darkening here

and there.
From their heavy fringes pour their drops

'

Still the bird is singing, singing in the
ram.

0 thou hopeful singer, whom my faith per-

coivos

To a dove transfigured bringing olive-leaves, —
Obvo-leaves of promise, types of joy to be ;
How, in doubt and trial, learns xay heart of
theel

Cheerful summer prophet I listening to thy

song,
How my fainting spirit growoth. glad and

btronj?
1 Lob tlio black clouds gather, leb the sun-

Hlnno wane,

If I may bat join thee- singing in the rain !
Ekzcibeth Ak&rs.

1942.— A DREAM.

Baok again, darling ? 0 day of delight !
•Hovr 1 havo loug'd for you, morning and

Waioli'd for you, yinod for you, all tho day

tlirongh,

Craving- no boon and no Uoswrnff but you, —
JPra/d for -you, plod for you, sought you in

vain,

Striving for over to find you again,—
Counting1 all anguiwh as naught, if I might
Clasp you again as I clasp you to-night !

0, 1 havo Borrow'd and Buffor'd so muoh
Since I last anRwor'd your lips' loving touch, —
Through iho mght-watohos, in daylight's

broad booms,
AnguiHh'd by visions and tortured by

droamfl, —

Droatnn HO roploto with bewildering pain,
Still it in throbbuxg in heart and lu brain : *
O, for I droamM, — keep mo oloso to your side,
Darling, 0 darling '—I dream' d you Had died '

Droam'd that I stood by your pillow, and

hoard
From your pale laps love's last lialf-uttor'd

word;

And by tho light of the May-morning skies
Watoh'd your face whiten, and saw your doar

eyes

Gazing far into the Wonderful land ;
felt your fond fingers grow cold in my

hand ;— —
" Darling," you whispered, "My darling '"

you said
Faintly, so faintly,— and then you were dead !

0 the dark hours when I knelt by your grave,
Calling upon you to love and to save, — > " '
Pleading in vain for a sign or word
Only to tell me you hston'd and heard, —
Only to say you remembor'd and knew
How all my soul was in anguish for you;
Bitter, despairing, the tears that I shed,
Darling, 0 darling, because you were dead !

0 the black days of your absence, my own I
0 to be left in the wide world alone !
Long, with our little one dasp'd to my breast,
Wander* d I, seeking for refuge and rest ;
Yet all tho world was so careless and cold,
Vainly I sought for a sheltering fold ; —
There was no roof and no home for my head.
Darling, 0 darling, because you were dead I

Tot, in tlio midst of the darkness and paiiL
Darling, I know I should find you again '
Knew, as tho roses know, under the snow,
How tho next summer will set them aglow ;
So did I always, the dreary days through,
Keep my heart single and sacred to you,
As on the beautiful day wo wore wed,
Darling, 0 darling, although you were dead !

0 tho great joy of awaking, to know

1 did but dream all that torturing woo 1

O tho delight, that my searching can trace
Nothing of coldness or change in your face !
Still is your forehead unfuiiow'd and fair ;
Nono of tho gold is lost out of your hair,
None of tho light from your dear oyos has

fled—
Dailing, 0 how could T droara you wore doad P

Now you aro horo, you will always remain,
Novor, O never to leave mo agaiu I
How it has vanished, tho anguish of years 1
Vanieh'd I nay, those aro not sorrowful tears,—
Happinoss only my chock has impoarl'd,— •
Thoro is no grieving for me in the world j
Dark clouds may throaton, but I havo no fear,
Darling, 0 darling, because you aro hero !

1943 —KISSES.

The kiaa of friendship, kind and calm,
May fall upon tho brow like balm ;
A deeper tenderness may apeak
In precious plodgow on tho chook;
Thrice dear may bo, when young lips moot,
Love's dowy preHHuro, oloso and sweotj—
But more than all tho rest I prizo
The faithful lips that kiss my eyes.

Smile, lady, smilo, whon courtly lips

Xouch reverently your finger-tips ;
Blush, happy maiden, whon you fool
The lips which press love's glowing seal;

But as the slow years darklfar roll,

Grown wiser, tho oxponoaood soul
Will own as dearer lor than they
The lips whicH lass tka tears away !

tiliza-befh Akcrs,

BOCK ME TO SLEEP.

[8JUV.U1.NTH PERIOD.

1944. — BOOK ME TO SLEEP.
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your

Make me a child again just for to-night !
Mother, oome back from the eoholess shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore ;
T£LSB from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my

hair;

Over my slumbers your loving watch keep ; —
Book me to sleep, mother,— rook me to sleep I

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears, —
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain, —
Take them, and give me my childhood again I
I have grown weary of dust and decay, —
Wear^ of flinging my soul-wealth away ;
"Weary of sowing for otheis to reap : —
Book me to sleep, mother, — rook me to sleep 1

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you I
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossom* d and faded, our faces between :
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I to-night for your presence again.
Oome from the silence so long and so deep ; —
Book me to sleep, mother, — rook me to sleep !

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,
ISPo love like mother-love ever has shone ;
INo other worship abides and endures, —
Faithfol, unselfish, and patient like yours :
None like a mother can charm away pain
Prom the sick soul and the world-weary brain
Slumber's sdft calms o'er my heavy lids

creep ,—
Bock me to sleep, mother, — rook me to sleep I

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with

Fall ou your shoulders again as of old ;
Let it drop over my forehead to-night,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light ;
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore ;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep ; —
Bock me to sleep, mother, — rook me to sleep 1

Mother, clear mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song •
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.

Olasp'd to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep , —
Book me to sleep, mother,. — rook me to sleep f

Elwaleth Akers.

*945'— LOST.

'The word has oome ; — go forth
An outcast and a blot upon the earth ;
Lo, the fierce angel, with his sword of flame,

And brow of bitter blame,
Stands at the portal, and commands thee, —

harkl

" Go forth into the dork,
The blind and pitiless dark,
Perdital"

Go forth into the storm,
'Wrap the rough sackcloth round thy delicate'

form,

Since torn for ever thence
Are the fair garments of thine innocence,
Which not by prayer, nor penance, nor much

pain,

Can be made white again,
Perdita!

Ray, it is vain to plead,— -
There is no hand to help, no ear to heed, — •

Not even his, whose art

Bid win and oast aside thy credulous heart,—
Who from thy forehead gather'd ruthlessly
The luminous lilies of white Purity,

And planted there instead
Shame's heavy blossoms, broad and scarlet*
red,

Perdifca!

Whom thou wouldst die to please ;
Whom thou hast followed on thy blooding

Through wrong and woe and strife,
To kiss his footsteps in the dust of life,—-

Pleading with tears the while
For the great blessing of a word or smile,

As starvelings plead for bread,
To those, who, taunting, fling a stone in*

Perdita!

Lift not thy pleading eyes
To the calm scorn of the tnapityingr skies,—

Hide thy dishonoured brow,—
Sweet Mercy's smile is not for saioh aa thou,
Perdital